#cheshire; the space around me is filled with you.

[ofthecedartree]

𝐂𝐄𝐃𝐀𝐑 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐋 .↶

This is a roleplay blog portraying Cedar Oriel, a Love & Deepspace OC. This is created for entertainment purposes only. I (the admin) am in no way, shape, or form associated with InFold PTE LTD. or the Love and Deepspace franchise. PLEASE READ THIS POST BEFORE INTERACTING.

"𝑰𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒈𝒂𝒛𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒆𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒃𝒚𝒔𝒔, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒃𝒚𝒔𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒈𝒂𝒛𝒆 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖."

𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒

Before interacting with the muse through the blog, please be aware of the following:

GENERAL

I (the admin) reserve the right to refuse to answer (and subsequently delete asks and interactions that I do not feel comfortable with answering. This will come without warning. Please don't take it personally, this is for my own personal comfort!

DNI

Minors and blogs without a specified age will be automatically blocked!

FORMAT

You may interact with Cedar through asks (anon or not), mentions, reblogs, etc. This account is mirrored-lit. This means that you are free to interact using shorthand prose, semi-para, multi-para, lit, or semi-lit, or however else you see fit. Whichever way you interact, I will match you!

INTERACTIONS

Anyone in the Love & Deepspace universe may interact. This includes other OCs, or canon characters! You are free to interact as with a platonic relationship, whether pre-established or developing.

SHIPS

Cedar is primarily shipped with Gabriel (@), in main verse.

In AU verses, shipping is allowed, with canon L&DS characters, but not other OCs. Please discuss with me prior to establishing a ship!

DMs

Account DMs are open, you can slide in at anytime, especially if you wish to plot something or discuss something beforehand!

NSFW

Admin is 21+ years old. Interactions that are NSFW (sexual) in nature are allowed, but will be hidden under the mature filter. Please be careful of the media you consume.

— Suggestive posts tagged: cw. suggestive. — Explicit posts tagged: cw. explicit.

ART

If sharing art into my asks or tagging me in something, please be careful. CHECK FIRST if the artist allows reposts. If they do not, please only share the art via a link ONLY and do not share the image itself. If they do, please always credit back via a link and a username. Let's respect our lovely artists~!

NEGATIVITY

Please be kind! Avoid hate, shaming, the use of slurs or derogatory terms, etc. This is a judgement-free environment. Let's all have fun!

OPERATOR SPEAKS

Content will remain mostly in-character; however, if necessary, OOC-related content will be indicated by the following:

This blog is operated by: @cloudxxiia / @rose-tinted-kalopsia . The same is true for: @kaiakaya and @thomasicism .

— Posts beginning as: "🔥; text" — Posts tagged with: "when the lamp blows out. ooc." — Replies/tags formatted as: "(text)"

𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎

The following are information about the muse, Cedar.

GENERAL

Cedar (she/her) is an OC based on the Love and Deepspace franchise. She does NOT follow the MC plotline of the franchise, and is centered around her own story.

🔗 ABRIDGED INFO / COMPLETE INFO

— AGE: 24 — BIRTHDAY: August 24 — SIGN: Virgo — RACE: Human — EVOL: Fire — OCCUPATION: Waitress, Horror novelist —

PERSONALITY NOTES

Black cat energy.

Cedar often comes off as snarky or mean, due to her frequent sarcastic comments and more obviously cynical attitude - especially outside of her waitressing hours. She’d roll her eyes and glare often, and she doesn’t have the friendliest exterior.

But she means well, she does, really. She just doesn’t know how to express her thoughts and emotions in a more pleasant way, so she tends to default to sarcasm, especially when something happens that she doesn’t like.

In truth, she holds a lot more emotions in her chest than she lets on. She’s gullible and easily riled up, and whatever “calm, unbothered” vibe she may give off initially would often disappear the more you get to know her. It’s only due to her desperation in “controlling” these emotions that her cynicism tends to prevail instead, but she’s learning to be healthier with her expressions.

OTHER TRIVIA

— Nicknames: Cece, Ceddy, Ced, Woodie, Gaia, etc. — Hobbies: cooking, writing (horror novels) — Likes: Books, writing, cats, horror, gore, coffee, rain — Dislikes: Rude customers, obnoxious noise, fire — Virgo sun, Scorpio rising, Capricorn moon. Chiron in Aquarius in the 4th house. — She’s written two horror novels so far, under her pen name Ash. Both books have been well-received, but not so much to consider herself particularly famous. — "We Live In Your Walls" depicts the story of a child who finds a crayon drawing of a strange family — it's inscribed with the words, we live in your walls. — "‘Til Death Do Us Part" depicts the story of a woman who suddenly finds herself waking up in someone else’s body every morning — and each day ends with her being stalked and killed by the same murderer in black. — She’s not particularly secretive with the people around her of her identity as Ash, but her persona as an “author” remains mysterious to her readers. Her co-workers know, and she writes often during break times at the diner. Really, if you ask her, she’ll just tell you with a shrug. — She doesn’t like nicknames, at all, but never truly does anything to stop anyone from calling her by any. — She has almost started several fires at the diner due to rude customers getting on her nerves. Almost. They stop immediately when they see sparks.

APPEARANCE

Main Face Claim: Kim Suyeon / Sheon (Billlie)

— Height: 154cm + 5cm heels — Hair: Waist length, wavy, chestnut brown with blonde peekaboo highlights — Eyes: Long, narrow, red — Makeup: Dark brown eyeliner, dark brown mascara, pink eyeshadow, pink lipstick, pink blush — Fashion: Long silhouette—crop tops, long skirts, mary janes

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒

The following are tags that will be used across the blog.

out of character — when the lamp blows out. ooc.

suggestive posts — cw. suggestive.

explicit posts — cw. explicit.

queued posts — queue're not alone.

reblogs — from the silence comes a scream. (reblog)

prompts — and then there were none. (prompts)

answered — we live in your walls. (inbox)

roleplay — once upon a time

thoughts — look behind you. (musings)

𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐒

The following are interaction-specific and verse-specific tags.

main verse — ablaze; main.

lore and background remain the same. love interest: gabriel.

au verses — through the veil; au.

lore and background may change. love interests may vary.

gabriel — my gabriel. of flames ignited; for you i burn.

cheshire — cheshire; the space around me is filled with you.

[jiminsafairy]

Darling, you are late - Seokjin (ft Namjoon)

Summary: Your husband is late to your baby making session, so you take the matter into your own hands.

Pairing: CEOhusband!seokjin x wife!reader (ft husband best friend!Namjoon)

wc:3k

Warnings: unprotected sex (they are trying to make a baby, duh), reader is a bit bratty, exhibitionism, he cums inside (duh), cockwarming, seokjin is a workaholic, pregnancy kink (lactation kink if you squint?), namjoon makes a cameo! reader gives him a bj while seokjin fucks her

"Sir, your wife is here" you hear his secretary say.

"Send her in", he answers, his voice distorted as it comes off the intercom.

"You can come in, Mrs. Kim" the old lady indicates.

You push open the double doors and stepped inside. The room was spacious and bright, with floor-to-ceiling windows that filled the space with natural light and offered a stunning view of the city.

To one side, a comfortable red velvet sofa provided a cozy spot to relax. The office was tastefully decorated with a few pieces of art on the walls giving the finishing touch.

In the center of the office stood a large wooden desk, neatly organized. Seated on the fancy chair was your husband. His eyes were fixed on the laptop screen, face scrunched in concentration, a frown creasing his forehead.

You couldn’t avoid the thought of how handsome he looked with his two-piece gray suit.

"Hello dear, give just one m- " your husband starts to say, but you cut him, angry.

"I thought you were coming home early!" you scold him, crossing your arms over your chest. After waiting for more than an hour you got tired of it and decided to take the matter into your own hands, driving across the city to his office.

"I’m sorry darling, had to attend a last-minute meeting and now I’m stuck with paperwork" Seokjin excuses himself, eyesight never leaving the screen.

"Don’t you know what day it is?!" you say, crossing your arms over your chest.

"I’m afraid you’ll have to refresh my memory, dear" he mumbles, not paying attention to you.

"It’s ovulation day! You said you were going home early!", you pout while walking up to his desk, the sound of your heels clicking on the floor.

"Gimme a ‘I’m sorry kiss’ at least" , you demand, and your husband finally takes his sight away from the computer. He looks at you with sorry eyes, and you lean in, allowing him to place a quick peck on your lips.”I love you” you say.

"Mmm, I love you too" he says against your lips, "Please wait for me just five more minutes and we’ll go home" he excuses himself, going back to his important CEO paperwork

"Darling but I’m bored! And horny!" ,you whine, getting behind him, placing your hand on his broad shoulders.

Placing your hands on his broad shoulders, you whisper in his ear, cheshire cat-smile on your face, "If you could do…" you place a soft peck against his neck," something…" peck, "to keep me entertained.." another peck, "while I wait…".

He lets out a sigh, knowing what your intentions were, but he caves in anyway, "baby, you can sit on my cock while I finish this paperwork, how does that sound?", he offers, leaning back on his chair. 

"Terrific" you say while unbuttoning your blouse, and sliding it over your arms. No bra in sight, your big breast in full display for him.

Seojin looks at you with hungry eyes, "god, you are so hot." He pulls you gently by your wrist, bringing you close to him. "Do you need me to prep you, love?" your husband taking one breast on his mouth, tongue flicking against your nipple. 

"No need Jinnie, I’m so wet already…" you say, unzipping your black midi skirt, the fabric pooling at your feet. You were not wearing any underwear. You grab his hand, inviting to feel for himself.

He inserts one finger inside your needy pussy making you moan, feeling your juices covering his digit. "You are such a dirty girl, going around my office with no underwear". Your pussy clenches around his finger. "Bet that’s why you are so wet" he coos, pumping his finger inside you a few times before taking it out, leaving your pussy clenching around nothing.

His hands go to his suit pants, pulling them down to his knees along with his black briefs, freeing his semi-hard cock. Just the thought of you walking around his building with no underwear makes his cock stiffen. You take his shaft in your hand and after a few pumps, it was hard and ready for you.

You sit on his lap, back against his, while he guides his cock inside your needy hole, rubbing the tip against your wet folds. "Oh god… so good", you moan at the feeling of his huge cock entering your pussy. "No matter how many times we fuck, I just love being stretched by your dick", you say, enjoying the feeling of being so full.

"My beautiful wife loves keeping my dick warm, huh? What a lucky man I am" he says, planting a kiss on your bare shoulder, "now be a good girl and lemme finish this, so we can go home and make some babies, yes?" he demands, giving your asscheek a quick squeeze, eyesight fixed on the boring spreadsheet again. His left hand goes to your nipple,and starts fiddling with it. 

"Mmm…keep doing that Jinnie, feels so good…" you moan, leaning back against his chest.

The feeling of having your husband playing with your sore breast it’s good, but not enough. Too horny to keep your thoughts straight, you begin to squeeze your inner walls, making excuses to wiggle around. 

"Stay still", your husband says, lowering his voice. He tugs at your nipple, making you moan. “I know what you're trying to do, you little devil” he warns, but you ignore him, clenching your walls again.

"But Jinnie I’m not doing anything!" you said mischievously, trying to hide a smile. But kept on clenching your walls.

"That’s it," Seokjin said as he lifted you from his lap, his cock leaving your aching pussy, "I’ve had enough, hands on the desk, ass up." You obey, placing your hands on the desk, leaning against it, lifting up your ass.

Being placed between his desk and the glass walls, anyone from the next building curious enough to look would be able to see the lewd scene the two of you were performing.

"You minx, you thought you were being slick, didn’t you?" he whispers and you feel his hot breath against your ear. "It’s time to show you who’s in charge.", he says, grabbing his cock by the base and giving it a few pumps.

He rubs the tip of his cock against your needy pussy. "Please love, just put it inside!" you plead.

"My wife wants to be bred, doesn’t she? Such a good girl” he coos. "I love you.” He declares as he buries himself inside your needy hole with one hard thrust, making you moan.

"Fuck! I love you!" you whimper,leaning on your elbows.

He starts pounding against your pussy, grabbing you by your hips.

"Fuck Jin, It feels so good! I feel you so deep inside me…please don’t stop!" you moan, closing your eyes in pleasure.

"Fuck, I feel your pussy clenching around my cock."

You two were so lost in the moment that neither of you noticed someone had entered Seokjin’s office and was standing next to you, observing the scene with curiosity.

"So, this is what the boss spends his time doing in his fancy office, huh?" the mysterious visitor said, looking at the situation unfolding before him.

"Shut up, Namjoon'' said Seokjin gasping for air, hips still bucking against your asscheeks, cock buried deep inside you, “we all know what you did at the Christmas party when you sneaked away to your office with that girl from accounting", your husband claps back, pushing his cock deeper into you. Even with an audience, you both were so caught up in the moment that the thought of stopping didn’t even cross your mind.

"Hi Nam" you chirp, looking at your husband’s best friend.

"Hey beautiful", your husband’s friend answers with a smile, flashing his dimples at you, "I just came to let you know that the Japanese investors have just posponed tomorrow's meeting...", said the man. The sentence was clearly directed at your husband, but his eyes were fixed on your tits, bouncing with each thrust.

"Message received. Now, if you'll excuse us, we're trying to do something important; this company needs an heir," your husband said, bending down to grab your tits with his big hands, pitching your nipples between his index and thumb. 

"Alright, I'll leave," says Namjoon, but his feet didn’t move.

Your eyes drift down to the tent that has been forming inside his trousers. A wild thought crossed your mind.

"Jinnie, can I..?" you say, motioning with your eyes towards Namjoon’s boner.

"Oh, hell no!" he yells, stopping his pounding, but not taking his cock out.

"He cannot leave like that!" you laughed, "poor guy is going to get arrested for public indecency!".

Namjoon just stood there, watching as the lover’s quarrel took place.

"Alright, but it's just this once," your husband says, starting again to pump into your pussy at a slow pace, "You know I cannot say ‘no’ to you", he says with a smile on his face.

"I love you" you said cheekily.

"Yeah, yeah."

You looked at Namjoon, "would you take out your cock for me, Joon?" you said, giving him the puppy eyes, "I’m quite busy here", you say.

"On it, gorgeous", he said diligently, sliding his black suit pants down to his knees, black briefs following them. Big cock springing free, you couldn’t keep your glistening eyes away from it, amazed by the size. It was different from Seokjin’s. Not longer, that was a given – your husband has the longest cock you ever had -, but it was on the thicker side.

Namjoon grabs his cock by the base and rubs the tip against your lips. You take your tongue out and start giving small licks around the head, going slowly down to the base. Your husband’s best friend lets out a pleasure moan.

You put the tip inside your lips, liking the tip with your tongue.

"Fuck, she’s so good, hyung" he states, grabbing handful of your long hair, "her mouth is amazing."

"Yeah" he says, looking down at you. "My pretty wife gives the sloppiest blowjobs, right?". You mumble in response, mouth too full of cock to be able to articulate any word.

Namjoon’s hips start to swiftly buck against your face. You notice how much he’s restringing himself. And so does your husband.

"Are you going to let Namjoon fuck that pretty mouth of yours?" he coos, slowing down his thrusts. “Show him how good you suck cock?"

Humming in response, you relax your jaw, taking the full length inside your mouth. Immediately Namjoon starts fucking your mouth, right hand still on your hair.

"Hyung, can I?" he asks.

"Mmm… I guess you can" your husband says. You don’t know what they are talking about until you feel his fingers leaving your tits, and another set of - never felt before -  fingers on you. "Her tits are the best, feel them for yourself."

"Fuck yes, I always though how good they’d feel" says as he feels the weight of your breasts with his hands. "So soft...so big they can barely fit in my hand" says, as he starts pitching your nipples between his fingers.

The feeling of having your husband plugging you with his cock behind you, and his best friend’s cock filling your mouth and abusing your sore nipples was too much to handle. The familiar pressure building in your abdomen, your aching pussy clenching around Seokjin’s shaft.

"She’s going to cum, she’s milking my cock so hard" Seokjin says, pumping hard, "keep doing it Joon'' he demands, as he leans on your back, his hand reaching for your needy clit. "You are doing so well, love, fucking me so good while sucking my best friend."

You moan, feeling so full on both ends. Pleasure becomes almost unbearable, you reach your orgasm between cries of pleasure.

"Fuck I’m close" whines Namjoon, hardening the grip on your breast. "Where do-?", he asks, as he starts to get his dick out of your mouth.

"Don’t move" orders seokjin. "You can cum in her mouth, she loves swallowing cum, don’t you, love?" he asks you, even though he already knows the answer. You do.

You hum in aproval, and keep liking Namjoon's tip with your tongue. Lifting one hand from the desk, you start fiddling with his balls.

"I’m cumming, f-fuck!" moans Namjoon, leaning back his head with pleasure. Hot spurts of cum filling your mouth.

"Swallow. Everything" Seokjin commands, and you are happy to obey, swallowing every bit of cum. "Good girl" he praises.

Namjoon flicks your nipple one last time, before taking his cock out of your mouth. “That was amazing, thank you beautiful”, says the man while pulling his pants and briefs up. You smile at him.

"Good luck with the heir thing!" was heard as Seokjin's partner closed the office doors.

"No more interruptions, my love. It's time for us to get serious," says Seokjin, slowing the pace of his thrusts and taking his cock out of your pussy.  

"W-what?", You whine at the feeling of being empty, turning back to him. "What are you doing?!"

He grabs you by the hand, leading you to the couch. “Dirty girls like you don’t get my cum just like that, they need to earn it” he says, plumping himself there.

"Now ride me like the good girl you are" he orders, palming his naked thighs. "Show me how bad you want to be stuffed with my cum", he demands with a cocky smile adorning his beautiful plump lips.

You straddle him, grabbing his cock by the base and guiding it inside your pussy again, rubbing the tip up and down your wet slit. “Mmm, you feel so good”, you moan, closing your eyes. "I love you so much" you declare.

You gasp, sinking down on his long shaft, the change of position allowing you to feel him even deeper. "I feel so full, so stuffed" you moan, starting to rock your hips.

"You enjoy being full of cock, don’t you?" he groans, hands grabbing the flesh of your hips.

"Yes, I love your cock it’s so big, filling me so good…" you whine, pleasure becoming almost unbearable.

"I wanna see those big tits bounce, ride me faster" he demands, urging you to speed up your movements. You lay your hands on his chest, using them as leverage.

"Fuck, your pussy fills so good", your husband moans, sitting up and taking one nipple in his mouth. "I can't wait until these pretty tits are big, filled with milk" he whispers, his hot breath against your needy flesh."You'd like that, yeah?"

"Seokjin, fuck, I’m close", you whimper. The feeling of his hipbone gracing your clit with every move taking you close to your release.

He releases your nipple, leaving your tit glistening with saliva.

"“Such a good girl, riding me like that. I love watching you ride me" ,he praises. "I’m close too." he says as his hips start bucking to meet yours.“ Fuck I’m gonna cum."

"Seokjin!" you whine, "Fuck!", your orgasms taking over you.

"I’m cumming, fuck I’m gonna fill you so good, I love you so much" he groans. "Don’t stop baby, I’m cumming" he announces as you keep bouncing on his cock.

You feel his warm sperm filling you, hot spurts coating your walls, and lean to kiss him.You stay in that position for a few moments, indulging in your kiss.Until you feel his cum starting to run down your inner thighs.

"Oh, shit" you say, stepping out of his lap and sitting next to him. He looks at you, and to your surprise, he collects all the cum that had spilled from your pussy, "we cannot let even one bit go to waste," says, plunging you with his fingers. "Mmm… yeah" you moan.

Once you have collected yourselves, your husband says "now, get dressed, we are going home for round 2".

[instant-delusions]

I am so glad you’re taking reqs!! Beach sex with rafayel on my mind 24/7 😔😳

not u reading my mind...💓💓

☆

𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐮𝐩! ˚⋆𓇼˚⊹ 𖦹 ⁺｡°

𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐥 𝐱 𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐛! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐰: 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐜 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐜𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐬, 𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐯, 𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐥 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐫

'it's 30°C in linkon right now, people! that means swimming, beach parties, sex on the beach, and beaches."

you groaned at the weather reporter's distasteful pun and reached out to turn the volume of your mini radio down. huffing, you kneeled on your beach towel, re-knotting the strings of your bikini top. your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head when you felt stares on you, clenching your fist, you turned around to give whatever man thinks he has the audacity to-

"rafayel." you exclaimed in a relieved tone, letting your fist sink. said man cocked his head to the side with his signature smile - he was wearing dark blue swimming trunks and a creamy shirt, which he left unbuttoned. sunglasses sat on his purple hair, and the sun shined so brightly on him, it almost made his strands look lavender. "is an excuse of a man giving you trouble?" he asked, his voice laced with a tilt of threat. you shook your head, stretching out your legs and supporting your upper body with your arms to look at him. "i'd take care of that myself." you started, pursing your lips, "what're you doing here? i didn't think you'd be the type to enjoy public beaches."

the artist crouched down to be on eye level with you and began to draw random shapes into the sand. "you'd be right. i'm just passing through to the private beach i rented." he pointed his finger westways, signaling to a lonely patch of sand surrounded by trees. you gawked at him after the words 'rented' and 'private beach' left his throat and shook your head in disbelief. "rich people have weird hobbies."

rafayel let out a fake 'ha, ha.' but the grin on his face was genuine. letting his magenta eyes travel around the beach, he took in the empty beer bottles and weird people hanging around. "come, join me. this place sucks."

so you did. even though your crocs were filling up with hot sand, it was thrilling to have a beach just for the two of you. after placing your (definitely not spongebob printed) bath towel, rafayel immediately lifted you over his shoulder and dropped you into the icy, salty seawater. resurfacing, you gasped - pulling your wet hair back from your face.

"you."

just hearing the pure, hot anger in your tone, rafayel booked it into the other direction. "you motherfucker!" you sprinted after him, hunter senses kicking in until you tackled him onto the ground. "you're under arrest, rafayel." a cheshire cat-like grin formed on his face, his eyes lighting up with mischief. "what're you gonna do to me, miss hunter?" he began, leaning closer to your face. "what's my sentence?" he whispered, slowly turning both of you around. feeling the energy switch abruptly, you broke eye contact. "i'll...keep you in a small fishbowl, like cosmo and wanda."

letting out a chuckle, he kissed your bare shoulder. "doesn't seem that bad." nuzzling deeper into your neck, he pressed hot mouthed kisses to your throat and collarbone, making you whine out needily. "please, rafa. not here, they'll see." locking eyes with him, you knew this was a useless battle. his eyes were glazed over, a hunger you knew all too well reflecting in them. "I don't care." he said, voice muffled by your skin. spreading your legs, you gave him space to settle, which he took with delight. "seems like you don't care, either." you reacted with a pout, not wanting to admit you were down bad this immensely for him. "I'm still dripping from your attack. it must taste bad. or maybe it'll make a fish like you nostalgic."

rafayel laughed at your attempts to cover your shyness, finding it weirdly endearing. it is very unlike him to choose to stay quiet, but he did - drawing a map from your collarbone, between your chest and down to your waist with his lips, wetting them with seawater and the taste of you. he tightened the grip on your thighs once you started squirming, letting his other hand travel just a bit higher to undo the strings of your bikini and let it fall down your legs.

"fuck, I can't wait to taste you." rafayel rasped, guiding your legs onto his shoulders. a bright blush erupted on your cheeks, and you covered your face with your hands, panicking slightly. it's not like this is the first time you've slept with him, though somehow the same feeling pooled in your tummy - a mixture of embarrassment and excitement. rafayel's passionate and upfront personality makes sex feel so much more like an adventure. kissing your inner thighs, he teased what was about to happen, making you cage him in as if it were a reflex. "tsk." he tutted, tapping his finger on the plump of your upper legs to warn you. "behave."

it's very unlike you to submit, but for him, you do. you arch your back, whine and moan as he parts your wet folds with his fingers and licks long stripes between them, stopping everytime once he reaches your clit - kissing, biting and sucking it. thinking about having the most sought-after man in linkon between your legs makes this even more intense, and you feel yourself getting wetter. rafayel notices this as well, pumping a finger into your hole to make more of your juices seep out. he just liked the taste of you too much, he can't help it.

"get on your stomach." he said, watching you turn over. luckily, you caught a short glimpse of his reddened ears and his wet chin. once you were positioned to his liking, he gave your ass a spank, watching it jiggle with delight. a yelp escaped you as he did it again, grabbing it forcefully and pulling you flush against his hardened cock. feeling him pulse through the fabric of his trunks had you mewling, grinding your backside against him feverishly. "impatient, huh?" he commented hotly, clumsily pulling his drooling cock out, "me too."

all this waiting had you dizzy. grunting, you reached back and took his cock in you hand, to which he let out a surprised gasp. you felt it oozing out pre and almost moaned at how turned on your lover was too. not-so gently, you guided him between your folds and pressed your ass to his pelvis, taking it all at once. feeling him fill you up so nicely, his tip prodding at your cervix and every twitch of his pale dick mingling into your walls made you moan deliciously.

"fuck, (y/n), you're driving me insane." he whined, pushing his hand to your upper back to press you down, rafayel started to languidly drag his cock along your walls. everyone knows this artist isn't known for his patience or for being monotone, so the rhythm faltered quickly, ending in him thrusting into you so hardly, your ass clapping against his thighs echoed through the beach. you feared the water god he talked about might feel the ripples on the sea, cursing you for being so naughty in front of his domain. you screamed out, helplessly scratching at the sand underneath you as some sort of anchor for your sanity, but you lost yourself to the pleasure the moment he wrapped his arms around you and pressed his chest against your back, freely moaning and cursing into your ear.

"princess, you feel so good. fuck, your pussy is creaming on my cock, it's gonna suck me dry this time, I swear." he babbles. rafayel talks a lot normally, but once he loses himself inside you, the words just flow out. "r-ra-af", you choke out between thrusts, "it feels so good, oh my god." your pussy flutters once he hits a certain spot, and he immediately notices - abusing it with no hold-backs. if there's anything he wants, it's for you to go above and beyond the lines of pleasure, so he starts circling your clit with three fingers quickly, drawing circle and infinity shapes just how you like it. with no warning, no build up, you fall apart quickly, screaming his name to the heavens while you feel your soul escaping your body with a mind shattering orgasm. after a few seconds, your body is drained off all strength, and you become a doll in his hands to fuck his cum into.

"(y/n), you should've seen your face right now, never saw something more beautiful. it was so hot, fuck-" he buries his head into your neck while he lazily thrusts into you a few times more, stuffing his cock so deep into your pussy you fear he might target your womb. he doesn't move, keeping his pelvis flush against your back while filling you up -

"fuck, it's yours. I'm yours. take it."

[what-have-i-unleashed]

just a quick stop

finally, the full fic of weird fluffy kist that i have been agonizing over...

(cw: violence, minor character death, a bit spicy - lime on the citrus scale)

killer and dust have been trekking through the dark endless space for a while. killer has been chattering nonstop, filling the empty void with his voice, which dust appreciates. were he to be left floundering in the silence, he'd go crazy just like the many unfortunate souls that have stumbled into this non-place.

this "multiverse station" doesn't seem to have an attendant, only an eerie display of monster dust and decayed human bodies scattered sparsely throughout. yet, killer doesn't seem to be deterred a single bit. he's confidently announced that they would get out of here and back on track to their scheduled date in a mobfell universe.

"trust me, honeyboo," killer gestures with his hand waving around like an excited kid. he's leading dust with his other with his other hand nestled in dust's. the handhold is securely warm in contrast to the chilly void. "my intuition is never wrong. we're definitely on the right path."

your boyfriend is a dumbass, brother, papyrus sighs, floating next to dust.

"i know, bro," he murmurs, smirking into his scarf.

killer turns around, as if hearing what he said. "huh? have something to say, dusty?"

"nothing. guide us through this darkness, o wise guy," dust replies.

killer tilts his head, his signature grin widening. "sure thing, lover boy~"

they walk and walk and walk until dust sees something in the far distance - a white light in the black void. killer, still holding his hand, runs towards the light. dust stumbles as he's dragged along. as they get closer to the light, dust can see it is fragments of some sort of dilapidated train station. there sit three wooden benches in various stages of damage. next to one is a sign in an undecipherable language, along with an equally incomprehensible map, probably of the available pathways. a single bright lamp illuminates the area. as killer fawns over the map, dust stands back idly and makes a mistake looking up at the lamp post - he quickly turns away when he realizes there is a white soul trapped inside the lantern, pulsing slowly. fortunately, before dust can think about it, killer whistles at him and beckons him over.

when dust languidly makes over to killer, the hybrid-souled being speaks animatedly, "looks like we're at this stop point," he points to a faded star mark on the map. "if we want to make it to our destination, we can just go straight ahead from here."

killer traces a long-winded path to another symbol on the map. dust doesn't claim to know much about the jumble that is multiverse travel, so he has no choice but to trust his partner.

"but how can we travel to there?" he asks. "your token is out of juice."

killer gives him an impish grin. "we wait."

and so wait they do. the couple rests on the bench nearest to the station sign, with dust sitting in a corner and killer lounging indulgently, wrapping one arm behind dust's shoulders. bored out of his mind, dust pulls out his cigarette pack and puts one in his mouth. he searches for the lighter in his pockets, only to hear a click right next to him. turning to his left, he sees killer holding out the lighter with the flame on, an inviting wink flashing his face. amused, dust leans in to light the end of the cig, keeping his gaze on killer, whose cheshire smile doesn't wane the whole time. dust leans back and lets out a puff of smoke. he can feel killer's gaze on him.

"so, what else can you put in your mouth, bunny?"

dust glances at killer from the corner of his eye socket. the other skeleton is resting his chin on his closed fist, a mischievous grin on his face. dust looks him up and down before replying dryly.

"you're that bored?"

"maybe i am. maybe you should help me entertain myself."

dust scoffs lightly, but still indulges his boyfriend. "you want a fight then?"

"if that fight involves that mouth of yours, then yeah."

without further prompting, killer slides off his seat and crawls into dust's lap, kneeling over his slouching figure. from dust's point of view, the white light from the lamp washes over killer like a soft halo, his face obscured by the darkness, only somewhat lit by that red soul of his. the shape of the soul is wavering somewhere between an upside-down heart and a target, making dust consider killer carefully. extinguishing the cig on the handle of the bench, he slowly reaches his hand to cup killer's cheek.

"this okay?" he asks quietly, to which killer answers, nuzzling into his hand.

"yeah."

dust guides killer down towards him and nips the corner of his mouth, trailing small pecks along the jaw. he feels killer shiver and doubles his efforts, quickly moving his mouth down killer's neck - or at least the parts not covered by killer's turtleneck that is - while helping killer taking his jacket off his body. dust lets his teeth graze near the nape of killer's neck, smirking into the turtleneck when he feels killer grabbing onto his arms and pulling him closer. dust complies, snaking his hand up inside killer's shirt while teasing him with lazy kisses and half-licks around his mandible. killer's bones are scarred under dust's hand, but dust pays them no mind as he lightly caresses his lover's sternum.

impatient, killer grabs dust's skull with both hands and pulls him into a biting kiss, nipping and growling into it, which only stirs dust into doing the same. the wet, breathy sounds of them exploring each other's mouths echo in the empty void. killer lightly grinds on dust's lap, smiling as he feels dust jerk in surprise. the hooded skeleton only tightens his grip on killer's lower ribs, which prompts a quiet moan out of killer.

but there's something else too, a piercing whine coming out of somewhere.

dust is the first to pull back, his face flushing blue and his tone breathless as he whispers, "did you hear that?"

killer smirks at him, not looking as out of breath as his lover is. "might be our ticket out of here."

with that, they hide behind the rubble of the station, both of them eagerly watching whichever unfortunate soul has wandered in here. it's not long before they see a dog monster approach the bright lamp and survey the map, looking as confused as dust was previously. killer and dust look at each other, silently communicating with their eyes, before each of them move in the opposite direction, effectively circling their unknowing victim.

killer is fast, throwing a knife at the dog monster before dust can formulate a plan. the dog monster startles and howls as the knife penetrates into their thigh. they collapse, and dust, not wanting killer to steal his kill, quickly raises a barrage of bones piercing through their head, dusting them right away. it's all over under one minute.

"aw babe, really?" killer whines as dust feels the exp running through his body, making him shiver. "you gotta have to take those measly exp?"

dust shrugs. "payback for last time you stole my kill."

killer sticks out his tongue, unapologetic. "i still have next time. by the way, what's in their inventory?"

dust, as the winner of the short-lived battle, rustles through the dust pile to see some gold coins, a notebook of some kind, and finally a travel token. picking up the token, he checks the thing for any forgery then throws it at killer. killer catches the thing with one hand and inspects it with his softly lit eyelight.

"is it enough?" dust asks, relieved to see killer nod.

"should be enough for our trip. we can always take more from another."

"finally," dust breathes out, and killer chuckles, putting his arm around dust's shoulders.

"don't be so impatient, mon beau," he whispers near dust's skull. "after the dinner, we can continue what we did back there."

dust stares at killer, trying hard to stop the blush forming on his face. he mumbles angrily as both of them swiftly disappears from the station. truly, killer should be glad he's dust's boyfriend, else he would be forced to eat concrete right now.

[basic204]

ok so last night i had THE weirdest dream and when i told my friends about it, one of them got all serious and was like "you need to get some iron" (cold iron? wrought iron? idk which but apparently it's Important™)

so in this dream i'm chatting with the Cheshire Cat and they're telling me about this place called The Never Was. apparently i needed to go there to find... something? but here's the wild part - to find whatever it was, i had to become the actual KING of Never Was??

the whole concept of The Never Was is honestly living rent free in my head rn because it's like... imagine a place filled with every unfinished story, every half-baked invention, every random 3am thought someone had but never did anything with. Cheshire told me that's why my brain keeps spitting out story ideas - apparently i've got some weird connection to this place?? like when i zone out and my mind wanders, i'm actually walking through The Never Was, picking up stories or making new ones, and just... leaving them there.

Cheshire said it's this infinite space but it gets smaller whenever people actually create or discover stuff... but then it grows again with new undiscovered things? and then they started getting really cryptic, talking about how they've been around since humans first started having random thoughts. they've got all these names throughout history like "the Vanishing Queen" and "the One Who Wins" (very ominous tbh)

and get THIS - they said the Milky Way? that pretty streak of stars in the sky? it's actually a WOUND from where they took a BITE out of the UNIVERSE??? they told me another name for themself too but it's completely slipped my mind. i wrote it down somewhere and if i find it i'll make another post.

but yeah now i can't stop thinking about The Never Was and what it means and honestly?? kinda valid that my friend is worried about the fae coming after me 😅

Also I finally remembered the other name she gave me I'm going to try to spell it from how it sounded

Bashasti-Uri

Anyone know what that means?

One of my other friends things I should take that dream and write it out into a story which I think might be fun

[pricelessemotion]

Lectori Salutem | E.M.

Summary: [5.1k] you and eddie shoot pool and spill secrets.

Pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!music journalist! reader

Warnings: drinking, language

Notes: things are finally picking up! next chapter will include some 18+ content so you must have your age in your bio for the taglist!

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Eddie clambers into the passenger seat of your car. Upon leaving the diner, you managed to convince him to let you drive to your next destination, citing a general need to live. 

The drive back to Eddie’s was considerably less nerve-wracking. This go around, he decided to obey the speed limit and not split lanes like a maniac. Not only did he give you peace of mind but he also spared the delicious french toast that you ate from making a reappearance. 

Turning the key, the car starts with a light rumble. The sound of electric guitars and heavy drums shatters the silence between the two of you. 

Fuck.

You still had the Corroded Coffin tape in your stereo. 

Eddie is turned away from you, grabbing the seatbelt. At the sound of his own voice being played back to him, he slowly turns around to look at you. The grin on his face would put the Cheshire cat to shame. 

“I didn’t know you were a fan, sweetheart.” The nickname is saccharine coming out of his mouth. 

“I–” You sputter, trying to come up with a good defense. “I’m thorough in my research.”

Eddie is obviously amused at the fact that he’s caught you red-handed. His seatbelt is already buckled, but it’s stretched thin as he leans across the center console. He smells like syrup and cigarettes. For a second, you consider turning the stereo off completely. 

“Should I be scared? Do you have a shrine to me in your room? Do you have my face tattooed on your ass?” With each question his voice gets louder and louder, filling the tiny space with his velvety timbre. 

Though your face is hot with embarrassment, you’re secretly relieved. Any semblance of tension from bringing up Evelyn at the diner has dissipated. It’s been shredded with every strum of a guitar. You find it’s easier to be around Eddie this way. It’s easier to give in to his playfulness, rather than try to maintain the facade of professionalism. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You say, casting him a sideways glance. 

Eddie, for the most part, remains stoic. But you catch the twitch of his mouth and see the tell-tale shade of pink flood his cheeks. If anything should be indicative of the fact that you’ve stunned him, it’s that he’s stopped talking for the first time since you met him. Another thing you’ve learned about Eddie Munson: He never shuts up. 

You release the parking brake and peel off into the streets. If Eddie is at all bothered by listening to his own music, he doesn’t show it. In fact, he takes the opportunity to quietly sing along, only stopping to pepper in commentary about the track or to give you directions. The richness of his voice is so distracting that you haven’t even noticed that you have no idea where he’s taking you.

Trying to find street parking in East Hollywood is a fruitless endeavor. You almost wish you had taken up Eddie’s offer to ride his bike. Eddie directs you around the backside of a building where a sign indicates that it’s a private parking lot, not meant for public use. He assures you that you won’t get towed.

The Blue Line is a bar tucked in between a Thai restaurant and a dry cleaners. Walking up to the doors, you’re hit with the clashing scents of peanut sauce and fresh linen.  

There are very few people inside, given that it’s a bar and it’s barely even five o’clock yet. The soles of your shoes stick to the floor, making a quiet but awful velcro-like sound with every step you take.

“Buckley!” Eddie’s voice booms as you enter the establishment, echoing off the concrete floors and exposed brick walls.

A tall, freckled girl springs up behind the counter. At the sound of her name, she grins, her dark lipstick contrasting pearly white teeth. 

“Munson!” She yells back. The few patrons that linger around various areas of the bar are evidently disturbed by the sudden change in volume, turning their heads and scowling. She doesn’t seem to care. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Just looking to shoot some pool in the best bar in L.A.” Buckley audibly snorts at the last part of his statement. “My tab still open?”

“Always.” She shakes her head and raises her brows at him as if to say, of course. She turns to look at you. “Who’s your friend?”

Your mouth opens, but the words die on your tongue. You and Eddie are not friends. At least, you’re not supposed to be. But you don’t know if you want to tell this woman, who Eddie is clearly close with, that you’re here on assignment to try to cherry-pick the best parts of him and turn them into something palatable. 

At your hesitation, Eddie swoops in and makes the introduction for you. He doesn’t mention the fact that you’re a journalist. Whether the omission is for your benefit or his, you’re not sure.

“Nice to meet you,” She throws the rag she was using to wipe down the counter over her shoulder and extends her hand. “I’m Robin.” 

Her handshake is firm, but her eyes are soft. The fine bottles of liquor behind her are backlit by an unseen light source, giving the illusion of stained glass. She quickly turns around and rummages through the minifridge and grabs two beers. 

“You know the rules, Munson, don’t get too rowdy and clean up when you’re done.” She says, popping the caps off of the beverages and setting them down on the counter.

“Me?” Eddie grasps his chest in faux incredulity, sarcasm dripping from every word. “Too rowdy? Never.” 

Robin sticks her tongue out at him in response right as she’s being flagged down by a customer at the far end of the bar. She salutes the both of you, flouncing away to refill the man’s old-fashioned. 

To your right, there’s something akin to a hall of fame. A collage of pictures of different celebrities that have visited the very room you’re standing in. You wonder if Eddie is up there, but you don’t dare to go see for yourself.

“Can you play?” He asks, walking towards the pool table. 

You make a noncommittal noise. You had played your fair share of games of pool, sure, but never in a setting quite like this. Never with someone like Eddie. Setting your bag down on one of the empty tables that lined the perimeter of the room, you pull out your tape recorder.

“You mind?” You ask, holding up the device in Eddie’s direction. 

Eddie grimaces and shrugs off his leather jacket, draping it over a bar stool at the opposite end of the table. The motion draws attention to the plethora of ink that litters both of his arms.

“Do we have to?” His face scrunches up as he asks the question, a slight whine in his tone. 

You almost feel inclined to say no, if only just to see the wrinkle that has formed between his brows disappear. Another thing you’ve learned about Eddie Munson: he is very hard to say no to. That’s how you ended up in this bar in the first place. 

It would be easy to forgo the tape recorder and pretend that the two of you are just friends hanging out. But if there’s one thing that you know, it’s that the human memory is fallible. You can't risk the quality of your article for the sake of his comfort. 

“It’s what I’m here for.”

Eddie bristles at your response but says nothing. He takes a square of blue chalk and thoughtfully rubs it on the end of his pool cue. The sunglasses he took off are tugging down at his v-neck, exposing sharp collarbones and even more ink. 

“I have a proposition for you.” Eddie declares. 

You raise an eyebrow. 

“For every ball you sink, you get to ask me a question about my life. For every ball I sink, I get to ask you about yours.”

You let out an incredulous laugh, thinking that he can’t possibly be serious. But he just stands there, staring at you as he sets the blue piece of chalk down at the edge of the table. 

“Final offer. Take it or leave it.” He throws both palms up in the air, pool cue tucked into his side. 

For the second time today, you take Eddie’s words as a challenge.

“You’re on.” 

Eddie takes his time setting up the game. While he’s leaning over the side of the table gathering the scattered spheres, you can’t help yourself from admiring his silhouette. The back of his shirt rides up, revealing a strip of skin that you cannot tear your eyes away from. 

Oh my god.

Eddie Munson has a tramp stamp. 

A chaotic collection of branches and thorns surrounds a Latin phrase: lectori salutem. You rack your brain, trying to remember the one semester of elective Latin that you took back in freshman year of college when Eddie suddenly turns around. You quickly look up to meet his eyes, but the smirk on his face reveals everything. 

For the second time today, Eddie has caught you staring. 

“Ladies first.” He says, grandly gesturing toward the table. 

You break the rack. A blur of colors bursts forth in every direction. Despite your best efforts, none of the balls make it into a pocket. Looking back at Eddie, you see he’s still got that smirk on his face. He leans over and effortlessly knocks a ball into a pocket. Stripes. 

“Where did you go to school?”

“NYU.” You reply, having been asked this question so many times that the response is practically automatic at this point.

Eddie lets out a low whistle. “Out-of-state tuition must’ve cost a pretty penny.”

“I had a scholarship.”

“Wow. Pretty and smart. You’re kind of the whole package, aren’t you?” The teasing lilt in his voice doesn’t take away from the sincerity in his words. 

The compliment flusters you, which you’re sure is the whole point of Eddie’s making it. 

“Only one question, remember? It’s still your turn.” 

Eddie sees right through your attempt to deflect. Graciously, he doesn’t point it out. He just leans down once again and lines up a shot. Stripes Twelve. Right lower pocket. 

“Why do you hate New York?”

The sureness with which he asks the question throws you for a loop. Whatever you had expected to come out of Eddie’s mouth, it definitely wasn’t that. 

“What makes you think I hate New York?”

“Tsk tsk. I’m asking the questions here.” Eddie scolds, but his voice is devoid of any real ire. He plants his hands on the table, leaning towards you. You can just barely see the faint outline of a gravestone on his right forearm. “You don’t hate it, but you don’t love it either.”

In the five minutes that have passed since he started questioning you, Eddie has managed to see right through you. You’re starting to wonder if you’re actually that transparent or if he is just that good at reading people.

“I don’t know. My dad is from there. Whenever he talked about New York, it always seemed like some mythical place. He always said ‘Don’t live in New York so long it makes you hard. Don’t live in California so long it makes you soft.’ I guess I went to New York to prove to myself that I could, y’know. Prove that I could leave the nest and not fall flat on my face.”

Heat blooms in your chest during your ramblings. The pressure you feel is so much that you’re surprised steam hasn’t started coming out of your ears. Despite knowing exactly why you went to New York, you’ve never said the real reason out loud. It didn’t seem like it mattered to anyone but you. 

Eddie has a thoughtful look on his face. “3,000 miles is a long way to go to prove a point.”

You shrug. Eddie pauses for a moment, waiting for something. At the realization that you’re not going to say anything more, he leans over the table and shoots.

Stripes. Thirteen. Top right pocket.

“Did you?” Eddie posits, elaborating on the quirk of your brow. “Prove your point?”

You want to laugh. That’s the same question you’ve been asking yourself since you made the move back west. The prodigal daughter returned with nothing to show for it. 

“I proved that living in California my whole life made me soft.” You admit, gazing down at the table, the floor, your shoes, anywhere but his face. 

Eddie frowns in your periphery. He has a clear shot at the far end of the table. You wish he would take it already. 

“It’s not a bad thing, y’know.” Eddie’s fiddling with his pool cue, generously rubbing more blue chalk on the end. You don’t know much about pool, but you doubt that it’s necessary. It seems like he’s doing it more to prolong the inevitable. “Being soft.”

“Isn’t it?”

You’re almost sure that he’s joking. Actually–you’re sure that he’s making fun of you. He must be. The notion makes you angry. Oh, of course, the heavy metal rockstar is extolling the virtues of being soft! You look up, a snide remark already on the tip of your tongue. But when you finally meet his eyes, his gaze is intense. Contemplative, even. You take another sip of your beer and hope it washes away the lingering bitterness. 

Eddie Munson and his damn sincerity.

He looks as if he’s about to say something, but then decides against it. He leans over, lining up that clear shot that you had spotted earlier. His necklace hangs from his neck, the red guitar pick grazing green cloth. 

Stripes. Nine. Middle left pocket. 

“So,” Eddie starts, smiling satisfactorily to himself. “Do you actually have my face tattooed on your ass?”

If his earlier question about hating New York shocked you, then this one was like being struck by lightning. You gape at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. You should’ve known that this would come back to bite you.

“It’s just a question.” He defends. “I’m genuinely curious.”

“No, Eddie, I do not have your face tattooed on my ass.” 

“But you do have a shrine of me in your room.”

“I am this close to using this pool cue to poke both your eyes out.” You threaten, absolutely buzzing with mortification. 

“Fine! Fine, I’ll let it go.” He concedes, before saying the next few words under his breath. “For now.” 

Eddie is the opposite of a bad sport when he misses his next shot. He only clicks his tongue and gives a slight shake of his head. You’re relieved that you finally have the chance to get out from under his microscope. 

Solids. Four. Bottom left pocket.  

“What do you like most about living in LA?” You ask. You know that it’s cliché, that everyone who moves here is asked the same question. But you can’t help but want to hear everyone’s answers. Each person you meet paints a picture of your hometown with vibrant colors. It’s always refreshing to hear a new perspective. 

“The food, oh my god, the food!” He practically moans. “I swear whatever bullshit they were passing off as Mexican food back in Indiana should be investigated.” 

Eddie goes on a whole tangent about tortillas that could easily be used in a commercial advertising the food scene of southern California. All of the talk about tortillas reminds him of his favorite food truck, located in East Los Angeles. It’s parked right across the street from a record store. He discovered it while trying to visit every record store in the city. 

“And speaking of record stores… I mean, fuck, you can’t find half the obscure shit that you have here back in Indiana. There’s no point in shipping your shit out to the midwest if no one’s gonna buy it I’m guessing.”

“I never even thought of that.” You admit. Every time you walked into a music store, there was always a new shipment waiting for a band you had never heard of. “Growing up, my favorite thing was always to go to the record store. Even if I didn’t buy anything, I would just sit in one of the booths and listen to vinyl.”

You smile at the memory of the sun streaming through windows and chunky headphones too big for your adolescent head. The nostalgia clouds your mind so much that you fumble the next shot, accidentally knocking a striped ball into a pocket and giving Eddie the chance to ask you yet another question. 

“Do you regret going to NYU?”

“No.” You say, and you mean it. “I think it’s good to get out of your comfort zone. I think… I think it’s important to figure out what’s wrong for you. Maybe even more important than figuring out what’s right.”

Eddie hums in agreement and excuses himself to go to the bathroom. You take the opportunity to eject the tape from the recorder and put in a fresh one. Tucking the tape into your bag, you remember that you still have the mixtape Eddie made for you. You make a mental note to listen to it on the way home.

“Having fun?” Robin appears next to you, gathering a few bottles that hapless patrons have left behind. She lifts Eddie’s off the table and adds it to her collection. You hadn’t even noticed that he had finished it. 

“Eddie is absolutely kicking my ass at pool right now.”

She barks out a laugh. 

“I know the feeling. We used to play with each other all the time back in Hawkins. I think I only won once, and that was because he was high off his ass.” 

Your ears perk up at the mention of the small town in Indiana. You could tell from their interactions that they were close, but this was a whole other level. Does she know about 1986? 

“Maybe he’ll have mercy on me.” You muse, slightly wincing at the doubtful look Robin gives you.

“I have faith in you. Don’t let Edward get into your head.” She squeezes your shoulder as she leaves, the glass bottles clinking in her wake. 

So, you think to yourself, Eddie stands for Edward. It’s a regal-sounding name. A little too refined for the rockstar who’s rough around the edges.

When Eddie returns from the bathroom, he holds two more beers in his hand. You’re about to say that you still haven’t even finished your first one. That you think one is enough. You still have to drive back, after all. But he sets both of them down next to his leather jacket, making it clear that they’re both for him. He sniffles as he approaches, giving a small cough to clear his throat. His knuckles brush the tip of his nose until it glows an angry red, even in the dim lighting. He pulls up his pool cue right to the edge of the green-striped ball. He’s got a clear shot. 

He shoots.

He misses. 

You quietly breathe out a sigh of relief. Despite the fact that your job is to get into the nitty-gritty of people’s lives, you’ve never been on the receiving end. It’s unnerving. There’s a reason why you’re a writer. You like the control of rough drafts and rewrites and edits. It leaves less room for misinterpretation.  

Circling the table, you hope to find an easy shot. 

“You have to actually hit the balls with the stick for them to go anywhere,” Eddie says, taking a long sip from his second beer. “Just wanted to make sure that you knew that.”

You roll your eyes at his obvious attempt to psych you out. Leaning over the far end of the table, you balance the pool cue delicately between your fingers. When you finally make the shot you smile to yourself as not just one, but two of the balls go careening into pockets at opposite ends of the table.

“You know, I’ve half a mind to think you were hustling me, sweetheart.” Eddie takes a long sip from his second beer, the condensation dripping down his hand. 

“It’s not hustling if you just assumed I would be bad at it.” You’re so proud of yourself that you can’t help the smugness in your voice. “What’s your middle name?”

“Now you’re crossing the line.” He deadpans. “That’s just too far.” 

“Oh come on, Edward.” At the sound of his legal name, Eddie’s facade drops. The reaction encourages you to continue your teasing. “It can’t be that bad.”

“How do you know that’s what Eddie stands for?”

“I have my sources.”

“Your sources could be wrong. It could stand for Edison. Or Edmund. Or Edgar.”

“Something tells me my sources are correct.” Your eyes flick over to the freckled girl behind the counter. Eddie catches your glance and kisses his teeth, shaking his head in exasperation. 

“What if you’re secretly a fairy who’s trying to get me to say my full name so that I’m indebted to you for the rest of my life?”

“Fine. Don’t tell me your middle name.” You concede, trying to come up with a better question.  “How did you know that I was a writer? Back in your room–when I picked up the book–you called me a writer.” 

“Isn’t that like, your whole thing?” Eddie waves his hand flippantly. 

“Yeah. But there’s a difference between journalistic writing and fiction writing. How did you know that I do both?”

Eddie takes another drink from the beer in his hand, thumb grazing the label. 

“Maybe I’m ‘thorough in my research’ too.” He says, quoting your words back to you.

It’s a non-answer and both of you know it. You decide not to press the issue. Maybe Eddie isn’t such a good sport after all. You started winning and he stopped playing fair, dodging your questions left and right. For someone who is supposed to be getting interviewed, he isn’t doing a very good job. You settle on a topic you hope he’s willing to actually talk about. 

“Patsy Cline.”

“What about Patsy Cline?”

“She didn’t exactly fit in with all of the metal.”

“My Uncle Wayne loves Patsy Cline. He would always play her records whenever he was cooking or cleaning. I guess listening to it reminds me of home.”

“So do you actually like it? Or do you just find it comforting?”

“Is there a difference?” Eddie muses at you from behind the lip of his beer bottle, before taking a long swig. “Wayne actually gave me that vinyl as a parting gift. He said it’s for ‘when you want to listen to real music’. He was only joking. Kinda.”

Eddie visibly softens while recalling the man who raised him. His tense shoulders have drooped and his jaw unclenches. He speaks of the older man with an unmatched fondness. 

“Wayne sounds like a funny guy.” You smile, sidling up to Eddie. “What’s he like?”

“He’s the best. He took me in when I was just about this big.” He juts his palm out at his waist.  “I had big ears, a buzzcut, and a gigantic chip on my shoulder. I was so– I was so angry at the world. He was the first person who told me it was okay to feel that way. 

He was a trucker before I came along, but then he quit and started working at the plant so that he could be there for me. Everything I do, it’s all for him.”

The words make your heart clench. Sparing yourself the embarrassment of revealing just how much his words got to you, you take your next shot. With misty eyes, you see the flash of blue make its way across the table and into a pocket. You already know what you’re gonna ask him. 

“Say you get everything you want. You win Grammys. You sell out Madison Square Garden. What next?”

“Shit, I don’t know.” Eddie polishes off the third beer. “I’d probably start by buying Wayne a house, but that’s if he’ll even let me. He’s always saying that I’m the kid and he’s the adult. That he’s supposed to be taking care of me, not the other way around.”

He lets out a quiet burp, which he muffles with his fist. His pool cue has been long forgotten next to him. The configuration on the table before you tells you that you can win in just two more rounds. You’re not sure if you want to. You try anyway. 

Solids. Three. Middle right pocket. 

“Does your reputation actually matter to you?”

“That’s a loaded question.” Eddie leans backward. He’s a little unsteady on his feet, the effects of the alcohol seeming to finally kick in. “Off the record?”

“Off the record.” 

You make a show of grabbing the tape recorder and clicking the stop button. You slide it over the wooded lip of the table, proving to him that the device really isn’t recording anymore. 

“Of course, my reputation matters to me. Anyone who says they don’t care about their reputation is lying. Sure, you learn to brush it off. You learn to expect that everyone you meet is gonna have preconceived notions about you. Whatever. People have always had some shit to say about me, I say let ‘em talk.

But it never gets any easier realizing that everyone you meet thinks they know you just because of some shit they read in a magazine. It never gets easier knowing that nothing you do belongs to you anymore.”

Eddie’s words weigh on you. Whether or not he realizes it, you fall into both those categories. You had turned your nose up at the lousy headlines. You had thought he was just another reckless rockstar. Now, you’re tasked with writing him a new one, one that’ll make people like you see him in a better light. It's still the same. He still doesn’t get to control how this story ends. 

“Is that why you agreed to this interview?”

You know you’re essentially wasting a question. Whatever his answer will be won’t matter in the long run, because you won’t be able to use it. You want to know the answer anyway. 

Eddie looks down at the table and then back to you. You know that he could tell you that you used up your question. That if he was a little less drunk he would probably diffuse the tension by quipping back to you, only one question, remember? He doesn’t. He sees that you have the winning shot perfectly laid out for you. This time, he doesn’t prolong the inevitable.

“Yeah, it is.”

You make the shot. Just like that, the game is over. Your victory feels hollow. 

A blue-striped ball sits lonely on the table. A question left unasked. An answer left unheard. 

Eddie puts his leather jacket back on and brings the empty beer bottles back to Robin. You pick up the tape recorder. It feels like dead weight in your hands.

You meet Eddie at the counter, where he’s happily chatting with an amused Robin, all previous tension regarding your last question seemingly forgotten. You bid your goodbyes. The two of you shuffle awkwardly together towards the entrance before Eddie gets distracted by something.

“Oh my god, I love these!” Eddie regards the gumball machine full of small, shitty prizes with a childlike wonder. 

He grabs his wallet from the pocket of his jacket, dutifully pulling out two quarters. He shoves them both into the coin slots and cranks the handle. The machine spits out a plastic capsule with a bright green lid. He takes the prize and thrusts it into your hands. 

“For you.”

You’re confused by the sentimental gesture but decide not to question it. Shaking the contents out into your hand, the prize reveals itself to be an 8 ball keychain. 

“Hey! We match!” Eddie pulls out the motorcycle keys from his pocket, and sure enough there’s an 8 ball hanging from the key ring that’s identical to the one you’re holding in your hand. 

“Yeah.” You smile to yourself, twirling the small sphere between your fingers. “We do.”

The drive back to the house in West Hollywood is quiet this time. You elected to switch from the cassette to the radio as soon as you got in. The sounds of classic rock drift between the two of you. Eddie spends the entire drive looking out the window, proving himself to be a quiet and contemplative drunk rather than an obnoxious and outspoken drunk. 

Pulling up to the curb, you feel slightly awkward. You’ve never been good at goodbyes. 

“You doing anything tomorrow?” Eddie’s head flops in your direction, his body language giving away the depth of his inebriation. 

“Um.” You hesitate for a moment, unsure of what he might be planning. “It depends. What time?”

“Around noon? We have a recording session tomorrow and I just thought maybe you’d like to hear some of the stuff we’ve been working on. Plus you’d get to meet the other guys. It would be good, right? For your article.”

He says the last sentence as if it’s an afterthought. 

“For the article.” 

“It’s at the recording studio near Sunset? Big red sign, can’t miss it.” He’s using his hands again as he talks. The silver rings glint under the yellow of the street lamps. “Can I have your number, though? Just in case it gets canceled or something. I don’t want you to show up and think I’m sending you on a wild goose chase.”

“Sure.” You rattle off the number for him. Eddie continues looking at you, glassy-eyed and rosy-cheeked. “Are you sure you don’t want me to write it down for you?”

“I have a good memory.” He grins toothily, tapping his temple with his index finger. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”  

With that, he tumbles out of the car and stumbles to the front door. You watch his retreating figure with the realization that you’ve barely scratched the surface of who Eddie Munson is.

You remember to swap cassettes before pulling away. As you begin mentally writing the beginnings of his article in your head, the mixtape plays softly in the background. 

Living in a world of make believe 

I can hide behind what's real

But wearing your emotions on your sleeve

And they all know what you feel

taglist: @twisted-wonderland-of-wren@cloudroomblog@amira0303@forrestfae6@aysheashea@vintagehellfire@poisonedluv @kimmi-kat@mmunson86

if your username is crossed out it means tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you 💔

[alieinthemorning]

In Sickness and In Sickness [Eraser Head | Aizawa Shouta]

Content: Fluff, Sick Fic, Sick Character, Established Relationship

Pronouns: None

Header: @/oliries

Reblogs: Let me know that you enjoy my work and want to see more, so don’t forget to like and reblog (and comment in the tags. I love seeing people’s rambles in the tags)!

This work’s concepts, plot and original characters are my own which means I do not allow any sort of creative theft nor do I allow my work to be entered into any sort of A.I. bots. Thank you for respecting my space and boundaries.

Of course, he would get sick. As if being exhausted fucking constantly wasn’t enough. He just had to overwork to this point. Your stupid fucking wet cat of a husband, doing stupid wet cat of a husband things like being outside while it’s fucking raining and thinking he’ll wake up fine the next day, and on top of that—wait, what were you doing again?

You heard a string of coughs from the bedroom.

Oh, yeah. You were making Lemon Tonic.

For the both of you because he got you both sick.

You coughed into your elbow and looked into the fridge, grabbing a lemon and a bottle of liquor. You placed it on the counter and grabbed a pot from the cabinet. You sniffled as you filled it with water and sat it on the stove. You sliced up half of the lemon (almost cut yourself), put it in the pot and turned on the eye. You opened the bottle and poured a reasonable amount of liquor in there and put it back in the fridge. You left it to boil and went into the bedroom to check on your sick cat-like husband.

You poked your head in, “How you feelin’?”

“Like shit.” He mumbled. You made your way to the bed and flopped down on it.

“Same,” You grabbed a tissue and blew the shit out of your nose, “I wonder who’s fault that is?” You elbowed him in the side. He grunted and shoved your arm away. You started to laugh, but it agitated your lungs, and you ended up in a coughing fit.

After catching a gleam of that bright light, you checked the nightstand for any painkillers and sighed when finding they weren’t there. You begrudgingly got back up and went to get it from the bathroom. You grabbed another box of tissues as well, since Shouta was making a snot rag mountain of his own. You sat it on the nightstand and went back into the kitchen, turned off the eye, then grabbed two water bottles. Quickly dropping them off in the bedroom, you returned to the kitchen and grabbed two mugs, then filled them with the Cold Killing Lemon Tonic.

“Alright,” You sat in the bed and handed him his mug, “Try to drink this quickly.” You took a sip and burnt your tongue, but mama didn’t raise no bitch, so you kept going.

Shouta stared at you for a long time before finally drinking the Lemon Tonic like a shot.

“Okay show off,” You grab the painkillers and water, “you’ll be needing this.” You swallow yours without water like a damn boss, but still drank a bit after to make sure the pills went down.

Shouta again only stared as he did the same sans the after the fact water.

You glared at him a little.

“Now what?” He put the water bottle against his face, “didn’t you say this was sort of a miracle drink?”

“I didn’t say miracle drink,” you got underneath the covers and tucked him in as well, “I said Exorcising Drink.”

Shouta blinked, “What?”

“This drink will literally exorcise the sickness out of you.”

“…”

You gave him a Cheshire grin. “By sweating.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Nope! Now shut up and sweat!” You tucked the covers under your chin even snugglier, “Don’t worry. The sickness will come at you full force, so it’ll probably knock you out pretty quickly.”

He was quiet for a moment, “Remind me to never eat anything from your family again.”

“Yeah sure, no more peach cobbler for you then.”

“I take it back.”

“That’s what I thought. Now, shut up and sweat!”

“I told ya it would work,” You danced around Shouta in the kitchen. “But…”

It was the next day and the both of you were back to full health. Shouta didn’t seem all too pleased about it, though.

“So, why do you look like you’re pissed?”

He groaned, “I have to go back to work,” He shuttered, “back to night patrol.”

You laughed, “Who said we were going back to our jobs,” You nudged him, “we can play out this sickness a little longer.”

He grabbed you by the waist and gave you that maniacal smile that you loved, “I’d like that.” You grabbed him by the cheeks and gave him a quick peck.

“Great! You can take me on a date!”

He gave you a blank stare.

“…or chill at home and call that a date?”

He, like the gentlemen that he was, escorted you to the couch to put on something to watch while he grabbed the snacks.

“Next time we’re going out to eat though!”

Lemon tonic is the truth.

Ko-Fi | Commission | Masterlist

[lovejosephquinn]

Happy birthday to my beautiful best friend @eddiemunson-mylove. I can’t believe our hyper-fixation and meeting on this app has allowed us to blossom such an amazing friendship. I’m afraid to tell you that you’re never going to be rid of me now. Love you my autistic princess 🤍

In the words of Taylor “I don’t know about you but I’m feeling 22” (I can say that now you’re not in close enough proximity to punch me) 🥰

This is for you, not that I haven’t spoilt you enough today 🙃

Joe peered his head around the wooden door frame, his nose leaning against the ledge as his eyes shot their way over to your unconscious body, still comfortable, still tucked up in the quilt he’d left you in. Tiptoeing out to set your special day right. Using his foot to push the door open further just enough for him to get through and taking a few hefty strides towards you, the rattling of the tray carrying your breakfast in bed.

It wasn’t your average English Breakfast, he’d got up extra early to make a batch of muffins especially for you, tiny little burn marks adorned his thumb where he’d rushed to grab the tray out of the oven, not taking into account the thinness of the towel he’d scampered to collect on his way in fear that they’d be burnt. Two plates with a single muffin on, one for him and one for you. Yours with a single candle a top of it, a glass of orange juice and a cup of tea filled the rest of the space, purely because he couldn’t decide which one you would want more so he made the rash decision and got you both.

He stood proud before you, clearing his throat once. You didn’t even stir. Again, a little louder this time and you peaked one eye open, a gentle smile falling upon your lips when the blur of your vision had regained full sight. You sat up as he placed the tray on the table beside you, you edged your legs to make room for him to sit next to you. Joe leaned forward, his hand gently caressing your face making you fall into the touch so you could make it last a little longer.

“Happy birthday my darling.” He whispered lowly, close enough to feel his breath hit your lips as his face met just inches from yours. You made a short giggle as his mouth found yours, giving you a gentle yet swift kiss, subtle but more than enough to make you melt. Your eyes opened and sparkled as beautifully as his, he had that effect on you.

“Thank you.” You spoke as quietly as he had.

Joe reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter, taking hold of the plate with your muffin on. He gave you a look from hooded eyelids as he focused back on setting the candle alight.

“Make a wish.”

Passing the plate over to you, you watched the flame grow before blowing out the candle, pretending to ponder your thoughts of what to wish for; you already knew.

Looking back toward him, eye contact with the bush baby eyes that were secretly hoping your wish would involve him, of course it would, he didn’t have to worry about that. You quickly realised that your wish had already come true. “I don’t need to.” You pulled out the candle placing it next onto the tray.

Joe looked ever so slightly confused to your admission, tilting his head a little to the side to silently ask why. You took a bite out of the sweet food, eyes almost rolling to the back of your head from the homemade taste that was unleashed onto your taste buds. You placed the muffin back on the tray before laying back, your head hitting the pillow which still had the outline of where you had been laid before.

“I already have exactly what I want right here.” You stared up to the ceiling knowing that was exactly what your boyfriend would want to hear, the best part was that you meant it.

Joe clambered his way over your body and hovered above you, one elbow propping himself up so that your faces met closely once more. He couldn’t contain the smile that took over him, grinning like a Cheshire Cat almost. His silver chain dangled above you, tickling your nose, the scent of it engrossed with him and almost a little bit of the fresh smell of baking; perfect.

Your lips met a second time, his free hand ran through your hair that lay openly on the pillow as your mouths moved as one. The warm, heart filled feeling made it’s way through your body. Your own hand pushed against the back of his head, clutching onto the loose curls to deepen the kiss. The slight sound of little whimpers that escaped his throat and into your mouth appeared, the most beautiful and erotic melody you had ever heard.

What felt like seconds had turned into minutes and as he pulled back you had never quite felt this special to anyone in any other moment and that’s the way he always made you feel; which is why your wish came true everyday with Joe.

“I love you.” The words reeled from his voice back so easily, every chance he got to say it, it always felt so truthful, it felt even more special today.

“I love you too.” You repeated back.

“My wish came true too.” Joe snorted a laugh through his nose which caused you to raise an eyebrow.

“But it’s not your birthday Joseph.” You half smiled, a little bedazzled yourself now just as he had been.

“I know, I might of lit a candle for myself, it worked for me anyway.” You pictured it clearly. Your silly boyfriend stood in the middle of the kitchen lighting a candle between his fingers and closing his eyes to gain the full effect of making his one and only wish to the flamed object.

“What did you wish for then? You can tell me if it came true.”

He laughed again, ready to say it exactly how it is.

“That I wouldn’t fuck up your muffins.”

[racfoam]

Damn it all, I'm writing some nynn 6th Year

SPOILERS

Harry entered Ron’s room and froze at the sight before her. Ron and Hermione were lying on the bed; Ron was wearing an orange shirt, his arms wrapped around Hermione’s stomach, his face buried in Hermione’s side, eyes closed in relaxation. He was asleep. Hermione was reading Ancient Runes, not at all bothered by her soulmate hugging her and cuddling up to her like an affectionate cat. The actual cat, Crookshanks, was curled up in an orange ball on Hermione’s left shoulder, spread across Hermione’s chest.

Harry was hit by warmth at the sight of her two best friends, but suddenly, she felt very empty inside, and her smile slipped from her face. Hermione didn’t notice Harry, reading the Advanced Ancient Runes book. By the time Hermione glanced up, Harry was gone, leaving them alone. It felt like she was intruding on a private, peaceful moment between soulmates.

As she climbed down the stairs back to Ginny’s room, she couldn't help but think, I wish Voldemort hugged me like that.

The void in her chest only spread, something painful tightening, like chords of a broken string of a guitar. Angry now, with herself — for thinking it, for wishing it, for wanting it — Harry slammed the doors of Ginny’s room shut with a thunderous bang. Nobody heard it, and nobody was in the room. Most of the family was outside, with Sirius, Lupin and Tonks, playing Quidditch.

Harry paced the room. Yeah, like Lord Voldemort would ever want to cuddle in bed.

“Trouble in paradise?”

Harry jumped six feet, shrieking. She whirled around, toward her bed, and found her jaw dropping to the floor.

Lord Voldemort laid on Harry’s bed, his head resting on Harry’s pillow, his long legs curled in to fit on the too short mattress. His red eyes glowed, and his serpentine face split into a grin.

Harry exhaled.

“You again,” she muttered, ignoring the little sigh of relief her chest gave. The void started filling up the longer she looked at him, and the ache in her chest started fading. “You’re in my bed.”

Voldemort’s grin broadened, and Harry regretted saying that at once.

“Why don't you join me, Har-ry?” he purred, tongue sinfully forming the syllables.

Harry stared at him. Could he have picked up on it? It wasn't the first time Voldemort felt Harry’s loneliness.

Smiling, a grin of a cheshire cat, Voldemort patted the space on Harry's bed beside him invitingly.

Harry sighed. Voldemort waited patiently for Harry to approach, didn't move to touch her even as she sat on the bed, even as she laid down on it, laying next to him. She still reached barely above his shoulders. It reminded Harry of how she had to stand on the tips of her toes to kiss him in the Atrium. At the memory, Harry's face turned beetroot. However, she didn’t look away from those red eyes, and the red eyes didn’t look away from her.

They never did.

Voldemort smiled again, like he knew what Harry was thinking about.

Was it Harry, or was her heart beating so loudly it could be drums on a concert?

“Harry,” he said gently. “Do what you thought about. What brought me here.”

Harry swallowed. She glanced to his eyes, searching for some alternate scheme. All she found were big, round, dilated black orbs swallowing the red of his irises, leaving only thin rings.

Inhaling, Harry decided to do it. Before she could hesitate, before she could lose her nerve, before her bravery failed her, Harry wrapped her arms around Voldemort’s torso, pressed herself flush to him, her knees touching the side of his thigh, her arms squeezing gently, and buried her face into the side of his chest and clenched her eyes shut.

Voldemort's chest vibrated with a pleasant hum that resonated throughout Harry's body. A skeletal arm settled on the top of her back, wrapping around her.

Harry's muscles relaxed, the tense skin of her closed eyelids loosening, and she exhaled a breath, cuddled closer to Voldemort's side, tucking herself under his arm, squeezing him to her, making sure he was real.

It was cosy, peaceful and warm. The void in her chest was filled, and the ache was completely gone. Now, there was only the sense of safety in the skeletal arms. Of being home. Happiness spread across her chest, and her heart was filled, beating in sync with his.

Harry smiled against the cloth of Voldemort's robe, content.

They stayed like that for a long time.

[bookishjules]

thought dump for the midnight heir?? I feel like we’ve both been swept into a resurgence. I’ve got my own opinions but you seem to see a lot of the symbolism etc which I do love! But talk about anything, I’m just hungry for perspectives!

(idk how many original thoughts i have for you, so i'm just gonna go off and hope something lands lol)

one thing that's always been really intriguing to me is how the pure love that persists between tessa, will, and jem, can sour and become something sick from james' perception, that he would use his resentment of that love and as a measure for the damning pain he's in and thus an impetus to be intentionally careless with his life. while on the other hand, we have jesse who, according to tatiana, held onto life for his own mother, a mother who may have loved him but who would have taught only hatred and vengeance, of the wrongs that the world committed toward their family. it's almost like james' heart was pumped so full of love that it burst and splayed open only for grace to step into it and sew it back up around herself, a blade making the heart bleed from the inside. and jesse's heart was filled with a poison, toxic kind of love that eroded the organ, making the walls frail, but forcing a level of strength and dexterity into his blood, and thereby into grace as well, whom he welcomed to live inside his heart and draw from his yearning as well.

it's the way they all intertwine. the way the two boys parallel eachother, like james is the one who came through the looking glass and jesse is the one caught behind it. james shot down the chandelier and there was glass on the floor of blackthorn hall when magnus entered it. james with his cheshire cat grin and jesse's deathly portrait. james leaping back and forth into existence while jesse stands delicately on the line.

speaking of that leaping.. tmh james uses his shadows with such flippancy and control, like they're as much a part of him as his corporeal form. "we are dust and shadows," he reminds magnus. and i think it's so interesting, like in a biblical sense, dust is as much life as it is death ("from dust you were made and to dust you shall return"), and shadows move as one with the one they're tied to, but they are not really alive. so james is a shadow but one with its own mind and will, like peter pan's shadow. he doesn't bow to the essence and laws of life and dust. but then where is the dust? again, speaking to the parallels.. i think it could be jesse. he is not really dead, but not really alive, either, he exists as merely the imprint of the boy he once was was on the earth, with as much potential to be blown away by the wind as he has to be filled in with dust mixed with water and blood like cement making him whole again.

i mentioned peter pan's shadow, and that made me think that maybe jesse, in that case, would be peter himself, caught up in neverland, never growing up, unable to leave without dust that's given life in the form of pixie dust.

it's so interesting to think of how these two would eventually meet in the canon of tmh, because i do think tatiana would still find a way to kill five shadowhunters to bring him back to life. and if they return to idris, and if james fulfills his goal of being sent back to idris by being a rapscallion and harming mundanes instead of protecting them, they're bound to wind up in the same space together. it would be interesting if, in james' infatuation with grace, he takes up a shield behind her while she acts as her mother's blade, if he learns of the plans to raise jesse, and because of his fucked up sense of love and loyalty and the potential of a spell put on him by grace, he aids her in someway. james' wild ferocity tied down at jesse's feet by grace. peter and his shadow.

[historical-fangirl]

Coming in to Land (Annie Park, Masters of the Air OC)

England

Spring 1945

Days tended to be uneventful now that the end of the war was imminent. A far cry from how the busiest days of ’43 and ’44 had gone, with a seemingly never-ending stream of airplanes taking off every morning, Annie watched as Major Cleven’s plane took off on its milk run followed by several others in a neat line, leaving the runway quiet and empty in their wake.

Lord, guard and guide the men who fly through the great spaces of the sky. The brass believed the Germans should (hopefully) honor the proposed truce, if they had any decency left in them at all, but after reading the newspapers recently Annie privately thought that decency was a virtue that German high command was not at all blessed with. She didn’t trust them.

Not that anyone was asking her what she thought, of course.

Letting out an almost inaudible sigh, Annie reached absentmindedly for the pad of paper and pencil on the desk next to her. She found herself sketching more and more these days, mostly to fill the endless, monotonous hours in the control tower. Never quite sure of what she was going to draw until she had finished it, Annie found herself rapidly outlining a B-17 mid-flight. She sketched for a few minutes before she became conscious of someone walking up behind her, who she assumed was one of her fellow control tower operators.

“One second,” she said without looking at them. “I’m almost finished.”

“Nice drawing,” the someone said directly over her shoulder, and Annie instinctively swatted at the man’s arm.

“Seriously, Major Egan, I’ve told you before not to crowd me like that. And what is it with you and your flyboys and sneaking around anyway? You’d think you were all spies with the way-” Annie cut herself off as she realized what she was saying, and more importantly who she was saying it to. Whirling around in her chair she was greeted with the face of John “Bucky” Egan, sporting a Cheshire-cat grin. He looked a bit older, a lot skinnier, and there were bags under his eyes, but he was alive and he was here and he was smiling.

“Oh my- Egan!” Annie jumped up and threw her arms around him in a hug which he returned with a soft laugh.

“If I’d known getting taken prisoner was all it took to make you this happy, I would’ve done it back when we first met.”

“You’re an idiot.” Suddenly conscious of where they were (and that they weren’t alone, although none of the other operators seemed to mind given their barely concealed smiles) Annie let Bucky go and took a small step back. “Um, if you’re looking for Major Cleven and the others they just left. Milk run, though, so they should be back soon.”

“Yeah, they told me when I got here. I came to the control tower to see you.” That same grin was back. “And to ask a favor.”

[elioherondale]

Double Red Week 2023 - Day 1: "Dick is gonna kill me." "You? What do you think he will do to me?"

@doubleredweek

The snow blow loudly on the Russian mountain side, the creak of steel and iron of the overhanging ski lift haunting their every move. Jason shudders, he's merely a teenage boy, not even old enough to have a girlfriend yet. He wraps his yellow cape around him for warmth. The tensions are high: Hank is lost in his anger due to his brother's death, Wally's self-esteem is running low from taking over his uncle's mantle, Victor remains in a critical condition. And then there's Garth, emotionless as ever. He's a deathly calm, like crashing waves before a tsunami. His piercing purple eyes hide a distraught man whose life has been filled with betrayal and blood. And now they've got to handle all of this whilst the threat of Cheshire hangs in the air. "I've gotta get inside-- It's freezing out here, the wind's killing me," the little Boy Wonder says.

Roy notices the boy all alone, shivering in the high-up altitude.

"Hey, I'll join you inside the cable-car tunnel." He put on a firm hand on Roy's shoulder to comfort him, it was only a mere 7 years that he's been in a similar state of mind as him. He shut the door behind him as the other Teen Titans talked with Faraday.

"Heh, you know, my costume wasn't made for this kind of weather, either. Penny for your thoughts, Jay?"

Jason, still shivering, stumbled a reply through his chattering teeth.

"Umm...nothing much..."

He sat down onto the wooden seat, gathering up his thoughts. Roy spaces out, the gears in his mind turning until he suddenly realizes.

"Oh man, Dick is gonna kill me," he whispers out of his breath. The little boy chirps up, silent but still attentive.

"You? What do you think he will do to me?"

Roy furrows his brows at Jason's statement.

"I was saying it in jest but what do you mean by that?" Roy sits down next to him, towering over the boy in his adult physique. He lays down his bow next to him.

"Well, I'm still young on my hero journey, I still make mistakes. So when Donna called the Batcave asking for me, I was thrilled, I never expected I'd ever join you guys. Especially since Dick is going through his heartbreak, I thought that joining would prove to Dick I was mature and maybe talk to me," He sighs, a visible cloud of vapour escaping his mouth, "Now I think I was only asked to join for nostalgia. I can't do this, I'm not a leader like Dick was and who Donna want me to be."

"Then don't try to be one."

Jason looks up at him with a confused expression.

"Do you think that I got to be such a good leader, both in the Teen Titans and as a spy because I forced myself into it? No, of course not. Even back when during the early days of the Teen Titans, there were times where I was a leader and there were times when I wasn't. And that's because I learned to work as a team, and when the time came for me to be a leader, I didn't have to try as hard for it because I'd already learned the skill."

"You're still just a kid, Jay. You have your whole life to go through. I know it may seem lonely now but you'll eventually come onto your own, don't worry about it."

"Are you sure, Mr Harper?"

"Yes, I am," He stood up and quickly grabbed his bow, "Now we need to leave quickly, something is wrong..."

END

[abbatoirablaze]

Hidden Sisters, Chapter 21

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, angst, threats, mentions of death/murder, knife violence/stabbing, manipulation.

“ALL HAIL KING LANCE AND QUEEN ANNALISE!”

The crowd that had wanted to be witness to Lance and Annalise’s wedding cheered.  Lance looked to his bride, his heart swelling as a blush rose on her cheeks.  Their kingdom had loved her, and because of how she made him a better man, they loved him. 

He reached out to her, slipping a hand around her waist.  She turned to him, bright eyed and happily in love, a rumble rising from her chest, “husband.”

Lance smiled even more, “Wife…mate…alpha…”

Her rumbles got louder and his smile turned into a full Cheshire catted grin.

“I love you, so much, Lance…”

“I love you too, Annalise.”

“I love you Lance!” she moaned.  Lance thrusted slowly into her once more, burying his cock all the way to the hilt in his wife’s dripping core.  His eyes closed softly as he felt every moment, truly immersing himself in it.

“Annalise.”

Her core fluttered around him.  She reached out, pulling his face to hers once more so she could taste his lips again.  The couple’s lips melded together, working in tandem.  Tongues fought for dominance, teasing the other. 

The moment was almost too intense for them both. 

They’d been riding their highs as they continued to build; teasing the impending orgasms, edging one another for over an hour.

Lance could feel the fluttering of his wife’s core, and he stopped his sinfully slow thrusts, stilling inside of her.  His kisses faltered, breaking away from her own lips as the warm air filled the space between them.  Her eyes fluttered open, her lashes betraying the look of faux confidence she’d been giving him earlier. 

She was a lust-wild wolf.  A whimper escaped from her lips.  The alpha was driven to the brink of her lust, and she wanted a release.  She wanted to feel him filling her, spilling his seed inside of her waiting womb. 

“Lance…please my love!” she whimpered, stroking his cheek.  He smiled, nuzzling his nose against her own.  Her lips parted and a shiver ran down her spine as she inhaled his scent.  She turned her head to the side, and Lance noticed her mating gland was swollen, “please…take me…”

Lance felt his cock twitch.  She shivered again, arching her hips up so that he slid a little bit further into her.  Her nails grew longer until they were scratching hard enough into his shoulders to leave angry red marks. 

He could see her canines protruding and he knew she was fighting off not only her orgasm, but a shift. 

“We can’t go back if you regret this…”

“I only want you, my love!” she whimpered, rolling her hips to beg her husband for what she wanted, “please, Lance…”

“I love you, Annalise!” he proclaimed as he leaned down and bit into the flesh of her neck, marking her and opening up the mating bond.

“It was horrible, Jake…I-“

“Hey-hey, it’s okay!” Jake sighed.  He held his younger sister while she sobbed against his chest, “it’s nothing you did.  It-“

“He really did that?” Ransom asked quietly, looking at Lance. 

The nymph king nodded, looking at his wife and brother-in-law, “yeah…they couldn’t break through the charms you put on the kingdom.  So it was just…there.”

“YOU PUT THE HEADS OF NYMPHS ON SPIKES AND PUT THEM IN FRONT OF THE WATER KINGDOM!”

Samantha’s jaw tensed and she glared at her brother.  Jefferson looked away from the couple, embarrassed over his orders. 

“They weren’t welcome…and they knew it.”

“THERE WERE CHILDREN, SAMANTHA!”

“AND WHAT ABOUT MY FUTURE CHILDREN, HUH?” She yelled in his face, standing up against her older brother, “WHO WILL PROTECT THEM IF THERE’S SOMEONE HIDING AMONGST MY HUSBAND’S SUBJECTS?  WE CLOSED THE GATES TO THE KINGDOM FOR A REASON.  THEY TRIED TO GET OVER THE BORDERS!”

“YOU HAD THEM MURDERED!”

“Jake…”

Jake looked to Ransom, who was holding onto his arm.  He had barely realized that he had stood and was in his sister’s face.  Her nostrils flared, “listen to your husband…and back off, Jake.”

Jake continued to glare at his sister for a moment.  He was trying to read her, to read the situation, but nothing was happening.  He couldn’t figure out how she had managed to change in such a short amount of time. 

“Jake…please,” Ransom tried again, tugging on his husband’s arm.  Jake looked back to his husband who was warily eyeing Jefferson.  His attention focused on the wood nymph king.  He looked nothing like he had just a few months ago.  The joyous, but fair king looked tired and worn down.  Almost like he belonged in a madhouse, not a castle, “please sit down, mate…”

“This isn’t you…” Jake said softly, staring down Jefferson as he sat back in his chair, “I know this isn’t you.”

“You don’t know me, Jake,” she spat, pulling her brother’s attention back to herself.  Jake watched as she cradled her stomach, the bump now visible, “I’m going to be a mother soon…and this war is going to get bloody…I need to know that my future-our legacy is protected.”

“So you’re just going to go around murdering people who knock on your door, looking for help?” he asked, directing the question to Jefferson.

He swallowed nervously, and Samantha took his hand.  He looked up at her hopefully and she spoke firmly to Jake, “I will do whatever it takes, Jake…maybe you and your husband should go home to the safety of your kingdom…the woods are dangerous nowadays…haven’t you heard?”

“I’m not leaving without you, little flame.”

She stared at him, her heart racing.  She was still trying to process how Lloyd had not only managed to get into the mountain, but had ended up in the nursery.

“Y-you shouldn’t be here….”

“I don’t care!” he said quickly, rushing up to her.  She took a step back and towards the bassinets, placing herself in front of them, her first thought was that he was trying to take Nick and Jennifer’s son.  He frowned, “I-I’m not here for the hatchlings…I’m here for you, little flame!”

“Stop calling me that!”

His frown lines set a little harder as his sadness turned into confusion, “why?  Why can’t I call you that?  That’s what you are!  You’re my little flame…and I’m your storm cloud….”

“What about Suzanne, huh?”

“Suzanne’s gone!” he growled, feeling angry that he had to defend why he was coming for her, “after Lance let the nymphs do what they wanted, she decided to go be with her true mate…a woodland nymph.  And I want to be with you.”

“L-Lloyd…we don’t work…”

He closed the space between them, his hand reaching out to grab hers and place it over his chest, “you tell me this doesn’t work.  Tell me you don’t feel how hard you make my heart beat.  How fast it goes when you’re around.  Tell me that you don’t feel the same now that I’m here.”

“I-I can’t leave, Lloyd…this is my home…”

“Make a home with me…like we always talked about when we first got together,” he begged, “let me show you how much the world can offer us, little flame.  We can run and-“

“Why can’t you stay here then?” she asked quickly, cutting him off. 

“Because he’s supposed to kill Lance!”

The pair turned towards the voice, immediately breaking away from one another.

Nick was staring angrily at them. 

“King Nick.”

Nick chuckled at the woman’s obedience and loyalty to him, “you don’t need to bow…you are a loyal subject.  You are the midwife to my sons…but he is not welcome in the mountain until he brings me Lance’s head and the dagger he used to sweep it from his body.”

“I’m not going to do that, Nick…”

Nick smiled, “did you forget our little conversation, Hansen?”

“Little flame…I-I need you to trust me!  We need to leave…now.”

“I-I’ve never left the mountain to live somewhere else, Lloyd…everything I have is here.  Ev-“

“We can have a new life!” he said quickly, trying to convince her, “please!”

“She’s not going anywhere with you, Lloyd…”

“Yes she is.  She-“

But Lloyd’s words died in his throat when Nick pulled her towards his chest and produced a dagger which he held at her throat, “it’s very unwise to show up back here without what you promised me.  Very unwise, Lloyd…”

“Please,” Lloyd begged, his eyes already going teary at the thought of losing her, “Nick…you don’t have to do this.  Lance doesn’t want your son.  He doesn’t want a war to happen.  It’s already bad enough with Jefferson trying to attack the water kingdom, bu-“

“The war is here, Lloyd…and we all have parts to play,” he warned “you need to play your part to get your happy ending.”

“My king…” she whimpered, suddenly putting everything together in her head, “please…I do not wish to go with him…I-“

“Shut up!” he growled, pressing the knife a little against more against her throat.  Lloyd wanted to take a step towards her, but he knew if he did, Nick might slit it, “do you still have the dagger?”

“Yes!” Lloyd answered.  He pulled the dagger from his clothes and held it out.  Nick eyed the bed, and Lloyd tossed it gently onto the bed, “I-I want no part in this…just let-“

“If you won’t do it…then I will!” Nick proclaimed.  He drew his hand away with such speed that no one knew what was happening.  Lloyd stood stock still staring at the love of his life.  Her lips parted and Lloyd took a step forward. 

A thin sliver of red dripped from her throat.  She looked at Lloyd and dropped to her knees.  Blood began to pool out of the wound, and that’s when reality struck him in the face. 

He rushed her, dropping to his knees, “no.  NO!  Little flame!”

The blood stained her clothes, covered his hands as he tried to put enough pressure over her throat to stop the bleeding, but it was to no avail. 

Lloyd screamed as his love began to die in his arms.  Nick stood in his corner of the room, watching it unfold.

The door creaked open and Jennifer took in the sight of Nick with a bloodied knife, and her midwife bleeding out on the floor of the bedroom; Lloyd crying, begging for some miracle to happen so that she didn’t die. 

But her tanned skin was already paling.  Her lips already going blue as the light inside of her eyes went out.  Jennifer felt a sense of dread coming over her as she looked at her husband, “Nick…what have you done?”

Tag List:  @lohnes16, @dontbescaredtosingalong, @teambarnes72

[skepticalkoi-catastrophe]

TᕼOᔕE ᗯᕼO ᕼOᗯᒪ

ᕼYᑌᑎᒍIᑎ ᙭ ᗷᒪᗩᑕK!ᖴEᗰ Oᑕ

✑ 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙵𝚊𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝙱𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚋𝚢 @parkhabits , 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 2011 𝙼𝚃𝚅 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚃𝚎𝚎𝚗 ����𝚘𝚕𝚏. 𝚁𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚜, 𝙻𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚜, 𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚂𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍. 𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢 ~♡

[6] IᖇᖇEᐯEᖇᔕIᗷᒪE

Yesterday's conversation left a bad taste in my mouth. Hyunjin's hard-headed, sure, but not stupid. Not stupid enough, he'd go to the Bexfail Woods by himself. In truth, I'm probably overreacting, but he didn't respond to my good night text. The least he could've done was send me a voice note. I arrived at his doorstep his mother had already taken off to work, and her car was missing from the driveway. With my spear key, I unlock the front door, shutting it behind me.

Unlacing my shoes, I place mine adjacent to his muddied ones. Standing corrected, I curse under my breath, whispering his name up the stairway knocking on his bedroom door. "Hyunjin? Jinnie?"

It creeks open. Inside, his quiet snores left his parted lips. His back faced my direction as I walked closer. Sitting on the edge of his bed, I reach for his shoulder, shaking him gently.

"Not again, c'mon...." I huff, shaking his shoulder a bit harder. Still no response.

I lift my legs over either side of him, jumping up and down. He slightly groans beneath me, shifting his body.

"Jinnie wake your ass up!"

He finally sits up, hooking his hands behind my knees and snatching me forward. I'm pulled close as his tousled bedhead, and puffy eyes squint back at me while I straddle his lap.

He flips me on my back with ease hovering over me as he smirks like the Cheshire Cat. "G'morning to you too, Ankle Biter."

Bypassing the school entrance, the halls were stark. Not a single student was in sight. All Hyunjin and I were worried about was school security. Navigating the hallways, we dodged two out of the four main security guards. But once we rounded a corner past the gym we got cut off in both directions. The last two security guards were closing in on us fast.

Hyunjin whips his head around for a place to hide. "Fuck, they're getting closer."

I gesture to the sports closet on the far end across from the gym. "In here!"

I shove him inside as the door clicked closed. Boxes of supplies and equipment crammed what little space we had. Dim light slips through the small window above the back wall.

"I.N. knows we're here." I message to reply. "It won't be long before he comes and get us."

Hyunjin steadied the backs of his hands, palms flat against the door on either side of my head nodding. His broad chest clung to his t-shirt just inches from my face. This wasn't the same Hyunjin from before the accident. He was slender and yet more muscular than your average teenager. How did he physically change this much in so little time?

The thumping of my heart fills my ears at our proximity. I'm almost certain he can hear it. Hyunjin inhales the shared air between us, awkward silence filling the gaps. It was like 8th grade seven minutes in heaven came back to haunt us.

"You okay Lei?" He deeply asks leaning down to my ear level. His body caging me more. "You're heart's beating kinda fast."

"Y-yeah, I'm fine, heh, just nervous we'll get caught."

Hyunjin's breathing became short and shallow before I heard the bell dismissing students from class. The sounds of them migrating to their next classes give the appropriate green light for a safe exit.

I reach out to jiggle the door handle. It swings open to I.N. falling to the floor.

"Way to make an entrance love birds." He picks himself up, looking at us crazily. "Next time warn me first before I walk in on your make-out session, 'kay?"

Hyunjin sucks his teeth as I punch I.N. on his arm. "Not funny dipshit."

Glancing back at the inside of the closet door there are claw marks where Hyunjin's hands were. My brows scrunch, perplexed at the sight.

"Leilani hurry up." Hyunjin calls from in front.

There's no point pondering. "I'm comin', I'm comin'."

To our convenience, Hyunjin and I have AP Chemistry today. So does San. There, sitting in the middle row, to the left of my seat. San gives a small smile while he narrowed his eyes at Hyunjin. Hyunjin held firm to his pinched expression back at him.

[thewolfisawake]

Rules, tag 10 followers  you want to get to know better!

Tagged by: @arcxnumvitae Tagging: Go for it

Name: Destiny though I tend to go by Kirei on here. Either is fine.

Star Sign: Gemini (sun), Pieces (moon), Aries (rising)

Height: 5'4", 5'5" no one has consensus.

Middle name: Desha

Put your itunes/spotify/youtube on shuffle. What are the first 6 songs that popped up?

Dance Past Midnight - Calliope Mori feat AmaLee

Conceited (There's Something About Remy) - Remy Ma

Cheshire Game from Royal Scandal

Let Me Blow Ya Mind - Eve feat Gwen Stefani

Juicy - Doja Cat

When the World Was Mine from The Count of Monte Cristo Musical

Ever had a poem or song written about you: Once. It was super embarrassing. We found an old floppy disk (look, I am old but not that old, my school just wasn't up to date) where a boy I knew had a crush on me had written a poem about me and how my guy bestie had taken 'his girl.' idk, man, I don't even remember the rest.

When was the last time you played air guitar: Probably last week. I listen to music all the time at work and tend to pretend instruments or wiggle around on songs that happen to hit that day.

Who is your celebrity crush?: Mmm, I don't really have crushes. Sure I find many attractive but not really a crush. Maybe Maggie Q since I consistently think of her when I think hot celebs?

What’s a sound you hate; sound you love?: I hate the sound of velcro being ripped apart. It used to just give me shivers through my ears. As for sounds I like, I like the clacking sound of keys on a keyboard.

Do you believe in ghosts?: I believe just about anything could be possible. I simply do not want to be the one to fuck around and find out.

How about aliens: Definitely. I mean do you know how much space it out there? The odds for us to be the only life in the entire universe? There's no way.

Do you drive?: Yep. Can be thought of as driving enjoyer because of the antics of driving I've done. Or that I often drive for outings but I just...don't mind. I don't love but I don't hate it.

if so have you ever crashed: No and hopefully that track record continues.

What was the last book you read?: Technically I started The Spear Cuts Through Water. It hasn't gripped me yet and Pandora Hearts is calling me.

Do you like the smell of gasoline: In a weird way, yes? It's not a favorite by any means but like there's something about the scent when pull you pull up to fill up.

What was the last movie you saw?: Ponyo. I had actually never seen it and am determined to see through all of Ghibli Fest this year.

What’s the worst injury you’ve ever had?: It's a toss up between playing predator and prey (a more complicated and intense game of tag) that ended with me slamming my knee so hard it swelled the point I could not walk for several days. Or a sprain I received when I slid into bases in softball and the subsequent extended time it took for it to heal since my dad would not take me to a doctor.

Do you have any obsessions right now?: Actually nothing right now? It actually kinda sucks. I end up zoning out and don't even know what I did for time to pass as it did--Was really hoping for it to be E.lden Ring though. Either that or I slip back into G.enshin. I should be doing cosplay so I have something ready by the end of summer.

[just-a-kazik]

“But, tell me, do you see the beauty of a dung beetle, Ilija?”

The man behind the counter rolled his eyes. It was the same routine every night. “You appear to take pleasure in all manner of unsightly things,” Ilija chided, only merely glancing at the unnerving painting placed delicately on the counter. “Why don’t you paint what draws actual beauty, Rodya?”

Every night, Roman Stepanovich Kolodko, a crazed artist thought to have lost his mind in the same fire that took his family, pays a visit to the local library—a quaint old shop, outfitted with both the classics and the moderns, delightfully greeting any and all passersby’s. Well… almost all of them.

The offense in the other man’s eyes left in haste, replaced by the crease of an unnerving Cheshire grin. “Why, yes, you’d be right of that, my friend. Other more frivolous painters lack the insight required to perceive beauty in that which offends the eyes. I find I possess a knack for picking out that which is fundamentally beautiful, and bringing that beauty to light through art!”

“Through art,” Ilija repeated.

“Why of course! What better medium to catch an eye? Art encompasses them all—it’s poetic, it’s thoughtfully written out, sculpted to perfection, allowing the eyes to embrace light and color and meaning through just a glance! Think about it—what would the world be had man never smeared dirt on a cave wall? Man found color in clay and berries and foliage, and art was born. I, for one, think the world would be a hell of a place to live if there was no art.”

Ilija sighed, clearly unimpressed. “Perhaps. But you must admit, not all art is equal. Some of it, like yours, is… unconventional, to say the least.”

“Unconventional?” the painter echoed with a laugh. “Perhaps. But it’s in the unconventional where we often find the most profound truths. Art is a universal language, transcending borders and barriers. It captures the essence of humanity, our joys, our sorrows, our hopes, and our fears.”

Ilija folded his arms, leaning back. “Or it confuses and repels. Not everyone sees what you see in your so-called ‘art.’”

The painter’s grin remained, undeterred. “That’s the beauty of it, my friend. Art is meant to challenge, to provoke thought and emotion. Without it, we would be adrift in a sea of emptiness, devoid of the means to express the depth of our experiences.”

“Or perhaps,” Ilija countered, “some of us would be spared the sight of things better left unseen.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong,” the painter insisted. “In times of darkness, art is a beacon of hope. It can inspire revolutions, comfort the grieving, and celebrate the beauty of life. It’s not just a luxury—it’s a necessity.”

Ilija’s skepticism was evident, but he remained silent. The painter continued, his voice softer now. “Art connects us to each other and to the world. It reminds us that we are not alone in our struggles and triumphs.”

Ilija gave a noncommittal shrug. “If you say so.”

The painter’s grin softened into a look of profound sincerity. “So, you see, art is not just about decoration or entertainment. It is the lifeblood of culture, the heartbeat of humanity. To create art is to engage in the most profound act of human expression, to leave a mark on the world that transcends time and space.”

Ilija remained unconvinced, but a part of him couldn’t help but wonder if there was some truth in the painter’s words. “Well, I suppose someone has to believe that.”

Silence filled the air around them as Rodya’s dazed, dissociated eyes stared into the space separating them, the grin leaving his face, something empty and dark replacing it.

And just like that, Kolodko shook his head, muttering to himself once again, and returned to ignoring Ilija’s existence. He grabbed his painting, a book off the shelf, and stumbled out the doors.

That man is nothing if not an absolute confusion, Ilija thought, switching the light of the front counter off.