#i will almost certainly never revise this at all

[peachdues]

GIYUU TOMIOKA NSFW HEADCANONS

I might revise Rengoku's after this one, but for now, enjoy my horny HCs for our favorite emotionally-constipated Pillar!

CW: explicit sexual content • MDNI • creampies • mild corruption kink • mean dom!Giyuu and whimpering sub!Giyuu

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

PHYSICAL ATTRIBUTES

Giyuu has a very faint happy trail that begins right below his navel; but don’t be fooled — it leads to an absolute jungle below his belt 

If it bothers you, he will trim it down, but if you don’t say anything, he’ll just leave it. Truthfully, Giyuu is a big fan of grinding into you (he LOVES the mess you make against his groin), so the friction his hair helps create against your clit is certainly worth the stray pube that may find its way into your mouth from time to time while he fucks your throat. 

Onto his dick:

Listen

I know we all know the truth about quiet boys — and Giyuu is so very quiet 

He’s hung like a mf horse

He’s not particularly girthy (though don’t get me wrong — he’s got well enough to satisfy), but he is long. Even flaccid, it swings between his legs. He’s about 7.5-8 inches when hard, and it sticks straight out. It’s slightly pink in color, and he has a very pretty tip that you just love to suckle on (he whimpers when you do). He has one prominent vein on the underside of his cock, and if you run your tongue against it, he WILL be shooting his load onto your face/down your throat. 

As for his cum, I envision it to be a bit on the thinner side in consistency, slightly sweet, and he cums a LOT. He usually rolls his balls around while he’s cumming to make sure he gets it all out --and into you.

FOREPLAY

Giyuu is admittedly not as experienced with foreplay at first, but he’s committed to making you feel good, so, he’s going to learn and he’s going to learn fast. 

I HC that he has really long, delicate fingers and the man knows how to put them to WORK.

You see, Giyuu has never been one to intentionally push another person’s buttons (always doing so accidentally), but with you???

Oh baby, those fingers are searching to press every one of yours. 

Truthfully, you could fuck yourself on his hand all day and you’d be satisfied (and in fact, you do). He found your g-spot completely on accident while fingering you, simply by curling his fingers. 

Giyuu also enjoys going down on you, because he’s fascinated at the way you fall apart beneath his tongue.

He takes his time exploring your core, curious as to what makes you gasp and writhe, as well as what makes you moan and scream.

The first time you cum in his mouth, you have to quite literally pull him off you, because that first taste unleashed a beast within him and he will not stop licking and sucking and fucking you with his tongue until you’re sobbing with overstimulation 

HOW HE FUCKS YOU

Whether he's a sub or a dom really depends on his mood. If he's returning from a mission, he wants to be taken care of (read: he wants you to ride him until he goes cross-eyed). But if it's you returning, be prepared for him to break furniture with how hard he's fucking you -- as if you need to be reminded of who's waiting for you to return home.

When Giyuu subs...

WHIMPERER MAX 5000

I mean it’s almost pathetic how needy this man gets for you while you’re on top, bouncing along the thick length of him like your life depends on it 

Expect to have some bruises on your hips from how hard he’s gripping you. Eventually, he gets so desperate that he’s lifting you up and down his cock too, thrusting helplessly up into you without rhythm. He’s just desperately chasing his own release, too drunk at the way your dripping heat constricts around him to the point that he sees stars.

He’s begging you to let him cum, and truthfully, you almost feel bad that you keep slowing down, choosing to rock slowly against him instead of continuing the relentless push and pull of your hips that you know gets him panting. Almost. 

When Giyuu doms, however...

When he’s on top though, get ready. Giyuu is relentless and can get downright mean. 

Honestly, you shouldn't be surprised. He spends so much time bottling up his emotions that they're bound to explode out of him at some point. Lucky for you that they happen to be exploding out of him and into you, with the way he has you bent over like his own personal cum dump as he ruthlessly takes out every pint of frustration he's kept locked up on your poor, aching cunt.

He’s pulling your hair, running his nails down your skin, and forcing you to say whose name is forever painted on your walls as his drips from your folds.  He’s particularly fond of shoving your head down against the futon as he takes you roughly from behind. He’s not satisfied until you’re crying. 

Oh and if you’ve been teasing him while out in public (particularly if you’re in the Corps)?? RIP to your pussy bc he’s about to slay it.

Not many people were aware of your relationship with the Water Pillar, but that was out of mutual agreement between you both. However, a few of your comrades had noticed a rather telling mark on your throat while you were being treated for a wound, and while you were able to avoid confessing the identity of your lover, you hadn’t been able to skirt the fact that you, indeed, had one. 

“What was it like?” A fellow Kinoe named Ayane asked you, a blush spreading across her cheeks. 

You could hardly meet her eyes as you mumbled, “It was nice.”

If you’d known the Water Pillar had been lurking nearby, ears carefully listening for your response, you perhaps would have been a little more careful with your words — but truthfully, you were flustered and a tad embarrassed, and so you’d answered her rather dismissively. 

Giyuu, it appeared, hadn’t been amused by your assessment; not when his hand had shot out from the dark cover of the trees to snag around your wrist, yanking you into the shadows. 

“Tell me, Y/N,” he growled in your ear, pressing you harder against the bark of the tree as he drove into you. “Does this feel-fucking-nice?” He punctuated the last three words with corresponding, pointed, sharp thrusts.

Your hands shot out to grip the rough wood to steady yourself as you whimpered, though the sound was drowned out by that of Giyuu’s hips slapping forcefully into your backside as he pumped into you with vigor. 

The Water Pillar’s teeth sank into the juncture between your neck and shoulder, the sting serving as your warning. “I asked you a question.” 

“Giyuu — ah — someone is going to see us,” You cried, though your protests were weakened by the way your hips ground back against him, desperate for release. 

Giyuu’s hand wound around your middle and dipped down to between your legs, skilled fingers circling your aching clit. “Not if you keep quiet and come when I say.”

His other hand had to clap around your mouth as his hips drilled into you, his fingers sliding between your lips to choke off the whine of his name as your cunt began to seize around him, begging to be filled by his cum, desperate to feel it leaking out of you as he sent you on your way. 

“I’ll show you fuckin’ nice,” he promised, and the Water Pillar wrenched you away from the base of the tree to bend you over before him. 

KINK-O-CLOCK

hear me out: I think this man has a virginity kink 

like he wants to TAKE your virginity 

If you’re not a virgin, dw, he’s still obsessed with you 

this is just like an added bonus for him — the idea that he’s the one who’s going to turn you into a whimpering, crying mess, that you’ll fall apart around his cock gets him incredibly excited. Especially because he plans on being the only man to touch you like this. It might translate into a greater corruption kink, but it goes both ways — he loves the idea of reducing you to a lustful, needy mess just as much as he loves the fact you do the same thing to him

big-time praise kink — he loves hearing you sing his praises, even if he gets extremely shy while you do it. He so rarely hears any form of praise or gratitude, so when you give it to him (both in bed and out of it), it means the world to him 

EDGING — especially if he’s been away for an extended period of time. You’re overjoyed when he comes home, but you’re also steadily preparing yourself for a long-ass night. Giyuu isn’t one to rush things already, but if it’s been a week or so since he’s last been inside of you, you better prepare yourself for a loooooonnng night ahead of you. He will bring you right up to the cusp of your orgasm before pulling off/out/removing himself, leaving you to clench around nothing. He will do this several times before finally, finally, letting you cum. 

creampies on creampies on creampies

Tbh he could give Sanemi a run for his money on this one (and his job at the Hostess donut filling plant)

The man is obsessed with his cum being in you. He’s not satisfied until it’s leaking out of you, and you’re laying on your back, knees against your chest, unable to do anything but hum in contentment because you’re so full of him. He will watch it trickle out of you, and then shove his still-hard cock right back in to give you one more load because fuck you look so sexy when you’re leaking him.  

bestie how do you think babies are made 

But if he’s not cumming inside of you, he is fascinated with cumming on your tits/face. The sight of his pearly seed covering your skin as you swipe your fingers through it, happily licking it from your hands is 100% guaranteed to make him rock-hard again

He always needs to be touching you in some way, but he especially loves holding onto your waist while plunging deep into you. It doesn’t matter if he’s on the bottom or the top — he just needs to hold you.

[callme-holly]

if you're still doing requests, can you do headcanons for how each member of the gang (separate) would react to their s/o pranking them with the monthly shed thing?Please and thank you!

MONTHLY SHED PRANK

in which the reader pulls the "monthly shed" prank on the gang and they fall for it. [fem!reader x the outsiders]

a/n: i wanted to try a different format to what I usually do - don't know if I like or not but, you know. I have 10 mins before i have to go back to revision so sorry if these are a little but crap. inbox is still open for requests!!

Darry Curtis - 

When you tell him, he is so concerned

He just stares at you, eyes wide, jaw practically on the floor

He immediately starts asking if you’re okay and if you need anything 

Will 100% fall for it

He immediately goes to Sodapop and asks if it’s true because if anyone knows about girls, it the middle Curtis brother

When Soda is just as confused as Darry, he will probably finally catch on 

He was very worried for you though <33

Sodapop Curtis - 

He’s so sweet about it and will genuinely believe you

He’ll sit on the counter and watch as you “peel your skin” while asking as many questions as possible

“So are girls like lizards?” 

You bet he’s bringing it up at dinner and when he does, Darry and Pony just stare at you with confusion

Soda will keep on eating as if he’s just dropped the most casual news ever

In the end, when he doesn’t catch on to the joke, you’ll probably have to tell him the truth

He’ll be very confused, and will most likely continue to believe that you shed your skin every month

Ponyboy Curtis - 

When he catches you “peeling your skin” he’s actually horrified

Like he isn’t disgusted, not at all, but why the hell is all your skin peeling off and should he get Darry to drive you to the hospital

He won’t really say much on the topic, but will definitely ask his science teacher next time he has class

His teacher gives him the most baffled expression ever and he immediately catches on 

He’s so embarrassed when he gets home 

He doesn’t mention it to anyone, not even to you, and if it ever gets brought up, he’s changing the topic immediately

Johnny Cade - 

Oh, Johnny

He is so worried when you tell him that your skin peels every month

He gets a little concerned that his skin might peel too

He’ll watch from a safe distance when you “shed your skin” 

The next time he sees Dallas, he questions it and his buddy just laughs in his face and asks if he feeling okay

He probably won't catch onto the joke until you tell him

Johnny isn’t stupid, but he will almost certainly believe anything you tell him so when you break the news to him and tell him that you were only kidding, he’s very relieved

Dallas Winston - 

He’s so disgusted and probably won't come anywhere near you

Genuinely very confused and won’t believe you at first

“I aint seen no other girl do that, man”

After you “peel your skin” in front of him though 

He is out of that door faster than you can blink

He goes to the gang and he’s just horrified 

Darry will probably be the one to break the truth to him 

He’d be fuming and he’d probably give you the silent treatment until you apologise to him (he’s stubborn and childish like that) 

Was secretly a tiny bit concerned about you but he’d never admit it

Steve Randle - 

Now this is tricky

Steve would probably be concerned and a little freaked out

He’d ask to make sure you’re okay and if you’re hurt at all every few minutes 

He genuinely just really cares about you <33 

However, that’s not to say he isn’t incredibly freaked out

You’re literally shedding your skin in his bathroom and acting as if it’s a normal thing

In the end you’d probably feel bad and you’d have to break the truth to him

He’s still a little confused but he just sort of forgets about the whole thing the next day

Two-Bit Mathews - 

I won’t lie; he’ll find it funny as hell

He’d take every chance he can get to crack a joke about you “shedding your skin”

Much like Soda, he’ll sit and watch you before asking if you’re a snake

“So, does that mean women are reptiles?” // “No, Two…” 

I can’t see him being disgusted by it and it probably wouldn’t take all that long for him to catch on

Overall, he finds the whole thing hilarious and will probably keep making lizard jokes to you for the next week or so

[cha-melodius]

If possible, firstprince #20, please! 🫂

(Another extremely popular one, also requested by @miss-minnelli, @nowords-world, @miharaikko, and @ashesfromashes. And it's another grad students/academia AU, because I couldn't help myself. read all the hug ficlets)

20: The “woah, hey, hello, hi” hug.

Alex is exceptionally drunk. Probably more drunk than Henry’s ever seen him, and that’s saying something, since they spent the majority of their graduate school years together. Henry’s seen him silly drunk at holiday parties, and sad drunk after committee meetings, and angry drunk that one time when someone scooped him in a publication, but he’s never seen him quite this ecstatically happy drunk.

He’s certainly earned it. His dissertation defense had gone perfectly—Christ, but he’d looked incredible up there in a sharp suit purchased just for the occasion, confident and brilliant as he explained his research. Apparently, his committee didn’t even give him many revisions, the lucky bastard (luck has nothing to do with it—Alex is just that good).

So he’s got plenty of reasons to be happy, and Henry is happy for him. If Henry’s also achingly sad, that’s his own business. Ok, yes, Alex is sticking around for another semester to teach, but all too soon he’ll get some fabulous postdoc or faculty position, and god knows where it will be, but it’ll almost inevitably be far away from Henry.

Henry has managed to keep his maudlin thoughts at bay for most of Alex’s defense party, but the night is winding down and so is he. He’s withdrawn to the edges after an unsuccessful attempt at distracting himself by helping to clean up—Zahra had told him in no uncertain terms to cut it out, she was paying someone to do that—chatting with a few people but mostly sulking. Fortunately, Alex hasn’t noticed.

Or, that’s what he thought.

One moment Alex is bopping wildly along to some pop song on the makeshift dance floor they’ve cleared by shoving Zahra’s living room furniture out of the way, and the next he’s making a beeline toward Henry. Henry barely has a chance to prepare himself before Alex is throwing himself at him, and Henry has no choice but to quickly abandon his drink in order to catch him.

“Woah there, love,” he says, because he’s more than a little drunk himself and his filter is shot.

Alex grins brilliantly up at him and simply says, “Hi,” as he wraps his arms around Henry’s waist and pulls him into a crushing hug.

“Hello,” Henry replies, unable to keep himself from matching Alex’s smile. “Can I help you with something?”

“You can come dance with me.”

“Oh, I don’t think—”

“Puh-leeeease, H?” Alex interrupts, batting those offensively long eyelashes up at him. “You gotta.”

Henry’s always been terrible at saying no to him. Still, he tries, “Oh, do I?”

“Yeah, ‘cause it’s my party, and I want you.”

He doesn’t mean it like that, of course—he just wants Henry to join them—but Henry’s stomach turns over anyway. Helpless to resist, he lets Alex drag him out onto the dance floor. Then someone (it was definitely Pez; Henry’s going to murder him) puts on a slow song. To Henry’s surprise, Alex collapses into his arms like all the frenetic energy has drained out of him at once, his arms looped tightly around Henry’s waist and his head resting on Henry’s shoulder.

“Hey,” Alex says after they’ve swayed aimlessly for a little while, “why’re you sad?”

So he definitely noticed. Henry shouldn’t be surprised. “I’m not,” he tries anyway. Alex lifts his head up long enough to glare at him. “Fine, I’m a little sad. It’s just… the beginning of the end, isn’t it? I’ll be finishing this year—I will, hush you—and you’re applying for jobs and leaving me…”

He means to say us, but it doesn’t come out that way. Alex just hums, a low rumble Henry feels more than hears.

“Take you with me.”

“What?”

“Y’know, like a spousal hire,” Alex says, yawning into Henry’s shirt. “Tell ‘em I need a position for you too. They’d be stupid not to.”

Henry’s head swims. The thing is, Alex is such a superstar that he probably could negotiate something like that. Except for, you know. The fact that they’re not married. Alex doesn’t even seem to realize the implications of what he’s just said, he’s too busy falling asleep on Henry’s shoulder.

“I think we need to get you home,” Henry manages eventually.

Alex rousts himself, blinking up at him. “Just think about it, ok?” he says, like this is a serious proposition.

“Okay,” Henry agrees.

What else is he going to do? Besides, it makes Alex smile at him again, and really, that’s all that matters.

[sophieinwonderland]

Science, and The Lie of Certainty

When you were a child, you probably learned in school what a dinosaur was. You probably learned about their habitats. You probably have seen their pictures in your textbooks.

Not to mention seeing them in movies like Jurassic Park, The Land Before Time, The Good Dinosaur, etc.

Except thinking about what dinosaurs look like, you probably realize that they have changed. Our understanding of what they most likely look like has changed. And in the media that we consume, the dinosaurs look differently today than they did 30 years ago.

Even in media, the dinosaurs depicted in The Good Dinosaur look different from what we saw in Jurassic Park.

As children, you were probably certain about what dinosaurs look like. They're in books, after all!

Maybe you still feel a certainty today. Maybe you think that the new more hairy and feathery dinosaurs that we would see in modern images are what they actually look like and this is going to stay the same and never change.

So allow me to inform you that, unfortunately, your certainty is misplaced.

The truth is, even as much as we know about dinosaurs today, we will probably never know exactly what they looked like. There are some things that just don't fossilize and won't be preserved.

We can guess at their habitats, at their behavior, and scientists can get a whole lot right.

But we will probably never have textbooks that will 100% portray what a dinosaur looked like.

And this is pretty sad to me. Because I like to know the answers to questions. I want to understand the natural world as much as possible. I would love to be able to see what a dinosaur actually looked like, be able to observe one up close... Preferably without getting eaten.

But some things just aren't possible.

There is no fault in admitting that.

But there is fault in clinging to a present idea of what a dinosaur looks like.

To pretend like science has all of the answers. That the popular theories about what dinosaur behavior might have been like is 100% confirmed. When in reality, there's a good chance that our understanding of them might change dramatically in the next 20 years, 50 years, and 100 years. And even a century later, we still won't be able to know everything.

There's a fantastic paleoart book you may have heard of called All Yesterdays that presents alternatives for how dinosaurs may have looked based on recent findings and some creative liberties in some cases.

One example of this is the Leaellynasaura. This is what this dinosaur would have looked like according to Wikipedia:

All Yesterdays presents an alternative possibility though based on the same skeleton.

This is dramatically different from what we see in the first image. But they give pretty solid reasoning for these liberties.

As seen before with Hypsilophodon, many small plant-eating dinosaurs will have their popular images greatly revised thanks to new discoveries of social behaviour and integument. Instead of looking like two-legged iguanas, these animals will have to be re-imagined with the extra possibilities offered by furry bodies and communal living habits. Here is one more small ornithischian re-interpretation, this time featuring Leaellynasaura. This dinosaur was discovered in Australia, where it lived during Early Cretaceous times, about one hundred and ten million years ago. At that time, Australia was located close to the Earth's geographic south pole. Although its climate was possibly not as cold as today's Antarctic, the axial tilt of our planet meant that Cretaceous Australia did not receive direct sunlight for long periods of time, and almost certainly experienced sub-zero temperatures. Aside from being a polar dinosaur, Leaellynasaura was also extraordinary for its immensely long tail, which was almost three times as long as its body. Nobody knows why Leaellynasaura had such a long tail, or what it used it for. Theories range from the tail being used as a climbing aid, a sexual and social display feature, or a long, shaggy “scarf” that the dinosaur wrapped around itself as protection from the cold. It has even been suggested that the tail aided the animal in swimming! Drawing on these facts, we reconstructed Leaellynasaura as a rotund furball that scurried peacefully about in the polar forests of Australia's past. We imagined its long tail as a thin, signalling "flagpole" that helped it identify and keep close to members of its herd. No doubt some people will find this reconstruction preposterous, and perhaps they will be right. However, we felt that not enough dinosaurs were reconstructed as "cute" beasts, whereas in nature, polar animals can look quite pulchritudinous under layers of fat, muscle, fur and other insulation.

Later on in the book is a section entitled All Todays which, to really drive the points home about how little we understand about how dinosaurs may have looked, tries to imagine how future paleo-artists might interpret creatures who exist today based on the same errors we've made.

For example, going with the theme of how fat doesn't fossilize, someone from the future might make this sort of reconstruction of a common modern animal:

Alternatively, perhaps swans could be reconstructed as preadory wingless monsters.

And for the faults of assuming all dinosaurs were scaly in the past, it could be equally dangerous to assume that now that we've discovered some with fur or feathers that we should extrapolate to all dinosaurs.

Such extrapolations could lead to fallacious assumptions, like how a future paleontologist might assume that because rats had fur, the same must be true for iguanas.

There are so many more examples in this book that I would love to share and discuss because it's just fantastic.

But I have to end this post at some point.

So let me just bring this back to the main point. Which is that we know very little. The more you learn, the more you realize how little we actually know for certain.

Certainty of science is often a lie.

As true as this is about paleontology, it's true of a lot of other fields too. It's true of psychology, of history, of neuroscience, of biology, of astronomy. While there is a lot that we do know, there's a lot more that just ends up being our best guesses.

And that's okay.

It's okay to accept that we still have so much more to learn about the world around us.

This is something that should be embraced.

There is safety in the comfort of the lie of certainty. But it is a lie. It's a cozy blanket that was weaved around us when we were children and learning about the world, convincing us that we had all the answers when we don't by covering our heads to the larger world outside the blanket.

And while pulling off that blanket and realizing that we don't know everything is scary, we NEED to pull it off to be able to acknowledge that we have room to learn and grow.

We need to be able to proudly say, "I don't know, and that's okay because it means I have more to learn!"

So please keep learning and keep questioning everything!

[nyctoaerah]

Can u please post the other parts of Wish Granted?:( i can't open the links for some reasons and it says that I don't have the access to read it or something. I'm really hooked, but I'm sorry for bothering

-❤️‍🩹

WISH GRANTED: CH 2 & 3.

⋆♱⋆SYPNOSIS: In which, Eyeless jacks develops an infatuation with a grade A detective and ends up granting her wishes in the most twisted way.

⋆♱⋆WARNINGS: Gore, Mutilation, Mentions of Torture, Jack Being creepy.

⋆♱⋆PAIRINGS: Yandere! Eyeless Jack x Fem! Detective! Reader

⋆♱⋆PREV

⋆♱⋆NOTE: Hey pookie, idrk why it isn’t working for you because it’s working for me properly:( maybe you should restart your pc/phone? Or maybe it’s on your internet? I’ll try checking on the links later and revise them. But yeah, dw, it’s not a bother, i don’t mind it anyways. I’ll just post the other parts later<3.

Ps; Hearts and reblogs are greatly appreciated!<3

⋆♱⋆MASTERLIST

AS SOON AS THOSE words reached your ears, a chill crept down your spine causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand at attention. Your heart dropped into your stomach, the thundering rhythm filling your ears drowning out all other sound. The blood seemed to freeze in your veins as icicles of dread rapidly spreads throughout your limbs, numbing you from head to toe. Your breathing became shallow and you were wide-eyed and unblinking, your pupils dilating until only a thin ring of iris remained,

That certainly wasn’t a news that you wanted to hear.

your grip on the phone faltered and it slipped from your trembling hands, crashing heavily onto the ground as your breath hitched in your throat.

“Your boyfriend and best friend were found dead.”

Those words kept repeating in your mind, the weight of those words bore down on you, sending an icy shiver cascading down your spine. Your mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, leaving you unable to discern what you truly felt. Your breath caught in your throat, threatening to suffocate you as dizziness washed over you, threatening to pull you into unconsciousness.

‘But i was just with them a few hours ago...’

It hurts so much, it felt like your heart strings are about to break.

It was a tumultuous mix of fury, grief, betrayal, heartbreak, and a profound sense of self-pity that overwhelmed your senses. This day had already been marked by a series of unfortunate events, beginning with the painful revelation of your boyfriend’s infidelity and culminating in the relvelation that your closest confidant had been a traitor all along.

The news of their deaths hit like a tidal wave, crashing into the already shattered pieces of your heart.

You stumbled back, collapsing onto the closest piece of furniture that hadn’t been destroyed in your fit of rage. Your body shook with tremors, the weight of grief becoming almost too much to bear. Regret seeped into your veins, staining your conscience with a haunting question: Could you have prevented this?

As your mind raced, memories of your boyfriend and best friend flooded back. The joyous moments you had shared, the laughter, the support – all now overshadowed by the painful truth of their betrayal. How had you been so blind? Anger surged through you, sparked by the overwhelming hurt, as you cursed their names under your breath.

But amidst the anger, a profound sadness settled in, casting a bleak shadow over your soul. You mourned not only the loss of their lives but also the friendships and the love that was once so pure. The realization that you would never hear their voices again, never feel their warm embrace, tore through you like a serrated knife.

You needed to do something.

with trembling hands, you reluctantly reached for your phone, only to discover a crack on its screen. It must have happened when you dropped it. A heavy sigh escaped your lips. Your throat was dry and your eyes were bloodshot due to how much you've cried.

Using your shaky fingers, you unlocked your phone and wiped the moisture off the screen with your hands. As you opened it, a flood of notifications greeted you, including messages from Earl, Jhenicca, and others. Slowly, you navigated to your contacts and dialed the headquarters. They answered promptly, causing you to release a shaky breath.

“What happened?” you inquired, your voice raspy from the lack of moist and use.

“Lieutenant, how are you holding up?” came the concerned voice on the other end of the line.

You let out a heavy sigh. Of course, you were far from okay. The pain of heartbreak still lingered, threatening to tear your emotions apart. But you were determined not to let your personal turmoil interfere with your duty. Despite their betrayals, your love for your boyfriend and best friend remained, and you couldn't bear the thought of them meeting such a gruesome end.

“I’ll manage, don't worry about me,” you replied, trying to sound composed.

“Information please,”

You requested.

“We discovered Lieutenant Earl and Detective Jhenicca’s bodies near the Forest,” they informed you, their words hitting you like a blow.

“What do you mean at the forrest?”

you exclaimed, your voice tinged with shock as you processed the information.

“I was just with them at the station just a few hours ago, they would never go to a forrest.” you stated, your brows furrowing in confusion. The image of that encounter still haunted your mind, causing your voice to falter slightly.

“Jhenicca despises forests,” you muttered, your fingers tightly gripping your phone. The situation was becoming more puzzling by the minute.

“That’s the very mystery we’re trying to unravel, Lieutenant,” they explained. “That’s why headquarters is requesting your presence.”

You let out a snort.

Of course, they would want you there.

As one of the last people to see them, you were likely the prime suspect in their disappearance.

“Interrogation,” you stated, weariness evident in your voice.

“Yes, Lieutenant, they want to interrogate you,” they replied.

You couldn't help but release a heavy sigh, feeling drained.

 “I’ll make my way there later,” you mumbled, the exhaustion weighing on your words.

“How did they... die?”

You asked slowly.

“We believed that the cause of death is by blood loss.”

“They got mutilated, all of their fingers in both hands and feet was removed, and  they were skinned alive, moreover, their bodies were also covered in honey and other things and bees were swarming over them, and so does other bugs, that were probably eating them slowly.”

The image of their mutilated and dismembered corpses sent a shiver down your spine.

Torture.

“So they got tortured first before dying then...”

You mumbled, realizing that they got a painful death and it is indeed a murder.

“We believe so,”

You let out a sigh.

“Have their bodies been taken for autopsy?” you managed to ask, your fingers involuntarily curling up in distress.

“Yes, Lieutenant,” the voice on the other end confirmed.

“Forensics are currently examining the bodies at the morgue. We’ll let you know as soon as we have any updates.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. It was essential to stay focused and maintain your composure despite the heart-wrenching news. These investigations required a clear mind, and your team relied on you for guidance.

“Thank you,” you replied.

“Please keep me informed of any new findings.”

“We will,”

they assured you.

“And remember, you aren’t alone in this. We’re here for you, Lieutenant.”

You smiled a little, even though they couldn’t see you, Their support was essential, but there was still a part of you that felt isolated, grappling with the weight of your emotions. You had loved and trusted both Earl and Jhenicca, and their betrayal and death had shattered your world.

As you hung up the phone, you closed your eyes, trying to push away the painful memories and focus on the tasks ahead. The investigation couldn’t wait, and justice needed to be served.

And suddenly, out of nowhere, you felt a wave of tension wash over you, it felt as if someone is watching you right now.

Now that you weren’t bawling your eyes out and not having a breakdown anymore, you noticed this strangeness.

Your brows creased as you opened your eyes and scanned your surroundings, checking left and right for any signs of an intruder.

But there was no one in sight. It had been three long months since you first sensed the eerie feeling of being watched, but the demands of work and the constant presence of either Earl or Jhenicca by your side had distracted you from paying it much attention. However, now that you found yourself alone, the unsettling sensation began to gnaw at your thoughts.

And then, out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of your window slightly ajar. Your brow furrowed in confusion as you struggled to recall if you had ever opened it. Opening the window was not a regular occurrence for you; in fact, you rarely ever did.

“I don’t recall opening my window,” you muttered to yourself, as you stood up, wobbling a bit as you walked towards the window to investigate.

but before you could investigate further, a sharp pain shot through your foot. You looked down to find the cause, only to see an assortment of glass shards scattered across the floor—probably from the vases and other things you had threw on the ground. You must have accidentally stepped on the broken glass, and warm blood began to trickle from the wound.

This really is such a bad day.

Suppressing a curse, you quickly hobbled over to your bathroom to tend to the injury,  As you made your way towards the bathroom, an overpowering stench assaulted your senses. It was an amalgamation of metallic notes, mingled with a sickeningly familiar odor reminiscent of raw flesh, like the scent that lingers at a butcher shop. It was a scent you had encountered many times before, while investigating crime scenes. But the difference is, it wasn’t a crime scene. It was your own bathroom.

Your brow furrowed in confusion as you cautiously pushed open the door, the repulsive smell growing even stronger.

At first glance, everything appeared normal. But when your eyes traveled upwards, a blood-curdling scream escaped your lips.

Multiple human fingers were nailed and plastered in the walls like some sort of furniture, both fingers from the hands and toes, you can see the bones under them as blood dripped from them.

they were forming a word, three fingers were on a shape of the letter ‘W’, one for the letter ‘I’, five for the letter ‘S’, Three for the letter ‘H’, five for the letter ‘G’, five for the letter ‘R’, six for the letter ‘A’ and ‘N’ Two for ‘T’, four for ‘E’, and with the last letter being ‘D’, which had three fingers on them. 37 fingers, were nailed in your walls, with the words being....

𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐇 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃.

...

...

You were utterly shocked, repulsed, scared, evident from the way your eyes were protruding out of their sockets.

You instinctively recoiled by taking a swift step backwards while simultaneously covering your mouth with your hand in disbelief.   The intensity of the sight before you was so overwhelming that your stomach twisted and turned, disturbed by both the visual and olfactory aspects of the situation.

Your gaze shifted anxiously from each finger that protruded from the walls, their bloodied presence revealing the exposed phalangeal bones, their hues tainted by the crimson fluid. Overwhelmed with revulsion, your head whirled in a nauseating manner, unable to tolerate the repugnance before you.

As the sensation of vomit surged uncontrollably, you swiftly clasped your abdomen, succumbing to its intensity and disgorging the contents of your stomach.  

As you expelled the contents of your stomach, the regurgitated food landed repulsively on the ground.   Simultaneously, you struggled to catch your breath, your throat and esophagus ablaze from the corrosive stomach acid that accompanied the vomiting. Overwhelmed by a burning sensation, you instinctively clutched at your chest in despair, desperately gasping for air.

This reaction was unprecedented, as these circumstances were nothing compared to the gruesome crime scenes you had encountered before.   However, the sight that now haunted you was beyond horrifying—The scenes on the crime scene might be more brutal and horrifying in the perspective of others, but fuck, this was more horrifying in your point of view.

Fingers were grotesquely displayed upon your walls, gruesomely nailed in place. Both severed fingers from hands and feet were arranged in this macabre exhibit, leaving you utterly revolted.

As you breathed heavily, your lungs felt burdened and your chest throbbed painfully. Gradually lifting your gaze, saliva slowly trickled from your mouth, intermingled with traces of vomit that had inadvertently stained your clothes. The previous cut on your foot, which once caused you considerable discomfort, seemed inconsequential compared to the searing pain originating from your bruised esophagus.

As you carefully observed the fingers, There was a significant change in the size of your pupils—It shrunk down in shock. Some of the fingers had an unmistakable feminine appearance, while others displayed a more masculine quality. The sight of these fingers caused a sharp, involuntary reflex as you instinctively averted your eyes, overwhelmed by a sensation that made you cringe in discomfort—You felt as if you were going to vomit once again.

“Come on, breathe, [Name]...”

You told yourself.

The offensive stench of severed fingers combined with the repugnant odor of your vomit further intensified your disgust, while your chest continued to burn fiercely.

“Calm the fuck down, [Name].. calm down... breathe..”

You urged yourself to regain composure, but despite your efforts, you couldn’t manage to achieve it.   The intensity of your emotions caused an overwhelming surge of hot tears that pooled in your mouth, leaving you surprised that you still had the capacity to cry given the torrent of tears you had shed upon discovering your boyfriend’s infidelity.

The bitter taste of regurgitated stomach acid lingered in your throat, a distressing reminder of the moment when you couldn’t contain the contents of your stomach any longer, resulting in a forceful expulsion and a fiery sensation in your esophagus.  

Overwhelmed by despair, you found yourself clutching at your hair, desperately digging your nails into your scalp as you pulled at your [H/c] colored tresses, hoping that this agonizing reality would dissolve into a mere figment of your imagination or a horrendous nightmare.

Already enduring a dreadful day, this traumatic scene shattered your fragile emotional state, sending waves of anguish through every fiber of your being, making you fear that you might lose consciousness.

With each successive backward step, your cheeks were drenched in a seemingly endless stream of briny tears, as if the act of retreating physically symbolized your desire to distance yourself from the emotional turmoil consuming you.  

With trembling and unsteady hands, you hastily reached into your pockets and frantically retrieved your phone.

It almost slipped from your shaky fingers, but you managed to tighten your grip on it. Filled with fear, you immediately dialed the number for your department, desperate to share the terrifying news that had just unfolded before your eyes. The sheer terror coursing through your veins made it difficult to steady your voice as you trembled with every word you spoke.  

“Please, please, pick up!” 

You couldn’t comprehend how these gruesome objects could have appeared in your fucking bathroom without your knowledge.   Fingers, bloodied and gruesome, were inexplicably plastered on your wall, mocking you with a message that sent shivers down your spine.  “Wish granted” it read, like a sick joke or a cruel twist of fate—What kind of sick psycho would do that?

You are in danger.

Deep down, you desperately hoped that it was all just an elaborate prank, but the harsh reality crept in as you realized the horrifying truth.   This was real.   The sight of the bones protruding from the severed fingers, the nauseating smell that permeated the air; it was all too real to fucking deny.  You were in danger. Someone broke into your house and placed those nasty things, you will probably be the next victim— no, no, you shouldn’t think like that, you needed to fucking calm down. But you couldn’t bring yourself to.

“Pick the fuck up, come on, come on, please, please!!”Your voice cracked with desperation as you urged the recipient of the call to answer. After what felt like an eternity, they finally picked up on the other end.

“Fuck, fuck...”

You breathed out, the relief that washed over you was drowned out by the urgency in your voice as you struggled to convey the gravity of the situation. 

“I need help, fuck, fuck, please... i need it asap!” Your words were slurred and rushed, with your fear causing you to stumble over your sentences, barely able to articulate your pleas. 

“lieutenant? What’s wrong? You seemed to be panicking.”

“Come here, please, please, come here as soon as possible!   I’m begging you!” Your voice quivered with a mix of terror and desperation as you practically wailed into the phone. The overwhelming sense of danger that loomed over you threatened to consume your every thought, leaving you trembling in its wake.

“Lieutenant [Name], calm down please, i cannot understand you, breathe lieutenant.”

The person on the other end of the line tried to calm you down, struggling to understand your panicked state.

“No! P-please! I beg you!   I-I’m in danger! I need help, ASAP!” You cried out, your voice cracking under the weight of the fear that gripped you. Gathering whatever courage you had left, you knew you had to escape the horrors that surrounded you.  Without hesitation, you dashed towards the door, paying no mind to the disarray of your appearance. Your hair was wild and disheveled from the frantic tugging and pulling, while your clothes were stained with the remnants of your own vomit. You didn’t even bother to slip on your shoes, desperate to flee as fast as possible, clutching onto your phone as if it were your only lifeline.

“I-i’m in danger, s-someone just fucking— blood, blood everywhere!”

You shouted frantically, your words tumbling out in a rush.   The sight of disembodied fingers had sent you into a state of panic and fear.   As you hurriedly fled the scene, your foot unintentionally landed on the broken shards of the road, causing searing pain to shoot through your body.   Despite the agony, you dared not glance back towards your dwelling, consumed by the urgency of escape. Each breath you took was labored and heavy while physical exertion and emotional turmoil that coursed within your veins.

“Lieutenant, please take a moment to catch your breath,” the concerned voice from the other end of the line implored—you were talking too fast after all and your breaths came in ragged gasps.

The person on the call was genuinely worried about your well-being, but the sheer intensity and speed of your words made it challenging for them to grasp the full extent of your distress.   What did you truly mean by ‘fingers’? The mention of that word stirred memories within them, reminiscent of the horrifying ordeal your boyfriend and best friend had endured just hours before.  Both of them had suffered the gruesome fate of having their fingers, hands, and feet forcibly severed.   And now, here you were, frantically babbling about fingers and succumbing to panic.   Your rapid-fire speech only served to further hinder comprehension. 

“Lieutenant, please try to compose yourself,” the voice urged, attempting to soothe your frenzied state once more.   This behavior was uncharacteristic of you, as you were never one to succumb to panic easily, unless something truly devastating had befallen you.    

Between sobs, you managed to utter,

“Fingers on my walls, blood...   blood was everywhere.” The words trembled with anguish and terror as you continued to run, tears streaming down your face.   The sight that had confronted you was undoubtedly traumatizing, imprinted in your mind like a horrifying image that refused to fade.    

“And i fucking know who those fucking fingers belong to!” you suddenly declared,

“They’re from Earl and Jhenicca!”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐇 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Chuckling quietly to himself, Jack discreetly pressed the play button on his phone once again, the soft melody of the recorder filling his ears through the earphones he wore.   The recording, which captured your horrified scream upon discovering his little surprise gift for you, played on repeat as he leaned against the walls of your bedroom.

The sound of your screams, like a symphony to his ears, resonated deeply within him. As he listened intently, tapping his gloved hand against his masked face, he couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed that you wouldn’t get the chance to witness the ‘gift’ he had carefully prepared for you in your bedroom. 

Unbeknownst to you, while you were having your break down, he had been concealed within your closet all this time, meticulously recording each moment of your suffering.

Every cry and retching sound had become music to his ears, fueling his sadistic pleasure. As was his usual routine when stalking you, he overheard your emotional breakdown while you were alone in your car, expressing a fervent wish for your unfaithful boyfriend and treacherous best friend to suffer a painful demise. And so, he decided to grant your fucking wish!

In his twisted mind, he saw himself as doing you a favor by eliminating the people who had caused you pain— They deserved nothing but torture and pain upon hurting you and he couldn’t help but wonder how that pathetic excuse of a man managed to pull someone like you.

Fuck, you were just so cute when you were wailing that he couldn’t help but want to hear that pretty cries of yours more, and so he killed your boyfriend and bestfriend to add more pain and make you more vulnerable, break you apart. And he killed your beloved bestfriend and boyfriend for you, after all, that’s what you wanted, right? right? right? You wanted this. You wished for this.

He deserves to be praised for doing such a great job in making you mentally unstable.

You provided him great amusement. as always in the past, you would display intense effort in attempting to identify the perpetrator and obtain even the slightest hint. Your unwavering determination, firm resolve, and intellectual capabilities were captivating, drawing him towards you.

For him, it was particularly enjoyable to unravel the complexities of someone as resilient as yourself,  and break that fucking adamant nature of you, unlike certain shy timid schoolgirls who become frightened merely at the sight of blood.

He sought amusement and you were the sole individual capable of providing it to him without inducing him in boredom.  

Your breakdown both surprised and amused him greatly, providing him with a sense of power over your vulnerable state.   The scent of your blood,  when your feet were cut on broken glass, wafted into his nostrils, providing an intoxicating allure that seemed almost heavenly to him.

And it made him wonder about how you tastes like.

[outofangband]

Blood and Darkness: An Updated Post on the Darkening of Valinor and Maedhros’s testimony from Morgoth’s Ring (History of Middle Earth Volume Nine)

Notes: since my original post, I’ve made several others which can be found in my tag “The Darkening of Valinor” and I might link to them and refer to them throughout

Also special thanks to @nelyoslegalteam and @potatoobsessed999 for listening to me ramble about this a lot

So, for background, just as within the original Silmarillion, Fëanor has been exiled to Formenos for many years and today, during the Mingling of the two trees, he has come to Manwë's court where he was meant to speak to Fingolfin and forgiveness to be reached. Of course, we know, something more happened. Morgoth attacked with Ungoliant and the two trees were destroyed. In Morgoth's Ring, we get a vivid description of the atmosphere around the Darkening and it's also one of the most dialogue we get for Maedhros anywhere.

I imagine this is a post I'll continue to edit and revise, it's one of my favorite scenes

But even as (Nienna) mourned there was the sound of feet hastening in the night. Then through the throng came the sons of Fëanor, flying from the North and they bore new tidings of evil. Maedhros  spoke for them. “Blood and darkness!’ he cried. ‘Finwë the king is slain and the Silmarils are gone!’

I made an entire post about it here but to summarize, these words are so important because they are likely among the first times Maedhros has known anything like darkness or seen blood in this way. He's hunted certainly but this sort of violent death is the stuff of old tales. His cry of blood and darkness, darkness and blood, are not just abstract exclamations of the horrors he has just witnessed, they are also genuine reactions to what was not natural or familiar phenomena to him.

Then Fëanor fell upon his face and lay as one dead until the full tale was told.

‘My lord,’ said Maedhros to Manwë, ‘it was the day of the festival but the king was heavy with grief at the departure of my father, a foreboding was on him. He would not go from the house. We were irked by the idleness and silence of the day and we went riding towards the Green Hills. Our faces were Northward but suddenly we were aware that all was growing dim.’

Maedhros captures the atmosphere so vividly here. Something like a quiet, summer day when there shouldn’t be a thunderstorm but it feels like there will be. Slow and almost crackling and the heavy air starts to feel like dread. I love this description and I’m not doing my response to it justice.

I am just thinking...imagine you have never known true night and all of a sudden the light starts to go away. Indeed, even if you did know night, if the light started to fail at midday?

‘The light was failing. In dread we turned and rode back in haste, seeing great shadows rise up before us. But even as we drew near to Formenos the darkness came upon us; and in the midst was a blackness like a cloud that enveloped the house of Fëanor.’

‘That enveloped the house of Fëanor’. He means this literally of course; he was out riding with his brothers and a cloud of this awful growing dark closes in on them but it's obviously a poignant symbolism as well.

‘We heard the sound of great blows struck. Out of the clouds we saw a sudden flame of fire. And then there was one piercing cry. But when we urged on our horses they reared and cast us to the ground, and they fled away wild. We lay upon our faces without strength; for suddenly the cloud came on and for a while we were blind. But it passed us and moved away north at great speed. Melkor was there, we do not doubt. But not he alone! Some other power  was with him, some huge evil: even as it passed it robbed us of all wit and will.’

The sense of chaos and sheer wrongness is palpable here. I don’t know if this makes sense but the buzzing of the air with tension, the birds and insects and warm weather frogs have gone quiet, like a solar eclipse in a world that does not yet have the sun.  The forced cheerful but wary day of riding turning afoul when this cloud comes and screams are heard, the confusion, them being cast from their horses which have  and unable to move as this dreadful, ancient power draws nearer to them? The Fëanorians were trapped as this horrifying entity passes by them and survive only because they are not directly in the way. 

A sense of dread, static atmosphere, trusted animals acting oddly and then violently, the light going out, helplessness induced as though by an otherworldly power. It's a scene out of a horror tale.

And then what they find when they finally reach home. 

The Silmarillion says that Fëanor would have almost certainly been killed had he been at Formenos when Melkor arrived, indeed it was likely Melkor’s aim. (And Fëanor cursed also the summons of Manwë and the hour in which he came to Taniquetil, thinking in the madness of his rage and grief that had he been at Formenos his strength would have availed more than to be slain also as Melkor had purposed “The Flight of the Noldor”). We can’t say for certain what would have happened in hypotheticals that the author didn’t directly addresses but I have a hard time imagining that Melkor would have showed much mercy had the sons of Fëanor not gone out riding and had instead attempted to aid their grandfather. 

Also the mention of how the cloud that passes robs them of their wit and will. It's intriguing and horrifying. It could almost be read as a natural response to such a traumatic event, hearing your grandfather attacked and slain, his crying out, and knowing you won't get there in time...except for how total and visceral it is.

I've talked a lot about this when it comes to The Wanderings of Húrin and it's always difficult to know how much is intentional but I frequently find it interesting how often these influences of darkness and evil mirror trauma responses, such as Húrin walking 'as one in a dream' and the shadow that takes over him upon waking from nightmares.

‘Darkness and blood! When we could move again we came to the house. There we found the king slain at the door. His head was crushed as with a great mace of iron. We found no others; all had fled and he had stood alone, defiant. That is plain; for his sword lay beside him, twisted and untempered as though by lightning strike. All the house was broken and ravaged. Naught is left. The treasures are empty. The chambers of iron are torn apart. The Silmarils are taken!’

I'm also struck by how incredibly coherent and detached description of finding the murdered body of your grandfather in a place that had not ever seen violent murder. That he had the presence of mind to get his brothers away from Formenos and go directly to where Manwë was is pretty notable! Especially in the dark! I can imagine what that journey must have been like, not knowing who or what is still lurking out there.

And again, I made a full post about Finwë’s perspective on this here but... to think of Finwë’s last stand against this shadow of his childhood who has now haunted him across two continents, who’s evil deeds he has known from the very beginning, who started as a shapeless horror that stole away his kin in the dead of night and became this knowable threat he still couldn’t escape..knowing his grandsons are minutes away in this shadow....

And the detail of Melkor further destroying the whole house! Killing Finwë was likely unnecessary, he could have almost certainly cast him aside, knocked him unconscious, etc. Melkor likely became enraged when another member of that family denied him entry and so he destroyed all he could in his path.

Final note: some of the descriptions in Morgoth’s Ring about the reaction of non Finwëans is also striking so I’ll post about that soon

[taylor-titmouse]

objects of affection asks/reviews pt. 1

probbaly don't open this up unless you've read the book already! lot of discussion of spoilers under this read more. gonna be working my way from the bottom of my inbox and up

thank you... i do especially appreciate the compliment on the art composition, because this one was a case of me worrying the art might detract from the prose. given the erotic elements are inextricable from the horror, it would have been somewhat gratuitous to give it my usual "what's the sexiest image" treatment. but at the same time, i know a lot of my audience comes for the sexy images! i think i struck a good balance with the frequent cropping. especially with the one of touma and shima with mari-ko's head just poking out of the bottom, i'm really pleased with how clear that one makes it that it was never about her.

putting these ones together because you both caught my little mole thing >:] fun fact the mole is inspired by my roommate and i talking about kieran pokemon dlc's neck mole

and how that's such a SPECIFIC tiny detail to put on a character in this world that whoever designed him had to be a freak. like it's one thing to put it on the face, anybody can put a mole on the face, but to put it on the neck... that's so specific. pervert shit.

i'm very pleased with the chapter title images. i had originally planned for the last image of each chapter to be a sort of repetition of it: mari-ko staring blankly as she's bent over the desk, mari mouse's peeled face as she's shut down, marinette smiling innocently at samart. but ultimately i settled on showing the humans instead, being left to sit with what they've done. i think that worked better in the end.

putting these together since they're about the same thing: Yes. mari-ko, mari mouse, and marinette are all the same unit being passed around. i was always being cheeky when i said 'they're all mari-ko!' to anyone who asked it before the book was out. because they are all a mari-ko model, and the original mari-ko touma and shima abuse.

there's almost certainly someone trying to modify a mari-ko to be transparent. the hard part would be getting the pseudoskin to be translucent, because a hard plastic chassis would be kind of impossible! a lot of the internal mechanics rely on there being a flexible skin.

ratna was a challenging needle to thread to make her everything that she is, and feel the way she does, without her coming off as man-hating. it would be very easy to write her as blaming everything wrong with androids on men and their perversions; her chapter had the most revisions between drafts (even before my editor touched it) to make sure i struck the right chord with how her lesbianism/womanhood relates to the position she's in and what she does to androids herself.

okay that's probably enough for one post--more in a bit!

[aristocratic-otter]

Hi all! It's so lovely to see so many people motivated by the fresh feeling of a new year. Thank you for sharing your work with me, @artsyunderstudy, @nausikaaa, @monbons, @thewholelemon, @roomwithanopenfire,

@whatevertheweather, @bookish-bogwitch, @martsonmars, @bookishbroadwayandblind, and @prettygoododds.

One thing I learned from reading everyone's year-end retrospectives: if I want to be more involved, I need to stop being such a perfectionist! I could have been posting every week, but I'd be kicking myself over not having finished a piece of every single WIP...and so I wouldn't post. I'm gonna challenge myself to just post, even if I only wrote one thing the previous week. So that said, it was a vacation week for me, so along with posting my gift fic for @facewithoutheart, A Very Zombie Christmas, I did actually do work on a lot of my WIPs, and you can expect updates on at least two of them this week.

So, here we go. As always, I absolutely did not bother to count six sentences:

From my 2023 COTTA, Snow Fox:

It took some convincing to get Penny and Mitali out the window and up onto the roof. Well, more Mitali than Penny. Neither woman much liked the fact that their petticoats and whatever other underthings women wear would be clearly visible from underneath the whole time they were climbing. 

Penny accepted it as a necessity with a grumble and an embarrassed flush, but Mitali truly balked at the idea. Finally, Pen suggested that I lower a loop of rope rather than an end of rope, and the women could sit in the loop and be hauled up. That resolved the whole ridiculous issue, and we had both women out of the house and onto the roof in short order. 

From my COBB with @cutestkilla: The Rat and the River

I’ve always wanted to be part of one of Snow’s famous ‘lunch meetings’.  Penelope’s told me about them. Simon thinks better with food, so all  information is shared and ideas are circulated over meals in Simon’s team. I used to wish to be British myself so I could join his team and take part in these comfortable meetings of minds. I love food and I love talk, especially talk about disease. What could be more enticing than spending time over sandwiches with the famous Snow’s angels? 

Especially one particular angel. 

From Tiktok Dancer:

Penny, Shep, Agatha and I are all staring at him, jaws hanging loose in our surprise at his unexpected eloquence and passion. Baz just sips on his fruity cocktail and smiles back at us demurely.

I suddenly realize how little I know about this man I’ve fallen head over heels for. And not knowing makes me itch—I can’t stand it.

“What dream are you pursuing?”  I blurt. 

Baz looks at me steadily, and I can almost see him revising his first answer in his head.

From my Visitor Baz AU: 

Baz is dead.

Baz is dead. 

I can’t understand it. The idea that Baz, my terrible roommate, will never snark at me from his desk across the room from mine again…that he’ll never use up all the hot water with his endless showers or wear his uniform in such a way that makes it look designer while all the rest of us look boring. He’ll never suck down a rat in the catacombs or earn the highest score on a Magic Words exam. 

Baz is dead. 

From Saving Simon Snow (I’ve got to reread this one to get my mojo back on it, I think. But here’s six new shortish sentences):

In all our years of cohabitation, I’ve never seen Simon truly lose his temper with Bunce. With me, certainly. Hundreds of times. In the Catacombs, he was irritable and defiant. But now? The moment Bunce grabs hold of his arm, Simon goes off. 

 From CORB #1, Baby Mine with @argumentativeantitheticalg

His voice takes on that haughty, lecturing tone I used to hate so much. Or at least that I used to think that I hated. It made me want to slam him against the wall and get in his face. 

I think I maybe just wanted to get my face on his face. Why was I so fucking stupid?

I’m lost in rumination on my own failings when the rise in volume from the crib and the pointed clearing of Baz’s throat both bring me back.

From CORB #2: The Stoves Come On At Night, with @ebbpettier

I wake up.

For several seconds, I blink groggily into the early morning light. I try to catch at the wisps of the dream I was having, but they’re fading. 

I can’t have been asleep for more than a couple of hours. Like I’d planned, I’d slept a few hours last night and then got up at three a.m. Three hours later, after I’d finished a sketchy patrol, I headed back to bed as the first rays of the sun were just breaking over the horizon. 

It can’t be more than 8 am now. What on earth woke me up? Even if I can’t really remember it, I’d been having such a pleasant dream…

Suddenly, I realize that the annoying buzzing sound I hear is an alarm–the fire alarm!

Tags and howdies to: @chen-chen-chen-again-chen, @dragoneggos, @erzbethluna, @palimpsessed, @fatalfangirl,

@melodysmash, @moments-au-crayon22, @moodandmist,  @mostlymaudlin, @onepintobean,

@raenestee, @tea-brigade, @upuntil6am, @whogaveyoupermission, @carryonsimoncarryonbaz,

@krisrix, @shemakesmeforget, @confused-bi-queer, @nightimedreamersghost, @mooncello,

@shrekgogurt, @cosmicalart,  @theearlgreymage, @iamamythologicalcreature, @ileadacharmedlife,

@thehoneyedhufflepuff, @facewithoutheart, @thewholelemon, @skeedelvee, @ivelovedhimthroughworse

@messofthejess, @best--dress, @noblecorgi, @alexalexinii,  @hushed-chorus, 

@rimeswithpurple, @blackberrysummerblog, @cutestkilla, @letraspal, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe,

@wellbelesbian, @ic3-que3n, @emeryhall, @larkral, @youarenevertooold,

@j-nipper-95, @ebbpettier, and @argumentativeantitheticalg

[lightwing-s]

𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏𝐒

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 ; 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧

pairing: jason todd x fem! reader

summary: sometimes you couldn't help yourself from hating everything, sometimes you couldn't help bumping into people, sometimes certain stains were hard to remove

word count: 1,2k

links: next ; series masterlist ; general masterlist

You hated this. The loud music. The crowded rooms. The sweaty bodies hitting against each other, devouring each other with no sense of modesty, dancing to the sound of whatever horrid electronic beat sounded from the many music boxes, scattered around the unnecessarily large house.

You hated the guys, eyeing you up and down like a meal to a starved man, undressing you in their minds and having thoughts you prayed you’d never get to hear. You hated the girls judging you with their unkind eyes. And most of all, tonight you hated your neighbor more than anyone in this entire world.

“C’mon, Yn.” She tugged at the sleeve of your jacket, trying to pull you to the dance floor along with her. “Let’s have some fun!”

“I’m fine, Nessie,” you uttered through gritted teeth. “Just do you.”

Your neighbor and, pending revision, friend rolled her eyes at you, dropping her shoulder before pulling you with her towards a corner. “You can’t let that call stop you from having fun,” she stated, boring her chocolate browns into you e/c ones.

After sighing deeply, you replied. “I’ll be fine.”

You didn’t think so, but you weren’t going to ruin your only friend’s night, even if you so wished to. She had been patient with you all the time since that damned phone call, even though if you were in her place, you’d have certainly snapped at your own stubbornness.

After much insisting, she gave up and let go of your hand to move into the crowd, going to dance or make out with anyone she could find close by. You stood still in the same corner, mopping under the blinking blue, red and purple lights, arms crossed on your chest and pushing away every guy that attempted to approach you with a single hostile glare.

One hour, then two hours had passed, your patience vanishing along with the late hours of the night. You couldn’t stand it anymore, too stressed, too pissed off, to be anywhere but home.

“Nessie!” you screamed after your friend, finding her dancing in the middle of two other people. She clearly didn’t hear you, and you had to take a deep breath before fighting your way through the warzone that was the dance floor.

Pushed from both sides, you had to literally dig your way between the waves of people throwing their sweaty bodies around, receiving one and another elbows to the face and giving some back in return. 

Almost approaching your friend’s spot, she noticed you making your way towards her and proceeded to walk to you, a smile spreading on her lips.

“Yn, you came!” she joyfully declared, throwing her arms in the air in celebration, instigating her new companions to join her excitement.

“I wanna go home,” you voiced out and her face instantly fell.

“No!” was her reply. “I’m having fun,” she stood firm.

Widening your eyes and puffing your cheeks with air, you wanted to turn into a five year old just to be able to throw a tantrum and dissipate all the anger you had in yourself without looking crazy. However, you were 22, a college graduate, and thankfully too mature to do so.

“Fine!” you let out instead. “I’m going alone.”

“Go sulk into your boring ass hell hole,” Nessie insulted, clearly intoxicated, and you flipped your middle finger at her before pushing your way through the crowd once more.

Your steps were heavy, weighed down and filled to the brim with your own rage. You pushed people aside, who looked back at you in displeasure, but you were not in the mood to fake an apology to any of them. Or anyone at all. You weren’t going to see them ever again anyways.

When turning a corner, about to step into the foyer as you approach the front door, a great wall bumped into you, sending you a few steps backwards, and the group around you let out shocked gasps. His drink poured over your chest, leaving you soaked in cheap alcohol and stained in red.

“FUCK!” you screamed out, rubbing furiously at your shirt with your jacket’s sleeve, tears slowly forming on your eyes. Your anger, if possible, grew by the minute, and you both wanted to punch the idiot that had done this to you and curl down in a corner and cry.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” said the male voice, apologizing with a little bit too much excitement. Drunk, awesome. “I did not see you there.”

He was kneeling down, picking up his cup and the ice cubes that had fallen to the floor. Gross.

“Obviously,” you whispered, hoping to flee this place as quickly as possible, but the tall man crouched down stopped you from taking any step further.

“Someone is angry,” he joked while standing up, mere inches in front of you. “Would you want to go somewhere where I could calm you down a little?”

He jiggled his thick eyebrows at you, other intentions evident in his offer. Finally getting the chance to stare properly at the clumsy douche that turned your white t-shirt red, you found his bright blue eyes that annoyed you just as much as his eyebrow move did.

“Why the hell would I ever want to go anywhere with someone like you?” Eyeing him up and down, you caught a glimpse at the tattoos decorating his arms, hands and neck. He smelled and looked like trouble, the kind of guy your p… You were always warned about.

“Ooh,” he blew. “Little Miss Stuck Up is angry angry.”

“Fuck off,” you swore, trying to push him away from you, but he didn’t even flinch.

“What? Don’t think we’d make cute babies?” he teased out of nowhere, stepping aside to let you pass.

“Why would I ever want to have a baby with you?” you asked over your shoulder, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Why would I ever want to have my dick inside you in the first place?” he asked back, forgetting his early offer, before you both rolled your eyes and walked in different directions.

You tried to dry the stain on your shirt as you walked away, continuously rubbing your chest as you left the house and on your entire Uber ride. You tried to wash it off when you got home, but the red stain wouldn’t disappear, not in the first, second or third tries of your washing machine, and neither the ones of  your desperate hands.

The stranger, whoever he was, made sure he’d leave his mark on you and that pissed you off even more, not because it was your favorite white t-shirt, not because it was new and expensive. But because it wasn’t just the stain he had left you with, as his bright blue eyes stuck to your head the entire weekend, as you sulked on your boring hell hole of an apartment.

As the weekend came to an end and the early morning sun announced the arrival of Monday, you stepped inside your regular gym. Freshly showered, headphones stuck to your ears, as you wished to relieve all your accumulated rage on every machine you could touch.

The gym was your haven, your place to find peace on stressful days and distract yourself from the world around you. You were ready to leave the place feeling refreshed and powered up for a new week of hard work and hustle.

You were gonna be fine, it was all gonna be perfect. If it wasn’t for you crashing into a large back, a water bottle splashing liquid on your face, and the same pair of blue eyes turning around and meeting yours again.

“Fuck!” you two said in unison.

This was going to be one hard stain to get rid of.

.

.

tag list: @igotanidea

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[alovelywaytospendanevening]

Lit Hub: The Question of Homoeroticism in Whitman’s Poetry

Walt Whitman’s best poems demonstrate an almost unimaginable prescience; he and Dickinson, among 19th-century American poets, possess a nearly chilling self-consciousness, an acute self-analysis. Edward Carpenter, the British anarchist, writer, and champion of the Arts and Crafts movement whose life and romance were the model for E. M. Forster’s novel Maurice, wrote this elegant description of a visit with Whitman in 1877; the emphases are Carpenter’s own: “If I had thought before (and I do not know that I had) that Whitman was eccentric, unbalanced, violent, my first interview certainly produced quite a contrary effect. No one could be more considerate, I may almost say courteous; no one could have more simplicity of manner and freedom from egotistic wrigglings; and I never met any one who gave me more the impression of knowing what he was doing more than he did.” That there were words for homosexual behavior in Whitman’s day there can be no doubt. Social structures for enabling same-sex congress seem to have been a feature of life in the modern city at least since the later 18th century, when the “Molly houses” in London offered a zone of permission for transvestism. Herman Melville, in Redburn, carefully evokes the nattily dressed fellows who hang out in front of a downtown restaurant where opera singers perform; he means us to understand what these stylish outfits convey. Historian and theorist Luc Sante describes a 19th-century pamphlet that takes as its project the publication of the locations of various quite particular spots of diverse sexual practice in New York City—so that those informed of, say, the address of a bordello featuring willing boys can take special care to avoid this hazard. Trenchant evidence comes from Rufus Griswold’s review of the 1855 edition of Leaves of Grass: “We have found it impossible to convey any, even the most faint idea of style and contents, and of our disgust and detestation of them, without employing language that cannot be pleasing to ears polite; but it does seem that someone should, under circumstances like these, undertake a most disagreeable, yet stern duty. The records of crime show that many monsters have gone on in impunity, because the exposure of their vileness was attended with too great indelicacy. Peccatum illud horrible, inter Christianos non nominandum.” Which is all a way of saying that Whitman inscribes his sexuality on the frontier of modernity; he is writing into being—particularly in the “Calamus” poems of 1860, with their frank male-to-male loving, their assumption of equality on the part of the lovers—a new situation. He does not know how to proceed—he has no path —but he does it anyway. My guess is that he couldn’t have written “Calamus,” or the boldly homoerotic portions of the 1855 Leaves, even ten years later, as the advent of psychology increasingly led to a public perception of the normative, and imagery of the sacred family becomes the object of Victorian romance. As a category of identity—sodomite, invert, debauchee, pervert, Uranian—begins to emerge, so the poems with their claims of a loving, healthy, freely embraced same-sex desire become unwriteable, paradoxically, just as new language of homosexual identity begins to appear. Unwriteable, and, it would seem from Whitman’s later remarks, and some of his revisions, barely defensible. Carpenter and his readers were reaching for signposts of a gay identity when such a thing barely existed, but Whitman is ultimately a queer poet in the deepest sense of the word: he destabilizes, he unsettles, he removes the doors from their jambs. There is an uncanniness in “Song of Myself” and the other great poems of the 1850s that, for all his vaunted certainty, Whitman wishes to underscore. Again and again, he points us toward what, it seems, must remain folded in the buds beneath speech, since it cannot be brought to the surface. (Full article)

[itwdoris]

MORE STEIN PLEASE I NEED THAT MAN SO BADLY

franken stein x afab reader.

tw; piss, kinda nasty. not revised.

★

stein can be a bit strange at times, but you knew it from the moment you started going out, and in fact he never hid it, making it clear how much he enjoyed using you in various ways just for pleasure and curiosity.

when you were having sex and he simply stopped to piss inside you, you could see his eyes shining with it, you weren't surprised when he started doing it more often. and then when he asked you to do it, just so he could see you pissing all over his cock, so hot.

stein never had many limits, and you never refused him, not even when he started to go deeper, you wanted it too.

when you started playing with it even before or outside of sex, dangerously amusing him a little too much, franken no longer wanted to just soak you or fill you up, he wanted more, he wanted to see you drink it, he wanted to drink.

the point is that he had you right there in his hand to play with as he pleased, and fuck, his mind was so good. he could spend all day imagining piss-wet scenarios where you moan his name with your pretty little red face.

and the best thing, was that they never just stayed in his mind.

"spread your legs wider, dear." he helped you into the position he wanted, smiling very pleased, he went to the kitchen and got his favorite glass. "ah, i'm thirsty, you'd better give me plenty."

you could feel your face burning as you lay on the dining table, hands supporting you, knees apart and wet pussy well exposed so he could see the piss dripping down later.

he filled you up with water, your bladder was about to explode and all you could do from an early age was hold on and hold on, and he made a point of watching you, keeping you on his work table, folds well exposed at all times, it was almost relaxing to hear you whimpering quietly, trying to avoid leaking.

although it wouldn't be a problem, stein loved it when you couldn't stand it and made a mess of him. but for the sake of experience, he had to wait.

so he came back from the kitchen, a plate with some cookies in his hand and the other occupied with a glass, which he placed right below her pussy, sitting down at the table and taking a bite of one of the cookies. "oh yes, now you can pee."

he leaned back in his chair while you pressed your lips together, finally being able to relieve yourself, releasing the first drops and seeing him approach almost instantly, watching with attentive eyes.

stein felt his cock twitch inside his pants, but was annoyed to notice that you seemed to be controlling yourself a little.

"why do you keep holding it?" he asked with his mouth kinda full, just a few drops in his glass.

"d-don't want to make a mess.." you murmured softly, red face. you've been holding it for so long, and there was so much of it, that if you let go it would make a big wet mess on the table and on him...

"that's what i want." he grinned, patting your pussy and returning his back to the chair. "very good, now pee."

so you obeyed him, before he came to you for help like last time, a sigh coming from your lips when you finally decided to let go, drops and drops until the clear, warm stream gushed out.

but there was so much, it fell into his glass and ended up wetting your precious biscuits made with so much care. he moved closer, making you moan at the sight of him getting wet, moving your hips just a little, enough to make it better.

your legs trembled slightly as the piss seemed endless, dripping and filling the glass below you to overflowing. but it was so good.

and franken certainly agreed, because his pants were too tight for his hard cock. his glasses were dripping and he could hardly think about the rest just by noticing the mess you were making, your wet pussy gushing piss everywhere.

but unfortunately it came to an end, making you moan with relief as you sat down at the wet table, breathing slowly, the full glass right in front of you.

stein picked up the glass and brought it to his mouth to drink, his hands spreading his own needy cock inside his pants. and he finished in no time, panting after drinking without stopping, putting the empty glass back on the table.

his face hardly ever turned red, and to see him like that, so full of pleasure...

he sighed, leaning back in his chair and pulling out his full cock, taking off his glasses and another cookie to eat, even though it was soaked, because he had certainly discovered another experiment to test further.

his hand began to move up and down slowly, you moved a little closer to watch better, seeing him close his eyes as he chewed.

"hmm, you should try these cookies."

i'm sorry, this man is a menace. he has no limits, nor i. these cookies were made with a lot of love and cum for those who didn't get it. ( sorry guys, im nasty.

also sorry if you didn't want piss involved =| but i hope you like it!

[pengychan]

[Baldur’s Gate III] Hell to Pay, Epilogue

Illustration by @raphaels-little-beast

Title: Hell to Pay Summary: Assassinating an archdevil is a daunting task, even for the heroes of Baldur’s Gate. Some inside help from ‘the devil they know’ would be good, if not for the detail their last meeting ended with said devil dead in his own home. Or did it? Characters: Raphael, the Dark Urge, Astarion, Haarlep, Halsin, Karlach, Wyll. Rating: E Status: Complete

All chapters will be tagged as ‘hell to pay’ on my blog. Also on Ao3.

*** WELL. It took an embarrassing amount of words and an embarrassing amount of time but this is it. This is the end. Who likes happy endings? I like happy endings. For the record, I had this in my ears while writing most of this chapter. The talent of some people, I swear. Speaking of talent, the art at the end of the chapter is by @raphaels-little-beast! ***

“I have nothing to wear.”

“I fail to recall any instance where that was ever a problem.”

“It's a problem now because you said I should wear a proper outfit at a wedding.”

“You have quite literally my entire wardrobe at your disposal to pick from. Certainly you’ll be able to find something to your taste within the next three days.”

“I did, and you said no. Like I don't look fetching in a leather coll--”

“The entire wardrobe with the exception of that drawer,” Raphael cut Haarlep off before they could speak entirely too much. “I'm certain you can manage.”

Haarlep huffed. “It's more than one drawer,” they muttered, but had enough sense not to press further. They only sighed, rather dramatically. “So many limits. This was not in my contract,” they lamented, but still leaned over to kiss Raphael’s temple, a hand braced against the throne’s armrest. When they spoke again, it was in a whisper against his hair. “You’ll make it up to me tonight, won’t you, my pet?”

Barely looking up from the treatise he was reading - it was time, he suspected, to revise some of the agreements in place with the Fourth; Lady Fierna would probably be more receptive to it than Lord Belial - Raphael let out a hum. 

“That can be arranged,” he replied, in the thoughtful tone of a ruler promising to give proper consideration to an official petition. He felt Haarlep smile before they pulled back. 

“Oh, I’ll hold you to that,” they said, sultry as they could be, and off they went to rifle through Raphael’s wardrobe. He watched them leave the throne room, a faint smile still on his lips, until a voice rang out.

“More wine, my lord?”

Raphael had almost forgotten the servant’s presence. He turned and held out his cup with a nod. “That would be appreciated.”

There was much to be garnered from observing how steady - or unsteady - a servant's hand was while pouring wine. In the first days and weeks of his reign, when few knew what to expect - eternal debtors least of all - their hands had shaken badly enough it was a wonder there had been no spillages.

It was nothing new to Raphael; his own eternal debtors back in the House of Hope had been for the most part terrified of him, at least those with some sanity left. It had pleased him, then. He'd savored their fear like a fine vintage; it was only right that they feared their master. To them, he was a lord. Their lord, to be feared and obeyed, admired as he'd always known he deserved. Until he could make other fiends bow to him, until he could strike terror and awe into every single one of them, those wretched souls would do.

Yet now that he was indeed one of the lords of the Nine Hells, he seemed to have lost the taste for it. Not for having others bow to him or fear him - that he'd never quite tire of, he suspected - but he found that striking terror into beings who could be no threat to him had lost its appeal. Terror served him well to prove a point and nip a potential revolt in the bud; a fearsome reputation was useful to keep other archdevils at bay. But with eternal debtors, he would rather take in the awe. And that was so very easy to obtain.

The hand pouring his wine did not tremble. Raphael nodded before pulling back the cup. He did not drink right away; he glanced at the wine, settling back against the backrest of the throne. “Do remind me, what wine is this?”

“Exeltis Ice Wine, my lord. It is-- was -- from the late Justiciar’s private stash.”

“Hmm. He had taste, that much I do owe him to concede.” Raphael gave the wine more time to air out before he drank, gaze shifting back to the treatise. “Do give word to the kitchens I’ll be dining in my quarters. The master of wardrobe and a guest will be there as well - my consort as well, perhaps. If their search for an outfit doesn’t take them all evening.”

“Of course, my lord.” The debtor - a half-orc with half his scalp burned off - bowed his head. “Anything else they should know?”

“Don’t skimp on the seasonings on the wereboar roast. Yesterday’s axebeak fillets could have used more flavor,” Raphael replied, but he was already focusing on his reading once again. Now that he was whole, food was once more an indulgence rather than a necessity. He did not miss hunger, per se, but he had to admit eating was not quite as satisfying as it was when it had a need to fulfill. “As for the wine, I want two bottles of Utterdark.”

“I’ll let them know, my lo--”

The door leading to the throne room was pushed open before he could finish, the bang followed by heavy steps. The servant recoiled, turning to look towards the entrance. Still drinking from his cup, Raphael lifted an eyebrow.

Whenever any fiend was summoned by the Lord of the Eighth, there generally was a protocol to follow. Particularly important guests would be escorted and announced by the chamberlain or the steward; that was not the case now but even still, some decorum was expected. Bowing before the throne - how deeply depended on the rank - and greeting him as ‘my lord’ was considered the bare minimum from anyone except other archduke. 

None of that seemed to have crossed Yurgir’s mind in any way, shape or form. 

“All right, I’ll bite. What sort of game are you playing?”

Raphael sighed, and gestured for the servant to leave. He did, quite hurriedly, giving Yurgir as wide a berth as he could while Raphael looked back at the orthon. 

“And a good afternoon to you as well, commander. As I'm in a fine mood and no member of my court was here to witness your atrocious lapse in etiquette, I'll do you the favor to pretend you have addressed me with the respect that befits my station. Only this once. But you may further test my patience at your peril, if you're so inclined.”

Yurgir’s glare made it rather clear he had a few choice words for him, but he was clever enough not to test his patience after all. When they had last met, Raphael had defeated him, if barely, in his weakened human form. Now he was whole again, more powerful than he’d ever been, and they stood in his kingdom. He remained silent, and Raphael smiled. 

“Good. Now, what seems to be the matter? You were paid in full for your services in the Fugue Plane, were you not? And you have much enjoyed the hospitality this citadel has to offer in the past days.”

A grunt. “Yes. And I thought that was the end of it, but then you sent this note-- ”

“A perfectly reasonable offer, I think. Is it not? I could use someone with your expertise to guard my private quarters.”

“You could have a gelugon to do it, or a pit fiend--”

“I could, yes.” Raphael finished the wine, vanished both the empty cup and the treatise in a burst of flames, and stood from the throne. “But I’d rather have someone with no connection to other court members, or to my late sire, taking on that duty.”

Yurgir snorted. “Last time you had me under contract, I turned on you in your own house.”

Raphael chuckled, walking down the steps from the throne. “Not very wise of you to remind me of that specific mishap.”

“Didn’t think for a second you needed reminding. So, why would you think I wouldn’t turn on you again if given the chance?”

“I do have a couple of reasons. The first being, of course, the much more generous contract, which you are free to sign or reject without consequences. And the second…” Raphael smiled, and stepped closer. The brief flare-up of fire, and he stood before Yurgir in his human form, head tilted back to look him in the eye. “Back then I had not yet bested you in combat as a mere human, had I?”

This time, Yurgir laughed. “Hah! You have my respect for that, yes. As much as it pisses me off.”

“How very flattering.”

A snort. “I don’t do flattery.”

“You obviously don’t do irony either.”

“Are you looking for a guard or for a jester?”

“As amusing as watching you dance was, I find this court has enough jesters as is. Am I to take it that you’re accepting the offer?”

“You’re to take it that I’ll think about it.”

“Very well. I’ll expect your answer in a tenday’s time,” Raphael replied, but he was already rather certain he knew the answer, and that he’d get it much earlier than that. Orthons were not known to spend days on end mulling over the ramifications of their choices, after all. 

Yurgir did not bow or say anything before he turned to leave; once he signed the contract, of course, he’d need to get into the habit - but they could discuss such fine details at a later date. With a sigh, Raphael turned back to his throne, and changed out of his human form once more.

He had some work yet to do before he could dine… and he didn’t have to wait long before Adonides stood at the doors, clearing his throat. He’d barely had time to sit back on the throne, really. 

“Lord Raphael,” he called, bowing his head. If using that title for him left a bitter taste in his mouth, he did not let it show. “The Steward of Avernus is here to see you.”

Raphael smiled. “Do let her in,” he ordered. Much like with Yurgir, he knew he had that contract in hand; the agreement with Bel may be informal - formally, only Mizora could ultimately relinquish ownership of her warlock - but the Lord of the First would not jeopardize such a fruitful cooperation over a single mortal soul, however gifted.

As many things in the Hells and outside them it was, in the end, all a matter of price; that meeting was indeed pure formality. Mizora would make a demand, they’d bargain, and he’d make a fitting concession. 

Frankly, he’d have been disappointed if she hadn’t come to bargain. He knew her to be shrewd and relentless; he fully expected her to make him work for that victory. 

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

***

“... Anyway, the Shadow Thieves had been trying to get to this Mrel Alkam for years. As Durge and I do have some experience killing vampire lords among other things, we offered our assistance in exchange for-- well. Calling off their assassins. Which was a bit of an overreaction in the first place, the Cloakmaster was not going to miss some coin..”

“Heh! You’ve certainly made a habit out of destroying master vampires. What of the spawn?”

“We killed the ones who fought, directed those who didn’t towards the Underdark. Quite a few of them - seeing a spawn with no master gives them this funny idea that they could be the same, too. We told the Shades they got away despite us giving chase, and they bought that. Suckers.”

“And that is why they gifted you that beautiful vest you showed us?”

Astarion shook his head, laughing. That was by far the most pleasant track to Baldur’s Gate yet, he thought, in the sun and without a tadpole in his brain, no fate of the world resting on him, no prospect of going to the Hells, no Cazador awaiting at the end of the road. “Oh, no. I stole that, actually,” he said. “They did not like it, predictably enough.”

Isobel blinked. “Why did you…?” 

“Didn’t think they’d notice.”

“Ah.”

“But they did, so they sent assassins after us. Again. Awfully touchy. Don’t worry though, they were not very good assassins. We got rid of them quickly, didn’t we, love?” 

Walking a few paces ahead alongside Halsin, Durge chuckled and replied without turning. “Heh. They would not have made the cut for Bhaal’s cult, that is for certain.”

“Of course not. Didn’t make a cut on us either, but they made excellent meals. I mean, chasing a vampire and a dragonborn in a place called the  Wood of Sharp Teeth? Not terribly clever.”

Dame Aylin laughed, loud and suddenly enough it caused a couple of terrified birds to take flight. “Hah! As if some assassins could hold a candle to you - challengers of gods, slayers of archfiends!”

“And of vampire lords, don’t forget!”

There was some laughter, and the conversation turned to the upcoming wedding, and to the others they were going to meet at Baldur’s Gate. Dame Aylin seemed to be looking far too much into Shadowheart’s decision to follow Lae’zel in her war against Vlaakith. 

“She may not realize it just yet, but she is drawn to the Moonmaiden, as her parents were,” she declared. “She now wanders through the Tears of Selûne, closer than most can ever be to the Lady of Silver - she who guides, wielder of silver light!”

Astarion raised an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure the lady she meant to follow wields a silver sword, and is liable to use it on whomever calls her a maiden,” he pointed out. His comment was met with a laugh. 

“See, Selûne even guided her to rejoin her love! Those close to the Moonmaiden have a weakness for mighty warriors, that is obvious,” she added, and seemed very pleased with herself when Isobel chuckled and grasped her arm, leaning against her shoulder as they walked.

“That we do. Although who I truly fell for is--”

“The passionate lover? The stunning looks?”

“I was about to say the noble heart, but…”

There was more laughter, and time seemed to fly by as quickly as the road beneath their feet, leading them back to the Gate.

***

There were many things Dalah had not thought nor dreamed she could experience again. 

Her husband by her side, for one, as solid against her as he’d felt back when they still had mortal bodies; his voice against her ear, the rumbling laughter, the earnest look on his face while listening intently to her every word. She remembered cherishing their evenings most of all: sitting before the hearth after the meal and just talking for hours on end. Sometimes he’d settle to listen as she read aloud from her newest book, or practiced playing her lyre. 

Sometimes they’d just sit in peaceful silence, while she kept herself busy with embroidery and he only moved to throw some more wood into the fire. Such peaceful evenings had felt like a dream she’d had once and that, she was sure, she could never have again. 

Obviously clairvoyance was never her calling, because never in her life or death she’d thought she could see such a scene playing out before her eyes - her husband and son playing a game of lanceboard before a fireplace, while she sat on an armchair to put the finishing touches to her latest work, occasionally glancing at the incessant snowfall outside. 

With Israfel in his human form, someone stepping in from outside might have almost thought they had gone through the wrong door, and somehow into a portal to the Material  Plane. Dalah smiled faintly, and turned her attention back to the jacket she was intent on finishing that evening… but she kept listening as they talked.

“While I feel this should go without saying, I ought to tell you that surrendering your soul to any devil is not advisable,” Israfel was saying. “Particularly if you plan on doing so for free.”

“But it wouldn’t be any devil. It would be you.” Rahirek picked up a piece and advanced it on the board. “You hold Dalah’s soul. May as well hold mine and bind me to this place too. I am never going anywhere the two of you are  not.”

Israfel did not look up from the board, but as she glanced up Dalah could see him work his jaw a moment before he spoke, moving his Mystra. 

“... Very well. I shall take ownership of your soul as well. But my offer stands, to both of you. Giving you bodies in your likeness to inhabit as well as riches would be a simple enough matter, should you wish to return to the Material Plane. For any length of time, if not permanently,” he added, before Dalah could speak out to tell him once again she did not intend to leave. “A vacation from the Hells, if you will. I could come see you and bring you back at any time. Promise me you’ll at least consider it.”

That, Dalah supposed, she could consider; seeing the sun, grass, trees once again, the summer breeze and the smells of autumn - anything that was not eternal winter. Maybe… yes, maybe a few brief stays would do them good. She smiled. “All right. We’ll consider it.”

Rahirek chuckled. “Tiring of us already?” he asked, and Israfel smiled.

“Hardly. I don’t think I’ll tire of this anytime soon,” he said, and moved his turret to knock down Rahirek’s Cyric. His smile widened. “Checkmate.”

Rahirek blinked, staring at the board for a few moments, and finally laughed. “Ah, that was a fine trap you laid out for me. And I fell for it. Either I lost my skills in the Fugue Plane, or you greatly improved.”

“I do like to think I have picked up a trick or two since we last played.”

“Good thing I have time to catch up.”

Yes. All the time we could possibly want, Dalah thought, and smiled before she set down thread and needle. There were a few more details to add - she wanted it to be perfect - but there would be time for it later. She stood. “It’s done, or almost,” she called. “Come try it on.”

The jacket fit him perfectly, but of course that was thanks to the finest tailor in Cania and perhaps all of the Lower Planes. Her own handiwork was the gold embroidery up the cuffs and along them hems, with the outline of foxes across the chest and the back of his shoulders. Dalah watched as Israfel smoothed the front, fingers brushing over the embroidery, and looked in the mirror. He smiled, and so did she.

“Well, look at that. My masterpiece,” she said, causing Rahirek to chuckle. She felt him step by her side, the warm touch of his arm around her shoulders. He hardly missed a chance to touch her, as though to make sure she was real. 

“Indeed,” he said. “And the outfit looks good, too.”

“Wh--” Israfel seemed to stumble on his words for a moment before he cleared his throat and turned, acting as though he hadn’t heard the comment. “This is by far the finest outfit I have ever owned. Thank you, moth--”

“Oh, look at you! It’s almost the best you’ve ever looked.”

Haarlep was in the form of a handsome tiefling with storm-gray skin, and was wearing a magnificent doublet of blue and silver as they strode in. Israfel glanced over as he took the jacket off, arching an eyebrow.

“That one? It is… a good choice. I am impressed.”

“Do you doubt my taste?”

“I question its existence.”

“Ah, I cannot blame you. I did decide to become your consort after all,” Haarlep sing-sang, and leaned over to kiss the bridge of his nose. “You did leave some wine for me, didn’t you, my pe-- dear?”

“Mph. There is still some left, I suppose.”

“Aww, you did think of me.” Haarlep grinned, greatly amused by the somewhat flustered look that crossed Israfel’s features, before they turned to greet them as well. Rahirek returned the greeting a little awkwardly, which Dalah honestly could not blame him for. 

Haarlep was no longer as inclined to share details that were best kept private - something about a clause in a contract, if she’d understood Israfel’s mumble right - but they did take… some time to get used. But that was all right, she thought. Rahirek was right when he said time was something they certainly did not lack, an entire eternity stretching before them. 

Until not too long ago, that was something she’d avoided thinking of, for the sake of her sanity; an eternity of servitude, unless destroyed by a devil with a flick of a hand and barely a glance. 

It was not overly rare for debtors to fail a task on purpose, sometimes - to try and end it all that way, even if one never knew whether a mistake would be met with destruction or with torment, an even worse punishment for the rest of that eternity. 

Most still clung to existence one way or another, and so did she. Other than that stubborn desire to keep existing, time was all she’d had. But now there was so much more. Centuries upon centuries, millennia of this: her husband by her side, the yoke of servitude gone, the freedom to come and go from the Material Plane if so they wished. 

And her son - the new Archduke of Cania. She was by no means an expert of infernal politics, but he seemed to be handling things well… and most of all, she thought as she watched him discuss something with Haarlep in Infernal, he seemed content.  

Dalah felt Rahirek’s arm around her shoulders again, and leaned into the touch. She glanced up at her husband and reached to stroke his cheek, causing him to smile back. A stubborn soul who’d refused to let go of her for almost two millennia, until the impossible had happened. Until Israfel had made it happen. 

There was no expectation whatsoever for anyone, let alone a mortal soul, to know happiness in the Hells. It simply was not supposed to happen… and yet Dalah knew no other name for what she felt now.

But then again neither was a cambion supposed to kill an archdevil, and rule in his stead. Israfel was supposed to die in Mephisto’s maw, or fall under his sheer power… but he had not. Once the dust had settled, he was the one still standing. 

“It must have been a battle to behold,” Rahirek had muttered once she’d finished telling him the full story. It had taken most of his first night there, a night they’d spent awake and talking ceaselessly in one another’s arms, part of them terrified the other would disappear if they let go too long. “He was always powerful. I saw him use hellfire, once. He was only a boy, but he killed a peryton that ten armed men struggled to keep at bay.”

“Mephistopheles was powerful almost beyond comprehension,” Dalah had whispered in turn against his shoulder. “I… I barely dared to hope Israfel could come out victorious, even with help.”

She’d felt him chuckle more than he’d heard it, his hand pausing mid-stroke in her hair. “If anyone could pull it off, I’m not surprised it was him.”

“... Heh. He does have a habit of defying expectations.”

“Of course he does,” he’d said, kissing her forehead. “He is yours.”

Ours. He is ours.

His words echoed in her mind now, watching Israfel chuckle in his cup of wine over something his consort had said. She took in the scene, leaning against Rahirek’s side, a smile playing on her lips.

This too I claim as mine.

***

There had been few occasions - none, truth be told - when Wyll had been glad to see Mizora. Wyll could not imagine any situation where that would be different. If there was, one thing was certain: his wedding day was not it.

“Ah, look at you, pet. All grown up and about to enter another devious pact. You’ve come so far and still learned nothing.” Mizora’s voice reached him almost at the same time as the crackle of fire, the smell of sulfur. Wyll ground his teeth, and stopped buttoning his vest. 

At the other end of the room where they’d been preparing for the ceremony, Karlach growled. “What the fuck do you want?”

Mizora barely tilted her head towards her, but her eyes remained on Wyll. She looked the same as always, but for more jewels adorning her horns and neck, ruby earrings at her ears. Steward of Avernus, now, as she was keen to let everyone know. Her lips curled in a half-smile. “Don’t you look dashing! I’m not certain the same could be said of your bride - even the finest outfit cannot salvage that… ”

Wyll scowled, turning from the mirror. She had made herself scarce in the previous months; he supposed she was busy in her new role, and she’d had few, if any, orders for him. He’d started to breathe easy again, and now - of all days, did she have to show up now?

“What do you want?” he asked, and didn’t react at the sigh and shake of the head, at the mutters about how the son of a Grand Duke should be more polite. Her presence was never welcomed and she knew it very well; obviously, she delighted in getting a rise out of both of them. Wyll would try his best not to give her that.

“I’m here to offer my congratulations, of course. And, well, my condolences, considering who you’re binding yourself to.” A brief glance towards Karlach, and then back to Wyll. Another long-suffering sigh. “And to say goodbye, I suppose. Oh, don’t look so surprised. You’ve known all along that there would be bids for your soul, and you know precisely from who. You’re still my favorite pet, Wyll, but surely you understand - everything has a price and your soul, delightful as it is, is not so valuable it cannot be traded.” Mizora cleared her throat.

“Clause Z, Section Nine - the soul-binder may relinquish the contract binding the soul-bearer to a new pact-holder, provided that her liege lord consents and a suitable price is paid to the soul-binder. For the barbarian in the room, this means our sweet Wyll has a new mast--”

“I do believe I can take it from here, Steward of Avernus. If that’s all the same to you.”

Wyll had no idea when Raphael had materialized in the room but ah, seeing him there - standing by the doorway in his human form, dressed in one of the finest attires he had ever seen - was a relief. For him and for Karlach as well, if they yell that left her the next was anything to go by. “You did it? You did it! You son of a bitch, you did it!”

Her outburst caused Raphael to chuckle. “Unwarranted as that last statement is--”

“Oh, yeah, sorry. I meant your dad. Just to be clear,” she added, and Raphael’s lips curled.

“Of course. But yes, I am Wyll’s new pact holder.” He turned to Mizora, nodding his head only slightly. “Now, I do have a few things to discuss with my new warlock.”

A light scoff. “As if it isn’t obvious, what you plan on doing. A waste, if you ask--”

“I did not ask. And I believe there is a Lord Raphael missing from the end of your sentence.”

For a moment, Mizora looked as though she might scoff at that too… but in the end, she thought better of it and simply bowed her head - as little and as quickly as Wyll supposed infernal etiquette allowed her to. “A lapse, Lord of the Eighth, of which I am so very contrite,” she said, her tone light, and turned back to Wyll. “Well. This is where we part ways, I suppose. I’d love to witness the celebrations as you make the worst mistake of your life, but my duties call me back to Avernus. You may not believe me, but I shall miss you dearly.”

Wyll held back a scoff. Would she now? Perhaps. If there was something he’d learned was that devils were complicated; even Karlach’s history with Florenta the Garroter was proof that sometimes, devils truly may take a liking to a mortal… and it very rarely was good news for said mortal.

He recalled all too well how she wore the same smile when she gifted him the Infernal rapier for a job well done and when she’d forced him to make an impossible choice between his father’s life and his own soul, before he could even taste freedom again.

There was so much she’d put him through, and so much he could scream about for days on end… but now, on the cusp of the happiest moment of his life so far, the chains around him already starting to slip away, he found he only wanted one thing: to never see her face again. “I cannot say that’s mutual,” was all he said in the end. 

Mizora only smiled. “Ungrateful as always, mortals. I look forward to getting word of whatever it is you get into next, pet. You cannot be accused of being too boring, at least.” One last nod, and flames flared up briefly before disappearing, taking her back to the Hells. 

As the sense of dread faded, Wyll breathed out before turning to Raphael. It felt as though a weight on his shoulders had been lightened but not yet lifted. When he spoke, it was with the gnawing dread in the pit of his stomach that freedom may be snatched away from him yet again, as it had happened before.

“Do you really-- my contract, is it…?” he hesitated. Raphael smiled, lifting a hand. 

“Ah, this contract?” A snap of his fingers, and the contact appeared before him. It exuded malevolence, the Infernal runes on it glowing faintly. “I do apologize for bursting in your quarters before the ceremony, but I figured you wouldn’t complain if you received this specific wedding gift early. Unless you wish me to hold onto it until--”

“No, no!” Karlach blurted out, waving her hands. “Now is good! Now is great, actually. I just-- gods, that’s really it?”

A chuckle. “Oh, it is. Quite the well thought-out contract - Mizora does know her business. And it is the only copy in existence.” He looked over at Wyll, and met his gaze. “A debt repaid, and my gift to you both. Wyll’s soul his own again, to keep or sell all over again however he may desire. Do you wish to do the honors, Wyll Ravengard, or shall I?”

Wyll looked at the runes; for a moment their red glow seemed to fill his vision, as it did on the night he’d first signed it, a boy of seven-and-ten desperate to protect his city. He breathed in and knew he could not bring himself to touch it. “Burn it to ashes,” he finally said. 

“Believe me, no ashes will be left.” Raphael’s lifted hand clenched into a fist, and the hovering contract burned with white-hot flames.

Hellfire destroyed everything it touched and it destroyed his contract too, wrapping around it like hungry fingers and reducing it to nothing, just as Raphael had said. The runes glowed one last time, and were no more; and Wyll could feel it at last, the binds on his soul shattering with one last mighty yank. 

He breathed in, deep, and even the weight on his chest was gone; in his eye socket, the quiet humming magic of the sending stone came to a stop - the matching stone gone, too. Never again would Mizora be able to track him down, or spy on him. But still… 

“Well? Feel any different?” Karlach asked while grabbing both his hands, so quickly her tongue almost stumbled over the words. Wyll turned to her, and smiled. Did he feel different? Of course he did. He was free - he was finally free.  “Yes. Gods, yes - the bounds are gone.”

Raphael chuckled. “Well then, I hope you enjoy your gift. Do forgive the intrusion; I see you have yet to finish preparing for the day. I shall see you at the ceremony shortly, I suppo--”

“Wait,” Wyll called out, turning back to him. “I can feel I am no longer pacted, but my powers are still… here. Are they not supposed to drain away, too?”

“Ah, yes. I am now the source of your power. With the contract binding you to me gone, I am to take that back. But I am a busy devil, you understand,” Raphael replied, and snapped his fingers. His words echoed in the room even after he’d disappeared from sight; Wyll could almost hear the smirk. “I shall make time to take them back in a couple of centuries’ time.”

***

“I hope they reserved front seats for us. And by that I mean, I definitely expect that they did.”

“Tch. The ceremony won’t be long, I’m told. Have you grown so lazy you cannot stand for a short while?”

“Oh, I certainly can stand,” Astarion replied. “For hours on end, too. But I don’t want to. This place is more packed than Durge’s bag of holding and I never enjoyed the press of a crowd.”

Astarion wasn’t wrong: the central square of the Sun District - a brand new district, built entirely by the surviving refugees from Elturel - was definitely full, both of its inhabitants and others yet who had come from everywhere in the city. It was not every day that one got to watch two of the heroes who had saved their city tie the knot. 

They did, as a matter of fact, have front row seats - but they had to go through quite the sea of people first, in great part familiar faces. A very welcomed sight for the most part - seeing Zevlor talking to Grand Duke Ravengard had been a surprise, but not unwelcome; the fact Bex and Danis already had a child on the way, on the other hand, was no surprise whatsoever.

However, one smiling face in the crowd left a bitter taste of bile in Durge’s mouth; it brought back the wet sound of rendered flesh, the cracking of bones, the slickness of blood. Lakrissa seemed happy with the life she’d built for herself, but she still did not know - none but their companions knew - what had become of Alfira. 

I should tell her, one day, and hope she can forgive me.

“Stop.” Lae’zel voice was sharp, and it caused Durge to blink and look back. Set met his gaze, head tilted back. Intense as always, wasn’t she? “I see you’re getting that look again. The regretful one. This is not the day for it; this is the day to celebrate.”

Durge chuckled, faintly. “I have missed you,” they admitted, gaining themself a scoff.

“... Well. I don’t find your company unwelcome, eith--”

“Are you two coming or  not?” Shadowheart groaned, and grasped Lae’zel hand to pull her through the crowd, towards the small shrine that had been built for the occasion. It caused her to grumble, but she did not resist. It got another chuckle out of Durge before they followed, and sure enough there was a row of seats at the front; Jaheira and Minsc were already there, and Gale had clearly just arrived, with Tara comfortably perched across his shoulders.

It was good to see them again - although Astarion did trade places with Halsin so that he wouldn’t sit next to Minsc, as he often said that listening to him for too long made him wish the tadpole had eaten his brain.

“Yours, or Minsc’s?” Durge had asked once, laughing, and Astarion had made a face.

“Mine. Minsc’s was already long gone before the parasite nested in it, I think.”

By the time the greetings were done and they were all seated, with Shadowheart setting about to explain the finer details of a wedding ceremony to Lae’zel, Durge couldn’t help but notice that there were still two empty seats right next to them… and they had an inkling over who they may be for. The inkling was correct; the occupants didn’t take long to arrive. 

“My, my. What manner of wedding is this?”

In his human form and clad in what was likely the most intricately detailed outfit Durge had ever seen - and there they thought they’d made an effort - Raphael was a sight for sore eyes. He was attracting numerous glances; Durge wondered how many more would be looking over, or running as quickly as possible, if they knew just who stood in their midst. 

By his side was a tall tiefling clad in silver and blue, and Durge recognized that glamor as well. They grinned. “And here I thought the two of you would show up fashionably late.”

“I never found anything fashionable about lateness. It is quite frowned upon in the Hells,” Raphael informed them with a chuckle, and looked over at the rest of their companions. It was a little amusing, really, to see the difference between the reaction of those who had been through the Hells with them and those who had… not.

“Oh, um… hello? No hard feelings, I trust?”

“Ah, there’s my favorite incubus! I’ve been told you’ve kept up with the target practice!”

“... Raphael. And… Haarlep, is it?”

“I’m glad you two could make it.”

“Tch. Death did not hold you for long, and you slew your tyrant. I can admire that, devil.”

“Boo and I are watching you!”

Raphael bowed his head. “You may watch to your heart’s content. I do not intend to cause trouble,” he said, taking the seat next to Durge. “After all, it would put a damper on this marvellous wedding. Even the delightful Dame Aylin could see that, and stayed her sword. Not that it would truly kill either of us, of course, not on this Plane. We’d only return home.”

“Almost a shame she didn’t try. I’m actually pretty curious to find out what dying on this Plane feels like,” Haarlep muttered, taking their seat. “But then we’d have missed this.”

Durge smiled. “We did tell her you’re here as a friend, and that if she took her sword to your feeble neck - her words, not mine - you may be less inclined to return Wyll ownership of his soul.”

Raphael laughed. “Hah! She did seem to back down more easily than expected. How fortunate, then, that she does not know Wyll Ravengard’s soul has already been returned.”

“What!” Several heads turned to him, in various stages of surprise and delight. Raphael bowed his head, a smile playing on his lips.

“I am a devil of my word - that much you must concede me. I acquired the contract for his soul, and asked young Ravengard himself what ought to be done with it. He said I should burn it, and I duly obliged. The contract is no more, and he is no longer bound to the Hells.”

The relief felt almost physical, like something being lifted from the pit of their stomach; Durge hadn’t even realized it was there, had always been there from the moment they’d watched Wyll make the decision to give his soul away, all over again, for his father’s life. They smiled.

“Thank you, Raphael.”

“You owe me no thanks. I merely kept my word. Although I certainly do hope he is aware that I do not intend to retrieve it once more should he decide to give it away all over again for his city, his father, or whatever he feels the greater good is.”

“I do believe he has learned the lesson,” Halsin said, in the tone of someone who understood that sort of lesson better than anyone. “Karlach would never stand for it - she made it clear back in Avernus. None should take on such heavy burdens on their own.”

“Mhh. He is a slow learner, but if you did learn, druid, then there’s hope even for him,” Raphael conceded, smiling, and sat back.

Just on time, too: a hush fell as Isobel stepped to the altar before turning to face all of them and then past them, and smile. “Shall we begin?”

There was chattering, a few gasps, the sound of people moving. Durge turned to see that the crowd which could not be seated had parted and there they stood, walking hand in hand towards the altar. Karlach was striking in red and gold, and Wyll looked every inch some kind of fairy-tale prince in silver and purple - horns and all. 

“Ooooh, I want that,” Haarlep whispered, although it was unclear whether they were referring to Karlach, Wyll, either of their outfits, or the entire package. Durge could not blame them: both looked stunning and, of course, deliriously happy. They turned in their direction to flash a grin as they stepped past, and Durge grinned back. Yes, they decided - Lae’zel was right. Whatever may come, they’d face it when it did come. That day, they’d celebrate.

The gods knew they’d earned it.

***

Karlach wasn’t sure how the ceremony seemed to go on for hours and come to a close way too fast at the same time, but somehow it did. Weird, but weirder things had happened; she’d hugged a devil, for fuck’s sake, and it didn’t get a lot more unlikely than that. 

She was vaguely aware of Isobel talking about vows, and love, and overcoming unspeakable hardships to find solace in one another, plus more things she did not quite catch. 

All great things, she was sure - but how was she supposed to focus on anything but Wyll’s face, looking up at her with a smile as bright as the midday sun? She just stared back, not really caring if her face was split by the biggest and most idiotic grin--

“--anything you’d like to say?”

Bwuh?

Karlach blinked, and looked away from Wyll just an instant to realize that Isobel was waiting for a reply, and her brain was blank. Well, she had tried to prepare a little speech and she’d memorized it, even… but now she couldn’t recall a single word. 

Thank the gods, Wyll was more prepared.

“Karlach,” he spoke, holding her hands in his a little tighter, and she looked back at him. Was it her or he got more handsome in all the five and a half seconds she wasn’t looking? “You are the red of the sunrise, the yellow of high noon, and the orange of sundown. If you were a song, I’d never stop singing; if you were a psalm, I’d never stop praying. I love you. Will you be mine - today, and tomorrow, and reaching into eternity?"

There were some murmurs from the crowd - definitely more than a few sighs - and Karlach could only stare for a moment-- is it the engine or it’s really hot here? -- before she got a grip on herself.

“I LOVE YOU TOO!” she blurted out. Maybe not that great a grip on herself, and now she could hear laughs and a few cheers - but Wyll was beaming and fuck, it was all that she could look at. “Oh my gods, I've been dying to say that.” If I smile any bigger, my face is going to crack. “I love you. And I’m getting to live a life with you, and I’m gonna love it, and you, every second of it.”

A chuckle, and Isobel reached to place her hands on their joined ones. "Karlach, Wyll. Through hardship and across Planes, you have endured together - and here you stand in your day of joy. From this moment forth, you are no longer two, but one. One path, one heart, one story yet to be told. Your spirits entwine as the roots of ancient trees, unshaken by storm or time. Your blood sings the same song, a melody only you shall know.”

There was something now, a surge of power washing over her, causing Karlach’s breath to catch a moment. It wasn’t just happiness - it was something else, too, a cleric’s spell. All of a sudden, she felt as though she could take on a horde of werebears, and come out of it without a scratch.

“Let the moon above and the ground beneath bear witness,” Isobel was saying. “Your lives are bound, your fates are woven in the same tapestry. What has been joined this day shall stand for all seasons to come, as strong as the mountains, as endless as the sky. By the will of your hearts, you are bound in soul, in body, for all the days to come.” A pause and she pulled her hands away, smiling. “Go forth as one, and may your love be legend.”

The last words were already lost to Karlach. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against Wyll’s. The infernal machine droned in her chest; it sounded nothing like a thumping heart, but Wyll still said he loved falling asleep to it. She smiled, a little breathless. “So, we did it. What’s next, husband?”

Wyll chuckled. “I can’t wait to find out, wife,” he said, and leaned in to kiss her.

***

“So, you're proper consorts now?”

“Oh, yes. I mean, he’d been calling me such for a while--”

“Durge did mention that.”

“But you know, words are lost in the wind. A contract stays - that’s the way in Baator.”

“Ah, the Material Plane is not that different. That's about the same reason for… you know, all this. Vows before witnesses, with the cleric’s spell and all.”

“I see.” A pause, and Haarlep tilted their head, still in their tiefling disguise. They had a cup of wine in their hand, a pastry in the other. With the rather stringent order not to take anyone’s body that night - much less devour their soul - they seemed intent on indulging in everything else available. “So, are you and Durge doing all this?”

Astarion laughed. “Oh gods, it’s not my style.” Maybe. If they ask, I might. If they ask, I might do anything. Damn it, they got me good. “But ah, if there’s one thing I learned is that you should never say never. We have time, after all.” 

Sitting on a crate with his back against a wall, Astarion took a generous swig from his bottle. Most guests were eating the frankly stunning amount of food served - Raphael had probably had three servings of almond cakes before disappearing from sight alongside Durge - but Astarion couldn’t have any of that, good as the smell was.

No great loss, however. His companions as well as a few guests had been happy to donate to the Astarion Blood Bank fund. All he had to do was pretend, for the sake of the few guests from Wyll’s side who may not be aware of his nature, that he was drinking wine. Not difficult, with most people’s attention taken by the celebrations and the fireworks - neither the Ironhand Gnomes nor Rolan had, disappointingly, caused fires. 

And then, of course, there was the dancing. That had been going on for a while. With very few exceptions - he could see Shadowheart and Lae’zel sitting together some distance away, talking over drinks and probably judging everyone in sight as true soul mates should - nearly everyone had at least a go at that.

Karlach had learned the courtly dance well enough, as it turned out, and stumbled around less than most other guests did while trying to match the movements of the bride and groom. Durge had somehow managed not to step over his feet, too. Astarion hadn’t been too surprised to notice that Raphael was an excellent dancer because of course he was. A small wonder he hadn’t tried to step in the bard’s place, too, to show off a little more.

But then the dancing had changed to… well, whatever Karlach considered dancing, and Raphael had promptly left the dance floor to avoid making a fool of himself. So had Astarion, who was rather content to drink some fresh blood and watch the general flailing; Halsin, he suspected, would dance more gracefully as a bear, and Gale kept having to dodge his elbows. He chuckled at the sight before he spoke again.

“... You know, if we do decide to go through with something like this, I don’t know whether we should invite you. I’m a little wounded, I must say. Surely we should have qualified for an invite when you and Raphael made it official.”

Haarlep laughed at the notion, drinking some more wine. The kind of wine mortals produced did not have the same effect on a fiend as Infernal wine would, but they did seem to enjoy the taste. 

“Had there been a ceremony, you would have been, I assure you. But this,” they added, gesturing towards the ongoing party, “is not how such things work in Baator. A signature on a contract is about it. But I suppose my time with you did rub off me, because I went and got him a ring after all, as mortals do.”

Astarion raised an eyebrow. “You did? He was wearing no ring.”

Haarlep grinned. “Oh,” they said. “He is wearing it.”

***

“... Well. This is a surprise.”

Durge’s grip around his cock was maddening on its own - something about the scaly texture of their palms hit just the right spot - but when the fingers ran over the ring which sat tightly around the base, Infernal runes etched in the metal, Raphael almost cried out.

The chuckle rumbled in Durge’s chest, against his back, a puff of cold air on the nape of his neck. “Haarlep’s gift?”

“Who else, ” he groaned against the wooden crate he was bent over. A wooden crate in a back alley - what a change of scenery from his chambers in the House of Hope or at the Starspire… and it was half the thrill, really. There was another chuckle, Durge’s breath against his ear. 

“Did you wear it, last time he had you in my form? When I felt you inside?”

Raphael smiled through clenched teeth. “I might have.”

“That was impressive.”

“If you dare credit the ring only--” Raphael bristled, only to trail off when Durge’s hand wrapped around the back of his neck to keep him pinned down. He huffed, trying to turn and glare. The ring had merely helped, of course. It simply made him last longer, without keeping him from reaching orgasm… unless Haarlep spoke a very specific word, in which case he’d be entirely unable to come until they muttered the counterspell. 

Which they usually did. Eventually. If he pleaded his case convincingly enough. Or, as Haarlep put it with their rather inelegant lack of subtlety, if he pleaded long and hard.

“Apologies. You were impressive,” Durge said, and Raphal really hoped they hadn’t noticed how it made his cock twitch.

“Thank you kindly,” he replied instead, his voice just slightly strained. “Do feel free to return to favor at your earliest--”

An oiled finger pressed in with no warning, and Raphael’s attempt at a dignified response faded into a whine in the back of his throat. His head fell back on the crate with a thunk. 

“I plan to. As long as you promise there will be more of that. Through Haarlep, or in person.”

“I-- I suppose I could invite you to my court, in the near future--” A sharp gasp, a groan, as another finger joined the first. “If your performance proves satisfying, that is.”

“Oh, it will be.”

To Raphael’s bliss and annoyance, it was. He did not say as much aloud, but the noises he  barely muffled against the crook of his arm, and the way he arched into it, probably told Durge everything they needed to know. 

He didn’t speak again until they were done and dressed, trying to erase all signs of their little tryst before returning to the celebrations… but what he had to say was not about their performance at all. “Have you given thought,” he asked, smoothing his jacket before brushing back his hair with his fingers, “as to whether you wish to know your old name?”

The question caused Durge to pause and glance over, still buttoning up their vest. They had thought about it, Raphael could tell; they remained firm in rejecting any and all ties to Bhaal, including the name he’d called them… but surely, the question was there.

They were a funny thing, names. Raphael had tried so long to escape his mortal name, and yet now he could not imagine his mother calling him any other way. It was what everyone now called the citadel which had once been named after his sire; it was as close as he could get to reclaiming it without turning his back on everything he had been in the centuries since Mephistopheles had him taken to the Hells. Raphael had been his name far too long. 

He wondered if that was how the former Sharran had felt when she’d decided to hold onto the name she’d taken upon herself in Shar’s darkness, even after turning her back to the goddess herself. But it was a choice she’d made after knowing her old name.

Raphael did not voice his thoughts, and just watched as Durge went to finish buttoning up their vest. There were a few more moments of silence before they spoke. 

“I do not wish to use it.”

“That was not the question. I would not even speak it, or speak of it, ever again.”

Another pause and then, slowly, Durge nodded. “... Then, yes. I would like to know.���

Raphael nodded, and snapped his fingers. A piece of parchment appeared in a burst of flames, hovering before Durge’s eyes; those eyes moved across the letters written on it, took it in… and then, finally, Durge breathed out. 

“Thank you,” was all they said, and that was that. Raphael nodded back; a gesture, and the parchment burned away to nothing like Wyll Ravengard’s contract had only hours earlier. 

Raphael smoothed down his clothes one more time, and smiled.  “Well then,” he said, as though nothing at all had happened. “Shall we rejoin the celebrations?”

They did.

***

By the time the party ended, it was almost dawn. 

Most guests retired to their homes to catch some sleep - no work for anyone until the next day, that was for sure - and Jaheira had to wildshape into a panther to drag a very drunk Minsc away; Durge could have sworn the growl around the mouthful of his jacket sounded a lot like ‘typical’, although it was barely audible through his slurred singing.

Shadowheart and Lae’zel were next to take their leave to return to the Astral Sea - or at least try to, because Karlach had pulled them both in a ‘girls’ hug’ and had yet to release them. Lae’zel wasn’t even complaining that much, Durge thought, and turned to comment on that with Astarion - but their eye caught sight of Raphael and Haarlep instead. 

They were on the other side of the square, and seemed to be discussing something. Odd to see them still there: Raphael had taken his leave several minutes earlier, and they’d assumed them to be back in Cania by then. Durge blinked, and walked up to them. 

“Is something the matter?”

Haarlep sighed, glancing over. “He is no fun, is the matter,” they declared. 

Raphael returned the accusation with a withering look. “What I am saying is that jumping off the highest point in the city is the most moronic an idea you’ve ever been able to conceive--”

“Worse than coming between you and a balor in Baator?”

“The second most moronic--”

“And between you and a bunch of barbazus--”

“The third-- ”

“We’re not in Baator, and nothing would happen! I die on this Plane, and wake up right back in your chambers. A quick way home.”

“I can take you back just as easily. There is no good reason--”

“I’ve always wondered what dying on another Plane feels like.”

“Unpleasant, I’d wager. You may ask Yurgir, if you’re that--”

Raphael’s attempt at being reasonable was commendable, of course, but Haarlep was clearly beyond listening; with a quick look at Durge and a grin, they promptly changed their appearance to that of a cambion, and took flight towards the newly reconstructed Wyrm's Rock fortress.

“See you home!”

“Wha-- come back-- nngh.” Raphael groaned, and reached up to rub his face. “I truly can’t take them anywhere,” he muttered.

“I suppose they’ll soon have a new story to tell back at court.”

“Yes. The tale of how I sought to dissolve our union on the grounds they were never sound of mind,” Raphael muttered, and Durge laughed.

“You don’t mean a word of that.”

“... Regrettably, you are correct.” Raphael sighed. “Well. I suppose it is time I return to Cania as well, through less gruesome means. It has been a pleasure to take part in this event.” ‘And to get bent on a crate in a back alley’ went unsaid. “I do hope you enjoy the rest of this little reunion.”

Durge turned, glancing back to see that Gale and Astarion were taking turns trying to stir awake Halsin, now in bear form in the middle of the square and quite obviously in a drunken stupor, while the others watched with clear amusement. They grinned.

“I think I will, yes,” they said, and turned back. “Don’t be a stranger,” they added on a whim.

Raphael bowed, a half-smile on his lips.

“A stranger? Ah, but I could never,” he chuckled, just as flames flared up to take him back home to the Hells, back to Cania, back home. His next words rang out through the crackle of flames, the faint sound of ice scraping against ice, the distant notes of a lyre.

“Am I or am I not the devil you know?”

***

Aaaand it's over at last! Man. I knew this was going to be a long one, but I had no idea just HOW long. Good thing I didn't, 'cause I might not have even tried.

I had SO MUCH fun writing this fic, and I hope you enjoyed the read. Thank you to everyone who ever commented/liked this, hope the epilogue didn't disappoint!

*** [Back to Chapter 42]

[Back to Start]

[prettyboysdontlookatexplosions]

had an eighth grader read these two sentences and then asked him, “so what did the businessmen and property owners do because they were concerned?” and he had absolutely no idea. like none whatsoever. could not connect their concern to the land revision act. and on the one hand, this is an eighth grader, and not a college bound senior, so it’s a little less viscerally alarming. on the other hand i think this is a useful example of a specific kind of comprehension breakdown - not internalizing the reality that sentences are connected to each other - that i think is really, really hard for people who don’t struggle with this to imagine until they encounter it, and that, crucially, i really think most classroom teachers, at all levels, don’t ever really recognize or see in action, because the kinds of activities, discussions, and assessments they’re doing are focused on more “big picture” stuff, and even if students are obviously struggling, most teachers are going to look for solutions on the “big picture” level and never really get granular enough about where the problem is happening to spot this in action (in no small part because their training almost certainly did not address this literally at all). but, like, imagine this happening constantly across the text of a whole-ass book! how meaningfully can a person understand a book they read like that? how can we ever expect them to enjoy reading when they have not received sufficient instruction and support to understand that each sentence in a paragraph builds on the one before? (you will notice also that the issue here has nothing to do with phonics, and while i love that we all stan sold a story now i have seen an uptick in people acting like Thee issue in literacy is that we’re not doing phonics, which is not the case; the student could read all the words here, but not the text in which the words appeared.)

[baiwu-jinji]

Hello! I’ve read your thoughts on TGCF and I really enjoy them.

I also like the cultural references and knowledge you bring to the table. It’s something that gets lost in English translation and learning about it just adds another layer to enjoy about TGCF.

Recently I saw some asks/answers compare Hualian to another couple. I haven’t read the other story 😅 but I have heard similar opinions of Hualian being very idealized, too perfect, unrealistic or all three.

I’ve been very curious about this part as I also have a vague memory of someone noting that even the author says Hualian is like a fairytale.

I was surprised about this because their softness, respect and unconditional love for each other is something I really love about them.🌸🌸🌸

Could you share more of your perspective on this?

Is it the waiting 800 years part? The unconditional acceptance and devotion on Hua Cheng’s part(and Xie Lian’s side too)? The lack of arguments between them?

For my part , obviously 800 years is a fantastical amount of time to remain in love and devoted to someone. Especially considering how little time Hua Cheng spent with Xie Lian in the beginning. I am totally willing to suspend my belief for these two points and chalk it up to Hua Cheng’s personality. I also think Hua Cheng’s love for Xie Lian grew and matured as he did.

It’s really interesting too that those very positive traits - unconditional devotion, faith and love (not obedience because honestly Hua cheng quiet frequently disobeys😅) while more obviously written in a positive light can be explored in fanfiction from the other end. And I don’t mean obsession or stalking, but more like loving someone to the point of your own detriment.

And Hualian, though certainly they didn’t really argue in the book, they did have disagreements. (And I think in the revised novel, of at least the translated part I read, they do get a more serious argument)

To me, their easy acceptance and the unconditional love aspect can be chalked up to their personality, life experiences and the fact they both have lived centuries long.

Anyhow, I know I rambled on a bit. 😅😅😅

But I am really curious on your feedback about this or a link if you answered this more in detail with a similar ask.

Thank you! 😊

Hi! :) Thank you for your kind words and sorry about the really late reply ><  MXTX once wrote about a dream she had where a voice told her that TGCF is like a “a little red clay stove” (I translated MXTX’s dream here). The literary reference of “a little red clay stove” symbolises the warmth and comfort of domestic life and the joy of friendship and companionship, which I think is what MXTX wants Hualian’s relationship to stand for - Hualian is meant to be warm, tender, homely and cosy, with as little friction as possible in the relationship. It is a very idealised relationship (how can it not be with HC’s unfading love for and faith in XL and XL’s instinctual and almost instant trust in HC), and that’s why people love Hualian, because we long to be loved with such unconditional acceptance and unwavering devotion ourselves, and we want to find someone we could love with unconditional acceptance and unwavering devotion, whether such love is possible in real life or not. Hualian’s success and popularity is clearly not due to it being a gritty and brutally honest interrogation of the complexities of romantic relationships in realistic contexts, but because it is the sort of ideal relationship of pure bliss people dream of having. Therefore I can’t say Hualian’s idealisation of romantic relationships is one of its literary flaws because it’s never aiming to be otherwise, and its idealistic nature is one of its main selling points.

This is a digression but what I find interesting about Hualian is this sort of paradox in HC being both a lover and a worshipper - to worship a god is to worship his divine infallibility, but to love a human is to love his human fallibility (but then Borges said that “to fall in love is to create a religion that has a fallible god”, so that resolves the paradox?). And it makes me think about what HC means when he says to XL “I’m forever your most devoted believer.” What is it that HC eternally believes in as XL's believer? It’s not XL’s infallibility, or perfection, or omnipotence, or incorruptibility, or inexhuastable goodness that HC believes in, because XL is neither of those things, so what is it that HC believes in? Maybe what HC forever believes in is the fact that he will love XL forever - maybe that’s what HC is a believer of…

I hope this answer makes sense, and in short I meant to say that I can’t deny Hualian is idealised, but that’s what makes them appealing.

[ryttu3k]

here's a question, Let's say VtmB is being remade and you're given an opertunity to add/change one thing. what do you do? Personally I think I'd add a tzimisce player option and story, because we need more of those!

Honestly I'm always down for my Tzimisce, with the main issue being that it's just not very plausible you'd even get past the opening scene. Of the seven clans already there, they're all Camarilla clans (aside from the Gangrel, who had already left, but only very recently). They could fit with any sect.

The Ventrue, Tremere, and Nosferatu characters we meet are Camarilla-based (with LaCroix, Strauss, and Gary), the Brujah and Toreador are all Anarchs (with Nines, Damsel, and Jack, and Isaac and his childer), the Malkavians we meet or... learn about (Grout) are split between the two, and the only Gangrel we meet are Beckett (autarkis), the Southland Slasher (no sect affiliation), and Skelter (never mentions his clan). Still, it's considered very much plausible to play an Anarch Nosferatu, or a Camarilla Toreador (especially the latter, there's a primogen).

Playing Tzimisce? You're going to be under suspicion from the outset, if you're not immediately killed. In Revised, the Tzimisce were a Sabbat clan, straight out. If you're Embraced as Tzimisce, you're almost certainly going to be killed before even going to trial, because why bother? They just killed a presumed Sabbat member and their brand new fledgling. Why even bother with a trial? It's not like your sire was a respected member of a community.

So that could, in fact, lead to what I'd most like to see - the option to play as a Caitiff, with your sire being of an unknown clan. Similar to Sins of the Sires, you always, always start off as a Social Caitiff (I went through different types of Caitiff here), you can choose three disciplines (maybe two to start with, and a third later?), and those disciplines determine whether you stay a True Caitiff, or whether you later uncover your actual clan. And that could include Tzimisce, along with five of the seven original clans (Nosferatu and Malkavians are too obvious), Banu Haqim, Setite, or Giovanni (which could make the mission later interesting!).

Possibly would have to exclude Lasombra (the technology or reflection bane is too obvious) or Ravnos (it's post-Week of Nightmares and that also has a very obvious bane). So, along with True Caitiff, that gives you a total of eleven clans to pick from, possibly twelve if you include Ravnos as a standalone clan to pick from as well, along with Banu Haqim or Setite (the Giovanni, I think, would have the same issue as the Sabbat clans and so would only be possible starting from Caitiff, and Lasombra are just... too obviously Sabbat).

So, we'd have:

Ventrue (selected, or social Caitiff)

Toreador (selected, or social Caitiff)

Brujah (selected, or social Caitiff)

Gangrel (selected, or social Caitiff)

Tremere (selected, or social Caitiff)

Malkavian (selected only)

Nosferatu (selected only)

And it would add:

Banu Haqim (selected, or social Caitiff)

Setite (selected, or social Caitiff)

Ravnos (selected only)

Tzimisce (social Caitiff only)

Giovanni (social Caitiff only)

True Caitiff (social Caitiff only)

That'd add a ton to it, I think! And yeah, if I can work out a way to get the Lasombra in there too, that'd be cool as well. But yeah, my answer would be to add in more clans, including a Caitiff path that could alternatively add in Tzimisce and Giovanni as well.

[saintsenara]

my kingdom for your thoughts on george weasley/hermione

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

i know that there's a rumour that jkr once said that she intended to have fred and hermione get together - which i can find no actual evidence of, and i highly suspect fredmione nation might just have made up - but i personally think that, when it comes to pairing her with one of the twins, george is probably the better bet...

george is certainly the twin that i think it would be easier to be in a long-term relationship [romantic or platonic] with, because he's the one who seems to better at relating to other people.

fred is demonstrably the crueller of the two, in ways which often suggest that he doesn't possess a particularly great capacity for empathy - it's very striking that three of the more disturbing things we learn happened to ron as a child [his teddy bear being turned into a spider; his puffskein being killed when it was used for "bludger practice" - that is, when his pet was beaten to death with a bat; and him being tricked into almost making an unbreakable vow] are attributed to fred, with george implied to be involved, but not to be the ringleader of the scheme.

we see this elsewhere in canon - fred is the person who arranges their bet with ludo bagman, and then the person who takes the lead in their attempts to threaten him into paying them their winnings; fred is the person who takes the lead when they're negotiating prices for stolen goods with mundungus - and i think we can certainly say that, while both twins are clearly broadly equal in terms of certain personality traits [they're both funny, cheeky, irreverent, loyal, creative, clever-but-only-on-their-terms, and so on], george is less domineering and - potentially - more insecure than his brother.

which is to say... he's quite a lot like ron. in a way that fred - since ron lacks his crueller elements - isn't.

and - therefore - he's got the right personality to gel with hermione as she is in canon.

he's clearly going to be able to handle the fact that hermione expresses her affection by meddling and nagging - since this is exactly what his mother is like - and he's also - like ron [and unlike harry] - canonically at ease with the fact that she likes to work through her thoughts and feelings by debating [we see this in goblet of fire - george gets into a debate about house elf rights with hermione, and doesn't take her popping off about him being wrong as something to be offended by]. nor is either twin ever shown to react negatively to hermione's fondness for following rules and working hard at school - they think of her inflexibility as a benign-and-therefore-easy-to-accept, if faintly amusing, character quirk.

hermione, for her part, also sees the twins' rule-breaking and academic laziness as quirks she can accept.

[this point about acceptance is a key one, i think. i never vibe with the idea that hermione is intellectually compatible with characters like snape, voldemort and sirius, not because i think she has a lower level of intelligence than them - she doesn't - but because she has a different one (one which is based in the constant retention and repetition of empirical information, whereas snape and voldemort's intellectual expression is based in rejecting disciplinary boundaries and sirius' is based in rejecting the idea of repeating and revising knowledge) and because the men in question would, given what we see of them in canon, treat her way of expressing her intelligence with contempt. but ron and harry are intelligent in very different ways than hermione too, and this is something all three members of the trio understand as a good thing which only serves to strengthen their relationship, because ron and harry treat hermione's intellect with respect and she does the same. her relationship with the twins is similar.]

but with this said... i think there's the potential for some extremely thorny clashes between george and hermione, which take a bit of character wrangling to come through compellingly.

the first is fred's influence when he's alive - particularly since hermione's incredible capacity for loyalty [one of her best traits] comes with the negative that she's often far more willing than either harry or ron to put up with being ill-treated by people she likes or respects [i.e. how she just takes snape's cruelty towards her, because he's clearly a teacher she looks up to from an academic perspective]. i think we have to assume that fred would remain george's priority even if he was in a relationship, and to ask what impact this would have on his partner - especially if george made promises ["we'll hang out tonight"] which he then broke in order to do something nefarious with his brother.

[that is, would hermione remain as chill with the twins' rule-breaking as she is if their rule-breaking happened because her boyfriend treated her with disdain?]

the second is fred's influence after his death. another of hermione's really impressive traits is that she's phenomenally resilient [she's a fifteen-year-old girl who doesn't give a fuck that she's being slandered in a national paper, it's legitimately iconic], but this is accompanied by the negative that she has a canonically low tolerance for moping [hence her belief in order of the phoenix that sirius could get over his depression if he just tried hard enough] and a tendency to want to respond to negative emotions by fixing them [which we see in her determination to get harry to talk about sirius at the start of half-blood prince], rather than just letting them run their course.

this isn't a fault, per se - many people approach grief in this way; it's a coping mechanism - but i think it wouldn't align in the slightest with the way george's grief over fred would manifest itself. and i think this could - without either one of them ever being demonstrably in the wrong - cause some real, real mess in a relationship which might turn it into something properly toxic.