#like old gilded parchment core

[lvrrgirlll]

Medieval princess!reader x knight!Patrick Zweig… walk with me…

You knew better than to be walking about the castle at such a late hour, but you couldn’t sleep. You strolled through the cold, stone corridors till you saw the warmth of candlelight shine from a nearby doorway. Stepping softly, so as not to make your presence known, you crept towards the doorway, curious as to whom could be up so late as well.

To your surprise, Sir Patrick, your father (the King)’s best and favorite knight was illuminated by the soft light as he sat, shirtless, tending to a wound on his chest. You were careful not to be too conspicuous as you observed him. From his shoulder to his chest, he was black and blue, and you could see the crimson of blood ever so slightly seeping from a gash in his chest. Whatever —or whomever— he encountered must have been quite formidable. You gasped ever so slightly at the notice of blood, forgetting yourself and alerting him of your presence.

“Who goes there,” he asked, tone hard even in his weakened state. As you came out from the shadows, his face softened. “Oh. M’lady,” he bowed his head, wincing slightly as he moved his shoulder.

“Do not injure yourself further on my account, sir.” Your cheeks feel hot as bashfulness creeps up on you, bitterly aware of the impropriety you two find yourself in. It is impossible not to gaze at his form, though. Even in injury, he is a marvel. This is the first time you have seen any man shirtless, and Patrick does not disappoint.

He notices your lingering eyes, smirking at the thought that he was charming you. “Might I ask for your assistance,” he asks, looking between you and the cloth bandage lying on the table. The thought of being so close to him in his state of undress brings a certain heat between your thighs, as well, but you attempt to ignore it.

“Oh, of course. Allow me.” You approach him timidly, as if your mere proximity were a dangerous siren call, beckoning you to sin. Your cold hands reach for the cloth as you take a seat next to him at the small bench in the alcove. You wrap it around him carefully. Occasionally, your fingers brush against his warm skin, the contrast against your icy fingertips feeling all the more enticing yet wrong. When you finish tying the bandage around him, you stand, mind swirling and ready to return to bed. Before you leave, though, he thanks you.

“Thank you, your majesty. Your own beauty is reflected in your attention to your bandage work.” That compliment alone has you flustered. But as you prepare to bid him goodnight, Patrick takes your hand in his, placing a warm, gentle kiss to it. “Goodnight, m’lady.” When he looks up at you, his smile is sweet and genuine, but his eyes shine with a dangerous mischief you think you may like a bit too much.

“Goodnight, sir.” That night, you dream of Sir Patrick, in all of his shirtless glory, in your bed, white linens entangled between the two of your bodies. This was going to become a problem…

[keter-kan]

Chapter 11!!! I'm getting close to having posted everything I've worked on up to this point. I NEED to get back to writing lol whoops.

This chapter explains a bit more of how Oryn came to be in the forest with the Witches in the first place.

tags: @skidotto @idonthaveapenname

tw: mentions of death, war, abuse

Ch. 11

The man was rugged; not the image of holy ambition and sanctity by any means. May didn’t know what to expect—gilded robes, braided hair, hard posture—but he was none of it.

Flanked by both Demetrius and Oryn, he sat beside the hearth as if his very bones craved the warmth it gave. His bony fingers shook as he held his hands before the flames, his cloudy eyes glowing in the soft light. They were heavy, thinking and turning and never quite still.

He swallowed another sip from the flagon Demetrius provided, coughing as he choked it down. His legs sat at odd angles in front of him, his bloodied and bruised feet emanating a smell that could only be a festering rot. He’d trudged through the mud on foot for far too long to make it there.

The tension was thick, flitted gazes passing between Demetrius and May as a deep and boiling heat was stoked in Oryn’s core. They all but vibrated with the anticipation of knowing what was to come; the iron smell creeping its way through their nose and to their brain feeling like a coil being wound tighter and tighter with each breath they took.

May’s jaw tightened as she shifted where she stood, the weight of her armor clinking as she settled. She turned the pin over in her hand: heavy, weighted with a dark blue stone at its bottom, the rest of it a soft gold.

“I’m sorry for the lack of hospitality, Councilor, but with the ongoing siege I’d hope you’ll understand my hesitancy.” She studied his face.

His bones all but creaked as he pulled his legs underneath himself, settling into a slouch within his tattered robes as he scooted himself closer to the fire.

He wasn’t deaf; she saw the way the weight in his eyes rattled as she spoke. No beggar would calculate himself so.

May took a deep breath, looking towards Demetrius’s hard gaze before continuing, “I had sent word to our good King in hopes of… Well, support of a different manner.”

That elicited what could only have been a laugh from the High Councilor, his ragged wheezing behind a smile quickly descending into a coughing fit. It took a moment for him to catch his breath, but his smile never left his lips.

Oryn watched closely as he pulled a muddy and deep brown-stained sleeve away from his mouth, a small trickle of blood and pungent saliva running down his chin.

He wouldn’t look towards May when he spoke. “The good King Terrance did not send me,” he sputtered, struggling to put the flagon back to his lips.

Demetrius rolled his eyes, his hands laying on the hilt of his sword.

“Then you’ve traveled all this way on foot with no supplies but the robes on your back for…?” May shook her head softly.

The man sighed. “I heard of the death of some people very dear to me,” he said, sitting up a bit as he reached into his robes and procured a tattered piece of parchment. “They thought I’d perished, too, but were right in their suspicions of my… continued existence on this mortal plain, with the God’s mercy,” a small, sad excuse of a chuckle left his cracked lips.

Demetrius sighed, tired of the Grandfather’s games right as they had started. “You still have not said why you’ve come, sir,” he clipped, ignoring any honorific if not those of who he directly served.

With a blink his body had snapped towards May, his long and dwindling arm extended towards her, his skeletal hand holding the all but unreadable letter that he’d carried all this way. As Demetrius jumped where he stood, the old man shook the wet parchment.

“They left something to me,” he huffed towards May, his breath the smell of death and decay. “And I had to come and claim it.”

Demetrius let his sword slide heavily out of its sheath, the grating noise of steel on steel a warning to the man to step back.

May took a moment to study the man behind the tattered page before gently taking it from his hands and standing a bit closer to the hearth to get some better light.

Jonas,

We know not where this piece of parchment will find you, but know deep within our souls that it will.

It’s time to make pace, High Councilor. The boy has taken the last we have to give; we’re joining our sister and suggest you come to proceed to the next steps in this wretched plan of yours.

Do not mourn us. We wouldn’t have mourned you.

Maureen, Starla, Elisa

~

She clutched the babe close to her chest with all the might she had left in her small frame. Her legs shook exposed to the chill air, her feet numb on the frozen earth, her arms burning and tingling as she struggled to maintain to her grip on the bundle she carried.

The cabin was close—she could feel the forest closing in around her as she pushed forward, her blood boiling with the fear it instilled in all those who entered. She knew she could make it, if she could just keep putting one foot in front of the other, taking one more breath after that exhale…

You have to promise me, he’d said to her, you have to promise me with every part of your soul. Swear it on the Waters and Winds, swear it on the church, swear it on the love we share. Please, Grenia.

His pleading rang through her head like the bells upon the church towers, bouncing from one side of her head to the other over and over again, reminding her what her purpose here would be.

This is the beginning of it all, he whispered to her, pulling her hands into his own and leaning down to look into her eyes, into her soul.

I love you, Genia, he’d said, his voice but a murmur against the soft skin of her ear. He’d never said it to her before this, never once. Not when she’d saved his life at the Sanctum, not when as she cried in his arms, not when he’d finally told her about where he came from and his purpose was here at the palace’s chapel. Not even when he finally bed her, their first moment alone in the months since they had met, in a dark and cramped alleyway between a scribe’s office and the sanctum’s entrance.

She thought of it all now. Thought of it while she ran, while her feet bruised with each step she took and the blood trickled from the scratches and cuts across her arms and legs.

At first, the babe was silent. They lay in her arms all swaddled in blankets that must have been made with love by one wet nurse or another. Their breath was soft and steady, heat steaming from their tiny lips as they drifted into a deep sleep.

Now, though, they screamed. She couldn’t understand how something so small and fragile would wail with such strength for so long. The blood-curdling screams pierced her ears as she ran, mixing with the dark and malicious feel bubbling up inside of her as her thoughts bounced around in her skull.

Then, for a while, everything went black.

When the warmth started returning to her it was the soft linens and skins laid beneath her that told her she’d made it where she needed to go.

She shifted in the warm bed, her entire body beginning to throb and ache as it started to fully feel alive again.

“Easy! Easy,” Maureen shot up from the chair beside her, gently laying her hands against her shoulders to push her back onto the mattress. “Don’t move too much, it’ll hurt. And you get nothing for the pain until I know where you’ve been, what happened.”

The conversation didn’t start for another hour after she woke, needing to reorient herself before breaking into tears at the face of the sister she thought she’d never see again. But their reunion was short lived.

“The child, Grenia. Is… is he yours?”

She shook her head. Jonas’s voice rang in her ears. They must not know.

But how could she keep this from them all when she was asking so much?

She looked throughout the cabin from where she lay, the walls keeping all of the warmth and life of the forest inside of the dwelling for the four of them to feed their practice. It was a small space full of trinkets and bobbles of all sizes and shapes that could do any number of different things. Books and charts and maps were scattered across every surface, littered with sketches of the local flora and fauna, but also symbols and glyphs she knew weren’t holy.

That’s how the three of them found themselves out here, after all.

She swallowed the lump in her throat before looking down at her hands.

Swollen. Bony. The joints all red and enflamed, her fingers bend in odd shapes and the skin of her palms scratchy and rough. Those fingers, that just a few weeks ago were spinning threat and crafting needlepoint and practicing piano. Now so changed, so stained…

“You will not be happy with me, sister,” she said, her voice hoarse and full of sorrow.

Maureen nodded, standing to move the chair closer to Grenia, laying a hand on top of her own. “That’s alright,” she nodded, her eyes serious but soft, “What matters is you made it back home to us. To me. As long as we’re together, we can handle the messes you’ve made.”

Grenia’s eyes filled with hot tears as she looked up her older sister. She was both gentle and firm, loving and strict. She hated herself for knowing what she had brought here.

“The babe,” Grenia muttered, her breath hitched. “Is not what you think.”

And so, she told her.

[vladvodadracul]

Drăculeştii, by Georgina-Viorica Rogoz, 1977

Harefta

At my sight - I must have looked awful, sweaty and dusty, driven mad with the thought that I would not arrive in time and that everything was in vain - the guards made a wall of spears.

I was worn out, I couldn't shout, I only mumbled in Romanian, showing the seal ring I had from Mitri.

"His Majesty's service."

An unknown boyar invited me and took me to the Lord. He was eating some bread and steak under a half-sheet of tent, hung on the elms, to give him a little cool, for the summer sun had begun to burn since before noon.

With Vlad Dracul there were in the tent some boyars and his two sons, one of whom was very small, sleepy, with blond hair, large dark eyes, like those of a doe; the other was tall, bony, already jumped over early childhood. I only paid attention to him for a moment, and addressed my Voivode without hesitation, barely breathing:

“I'm Stepan sin Nanu, Your Majesty's man from Adrianople.”

"I know. You haven't changed. What news do you have?”

“Your Majesty may ask the honorable boyars here not to be upset, because I have to speak to you in private.”

The Lord beckoned to his companions, who pulled away, giving orders and preparing to set out. I didn't tell him anything, but I gave him the scroll with the seal of the Citadel of Giurgiu.

Vlad Dracul looked at it and his face darkened.

"What does that paper say?"

“Examine it, my Lord, it’s the seal of the Danube Fortress. If it's the same as the one on the letter handed to you in the winter by sub-pasha of Giurgiu himself, who sent you here, on the road to perdition, then I will read what is written in the letter, although it is hard for me to upset you. You still have to know the truth.”

The voivode grimaced worse, clapped his hands and shouted, "Logothete, give me the last papers in the rosewood box. Quick!”

A tall, young man I didn't know was approaching.

"And the boyar Voicu?" I murmured, astonished that I had not seen his faithful counselor near his Lord.

"He's sick in Philibe city. The sun hit him on the head, and at his age he felt sick,” murmured the young secretary, handing the voivode a few scrolls with gilded writing.

Vlad looked over the two parchments in disgust, handed me the scroll I had brought, and growled out the words:

"Read. I suspected for a long time, from the moment I looked in the yellow eyes of the bastard sub-pasha. Read it now, what are you waiting for?!”

I raised my eyebrows, waiting for the secretary and prince Vlăduţ to leave, who was now moving next to his father, chewing on some food and turning his back to me.

"If Your Majesty commands me to read it in front of the young son of the Country," I hesitated, beginning to gather my strength after the long, exhausting journey.

“Go, son.”

"I beg you, father, to allow me to stay," the answer snapped. It sounded so little like a request or politeness, it had been said with such passion and seriousness, that the Lord laughed.

"Stay, if you want. You will begin a moment earlier than I thought, or even the ruthless Murad-han himself thought, the bitter lesson that a hostage giaour prince must swallow daily at the Sublime Gate of Happiness.”

"Your Majesty," I said breathlessly, "you should turn around. Know that everything is ready for your escape. We'll hide you for a night in a caravanserai, then we'll put you in a camel driver’s clothes and we'll take you to the Arvanites in Scanderbeg’s mountains. The Castriota prince is with the Christians, although today he is in Murad's service.”

“Mitri is an idiot!” Vlad Dracul thundered. “I don't need such advice, it's too late! Come on, read.”

I coughed, ashamed, and started with the official formula:

“To our great Sultan Amurad-han, the son of the glorious Muhammad, the enlightened and ...”

“Jump over his enlightenment. Get to the core”, the Voivode ordered me.

"... And know, my blessed Sultan, that as long as Vâlkoglu (Despot Brancovici) will continue to plot with the Hungarian, Dâraku will not think of bowing with true obedience, because he is a hypocrite. And he will do to me what he did to the pasha of Silistra, three summers ago ...

Do not believe Vlad Dâraku to be a friend, even if he comes with his sons and his nobles to bow to your high chair and renew the treaty, because we have news that he has an understanding with Iancu, who is allied with the Serb and The Greek and the Pope of the Christians of the west and they will attack you from two parts, from the waters of the Danube and from the steppes of Karamanoglu, who is also allied to them to jump you from behind, through Anatolia. This is why I think, as your humble and unworthy servant, that the beglerbey of Rum has the right to say, as he said before, that it would be more useful for you here to have a pashalak with a faithful bey from among our own people who believe in the Prophet, than an unruly bearer of hilat (flag), from the sons of Mircia-Voivod.

And know, my beloved and glorious, enlightened master, that I am grieved, like the werewolf-eaten moon, at the thought that not I, but another of your servants will rejoice when he puts the chains on the unbeliever Dâraku, as You desire, glorifying Allah for His justice.”

“Hm... is there much left?”  the Voivode growled.

"All that's left is the closing formula of the letter."

"The pig of a sub-pasha!" the Voivode burst out. “I knew since before. I understood a long time ago. He handed me the Sultan's safe-conduct, pushing me into the ready-made trap.”

"Did our letters from this spring reach Your Majesty?"

"Sure, but I had  no choice. I had to come. Better I come to the wolf's lair than to wait for the wolf to come over my sheep, unprepared for his strong fangs. I need one more year. Then...”

"Your Majesty,” I tried again. "A caravan of ours awaits your decision. There is room for ten to twelve people, along with Your Majesty and the princes. You can't enter Edirne. That's where the dungeon will receive you, maybe the executioner.”

"Who knows," Vlad laughed. “The year doesn’t bring what the moment does. Murad is a righteous Sultan, he does not tarnish his signed treaties, he has no reliable evidence against me, he is also of a changeable nature when he hears certain meaningful words... And I have nowhere to go. His guards would slaughter us anyway, on the way back...”

“If not us the twelve fugitives, certainly for the other three hundred Romanians we came with!” young Vlad intervened.

I looked at his face. There was no trace of bratty arrogance on it, but a mature, thoughtful and upright tension.

"So you, son, are also saying we should stay and face the music?" old Vlad smiled under his mustache. Keep in mind: the son of a dethroned voivode is more endangered than an ignorant hostage caught in battle. You might perish.”

"I'm getting ready to die, just like I'm getting ready to win."

"What do you think about this, Stepane sin Nanu?" the Voivode asked, suddenly sounding joyful.

"I obey the command of my brave Lord and his noble son."

“Stop the teasing. It’s not empty words I want to hear, but your advice.”

“Your Majesty, we could save your life, with a little luck on both sides”, I insisted further on my plan. “Give the order...”

“Hm!” the Voivode grimaced again, darkened by some unspoken thought. “Everyone's life hangs by a thread. Even yours. Therefore, Stepan, go back to the Chancellery of the Gate, pretend that you have not seen me, that you know nothing about me, play your part well, because we will need your skill and advice! And if we don't have time to talk between ourselves, without unfriendly ears and enemy turbans in front of us, know that I want and order you to stay as close as possible to my sons... To guard them as much as possible ... Radu, because he's silly, frail, small... and Vlad...”

“Me, why?” the proud princeling got upset, staring at me with cold, green eyes, like clear sulphur, ready to ignite at the first spark.

Vlad Voda let his hand fall on his little boy's shoulder.

I noticed that he no longer wore the necklace with the large medallion that had mesmerized me as a child. His nose had become thinner, the muscles of his face glistening under sweat, as if polished on an effigy; two gray strands descended past his hollow cheeks, framing him in a sort of telluric silver. His eyes, wide open, were glowing just as strangely as before, and it seemed to me that the powers of the dragon, which was already part of the yet unwritten legend of his life, had passed from that magical necklace into his own body, gathered under the ivory eyelids of this man. wise and burdened with fate, and from there - unleashed - they bent, burned, sucked the earthly, the perishable, the small glances that rose towards him.

The Voivode then turned to his middle son and smiled softly and anxiously at the same time:

"Guard Vlad too, Stepan... because even the bravest prince needs in his youth someone to protect him from hidden enemies, and even the one he doesn't suspect to be in the depths to himself...”

"What do you mean, Dad?” said the child, trembling with spite.

"I want you to know, my son, that I have relied on Nanu, our loyal judge from the land of Lovişte, and this man's father.... Therefore, you should also place your trust in his son and don’t take him out of your heart, unless you have proof of his betrayal. And now, go and give orders that the horses be harnessed to our wagons and that they all get into saddle. Let's go to the Gate of the Sublime Duplicity!”

[sl7ventime]

SIGN UP Hot 97 Freestyle Black Thought HOT 97 FREESTYLE LYRICS [Verse] Uh, I'm sorry for your loss It's a body dead in the car and it's probably one of yours The writing all across the window and the walls Whether it was true or false, we shouldn't have got involved Remember, we walked past the teacher, take the chalk and laugh We wrote punishments: "I will not talk in class" Now it's pistols punishing people for talking fast And all these innocent bystanders is hauling ass I hate to say I told y'all, but I told y'all Things fall apart when the center too weak to hold ya'll I'm just collecting what you owed to my old jawn You 'bout to get swooped down on and stoled on Fools swear they wise, wise men know they foolish Well, we was headed for the web even before computers I never thought you'd give me a reason to do this Cain and Abel, Jesus and Judas Caesar and Brutus, I see intruders, avert your eyes I told you keep out of the hood, circumcise How could you sleep? I thought you always was the first to rise Ay, yo, you heard the line, "Everybody plays the fool"? Well, I'll be that exception to the rule The principal that hand-deliver lessons to the school I was making major moves, my dollar déjà vu My mission was my ambition was brandishing a tool To be a' icon, wearing slippers made of python Get mine quicker 'cause I'm slick as a pipeline Transportin' the oil, tribulation and toil Hit the operation, but I'm back in the soil Got my crown tilted, my gown quilted, silk with cashmere Burning Rome down in a minute, built it last year Newsflash, I dodged the bullet that killed the cashier My homie told me to come with him to the masjid Them brothers said, "Don't go from written bars filled with rage To primetime television and your gilded cage Then forget it's people in the world still enslaved" I barbwired my wrist, and let it fill the page Gun fire n' flares, sirens glare I'm in a iron chair where people who care Don't get the lion's share When I don't give a fuck, then I ain't fair I'm on a higher tier with people gettin' money like the financier Cash the herald I'm fresh chopped, A Bevel Rap on a doctorate level, so F. Scott Fitzgerald Maybe I'm the new Rakim, maybe I'm fat Pharaohe Undergarments or armor be my intimate apparel Pre-Kardashian Kanye, my rhymeplay immaculate Same cadence as D.O.C. pre-accident Maybe, my acumen's on par with Kool G. Rap and them Give me the proper respect, mothafucka', we back again For a couple things we lost in a fire The drive, the desire to perform on a higher plateau I'm at that show, lost in a mire Wondering how we got so far from inspired Look, when photos were sepia-toned And record players were somethin' you would keep in your home Yo, the traveler, the meaning of Tariq, he was known For the exemplary performance, uniquely his own I made the twenty-one pound for some a newfound religion Where money's put down, it's only one sound that make OGs and young lions equally proud to listen The secret amalgamism, a algorithm Coming from where only kings and crowns permitted the darkness Where archaeologists found my image in parchment Rolled into a scroll, holding a message for you It said, "The only thing for sure is taxes, death, and trouble" The anomaly sworn solemnly, high snobbidy Freakonomics and war policy, dichotomy That's Heaven and Hades, Tigris and Euphrates His highness, the apple of the Iris to you ladies As babies, we went from Similac and Enfamil To the internet and Fentanyl When all consent was still against the will I got that detox for y'all The microphone doctor, black Deepak Chopra I'm a griot that make you wanna peacock your arm Every heavy dignitary paying me top, regards Boy, I'm three optics far from your binoculars So, that smart money finna get the heat out the car Yo, I'm K-Dot Lamar meets 2Pac Shakur Got profiled by a few cops, too hot to charge Listen, somebody said a price tag was on a rapper's head So we gon' see a nice bag when the rapper dead The mask black, the flag green, black, and red They'll probably wave a white flag after plasma shed No doubt, yo, the game went they own route I can't explain what these lame kids is talkin' 'bout Or how they fit they whole foot into they own mouth I put a couple bodies in a brown bag, then I'm on route I'm sneaker shoppin' with my son, a size 8 Prior to they release, 'cause why wait? Look, in my estate I got electrified gates For these blasé guys hating at a high rate 'Cause I dodged fate then got great, the fly's straight If we ain't family or friends, then we don't vibrate And I'm that gun in y'all face, none of y'all safe If I catch you at the right time in the wrong place, slippin' Sippin' on something with a strong taste Like Whiskey or bootleg Bourbon with a corn base My Levante resemble a vehicular threat The mic I spray, resemblin' the sickle of death It ain't strenuous to come from a continuous breath I set fire to the venue, I'ma spin you and step Rinse, repeat You checkin' for the sound of the beast I'm the hound, I'ma creep, I get down, I'ma eat I'ma keep somethin' to lay a naysayer to sleep Playin' with heat, nobody and nothin' fucking with 'Riq Yo, these weaklings is claiming they cutting up in the street Nigga, peace, you ain't working with nothin' but the police Listen, you ain't finna be nothing but the deceased Listen, you in a tournament with a permanent crease I strike fear in the hearts of rap figures Who mind bare the stigmas of time, no black privilege From boom bap niggas to trap niggas You in the trap with us, when the lines is as Vivid as the walls on the graph Autographed by the Lord of Wrath I reside between the seconds on the chronograph How much more CB4 can we afford? It's like a Shariah Law on "My Cherie Amour" How much hypocrisy can people possibly endure? But ain't nobody working on a cure, my young boul Y'all just regular, I'm a' apex predator Brim stay fresh, feathered up, etcetera Nevertheless, I got a message and left One dead messenger, yep My pen is Henry Kissinger, Buzz Bissinger Look, my caporegime is to no redeem And my oldest son Ahmir Saleem out of New Orleans Took a golf cart to the Baccarat from the Waldorf What was on the wall? That depend on what you call art I'ma say 300k ain't even in the ballpark I charge more just for awkward small talk So yes, who's fucking with it if it's not the best? I get the lobby painted fresh upon my request It's Kafka-esque, His Holiness, stop the press That Cobalt blue, reminiscent of Makkaresh Lord, we got Padma Lakshmi for you Let her massage your back with black seed oil The foundation is firm, the flags need soil Me? I need Royal Tea because I bleed royal Go through the vein to the brain, fabulous and strange My journalistic range is a catalyst for change It got anybody that listen pissin' flame And 'cause the Hall of Fame got so many missing names I'll acknowledge the original People's not Oliver Y'all will get the next challenger for Excalibur I'm more policed for my core beliefs They tried to capture me and brand me on the cheek With a fleur-de-lis The side of my heart'll be more discreet I'm international, my passport page is like War and Peace I've always played my part from the start Back in Philly where the triggers is mandatory to spark With a slightest inflammatory remark I have you enter living a category apart Listen, a grain of salt'll tip the scales, it never fails Walk on egg shells, sleep on a bed of nails Criminal records like record sales Making heads or tails We like Henrietta Lacks up in the cells My mother was a working class, very loving woman Who struggled, every dinner could've been the last supper I come home, chasing good-for-nothing half-cousins And then walk in the crib to the smell of crack cooking She was introduced to that substance abuse On some of the strongest drugs that the government produced Look, I even got excused by the principal My story is out of the dub dub interview I've seen some ice cold summers, hot winters too I never thought I'd win Grammy Awards with The Roots I never thought I would be getting long in the tooth My OGs told me, ''Boy you better go and live your truth'' I am a walking affirmation, that imagination And focus and patience gets you closer to your aspiration And just 'cause they give you shit don't mean you have to take it My words capture greatness, sworn affidavits Yours truly, the celestial being You stay seeing pulling up in the fresh European High-stepping out of it, dressed to a T And not another got more soul, 'less you Korean I’ve been having visions of Nat Turner holding his master’s head Like Yorick and Horatio in Hamlet Smacking it like a tennis racket, underhanded Send a message through the Gram: ''The Eagle has landed'' Dressed in a military jacket made of canvas I am no gorilla, I just make 'em go bananas Outstanding, red, black, and green bandanas Cocked hammers, hairs on my chin is outstandin' Can't manage the weight of war, they're just out ballin' Look, I'll fall up from the sky to see my calling I'm not crawling, I'm a free man like Morgan Seeing manhood in the hood is a damn good bargain If a black man don't tap dance And every girl that got a fat booty don't lapdance Well, I guess it's somethin' wrong, huh? Niggas completely uninformed I don't burn bridges, yo, I keep the haters' runnin' for em' I ain't one of y'all peers, I'm the sum of all fears Somebody stronger than me? Who that? I'm all ears Like Obama, I wish he had another four years Y'all some jolly good Hollywood Squares I'm like, ahem, approach the altar with your offering I spoil rappers rotten like my only offspring Being His Excellency gets to be exhausting You in the residency of the one they call King Dada, Ali Baba, the talented Mr. Trotter Inside of my right palm, the mark of the stigmata Big Poppa, wig chopper, emperor Jaffe Joffer, mufucka' I'm stronger than the coffee out in Kafa All y'all niggas vagina hop, remind me of Icona Pop I step in the booth, I'm a bull inside a China shop, mollywhoppin' Watch another cotton pickin' body drop Every time we rock, yo, they acting like it's Mardi Gras 'Til the party stop, skirt off like she that Ferrari drop Soul Cycle pumping that Earth, Wind and Fire ba-di-ah Coolin' 'pon the dock, à la marina, hard body yacht You seen another rapper cleaner, mami? Probably not How it feel to be the best that did it, I admit it I'm visiting from planet Bring-These-Niggas-Death-In-Minutes And y'all know I'm exquisite, wicked as Wilson Pickett The sickness I exhibit, I'm too legit to quit it I don't fake it 'til I make it, I take it to the limit and break it Never timid, what I'm about, I represent it Infinite just like Chace is, been a million places Conversation is how beautiful my face is People hated on how sophisticated my taste is Then I pulled up on these mothafuckas in a spaceship Panther mind, I'm made of elements you can't combine I'm at a level of intelligence you can't define Einstein, Shakespeare, Voltaire, Tesla Recording artist slash psychology professor I preach for the East, never fold under pressure The beast from the East and I glide like Clyde Drexler Ay, yo, my new name is eighty five X's 'Cause I'm the rap game certified specialist When I was reckless I was worried 'bout the guest list I'm helping rappers everywhere fulfill a death wish Yo Flex, I'm glad we made contact My nigga also know this shit for Combat Brain matter contain too much data I tell a story like fingerprints and blood splatta' WATCH MORE BELOW https://youtu.be/tiRPlCguqEc