#these next few tags are for organization on my own blog there is almost nothing related to this game in these tags ->

[charliesinfern0]

[readingandwritingandreading]

Some Hearts ~ Part 5

My Blurb: I have returned! I am feeling much better and to make it up to you this one is the longest chapter I have ever written. I hope you all enjoy!

Disclaimer:  Alas, I own nothing but my ideas. I do not give permission for my writing to be shared anywhere without my consent. 

Summary: Reacher never needed anyone, he was a lone wolf and preferred it that way. But when he finds his mate beaten and bruised one night, she and the rest of the 110th show Reacher the benefits of being in a pack. Fated Mates, Shifter AU

Pairing: Jack Reacher x OFC Morgan Stone

Warnings: There are some darker things in this fic. Morgan is a rape and abuse survivor. Nothing is explicitly detailed but be advised. Your media consumption is your responsibility. This is a fated mates, wolf shifter AU and will contain claming, biting, mating and other wolf pack related things. 

Tagging: @pioched | @ashes-writing | @titty-teetee2 | @may85 | @msripleybennet | @lemmons1998 | @tonadavis264-blog | @screechingdreamercollectorsblog

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Rock Hill Village, New York

The next few days followed the same pattern. Jack was already up and working on projects by the time I made my way down stairs. He joined me in the kitchen while I made breakfast and we talked while we ate. We cleaned up, drove into the village and usually ended the day at the pack house before returning home. It was…comfortable and safe. 

The third day I convinced him that I was feeling good enough to walk into town instead of him driving. That’s how I found myself staring at the covered windows of the building that sat between the school and road to Jack’s cabin. Dixon had come out of her cabin to discuss training some of the younger members when she saw us walking by and I gravitated towards the building. 

“It’s technically the pack library.” Lily O’Donnell’s voice sounded from my left and I jumped, hand immediately going to my chest. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

“Oh, it’s ok. I was a little lost in my snooping.” I smiled and waved at Jack who had turned immediately at my sudden fear. “Why do you say technically?” I turned my attention back to Lilly who sent Jack a wave also.

“David & I inherited it when we started the school but between that and the kids we don’t have time to maintain or organize it and no one else in the pack has taken it on yet.” She shrugged. “Maybe someday.” Jack approached then, his hand finding the small of my back, sending the familiar wave of warmth through me.

“Reacher” she nodded to him. “Dixon recruiting you for training today?” 

He nodded, “Bobby’s mate went into labor this morning.” 

“I didn’t think she was going to make it much longer.” Lilly grinned. “I better get going. It was good to see you, Morgan.” 

“You as well.” I waved before turning to Jack, a question that had been bothering me bubbling to the surface. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Always.” he answered without hesitation, surveying the village square as we walked.

“I don’t want to overstep. I just…” I bit my lip, memories of my curiosity getting me in trouble when I was younger flooding through me. 

“Morgan,” he stopped, turning me to face him. “You can ask me anything and I will always answer you honestly.”

“Do you have a specific job? I noticed almost everyone else does.” I blurted out before I lost my nerve. 

“This is the longest I've ever stayed on the pack lands since I left the military.” He pulled me to a bench by the statue of the Moon Goddess. "After we left the military, most of the 110th came here and started the pack but I couldn’t help but wander after a lifetime of being an army brat. I was thirty-six years old, a citizen of a country I had barely seen, and there were places to go, and there were things to do. There were cities, and there was countryside. There were mountains, and there were valleys. There were rivers. There were museums, and music, and motels, and clubs, and diners, and bars, and buses. There were battlefields and birthplaces, and legends, and roads. There was company if I wanted it, and there was solitude if I didn’t. Then three weeks ago I found myself getting off the bus on the highway five miles from here. Neagley runs a tight ship, everyone earns their place so I stepped in whenever they needed someone. Sometimes training, mostly security. I was on duty two weeks later when you set off one of the south sensors.”

I stared at him in shock as his words sunk in. The comments about his cabin, the lack of personal items and other little moments all came crashing together. “You’re not going to stay?” The words came out as a coldness wrapped its way around my heart and I became aware of how attached I had already become to the friendly little village. 

“I told you I would be honest,” he heaved out a sigh, running his hand through his hair. “I don’t know, I never planned on finding you. I couldn’t imagine I had a fated mate out there. It was a fairytale that some of my friends had but wasn’t in the cards for me. I’m still getting my head around the fact that you are here.” I forced the threatening tears down when he gently used my chin to force me to look at him. “I won’t make a decision without you. We’re a team now.” 

I searched his face before nodding, bolstered by the sincerity in his words and gaze. “It’s nice to be a teammate and not just a pawn for once. Thank you Jack.” I leaned in and kissed his cheek, smiling inwardly at the hint of shock in his expression when I pulled away. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A lingering warmth remained in the spot Morgan’s lips had touched him, even a couple hours after it happened and he sparred with the trainees. Dixon was a good trainer and all of her students excelled in learning how to use their wolves in a fight should the need arise. The focus today, however, was fighting without their wolf, something that Morgan seemed to be watching closely. Reacher had offered to take her somewhere she would be comfortable while he helped Dixon but after their talk she seemed to need the closeness, assuring him she wanted to watch.  

He could see her on the other side of the training area, watching Dixon show another smaller female how to use her speed against a bigger opponent. He walked over to her as the class wound down, an idea forming in his head. She had no power in her old life. He had seen the way it soothed her that he considered her his equal. Roscoe had no leads on why she couldn't shift and without her wolf she was at huge disadvantage against other shifters.

“Do you want to learn?” Reacher asked, stretching his hand towards her. She hesitated for a minute before determination crossed over her face and she nodded, grabbing his hand and letting him lead her away from the other students. “You heard Dixon telling them about speed?”

She nodded, stiffening slightly as he positioned her body. “Make yourself a smaller target and you're harder to hit.”

“And there’s no shame in running if you can.” he added, circling around to face her. “I’m going to try and grab you, try and avoid me.” Morgan nodded, taking a deep breath and watching him carefully. He waited a few seconds before pouncing towards her, catching her easily when she darted to the right. “You gave yourself away. You turned right and then hesitated. Once you make a decision, act, don’t hesitate.” 

They practiced for another couple hours before he noticed her wincing and rubbing at the cast on her arm. He was impressed with her determination. She was a quick learner and had mostly overcome the hesitation that gave her away managing to avoid him two times. “We better call it for today. Roscoe will have my hide if you hurt your arm more.” 

Morgan chuckled before sinking to the grass. “Thank you for teaching me. My father never would have allowed me to learn with my…handicap. He just surrounded me with bodyguards or kept me locked away in the house.”

“Everyone should know how to defend themselves. I will protect you until my last breath, but you need to know how to at least get away if someone attacks you.” Reacher sat down on the grass beside her looking towards the river that she had fallen into. 

She looked in that direction as well and smiled when she saw two wolves splashing out of the water, an black and tan one chasing a smaller brown one. The smaller one nipped playfully at the bigger one's snout before turning and running into the tree line at top speed. The bigger one howled and then followed. “Who was that?” Morgan laughed, following their path as they disappeared. 

“Sanchez & Melina. Their bonding ceremony is next week.” Reacher replied. 

“Can I see your wolf?” Reacher looked over to find Morgan staring at him apprehensively. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I held my breath as Jack studied my face and then nodded slightly. His shift was smooth and well practiced. One second I was sitting next to a large man and the next I was sitting next to a large wolf. I reached out and ran my hand through the blue gray fur of his chest. In human form Jack towered over me and his wolf did as well. In our sitting positions my head came to his shoulder. Standing I let my hand drift to the fur around his ears pulling back when he nuzzled my hand with his snout. “I’m sorry, I guess I should have asked before just petting you.” 

Wolf Jack moved into a standing position and made a growling sound before nudging my hand again until it rested on top of his head. When I scratched his tail began to wag and I giggled. “I feel like I’ve seen this wolf before.” Wolf Jack cocked his head as I thought, moving to stroke his neck and back. 

“Is Reacher wagging his tail?” An astonished shout came from several feet away and I squeaked in surprise when I found myself firmly behind Jack as he growled in the direction of the voice. Oscar Finlay appeared a moment later. “Down boy, I was just coming to let you know food’s almost ready at the pack house.” 

Jack suddenly shifted, as fluidly as before, blocking my view of Finlay. Peeking my head around him I waved. “What’s happening at the pack house?”

“Our monthly pack meeting, everyone eats there and we go over anything we need to.” Finlay filled in. “And we are definitely going to need to go over Reacher’s tail wagging.” He chuckled when Jack shot him a glare. 

I patted Jack’s arm before sliding it down to intertwine my hand with his. “Am I allowed to go? I’ve never gotten to be involved in pack activities.” 

I asked the question to Finlay but Reacher squeezed my hand and responded. “If you want to go, you can.” 

Finlay nodded, grinning at our intertwined hands. “I’ll see you there.”

Jack led us into the pack house half an hour later, winding us through the crowd and to a couple empty chairs at one of the trestle tables that had been setup in rows throughout the room. “Stay here, I'll grab some food.”

Charlie quickly joined me, dropping into an empty chair and greeting me with a hug. “Paul will be here in a minute, he’s dropping the girls off upstairs. They always have a movie set up for the kids up there while the adults handle business. I heard you did some training with Reacher today. You didn’t hurt your arm did you?” 

“He’s trying to teach me to be able to escape. I only managed to out maneuver him twice in three hours of practice. He made us stop when my arm started aching.” I smiled. 

“Twice is pretty good. Reacher is exceptionally trained, maybe more so than Alpha Neagley. Plus you’re his mate. He’s naturally more attuned to you.” she shrugged. 

I nodded, “I hadn’t thought of that.” 

Paul joined us then, placing their plates on the table.  “I couldn’t tell if Reacher was getting plates for both of you or just him, but I’m glad to be in front of him in line. I don’t know how he stays in that kind of shape but eats like that.”

“Genetics.” Jack’s voice sounded from behind me before four towering plates of food appeared in front of our seats. He placed an empty one in front of me before continuing. “I wasn’t sure what you’d want so take the first pick and I can eat whatever’s left.”

Neagley appeared at the front of the room where a podium was set up. The crowd quieted immediately, everyone found their seats and I watched in amazement at the respect the pack had for their leader. Reacher nudged me as it continued, pointedly looking at the pile of food in front of us. Rolling my eyes I grabbed some chicken and a few other items before picking up my fork and digging in. 

Near the end of the meeting Neagley announced Sanchez and Melina’s ceremony and the room came alive with applause and whistles while Sanchez pumped his arm in the air and Melina blushed at his side.

Turning to Charlie I got her attention before asking, “If I order a dress for the ceremony would it get here in time? I just realized I don’t have anything and I hate to keep hogging your wardrobe.” 

“We’re going into Utica in a couple days, why don’t you come with us?” Charlie offered. “I have to pick up our medicine shipment. Angela, Franz’s mate, is also coming. She has to pick up some supplies for the inn.” 

“That would be great.” I turned to Jack who was putting the last piece of chicken from my plate in his mouth. “What do you think?”

“You do need some more clothes and a coat,” he shrugged. 

“It’s settled then!” Charlie waved down Dixon who joined them. “Morgan is going to join us on our trip to Utica. She needs some more clothes.” 

“I hope that’s ok.” I offered. “I’m living out of Charlie’s wardrobe at the moment.” 

“Not a problem at all little wolf, it will be a girls trip.” Neagley planted herself on the table beside Dixon. 

“Wait, girls trip. I’m going with Morgan.” Jack looked between the women.

“I don’t think so big guy, I need you to take over training for Dixon while we’re gone.” Neagley put her hand up when he went to argue.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Reacher’s Cabin, Rock Hill Village, New York

Neagley gave him a look he knew from their time in the service. One that said she wasn’t discussing the topic anymore, he was not going on this trip. “She will be with Dixon and me the whole time. You know she’s safe with us. We have Charlie if her arm acts up.”

“Nothing can happen to her, Neagley.” It was more of a plea than an agreement but she still nodded. They turned as Morgan came down the steps to meet them at the SUV. “Stay with Dixon or Neagley,” he reached into his pocket and handed her his card. “Get whatever clothes or other stuff you need. And a coat, it’s going to get colder.” 

Morgan put her hand up to stop him, “I have enough of my own to get a dress and a couple things I need. I’m not spending any more of your money.”

Before he could reply Neagley stepped in and swiped the card from his hand. “I have no problem spending more of your money. Thanks for lunch. Come on little wolf.” 

Jack gently grabbed her shoulder and turned her to face him. “Morgan, get what you need. He kissed her forehead before adding, “Stay with the group. Please, mon reve.”

Morgan nodded, giving him a quick hug before hurrying into the backseat beside Angela. 

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Utica, New York

“Are you sure this is ok for the ceremony?” I asked, twirling in the mirror. 

Angela turned from where she was handing Dixon a different top to try on. “You look lovely! Have you ever been to a bonding ceremony?”

“Angela.” Charlie snapped and Neagley shook her head but I put my hand up.

“It’s ok. I have only been to my own and I didn’t get much of a say in it.” I shrugged. “I wasn’t allowed to attend many events.” 

“I’m sorry Morgan, I didn’t think before I spoke.” Angela was ringing her hands together. “When you and Reacher have one you will be able to choose whatever you want.” 

A hush fell over the group as they all looked at me and my heart plummeted. “Oh, um. I don’t know…we’ve never really talked about it…and I…I can’t shift. Excuse me, I should change.” Hurrying back into the dressing room I pulled the dress off and hung it over the door. “Get it together Morgan” I whispered to myself, fighting to keep the tears that had sprung to my eyes from falling. I hadn’t considered that a bonding ceremony would be expected. Did Jack want one? I was a defective wolf. Did I want to go through that again? Knowing how my one to KJ had gone. It had been a miserable few hours in a dress that was too tight and not in my style at all. And then that night…I shuddered, biting my lip hard and covering my mouth to mask the sob that tried to escape. 

By the time I pulled myself together and left the changing room the other women had made their purchases and were waiting by the register. “Did one of you grab the dress off the door? I think i’ll just get that today.” 

“Already taken care of, went ahead and got you a few more things also.” Dixon held up four large bags.

“Big guy wanted us to make sure you were taken care of since we wouldn’t let him be here. That was the only way we were leaving the village without him tailing us and I still double checked on the way here.” Neagley shrugged, flashing Jack’s credit card. 

Charlie stopped me from replying with a hard look. “Morgan, Reacher has plenty of money. He hardly buys anything with his pension and Paul started making investments for him after an incident a few years back.”

“He also cares about you.” Angela smiled shyly. “My comment was foolish before. I wasn’t thinking. But you have to know how much he cares for you. Reacher never lets people in but I see, we all see the way he looks at you.” 

I wiped a tear that slipped out giving the group a watery smile. “I’m really glad I stumbled into this village. You are all wonderful.” I pulled Jack’s card out of Neagley’s hand. “Who’s ready for lunch?” 

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Margrave, Northern Georgia

‘Alpha, there’s something you both need to see.” The Kliner packs new head of security appeared in the doorway with an envelope and a tablet. Kliner waved him in, sitting in the big chair behind his desk, leaving KJ to stand beside him. He placed the envelope on the desk and opened it revealing several pictures of Morgan. 

“Where was this and how long ago?” KJ grabbed a photo, studying it closely. 

“Face recognition flagged it ten minutes ago in Utica, New York sir.” the guard answered, reading off the tablet. 

KJ cursed, slamming the photo back onto the desk. “How the fuck did she get to Utica, load up the cars, we leave in one hour.” 

“Wait.” Kliner said calmly but everyone in the room froze. “Who is she with?” He looked over the photos at the other women sitting at the restaurant. 

“We’re running facial recognition on them now Alpha.” he glanced between Alpha and son. 

“We don’t make a move until we know what we’re going into.” He put his hand up to stop KJ’s outburst. “Your stupid decisions regarding Morgan Stone are what got us into this situation.” He turned back to the guard. “Notify her father we have a lead and I want to know the minute we find out who is sheltering her. 

*Italicized section is a direct copy from The Affair by Lee Child

[pengychan]

[Baldur’s Gate III] Hell to Pay, Ch. 15

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: M Status: In progress

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

*** A little warning - at one point in the chapter, there is a mention of how Raphael's conception went. It's not detailed, nothing graphic, but his mother was coerced into it, so. You now. I figured it warranted a heads-up. ***

“How many times do you have to be killed, you damned, slinking little fox?”

Only a few weeks ago, if asked to pick a devil they wouldn’t mind meeting again, there would have been no doubt in Durge’s mind as to who to pick. It was, to be honest, a short list that started and ended with one name - Yurgir’s. Despite their particularly rocky beginnings, he’d been a fierce ally in the House of Hope and then again against the Netherbrain. Of course, with Raphael in their party, he’d quickly turned into one of the last devils they’d have wanted to meet again. 

However, carnage did not immediately follow. Yurgir's respect was hard to earn but, Durge had come to realize, it wasn’t easily lost either. The fact he didn’t shoot a crossbow bolt through Astarion when he refused to move out of the way and leave Raphael to him was testament to that, at least. Still it was a chance meeting they could have done without, because he was really set on getting his hands on Raphael to rearrange his limbs.

And probably a few internal organs while he was at it. 

“We need him alive, Yurgir.”

Yurgir scowled, crossbow still pointed in Raphael’s general direction. Around them, standing over the corpses of the demons they had finished off, his merregons stared silently from behind their masks. They didn’t seem to truly understand a thing of what they were saying; they simply stood there and waited for the next order to unleash carnage

“How is the bastard still alive? Daddy dearest made a servant out of his devil half and ate the human one. Everyone knows that.”

Right, Durge thought. That. “... We also rather need everyone to keep thinking that, come to think of it.”

A scoff. “My business is splitting skulls, little rabbit, not spreading gossip, and the merregons have no clue what we’re talking about. No one will know he lives. Partly because I’m going to fix that.”

“I mean, it’s not that it doesn’t sound great, Yurgir. It does,” Karlach spoke up, reaching over to pat his forearm. “But as Durge said, we need him alive. Unfortunately. If we didn’t, I’m sorry, but you’d still have to fight me for it.”

Dire as the situation was, Raphael took a moment to raise an eyebrow at Karlach.

“... Really?” he asked, sounding rather doubtful, and Karlach grinned.

“I’d want the privilege to split your skull myself.”

“... Should have figured.”

Yurgir gave a snort that was almost a laugh. “What do you need him for, anyway? He was always only half a devil, and now he’s not even that. Just a puny human - I can tell . ”

“Hey now, I have to protest on behalf of humans. We’re not all that puny,” Wyll muttered, causing Yurgir to blink, eyes shifting towards Wyll’s horns. Wyll cleared his head. “Ah, those-- that is-- it’s a long story.”

“He has information,” Astarion spoke, clearly trying to use all the charm he was capable of. He was holding his hands up, still standing in front of Raphael - who, on the other hand, didn’t seem all that certain that they’d really take on Yurgir to keep him alive. “We need to recover something, he knows where it is, and we made kind of a deal. It’s been wonderful to catch up, truly! But we really should make way towards Haruman’s Hill, so we can cross--”

“That’s not happening for a while,” Yurgir cut him off. “Haruman is patrolling there, and in a shit mood. Not that he has any other mood.”

Karlach sighed. “Ah, fuck. I don’t suppose he could be conveniently distracted? Like, say, a horde of demons chased right at the base of the hill, so he can’t resist getting involved?”

With a booming laugh, Yurgir slung the crossbow over his shoulder. “Ah, that would work, I guess. All right, how about this - you leave Raphael to me for a bit. I won’t kill him, just make him regret being born.” He turned to grin at Raphael, all fangs. “After I’ve taught him a lesson in pain, I’ll give him back and distract Haruman for you.”

Durge almost groaned. “We cannot--” they began, only to trail off when someone else laughed. Raphael.

Yurgir snarled, turning to face him. “What’s so funny?”

Raphael smiled back. No longer pale as he’d been when Yurgir had appeared, he seemed perfectly at ease. He stepped forward, arms spread. “If it’s a duel you want, you should have said so right away. Although I am not certain that it would be polite of me.”

A snort. “Oh, too good for duels, is that your excuse?”

“Apologies, I should have explained myself with smaller words. What I meant is, it would be impolite of me to humiliate you in front of your own men. But if you insist, it can be arranged.”

Durge blinked. Behind them, Halsin let out a groan.

For a moment, Yurgir stared at Raphael as though not comprehending. Then he leaned forward and gave a noise that could have been a growl, could have been a laugh, was probably sort of both. “You,” he finally said, “are the most arrogant piece of shit I’ve ever met in my life.”

Raphael smiled, arms still spread. “So come teach me a lesson,” he said, like he wasn’t facing a powerful orthon as a human bard with a few sorcerer tricks, and probably half spent from the battle just ended. “Only the two of us. No intervention from the mortals or from the merregons. If they get involved, the mortals get involved - and vice versa, ça va sans dire.”

“That’s got to be Infernal,” Wyll whispered, only for Karlach to shake her head.

“Maybe Abyssal?” she whispered back, just as Astarion joined them and placed a hand on Durge’s wrist. 

“He has something up his sleeve,” he murmured. “Let him do this.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“I’m just kind of trusting him not to be completely suicidal.”

Unaware of their whispers, Yurgir was scowling. “What’s your trick this time, Raphael?”

“No tricks. As you said I am human and, I am sure you can tell even from there, running on half a soul. And still entirely capable of defeating you.”

“You wouldn’t be demanding a duel if you didn’t have some trick ready. You’re too much of a coward to fight fair. Even in the Blood War--”

“A coward, am I? One of us here is hesitating, and it's not me.” Raphael wrinkled his nose, jutting his chin forward. “You need not be scared. I won’t humiliate you too badly.”

The goading was painfully obvious, but-- well, the target was an orthon, and as it turned out it was more than enough.

“I’ll cut out your tongue,” Yurgir snarled, only for Raphael to nod. 

“Very well. If you win, I’ll surrender my tongue. If I do, you’ll lure Haruman off his hill long enough for us to cross the Styx. A fair deal, is it not? And I’m not even putting it in rhyme.”

“If you give me another song, I’ll cut off more than your tongue,” Yurgir growled, and grinned. He held out a hand, and one of the merregons immediately handed him something - a healing potion. He drank it in one gulp, and slung the crossbow across his back. “Very well. Let’s see how long you last, without your hellfire tricks. You, stay where you are,” he snapped at the merregons. Several heads were tilted, but none of them made a noise as their leader jumped off the small rocky outcrop, causing the ground to tremble, and approached Raphael, blade in hand. “I’ll nail your tongue to my belt, just to show everyone it’s not made of silver.”

Raphael looked at him and sighed. “My life, part twelve - the boring opponent,” he muttered, causing Yurgir to snarl and Durge to rather wish they had cut off his tongue themself to keep him from doing… exactly what he was doing now.

“This is a bad idea,” Wyll muttered.

“This is going to be fun,” Karlach grinned.

“We do intervene if he tries to kill him, right?” Halsin asked.

“I’m in a betting mood. Anyone else in a betting mood?” Astarion asked, entirely ignoring his concern. “Karlach? My money’s on Raphael.”

“Oh, yes! My gold’s on Yurgir.”

Durge groaned.  “I have a headache.”

“Oh. Is it a normal headache, or a ‘deranged sister performing lobotomy in extremely unsanitary conditions’ headache, love?”

“... It’s liable to get worse or better. Depends how the fight go--”

“AAAAAGH!”

Yurgir’s guttural cry caused everyone to recoil and turn, just on time to see him slam his blade against the ground; the thunderous blast that followed was just as loud, and Raphael was immediately knocked back across the rocky ground like-- well, like a rag doll. 

He fell hard several paces back with a grunt of pain, skidding a few more paces across the ground before he came to a stop. Durge made a face. “It just got worse.”

Karlach whistled. “Well, that was quick. Looks like you’re going to have to pay up.” She elbowed Astarion, who grinned in turn.

“Oh, no. It’s not over until the orthon’s got his tongue,” he informed her, just as the orthon in question laughed. 

“Is that all you’ve got, mighty Raphael?” Yurgir asked, tilting his head in what came across as a crude, mocking courtly bow. “I’ll give you one chance to make it quick and prove yourself a coward. Yield, and I’ll make it a clean cut.”

There was no response at first. Raphael was lifting himself up on his knees, painfully, a hand pressing against his side.

“Broken ribs,” Halsin muttered, grim. Ever the healer, he was obviously struggling not to intervene. “This is madness. He has no chance.”

“Wait,” Astarion whispered, and Wyll turned to glance at him.

“... You know something,” he muttered, and Astarion just grinned.

From his part, Raphael scoffed, and gave Yurgir the most insufferable sneer Durge had ever seen on anybody’s face, save perhaps Wulbren Bongle’s. “You act a fighter,” he spat through clenched, bloodied teeth. “But a fool’s a fool.”

The snarl that left Yurgir next was almost a roar. “I won’t cut your damned tongue - I’ll rip it off along with your jaw,” he snapped, and turned invisible without waiting for an answer, clearly poised to strike with his poisoned blade before Raphael could even see him coming. From his part, Raphael cast a healing spell on himself, and slowly began to stand. Much too slowly. Any moment now, Yurgir would be--

A portion of the ground lit up, and Durge had only an instant to understand what they were looking at - a glyph of warding - before lighting struck and Yurgir screamed before he stumbled back, once again fully visible, covering his eyes with a cry. He was not too gravely hurt, it would take more than that, but there were marks on him. 

“The fucker!” Karlach exclaimed, something that was almost a hint of admiration in her voice. “When did he do that?”

Wyll chuckled. “I bet he cast it while we were all talking, didn’t he? Astarion?”

“I may have noticed him gesturing…”

“I’LL TEAR OUT YOUR INNARDS WITH MY BARE HANDS!” Yurgir bellowed, and reached for his belt to grab an orthotic handbomb. But he was still half-blinded by the lighting blast, and it landed off mark enough for Raphael to scramble out of the way before it blew up, if not very elegantly. Yurgir didn’t get the chance to throw another before Raphael lifted his hands. 

“Obedi me!”  he cried out - and, unlike the bomb, Raphael’s spell didn’t miss. For an instant Yurgir stood absolutely still, as though turned to stone, a stunned expression on his face. Then he moved again. He skipped, to be exact, and kept skipping in place, and twirling, and shuffling his feet. Under the stunned gaze of several merregons who had probably never seen an Otto’s Irresistible Dance spell at work, Yurgir began to-- well. Describing what he was doing as dancing was a bit more charitable than Durge felt they could be, but it came close enough. 

“What the-- RAPHAEL! What! Have! You! Done!”

Yurgir’s roar in the middle of a pirouette proved to be too much for Karlach. She slapped both hands on her mouth to try and stifle her laughter, only for it to come out of her nose in a painful-sounding honk that was, in turn, too much for Wyll. And Astarion. And-- hells, it was too much for everyone.

“Pfft--!”

“Hahaha!”

“Oh gods, oh gods I can’t--”

“Sil-- heh-- Silvanus lend me strength--"

“BWAHAHAHAHAHAH!” Karlach finally cracked, bending forward with both hands on her stomach. Through their own gales of laughter - Astarion clung to their robe to keep standing as though his knees could no longer support him while he snickered - Durge could swear there were tears streaming down her cheeks. “HAHAHAHA! Oh gods-- Yurgir, sorry mate, but that’s- HAHAH!”

“STOP LAUGHING IF YOU’RE SO SORRY!” Yurgir yelled, still skipping about with a liveliness that was quite at odds with the fury on his face.

“I’m- hahahahahahah! I’m tryin-- hahahahahahahahahah! Oh, he got you good! HAH!” She laughed again, slapping her knee. “Dammit Raphael, how dare you be funny?”

Still holding onto his side and looking a few steps away from the grave, but grinning at the scene before him nonetheless, Raphael bowed his head. “I live to entertain,” he muttered, voice smooth despite the shortness of breath. “Alas, I must deprive you of my presence for a short while. Some rest is warranted if I am to give my best in this duel. Until then, I do hope Yurgir the Dancing Orthon will serve well enough as entertainment. Fear not, Yurgir, I’ll get back to you shortly.”

“RAPHAEL, YOU BAST--”

“Invisibilis,” Raphael muttered, and vanished from sight. Unable to stop himself from dancing, Yurgir resulted to scream out a rather astounding array of insults that, Durge was rather sure, would make the most seasoned sailors in Grey Harbor gasp in outrage. The insults went on  for a while. For… quite a while, with no attack from Raphael. Yurgir just kept dancing, the merregons kept staring, and they slowly managed to stop laughing. Somehow.

Most of them, anyway.

“Hey, Yurgir! Would it-- heh!-- would it make you feel any better if I came over to dance, too?”

“COME BACK, YOU COW-- don’t mock me, little rabbit!”

“Hey, it was an honest offer. It looks fun.”

With Yurgir now yelling out a few choice insults at Karlach, too, Wyll stifled another chuckle and turned to look at the others. “... All right, where has he gone?”

Astarion looked around. “Good question. He didn’t really run, did he? Durge, can you see--”

“Oh, no,” Halsin spoke, very quietly. “He didn’t run. He’s a few paces behind us. Turn, but don’t make it too obv--” 

Three heads turned back as one. All things considered, they were rather lucky that Yurgir was too busy dancing and yelling at Karlach to really pay attention to them. Durge spotted it first, the small empty bottle on the ground next to a boulder, and recognized the shape of it immediately. 

“... Potion of Angelic Slumber. Of course,” they murmured, and cast a quick spell to see the invisible. And there was Raphael, asleep against the boulder, chest rising and falling in slow, regular breaths - well on his way to a full recovery so he could actually fight at full health, and with all his spellcasting abilities. Clever, that. He was definitely going to need it but, for the first time, Durge began to think he could actually win that fight. 

Astarion chuckled. “Ah, ironic, that. Does he actually look angelic?”

Durge cast another quick look. He looked peaceful, but angelic? That was a couple of bridges too far. “Not in the slightest,” they said, turning back. “The potion shouldn’t last much longer.”

“Ah well. We get to watch the dancing orthon until then,” Astarion snickered, and seemed quite happy to do just that, leaving Raphael to his much-needed sleep - which was entirely undisturbed by Yurgir’s screams as he detailed what limbs and appendages we was going to tear off him before he got to his tongue.

***

When Raphael came to, all was darkness and agony. 

Every breath of air forced into charred lungs, every movement, every disjointed thought, every layer of skin he could feel peeling off was a lesson in pain. He was laying on something flat and he could hear, faintly, someone speaking above him.

“... May not be able to save him, even though Lord Mephistopheles’ stopped short of ending him. Hellfire is unforgiving, and the damage is so extensive--”

“It is Lord Mephistopheles’ order that he lives. See that you don’t fail him.”

“High Cantor, with all due respect--”

“I have no use for your respect. You’re here for Raphael. Either he lives, or you can find out if your respects will be enough to quell our lord’s fury. And I can promise you, they won’t be.”

A pause, a sigh. “Very well,” the voice murmured again. There were steps, a spell being murmured, and something washed over Raphael, the smallest measure of relief. When he drew a gasping breath, his throat sent shards of pain through his entire body, or what remained of it, but it was almost bearable. When he tried to speak, a voice did come out in a raspy whisper through regenerated tissue. 

“... Where…?”

"Raphael." Lady Antilia sounded surprised, and let out a long breath of her own. “You’re in Mephistar. You’re recovering. You’ve been unconscious a tenday - healers are tending to you.”

Raphael felt the faintest touch on his face, a  hand half-resting, half-hovering above his eyes. He tried to open them, but the darkness remained. Perhaps it was a good thing that he could not see what state he was in, but it terrified him still. “I can’t… I can’t see,” he rasped.

“Your eyes are regenerating. It’s just a matter of time.”

What happened, Raphael wanted to ask, but he already knew two things: he did not want to know, and it would come back to him either way. So for now he only remained still, listening as Antilia sang something, low and slow and haunting; she was no healer, but a song of healing was well within her capabilities. The relief was once again small, but it was there.

“If he can talk, his pharynx must have regenerated. He may be able to drink this,” someone was saying. There was the clinking of glass. “It would be extremely helpful.”

“... Give it here.”

Antilia’s hand shifted to support the back of Raphael’s head. The pressure caused yet more pain to wrack through him, and he cried out, but she didn’t relent. His head was lifted, something was pressed against his lips and poured into his mouth, down his throat. He could barely taste it - honey and herbs, was all he could think - but it was cold and soothing, and it left him numb. Within moments, he was slipping out of consciousness. He welcomed it. 

Had it been poison, he’d have welcomed death.

***

Raphael had gone centuries upon centuries without ever thinking of death.

Well. Without thinking of his own death, to be specific, for the simple reason that he’d decided long ago that it wouldn’t happen. He would not die. The flow of time was never lethal to devils, of course, so it was simply a matter of never dying by anybody’s hand within the confines of Baator. Having survived events that could have - should have - spelled his end long before he even reached his first century of life, he was determined to hold tight onto the immortality his fiendish blood granted him. 

He would not die as long as none could kill him, and he would never give anybody a chance to try. Until he had - against beings who, by all accounts, should have succumbed to his power like insects beneath a boot. 

To say the outcome hadn’t been ideal would have been a polite euphemism.

Even so, it had not been his death when - again, by all accounts - it really should have been. He’d felt that last strike severing something while he choked on his own blood, forcing out the last words of a desperate plea for help; he’d seen all light fade into darkness, felt his own knees fold, the hard marble floor beneath his cheek. And then, at the edge of the precipice, there had been something - a pull, then darkness. When he’d come to, his broken body was in Mephistopheles’ unyielding grip. 

This awakening was, at least, not quite as unpleasant. Yurgir’s voice screaming how he’d ‘make a coin pouch out of his ballsack’ was admittedly not the best welcome back to consciousness he’d ever experienced. Still, it remained a vast improvement on awakening in his father’s grasp, dangling above his maw. By several orders of magnitude.

And of course, another key difference was that he was not broken, physically at least. He was actually in the best shape that mortal body could be, and he supposed he had as good a chance he was ever going to get to win that fight. 

So, time to start off on the right foot. 

Raphael looked at his hands to ensure the invisibility spell still held - it did - and stood to walk up beside the rest of the party, taking a look at Yurgir. He had been unable to break out of the spell, for all his yelling, and Raphael allowed himself a few moments of admittedly puerile amusement to look at the orthon’s frankly abysmal dancing before--

A hand grasped his wrist, causing him to blink. Durge could see him, clearly, but did not turn to look at him as they spoke, voice a murmur. “Use thunderwave when he throws the grenades,” he whispered. “It served us well in the Gauntlet. And keep calm, you make mistakes when you’re angry.”

“... I’ll keep it in mind.”

“He will try to turn invisible, most likely. You’ll want to prevent that.”

Ah, of course. It had made him quite a nuisance, when he’d turned on him in the House of Hope. Raphael nodded and stepped forward, lifting his hands. 

“Ira et dolor!”

“AGH!”

Even in a cloud of spinning daggers, even as he cried out in surprise and pain, Yurgir failed yet again to break free of the spell. He looked around, nearly foaming at the mouth even as he twirled one more time. “Show yourself, bast--”

“Te video.”

“The fuck--?”

Faerie fire did not cause harm, but it mattered not. The still swirling daggers saw to that while the spell took effect, so that Yurgir couldn’t turn invisible for a while. Long enough, hopefully, for Raphael to end the fight. Possibly in his favor. He fancied keeping his tongue, as well as other no less important bits of his anatomy.

“Ugh! What is-- agh! What’s the light show about!”

“Oh, but why reveal the surprise?” Raphael asked, and cast one last glyph of warding between himself and the orthon. He felt the invisibility spell waver and break just as he finished whispering the incantation; Yurgir’s eyes found him, and his features twisted in a scowl of pure rage that rather undermined the remarkable pirouette that followed. He strained against the dancing spell but again failed to free himself, cursing him and grunting at the dagger cuts in the same breath. 

Acutely aware of the fact Yurgir may free himself any moment, Raphael had little time to consider his next move. The orthon’s attacks were devastating when they hit - so it would probably be best to try and diminish his chances of striking true. A sick opponent was preferable to a healthy one, surely.

“Diminuo te!”

“What no-- ugh! You bastard…” Yurgir groaned, sickness taking hold of him just as he managed to stop dancing. With a grunt, he stepped away from the cloud of daggers and dragged himself towards him. He grimaced, a hand going to his blade. “Fucking cambions and your tricks. I’ll make a necklace out of your--”

The ground lit up.

“Oh, fuck off-- ”

CRACK.

The crack of lighting almost drowned out Astarion’s laugh, but not entirely. Yurgir staggered back right into the cloud of daggers, snarling yet more deeply uncreative insults and threats as to where he was going to shove his bombs. Raphael cast a glance to the side. The merregons were still standing in place, staring from behind the masks, but the rest of the party was sitting to watch and-- was that a bottle of wine going around? 

He sighed. “... Really?”

“What? We’re enjoying the show!”

“You’re doing great.”

“Maybe you won’t lose that badly.”

Raphael scoffed. “Why, thank you,” he muttered, and turned his attention back on Yurgir. He still looked ill, but it didn’t keep him from giving a roar of fury and charging, blade in one hand, bombs in the other. He was much too strong for Raphael to match; he had to be faster.

Longstrider. Now.

“I’LL MAKE JELLY OUT OF YOUR EYEBALLS!” 

Raphael cast one more spell on himself just as Yurgir lifted a massive dagger over him to strike, and the true duel began.

***

When he next opened his eyes, Raphael could see… something. Lights and shadows - the light of magical flickering flames, and the shadows they cast. The agony was still there, but it was more subdued, as long as he did not move… and indeed, he could not move. He recognized the effects of a holding spell at once, even through the daze.

He let out the faintest groan and blinked, trying to get his still half-formed eyes to see something, anything - and above him, a shadow shifted. 

“Ah, you’re awake.”

Mephistopheles’ voice was calm, but he may as well have screamed in fury for the terror it unleashed someplace deep in Raphael’s core. It all came back suddenly, crashing down on him like a collapsing glacier - the punishment, hellfire, the agony, the nothingness that had followed. Unable to move, he could only whimper. “My lord--”

“Quiet. You have little enough strength as it is.”

“I-- please, I’m sorry--”

“I know. You’d be a fool not to be.” There was a pause, the shadow shifting as it looked across the room. “You seem to have no visitors to your bed. Unusual. But I suppose you don’t quite stoke their appetites like this. They’ll have to find someone else as generous with their body as you’ve always been with yours.”

Raphael swallowed, saying nothing in the face of the obvious disdain in his sire’s voice. As he got no response, Mephistopheles spoke again. “... Obviously, you’re not the first halfbreed to seek crumbs of affection in a bed . ” The word was spoken in the same tone one would refer to a sickness. “Those with human blood crave it more than most, I found. It is a flaw I can ignore. It would have elicited no punishment, if not for your arrogance.”

There were plenty of full-blooded devils who sought sex as much as he did, but Raphael knew that contradicting his sire now would be the epitome of idiocy, so he did not. He licked his lips. They were cracked and burned but, until not too long ago, he doubted he’d had any lips left.  “I didn’t mean it,” he choked out. “I swear.”

“Hmm. Do you recall what transpired in my throne room?”

A shaky breath. “Hellfire,” he managed, then, “pain.”

“And it pains you to speak now, no doubt. I’ll seek the answers in your mind myself. Do not try to hide your thoughts from me, Raphael. I’ll know it if you do, and my patience is not to be tested.”

Raphael would not have been able to stop his father from digging through his thoughts even if he’d wanted to. He only remained still and limp, daring not to do anything that may anger him. After a few long moments of silence there was a hum. 

“Ah. You do not recall all of it,” he said, thoughtful. There was a movement in the shadow - a hand reaching down - and Raphael whimpered. 

No, no, no. Please. I hid nothing.

“Please, no more.” 

A chuckle, and a hand lay against the cracked, burnt flesh that had once been his cheek. It did not hurt: rather it numbed the pain, his sire’s skin as cold as a glacier. The cold spread across his skin, everywhere, taking the edge off the lingering agony. 

“No, no more,” his father said, not unkindly. “You survived what would have killed most. Perhaps you can make me proud yet.”

Some of the terror faded into relief and, for an instant, Raphael forgot he was even in pain. He shut his eyelids and dared lean against the touch on his cheek, letting himself speak without thought. “It’s all I wanted,” he whispered.

“Good.” An approving word, after so long. It was balm to wounds. “As soon as you’ve recovered, you will join our troops bound for Avernus, and report to Lord Bel.”

The Blood War.

The thought made any relief Raphael may have felt melt away like wax to a flame. It was the terror of every devil in the eight layers below Avernus, of every cambion most of all - to be found good for nothing but cannon fodder for the Blood War. Any and all devils with no other useful tasks or roles had to serve in it, and many would never return from it. With no true experience in combat, Raphael knew his odds of survival were slim.

“No-- no. My liege, I beg--”

“Do not. It’s unbecoming of a son of mine,” Mephistopheles cut him off, and the next plea died in Raphael’s throat. He opened his half-formed eyes again, struggling to see anything other than his shadow, to see his expression. Had he truly heard that word? Had his ears deceived him? A spurt of seed he willed to quicken a mortal’s womb, he’d called him as he burned him within an inch of his life - and now, as he sentenced him to death, he called him his son? 

Raphael swallowed. “Father, I--”

“Don’t think of it as punishment. Think of it as a lesson. Nothing worthwhile is earned without suffering. So fight under my banner, earn your own victories in my name, and there will always be a place for you in my court, as my son.” There was a gesture and something was held before his face. He could just make out a faint, greenish glow. “Here. Take it.”

Raphael opened his mouth, breathed in, and absorbed the soul not unlike a mortal offered water in a desert. It had a similar effect, too - cool, soothing, and healing, taking away some of the lingering pain . When Raphael blinked his eyes open again, his vision was a little clearer; he could just make out his father’s features as he looked down at him.

His teeth were a flash of white above the blackness of his beard, against his crimson skin. His hand still cupped his cheek. “I’m certain you’ll do me proud,” he said. Had he been less dazed, had he been older, had he been any less desperate to hear that word again-- son -- Raphael would have realized that the promise was being dangled before him the way a dog’s master does to make their mutt jump exactly as high as they want it to. 

He’d have realized Mephistopheles had promised nothing until he’d looked into his mind and seen there was something he did not remember, and never explained what it was. He’d have remembered the very thing he’d been warned against almost as soon as he set foot in Mephistar - never trust a devil.

But he was dazed, and his vision was too blurry to realize Mephistopheles was looking at him the way he’d look at an experiment, any of his many projects he started and never finished, left to gather dust in the corner once they failed to hold his attention. He was still too blind to see that he would only ever be, at most, a well-trained dog in his sire’s eyes - willing to dance on two legs for scraps of food under the table, one snarl away from being deemed rabid and put down. So he nodded, and promised that yes, yes, he’d do him proud, he swore.

And that, love, was that.

***

Everyone working in the vault knew Mephistopheles was there the instant he stepped in. There was something that never failed to accompany his presence, a sense of dread that was difficult to describe but also impossible to mistake for anything else, after experiencing it only once. 

It was as though the air itself became thicker, each movement just a little more difficult. Every debtor at work around her stilled, and so did the supervisor. Dalah found herself gripping a rag tightly enough to hurt her knuckles when Barbas’ bleating reached her ears, echoing between icy walls. She could not catch the words yet, but she recognized that particularly fawning voice the chamberlain only ever used before the Lord of Cania.

“What did you stop for? Back to work! Quick!” The supervisor’s voice nearly cracked for a moment, making it plain he wasn’t looking forward to being in his lord’s presence any more than they did. Still, an order was an order, and several pairs of hands went back to cleaning. Several empty stands filled the room they were in, and instructions were to get them ready to receive new artifacts which Mephistopheles had just now added to his collection. 

And none of them wanted to find out what may happen if their master found their work unsatisfactory. If he did, the supervisor wouldn't be safe either.

“... Quite the successful expedition, it seems,” Barbas was saying, his voice approaching along with the steps of several people. “You must be pleased, my lord. Kintyre is yielding its secrets at last.”

“It is yielding artifacts. Whether those artifacts yield their secrets in turn is up to Quagrem and his researchers. But they have yet to disappoint too severely thus far.” 

Mephistopheles’ voice was calm and even pleasant, as it often was. It had certainly been pleasant when Dalah had first made the mistake to summon him, to bargain for her husband’s life so many lifetimes ago. It had been pleasant as he set out his conditions, the wording clever enough to disguise what he’d truly meant to get out of it, out of her. It had been pleasant when he’d revealed it to her with a faint smile, calmly telling her that breaking the contract meant he’d take Rahirek’s life himself. 

It had even been pleasant during the act, from which he seemed to get no more pleasure than she did. She’d remained still throughout, eyes shut, trying to think of nothing while he completed what he considered a business transaction as any other, inexorable as a glacier. 

It did not hurt,  she recalled. I hated that most of all, somehow. It would have been easier to bear, if it hurt.

She’d opened her eyes only at the end, when he’d laid a hand on her stomach with a touch that was somehow both burning hot and freezing cold. The smile had been too wide to be pleasant. Too many teeth. Too sharp. 

This, too, I claim as mine.

“In here - careful, with the boxes,” Barbas’ voice snapped Dalah from her memories, and she realized she’d been standing still as a pillar of salt for several moments, staring at the rag in her hands without truly seeing it. “Is it here that you wish to expose the artifacts, my lord?”

“It will do,” Mephistopheles’ voice said. Close, much too close. Dalah could taste bile at the back of her throat. “It has enough space for any artifacts Quagrem finds no other use for.”

“Of course, of course. Out of the way, all of you!”

It was a scramble, every debtor moving quickly out of the way, to cower against a wall. Dalah got there on legs that didn’t feel like her own-- her body hadn’t felt like her own back then, either, in the months before her death -- and kept her gaze fixed to the floor. She heard the grunts of devils opening crates and starting to place artifacts on the newly cleaned display stands, under the watchful eye of their master.  It was not too bad, as long as she didn’t look, as long as she didn’t have to see--

“... I had placed a guardian in these vaults, as I’m sure you recall. Where is it?”

Something gripped Dalah’s throat, and she looked up sharply. She had not stood that close to Mephistopheles in the longest time; he’d passed her by a few times, but to her relief he’d always seemed to look right through her, with no hint of recognition or acknowledgment. He stood as tall as she recalled, the ram-like horns much the same, but he was wearing his Cold Lord visage that day - the deep blue skin, not the crimson it had been the day he’d sired a son on her. A son he’d sacrificed her life to create, and for whom he’d never cared.

The supervisor seemed to shrink, and he had to swallow before he spoke. Not so large and scary, now that he was the one under his betters’ watchful gaze. “Only a few rooms from here, my lord. We locked the doors in-between so it wouldn’t patrol this area. We wanted this room to be ready as quickly as possible, and it-- it makes the servants uncomfortable.”

Mephistopheles raised a coal black eyebrow. “Oh?” he asked, an amused note to his voice. “And since when is the security of my vaults second to the servants’ comfort?”

“It’s not, my lord. it’s-- they work best when not-- I figured it would be best--”

Mephistopheles did not deign him with a response. He simply looked past him, and called out. His voice was no longer as pleasant now: it was the crack of a whip, reverberating across the vaults.

“RAPHAEL!”

The response came as a roar first, and then a crash. Everyone except Mephistopheles and Barbas stepped back; the souls pressed themselves against the wall, trying to make themselves small. Dalah alone stood frozen in place, hands still clenched on the rag, when Raphael’s ascended form stepped into the room, flames crackling above misshapen skulls.

He cut a fearsome figure, but Dalah knew immediately something was wrong. It was in the way he hunched when he paused several paces away from Mephistopheles, the clicking noises it made without moving its jaws, the way he kept his wings folded as though he, too, was trying to make himself small. 

Don’t hurt him, she thought, and to her horror she almost said as much aloud. She put a hand to her mouth, trembling, and kept silent as she watched Mephistopheles walk up to Israfel, and grasp his horns to look at him. Frozen on the spot, not even trying to pull away from his sire’s grasp, Israfel made a chirring noise, hunched even more. 

And there was that smile again, too sharp, baring too many teeth. 

“A halfbreed no longer, serving me well at last,” he said, and the smile changed to something that seemed almost fond. “Did you know, Barbas, that this creature dared turn on me once?”

It wasn’t often that anything about chamberlain Barbas looked or sounded honest, but as he glanced up at his lord, he did look and sound honestly flabbergasted. “He did?”

“Oh, yes. That’s how it lost the fourth eye.” Mephistopheles forced Israfel to turn to the chamberlain. On the right side of the central skull there was a patch of half-molten bone where, Dalah knew, it was still possible to see the opening of an empty socket if one looked closely enough. “I took it out the first time my useless son ascended, after a taste of hellfire that by all accounts should have ended him. The closest to perfection he’s ever been.”

“I… I believe I recall that incident. Is this how he survived? Ascension?”

“Yes.” There was a brief laugh. A pleasant one, of course. It made Dalah want to scream and cover her ears; still in his sire’s grasp, Israfel remained silent. “One of very few times he surprised me, I suppose. He got hold of a few souls, and suddenly this creature stood where a corpse should have been. Capable of withstanding hellfire, but half-mad with agony.”

“And he dared fight you?”

“He lashed out, and I retaliated. Calling it a fight would be giving him undue credit. At his best, he was still nothing to me. But the fact he could ascend piqued my curiosity enough to let him live and see what he may be capable of. Unfortunately, he failed to hold my attention for long and resorted to trying to pass  himself off as the proper devil he never was, making his own little court in a corner of Avernus.” A chuckle. “A few modest victories in the Blood War, some talent for contracts, and he fancied himself an archdevil in the making. As they say, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery that mediocrity can pay to greatness.” Mephistopheles let go of Israfel’s horns, waving a dismissive hand. “Go back to your duties.”

It felt so deeply wrong, watching such a fearsome creature slink away like a chastised dog. It made something in Dalah’s chest ache, but at the same time she was relieved that he was stepping away from Mephistopheles, and that their gazes hadn’t met. If Israfel had looked to her for help, it would have broken her. 

“... Oh, wait. I do have a task for you.” Mephistpheles called out suddenly, and Israfel stopped, turning back. The Lord of the Eighth looked at the supervisor. “You all have tasks. Yours is to supervise servants - not to figure where my vault guardian should patrol. It vexes me to see you forgot that. Raphael?”

“No!” The supervisor fell on his knees, terror etched on every feature. “My Lord, I humbly beg--”

Once again, the victim had barely enough time to cry out. Flesh was torn, bones cracked, blood splattered and burned; screams turned to gurgles and then ceased. It was all over in seconds; in the silence that followed, Dalah found she couldn't tear her gaze from Mephistopheles, who was smiling at the thing he’d turned her child into.

And finally, dread burned away into rage.

It wasn’t the first time she felt anger - she had been angry for a long time - but this was the first time the dread of Mephistopheles’ mere presence could not smother it. It was a relief; easier to handle than terror - the desire to see him suffer. And perhaps she would, soon. Something was moving behind the scenes, seeking to end his reign, and her son was part of the plan. For a moment she saw it in her mind clear as day - Israfel standing in blazing triumph above Mephistopheles’ bloodied, broken husk.

And for that one moment, beneath the hand over her mouth, she almost smiled, too.

***

Durge knew Raphael needed to end that fight, and fast, when they saw blood dripping on the ground through his fingers.

It had been going remarkably well, all things considered. Raphael’s decision to rely on speed and swift attacks from a distance paid off against a strong but slow opponent. Unable to rely on invisibility for any sort of sneak attack, Yurgir had resorted to using his crossbow, and bombs. The first cluster of which was swiftly thrown back to his face with a thunderwave, leaving him furious and seriously wounded. Another blow like that, Durge had thought, and the fight was all but won. 

Of course, something had to go wrong. 

Trouble for Raphael truly started when a crossbow bolt found its mark, burying itself in his thigh. He’d cried out, the leg buckling; he hadn’t fallen to the ground, but he’d clearly lost the tactical advantage of superior speed… and Yurgir hadn’t wasted the opportunity. 

Raphael had been able to throw back yet another bomb, but a concussive blast had thrown him back, to hit the ground violently enough to snap at least a few ribs, again. Then another bolt had grazed the side of his head, leaving him dazed and bleeding profusely on the ground.

“Get up - get up, dammit,” Astarion had hissed by Durge’s side, tense as a bowstring. 

Raphael had managed to lift himself up on his knees, and tried to cast a healing spell on himself, but it was too late. Yurgir’s poisoned blade had come down in a swift arc, and slashed open his left side. It sent him sprawling on the ground with a cry, a hand trying uselessly to stem the flow of blood - or keep his innards where they should be. It was hard to tell, from where they were sitting. 

Somewhere on Durge’s left, Karlach sucked in a breath. “Well, fuck,” she muttered. “That’s got to sting.”

“It’s not to the death, Yurgir!” Halsin called out, muscles tense and ready to stand and fight if need be. “You’re not supposed to kill him!”

Yurgir laughed. He was bleeding as well, clearly hurt far more seriously than he’d thought he could be in that fight; Raphael had almost brought him low, but he was still strong enough to deliver the final blow. “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t.” He reached down, and a massive hand closed around Raphael’s throat, lifting him up. He cried out, coughing up blood as he did. It made Yurgir’s grin widen. “You’re lucky I promised not to kill you, Raphael.”

Raphael coughed up more blood, and met his gaze with a grimace, hands still pressed against his side. “I made-- no such promises. I can end you.”

There was a moment of silence, a stunned look, and then - again - laughter. “Hah! You can be funny, I’ll give you that. Go on, yield. Admit defeat and I’ll make it a clean cut after-- AGH!”

With a scream, Yurgir dropped Raphael on the ground and staggered back before he fell on his knees, bringing a hand to his own throat, which suddenly gushed blood. Something protruded from it - the handle of a rapier. The tip of it stuck out at the base of his skull.

“Hah!” Wyll threw up his arms as though in triumph. “I told him it always pays to have a blade at hand! Didn’t I tell you?”

If Raphael heard, he was clearly too busy to reply. While Yurgir pulled the rapier out of his throat, causing yet more steaming blood to spill forth, he cast a healing spell on himself; it closed the gaping wound on his side, but did little for the poison it had left in him, surely. Under Durge’s gaze, he stood and staggered towards Yurgir. He picked up the rapier, causing Yurgir to look up, hands still on his throat to stem the flow of blood, eyes wide, unable to stand up. 

There was more surprise than anger, and a hint of fear, for he knew what dying in Baator would mean… and it was true, after all, that Raphael had made no promises not to kill him. While he knelt, his eyes and Raphael’s were almost level. They locked, and held. Even from a distance, Durge could see Raphael’s grip on the rapier’s handle tightening.

“Raphael!” he called out, suddenly, and stood, striding towards them. The others followed quickly. “Raphael, enough. You’ve won.”

He didn’t seem to hear him. He just looked back at Yurgir, holding the rapier to his chest, his free hand lifted as if to cast. His teeth were bared in a bloodied snarl, his eyes ablaze. But instead of striking, he ground out a single word. 

“Yield.”

A moment of silence, and then there was a guttural noise that was almost a laugh, or as close to one could get with a hole in one’s throat. Yurgir’s words were almost a gurgle, but intelligible nonetheless. “I never yield,” he said, and bared his teeth. “In a true fight to the death, I’ll die before I yield.”

Raphael narrowed his eyes. His limbs trembled; the poison was still at work. “... And suppose it isn’t?”

That guttural noise again, and yet more teeth were bared. It was a grimace and, somehow, it was also a grin. “Then you’d have the fight,” he conceded.

The rapier fell on the ground with a clatter, and Raphael staggered back. He only managed a couple of steps before his knees folded, and he fell. Or would have, had Durge not been quick enough to catch him and kneel, lowering him to the ground and letting him rest his head against their chest. They heard, faintly, Wyll and Karlach approaching Yurgir to hand over a couple of healing potions, and help him stand.

“Halsin,” Durge called, but of course he was already there, kneeling, murmuring a spell of restoration to rid Raphael of the effects of the poison before he cast a healing spell. Raphael sucked in a shuddering breath, a hand clenching on Durge’s robe. 

He remained weak, but he wasn’t actively dying at least. He managed a few words when their gazes met. “Enjoyed-- the performance?”

“Oh, I for one loved it,” Astarion spoke up. He crouched next to Durge, grinning. “Perfectly bloody, and it won me some coin.”

Durge chuckled. “It was really damn good. But I think it’s best if you don’t go accepting duels for a while. That was a close call.”

A soft scoff. “A warning, no less. Don't tell me you're worried about me.”

Ah, of course. Throwing their own words back at them, wasn’t he? Durge almost laughed, and clicked their tongue. “Merely protecting my assets,” they replied, in a terrible imitation of the devil’s own voice. Raphael chuckled. 

“It pays to be-- useful, doesn’t it?”

“Or perhaps we’ve grown fond of you, in our way.”

The chuckle died on Raphael’s lips and, for a moment, he said nothing. His gaze shifted from them to Astarion, to Halsin, back to them. 

“... Mortals,” he said in the end. “Your naïveté is almost charming.”

Astarion raised an eyebrow. “Did you just call us charming?”

“I said almost.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” Halsin muttered. 

“Then I explained myself poorly,” Raphael grumbled, and wrinkled his nose in annoyance at Durge’s laugh. That, however, was smoothed out when Durge reached to cup the side of his head with a hand. 

“You can make your disdain for us clear later. Now you should rest.”

He seemed about to say something, but in the end he kept quiet and closed his eyes, turning to press his cheek against Durge’s palm.

They didn’t pull it away.

*** For a moment I wondered if having Mephistopheles quote Oscar Wilde would be too weird. Then I remembered that Raphael speaks French for some reason and Cazador Szarr is somehow familiar with the Gospel according to Luke, so you know what, sure. Whatever. Why not. ***

[Back to Chapter 14]

[On to Chapter 16]

[Back to Start]

[hungrydolphin91]

thanks for the tag pav 😁 although I think you probably know what I'm gonna say for like. All of these. We've already gotten to know each other pretty well and we chatted 2 days ago so 😂 I'll still answer though cause it's fun to talk about current interests

Last song: well at work where I am now I am constantly subjected to okayish mid 2000s pop that reminds me of middle school 😅 it's been a little while since I put on one of my own playlists but I do often play Tales of the Abyss's track "Happiness in My Hand" to help me fall asleep at night. If I were forced to listen to one song on loop for the rest of my life it'd be that one, it's so soothing I dont think I could get sick of it

Gdi I dropped in the middle of answering 😅 I'm just gonna edit my answers in, no one saw that right 😅

Current book: I haven't read a proper Book TM in a while but I have been reading/rereading some excellent fan fics! Darkangelmya's Full Circle Graces fic still makes me cry ;_; I also read a few Yosuke/Teddie fics since that rare pair is on the brain lately, but since theres only like 20 fics on AO3 I think I'm gonna have to write the story I wanna read 😅

Currently watching: no new shows in a while, other than the One Piece live action I finished watching w my sister a while back (it was quite fun coming from someone who knew next to nothing about the series beforehand). But I did rewatch Akatsuki no Yona a few weeks ago (hence the shin-ah appreciation posting on my side blog) and I watch a lot of YouTube, like the archived streams of the Nyancave's Persona 4 playthrough. (I should really watch the p4 anime...)

Next on my watchlist: well there's some shows that have been there for ages like FMAB, MP100, and Steven Universe, but I will admit that let's play of Disgaea 3 looks intriguing pav 👀 if let's plays count as watching??

Current obsession: the answer to that changes on a daily basis if not hourly 😅 but I've been jumping between P4 due to almost completing it and a resurgence of brain rot for YoTed content, and Tales of Graces thanks to the aforementioned fic and also a drive to get my own long fic outline organized into a presentable form. I've made some progress on the actual writing too for once which is nice!!!

That's it from me, but if @magicmetslogic @alltheoutsinfreeeee are anyone else cares to share, it's fun to see what's on my mutual's minds too! 😁

Tag Game: People I’d like to get to know better

Got tagged by @missiletainnyt! I remember doing this exact tag game when I first started Tumblr on my old blog… I’m getting nostalgia 💖

People I’d like to tag are @bardivislak and @millipedish and @hungrydolphin91 (/j… unless ;) ) (also no pressure to you guys!)

And if you need a summary of Me, I am a tiny individual (my name literally means small) who has not good parents and also lots of ocs (take a peek at #you have no name owo?) which have not been paying rent since 2017 but I love them all ^^. I like to make art, whatever format of the month it ends up being— whiteboard markers, pen, writing, digital, coloured pencil, crochet, graphite are some of the things my long time mutuals have witnessed~

But let’s start with the questions 😄

Current Book I'm Reading: It’s simultaneously Anne of Green Gables and The Memory Police. The former was me trying to broaden my horizons and do some leisurely reading, after all, it’s supposed to help with writing! Kinda taking some advice from this blog as well, which I follow~ I’m enjoying it, as a fan of rich descriptive whimsy. The latter is my novel for school next year— my school has an obsession with dystopian novels, what with The Giver (despised) and The Hunger Games (interesting experience) being past books I’ve done. I’m not far enough to have an opinion, but I’m intrigued!

Last song I listened to: Kimino Ginno Niwa, the ending theme of the Rebellion Movie for Madoka Magica. It has a very hopelessly cyclical and carnival-like rhythm that really resonates with one certain arc out of five of my OCs’ story. Which. Dolphin might be able to sus that out ;). Also shout out to the Cassette Beasts ost, because I streamed it last night to V ^^

Currently Watching: Things need to align in the astral plane for me to watch things ^^;. The last thing I watched was Noragami… in… June? lol

Next on my Watchlist: For reasons listed above, I don’t really have one. But one day I will watch Akatsuki no Yona and Fukigen na Mononokean, one day……

Current Obsession: 3 weeks ago I would have said Cassette Beasts and especially Eugene, but idk. My fondness for Persona 4 has been rekindled as well, but generally when my OCs/head children are on the front burner like this it means I’ve fallen out of a hyperfixation 😅. I’m kinda waiting until December rolls over so I have time to draw something properly, but what that will be I have yet to tell… emil from dotnw? naoto from p4? I wanna do BOTH but alas… I am a one-at-a-time kind of girl… otherwise the piece gets abandoned entirely ahaha. I’m very slow at everything I do which doesn’t help ^^;

But this was fun! Thanks for having me!

[angryschnauzer]

Warm Hands

Summary; Its your fourth date with Henry and you still haven’t slept together, so when you arrive at his house for a picnic, you are surprised to find that he needs your professional help as a physiotherapist. But once you get your warm hands on his body, neither of you can hold back much longer.

A continuation of my Henry x Physio Reader story previous part here

A/N This is wholly inspired by Henry’s recent instagram post and the part where he said that no-one needs to see him in his underwear on the kitchen table because I CERTAINLY DO.

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Female Physiotherapist Reader 

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, massaging Henrys thighs, sports injury, Henry in his underwear, unwanted erections, unprotected sex, Henry being slightly dom, reader taking control, creampie. 

Unbeta’d, all typo’s are free range and organic. I do not run a tag list but if you follow @angryschnauzerwrites​ and put that blog onto notifications, you will get an alert every time i post something new, AND its where you can find my previous works.

Warm Hands

Parking your little car in the corner of the secluded driveway you shut the engine off and chewed nervously on your lip. It was your fourth date with Henry and he’d casually invited you for a picnic ‘in the quiet countryside’, but hadn’t been specific on the end time of your date. What was making you nervous was that you hadn’t actually slept together yet and the vagueness of the end time had you wondering. 

Your first date had been coffee a few weeks after meeting when you’d stumbled upon him injured in the park during your lunch break from the hospital where you worked as a physiotherapist. Second date had been to a rugby game where he’d put too much strain on his injured leg and had ended with him scheduling an appointment with you for some professional physio treatment. Third date had been dinner at a fancy restaurant that had ended with a mind blowing kiss in your hallway but nothing further as he had to get home to let Kal - his dog - out for an evening bathroom break.

So now you were at date number four and you were more than ready to take the relationship to the next level. You glanced at the small overnight bag you’d packed ‘just in case’ with a few essentials. Deciding to leave the bag in the car for now, you got out and made your way to the small kitchen door of the mews cottage, Henry having explained how it was the best door to come to. What you weren’t expecting to see as you looked through the glass section of the door was Henry grimacing in pain as he steadied himself on the kitchen counter. Trying the doorknob you stepped inside;

“Oh my god, what’s wrong?!” slipping your hands beneath his arms as he winced and kept all his weight on one leg.

“Cramp…” he gasped; “... in my thigh…”

Looking down you only then realised he was in just his underwear below the waist, the muscles in his thigh tense and frozen. Just then the steam iron hissed and you saw that he must have been pressing his smart chino’s just before you’d arrived;

“Ok, let's get you rested somewhere… hop onto the table…”

You helped him move the few feet to his massive wooden table that ran the centre of his kitchen, quickly moving a pile of papers on there and setting them down elsewhere, before noticing the switch for the iron and flicking that to off. Returning to Henry you placed your hands onto his cramping thigh, the muscles rock solid where the spasm was in full hold.

“Uurggh ah uuuhhh” Henry moaned, wincing and sucking in a sharp intake of breath as another spasm shot through his muscle. 

You held your hands over the muscle trying to warm it so it could relax, rubbing the skin as he whimpered from the pain;

“Shhh it’s ok, it’ll go. We just need to warm your leg up”

Running your hands around his thigh you attempted to remain as professional as possible, but the sight of his quite frankly enormous thighs under your hands were a sight to behold. Looking up you saw that Henry had his arm thrown across his face as the spasms kept sending waves of pain through his leg, and it was then that as you moved your hand around the inside of his thigh that you felt it. You couldn’t help but to look where your knuckles had just touched, your eyes going wide as you saw the considerable bulge he had packed in there. Another whimper from his lips pulled your attention away from the elephant’s trunk in the room, rubbing your hands over his thigh as it still cramped. 

Nothing seemed to be having any effect, and it was then that you saw his hand was gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles were going white;

“Hen… you’re going to have to relax… let go of the table…”

He took a deep breath before finally speaking, his voice small and quiet;

“I can’t…”

“Why?”

“Because if i relax, i won’t be able to hold it back…”

It took you a few seconds to realise what he was talking about before with a dawning realisation hit that he was fighting a hard-on. What you did next surprised him enough to have him pull his arm away and look at you with wide eyed wonder, as you’d climbed into the table and straddled his thighs, your soft summer skirt falling around you. Resting your hands on his chest you nestled your leg right against his, the warmth of your skin starting to soothe the cramp;

“There…” you smiled at him; “Plus now you can relax as everything is hidden by my skirt…”

He glanced down to where you were sitting on him and you watched as he finally let go of the table, stretching his fingers out before with a smile rested his hand on your hip;

“Thank you… and i’m sorry…”

“What are you sorry for?”

“For… well…” he actually blushed, his cheeks and nose a beautiful shade of pink as he looked away bashfully; “I didn’t want you to think… umm, i don’t know really, i didn’t want to pressure you into anything…”

Resting your hands on his stomach you gently leaned forwards, your face over his as you smiled;

“You wouldn’t be pressuring me… i want this..”

At your works you rocked forward a little, knowing there was just the thinnest of lace between you and the jersey fabric that was struggling to contain Henry’s arousal. You watched as his expression change, his eyes grew a little darker and he licked his lips;

“Again…”

This time when you rolled your hips you found his other hand had grasped your hip too, his firm grip adding to the smooth roll as you ground your core against his hardening arousal. 

“C’mere…” he suddenly pulled you flush with his chest, his mouth upon yours as he kissed you fiercely which you eagerly reciprocated. The kiss was fiery, teeth and tongues before he suddenly gasped and pulled away; “FUCK!... The cramp’s back…”

Quickly sitting up you settled your weight over his thigh, the warmth from between your legs immediately soothing the strong muscle beneath you. Henry’s expression dropped and he look liked a sad kicked puppy;

“Its ok… it’ll go soon…” you reassured him

He let out a deep sigh;

“I just… i want to be able to please you…”

“To… please me?... Oh…” you took hold of his hand; “Henry… you will please me…”

“But… if i’m not at peak performance… i wanna bring my best game to our first time, ya’know?”

And just like that the blush was back on his cheeks, and you finally realised why he had been holding back;

“Henry… i really like you… like really like you, to be blunt just this brief grinding on you has me close. You don’t have to be in control all the time” you softly pressed his hand to your chest; “And i’m kinda getting the idea that when you’re in bed with someone you like to be in control, right?”

“Well, you can still be in control even if you’re not on top…”

His hand gently squeezed your breast through your dress as you watched the realisation of what you said sink in, and a mischievous smile crept over his face;

“So… what are we waiting for?” he cocked an eyebrow at you and you couldn’t help but to laugh

“Your leg to stop cramping…”

“Oh… yeah…” he flexed the muscle beneath you and smiled; “Well, it seems ok now…” his other hand started to sneak beneath your skirts and it was your turn to be surprised;

“Henry! Now? Here?”

“Why not... you already said you were close, and as you can feel i’m ready…” he bucked his hips just the tiniest amount and you felt his considerable length rub against your mound.

“On the kitchen table?”

“Yes or No sweetheart…” just then his hand had found your panties and a thick finger was rubbing at your clit through the soaked lace

“Yes… fuck yes…”

You quickly lifted your hips enough to reach into Henry’s underwear and pull his erection free, marvelling at the thick girth and the heat of the silky skin against your hand, just as he pulled your underwear to the side. Rising up onto your knees you positioned him at your entrance and slowly sank down, gasping as his thickness stretched your velvet channel;

“Oh fuck…”

Beneath you Henry growled, his sharp teeth gnawing at his bottom lip as he struggled to hold back from pulling you down, knowing that his size was a struggle to take at first and letting you go at your own pace would be worth it in the end;

“That’s it babe… doing so well” he let out a grunt as you took another inch, he could feel the warmth of your thighs as you got lower and was almost there, until he couldn’t hold out any longer and his hand instinctively pulled you down the rest of the way until he was balls deep inside you.

The moans that escaped your lips echoed around the room, your womb trembling from the sheer pleasure that was surging through you as you let your body adjust to his massive size. He rested both hands on your hips as you moved your own to his hard stomach, and with a grin you started to lift your hips and start to ride him.

“That’s it Babe” he praised you as he started to move your hips, to pull you down a little harder each time you would rise up on your knees; “Can feel your tight cunt squeezing me so hard already”

A litany of curses fell from your lips as he took control, moving you as if you weighed no more than a feather and he fucked you from beneath. Your orgasm was growing closer as whimpers escaped your lips, before with a blinding explosion in your mind you came with a scream. 

Henry was seconds behind, the tight squeeze of your cunt around him was enough to set his own orgasm off, pumping you full with rope after rope of his thick creamy seed, the knowledge that you’d be walking around all day with his cum dripping from you prolonging his orgasm even longer.

Henry pulled you down to kiss you, this time soft and gentle as his lips pressed to yours, your bodies still trembling with the aftershocks of your tryst. Resting on his chest you pulled away and smiled at him, his arms holding you tight;

“Do you still want to go on a picnic today? My friend has a hundred acre farm in the Surrey Hills, its beautiful”

“I’d love to” you started to push yourself up to decouple your bodies; “Sounds secluded too” 

“Oh, it is”

Carefully swinging your leg over Henry and climbing off the table, you extending a hand to him so he could side to the floor too;

“Can i suggest something then? Perhaps not chino’s then?”

He glanced at his still creased trousers as they sat on the abandoned ironing board;

“Why?”

“Grass stains” you said with a wink. 

Henry pulled you to his chest, his hand on your ass giving it a squeeze;

“Ooh naughty… good idea, i’ll go get my jeans… this is going to be a picnic to remember”

As he stepped away he called over his shoulder;

“If you brought an overnight bag might be worth bringing it in now, i fully intend on fucking you so much this afternoon you’ll be too exhausted to carry it in later”

Laughing you said ok as you went to your car, glad you packed multiple changes of underwear. As you returned to the house you went to pull a clean pair of panties out of the bag just as Henry was walking in buttoning his jeans and saw what was in your hand;

“No no, you’re keeping those panties on”

“But they’re soaked with your cum”

He wrapped his arms around you, his eyes dark with desire;

“That’s exactly why you’re keeping them on, the only other acceptable attire would to be bare beneath that pretty dress of yours, understand?”

“Yes Sir” you answered with a smirk as Henry grabbed the picnic basket and headed for the door. It was certainly going to be an afternoon to remember...

[ethereal27cereal]

I posted 2,077 times in 2022

That's 2,077 more posts than 2021!

81 posts created (4%)

1,996 posts reblogged (96%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@wroteclassicaly

@ladyfogg

@thisishellfire

@boomhauer

@littledemondani

I tagged 1,468 of my posts in 2022

Only 29% of my posts had no tags

#eddie munson - 551 posts

#joseph quinn - 428 posts

#reese recs - 366 posts

#eddie munson x reader - 230 posts

#at least my queue is organized - 212 posts

#joe quinn - 181 posts

#queue pew pew - 134 posts

#eddie munson smut - 101 posts

#eddie munson x plus size reader - 97 posts

#writing inspo - 82 posts

Longest Tag: 132 characters

#she’s shy and reserved and he’s constantly doing stuff to annoy her just to bring her out of her shell and see if he can get a smile

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Forever, right? - Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

summary: Eddie has just met your parents, and it went...well...well kind of. With a few words of encouragement and sweet comfort, Eddie has the courage to confess some pretty big feelings and decides the next steps in your relationship. This is a part 2 to Curls but can be read on its own.  

warnings: smut 18+ MINORS DNI. established relationship, kissing, breast play, semi-public sex (in Eddie’s van), unprotected p in v sex (wrap it up and be safe 👍🏻), orgasm (m and f),  reader is implied as plus size but doesn’t have to be read that way, reader has relationship with both parents, even though they are judgmental and a bit old fashioned, brief mention of criminals and serial killers (nothing graphic), I think that is it but let me know if I missed something.

request: Thank you to the lovely anon who sent me this: i loved curls! i know it was a one shot but i'd love more from them. like maybe them talking on the drive home after meeting your parents and ofc the engagement. They didn’t quite get to to the drive home part (😈) but I hope you like it. 

genre: angst, fluff, smut

word count: 6.1K

author’s note: I wasn’t planning on a part 2, but I just didn’t feel like I was ready to be done with these two sappy little cuties, and I got a few requests for more so here we are. I wanted to make it so you could read this without having read Curls, so there are a few callbacks and things to make it cohesive. I also wasn’t planning on making it at all angsty, but I just couldn’t imagine a world where reader’s parents didn’t judge him at least a little. 😈 Thank you to @boomhauer and @kissmecaiti for talking me through all the angsty little thoughts I had and giving me inspiration. 

See the full post

511 notes - Posted October 9, 2022

#4

Listen to the Trees - Eddie Munson x Plus Size Reader -  Friends to Lovers

summary: Spending your long weekend home from college reading Tolkien with your childhood best friend, Eddie. Couldn't want anything more. Except you do. You want Eddie, more than just friends, but when the words don't ever seem to come out and you miss your train home, things get interesting...

warnings: little bit of perv!Eddie (he masturbates thinking about reader), nothing else really of note - this is pretty much just sappy fluff with two sweet stupid friends who don’t admit how much they love one another

genre: friends to lovers, fluff, little tiny smut

word count: 6.1k

author's note: I was inspired by a prompt I saw on @glasswriter1 "I missed the last train, and it is all because of you and your obsession with speaking trees!" and I just immediately thought of Eddie and his love of LOTR. This totally ends on a major cliffhanger so if you all are into it I have more to come. Asks are always open for any feedback 💚

part 2

The sweet solace of Eddie’s room is a welcome respite from the bitter chill of fall, the wind threatening against the thin windows of his trailer. Your long weekend home from college is almost up, not nearly enough time to spend with your childhood best friend and he is trying to consume every last possible second with you before your train leaves from Indianapolis. Taking you back to Chicago, back to the drudgery of school and work, and too far away from Eddie. 

Bonding over fantasy lands and banding together as outcasts usually do, Eddie and you had been inseparable since that first moment you shared your lunch with him in 1st grade. You and Eddie had shared everything together since then; snacks, movie marathons, study notes, hopes and dreams, fears and secrets, looks that lingered too long for people who were supposed to be just friends. 

Everything changed when you had decided to pursue an art history education in Chicago, wanting to get at least a little breathing space from Hawkins, and Eddie had stayed put, taking some vocational courses at the community college and working at Thatcher Tires. Late night phone calls and a stream of handwritten letters did little to fill the Eddie-sized gap in your life, only leaving a crater-sized chasm right in the middle of your chest. No friendship or sexual partner in college could ever muster up enough mortar to fill the cracks he created. No other man could ever match the way Eddie looked at you, deep coffee-colored pools of wonder and awe like you were the most captivating creature he’d ever seen. 

Your romantic feelings for Eddie had bubbled up slowly, like a geyser waiting to erupt. They had always been there in some way or another, simmering under the surface as the years of friendship went on. He was your best friend, your protector from all the chaos in your life, your guiding moon in the dark night. He had always been there for you and you for him, but you didn’t know just how much you felt for him until the distance and separation made you reflect on everything that could’ve been. You were never sure if he felt the same way about you, you’d never had the courage to bring it up and it certainly wasn’t ever a topic he approached. He was always the affectionate, touchy type with the people he was closest to, so you had been resigned to the fact that you were just one of the guys to him. 

The long holiday weekend had given the perfect excuse to make the train ride home. You told yourself were going to visit family and friends, but you knew from the moment Eddie scooped you into his arms at the train station, trying to hide the tears that were edging their way out of the corners of his chocolate brown eyes, that you would be spending every waking moment of the weekend with Eddie. 

And there you are, lying propped up on your side on Eddie’s bed, covered in blankets that smell like smoke and the cheap cologne you had gotten him for his birthday last year, trying to tame a pending eruption of emotions inside you while staring and attempting to listen as he talks animatedly about everything and nothing all at once. 

“Earth to Y/N?” Eddie asks, shifting forward from his upright position against the pillows to wave his hand playfully in front of you. 

“Hmm, what? I’m listening,” you insist, adjusting your position so you’re sitting up fully facing him now. 

“Sure you are. Then what did I say,” he smirks, his tongue prodding the inside of his cheek as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“You were talking about speaking trees, Ents. And how you’re going to use them in an upcoming campaign with the guys you met at college,” you reply confidently, matching his challenging pose with your own as you sit up and cross your arms, the blankets shrugging off your shoulders.

“So you did catch some of it!! But I literally just asked you a question about said Ents. You gonna answer it, since you were listening so super carefully there, Sunshine?” his pet name for you rolling off his tongue with a tart sweetness that makes you giggle.

“Ok fine, you got me. I zoned off for a second. I was thinking about what time we need to leave to get to the train station on time,” your words not entirely a lie, but also not exactly what you had been ruminating about. “What did you ask me, sorry?” 

“Do you remember the Entwives?,” his face softens into a smile with your apology. You do indeed remember the Entwives, in fact you’re pretty sure you were the one who had brought them up to him during one of your many rereadings of The Two Towers, finding it so achingly sad that there would be never be a reunion between the Ents and their wives who had gone to plant beautiful gardens only to be killed or enslaved when Sauron burned through the land. 

“I think I remember them, but remind me please,” you smile coyly, knowing the information he’s about to share but truly wanting to hear what he has to say. 

“Well Treebeard thinks that the wives are lost forever after they moved to the Brown Lands to plant and grow smaller things and were wiped out by Sauron. But remember how Merry and Pippin say they’ve seen an Ent, or Entwife, walking north of the Shire?” he wiggles his eyebrows dramatically, waiting for your response. An uncontrollable shiver hits you, realizing just how cold the room was without the cocoon of blankets, but you nod, teeth chattering. 

“Jesus, Sunshine, how’d you already manage to wiggle outta that blanket burrito I made for you. Come ‘ere, I feel like a furnace right now so I’ll share some warmth,” he motions for you to lay in between his outstretched legs, untwisting the blankets and folding them back for you to crawl under. You stare down at his form, frayed light wash jeans hugging his slender frame, faded black t-shirt riding up to expose the soft trail of curls that disappear into his waistband as he reaches his arms out for you in a grabby motion. You want nothing more than to curl against his chest and tell him how much you missed him, missed his touch, your skin melting against his, missed the feelings you get when you’re around him, sealing all your words and feelings with a passionate first kiss. But you don’t do that. You can’t. Not now at least. Instead, you just burrow yourself into his lap, letting out a contented sigh as he wraps the blankets around you tightly and you rest your head on the soft cushion of his lower stomach.

“So, for my campaign, I’m going to have one of my players see an Entwife while they’re out on the road. Or I guess a treant wife because they’re called treants in D&D. Anyway, the wives aren’t really all dead, they’ve just been in hiding or hibernation or something, I’m still figuring out that idea. But then the party gets a summons from the treant that is the guardian of the local forest that there have been several sightings of the wives and the party is sent off on a quest to find them,” Eddie’s words tumble from his lips in a babbling flow, hands gesturing wildly then coming to rest softly on your covered shoulder. “What do you think? Does that sound cool or totally lame? I need some trademark Sunshine honesty here,” his voice anxious as he coaxes out your answer, always valuing your opinion even when it would come out a little harsher than you meant, which it often did. 

“I think that sounds like the start of a totally awesome quest. If I weren’t so far away, you know I would want to jump in on that campaign in a heartbeat,” you answer honestly, looking up into his pleading brown eyes.

“I wish you could play in my campaigns again too,” he echoes with a playful pout, but you can see the truth behind his eyes. He has missed you too, he says so several times throughout the weekend. But you are sure it’s not in the same way that you missed him. 

“There is a D&D club on campus and I tried to join in on one of their campaigns, but the DM was…creepy,” you admit quietly, ice cold fingers creeping out from under the blankets to toy with the hem of his shirt.

“Even weirder than little ‘ol me?” he grins and you nod, the movement of your cheek against his shirt causing it to shift up and expose that deliciously inviting swath of flesh and delicate curls. “Creepy how?” he urges you to go on, his eyes fixed to where your fingers are pulling loose threads from the worn patch just above the front pocket of his jeans, inching closer to his tummy with each thread yanked away.

“He just made it weird. Like the only thing he focused on about my character was the fact that I was the only woman on the adventuring party, and it was all heaving bosoms and dirty jokes at my expense. I played like two sessions and then never showed my face again,” you admit with an injured chuckle, and Eddie jolts forward, though you’re unsure if it’s from your words or your frosty fingers suddenly making contact with the bare skin of his midriff. 

“Christ, your fingers feel like icicles,” his whole body stiffens, a sharp intake of breath as you swirl your fingers playfully against his alabaster skin. “That is super shitty about the club and the DM. Many guy DMs are weird lonely losers, but can be surprisingly real pricks whenever they have a real live lady in their presence, especially one as pretty, scary, and charmingly  intimidating as you Sunshine,” his voice stiff but he boops your nose playfully, still wincing away from your frigid touch.

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552 notes - Posted September 14, 2022

#3

Constellations - Eddie Munson x Plus Size Female Reader Series

series masterlist

part 2/?

summary: After an eventful evening at the Battle of the Bands, Eddie provides some comfort and distraction at the diner, but the date isn’t over just yet. He has more planned and it gets a little....heated.

warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI! Eddie and reader are both 18+, mentions of previous sexual assault, mentions of absent parents (kinda?), brief body insecurities, pet names, little touch starved Eddie, basically just a whole bunch of kissing and heavy petting, then fingering, oral f receiving, orgasm f and m

genre: fluff, smut

word count: 8.6k (again, brevity is not my strong suit)

author’s note: I am so grateful for all the support and nice comments I received on part one, I really wasn’t expecting it to get much traction at all so I’m so thankful for all the positive feedback. I also have to thank @boomhauer for the tiddy wrangler line 🙏🏼 I have not written smut for 10 years so if this totally sucks, I am very sorry. 🫣

Eddie parked the van in a small clearing in the trees on the banks of Lover’s Lake. You had been there a few times during the day, soaking up some of the summer rays and tucking into a good book, but the lake looked entirely different by the light of the moon. Shadows play in the gaps between the trees, eerie silence save a few hooting owls and crunching of branches as other woodland creatures scurry about under the cover of inky blackness.

Eddie dramatically shifts in the driver’s seat once the van has lurched into park, turning to face you and clapping his hands together. “Ok, so, lay it on me babe. What do you know about metal music? What have you heard that you like?”

“Hmm, I’ve listened to a few Iron Maiden songs, ‘Phantom of the Opera’ and ‘The Trooper’. I actually liked a few Metallica songs that Holly played for me, I just can’t remember the names,” you list a few basics, hoping he was ready for your very beginner level knowledge on the subject. You lean back in your seat to face him, watching curiously as his eyes go wide, grinning and drumming his hands against the steering wheel.

“Alright, okay, I can work with that,” he chews his bottom lip in thought as he rummages through the tapes and general debris that scatter the front seat of the van. “Sorry ‘bout the mess, I don’t usually have company, especially company as pretty as you. Now where the fuck did I…aha!”  Eddie triumphantly holds up an Iron Maiden tape, Piece of Mind scrawled across it in calligraphy with what looks like a zombie in chains lunging towards you.

“Yikes, he’s a bit creepy, isn’t he,” you suppose, tapping the case gently as if not to wake the creature lurking inside.

“That’s Eddie.”

“What?” you give him a quizzical look, head tilting to the side.

“I’m not being funny, that’s just the band’s mascot or whatever. His name is Eddie, pretty sweet name I think,” he beams, sarcasm lacing his tone as he inserts the cassette into the tape deck, careful to turn down the volume a touch, not wanting to burst your eardrums on the first music education lesson. “Are you ready to have your mind blown, sweetheart?” You nod and smile, the epic guitar and drums of the first song already beginning to thrum through your veins, goosebumps shivering down your arms as you let yourself relax and enjoy the music. It isn’t half bad, your body can’t help but move to the beat, subtle toe taps and head bobs with Eddie watching you intensely.

“So, give me your honest review. Do I have a convert or am I going to have to work a little harder than that?” Eddie presses as the first song comes to an end.

“I’m not completely sold, I think I’d still prefer to listen to New Order over Iron Maiden, but I am trying to be more open and accepting of new things. Hit me with the next song, my body is willing and ready,” your words playing tricks on you as they make their way out of your mouth, blood already thumping hot in your ears, staring agape at Eddie for his response.

“Christ, Y/N, well if you put it that way,” he cackles, his whole body in motion as the laughter shakes him.

“Let me rewind,” you make a babbling sound as if imitating a video tape rewinding, only causing Eddie to laugh louder and your cheeks to flame an even brighter shade of pink. “I just mean that my ears are ready for the music. My body is ready too, for you. I mean, I’m willing to be ready for whatever you want to do to me. Fuck. Shit. I’m going to stop talking now, just play the song and let me slowly slip away into my grave, please.” You shrink down in your seat, flopping the leather jacket over your face in shame as you hear Eddie’s laughter begin to fade out into a soft wheezy chuckle.

“Hey, hey, come back here, sweetheart. You can’t make a spicy confession like that and then just hide from me,” Eddie’s voice saccharine and playful as he tosses the jacket off of you, his finger curling under your chin to bring your eyes to look at him. “I’m glad you feel that way, knuckles. I will definitely be keeping that in mind for future reference,” he whispers, his thumb ghosting towards the plumpness of your bottom lip, his eyes flickering down to follow the steady path his thumb is trailing. You close your eyes, inhaling deeply, expecting his lips to meet yours within moments, but he doesn’t. You open your eyes to see him adjusting the volume on the stereo as another song comes to a crescendo, trying to hide the fact that he is peeking at you behind the curtain of his hair. Your lips purse into a thin line as you quickly look out the window, wondering if you have just misread the situation or maybe scared him off a little with how quickly you were willing to let him into your pants.

“Oh this is the best part,” Eddie hums softly and turns the volume knob, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel as a shrieking guitar solo wails from the speakers, ignoring whatever awkward exchange that had just been.

The next few songs play, but Eddie doesn’t ask for your opinion again. He smiles and nods  when he sees your foot tapping through the chorus of “Flight of Icarus”, but he seems especially preoccupied with chewing on the loose skin around his thumbnail and reorganizing the center console.

After the final notes of “The Trooper'' echo through the speakers of the stereo, Eddie begins to get fidgety, gnawing raw red marks around the edges of his fingernails, bouncing his leg enough to shake the entire van as he looks over at you every few seconds, like you might suddenly disappear before his eyes. Without a word of warning, he suddenly scrambles to the back of the van, conjuring up a couple of blankets, a boombox, and a handful of cassette tapes, returning with a grin. “Wanna get high and look at the stars?” he blurts out, pulling out a little bag that was tucked in the inside pocket of his jacket and giving it a shake.

With a nod, you both tumble out of the van, quickly setting up the blankets in a plush arrangement in the soft grass that slowly slopes down to the sandy beach. Eddie’s deft fingers quickly rolling up a joint, licking the paper and pressing it neatly before bringing it to his lips to light. The earthy tang assaults your nostrils and makes your eyes sting momentarily as he takes the first drag, passing it over to you, fingers brushing in a moment that seems to last for an eternity.

~*~

You both develop a steady rhythm of passing the joint back and forth, settling back on the soft cushion of the blankets. You gaze up at the obsidian blanket above you, the blunt dangling haphazardly in between your lips, in awe of just how many stars there are. Of course, you knew there were millions of stars in the Milky Way, but they didn’t seem to shine as brightly in the city as they do on the banks of Lover’s Lake. The sticky sweet taste of strawberry milkshake lingering in your mouth, the crackling burn of the weed as it began to seep into your lungs and invade your senses, the gentle warmth of Eddie’s arm pressing against yours.

“There’s Cassiopeia, looks kind of like a W. Then right below her, it’s sometimes hard to make out, but there’s Cepheus and Draco,” Eddie’s pointer finger juts out to gesture at a cluster of shining stars that when strung together look a bit like a squiggly snake and a box with a triangle on top. “And of course right above Cassiopeia is their daughter, Andromeda. Kind of fucked that she’s forever bound to be next to her parent’s after what they did to her,” he rattles off the details eagerly, licking his lips as he scans the stars for other constellations and takes another puff off the quickly shrinking joint before extinguish it carefully in the damp grass next to him. You try to follow where his fingers are tracing patterns, connecting dots and telling stories, but you find it hard to turn your attention toward anything other than his face. His left eye squinting shut, pink tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration, his features softening as the boyish enthusiasm takes over.

“How do you know so much about Greek mythology and constellations?” your voice a whisper, as if not wanting to disturb the hushed peacefulness of the night air.

“Uhh, I got a little obsessed with the idea of the Underworld as a setting for one of my D&D campaigns in high school. That led to reading stories about Hades and Persephone, and before I knew it I had checked out every book the library had to offer about Greek myths and legends,” Eddie responds, his fingers absently twirling into the loose threads of the blanket underneath you both.  

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567 notes - Posted September 11, 2022

#2

Knuckles - Eddie Munson x Plus Size Female Reader

series masterlist 

part 1/?

summary: Your summer spent with a best friend in Hawkins has thus far been uneventful. An impulsive outing to the Battle of the Bands competition and an unfortunate chain of events sends Eddie hurdling into your life and you are more than happy to make space for him there. A little hurt comfort, a lotta sweet fluff, and there will definitely be at least a part 2 if not more. 

pairing: Eddie x plus size! reader 

warnings: All characters are 18+ and you should be too. MINORS DNI! TW: this fic does contain mentions and depictions of sexual assault (not graphic, reader is non-consensually touched by a stranger at the bar), feelings of guilt after assault are briefly mentioned, plus size!reader with mentions of feelings around having their size compared to someone else, use of y/n, female pronouns and pet names used to describe reader, brief violence, mentions of bruising and blood, crying, eating and talk about food, eventual smut. if you find any of these things triggering, please do not continue to read

genre: fluff, angst, eventual smut

word count: 10.2k (oops, got a little carried away there)

author’s note: This is my first Eddie fic and the first fic I’ve written in about 10 years, so please be kind and repost and comment if you enjoy it 💜 Lightly proofread and edited, but tell me if there is anything super weird. I do not really incorporate anything from s4 and the characters are all college age. I have a part 2 of this already in the works, but let me know if there is anything specific you all would like to see from this story. 

tags: tagging a few sweet mutuals who might like to read, feel free to ignore though :) @wroteclassicaly​ @boomhauer​ @thisishellfire @bayouteche​ @honeybee-reverie​

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Please, please, please come!!” your best friend, Holly, whines, pouting with her hands on her hips. Soft afternoon summer light fades through the gauzy window coverings, fracturing and splitting as you flop back onto her pillowy bed, dust motes exploding in your wake. She has been making her case for over 20 minutes about why you should go see the Battle of the Bands competition that is being held at some dive bar called The Hideout, and Holly is always absolutely relentless in any argument you two have, especially if it is about metal music. 

“It’s really not my thing,” your fingers dance lazily through the dust clouds and you try your best to avoid her laser-like gaze, “I know you want me to experience all of Hawkins while I’m here for the summer, but that is the one area we differ in. I’ll love you forever, but I will never understand how you can listen to the sound of shrieking guitars, drums that are way too intense, and some guy screaming scary lyrics at you and then you have the audacity to call it music” you smirk, catching her exasperated look out of the corner of your eye just as she tosses a pillow at your face. 

“Hey!” you squeak and chuck the pillow right back at her, maybe with a little more force than you had meant to because she stumbles and plops down onto the bed next to you. 

“Please, Y/N… if you absolutely hate it, we can leave and go see a movie or something, but I like really really REALLY want to go to this. It is the final battle between the top two metal bands in Hawkins, Corroded Coffin and The Feral Tomb, and….” she insists and then hesitates for a moment, chewing on her thumbnail, “...and there is this guy in The Feral Tomb, he’s the bassist, and, um…I…well…”

“Come on, Holls. So you want to drag me along to this…concert, and I use that term very loosely here, so that I can be your wingwoman and you can flirt with some metalhead? Am I getting all the details right here?” you sit up from the bed suddenly, still avoiding her puppy-dog eyes, but giving her sidelong glances through your eyelashes. 

“Yes.” she replies sheepishly, her eyes dropping down to focus on the loose thread she is aimlessly unraveling from the pillow in her lap. 

You had spent the last month at Holly’s childhood home in Hawkins, Indiana, enjoying the lazy small town summer and relishing in the much needed break after your junior year at Purdue Indianapolis. You two were roommates at university and when a family thing came up she said she had to head home for the summer. This meant giving up the apartment you shared, and you scrambled to try to find somewhere to stay. With no parents, relatives, or really other friends to speak of in the area, it would have been impossible to find somewhere you could afford alone on your measly coffee shop salary, even if it was just three summer months. When Holly offered for you to come along with her to her hometown, you felt unfamiliar knots in your stomach, maybe something akin to sisterly love, a feeling entirely foreign to you as an only child. She had been by your side since freshman orientation, her mom even acted the part of a parental figure for you since your mom was unable to make any of the welcome events, and when it came time to move out of the freshman dorms and into the nearby apartments she didn’t even second guess the idea that you two would be moving in together. So with a few futile “no I couldn’t possibly”s and “well I don’t want to be a bother”s you packed your bags and headed with her to Hawkins. 

It certainly wasn’t the most exciting place to spend the summer, but with home cooked meals every night, late night giggle sessions with Holly, and the sweet tan you were getting from all the time out at Lover’s Lake, it felt like the home you’d never had. 

You shake your head, clearing the reverie and aimless thoughts to focus back on Holly, who is practically gnawing a hole in the raw flesh of her thumb as she awaits your response. 

“So, what’s his name then, this bassist? What’s so great about him? And is there one for me too?” you sigh and push her shoulder playfully. Her squealing immediately pierces through the room and she leaps from the bed, dashing over to the closet. 

“His name is Theodore, but he goes by Theo. Isn’t that so sexy and mature sounding? He’s got this gorgeous blonde hair and he is just how I like them.” She coos as she begins to furiously push masses of hanging clothes aside, her lips pursing as she inspects a lacy black dress and then tosses it aside. 

“And just how do you like them Holly?” you give her a quizzical look, already knowing her answer would leave most scandalized. She pops back out of the closet, her hands on her hips incredulously. 

“You know, dumb and eager to make me cum,” she winks and disappears into the closet again.

“Jesus, Holly, subtlety has never been your forte has it? So what about me then? Keep in mind my type is usually someone with some semblance of a brain, I would still like them to make me cum though,” you inquire, trying desperately to think back to the last time a guy had made you cum, but either your memory is failing you or it had been a painfully long time since that has occurred in your love life. 

“The other guys in his band are pretty cute too, maybe not quite your usual brainy, bookish type, but hey, it’s just a summer hookup. And the other band, Corroded Coffin, well I went to high school with all of them, and they were all kind of super nerdy then, so I can’t say that I find any of them sexy, but maybe you will,” she wrinkles her nose and sticks her tongue out at you. 

“Alright, well give me all the details on the ones you went to high school with then,” you roll your eyes and stand up to rummage through your own clothes, trying to find something even remotely suitable for a metal concert. 

“Well, Eddie is the lead guitarist/singer. He was the Dungeon Master of their little D&D club and I remember him always putting on some kind of dramatic production during lunch. He’s kind of full of himself, but in a charming way. Jeff is the other guitarist, he’s sweet, definitely a little shy. Gareth is the drummer, we had a project we were paired for in history and he did all of it for me so we love that. The bassist is Barry, or Larry. Maybe Carl? I can’t remember his name honestly.” She continues flipping through her closet, leaving piles of almost entirely black clothes in her wake, until she finds the winners. You flip over the names in your head, trying to imagine just based on her brief descriptions if any of them would be worth the effort of dressing up for this thing. 

“Aha! Here you go!” she tosses a leather jacket, some ripped black jeans, and a faded oversized Iron Maiden shirt that has the sleeves cut off into your lap, then begins to shimmy out of her sweatpants and t-shirt in favor of a pair of leather pants and a cropped black shirt that maybe once had a band’s logo printed on it, but was so well loved and worn that there was only a whisper of a print that remained. 

“But I barely even know who Iron Maiden is. What if someone asks me about them and I don’t know what to say,” you panic slightly, cautiously shrugging the shoulders of your sundress down to slip the foreign shirt over your head. 

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1,142 notes - Posted September 4, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Curls - Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

part 2

summary: Eddie is getting ready to meet your parents for the first time after a year of dating. He is particularly nervous about impressing them, so you help him do his hair. And then help him relax a little 😉

warnings: smut 18+ MINORS DNI. established relationship, kissing, breast play, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex (mention of birth control but still wrap it up and be safe 👍🏻), lots of sweet sappiness between Eddie and reader, reader has curly hair but it is not described in great detail, reader is implied as plus size but doesn’t have to be read that way, reader has relationship with both parents. I think that is it but let me know if I missed something.

genre: fluff, smut

word count: 4.9K

author’s note: I couldn’t get the idea out of my head about doing Eddie’s hair and so this just all kind of came rambling out. Any feedback is always appreciated 💕

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3,032 notes - Posted October 5, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[captainkurosolaire]

I challenge you to pick five Tumblrs in your social circle and tell them something you admire about their blog!

Only 5? I could probably do 500. However, that's determined by what's considered my social circle. I'm often in my head being incredibly social continuously is really a challenge of mine. I'm always actively marching to something, my flame of passion when I have it, I can do some crazy stuff but it diminishes relatively quickly, so I try to cling. But I'll up your thing and list 25 of my fave people. Ask me this same thing in a Month, I'll keep doing 25, until I do all the people. How about that? (If anyone wants to be taken off mention let me know.)

@eligos-venator

- Has one of the most intelligent and sophisticated minds, I've had the pleasure to know. Literally admire all his aesthetics, work, head-cannons, ideas. It's only a benefit that the dude shares some OC characteristics to my own (Winning features). I really enjoyed the short-thread we did. It was incomplete, mainly because of my faults. I want to actually be better to give him a proper delivery and RP worth his time, but he's incredibly worth the investment of eyes.

@mischiefandmystics

- If there was a Mount Rushmoore of writers who kept me in this endeavor, encouraged me. Sun'ra is one of them. His characterization skills, writing, the delivery and how believable his character is, they're masterful acts.

@mishivymendi

- I wouldn't be nearly tamed or as creatively freed if it wasn't for this gem. She broke my shell, I really didn't at a time ever see myself being anything really beyond a smut writer, but Mishi not only saw potential in me, but brought it out. Her stories and world's she brings to life are so majestically colorful.

@asymphonyofash

- My go-to. He's another pillar individual who saw things in me past just the obvious perception, (Probably second longest XIV RPer I know.) Taught me a lot of the lore, I shot him up and he's sort of become my stapled rock. He's right aside Sun'ra met them about the same, both took me under their wing's as I quietly observed and absorbed.

@lavender-hemlock

- We're always up and front with each other, never feeling like I couldn't say anything around, extremely rare to share that these days. Her gif's are legendary, something on my own terms I want to soar in quality. The writing she does is astounding. Character has so many mysterious pages that are quite addictive to want to explore and learn them. (Encore 20 below-cut)

@under-the-blood-moonlight - Her sweetness and artwork and overall is just a friendly presence to be around. I cherish them so much. One I can jive with more darker undertones with. She's one the most hardworking and ambitiously creative people. I'd mail them infinite hugs if could. Thanks for being you! @roxinova - I owe a lot of credit to her. She's constantly OOC and everything was nudging me too be more inclusive to things and involved heavenly. It's rare for me. I'm really horrible about that my autism sets me back socially, I constantly will be drowned by the next day and be reverted back to better off alone, that's my major crux and weakness. But her thoughtfulness, these things, aren't ever foreign to me, I do pay attention probably better than any would ever give me credit. She's a beacon model to have as a friend. @corpse-dancer - Haven't ran into many words with them, but her character, screenshot game, expressiveness, they're all a marvel to constantly see, alongside her attitude and bringing life character. I do think if I were better, we would click quite splendidly. They've recently reminded and motivated me to pick-up my daily-practice, or try too. Keep being a rockstar. @fair-fae - Few who wouldn't know who she is in this community. She's been in my opinion a huge core. I'm certain she's inspired many who weren't even RPers too try it by seeing her at the Quicksands or elsewhere, a tyme ago. Making no exception, I was even one of those. I used to be in QS every-single day and was often doing my shameless stuff. Though her presence first did show me there's a lot more. I admire her in all fields. Also appreciate her adopting me to the FC and her always thinking of others and giving events, or her aesthetics and portrayal, its the epitome of swan elegance. @thorcat - One of my most treasured friends. Been RPing with them for a longtime. There's never anything complicated between us or a rift of drama, it's just let's go and have fun. We really mesh well, I've welcomed nearly ever character and got the privilege to RP with nearly all them. They always open up envelope and help me, settle on back and just laugh. Whether used to be waking up to their characters humping my afk one or use randomly having a hardcore banter between Ufah and Captain and capturing them as a voidal pet. Memories with them isn't something I'd ever want to lose. I love ya! Never stop enjoying life for anything. @lukawarrioroflight - I get in the gutter find myself lacking motivation or writing, discouraged even... But I never have felt, I could ever do any wrong with this person, they bring the light out of me. So no matter what, how many hospital-beds I yearly visit, it's because of this rare nature, that I come back, even if they're the only one's ever to read my stuff. I would do it for them alone. @scholarlybreadbun - I've only been back recently and they've so much warmth. Their presence is the sun of inviting. The couple and posing all the shipping that stuff makes me even melt. I'm not particularly talented in regards to posing couples, but I took notice of them along time ago and set on quietly improving. Really like them for them, wouldn't ever want them to change that. Ideally look forward to be in their orbit longer so I can bask in them. @seascrapes - Been mutual with them for a while. Their aesthetics and character is all S+ level. I appreciate throwing back tagged prompts with them, one of many people I really think would be enjoyable to collab with any other seafarers. The artwork and pieces of Tal Brook, are breathtaking as ever exceptionally too, not to mention. Love your stuff matey, you're a king. @mai-takeda - Is a myth. Her absolutely sheer friendliness and her attitude, are so positive influencing, I was so thrilled to be welcomed with her and boosted by them early on. I couldn't see myself, wanting to exist where they didn't have happiness like the same she always delivers by just doing so many soft-things. Not to mention her writing... She's a whole world to throw yourself gazes

under. @zhauric - It doesn't go far either without the same breath of Mai, I could say about Zhauric. He's someone worthy to look-up and also recognize they're passionate and inviting, hoisting up literally everything. Could easily find any of their characters comrades with my own, or jiving alongside. Not to mention last XIVWrite, they slaughtered it. So enjoyable to read them all. I like how organized their blog is too, motivated me recently to redux my entire thing. @cadrenebula - They have so many diverse characters and their entire roster is vibrant and is imbued with a massive flux of life. They are able to encapsulate so many character's voices and portray them so effectively too, I really admire that greatly. They've made me think bigger and try myself recently at actually undertaking a huge roster of characters too. I've taken many breaks, but I always am so graciously returned often with them close-by and that's so incredibly sacred. I've seen a lot of people get discouraged or quit, leave, departure, etc. But they always seem to have a bigger house then they had last I took a break and I enjoy peaking in. @silvernsteel - Her artist and gif-work are awe-aspiring, there's little unrecognizable by her photo-sets and edits. They helped me even tip-toe into uncharted with giving me the recipes to try incorporating gifs into my arsenal. Plus so delightfully pleasant to actually talk with and just chill. I want nothing less in life, than the beauty they give, to be returned to them for eternity in all their glorious air. If ever needed anything of me, they've got me. @spotofmummery - We talk about passion or friendliness or overall a person to even remotely try to be, I got to include them. Their web-series and writing, screen-work, everything they do is fantastic. And that's furthered back nearly any I've met showcase or immortalize how just genuine of stellar person they are. I wish them always the energy to create and sparks. @snow-covered-moon - They've never been anything less but absolutely a diamond to know. I enjoy their character, their almost always abundant of energy that's very rub inducing. Their WoL character stories, writing, screen-shots, everyday they open up a new pandora box of joy, there's no mistaken love behind their character and that's infectiously easy to also enjoy something when the author does too. Always healthy to be around, I never feel short of vitality when they're close-by. @letheofthelost - Always cheerful or least encapsulates with me, they're a carnival ride. Just pure epic story-telling and engaging equally as passionate, constantly writing characters, not looking for anything outside of RP or anything really just being their selves, they fade all others. I love their presence, them as a person. Enjoy any character they'll ever come and throw under me, or a change of pace. Always feels easily understandable between one another. @crow-iv - Together we're an unfiltered, unstoppable wake of pure passionate writers and art. But I would say they're far ahead of me, in every regard. Already able to portray multiple characters in a scene and do such in-depth thinking, alongside even sketch or draw right afterwards or a scene. They're so talented, huge reason I set-out on giving them a Crew of cast and actual stories to-tell when I'm actually caught up and if they interested and we both have the room, I really think if further myself, I can be better and supply more for them to draw and I want to see them soar. I want to give them all my improvements and effectiveness. @trishelle - They've such a reinforcing personality and aura around them that easily bolsters anything that dares thinking they're about to be depleted so energizing. Aesthetics, characters, all them are so lively that further compliment their own mun's great welcoming presence. Worth hundreds of smiles and stars, keep high. Wish I had more time to dedicate to learning you! But I do notice and appreciate you. @fracturedfantasia - One of my people, I like to retreat and just talk my full

head-cannons with or learn, share insightful and inquisitive thoughts about philosophies and multi-culture things. Or plotting and in-general, they're a well of information and brimming ideas, they are every making of what makes a quality friend. When you can generally be open-about-all that's a real one right there. Their characters and tarot readings, I always would implore if they're offering. Thanks for giving me any-time. You're truly a treasure. @violet-warder - Never have even came to words with them yet unfortunately but didn't mean as a mutual, I haven't admired all their screenies, writing, or the aesthetics they bring of their character. Glamours is real end-game, I like all what you've done and put together. I care strictly about what represent and give, I don't want to see them ever think anyone want's them gone, they are abundantly so talented and possess things only they can deliver. I think recently came back too, and I'm glad to share, hopefully, overtime I can build you better up. Or eventually even talk, but I'm certain you are a busy-body person too, so we're relatable. @layla-grey - I have a lot of underline issues that set me back as a flawed person, but I've never not been anything but someone who's open, it's why I always do include my f-list in anything or etc. I'm not here to present this facade, and really don't care to be an image crafted by another. No one as of recently or now, am I close with as an RP partner or friend with then this stunning masterpiece. I never let-up on story-telling or anything so I can eventually use my Crew or other Characters, to give them anytime a master entertaining day, they push me to not be short-changed. IC and OOC I would devote my full attention too cause they've never shed from me. Didn't ever matter how much silence or anything, they're always around. And don't expect anything out of me or pressure. Just accept me and I equally share that sentiment, I want you to have everything in this world has to offer. ----- This is just a fraction of people, I've paid attention, noticed or know. I've been around in this Community for many years. There's a lot of things I could say about it, more probably then anyone else. But what matters to me, is recognizing the people who are here, that work hard, build others up, support, constantly are a beam. I don't need to interact with everyone, to know when someone is generally out for good. Or they're out for bad I've learned inquisitiveness longtime ago, I had to survive and remain afloat. I just go out and be me, and along the way, I get to find people like these, who help bring out the best me. I am nothing without these people, creators, writers, artist. I'm a terrible friend, horrible person, I don't have the energy to interact NEARLY with as much as I'd like with you all, If I could clone myself, or if things were different, I would drop it all to be in your orbits more if could. But, do know I appreciate you. And even if you ever do depart from this whole community or anything, know that anything you share, or give, that stuff does matter, somewhere, someone was aspired, if nothing else, by me. ONLY you can give the worlds you see and I am thankful. Do love yourself.

[aliendes]

Natural Borns - Prologue

ahhh finally posting this fic that I’ve had a bare-bones outline for, for over a year. I absolutely adore the idea behind this fic and the world that I am creating for it. If you like what you read here, please follow my blog for updates. My goal is to update this series at least once every two weeks, but I will likely post the first few chapters in the next couple of weeks. I look forward to growing this au, reblog if you enjoy! 

dystopian!au / futuristic!au 

Series info/genre: Angset, fluff, (possible) smut NSFW due to darker themes Pairings: ot7 x fem reader (eventual) Warnings: this series will have different trigger warnings listed for each chapter (if there are any), but as a whole, this series will include violence, mentions of depression & other mental illnesses, cursing, abuse, drugs/alcohol, some shitty medical descriptions because i am NOT a doctor, self-esteem issues, fluff, and possible smut in future chapters (but that’s undecided). i will add more warnings/tags in the future if there are any. Description: In the year 2613, over half of the world’s population are what scientists consider ‘designer babies’. YN is a small town girl who is a true natural born, someone born naturally without he help of a lab or gene splicing. Her DNA is greatly sought after, but what is she willing to do to protect it? Word count: 1569 (future chapters will be longer, this is just a prologue!)

In a world where social status is determined by looks, it’s beneficial to have the label ‘designer baby’. 

In the year 2613, over half of the world’s population are now what society considers a ‘designer baby’. This term designer baby, coined in 2051 when scientists in Sweden successfully incubated a baby to term by splicing different genes together, is what people call babies born in a lab. It is commonplace now for people to walk into a lab, go through a catalog of traits, pick out their favorites, pay a high price tag, and wait about 9 months for their baby to fully incubate. Then they can take their new bundle of joy home without all the pain (and sometimes heartbreak) of a pregnancy and labor. Most expecting mothers never go through pregnancy anymore, and labor and delivery wards have become nearly obsolete in the richer areas of the world. In their place, companies began to spring up on nearly every street corner that allowed hopeful parents to pick out their future offspring. 

The process was actually incredibly simple. Scientists are able to take the DNA of both prospective parents, and splice their genes with other genes of their choosing by removing certain markers for things like eye color while not compromising the parents original DNA structure, and create a zygote in a lab. After about 9-10 months of incubation, this zygote will eventually become the perfect baby, or at least, those parents' version of the perfect baby. The only reason the practice took so long to take off was because of the many protests and movements that took place in the late 2000’s. After the first designer baby was successfully ‘born’, people began to protest the process, saying that it was ‘messing with fate’ and that people shouldn’t have that much power over other humans. After decades of fighting and protests, the first designer baby company launched in 2108, in Seoul, South Korea. Since then, there have been smaller groups and nonprofit organizations that try to fight against gene splicing, but it is mostly accepted worldwide. 

Always at the forefront of technology, it was no surprise that the first designer baby company was in Seoul. Hundreds of years later, the largest population of designer babies and companies still reside in Seoul. Over 75% of the population of South Korea is made up of people who were created in labs and have the perfect balance of genes. Some call the country the most beautiful place on Earth. 600 years ago, people would say that because of its rich culture, and scenic countrysides. Now, it’s because the citizens are nice to ogle at. 

Designer babies are so common in South Korea, that schools, office buildings, and even entire apartment complexes were built for them. In today’s society, your job, your relationships, and your status is determined by how beautiful you are. It’s easy to tell who is a designer baby and who isn’t. Most people born in labs have distinct features, mostly from the same pool of genes. You see, after a while, scientists started running out of natural DNA to use that people still thought was unique enough. Now, most designer babies have features that stem from the same catalogs, as they are the most popular. Sure, they’re pretty, but they’re beginning to look a lot alike. 

Part of the reason natural DNA is so hard to find now, is because a lot of designer babies end up procreating with what scientists dubbed ‘natural borns’, or people with 100% natural DNA, and so most people's DNA is muddled throughout generations. These people are not good candidates for gene splicing as the outcome is not easily controlled. Coming across a true natural born is extremely rare these days and the ones you do find are almost always average looking in society's eyes, so labs don’t bother trying to splice them. It’s not that there are NO natural borns willing to give up their DNA. Companies have applicants all the time, what with the hefty sum they pay their donors, but most do not make it past the application stage once said companies determine their genes unusable for various reasons.

Another problem laboratories run into is the willingness of participants in donating their DNA. The process isn’t as simple as a cheek swab. Once applicants learn about the often painful procedures involved in donating, they tend to back out before signing a contract. These contracts, depending on the company, usually requires the donors to live on company property until they have successfully spliced their DNA. This process involves the donor to take different cocktails of drugs, be put under anesthetic, and be poked and prodded by scientists for weeks at a time. It isn’t the most comfortable thing to go through, but they’re often offered substantial compensation, especially now with the shortage of true natural borns. Some larger companies have been accused in the past of abusing their donors, locking them in prison-like cells and depriving them of food and water, treating them as nothing more than a business transaction, which has also caused natural borns to stray away from donating.

Finding natural borns, or at least partial natural borns isn’t all that hard, though, as most natural borns live in smaller communities outside of larger cities. Because the population of designer babies only continues to grow, most employers no longer hire average looking people. There are even separate schools and hospitals that cater specifically to natural borns, often run by natural borns, since there are a significant portion of designer babies who do not socialize with naturals. Naturals are often considered low-class, and are looked down upon by those in high society. The crime rates against natural borns is becoming increasingly high, which has unfortunately pushed a lot of them outside of metropolitan areas. This resulted in a new social hierarchy where natural borns are at the bottom of the food chain, often poor or even homeless, struggling to find jobs. 

In recent years there have been more protests and rallies ran by both designer babies and natural borns who believe in rights for everyone, they are humans after all,  to try and fight against the discrimination that is heavily ingrained in today’s culture, but not much headway has been made yet. Currently, all world leaders and politicians are designer babies, so going up against them hasn’t been the easiest. 

Because protests are happening more often, companies are having to be even more discreet when it comes to ‘scouting’ potential candidates for donating DNA. They’ve become more desperate to find the new and innovating genes, something unique and different that will drive business in time where labs are a dime a dozen and new genes are hard to come by. 

You would know all about that, though. You are living in a small rural town outside of Seoul with your mother and father, both natural borns. Your family has owned a peach farm for the last few decades and makes enough money to upkeep the small orchard by selling to local markets and restaurants. You’ve been approached multiple times by companies, offering enticing amounts of money to you and your parents, promising things like apartments in the city, college tuition, and fancy cars, if you sold them your DNA. You were a true natural born, a rarity, especially in Korea. Not only did you have pure DNA, but you were unique. You weren’t average looking, no you were ethereal, gorgeous, spectacular in many people's eyes. Not for the reasons that you would’ve liked, though.

People only wanted you for your DNA. Whether it be companies who wanted to splice your genes, or other natural borns who wanted to court you and keep you for themselves, breed you and sell their children off to make a quick buck. It was sick, and that’s why your family kept you close. After you graduated high school, you didn’t attend university and didn’t get a job. You stayed on the farm and helped out your father in the orchard. You knew the dangers of the big companies and citizens alike who only wanted to use you. It made you wary of people, shy, and sometimes insecure about your own person. Your parents did their best to keep you safe, shield you from the horrors of the world, and make sure you felt loved. But oftentimes, you felt lonely, left out, especially when you didn’t have many friends. You felt like an outsider, and even though you were considered incredibly beautiful, you didn’t feel like it.

Growing up wasn’t the easiest for you, having gone to a poor, all natural born school from preschool until you graduated. You didn’t have many friends, most of your classmates bullied you, telling you that you didn’t belong there, that there was no way you weren’t one of those designer babies from the big city and that your parents were lying to you, or you were adopted and didn’t know. These comments were hard to hear, but in the end, you know the truth. You are a pure natural born, and your parents loved you and would do anything to protect you.

But when a mysterious company won’t leave you alone about donating your DNA, you start to question your parents protectiveness over you. Among other things, your biggest question was; what made you so special? 

To be continued...

[snowdice]

Little Kestrel (Part 7)[Birds of Different Feathers Series]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Logan & Patton & Virgil (future Virgil/Patton but not in this story)

Characters:

Main: Logan, Patton, Virgil

Appear: Thomas

Mentioned: Janus

Summary:

It was supposed to be a quick job either way. Either Virgil would assassinate King Thomas of Prijaznia or he’d be caught and get executed. Yet, when Virgil gets the wrong bedroom and gets caught by Prince Logan and his future royal advisor, Patton, the job ends up getting way more complicated for the 14-year-old. He also ends up sleeping in a (actually pretty comfortable) closet for a few weeks…

Notes: Implied/referenced child abuse, assassination attempt, knives, torture mentioned, captivity, teenagers being really dumb

This is a prequel to Kill Dear. I wrote it 100 words at a time on my blog, but this is the edited version. If you want to see how it was crafted, look at the tag proofread stories.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Logan placed a spoon in one of the boiling pots in front of him so he could get a better look at the liquid. It looked dark enough, but he leaned forward to taste it just to be sure. At the moment, it was basically just mint and lavender tea with a couple of extras. Satisfied with it, he slowly poured it into the slightly simmering larger pot in front of him and stirred it a few times clockwise. The pot glowed a soft purple when he took the spoon out.

He glanced into the other small pot and saw that the liquid there was starting to thicken. It wasn’t quite at the honey consistency he needed it to be yet, but it was on track.

Then, he glanced up at his guest. Virgil had clearly been watching him but looked away quickly when Logan turned to him. Logan studied him for a few more moments. He looked almost sickly in the light of day, like he’d shatter in a stiff wind. Yet, somehow, this was the assassin sent to kill a king? He was an enigma.

Logan turned his attention to the binding potion still simmering on the other table. Virgil cowered slightly as Logan walked by him to check on it. He certainly did startle easy. It was another piece to a concerning puzzle.

The binding potion was coming along well. He stirred it slowly a few times and carefully rinsed off the spoon, so it didn’t get anywhere he didn’t want it before laying it back down. He checked the open book next to it and compared the color to the chart in it. It would need at least an hour or so more before it could be used, but it would be a much better solution to the one that basically glued Virgil’s hands to a chair.

He walked back over to the other potion’s station to start cleaning up his supplies.

He had some herbs that he hadn’t used and stuck a mint leaf in his mouth as he returned them to their correct containers. There was a small wedge of honeycomb left on the plate that he’d cut it on. Without even really thinking about it, he cut the honeycomb into to equal parts with the plan to offer half of it to the other presence in the room. He paused and looked up at said other presence who looked down at his lap quickly.

“Would you like half?” he asked. Virgil looked back up at him, hesitance in his eyes. “You can pick which half each of us eats,” Logan offered.

Virgil nodded slowly and Logan rounded the table with the plate. “Left or right?” Logan asked.

“…Left.”

Logan nodded and went ahead and stuck the right piece in his own mouth before offering the left piece. Virgil parted his lips and Logan popped it into his mouth. Logan almost laughed at the expression that crossed his face as he started to chew. He imagined this is what people were talking about when they mentioned feeding babies different foods for the first time. His eyes went wide, and he blinked a couple of times before chewing a bit faster. Logan smiled at him and took the plate back around to the other side of the table.

The liquid in the second pot had gotten thicker now, and he stirred it carefully a few times before deciding it was finished. He then turned off the heat and quickly scrapped the sticky substance into the main pot. The purple liquid that had been in the pot slowly turned golden as he counted the number of times he stirred clockwise and then began to sparkle as he stirred it a few times counterclockwise. Once he was finished, he turned off the heat under the pot and wandered over to the case that held empty jars.

He grabbed one of the liter ones, and while he waited for the potion to cool, he measured and marked the container with 30 careful lines. The consumer did not need to take an exact amount every day which is why he didn’t bother with separate containers, but for maximum benefit it should generally be about 40ml for the first 10 days and 30ml after that. The lines should help them keep track.

He walked back over to the potion once that was done and placed a funnel into the opening so he could pour it into the marked container. The liquid filled the container a bit higher than 40ml above the top line but having a bit extra the first day wouldn’t harm him.

He looked to Virgil who was watching him with suddenly very wary eyes. He rounded the potion’s station and approached him slowly, hoping not to startle him when he already seemed rather skittish. “Okay, Virgil,” he said. “I’m going to need you to drink this. It’s a…”

“No.”

“W-what?”

“No,” his eyes were locked on the container in Logan’s hand and he shook his head back and forth. “Please no.”

“I assure you, it isn’t poison,” Logan said. “I will even test it myself.” Yet, he was acting differently than he had with the food. He’d begun to shake and cry as he continued to shake his head.

Oh dear. Logan grimaced and set down the potion. He glanced at the door very much hoping that Patton would come through it in the next few seconds, but he did not. “What is…” Logan said. “What is wrong?”

“Please don’t,” he said. “Please. Can’t. No.”

Logan wrung his hands and then went to his knees in front of the hyperventilating boy. He tried to place a comforting hand on his knee, but he flinched violently, and Logan removed his hand quickly. He dithered, unsure what to do as the boy continued to heave with sobs.

“I am not adept with discerning feelings. Please communicate with me verbally.”

He did not seem inclined to capitulate, making pitiful upset sounds that Logan could not determine the meanings of.

“Please, no, hurts,” he said.

“You think it will hurt you?” Logan asked with a frown. “It won’t hurt you Virgil. The purpose of that potion is quite the opposite.”

He either did not hear Logan or did not register what he said. “Please,” he begged. “I’ll be good. I won’t even move. Please.”

Won’t move? Logan glanced over at the other potion still simmering at its station. “Do you think this is a binding potion?” he asked. “Why on Earth would I be offering you a binding potion to drink?” Yet, Logan watched as he shook and cried, eyes not quite focused on Logan but on something else that wasn’t there. “Did,” Logan with dawning horror. “Did someone feed you a binding potion?”

Logan had once accidently gotten some of a binding potion he was making on his hand. It had stung like a thousand small bees had attacked one area of his skin, and it was only made worse by the fact that even that small amount had kept him trapped in place for hours. Binding potions were sticky. They were difficult to remove. Even after the counter potion had been applied, he’d still felt a bit of an ache when he moved it for the next week or so. It’s why one was never supposed to apply it directly to a person’s skin.

Who would make someone drink that? Beyond the assured agony and full body paralysis, it could easily kill someone. If not cooked properly, it was literally poison and even if it was perfect, there was still the possibility that it would freeze a person’s lungs, heart, or any other number of internal organs. If someone had fed Virgil a binding potion (and while he was no expert on facial expressions, the one currently on his face made Logan sure that someone had) they had little regard for his life.

Logan tired his best to soften his expression and tone. “Hey Virgil,” he said. “It’s okay. I won’t force you to drink anything. It’s not a binding potion, but I won’t make you drink it anyway.” It took him a bit to calm down as Logan continued to give him soft assurances, but finally his breaths started to even out. “Are you alright?” Logan asked.

Virgil nodded after a moment.

“Good.” He waited for a few minutes for Virgil to calm down even more before he said anything else. “I will not make you drink any potions,” Logan promised. “Though, if you wouldn’t mind, I would like to explain the option of drinking the one I prepared.”

He gave Logan a suspicious blink, but he didn’t seem inclined to have another fit at the sentiment.

“It is not a binding potion,” Logan started with. “I am making one for you, but I have no intention of having you consume it. What I was offering to you is medicinal. Both Patton and I noted that you seem unhealthy and likely malnourished. While nothing can reverse the effects of malnutrition completely, the potion I made would help prevent many future problems as well as let your body acclimate to a more nutritious diet easier.”

Virgil squinted at him. “Why?” he asked. “I’m your prisoner. Why would you want to help me?”

“You are my prisoner which means you are under my care,” Logan said. “I will not abide by your suffering if I can prevent it. That being said, if drinking the potion causes you undue mental distress, I will not force it upon you.”

Virgil studied him, eyes hard and suspicious, but his words were tentative when they came. “Does it hurt bad?” he asked.

“It doesn’t hurt at all,” Logan promised. “Allow me to demonstrate for you?” He nodded and Logan stood to retrieve the potion.

Logan placed his thumb over the lid of the container and tilted it until he felt the liquid hit his skin. He pulled his hand away and showed Virgil the notable drops of liquid on his thumb before opening his mouth and clearly placing it on his tongue. “It mostly tastes like the honey I put in it,” he told him, “plus a bit of lavender and mint. It does have a slightly sour aftertaste, but overall, it’s fine. How about just a small amount to start and then you can decide if you want to drink the rest of the dose for the day?”

“Okay,” Virgil agreed.

“I’m going to put this bottle to your lips. You can take as little as you wish.” Virgil nodded and Logan leaned forward and pressed the container to his mouth. Virgil kept his lips firmly closed as Logan titled it up briefly before taking it away. Virgil’s tongue came out to swipe up a bit of the liquid on his lips. He seemed to brace himself as he waited for something to happen, but he calmed after a few moments.

“Oh,” he said. “That’s not bad.”

“It is not intended to be,” Logan said. “Would you be willing to drink a bit more?”

Want to read more? Click below!

AO3 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

[roommatesandwiches]

Hoof and Paw

An old Alastor x Reader WIP I found that I thought would be good enough to post but can't be bothered to finish. I've lost interest to write for Hazbin (and pretty much Hazbin itself) but I am writing an Invader Zim fanfic series (it's a Reader-insert, of course) if any of you are interested. As always, it's on my Ao3 account, TwinklingMayViolets (EDIT: I changed my username. It's dinosaurus_maj now)

I know this blog has been sort of dead, but like I said in the tags of my first post this is just for HH wips and nothing else so it will be pretty inactive most of the time.

Some context for the following WIP: I imagined the reader character to be a wolf demon and an Overlord and there are some descriptions of that here. You knew Alastor when you were alive and had (still has) a massive crush. You didn't know about his life of crime.

---

There he is. Alastor. The one and only. You sigh as you stare through the window, your eyes never leaving the brown-haired man you have been pining over since you were alive. He says something and his colleagues laugh. You don't know what the joke was, but you know that if you heard it you'd laugh, too. Alastor just had that effect on people, with his constant, bright and cheery smile and likeable personality. His good looks also played in the factor of women falling all over him, not excluding you.

A strong wind blows over you, threatening to steal the parasol out of your hands and lifting the skirt of your dress. You huff to yourself, brushing some stray strands of hair out of your eyes. You adjust the grip of your gloved claws on your parasol that effectively hid your more inhuman appearance from the living. Your ears squirm uncomfortably and irritatedly underneath your hat. Look at yourself. You're a demon Overlord feared all throughout Hell, and yet here you are, swooning over some human in the living world. He wasn't just 'some human', though. "You hunt?" "Yes. What of it?" "Nothing. That's just... A rather unladylike thing to do." "Sewing and cooking is not considerably 'manly' either." You find yourself sighing at the memory, at a time long past. This was your punishment. You had missed your chance when you were alive, and now you'll never get one again. There's a chance that he might follow after you into Hell when he dies--whenever in Hell that'll be--and you've heard of friends, families and lovers reuniting in the afterlife, but you shouldn't bet on it. Sure, you've got the money to now, but you shouldn't. The café bell jingles, pulling you out of your thoughts. You turn away right as Alastor and the other men working at the radio station step out of the establishment, deep in a conversation you'd love to be a part of and once could've been. Shoot. Well, your time is almost up anyway. You better head to the rendezvous now before Lucifer makes on his own promise and leaves you stranded up here. Like Hell you're gonna lose all your hard-earned power and territory because you'd been staring too long at a man. Still... You had been hoping for more. It was merely wishful thinking, but you couldn't help it. Slipping a handkerchief out from your sleeve, you quietly drop it on the pavement and start walking. Please notice it, please notice it... "Excuse me, miss." Your ears almost knock your hat off your head when they prick up with excitement. You turn slowly, making sure to keep your head low and nose hidden behind your scarf. Your hat hides the rest of your pale face, but it shows just enough for your eyes to be able to meet his. They're just like how you remember them; striking ambers that steal your breath away and send your heart fluttering out of your chest. You never thought you'd ever see his bright, beaming smile directed at you again. In his hand he delicately holds the dropped handkerchief, offering it to you. "I believe this is yours?" His voice is like honey to your pointed hound's ears, sending your mouth curling into a smile on your face in a mirror of his own. "Yes, it is," you say, your voice embarrassingly soft and almost breathless. You reluctantly reach out, conscious of your clawed fingers hidden beneath your lace gloves. Without any incident, you accept the handkerchief and quietly release the breath you had been holding. "Thank you." Alastor gives you one last, wide smile that makes his eyes squint before rejoining his colleagues. You tear your eyes away before you can see him go. When Lucifer asks, you deny the tear that rolled down your cheek and tracked a dark trail on your pale skin. --- There's a purge going on all around Hell. It's not the yearly extermination, no. Another demon is going on a killing spree, and it's not like one Hell's ever seen, according to your allies that have been here for centuries and Lucifer himself, who's no doubt sitting with his wife and daughter in that fancy manor of theirs with buckets of popcorn as they watched the carnage unfold. You can't say that you're doing the same. You would've, if some of your allies hadn't gone ominously silent. Well, not exactly 'silent'. As soon as you lose contact with them, your radio would switch on and you'd hear their screams as this genocidal demon turned them inside out. You were impressed, but also on the defensive. Whoever this was obviously had some mad power if they can take down some of your long-standing allies and fellow Overlords. You'd love to run out there and face the challenge, but whatever rational thought and sanity you had left in your mind told you that that would be suicide. You didn't want to lose your territory as well along with your life. Besides, if this demon kept this up, they would become an Overlord in no time, and you could meet them then when they're not on a murderous rampage. So you're huddled in your bunker, cozied up in your chair with your wolves sitting around you as you cleaned your rifle. Your radio is playing the carnage from your coffee table and your puppies keep a good distance between it and them. You'd tried to mute it, because one could only listen to agonized screams and chaos for so long, but it wouldn't go any lower than it already was. This demon's power was rather interesting. What you found amusing was the jazz music playing as well as the bloodcurdling screaming. When this is all over, you'd love to exchange techniques and maybe form an alliance with him. He's quite the entertaining fellow. The demon is talking among the loud music and screaming. The other sounds are too loud for you to hear him clearly but you catch a few words now and then. He's cracking jokes in a chipper tone, as if he were simply having a grand old outing with some friends and not splitting heads and tearing out organs. There's a brief moment when the screaming stops, and you're able to hear him loudly and clearly. "We're all just having a clot of fun out here!" There's a squelch and a loud groan. "If any of my listeners would like to join, feel free to—" You don't hear the rest as his victim continues their pained screeching, which suddenly silences in the next minute. You don't really notice, though. Because this radio demon sounds strangely like Alastor. --- As many expected, the Radio Demon quickly rose in the ranks and is crowned the Overlord title overnight. You're envious of how quickly he's made a name for himself and yet you're intrigued. Just who was this fellow? How and why was he so powerful? You yourself had impressive power with the ability to create your hunting dogs, but it pales in comparison to what Alastor could do. Alastor. That's right, his name was Alastor, the same name as the man you had loved while in the living world. This may only be wishful thinking, but could he be your Alastor? The only way to find out was to meet him and see for yourself. That's why you're sitting in Lucifer's lounge this evening, awkwardly squeezed in the spacious room filled to the brim with demons. There are Hellborns and mortal souls alike present, some of them looking rather bitter at losing some good allies to a fresh manifestation. In celebration of the Radio Demon's beautiful mass-genocide and new title, Lucifer had arranged a gathering and invited all Overlords to give everyone a chance at forging an alliance with him—or to start a bloodbath, either is good. You had come just for the sake of meeting him and maybe exchange a few words, but you'd be lucky to even see him in this turn-out. You just might start the bloodbath now with how many times someone's stepped on your tail in the first hour already.

(Yeah, that's all. If you're curious: the Reader was supposed to see Alastor and not recognise him. You dance with him, and his voice sounds too much like the man you once knew. You both end up hitting it off and going out to either the balcony or just somewhere less packed to talk a bit. You ask him his name, you tell him yours, and after recounting some of your time in the living world you know for sure that this was your Alastor and he knows you. Idk what happens next, maybe he confesses that he has feelings for you and maybe you kiss or something. I think when writing this I hit the same problem as when I was writing Movie Night: I realised I had no idea how to write dialogue lol. Also, I think I wrote this while I was having ideas for part 2 of the Roommates series and abandoned this in favour of writing that.)

[thestarsaroundyourscars]

“Are you fucking kidding me?” and “Don’t make it into a big deal.” + reddie please? hi i miss you! ily!!!

Hi, I miss you too dear. I hope you’re doing well and that you enjoy this prompt. LOVE YOU

Read on AO3

"Are you fucking kidding me?" 

"Hey Eds." Richie greeted him as soon as Eddie opened the door. He was leaning against the wall, which was probably the only reason why he hadn’t plummeted to the ground. He looked terrible. Still, he was giving Eddie a lopsided grin through his mask. "Good to see you again."

"What the fuck happened to you?" 

"Oh, this?" Richie asked, gesturing down at himself and huffing out a laugh. "This is nothing. Don't make it into a big deal."

Eddie narrowed his eyes at him, bewildered. "Don't make it into a⎼ Richie! You're bleeding all over my fucking carpet!"

Richie looked down and grimaced. "I'll get you a new one." 

Eddie let out a sigh. "Just come in before one of my neighbors sees you and calls the police." He moved aside so Richie could stumble inside. He almost fell over and Eddie had to slide under his arm to keep him on his feet and help him to the couch. 

Eddie left him there while he went to get his first aid kit, turning on the lights of his apartment on the way back to the living room. It was then that he noticed that his hands and his sleeping shirt were all covered in Richie's blood. Which meant Richie was bleeding all over his couch. Again. Damn it. 

It all started a few weeks ago. 

Eddie was walking past the dumpster next to his apartment building after a night shift when he heard a loud noise inside. At first he thought it was a rat or maybe a dog searching for food in the garbage, but then he heard a voice⎼ a male voice, humming a song that Eddie faintly recognized.  

He pinched his nose and poked his head over the edge of the dumpster, seeing a man dressed completely in black with a mask pulled haphazardly over his face. The part that was visible was bloody and swollen and most of his clothes were ripped. Eddie immediately pulled his phone out to call the police or an ambulance, but the man loudly protested. With difficulty, he dragged himself out of the dumpster, repeatedly telling Eddie that he would be fine⎼ 

Just before he passed out, right there in the alley. 

Eddie couldn't possibly leave him there and it didn’t feel right to call someone when the mystery man was so clearly against it, so he carried him inside, feeling grateful that he lived on the first level and wouldn’t have to drag him up a flight of stairs. 

He stitched up his numerous puncture wounds and iced his bruised eye but he couldn't do anything about his two or three broken ribs and his probable concussion. Still, no matter how many times he tried to convince Richie to let Eddie take him to the hospital once he woke up, Richie wouldn't let him. And when he asked for a reason he simply told Eddie that the less you know about me, the better before disappearing through the fire escape. 

The next day Eddie had arrived to work and heard about the two men that had been admitted the night before after a man in black clothing interrupted their attempts at robbing a bodega. It didn’t take a lot for Eddie to connect the two, very obvious dots, together.  

It became routine after that. Now that Richie knew what he did and where he lived, everytime he would get hurt doing⎼ whatever it was that he did, he would show up at Eddie’s door so he could fix him up. Eddie pretended to be annoyed but he couldn't help feeling like this way he was helping Richie fight crime.

"What was it this time?" Eddie asked, dropping to his knees next to the couch, pulling out his stitching kit. 

"Two thugs trying to steal a couple’s car at gunpoint." 

Eddie nodded abstently before his face pulled into a frown. "Wait, gunpoint?" He lifted Richie's black hoodie. "Are these fucking gunshot wounds?"

"Some of them." Richie said with a shrug but his face twisted in pain when the movement made the holes in his stomach bleed more. "The other guy had a knife."

"Richie⎼"

"I know what you're going to say but no hospitals, Eds." He said, letting out a hiss when Eddie rolled him over to check his back for exit wounds. 

Eddie let out a huff. "Fine. Lucky for you, this gunshot wounds look pretty through and through and it doesn't look like they hit any internal organs." He explained. "Stitches should be enough."

Richie’s mask only covered half of his face allowing Eddie to see the huge grin he gave him, crooked teeth and all. "See? Why would I need a hospital when I have my own doctor here."

Eddie snorted. "I'm not a doctor."

"No.” Richie said, grin growing bigger. “You're my sexy nurse." 

Eddie felt his face go hot. He hoped the pain would keep Richie from noticing the way he was blushing. "Stay still okay?" 

"Yes, sir." Richie said, taking a deep breath just as Eddie stuck the needle into his skin. "Holy shit." He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut behind the mask.

"Sorry. I don't have anything for the pain." 

Richie shook his head, gripping the back of the couch with his hand. "It's okay. I’m okay. You should see the other guys. They got the worst of it."

Eddie snorted, shaking his head. "I'm sure they did." 

He would probably find out tomorrow when he walked into work to find them handcuffed to a hospital bed with several injuries and a mouth full of trash. Literally. It was sort of Richie's signature. Leaving the bad guys tied up where the police could find them after sticking trash in their mouths. It was what earned him his nickname⎼ Trashmouth. He was thrilled the first time he heard it and started insisting that Eddie called him that. Eddie didn’t. Instead, he forced Richie to tell him his real name because I think I deserve to know the fucking name of the idiot I'm giving free medical care to.

"I just don't understand why you insist on doing this." 

"Because I'm good at what I do, Eds."

"The only thing you're good at is taking a beating." Eddie shot back with no real heat. They had this conversation every time Richie showed up, but Eddie was yet to be able to convince him to stop. "You should at least get some kind of body armor or something." 

"It would only slow me down." 

"You know what else will slow you down?" Eddie asked, cleaning up the blood so he could dress the wounds with clean gauze. "Dying." 

"Aw Eds, are you worried about me?" 

"No.” Eddie said with a huff, the tips of his ears burning. “I'm worried about how I’ll explain a masked man bleeding to death on my couch to the police."

"You would never let me bleed out. You're too good at what you do." 

"Is that why you keep ending up here?" 

"That and the fact that I enjoy seeing your cute little face." Richie said with a wink. 

"Shut up." Eddie said, wrapping gauze around Richie's middle. Not for the first time, Eddie found himself wondering what Richie's own face looked like behind that mask. He already liked what he could see⎼ his pretty blue eyes, the freckles dusted across his cheeks, his big lopsided grin. A part of him was glad he couldn't see the whole thing, it would make stitching him up all the more difficult with how distracted he would be. He shook his head, getting distracted now just by thinking about it. "There. You're all set."

"Thank you, Doctor K." 

Eddie smiled, pulling Richie's hoodie down. "Not a doctor, but you’re welcome." He said, standing up and starting to gather his stuff. "You can spend the night here if you want. Get some rest." 

Richie shook his head. "As much as I would love to sleep here with you⎼"

"You’d be sleeping on the couch⎼"

"I should get going." He finished, pushing himself to his feet with a grunt of discomfort. 

"Are you sure?" 

"Don't worry Eds, I'll probably stop by again soon enough."

"And by stop by do you mean stumble into my apartment, bleeding half to death?" 

“Something like that, yeah.” Richie told him. Eddie rolled his eyes with a chuckle. “Would you rather I show up for dinner instead?" He added and Eddie was surprised to hear the serious tone in his voice. For someone who was so reluctant to tell Eddie anything about himself this sounded a lot like he was asking him on a date. 

He narrowed his eyes at him. "Would you still wear your mask for that?" 

"I could be persuaded to take it off." Richie said with a shrug. "Among other things." 

Eddie snickered, shaking his head. "Right. Well, I have a night off next Friday."

"Yeah, okay.” Richie nodded. “It's a date." 

"Try not to get yourself killed before that, yeah?" 

Richie laughed while making his way to the fire escape. For some reason, he insisted on making his exit through there instead of the door, every time. It was more dramatic, he said. 

"Yes, Doctor K." He said, half of his body out the window already. 

"Still not a doctor!" Eddie called out just as Richie jumped down on the street with a groan of pain. "Fucking Trashmouth." He muttered under his breath, trying to fight off a stupid smile as he cleaned the blood from his apartment, already thinking about the next time he would see Richie. 

Tag list: @daddyphantomtbh @yes-dillman-yes @richietoaster @beepbeeprichiellc @its-stranger-than-you-think @lemonaayyee @losers-gotta-stick-together @tinyarmedtrex @richiefuckfacetozier @sam-i-am2468 @stylesmelon  @s-s-georgie @reddie-for-anything @eddiefuckinkaspbrak @constantreaderfool @hammockrichie  @jesuschristsupruvestar @mirandonsky @reddie4diaster @alargedepresso @purplepoisonedgem @pan-ini @reddie-to-cry @reddieforlove @trashmouthnick @multi-fandom-wby @wheezyeds @nancynwheeler @reddieslashgeneralhorror @madi-personal @reddie-tozibrak @lover-mouth @atownofeggs @that-weird-girls-blog @appojoos @castielwinovak @a-gay-treee @twoidiotsinl0ve @fcngirltrxsh @spirited-marvel @typewrxter @rebecca-the-queen @juhavs @thegoshdiddlydangdoor @soooobr @purebloodqueen @call-me-bread  (if you want to be added, let me know!)

[connordavidscamera]

Boyfriend Picks My Makeup! | CB

A/n: this one isn’t much of a “video” but I think I still kinda like it. 

Summary: Literally just Connor picking out Harley’s makeup for a night out.

Warnings: fluff

Word Count: 1.6k

***

“Hey what time is Brian getting here?” I ask my boyfriend who is resting casually against my pillows. 

“I think he said around four. Why?” I check the time on my phone and look back at him, he’s scrolling through his phone.

“We should film something before he gets here.”

“Like what?” His phone shuts off with a click and he tosses it beside him, opening his arms for me to come cuddle. I don’t resist.

“Well, I was watching this video the other day,” I say, crawling into his lap. “And this girl had her husband pick out her makeup for a date night.”

“You want me to pick your makeup? Do you trust me enough for that?”

I shrug, “You’ve seen me get ready plenty of times. I’m sure you could pick something out.”

“Okay… does it have to be like the whole glam? Because I don’t know what colors work with what and I don’t think I could pick your eyeshadow.”

I chuckle and press a soft kiss to his lips. “You get to pick whatever you want.”

He nods, “That’s a lot of power. I could mess this up.”

I nod, “And you’re taking me out looking however I look with what you pick so… I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“We’ll go somewhere dark,” he jokes and I hit his chest with a scoff. 

“Asshat.”

“Come on, Miss Madden. Let’s go to your beauty room.” He pats the sides of my thighs and I take the hint, removing myself from his lap. 

“Hey guys! We’re the Brashier’s and welcome back to our channel!” Connor smiles brightly, pulling me into his side and I almost slip off my chair. 

I squeal and grasp at his arm. “So today’s video is inspired by another video that I saw a couple do a few weeks ago. It was a “husband picks my makeup” challenge, so we thought we’d give that a try.”

“This is not going to be good. I can already tell you that. I haven’t a clue about makeup.”

I cover a side of my mouth and stage whisper, “That just tells me he doesn’t watch my videos.”

“Hey!” He pokes my side. “I’ve watched some.”

“Some,” I roll my eyes at the camera. “Sure.”

“Anyway,” he presses. “I’m gonna take the camera and pick out her makeup. And then she has to wear it for our night later. We’re going out with a friend. So if this turns out really bad, we’ll go somewhere dark. Like a movie or something.”

“Well I thought I’d be nice and I wrote down what he needs to get on this list. I didn’t write down shade names or anything, just a general list of what I wear daily. So this is for you,” I hand him the small piece of paper. “I’ll leave the room so I’m not tempted to help you. Good luck.” I pat his chest and go to stand up.

He hums, “Good luck kiss?”

I laugh and lean down to press a quick peck to his lips. “Don’t break anything.”

The screen cuts to Connor holding the camera in front of my makeup. 

“Alright guys, this is already proving to be harder than I thought. Because my girl is so organized, but I have no idea what any of this is. But here, I’m gonna tell you my plan for her look tonight. I want something simple. Kinda like she’s not wearing any makeup. Because I love the way she looks without it. Seeing her makeup free face first thing in the morning? God, I think my heart stops beating for a minute. She is genuinely the prettiest girl I have ever seen. I mean, you saw her in the intro, she’s stunning, right?” He shakes his head with a fond smile. “But yeah. I want it soft. So we’re not doing any eyeshadow. But let’s get started shall we?” He opens my top drawer, “Primer.” He pulls out a pump from the corner of the drawer. “Becca backlight priming filter.... I don’t know what it does but it’s a primer, so let’s go for it.” 

He looks through a couple more drawers, in search of foundation and concealer. “Hourglass vanish stick foundation. Does this look like her shade? Is it too dark? I don’t see another one of these here. Let’s just go with it. We’ll get a lighter concealer. Oh wait! What’s this?” He pulls out my white LA Girl foundation. “This is pure white… What is this for? Maybe she can mix it with this… yeah let’s do that.”

He sighs, “This is taking forever, so we’ll probably just speed this up in editing.”

The video moves quickly through him getting the rest of my makeup and setting it all on my desk. 

“Alright, lover. I think I got everything.”

I laugh, “I think you got everything in my makeup room.”

“No, I have a reason for it all.”

“Why are there three different powders?”

“I wasn’t sure which one was your shade. But I knew you used this white one for your under eyes, right? And then you use another one for the rest of your face.”

I nod, “So you do pay attention.”

“Bub, you can’t watch me while I film. I get nervous.”

“No you don’t.” He says, sitting just outside the frame and resting his arm on the desk, his head in his hand. “I’ve watched you film plenty of times.”

“But you usually leave after a couple minutes.”

“Come on, lover. I just want to watch you get ready. I like watching you.”

I sigh, “Okay, but don’t distract me.”

“I would never.” 

I glare at him.

“I won’t. I promise to be a good boy.”

And he is. He sits quietly and watches me do my makeup, only stopping to look down at his phone a couple times. 

He looks down at his phone again a few minutes later, after I’ve finished putting on my mascara and lets out a little laugh. “What?” I ask.

He turns around and laughs again. “Really Craigen?”

“Brian?” I look toward the door and sure enough there’s our red-headed friend smiling over at us.

“Hey Brash.” 

“How’d you get in here?” I ask, putting my brush down.

“Connor gave me the code. Let myself in.” He says, walking into the room. “Are you filming for your channel?”

“Our channel.”

“Can I be in it?”

“If you want to be,” I scoot to the side and he comes into frame. 

“Hey - wait, what are your fans called, baby Brash?”

I look over at Connor and he shrugs. “I don’t know. We hadn’t thought about it.” Truly we didn’t know if we even needed to name them. It’s not like there are a lot of them.

“Fine, I’ll name them… Brashier babies. Hey Brashier babies. Tell Harley how fucking pretty she is in the comments. Also follow me on my social media, it’ll be in the description box.”

“Says who?” Connor counters with a smirk. 

“Harley loves me. She’ll put it in there.”

I roll my eyes, “Alright. You guys are distracting me. Let me finish this and I’ll be there in like five minutes.”

“Fine,” Brian sighs and presses a kiss to my cheek. 

“Dude, kiss your own girlfriend,” Connor comments before leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to my lips. “I love you,” he whispers.

“Love you too,” I say and squeeze his hand before he disappears down the hall, still bickering with Brian about “appropriate behavior around someone’s girlfriend.” I roll my eyes at them. “They’re children.”

---

“Alright guys,” I say and sit between my boys. “How do I look? Can we still take me out? Without having to go somewhere dark?” I joke. 

They both examine my face a little too thoroughly. “Hmm…” Brian hums. “I think she looks alright. Connor?”

He’s looking at me like… I don’t know honestly. 

“Earth to Connor. Stop drooling.” Brian rolls his eyes, “I guess you have your answer. Now come on, I’m starving.”

“Alright. I guess that’s the end of this video? Sorry if it wasn’t that great. We’ll try harder next time.” I rest my head on Connor’s shoulder and he presses a kiss to my temple. “Bub, you want to do the outro?”

“Sure. We’re the Brashier’s and - wait. Today’s word of the day is: ravishing. So, definitely use that in the comments. And we’ll see you in the next one. Bye guys.”

I shut the camera off and set it on the coffee table. “Alright, Bri. Where do you want to go?” I ask, taking my phone from my pocket, seeing a notification that Brian tagged me in a story. It’s a boomerang. I’m laughing and Connor’s looking at me with the dopiest grin on his face. The caption reads “Craigen’s sweethearts” and I can’t help but roll my eyes. There is no one in the world that was more excited for us to announce our relationship. He’s been waiting for it basically since we started going out. He’s our number one supporter and it’s probably the cutest thing ever. (Well, him and Shawn. But Shawn has wanted to say something because his fans have been asking in the Q&A’s about Connor and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could go without saying something. A lot of his fans lowkey miss Connor this tour and I don’t blame them.)

“We’re your sweethearts?” I tease him, turning my phone to face him. 

“Um, yeah. Obviously. You wouldn’t be together had it not been for me.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Hi, had I not literally pushed him into your side at Sam’s party nothing would have ever happened. Brash is a pussy.”

“Hey,” Connor exclaims. “I am not!”

Brian scoffs, “Yeah, okay.”

***

I hope you enjoyed reading! Like, reblog, and leave feedback!!

 Permanent tag: @soyalimoncada-blog @tinycertain @magcon7280 @daisyangei  @fallinallincurls @lovewithanattitude @sinceweremutual @myyohmyuohmyy @perfectly-mendess @enchantingbrowneyedgirl @baroness-alison @lostinmendess @linanilssonfurberg @luvluvxx @mariamuses @shawnieeboyy @divinginfearlessly @mendesficsxbombay @shawnsthighs @zaahidahhh

* bold wouldn’t let me tag

** if you want to be added or removed from any list (permanent, Shawn, Connor,  We Were Us, or Not So Brash Brashier’s just let me know)

[twisted-leader-of-something]

Twisted Wonderland OC - Quentin Nighy-Sallow

Hello Twisted Wonderland Fandom, a while ago I made Quentin after bingeing through a bunch of Twisted Wonderland videos that appeared on my feed on most of my social media when TW had just come out. And then proceeded to develop her a lot as time went on, but I've been really, really nervous to post about her because I really don't want to bother people with my OC stuff if they don't care about OCs. But then recently people have been posting about their Ramshackle Dorm OCs, which gave me courage to post my own OC, who is from Ramshackle Dorm. So, thank you to those people! (I'm sorry, I don't want to tag people as the blog starts.) So, here I am. Making a blog about my OC stuff. 

If you don't care about OCs, I'll put a read more here. I think it works on Mobile too, if not, I'm sorry Mobile users!

[Credit to Picrew, this one specifically now that I found it!: https://picrew.me/image_maker/43383, I would draw her but the app I use keeps crashing so I'll do it when it gets its crap together]

Full Name: Quentin Nighy-Sallow (neé Desmona)

Nickname(s): Quarry (By her friends from her homeland and Night Raven College, late game by the first year squad, Kalim, Lilia, Silver, Cater and Trey), Stingray (by Floyd), Le roi guērisseur (by Rook, before the game starts), Le roi millieu (by Rook) Reine de l'espoir (by Rook, late game), Little Rabbit (by Oberyn), Auntie/Piblingie (by her neiflings) 

Twisted from: Morgan Philips [from Enchanted]

Gender: Female

Species: Human

Age: 18

Birthday: July 20th

Star Sign: Gemini

Height: 5'7''5 or 171.45 cm

Eye Color: Hazel-Brown

Hair Color: Blonde-Brown with two Black streaks 

Homeland: Providence of the Former Kingdom of Analasia

Family: Mother and Father (Executed), Older Sister [Faustina Desmona/Opal] (Estranged, later Reunited and currently working on their relationship) Older Brother [Rasul Desmona] (Cause of Death Unknown) Amiel, Eadwine, and Azazel (Spouses) 

Dorm: Ramshackle

School Year: Second Year (held back a year due to leaving school to settle a political uproar)

Class: 2-A, Student no. 16

Occupation: Dorm Head/Diplomat/Scholar/Noblewoman

Club: Literature Club

Best Subject: Magical Creatures and Herbology

Dominant Hand: Ambidextrous (Mostly Left)

Favorite Food: Any Homemade foods

Least Favorite Food: Leftovers/Scraps/Moldy Foods

Likes: Reading, Taking Care of People

Dislikes: The Staff and Dorm Leaders giving her work, Calls from Certain People

Hobby: Reading in the Library

Sexuality: Pansexual 

Unique Magic: 'Jar of the Heart' - Quentin goes into a mode [for lack of better term] where she can see a jar that tells her things about person without any research or prior knowledge about the person. Such as, a person's background, family and family history, personality, and how powerful/dangerous they are from how the jar looks and seems to be made of. But most importantly, she can tell a person's Blot level represented by ink in a person's jar. She cannot change the jars or the ink inside in anyway, she can only see them and move it closer so she can see it better. She cannot she her own jar. You can tell when she goes into her 'Jar Seeing Mode' as she calls it because her eye color changes colors constantly and she seems like she is hallucinating.

Talent: Knowledge about Mana and Magic

Personality: Quentin tends to do things at her own pace unless you ask her for help because she is a nice person deep down, but because of her time at NRC, she's just learned to be independent rather then help others. But she hides a friendly and fun person to be around, despite her pessimistic, passive-aggressive and selfish prick like impression most people get from her. She is a mother figure to her dormmates, a good ally to those she considers allies and a formidable enemy. However, because of her background, she has lots of issues and is judgmental towards everybody. She also tends to be negative and disgenious because of her inability to trust others.

Background [Will Make a More Detailed Post about Backstory, Because it's Long and Detailed, So Here's a Shortened Version]: 

Born and raised in Andalasia, a once picture perfect country in shambles due to political strife between the upper and lower class, to the noble family of Desmona. She grew up without much intraction with the peasant class, due to fears of her being killed. She grew up with the other nobleman and royals being taught a lot and seemingly given whatever her family could until her older sister  Faustina ran off and married a Fey, which was a catalyst for the lower class and caused her parents be executed when the people demanded repercussions for her eldest sister abandoning the kingdom. Leaving Quentin and her older brother Rasul to fend for themselves as a noble house. Which, despite the sudden change and problems it brought, worked out. Her older brother died under mysterious circumstances that Quentin refuses to talk about, which caused her to be in a very bad depression for a long time which she was brought out of by her wife and husbands. When she was searching through her brother's things, she found an acceptance letter into Night Raven College, which should have been impossible due to the royal family's insistence on not a single nobility leaving the country. Quentin managed to convince the royal family to let her go to NRC, which worked through a lot of convincing and a lot of non-disclosure agreements. She tried very hard to hide herself in the student body of NRC, even disguising herself as a boy to blend in, but when she got there was almost immediately singled out as the only person in the old Ramshackle dorm and being Andalasian, despite her best attempts at trying to blend in. She was treated not so great by the staff and dorm leaders who used her as a gopher despite supposedly being on a similar level despite being a first year until she eventually got sick of their treatment of her and she snapped at them which caused most of the staff and dorm leaders to realize this girl was a lot more meets the eye, even being a first year. And, other than meeting a few of her friends she has at NRC, nothing much happened until about halfway through her second year, when she was called out from NRC suddenly by the Andalasian royality. And, she answered it to come back to her country in shambles and demanding her dead. And, she was basically handed over by the upper class to the lower class to be executed under charge of betraying the country. And, she was almost executed on live television because of the lower class believed Quentin was that bad of a traitor before she Overblotted and almost wiped out her country in the process. It took a full month for neighboring countries to figure out how to stop her, figuring several things about Overblotting in the process. She was in a full-blown coma for a month after she Overblotted and Andalasia was put under investigation for claims Quentin made when she Overblotted, which where true. The royality of Andalasia was eventually put under the custody of a shady organization that researches Overblots. When Quentin woke up, she was basically treated like a child or a monster in an isolated faculty, which she hated more than anything else but she learned to accept and deal with until the next school year rolled around, and she was able to go to NRC thanks to lots of convincing from many people. 

[wolfpawn]

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 100

Chapter Summary -   Tom and Danielle enjoy their holiday, Tom ensuring it is as pleasurable as possible, in every manner. SMUT

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long.  This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog​​​ @jessibelle-nerdy-mum​​​ @nonsensicalobsessions​​​ @damalseer​​​ @hiddlesbitch1​​​ @winterisakiller​​​ @fairlightswiftly​​​ @salempoe​​​​ @wolfsmom1​​​​

If you wish to be tagged, please let me know.

Danielle sighed as she began to feel herself waking up. Part of her did not want to.

The day before, Tom admitted to a little secret he had withheld from her. He had cancelled their booking at a run of the mill hotel Danielle had booked in their next destination and instead booked a five-star hotel for them as a treat. She was unaware of the change and asked Tom to type in the name of the hotel she had booked into the GPS on his phone, Tom gave it the name of the hotel he had chosen and said nothing, simply instructing her as the device dictated. When they arrived at their destination, Danielle looked at the hotel confused and bewildered. When she turned and asked Tom what name he had put in, he answered the hotel they were at.

“Why did you do that, it’s the wrong place?” Tom simply grinned wickedly back at her. “What?”

“I did a thing.”

“What thing?” She sounded more like an exasperated mother than a girlfriend.

“I cancelled our booking elsewhere and booked this place.”

“Tom!”

“No, please listen; you paid a small fortune for this holiday, you booked the flights, the accommodation, the car…”

“You already changed the car.” She pointed out, her hand indicating to the blue and white symbol of the German brand on the steering wheel.

“And it was a great idea.” He stated assertively. “And so is this, come on Elle, you deserve it.”

“You are so bold.” She scolded as she parked the car properly.

“You’re not even going to argue?”

“No, I have decided to pick my battles, and a five-star hotel is not one to argue…as long as they have nice food.”

“We can drive into the town if it doesn’t, but it is the best hotel in the town apparently.”

“It’s not in the town, the town is six kilometres away, we are in Fossa.”

“Wait, really, this is Fossa?”

“Yeah, why? Why would Fossa register with you?”

“I know someone from around here.”

“Fair enough.” Danielle thought no more of it and got out of the car.

*

They had gotten changed and gotten something to eat before driving around the different parts of the scenic area that surrounded the town, finishing off the evening with a meal and a glass of wine in the hotel. Again, they were spotted by eagle-eyed tourists who seemed to be actively looking for Tom as he had been seen not too far away the day before in Clare. It was almost as though people were trying to guess where he was. They took a few pictures from a distance but did not interact with the pair, which suited them.

That night they fell asleep contently after receiving a text from Luke that simply confirmed their thoughts; people were guessing where the pair were going to turn up and those who spotted them simply bragged that they had, nothing more of note.

*

“What are you doing?” Danielle’s voice was heavy with sleep.

“Nothing, just relax.” Tom’s voice was sharper, he had been awake for a half an hour and was pressing his body against hers.

“Tom!” Danielle stretched as she shifted her backside slightly, rubbing it into the crotch of the actor. “Don’t be bold.”

“I am nothing of the sort darling.” His hand snaked down her body before making its way to her hip, silently asking her permission to continue; when Danielle moved herself slightly to allow Tom better access to her body, he gently used his hand to lift her leg up and over his own one, spreading her legs wider yet not forcing her to have to hold it up herself. “Have I mentioned recently how much I adore you and your salacious body. I fear you were sent to torture me with it.” His hand went to her core, gently toying with her sensitive folds and the bundle of nerves just above them. “How I love being in bed with you.”

“Tom,” Her voice was more of a gasp as he circled her clit languidly.

“Yes, my beautiful Elle, what is it?”

“I…”

“What do you yearn for?” His lips brushing against her ear as he spoke, “Tell me.”

“You.”

“But you have me.”

“Stop teasing me.” She warned, though she lacked the bite needed to enforce her words.

Gently, having already used his hand to ready her by making her moist, Tom aligned his hardened manhood with her opening and pressed in. “Like that?” Danielle moaned pitifully as her body was filled so perfectly, her every wish granted as slowly and leisurely, Tom began to move, his motions soft yet touching everywhere that felt exquisite in her, his hand ever so lightly gliding over her clit to allow her to feel more as he moved. “I love your incredible mind, your untameable sass and your delicious…FUCK!” she used her muscles to grip him tighter. “Elle, I fucking love that, I do, but don’t do it again because I will finish as soon as you do and I want to please you as I never have before and it will be hard when you have me dopey from an incredible orgasm.” He focused on getting himself to rub her inner areas to get her closer to her release.

“What are you gonna do to me?” she questioned, her breaths becoming shallow as she felt herself succumbing to the pleasure that was quickly engulfing her.

“I am going to have you, again and again, until you fall back asleep from exhaustion,” His own breaths becoming harsher as he focused his efforts on the task at hand. “I am going to have you nothing more than a moaning mess, your body alight with the pleasure I have given you, until you cannot take any more, then when you wake up, you will be so stiff, every last person we meet today will look at you and wonder why you are groaning as you move, some thinking of what caused it and grinning.” He nipped her ear and pressed himself into her as deep as he could as he felt her tighten around him rhythmically and her orgasm took over her, her moans stifled by her biting her lips together, but her nails dug into his thigh as she did her best to back herself onto the stiff organ filling her. As soon as she ceased moaning, Tom pulled himself from her immediately, knowing he would not be able to stave his own orgasm if he remained in her, her pussy pulsing around him as he did so.

Hardly waiting for her to catch her breath, Tom forced himself onto his knees and shirked down the bed, under the covers to between her legs. “Tom?” Her voice was slightly husky, “What are you…oh fuck, you were serious.” In the time it took her to ask the question, Tom had begun to lick and lap at her exposed clit. “Tom, I need…”

“What you need is more.” He insisted, pursing his lips around her and beginning to apply light pressure to it, gently grazing his teeth over the nerves as he toyed with it. When he felt her push her groin up, as though pleading for more attention in the area, he grinned and added two fingers to her, her body was more than able for such after her recent orgasm. On doing that, he pressed in so only the first and second knuckles were visible, as his long dexterous fingers easily found their way to the spot he had learned so well in her and stroked the little bundle of nerves within her as his lips assault the ones on the outside of her body. Danielle yelped in pleasure and her hand went to Tom’s head immediately, fisting his auburn hair as she ground her body into his face to get more friction, the sensation of him attacking both her greatest pleasure points simultaneously was too much for her. “Play with your tits.” He ordered, his words slightly muffled by not taking his lips off her.

Though she felt like holding him to her, for fear he would stop, Danielle did as she was instructed with one hand and toyed with her erect nipple, the other unable to remove itself from him, loving the feel of her hand in his hair, instructing him to continue. It only took a few moments more before the attack on three pleasure points on her already sensitive body became too much and Danielle found herself gasping for air as her back bowed and she moaned loudly, another orgasm racking through her, more intense than the first.

When she was done, she was gasping for air, her body telling her that the two releases she had drained her considerably. “Jesus Christ.” She declared between breaths.

Tom came up from under the covers, grinning in delight as her release covered his chin and lips, glistening in his short beard. “Did you like that?” Danielle nodded, her features almost dopey. “How about one more?”

“Tom.” She whined. “I can’t possibly…”

“Now my darling Elle, you have just set me a challenge.” His grin grew wider as he gently coaxed her to turn around and go on her hands and knees. When she did not physically or verbally argue, he slowly placed himself to her now drenched entrance. “Can you try?”

“Please.”

Hearing her plea was the only encouragement he required, so Tom pushed in with ease and put his hands on Danielle’s hips, slowly starting a pace as he stared down where he could see himself impaling the woman in front of him. “Fuck Elle, you look so good with my cock in you.”

“Feels so good.”

“Yeah, you like having me in you, showing you how incredible you make me feel?”

“Yes.” She moaned as he angled his thrusts to rub her almost sore channel. Though she was exhausted, Danielle could not bring herself to want him to stop, she loved the way Tom was making her body become almost overwhelmed with pleasure. “Please.”

“Do you want me to make it feel even better?” He asked, a hand making its way to her breasts which were swinging beneath her as Danielle bounced forward and back on him.

“Not possible.” Danielle pushed off her hands so that she was leaning back on Tom’s chest as they both knelt on the bed, their movements were sloppy but with purpose, to bring them both to release as quickly and pleasurably as possible.

Vaguely aware that there were other patrons in the other rooms connected to theirs, and not knowing how loud Danielle would be on her third release, Tom moved a hand towards Danielle’s mouth but not covering it as the other made its way to her now exposed and tender nerves, which was incredibly sensitive and painfully pleasurable. “I think it is, I’ll prove it.” He thrust up as he forced her body down on him, the feeling of his own release coming warning him to hasten before he failed to make good on his promise. The sounds Danielle was making telling him how close she was to her peak, spurring him on. Though he tried, Tom could not stave his orgasm any longer as Danielle’s tight warmth gripped him and her noises spurred on his ego, causing him to groan in frustration and pleasure as his teeth pressed into her shoulder, an action which was all that was required to throw her over the edge of her own orgasm and join him, her body becoming overstimulated and her mind going blank as she fell over the edge once more, pressing her mouth into his hand to prevent herself from screaming her pleasure.

As both came down from their highs, Tom realised that Danielle could only lean against him like a rag doll, her limbs incapable of movement from everything they had just done. Slowly, he manoeuvred them so that he could gently place her lying on the bed once more and pulled the covers over her. “You win.” She conceded, her face one of exhausted pleasure.

Tom grinned and lay beside her, noticing there was a considerable wet patch in the bed from where they were kneeling; gently, he moved his hand between her thighs and realised just how much pleasure she had endured. “I think you were more than happy to be wrong with that one.”

“I never did that before.” Danielle’s voice was heavy with tiredness, Tom’s prediction of her wishing to return to sleeping proven correct. “M’Sorry.”

“Don’t be, I take pride in knowing I did something like that to you.” Tom kissed her shoulder before Danielle turned around and curled into him, sighing as she fell back asleep, Tom feeling incredibly proud of himself as he began to drift off also.

[aworldoffandoms]

Runaway - Chapter 8

Chapter 8 – Ultimatum

Author’s Note: Hi guys! I’m back with a new chapter! I am so so so sorry for the wait but uni got in the way (and a loss of inspiration to write) but now I can say that I have time to write (yay!)  or when I get around to it lol ...because I’ve finished uni (officially) and all is left for me now is to graduate! Time to figure out what to do with my life now lol. It’s been a long time coming but I hope you like this chapter. I appreciate all the feedback! Thanks for sticking with me!  

Pairing: Liam x MC [Ariel]

Word Count: 4, 600 + (approx - give or take)

Rating: MA15+  

Warnings: Swearing, violence

Summary: Bad news. An ultimatum. Ariel and Liam in two different places trying to fight for what matters to them and for Europe itself. 

Disclaimer: All rights reserved to Pixelberry and all characters belong to them. The plot is all mine.

If you would like to read the other chapters of this story the link is in my bio :) 

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If you would like to be tagged, please let me know! Thanks for reading!

“We now cross over to our leading royal expert, Thomas Marin…what can you tell us about this upcoming European Crown Summit?” 

“Hi, Liza. I'm here in Switzerland where the Crown Summit will be held. This marks the thirty-fifth anniversary where the reigning monarchies of Europe come together to discuss and cinch deals ranging from trade levies, funding and offering infrastructure and tax incentives.” 

Ariel listens, her ears perking up the sounds of the faint, tinny television voices while her hands busied themselves with the menial task of cleaning up. The low hum of the heater which she’d finally gotten the landlord to fix after a month of cajoling sputtered to a halt, then groaned to a stop. 

“Personally, I'm surprised it's going ahead-considering most royals who have gone missing are from some of the most powerful European royal families. Don't you think they'd be some tension?” 

“I'm a bit dubious about that too, but event organizers confirm it will be going ahead…” 

Ariel washes up the remaining dishes accumulated after her lunch with Leo and his wife Katie before both headed back to their home on the west coast of America, her thoughts sifting through the week ahead of work meetings and insufferable sleazy men, getting ready for the Thanksgiving rush.  

During this lunch, Ariel told Leo absolutely everything.  All those months, she'd yearned for someone to listen to her, someone to sit down on the ratty diner booths and listen without a flinch. Now that she had curled around a cup of watery coffee across from the abdicated prince, she had no idea where that yearning had come from.

Intel was a valuable thing, but it didn’t pay the rent or get a plane ticket back home. What else could she do but sit at the screen, desperately grabbing at loose ends? It was a much better use of her time when she actually tried to convince herself of it. His tyranny had to end and using the information she had to be used in a clear and concise way. It would mean nothing if she didn’t use each of this in its littlest form against him. The information she has gathered from all corners of the globe should help her in that attempt. She knew that he had somehow escaped a high-security dungeon in the palace while awaiting trial for treason. How Anton managed to get out under their noses was a mystery to her. Granted, Anton had always had his own connections considering the power he’d once held in his hands. Ariel shivered as roils of nausea shook her again - a more visible aftereffect of the ordeal. 

She was flipping through files about a few off-shore transactions that Anton had made to St. Lucia in the Caribbean when the unmistakable jingle of breaking news splits through her working bubble of concentration. That bubble wasn’t coming back anytime soon.

“We have just received word from the Cordonian Press Office that His Majesty, King Liam has been reported missing. That goes for three of his Royal advisors, Sir Drake Walker, Lord Maxwell Beaumont of Ramsford, Duchess Olivia Nevrakis of Lythikos and Head of Guard, Bastien Lykel. No further information has been shared.” 

The deathly air sets in as she stares at the television with abject horror as icy dread trails down her back. A sob rises in her throat and she doesn’t hold back as she allows it to rip out of her throat like a slingshot. The sound is almost like a wail to her ears but she doesn’t care. 

The world around Ariel slow becomes a dull void, nothing registering to her, nothing makes sense other than the short, staccato notes of her breathing. The journalists on the TV a low hum, the clock ticking in the corner, its hands moving like the passage of time. No way to stop it. No way to stop the inevitable.

Ariel stares ahead of her blankly, her brain shutting down, disassociating in shock. Her catatonic state the only way to separate herself from the chaos of her mind. Her tears have long since dried and yet she cannot gather the strength to move from her position on the couch, her limbs heavy with the burden of the present news ringing inside her head like a foghorn. She wraps arms around her legs as she hugs them to her chest and she welcomes the heavy cloak of emptiness that envelops her in its embrace. 

***

Liam should be in Cordonia…

The words pounded in her ears in the dull aches of what felt like a migraine, but wouldn’t be helped by copious amounts of Advil and a nap on the couch. No, this wasn’t going away anytime soon. 

Yet, she already knew he’d be in Moscow considering the package Marguerite had sent him two weeks prior.  It would be impossible for Liam to go missing outside of Cordonia. Any enemy forces wouldn’t even have been able to show their face at the border checkpoints. How helpful that had been, she thought ruefully. It wasn’t like Anton had been kept out again.

Ariel wallows in her self pity for a few moments more and contemplates if she should just close her eyes and forget about this whole mess and drown in her hopelessness. That was better than thinking about all the possible scenarios that could befall Liam and their friends. The phone chimes. 

The phone's chiming. The untraceable phone is chiming.  

Her eyes widen immediately and she leaps up from the couch and sprints to her bedroom. When she enters, she heads over to the bedside table and she yanks with such force that the lamp on top of it topples over and crashes on the ground. Ariel doesn’t have time to wonder about it before she lifts the phone to her ear. 

In her rush, she doesn’t see the I.D. but in the next moment, she wishes she had because the next words she hears makes her blood run cold.

“Hello, Your Majesty.” 

Ariel gasps, her jaw dropping in alarm. 

“Anton…” 

“Hello, my dear. I have a surprise for you.” 

The way in which Anton says those words makes her blood boil, the rage seeping into her weathered bones and sending a jolt of energy through her. Her voice is sharp and succinct with the next words. 

“Save it, Anton. I don’t need any surprises from you. You’re just a pathetic, disgusting, evil motherfu--” 

“You know as well as anyone that a queen must comport herself to the highest of standards. I doubt they taught you the ethics of foul language alongside teaspoons and whatnot.” 

Her lips were pulled tight as she gritted her teeth, the unmasked anger making her voice almost shake. 

“What could I possibly want from you, Anton? You’ve already ripped me away from everything I care about. What could you possibly do to make me listen to you?” 

There was a small sound on the other end of the line, just a small puff of air, yet Ariel had a sneaking suspicion that Anton was quietly laughing.

“What are you laughing at, Anton? How could any of this be funny?” 

The short snort of laughter’s unmistakable now and an undistinguished shout sounds off in the distance before Anton talks again. 

“Oh, I’m just laughing at how incredibly easy it will be for me to make you do as I say.” 

Ariel scoffs, her fingers tightening their hold around the phone. 

“There is nothing in this world that will make me do your bidding.” 

“Are you sure about that, Ariel? I managed to do so before.” 

Ariel frowns at the tone of his voice. There was almost unveiled glee behind it like there was something he knew that she didn’t and he was basking in this knowledge. 

“What?”

She hears a low laugh in her ear and then a fuzzy shuffling noise masking the rest of it.

“Anton?” 

The following sound seemed to echo as if he had put her on loudspeaker. 

“Ariel...there is someone here that would like to say something to you. I advise you to listen. Otherwise…” 

Ariel’s stomach pinched in fear.  “Otherwise, what?” 

“Well...I guess you’ll have the death of Cordonia’s monarch on your hands.” 

Ariel has to collect herself for a few short moments, trying in vain to keep the tremors out of her voice. The tremors fade. The rage doesn’t.

“I swear Anton...if you touch a hair on Liam’s head--”

Anton laughs, the low sound echoing in her ear. “I won’t hurt him,” A pause. “Well . . . yet.” 

Ariel fiddles with the wedding band around her neck, the feel of the small diamonds lining the circumference of the platinum ring grounding her. 

“I’ve done everything you have asked. I left my husband, my friends, my family. All for what? Revenge? Glory? Power?” 

There is silence on the other end, another unmistakable silence. “I’m doing this because change needs to be made. I deserve to be king and if being king means I kill to get it. Then...that’s what I’ll do.” 

Ariel shudders in disgust. The absolute nerve of this man. How delusional was he?

“It will be a cold day in hell before you succeed in that, Anton.” 

There’s a short bark of a snicker in her ear and Ariel’s nails dig into the soft skin of her palm. She winces at the pain, the only reminder that this was real and she wasn’t dreaming or in hell itself.

“Oh, Ariel...I’ve already succeeded.” 

“Oh?”  

There’s a scuffle on the other end, a pained grunt and then a voice. Ariel’s knees buckle as the sound reaches her ears. 

“Ariel? Ariel? Where are you?” 

 Ariel’s breath hitches she collapses against her bed frame, a broken sob wrenches out of her throat.

“Liam…” she gasps,  hand flying up to her mouth, willing down the sob wanting to spring out of her again.   

His voice is weak when he responds. “You have no idea what a relief it is to hear your voice again.” 

Ariel can’t help but smile through her pain, the tears slipping down her face as she responds. “I could say the same. I missed you.” 

There’s a choking sound as if hearing her voice a second time has stolen his breath. “I’ve missed you too. I can’t believe--”

Anton cuts him off. “Ah. Ah. I believe you are meant to tell her something?” 

There is silence on the other end before a throat is cleared and Liam speaks his tone grave.  

“Ariel. You have four days to surrender otherwise Anton will...will take out most of Europe’s monarchy at the Summit. It’s imperative that you do. Don’t worry about getting to me. I’ll be fine.”

She opens her mouth, then hesitates. No, this isn’t him, or at least the husband she knows. It’s almost like there's a veil over his words, a thin shroud of anger and reluctance lacing through each word almost as if he’s been forced to say it. 

Ariel grinds her teeth in frustration. Oh, Anton was good. Too good.

“Four days. Four days, and I’ll be there.” 

There is a satisfied hum at Anton’s end and she smiles at the sound. She didn’t know that she could be that convincing but after years of hiding and covering her tracks, she was more than an expert at hiding true emotion from her voice.

Liam begins to speak again. “Ariel, please be careful--”

“I think Liam has had enough of a reunion today. We’ll save the big one till later. Take him back to his cell.” 

Despite the plan already concocting in her head about the next few days, Ariel couldn’t help the spike of fear to thunder through her at the thought of Liam getting hurt inadvertently by her hand. She was the catalyst for all of this, after all.  

“How did you find him?” 

The words spill out without forethought, just an attempt, a desperate and frantic one at that, trying to keep Anton on the phone. 

There's dark amusement behind his words as he speaks to her, the smug tenor of his voice making her skin crawl.  “Oh. In Moscow, with Marguerite and his sorry excuse for advisors. You really should consider a better delivery system than the one you had. Packages get tampered with all the time. Among other things.” 

Ariel didn’t have time to say anything else as the line went dead. She glanced at the phone, a burst of anger swelling into her chest until finally a guttural scream left her mouth, the sound reverberating around the room and in her burst of rage throws the phone against the wall and it shatters against it with a resounding crash.  

Shit. 

Ariel begins to pace, her feet wearing a whole into the carpet. What will she do now? She was well and truly stuck now. Despite an earlier plan in her head forming, so many were bouncing around in her head like a ping-pong match that she couldn’t make sense of them. Anton theoretically had her by the throat and any wrong move would mean certain death. For her and ultimately her friends and…

Liam. 

A series of flashing images pass by her eyes in quick succession. Some good. Some bad. But the worst of all is seeing Liam at the mercy of Anton’s contempt, on his knees, his face battered and bruised with dark, tired eyes, those wondrous blue eyes almost dark and hopeless like the ocean during one of Cordonia’s winter storms, his frame defeated like he was broken too many times to really fight anymore.

She had fought hard to keep Liam safe and she’d be damned if she’d let Liam fall and surrender their kingdom into the hands of that maniac. Liam would break if he lost Cordonia. Liam was Cordonia. If a king couldn’t be saved, at least the realm could be.

So she set her plans in motion, using the resources she had at her disposal and contacting most of the royals through an encrypted server. If she was going to beat Anton, she was going to need the strength of all of them combined. They were royals but they knew how to kick ass when needed. The prince of Belgium might have come off as a soft-hearted man, but years of royal pedigree had made him calculating to a fault. Marguerite might be a little naive, Ariel admitted, but her ability to cause a distraction were second to none. The other royals had at least one thing in common - the fleeting chance for redemption and their yearning desperation for it. Perhaps that would finally do the trick.

The date was set.

He wanted power. And Anton was particularly smart enough to find it. At this time and in this particular year there was only one event which would give Anton the leverage he needed against Europe. Leo was right. The Crown Summit is the perfect setting and Anton will find this as the perfect opportunity to implement his plans to the highest of degrees.

Ariel shivers as cold dread washes over her. She knew it was coming. Anton never let her forget it and her contacts kept tabs on the European royal families. Liam’s warning rings inside her head. This was it. 

As the last of the agreed confirmations roll into her inbox, she nods, coldly booking a ticket. If Anton was going to be a crazy, power-hungry psychotic asshole then she was more than ready to smack that smug look off his face while she pulled the rug out from underneath him in a spectacular fashion that even Olivia Nevrakis herself will applaud. 

Ariel snaps her laptop shut and gathers a travel bag, haphazardly chucking in whatever her hands decided to find. Time was of the essence. 

If Anton wanted her in four days, she was going to be there in one. God knows the other missing royals at the rendezvous would need that extra time. Marguerite most of all.

Ariel zips up her bag, a smirk pulls up her lips and despite herself, a triumphant laugh escapes her. 

Anton thought he was above everything and two steps ahead. 

Well...this time? Anton will be the one in the firing line. He just didn’t know it yet.

Anton wasn’t the only one with the power. 

***

“You have four days. Well, she does anyways.” 

Liam glared at Anton as he hung up from Ariel, a smirk lifting his lips. “What are you doing, Anton? You can’t possibly think the Crown Summit will cower to your whims. You have no idea who you’re messing with here.” 

Anton glares as he lowers his head to look into Liam’s eyes with contempt, his lips pull up into a sneer. “I am taking what is mine. And this time I will. Not. Lose.” The last words shooting out of his mouth like knives through clenched teeth, the rage seeping through his tone.

If he was any other person who had not been witness to the atrocities that Anton had done he would shrink in fear but no. Liam was stronger than that and Anton’s wrath did not waver him at all. He survived four assassination attempts for heaven’s sake! 

Liam refuses to flinch, even though his face throbbed and his wrists ache against the chains binding his hands together. He might be king but he wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. Leo taught him that.

Liam stares up at Anton defiantly, his lip pulling up in a mirrored show of Anton’s sneer.

 “I wish you luck on that endeavour, Anton, but it will be a fruitless one.” 

Anton leans back against the concrete wall, arms folded over his chest, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “I find that hard to believe when I have you here, in chains, battered and bruised. I believe I have the upper hand.” 

Liam shakes his head, his lips smoothing into a thin line. “You can lock me up and beat me all you want but you will never get my crown.” Or Europe’s either. 

Anton rolls his eyes as he steps away from the wall and leans down, roughly grabbing Liam’s chin. His eyes are like frigid ice as he stares Liam down, his mouth curled in a snarl. 

“Listen, here, Your Majesty,” Anton spits out the words like hot venom, “I will get the crown. Even if I have to wrench it from your cold, dead hands. This time, you won’t be able to stop me.” 

Liam grins against Anton’s grip on his jaw. “I’d like to see you try…again. ” 

Anton growls deep in his throat, pinning Liam down with his black eyes before Anton rears back and headbutts Liam with such force that burning fire explodes against his face and he can’t help the yelp of pain that escapes his mouth. He falls to the ground with an ungraceful thud, his eyes seeing stars as the world around him blurs, he hears a shout but it’s lost to him as he blacks out completely. 

***

The sound of soft discussion arouses Liam from unconsciousness, his face throbbing painfully, his head pounding as he brings a hand to his face, and finds the once straight and narrow bridge of his nose slightly askew. Broken bones were a common occurrence through his childhood and teenage years. His incorrigible brother was the main reason why. Having seen Leo break his nose on two occasions, setting it back into place was easy, although in Leo’s case he had the royal physicians to do it. Liam had no such thing. Tensing his muscles at the pain that was to come, he places both hands on his nose, tilts his head back to open his nostrils and with a sharp pull, his nose realigns. Liam gingerly touches his face and finds the spot tender, blood starts to trickle down his button-down shirt. He’d have to get it looked at once he returned to Cordonia but he thought a broken nose was a small price to pay for getting rid of Anton once and for all. A battle scar some might say. 

Shuffling can be heard before a whisper pierces Liam’s painful bleary haze, “Liam? You awake?” 

Liam’s eyes open slowly, the pain behind his eyelids almost making him want to immediately close them again as if that would stem how much he was aching right now. Another groan leaves him as he sits up against the metal cot. 

As Liam opens his eyes, he comes into contact with the stark white walls of his cell, the titanium bars which were two inches thick kept him caged. He stands up with shaky legs and pads over to the bars and meets his best friend. 

“Drake? What happened?” 

Liam knew that something must have happened for his nose to be broken the way it had been but as of now his brain was a messy, thick fog. 

Drake gives him a sympathetic look. 

“Ah...well…” 

Drake trails off as he averts his gaze, his feet shuffling against the floor. Liam rolls his eyes and then winces. Even that small action prompted a throbbing pain to explode inside his head. 

“Drake. No need to dance around the subject.” 

Drake clears his throat, his hands gripping the bars tightly. 

“Well...you kinda got knocked out cold but that was before you taunted him. Mind you...I would have said other colourful words to him but I believe you held yourself pretty well.” 

Liam squints, his foggy mind trickling away, the images in his head seeming to be moving in slow motion, yet they were slowly clicking together like a puzzle piece. Once his mind came up for air and the last of the puzzle fit together, Liam’s eyes widened.

“Ariel was on the phone! I talked to Ariel!” 

Drake’s lips twitched in a smile hearing the relief in his voice and the childlike happiness on Liam’s face. One measly phone call to his wife and Liam was already happy beyond words. 

“Yeah, Liam. You talked to her…” 

Drake’s face darkened after his words trailed off and Liam noticed the change and gave him a quizzical look. “What is it, Drake?” 

Drake gave him a small, pained smile, his grip on the bars tightening. Drake wanted Liam to guess but considering he just woke up from a massive head-butt from the raging asshole upstairs, Drake figured he’d need a little prompting. Liam might still be a bit disorientated. 

Drake took a deep breath and met his best friends eyes, his face a stoic mask yet was whole-heartedly trying not to break it. “You were on the phone to her but she...she’s on her way here. Anton gave her an ultimatum. Either she comes here or you die.” 

Liam’s heart sank at that thought. No, it couldn’t be. Not when they were so close.

He knew Ariel enough that he believed she would find a loophole. She always did. Now, it was only a matter if he could as well.

Drake sighs in relief when he finally finds the glint that had been missing the last few weeks in the once strong king’s eyes. Resolve. Determination. Strength. 

Liam gave Drake a smirk, so reminiscent of when they were boys and they would play maze-tag, his young childhood laughter echoing around the palace gardens when he’d do rather un-princely behaviour.

They only had four days to get out of this godforsaken place and somehow stop Anton's tyranny. If he knew Anton as well as Liam thought he did, Anton would stop at nothing to overthrow Europe. Cordonia was just a small country, but Europe? Anton would be unstoppable. Nazario's email echoes in Liam's cloudy mind and Liam's eyes widen. 

Shit.

Nazario's intel becoming startlingly clear. 

Anton will surely succeed but Liam knew that he could not let that happen and Liam suppressed a smirk knowing he wasn’t going to let that happen. He had some tricks up his sleeve. Thank god for all those lessons on strategy and occasional poker games with Drake to hone the skill of deception.

The sound of a loud clang interrupts the silence and a sharp clinking sound and then the soft thudding of footsteps the only sound to fill the air before Liam and Drake come face to face with a harsh looking man. His black hair long and greasy, tied at the nape of his neck, a jagged scar dotting the place around his pitch-black eyes. 

The man standing in front of them lifts his pale lips in a scowl, his expression sour. "So...this is the famous Liam I've heard so much about."

”The favour is not returned.” Liam says as his eyes narrow at the man standing in front of him. Nazario’s email comes to his mind and the images that he had sent and the man beside Anton. It becomes glaringly obvious that the man standing in front of them was Gregory. 

Gregory gives Liam a smirk, crossing his arms across his chest. “You are in for some trouble. Anton is going to make some real good changes to Europe and your small excuse for a country is just the start.”

Drake scoffs. “Yeah, right. I’m sure Anton has a big enough ego already which means he doesn’t need to be stroked by you any more than it has.”

Gregory spears Drake with a dark, menacing glare yet it did nothing to deter the simmering urge to hit this guy. Drake's hands twisted against the metal in response to Gregory's sneer. 

Liam turns to the ragged man and pins him with a cold stare, the blue of his eyes solid like sapphires. 

Liam's jaw clenches so hard, a muscle ticks and his hands holding the bars with a white-knuckled grip. Liam spoke with a calm note to his voice, it was so level that Drake shivered. It had been a long while since he'd heard that tone and the last time he heard it was when Constantine had thrown Ariel out of the ballroom at his Coronation. 

"I will advise that you do not speak another word otherwise you will have the wrath of me and an entire country behind it. You will leave us. Now. I have no patience for a sympathizer like you who blindly follows a man who uses callous ways to gain power. Go." 

There’s a dangerous bite to the last word yet Liam stood with the stoic and commanding air of a king who would do well on his promise to bring that fire to anyone who dares defy him and Gregory must have realised that because he swallows, sending a glare to them both and stomping away, grumbling under his breath. 

Gregory's footsteps fade and there’s an unmistakable sound of a door clicking shut before Liam's demeanor relaxes and his eyes turn warm, focusing on Drake's form across from him.

Liam's voice dropped to a whisper. "I have a plan…” 

Drake raises his eyebrows. “And what does this plan entail, Liam?” 

Liam gives him an appraising look. “Have you been practicing your bluffing skills, Drake?”

Drake looks at Liam confused, his eyebrows pinching inwards before he catches on quickly, seeing the gleam in Liam's now bright eyes. 

 "I can kick your ass in poker. I'm sure I can bluff my way out of anything at this point." 

Liam smiles wide. "Excellent. Now...what would you say to a little subterfuge? Are you ready?"

Drake grins, his brown eyes matching the rising adrenaline rush of revenge sparking in Liam's ocean blue ones. "More than ready, my friend."

[wombtangclanaz]

“Not everyone can be Russ”

So I’m not really sure where to start a whole ass blog but since my rants are constantly triggered by random content I see, I'm gonna stick to what I know and not try to psych myself out and delay this blog further. So we’ll jump right in. I have to shoutout Kato on the Track for always validating the things I think I'm learning on my own, and for packaging those lessons into words that make sense and that I can share with others. If you’re not familiar with Kato, Dame Mec, DJ Pain, Sound Advice, Music Entrepreneur Club and so many other local platforms/people of the sort, you really playin yourself,  PERIODT. These guys really care about layin it out for you in a meaningful way which takes a lot of work. so WATCH AND LISTEN.  So, between yesterday and today, Kato posted a few short videos talking about the subjects we are about to explore. Until I can figure out how to attach said videos, go watch them on IG @katoproducer. The one posted today is titled “Not everyone can be Russ” and I feel that on SUCH a spiritual level. If you’re familiar with Russ at all, you can probably kinda guess what this is about. For those not familiar, Russ is a rapper/song writer/producer/author etc etc etc. who has gained some big recognition for his blueprint as an “independent” artist. I personally don't really listen to Russ or closely follow his career, however his relevance in the industry is undeniable. if you watch any interview with Russ, its clear he's garnered fame by figuring out how to be an independent powerhouse, more or less. (Admittedly, the technical “BUSINESS” side of the industry is still something I lack a lot of knowledge in cause it involves politics that can be annoying, however I'm always tryna find people to teach me more things. If this is you, tap inwardly) But basically, the point Kato is trying to make is that its not necessarily better to be doing EVERYTHING yourself with zero out-sourcing/collaboration. We see this A LOT on applications for Tucson Hip Hop Festival (shoutout THHF fam I love you guys) It seems like young artists are quick to tell us about how they rap AND PRODUCER/WRITE/RECORD/ENGINEER all their own music in their closet. it seems to be a point made to try to impress, when really it can be a red flag. This might be just my opinion, however I have a lot of conversations about this with the mentors I keep close to me and they seem to share my sentiments. The problem with doing EVERYTHING yourself is that it can quickly create a “master of none” situation. The beautiful part of todays music industry is that the technology to do the basic things yourself and is mostly free and at your fingertips. Every kid with an iphone5 can make a rap song. This is one of the reasons that hip hip is one of the most popular genres in the world right now. With popularity comes intense levels of over-saturation. You have to focus your talents and efforts and TIME. If you’re a rapper SLASH producer, ask yourself which one you're more passionate about, which one would be devastating to leave behind? Now, this doesn't mean you’re forever disqualified from making beats in the future or trying your hand at rapping. I think a big factor in a hip hop career these days is TIMING. Take note that Russ released 11 albums and 87 singles CONSECUATIVELY AND FREE OF CHARGE before he really got meaningful recognition with Soundcloud. Not to mention the fact that producers and DJ’s are more recognized and showcased as separate entities, locally and nationally. A big reason is the fact that social media made branding so easy and mostly free. Now, if you’re someone who just likes to experiment and create music and try your hand at rapping, DO NOT LET ME DISCOURAGE YOU. Everyones gotta figure things out, its important that you’re exploring and creating DESPITE everything. Consistency is key. Do not let me dictate your dreams. HOWEVER, if you're looking to take the next step and actually pursue a career, this is advice you may want to take to heart. It sounds counter-intuitive but the best way to gain success as an INDEPENDENT artist is COLLABORATION WITH YOUR PEERS. Another point Kato makes is how up-and-coming rappers are immediately trying to work with artists or entities 3-4 steps ahead of them. Theres many rappers who try to afford themselves the PRIVILEGE of skipping necessary steps in their career. Most notably the LOCAL step. I see so many rappers following this romanticized narrative of being an INDEPENDANT artist, fuck a label got it out the dirt do it all on my own yadda yadda, but are so quick to bash or dismiss their local scene that they have yet to even explore, all the while on social media spamming every single major record label and tagging every legendary rapper they can think of in every single irrelevant thing they post. I can't make any sense of that honestly. I CONSTANTLYYYYYYY have kids reaching out to me sayin they wanna legitimize their local scene, PUT ON for their city, put their state ON THE MAP, help build their community, PUSH THE CULTURE, be socially active and change lives etc etc etc. and have never been to a SINGLE local event (even as a supporter), can't name a SINGLE leader or influential person in their hip hop community or a SINGLE local rapper they admire(who aren't just one of their homies).  I LOVE that energy and passion. but without the KNOWLEDGE of what's going on around you, and the people laying down the roadwork for you, you look low-key disrespectful and very under informed. I mean, this is quite literally the bane of my existence. If you're involved in organizing shows or events or platforms on any level, you know how many people will hit you up to be on every single show/festival but HAVE not and WILL not ever attend or support otherwise. I'm sorry but there's no other way around it. I can speak for the whole state when I say that there are locally conscience artists that quite literally “put on” for their community every weekend and have for years and years. if you message me on IG for coverage on my platform and we have 2 mutual friends, THATS A HUGE RED FLAG. There are many experienced and talented people around you who want nothing more than to provide opportunities and support to pass the torch to the next generation. Its okay to reach out for support and ask for help as long as you’re worthy of it. Dame Mec always says that if you’re reaching out to someone ASKING for something (no matter how small) you gotta make sure you’re working JUST as hard or ALMOST as hard as the people you’re reaching out to. “CLOUT” does not exist if you’re actually worthy of the support, it just comes and it lasts longer. Building in your local scene can really boost the longevity of your career and helps you find “success” in unexpected places. And maybe i’m the one romanticizing now, but asking for something should not be your first contact with said person. Your local networking, knowledge and SUPPORT OF OTHERS should not come solely from YOUR OWN desire for success, wealth or influence. It should come from your utter love and uncompromising passion for HIP HOP and every avenue of culture that goes along with it. You should already be attending hip hop events and having hip hop experiences, not because you decide you're a rapper one day, but because its the thing you enjoy the most and absolutely cannot see your life without it. Sometimes I let myself get annoyed by the lack of knowledge and lack of willingness to learn that I see plaguing hip hop today and I always remember what one of my homies/mentors always says when I wanna talk shit; “their heart just isn't in it” (Pike obvi) and that's just so damn true. If your heart isn't in it, everyone around you is gonna figure that out way before you do. Don't let your ego ruin your career before you even have one