#god hes gorg i cannot

[marshmcore]

I miss having korean bbq and those souju adds on the water bottles,,, so imagine how cunty and pretty demo would be if he was an idol and shilling this family whiskey/scrumpy???

HE’S SO CUNTY I NEED MORE AAAAAA

[n00n3h3r3]

and im s t i l l gonna end today feeling like i did something wrong!! holy fuck!!

[rememberwren]

A Dichotomy of Thought || 6

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Further Parts

Johnny and Simon argue.

CW: mentions of dub con/non con; domestic abuse; ableist slurs

-

Just when you settle in at your job he starts showing up at the diner to terrorize you, like an illness you cannot shake or a cloud you cannot outrun. Maybe he knows that that’s where you’re hiding your phone.

Maybe he knows that you have almost two thousand dollars stashed in your locker in the break room.

Either way, there is no rhyme or reason to his visits. He sets a pattern (once a week) and then breaks it, coming two days in a row, and then doesn’t visit for a whole month, until you are constantly off balance, always dreading the sound of the bell over the door.

Today when he comes, he seats himself at the bar where you are required to talk to him. He watches you work, delighting in the way your hands shake while you pour his coffee. You’ve never met someone who feeds off of fear like this, who gorges themselves on your flinches and trembling.

You think about shattering the coffee pot and taking one of the shards to his throat. You long to slit open his bloated belly and steal back all the feeling he has stolen from you. But you are useless, neutered by the fear that still remains, the fear yet to be eaten. One day…

“This one’s new,” he says, nodding to the new girl: young, with hair in a glossy, gleaming braid over her shoulder.

You tell him her name. How long she’s been working there now. That she’s nice. He hums, filing all the knowledge away in his head and dubbing it all useless by remarking, “Pretty.”

Your hand clenches into a tight fist around the rag you are using to wash down the bar. You don’t know why that bothers you. He hasn’t called you pretty since the early days when he was still trying to win you out from under your family’s thumb—like you wouldn’t have gone anywhere with anyone to be free of them, at the time (You’d had no idea that there were worse creatures out there than the ones who raised you). Maybe there’s some sick part of you that still wants to be wanted by him, that still wants to be pretty.

“Where’s Jackie?” he asks. Then, just to make your head spin: “You’ve been texting her more lately.”

Your skin flushes hot and then cold. You want to ask how he knows that, how he knows at all about the contact in your phone you named JACKIE when you keep your phone in your storage locker at work at all times, charging it in the breakroom, never to bring it home.

You hadn’t been stupid enough to save Simon’s number under his own name. No, God might not have given you enough sense to fill a teacup, but He gave you enough to fill a thimble. You just had to hope that would be enough. You had to hope that you could pull Jackie aside the next time you were both working together and that she would be willing to cover for you, should your boyfriend ask her about your ‘texts’. You hated bringing anyone else into the network of your own lies, but wrote it off as a necessary pain.

“It’s her day off,” you tell him.

He hums, doubtful.

The bell over the door rings.

Johnny looks thin and tired, arm crutch in place as Simon holds the door open for him. He’s dressed for the warm weather in a t-shirt and shorts which show the surgical scars at his knee, vivid purple lines in the fluorescent lights of the diner.

Simon spots you first, and a peculiar look comes over his face, one that you hope your boyfriend doesn’t see because you would have no way to explain it. You wouldn’t call it fondness, but it’s one of recognition certainly, a deeper understanding than you can just pass off as having run into each other a few times in the building.

Johnny sees you next and his face brightens. The strangest thought comes to you: I have made a friend. Then his eyes naturally flicker to your boyfriend, and his entire demeanor transforms—into one of such strange, dark, poignant delight, as if he and your boyfriend are old pals who have run into each other after years apart.

It makes your stomach turn over, and you don’t know why.

You’ve been silent too long. Your boyfriend has noticed, his head turning to take in the new patrons. He asks, voice mild and amused: “You know them?”

“They’re our neighbors. 5C.”

He sits up straighter. “No shit? That’s the cripple you almost killed?”

“He’s not a cripple,” you mutter.

“Sure looks like one from here.” Your boyfriend gives a little salute in greeting.

Johnny makes a beeline for the bar, crutch thudding rhythmically against the tiled floor with every purposeful step. He sits in the seat beside your boyfriend, removing his arm crutch and shifting it to rest on his other side against the edge of the bar. Simon reaches out and adjusts it to keep it from sliding over.

Simon slips into the seat beside him, quiet and solemn, looking like a man braced for bad news.

“Hey there, neighbor. Sorry about all that mess in the parking lot the other day,” your boyfriend says. He jerks a thumb toward you. “She never should have been behind the wheel if we’re being honest.”

“Then why the hell was she?” Johnny wonders, accent thicker than usual, rough. His tone is mild, but the grin pinned on his face is like a wolf’s: hungry for blood. Dangerous. It is so at odds with his happy demeanor that it makes goosebumps rise on your arms. For the first time since you’ve met him, Johnny frightens you.

Your boyfriend is no idiot. He senses the thinly veiled malevolence beneath Johnny’s words but doesn’t understand it (and neither do you). Maybe Johnny really is still upset about almost getting squished like a bug beneath your car, but in that case, his anger at your boyfriend is misplaced. You turn away, grabbing two empty mugs, shoulders tensing. Waiting for all that anger to find somewhere to go.

Your boyfriend shifts on his seat, sighing through his nose a little. He doesn’t like to admit this. “I had some trouble a while back. Got my license revoked.”

Johnny coos, condescending and mean: “Bad luck.”

“Johnny,” Simon says, voice flat with a warning. You place the mugs down in front of him and Johnny, your hands shaking. Reaching for the coffee pot, you fill both their cups to the hallway mark, leaving room for sugar and cream. Some sloshes over the edge of Johnny’s cup.

“Stupid. Stupid,” you mutter, reaching for your rag to wipe it away. The three of them pay you no mind.

“We should have you over. I get a couple of close friends together on Saturdays and we play poker. You’re welcome to join us,” your boyfriend says, looking at you from the corner of his eye.

You blanch, rag dropping uselessly to the counter from your lax hand. The idea of Johnny and Simon being in your personal space, in the place where Bad Things Happen is a nightmare. Though you know they wouldn’t, (good people. They are good people), the thought of them taking place in Saturday poker rituals makes you feel sick. Fresh in your mind is your dream from the other night when you had ridden Simon until your boyfriend passed you on to someone new, and the thought of it becoming a reality is—it’s too much.

You leave your body.

“What do you think, baby?” he asks you, smiling. “Would you like to have them over? Would that be fun?”

“Yes,” your mouth answers numbly, because it has to.

“Then it’s settled. First deal is at noon and we play through the evening.”

“We’ll fucking be there,” Johnny says, words sounding adjacent to a threat.

Your boyfriend doesn’t stay long after that. Perhaps a part of him feels threatened by the presence of Simon, or perhaps he’s grown bored with tormenting you, but eventually he places money (your money. It’s your money. It’s your fucking money—) on the bar top and leaves, the bell ringing at his exit.

Johnny turns his blue eyes onto you. The wolf-like quality that had frightened you so much has fled, receded back into the man, no longer needed. But you know it is there. It’s in every man.

His voice is remarkably gentle when he asks you: “Lass, are you alright?”

“Yes,” your mouth says.

“You’re crying,” says Simon simply, reaching for a napkin to hand you. Your hand reaches for it numbly and uses it to pat at your face.

“It’s just something in my eye.” Your hands stuff the napkin in your apron and pull out your pad and pen, hand poised to write, eyes empty and unseeing. “What can I get for you?”

-

“He’s beatin’ her,'' Johnny says mildly. He waits until they are inside Simon’s car, stuck in traffic on the way back to the apartment. The heat is stifling, the AC not yet working after the time the car spent baking in the sunlight of the diner’s parking lot.

Simon reaches out and adjusts the knobs, turning them more toward himself. Johnny doesn’t like the cold much anymore, making Simon dread the thought of winter coming to the city, of snow. He can’t imagine what it will be like to be Johnny then, surrounded by ice all over again. Clearing his throat, he says: “I know.”

Johnny’s head snaps over to look at Simon, and the expression on his face is one akin to absolute betrayal. It’s the deepest of hurts, like Simon has reached out across the center console and slapped him. Johnny’s never given him that look in his entire life, and Simon could have gone the rest of his life without seeing it.

“You know. You know. And just what have you done to help her?”

“Help her?” Simon asks, bracing one elbow against the driver’s side door and massaging at his temples where a headache has been growing for the last two days. “How the hell do you want me to do that?”

“I can think of a few ways,” Johnny says darkly. “A few accidents that could happen to that cunt next door—”

“No,” Simon snaps. “Don’t even think about it, Johnny. Not only are you in no condition, but it’s fucking illegal.”

“So was half the shite we did in the name of Queen and Country,” Johnny hisses.

“We were following orders,” Simon says, hackles rising. “There’s a difference.”

“The difference is that now you’d have to use your own mind instead of letting someone else do the thinking fer you,” Johnny says, anger making him cruel.

Simon grits his teeth together. The car inches forward in traffic, and it takes all of his self control not to slam on the gas and rear end the car in front of him just to end this fucking conversation with Johnny.

He takes a deep breath through his nose, aiming for calm. He tries more sense, even if it feels like pushing a boulder uphill: “We have no resources to help her, and no idea that she even wants help.”

“Of course she wants help!” Johnny cries. “Why the fuck wouldn’t she?”

“Lots of reasons,” Simon says, thinking of his mother. What had been her reason for staying with his father for so long, for always being willing to open the door to him when he came knocking? Children. Money. Her religion. “You’re thinking of it in black and white but it isn’t. Nothing is.”

“Some things are. Some things are just wrong.” And then, voice laden with disappointment: “Yer a coward, Simon Riley.”

Simon feels these words in his chest, like Johnny has shaped them into a knife and jammed them between his ribs. Simon stares at the license plate in front of them until the numbers and letters blur together, until his eyes burn. His jaw aches from biting back so many hurtful things that he knows he could say, that he wants to say, just to hurt Johnny the way Johnny has hurt him.

But that’s just the imprint of his father on him, like a smudged thumbprint on the glass of his DNA. He’s a better man than that.

He knows it, even if Johnny doesn’t anymore.

[carpettmuncher]

fic recs

aka, i read too much fic and need to share my favorites

gorging myself on you, still can't get enough (insatiable) - sobsicles

i love this so much. casual confessions from dean. insanely horny and conflicted cas. grocery store confessions <3

rating: M

how we're stuck in entropy - shineforthee

unfinished as of now, but worth it imo. sam makes a deal for cas' life and dean has to grapple with grief and mourning. amazing commentary on grief and dean's mindset, and great destiel

rating: E

don't stop, don't slow - hedderstheowl

trans cas and cas being so surprised by how good sex is with someone he loves

rating: E

love's such an old fashioned word. - hedderstheowl

same author as above bc i cant get enough of their fics. i LOVED this concept and characterization of cas. cas gets revived but doesnt believe hes out of the empty, and treats the world around him accordingly.

rating: E

ignite your bones - ilovehowyouletmefall

such powerful storytelling and writing. loved this front to cover. dean kills sam to get the world back- the remaining of tfw 2.0 grapple with the after effects. dean deals with grief, homophobia, and cas' confession.

rating: E

this whole trilogy but namely sam winchester, ally at law - alittleduck, amidsizedfrog

sam wants to be an ally soooo bad but dean refuses to be an acceptable queer. love this characterization so much

rating: T

the cheapest room in the house - biggaybenny

dean downloads grindr for cas to meet guys and gets jealous when cas talks to guys. angst with a happy ending

rating: E

psalm 40:2 - unicornpoe

cas time travels to meet dean pre-hell. pre and early seasons dean my beloved <3

rating: E

benedictions - kalmialatifolia

priest cas and writer dean. unfinished but i think about this fic at least 3x a week. if you enjoy fleabag, youll enjoy this fic. if you enjoy priest porn, youll enjoy this fic. cannot recommend this enough

rating: E

everyone knows the year doesnt stop until april- fleeceframe

first of all, go check out this author right now i love ALL their fics, but this one stuck with me. early seasons destiel. cas has so much love he doesnt know what to do with it. case fic

rating: M

gold in the edges of our vision - sewingnatural

i fucking love this so much. absolutely amazing religious imagery and symbolism. dean and cas share peaches on a roadtrip and are in love about it. fic that convinced me to go on a roadtrip this summer

rating: T

juxtaposition - rhinestoneangels

this fic is short and amazing. interesting prose, dean in hell, religious imagery. mwah love it

rating: G

where the heart is - goldenraeofsun

claire fic of all time if i do say so myself. claire time travels to s7 and hunts with dean before making her way home. i adore this one so much

rating: M

here, bullet, here - a_good_soldier

dean and his relationship with violence. contains pre series dean and post-canon destiel. named from a poem, this one hits you right in the heart

rating: T

use cinderblocks to build a stairway - pollutedstar

dean, sex work, ptsd, and self worth. heed the tags!! heavy fic but thoroughly enjoyable

rating: M

the soul burns brighter than the sun - wow_thisiswheremylifeis

post-canon fix it. cas escapes the empty and effectively breaks it, while telling everyone but dean that hes alive. they grapple with their relationship and fixing the empty. love it!!!

rating: E

let's take a drive - sobsicles

another sobsicles fic because theyre all 10s. jack reverts to baby age, cas is protective, dean and cas have a complicated relationship. amazing fic with amazing feels. best tag ever: maybe we're all a little scared and that's okay

rating: E

the eye is a mouth. - zeke21

dean, sex work, god, a study on the relationship between all three. fucking amazing fic, really nailed chuck's presence in this. go check out this authors other works too, they're all mind blowing

rating: E

asterism of an f-series ford pick up - disabled_dean

altered my brain chemistry a little bit i think. cas and dean go on a roadtrip and dean is exceptionally horny about it. dean is not normal about love and thats okay

rating: M

maybe i like pleasure pain - tothewillofthepeople

another one that wrecked me entirely. one of the best cas centric fics out there, this fic focuses on cas' recovery post-empty. lovely dialogue and imagery, just amazing all around

rating: M

wyoming, january 1996 - luulapants

THEE dean 17th birthday case. fucking amazing storytelling, takes johns journal entry and runs with it.

rating: T

between sex and death and trying to keep the kitchen clean - ftmsteverogers

jupernatural, kid jack, post-canon fix it with empty confession misunderstanding <3 love it so much, this author is so talented :)

rating: E

[yellowocaballero]

Continuing the JJK posting: Gojo is such a mystifying character.

Action show where swinging out the gate you introduce a character who is so incredibly powerful you then have to, before every fight, establish why Gojo can't just show up and fix the problem in seconds. His existence weakens the stakes of everything. The rest of the show you are backflipping ridding yourself of him. He jobs two major bad guys off the gate and every subsequent extensive fight with them feels like cleaning up his leftovers. Put him in a box, he's ruining the game balance. So absolutely broken. As a writer it makes your job so difficult, but it's also the entire point of him. "Hey I want to write the single most badass character of all time who can do the most insane shit but I will also engage with that", rock on king.

I think he's most interesting when understood as somebody who is fundamentally alien and removed from ordinary human thought processes. In his world there is absolutely nothing he cannot do, and the thought 'maybe I can't do something' just doesn't occur to him. He is capable of doing whatever he wants and of killing anybody who tries to stop him from doing what he wants. If he is not doing something, it is because he does not want to do it. If he wants to do something (kill all of his superiors) and he's not doing it, it's because he doesn't think it's the most effective route towards what he has decided to do. I think this informs the majority of his actions (and, importantly, what he doesn't do)(murder). I think he's reasoned out that you should have a general reason to do things, and it feels like sheer luck that he places value and meaning in human life, and as such you shouldn't kill them without a strong reason. Watching the flashback arc, if I hadn't seen a) JJK and b) Naruto and you asked me which shitty teen became a law abiding school teacher and which became a mass murderer I would have guessed the wrong ones.

Anyway, the way I like to think of him, he's a raging narcissist with a god complex to match. Horrifically, he's actually a good teacher, but he is also a teacher as an ego/'raising my child army' thing. He would be the kind of mother who is a good mother but lowkey had kids also as an ego/unconditional love/lots of attention/'surely my child will worship me' thing. Gets randomly into new hobbies, obsesses over them, gorges himself on the novelty factor, before dropping them in a week once he gets too good at them. Rinse and repeat. The only hobby that does not eventually grow boring is annoying people, so it's his only hobby. Geto told him age 15 that he'll never have any friends if he keeps on casually reminding people that they live on his sufferance, so he developed another back-up hobby more conducive for friendship of helping people forget that they live on his sufferance. This has convinced him that he's a god of subterfuge, intrigue, and trickery. Does eat women out, but is convinced that this makes him God's gift to women, and is actually pretty terrible in bed because his partner's desires never even occur to him. Is convinced he's as good at sex as he is everything else. Sex is actually the one thing he's bad at, but he's not ready to hear that.

In S1 he overall left me with the general impression that his entire idea of how high school worked was sourced from anime, and as such decided that being a teacher involved nothing but field trips, sports games, beach episodes, sports festivals, etc. Did not know how the classroom component worked so he skips it. Jossed, but also left me convinced that it would be very funny if he was an immortal 150-whatever years old and had founded the high school himself out of, you guessed it, an ego thing, and never once properly learned how high schools worked and just arbitrarily made his own aging students the new principals so he could continue engaging in training the kids who are too Misfit (TM) to get apprenticeships and living his fun slice of life anime life and raising a child army of kids who will worship him any day now. Annnyyyy day now. Any day now.

[avocado-writing]

notes: i did this instead of anything in my inbox. sorry but it overtook me and became much longer than I thought. also I wrote raphael as the little sub he is teehee.

relationships: raphael x reader; enver gortash & reader (platonic, parent & child); eventual enver gortash x tav

words: 4k

rating: E

summary: a warlock of Raphael's, you visit the House of Hope one day and find a child. he cannot remain there.

Your life, really, is fine. Maybe a bit empty. But fine.

You’ve had Raphael as your Warlock patron for a while now. It’s fine too, he’s fine, there are definitely worse devils to be indebted to - the fact he’s attractive isn’t so bad either. You started fucking a few years ago and he’s basically wrapped around your little finger at this point. He’s still annoying as all hells but he bottoms well enough and the two of you enjoy being on each other’s good side, so it works out. Mostly what he has you do is track down and kill people who’ve pissed him off - and a lot of people have pissed him off, he’s very piss off-able to be fair, so there’s always plenty of jobs and you come to the House of Hope often, in between the mercenary work you do to survive.

This time you just finished hunting down someone who tried to weasel out of their contract. Raphael had you bring him the man’s head as proof of your work, and then you made him give you head after. Par for the course nowadays.

You peel yourself out of Raphael’s embrace as he bathes in the afterglow of getting spoiled in bed by you. You throw on your pants, and go to grab a bite to eat. Your patron always has a feast ready. It’s something to keep his servants distracted with, the constant cooking and replacing of dishes, and it’s nice to never be hungry when you’re here. You saunter into the banquet room and go to pick up a fistful of grapes…

… pausing when you see something utterly fucking shocking.

A little boy. Making himself as small as possible, dark messy hair and darker sunken eyes, all curled up by the fire. He looks at you with terror and you yelp in surprise, grabbing a spare tablecloth to quickly cover yourself with.

“What the fuck?!” you manage, looking around for answers to the unasked question. Nobody is here to give you any. Fucking lost souls, never here when you need them. You turn back to the boy who looks utterly terrified. “Are you meant to be here?”

He visibly swallows, nervous, and nods. Okay, right, great. Kid in the middle of hell. Of course. You're about to find Raphael and give him a grilling, when you hear a little stomach rumble.

You freeze, raise an eyebrow. Almost impossibly he shrinks further into himself.

“Have you eaten, kiddo?”

He shakes his head, unable to meet your eyes. Oh, well, that won’t do.

You grab a plate and begin to load it up with food for him. He looks hopeful though he tries not to show it too much, as if you’ll punish him for the very idea of it. Gods it must have been torture for the child, sitting in front of a banquet with no invitation to gorge. 

When the plate is so full that it threatens to spill over, you squat down and put it in front of him. The boy stares at it for a long moment before looking up at you.

“Go on. Dig in.”

It’s all the permission he needs. He tears into the food you’ve presented as if he’s never eaten before. As if it is ambrosia. You watch him wolf down chicken thighs so fast that he threatens to choke on them, and you feel your heart ache at the wretched sight.

“This really isn’t a place for kids. What’s your name, lad?” you ask, absent-mindedly swiping some greasy hair out of his eyes. You wonder when was the last time he washed, poor kid. He flinches at your touch a little but doesn’t stop eating, somewhat aware you’re probably the first person he’s met here who doesn’t mean him harm. 

“Enver,” he says through mouthfuls of bread. You tell him your name in return, though you aren’t sure if he really listens.

“I didn’t say he could eat.”

Raphael’s voice cuts through the moment, severe, and the boy freezes mid-bite. Terror floods him. He begins to visibly shake.

Oh, no. No. You won’t be having that.

You speak aloud, voice firm.

“Well, I said he could. Ignore him, kiddo.” 

You stand and put yourself between your patron and the child. This little boy has no idea who you are, but he can sense that you have some sort of power over the demon who’s walked into the room. Timidly he continues his meal. When you’re satisfied you turn to your devil, thunderous.

“Raphael? A word.”

Your tone leaves no wiggle room. He harrumphs and follows you far out of the boy’s earshot, where you unleash your fury. 

“Why is there a fucking child here, Raphael?!” He rolls his eyes.

“Oh, his parents sold him to me. Well, to one of my other warlocks, actually, so through the upline he’s mine.”

He speaks as if reading from the paper, not discussing a child’s life. Your blood boils. You want to slap him, but he’d just enjoy it.

“This is no place for… well, fucking anyone, let alone a literal kid. What were you thinking?!”

He shrugs. For a devil meant to be full of cunning, Raphael rarely actually thinks through his short-term impulses into long-term plans. 

“Torture him, I suppose.”

“Don’t you fucking think about it,” you say, hand instinctively summoning your blade. Raphael narrows his eyes. 

“Be careful when you reach for your sword, warlock, lest you forget the person who gifted it to you.”

Fuck. Shit. What an arseache. Okay, you can’t go about this by violence, he’s right. You need to be cunning. You let yourself soften and approach him, laying your hands on his chest. He raises an eyebrow but allows you to caress him. 

“Raphael, come on. You really want a child hanging around here? He’s going to ruin all our fun. I was going to have you on the banquet table later. You don’t want me to ride you while feeding you slices of apple? You enjoyed it last time…”

Your devil huffs but softens under your touch. Gods he really is easy to manipulate when you know which buttons to press. 

“You’re really up in arms about him, aren’t you? Look, they gave him away for a reason. He’s not some sweet innocent. He’s a little bastard, as far as I’ve been told.”

“Please don’t do anything too harsh to him? For me? For your favourite warlock?” you ask, pouting, sliding down Raphael’s body to your knees, ready to nuzzle into his cock in exchange for his agreement. 

He sags, weak for you. Got him.

“Ugh. Fine, you win, kitten. Spoilsport,” he mutters, and you slip him out of his underwear.

The next time you see Enver, it’s been a couple of weeks. You’ve just finished up a hunt and are reporting in - but he’s the first thing you check on. You find him sweeping one of the hallways, eyeing a wailing lost soul warily. 

“Hey, kiddo. How are you doing?”

He jumps a little, however he looks genuinely pleased to see you. Not enough for him to smile but at least some of the tension leaves him. 

“I’m alright,” he says quietly. He still looks sort of greasy. You’ll have to tell Raphael to let him bathe. 

“The boss been treating you okay?”

Enver nods. 

“Doesn’t really talk to me. Just tells me to do chores.”

Well that’s better than torture, you think. You reach into your pocket, root around for a bit, and hand something to him. His eyes go wide and then narrow in suspicion, and you have to reassure him that it’s not some sort of trick.

“Do you know what that is?”

“A sending stone,” he says, confidently, weighing the blue rock in his hand. You grin.

“Look at you! Clever kid. Yeah, that’s exactly what it is. So I take it you know how they work?”

“Each holder can send a message of twenty-five words a day, and the other can reply with twenty-five. Total of fifty each.”

“Precisely! I’m giving this to you for if there’s an emergency, okay? If you’re in trouble, I want you to give me a message and I’ll get here as quickly as I can.”

He eyes the stone. It’s as if he can’t quite bring himself to believe that someone genuinely cares about his wellbeing.

“Why?” he asks, after a while. 

“Because you shouldn’t be down here, and Raphael can be an arsehole. But don’t worry, I can sort him out,” you say with a grin, and for the first time, Enver chuckles. You hear the sound of Raphael calling your name from down the corridor and you roll your eyes.

“Speak of the devil. Take care, Enver, alright? And remember, let me know if there’s a problem.”

He nods, tucking the stone into his pocket before you head off to tie your patron up.

You don’t hear from Enver for a week or so, but one day, when you’re on the road, you get a message coming through.

“Hello. It’s Enver. Are you having a good day?”

You look confused and reply, “Yeah, kiddo, I’m fine. Is there something the matter? Nobody’s hurting you, are they?”

Then, because it is the nature of the stone, you add: “If they are then you just say, I’ll come and set them straight.”

There’s a beat. You can imagine Enver considering his response.

“I’m fine. I just wanted to say hello.”

That’s as much communication as the day will allow but it hits you hard. Oh. He’s lonely.

And from that day on, you have a sort of penpal.

Enver messages you everyday without fail, always excited to see how you’ve been doing. He has very little to report, which you’re thankful for, because you live in fear that he will need to use the stone for its intended purpose. Occasionally he lets you know that Raphael has said something cruel or Haarlep is teasing him, and then it’s just a matter of heading to the hells and setting them straight. Haarlep is like a cat, difficult to make to do anything, but to be honest he’s your friend and will usually acquiesce after some teasing. Raphael is always a bit more difficult to persuade. He still sees the boy as his property, his thing to treat as he’d like, so you have to pull out all of your best tricks in order to convince him.

You always end up coming out on top, though. Funny that.

Your visits to the House of Hope get more regular. Enver greets you with smiles and then with laughs and then with hugs, and you find you’re growing fond of the kid. Every now and then you see a bit of the little bastard Raphael warned you of - you’ll catch him tormenting one of the damned souls down here, or attempting to trap and harass some sort of insect who accidentally crawled through one of the portals. But a soft but firm hand to turn him in the right direction is enough. He’s a boy with a bright future… if he’s nurtured.

And this place has no time for that.

You make the pitch to Raphael one night at the end of a long weekend in hell. You’ve been doing everything he’s asked of you, indulging his every whim, being ever so sweet and obedient for your master - and fucking him within an inch of his life. You relax in his bed, cuddled up to his chest, walking your fingers along the expanse of his pectorals.

“Raphael…” you say, dreamily, and he hums.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re about to push your luck?” he chuckles. You rearrange yourself to look up at him, eyes wide and wanting.

“Me? Push my luck? Never…” you run your tongue over his nipple and he groans.

“Spit it out then, kitten.”

“It’s the boy, Raphael. Can I have him? Please?”

He huffs.

“Why?”

“Why not? What does he do around here apart from take up space and eat your food? Surely you don’t really want him hanging around, do you? I’d like to be able to ride you and scream your name without the fear we’ll be overheard.”

Raphael considers this for a long time, and for a moment, you think he won’t take the bait.

“You’ll extend your pact with me. I want your soul. Forever,” he decides. 

Ah. That’s quite the price. You consider it for a moment.

“...You never get to interfere with Enver’s life again,” you reply, because this is how you deal with devils. Your bargain to gain their respect. He laughs.

“Fine. The boy is off the hook.”

“Done. And I get to take him out of here and do what I want with him, no questions asked. He’s free. And I’ll do that thing you like, right now.”

His eyes sparkle.

“Deal.”

The next morning, body aching, you read through your new contract. You make some amendments in blood but sign it. The rest of your existence signed over to this damned devil. Raphael kisses you on the lips, long and languid - and when you walk out of the House of Hope it’s with Enver’s hand in yours.

“Where are we going?” he asks, quietly. He’s scared. You squeeze his fingers in reassurance.

“Well, I’m on the road a lot. We’ll be travelling. Is that okay with you, kiddo?”

He nods, excited, and you can’t help but notice how much he’s grown since you first met. He’s more than a head taller - gods, how long has he been down here? It’s not worth thinking about. He’s still pretty skinny, but you’ll fix that. Now you’re in charge of feeding him, you'll make sure he gets a good meal every night. Make sure he walks with his back straight and chin up.

Make sure he never has to feel small again.

It isn’t a perfect life, but it’s a damn sight better than what he had to put up with in the Hells. He smiles now, every day. Isn’t scared of people. Slowly grows confidence in himself because he knows that you’re in his corner, come hell or high water (literally). One day you see him drawing in a little notebook you got him, some sort of diagram far more complicated than you can understand - he explains the intricacies of the machine, so you get him some spare parts to start tinkering with. Gods the kid is a natural. So intelligent. Far smarter than you, and you’re worried you’re letting him down because you can’t keep up - but every time he shows you a new invention he seems so pleased when you compliment him.

“Look at you, kiddo! You’re amazing! I bet there’s nothing that you can’t do.”

And he looks like for the first time in his life that he believes what you’re saying.

Life isn’t easy, but it is worth living. You’re on the road more often than not. You don’t have a home to call your own, but you make sure your mercenary work is well-paid enough that you can put the two of you up in inns overnight, keep you both fed and entertained. Enver seems happy and that’s what matters.

You go back to the House of Hope as little as you can, now, reporting in when you do a job and fucking Raphael into submission. He asks you about the boy every once in a while and you palm him off with a laugh, acting as if you barely care about Enver rather than the truth: you’ve been actively putting money away towards a fund for his future.

You come back from one of your meetings late one night. You’re exhausted from what your patron has put you through and are looking forward to sleep. The portal opens into the inn you’ve booked for the night. You expect Enver to be dead to the world, but instead he’s wide awake, sitting cross-legged on his bed.

“Hey, kiddo, what are you doing up so late? Is everything okay?” you ask, surprised. Enver fidgets with his fingers.

“Does Raphael hurt you?” he blurts out. You’re shocked.

“What?”

“Do you want to be in a contract with him? Because if you don’t, I promise I’ll find a way to free you, like you freed me! I’ll get strong, really strong, and I’ll kill him for you.” His hands are balled into fists, jaw gritted. His eyes are dark in a way that’s troubling and he drops his gaze to his lap.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Where’s all this coming from? Kiddo, nothing is wrong. Everything between me and Raphael is fine. I’m not unhappy or being forced into anything, I promise. What’s the matter, Enver, eh?”

When he looks up at you, there are tears pooling. He launches himself into your arms, holding you so tightly it’s as if you’re his anchor to this plane.

“I don’t want anyone to hurt you. I love you…” and then there it is. He calls you ‘mum’, or ‘dad’, or some other word that settles what you already knew: he’s come to think of you as his parent now. He freezes when he hears himself say it and you think back to when he was that scared little boy, longing for a bit of food by the fireplace.

You hold him back.

“I love you too, son,” you tell him, and the two of you stay like that for a long while.

He asks if his last name can become yours. You introduce him as your child. You are a family. 

You’re right. He’s far smarter than you are, and you can’t keep up with him. It becomes more and more obvious as he gets older. He goes from brilliant teenager to incredible young man, and you’re glad that you have the funds to be able to send him to a good college and nurture his spark. You’re aware that you’re beginning to slow down a bit now. Your joints aren’t quite what they used to be, and though Raphael still covets you, he’s not oblivious to the fact that you’re getting on. His contracts for you become less vigorous. He likes to have you in his bed more than on the field. You don’t mind it, being pampered by your patron. It isn’t a bad life.

Enver doesn’t need to become Gortash. And what use has Bane for this man, this good man, this man who has made something of himself despite all of the odds stacked against him? None whatsoever. He never becomes the chosen of Tyranny. He is safe from the person he might have been.

The day he graduates at the top of his class is the proudest day of your life. You clap and cheer for him until you are hoarse, and he pretends to be embarrassed as you give him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek in front of all of his friends, every inch the glowing parent.

He becomes chancellor because of his own merits, not due to any underhanded trickery. He is a master when it comes to machines. He never invents the Steel Watch because he does not have the warped mind to create them. Instead he focuses on technology to help the city of Baldur’s Gate: cleaning machines, security automatons, things which help with the admin of running to place so those in government can focus on supporting Baldurites. 

He buys you a house in the upper city. You settle down there as you grow older, make friends, get plenty of visits from your son. Everyone knows how loved you are. He eventually hires a young woman named Karlach as a bodyguard who you grow fond of: she makes up in brawn what he lacks, and she always puts a smile on your face when you have the two of them around for tea.

The Absolute comes. Raphael is poking around because of course he is. He’s got some new toys by now but you’re still one of his old favourites, and a couple of his most loved tricks with your tongue mostly keep him out of the way. Plus he promised not to interfere in Enver’s life, and he’s bound by that, the tricky bastard.

Some other person is Bane’s chosen, but it is not your Enver. Instead he fights for the side of good against the Dead Three and the mindflayer invasion, an ally to this Tav, the hero of Baldur’s Gate. Through their trials the two of them end up falling in love and it’s all you could ever want for your son. When the city fights against the Elder Brain you pick up your pact weapon for the last time despite his pleas not to: you’re a Warlock, damn it, and you’re going to defend your home until your last breath.

You don’t die, which is a nice bonus.

Enver and Tav help rebuild the city once the invasion has been stopped. Not too long in the future you have grandchildren, and they are the light of your life, always silly and giggling and joyous to hear the remarkable stories from your mercenary years.

You help out where you can but your age is weighing on you. One day, you take a tumble, and suddenly you’re bedbound; Enver and your family are visiting you every day as you get weaker, and you know that your final days can’t be far off.

He sits at your bedside, your hand clamped in his. Ah, a workman’s hand. The hand of a man who is constantly inventing and working and making himself useful. The hand of a good and decent man.

“The little ones go back to school tomorrow,” he says, fondly, “Tav is relieved. They’ve been rushed off their feet during the holidays– so many years since that Absolute business, yet the legislation is still going. They need a break, really.”

“It’s exhausting being a parent, isn’t it?” you ask with a grin, before being interrupted by a rattling cough which you can’t seem to shake. Enver lifts a glass of water to your lips and you drink, thankful. “Eurgh. Sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologise for. I’ll call the doctor again in the morning, see if she can get you any more of that tincture. Or maybe Halsin might have some ideas…”

“Oh, Enver, don’t go through all that fuss for me. Just sit here with me, kiddo.”

When you call him that, he knows he has no choice. You are still his parent, after all. He shifts to make himself more comfortable in his bedside chair, never letting go of your hand.

“I want you to know,” you say, voice soft, “everything has been worth it, Enver. My whole life was made better because you were my son. You’re the thing that I’m most proud of.”

His eyes go wide and glass over with tears, jaw grits.

“I… don’t say things like that, please,” he says, because he’s scared of what will come after.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, kiddo. I’m right here.”

He rests his head on the side of the bed, and you can see his shoulder heave as he cries. You bury your hand in his hair, smiling when it’s still a little greasy, and then you close your eyes.

When you open them again you’re in the House of Hope.

Your body feels lighter than it has in decades. You look down to see the wrinkles and liver spots in your hands are gone. You’re wearing what can generously be called an outfit, though it’s more straps of leather criss-crossed over your body.

“Well, did you have fun? Was your deal worth it in the end?” Raphael asks. He’s leaning against the doorframe, swirling wine around in a glass in his hand, another held out to you. You take it and frown.

“Were you… were you just standing here, waiting for me to bloody die?” you ask. He harrumphs.

“You didn’t answer my question, kitten.”

You take the wine, quaff it, then pull him into a kiss. He moans into your mouth in surprise and rapture.

“Yes,” you answer, honestly, because it was worth it. You’d never have made a different choice, “now, are we going to bed, or are you just going to stand here being smug for the rest of eternity?”

Raphael grins and pulls you to the bedroom.

taglist: @ghosti02art @sadandanxiouswtf @yeethaw13 @trappedinlimbo15 @infinitely-kate @dhampling @wereallbrokenangels @tilldeathdonugget

[taintedcigs]

okay so i just saw something on twitter and it reminded me sm of eddie i cannot help it.

anyway, i can't stop thinking about clingy modern!eddie who CANNOT wait to see you a day after your date, you guys recently started dating and eddie is so attentive and cares so fucking much and he's genuinely such a good guy!!!!!! so, you guys went out drinking the day before and you had a little too much to drink so you spend the next day groaning over your pounding head and complaining about how much you needed coffee but you have none, and as soon as you mention that to eddiei he stops answering your texts, so you're like ??? what the hell, and then five minutes later your phone starts ringing and eddie's calling so you answer and he you can tell he's out of breath when he says, "what do you want?" and you are confused since he's the one who called you, "excuse me?" you say, almost annoyed, so he clears his throat giving you a slight chuckle as he realizes how weird he must sound so he rephrases himself, "what coffee do you want?" and you can't help the giddy feeling inside of you, "and how are we feeling about desserts? too nauseating?" he doesn't let you as he wanders off, "how about cupcakes? or cookies? oh! croissants? maybe almond croissants? oooh my god!! how about ice cream, there's this really good ice cream shop that JUST opened down the street—" he rambles and you hate to interrupt him, "what are you talking about, munson?" you can't hide the grin on your face once you realize what he's implying because he's just so!! fucking!! caring!! and!! attentive!!

"im grabbing you a coffee and dessert, what do you want?" he replies so nonchalantly and you want to melt on the spot, but you also know eddie probably has a lot to do and you don't want to bother him so you're like, "oh, thank you! i wouldn't want to bother you!" with such a sweet tone that he swears you're going to be the death of him. "i mean i could just grab some coffee myself, it's no deal—" he doesn't even let you finish that sentence fully as he tsks.

"okay, so... i don't think you understand what i mean, honey, so let me elaborate," the nickname rolls of his tongue so swiftly that you can feel your heart tightening in your chest, voice low as he speaks confidently.

"i missed you, and i wanna see you again, can i come over?" he asks, still so casually that it makes you want to scream, the flutters in your stomach are insane by now, "to bring you coffee?" he adds, and you agree immediately, telling him your order without hesitation.

and then when he comes by your house with bags of dessert two coffees and like 3 bags of coffee you know you should've warned him not to buy all that stuff, but he's so cute when he's smiling, and the dimple on his left cheek is apparent as ever and his nose scrunches up ever so slightly <3 as he says "i couldn't decide so i brought you everything," and you giggle and blush at him because he's so !!!!!! and the two of you gorge on the delicious stuff he brought you <33

[thegoatsongs]

Whenever Jonathan is distressed, he immerses himself in the beauty of nature, it's almost a pattern.

He describes nature romantically from the start of his journey, when he's happy, but it is also his refuge to soothe his senses when he's suffering.

When he feels a deep loneliness "which chilled my heart and made my nerves tremble" in the womens' room, he draws a big couch by the window just so he can gaze at the "lovely view" outside (like the women of old) while lying down. The "soft moonlight" especially seems to soothe him most of all.

The view was magnificent, and from where I stood there was every opportunity of seeing it. [...] As far as the eye can reach is a sea of green tree tops, with occasionally a deep rift where there is a chasm. Here and there are silver threads where the rivers wind in deep gorges through the forests. But I am not in heart to describe beauty, for when I had seen the view I explored further; doors, doors, doors everywhere, and all locked and bolted.

-May 8

God knows that there is ground for my terrible fear in this accursed place! I looked out over the beautiful expanse, bathed in soft yellow moonlight till it was almost as light as day. In the soft light the distant hills became melted, and the shadows in the valleys and gorges of velvety blackness. The mere beauty seemed to cheer me; there was peace and comfort in every breath I drew.

-May 12

The soft moonlight soothed, and the wide expanse without gave a sense of freedom that refreshed me. [...] I drew a great couch out of its place near the corner, so that as I lay, I could look at the lovely view to east and south

-May 16

Also, you cannot convince me he didn't use to read and write Romantic poetry in his free time whenever he wanted to cheer himself up

[posallys]

ok 1 ur desktop theme is GORG and 2 i need (if u wanna) ur thoughts about the show (or show sally in gen bc ur the only one i trust with her)

thank you!! i was actually thinking about updating it but maybe i wont 🤭🤭 and i have a lot of thoughts about the show except none only very few of them are good and i will be crucified by the 13-year-olds

im going to tell you anyway.

i will start with something i like....percy being angry. like yes give me the anger of a 12 year old who feels utterly alone in the world and doesn't understand (or does and it makes him more angry)

the fight scenes are dog shit. the only kind of cool one was in the arch but it was only cool because of percy doing the bait and switch and falling through the arch...the fights are bland boring sucky whatever other synonym you wanna use

uhhhhh sally jackson is not and would never be sitting in the rain pining of the god she told to leave....and especially not to teen pop...if she WERE going to act like a 16 year old and do the pining thing it would be to fucking like...billy joel and ricky martin and donny hathaway and stuff llike that okay...

i will preface this by saying that yes i understand that talking back to an abuser the way sally does in ep 1 doesn't make the abuse less abusive....however i DO not like the fact that that scene explicitly goes against sally characterization in the books....i am not digging my book out atm but the part where percy is like "my mother has never raised her voice or said an unkind word to anyone"....me thinks the writers all read the books 10 years ago and are going off of memory alone + or their brains are so clouded by the obsessive Big Screen Need to make women a badass girlboss slay queen i fucking hate it here

LET ANNABETH BE SILLY AND FUNNY AND CUTE AND CRY AND NOT BE AN ADULT THANK YOU....hated that they made annabeth the one to realize that it was medusa and not grover...give me back grover having to wrangle percy and annabeth into backpack leashes just to keep them on task/stop them from wandering off...book trio i miss you

i absolutely ADORE leah, walker, and aryan though the three of them are so so perfect, A+ casting no notes couldn't have done it better myself. if it weren't for the three of them i would have zero hope for the show i cannot lie...they're carrying. without them it's just..bad.

the pacing???? bad.

why did we waste half of the 4th ep on the train with echidna...stupid dumb pointless i hate it here

i do like the whole not all monsters are monsters and the gods aren't inherently good just because they're gods thing they've got going on though...very inch resting...silently hoping that they do a complete 180 and have percy side with luke and redo the series from there because that would be iconic as fuck <3 a girl can dream because at least then i could take the show at face value and not take 80 health damage every time they mess up a key part of the books...im at -29834 heath rn.

where was the time at chb before the quest??? the oh so important vital scene where luke teaches percy to sword fight???? like BRO that's soooooooooooo important to ME how could you get rid of that

not having annabeth show percy around camp

additionally, not having annabeth feed him the nectar and ambrosia, WHICH BY THE WAY they haven't even mentioned in the show yet...plot armor gone rip

not the fredrick chase sympathy while simultaniously blaming the woman...........rick when i get my hands on you...

annabeth having to EARN thalia's love??? absolutely not probably one of their biggest fuck ups fr.

the scene where sally is talking about Poseidon to percy...i do not like it sam i am. bad. not wistful enough not longing enough not sad enough not gut wrenching enough...also not completely here for sally telling percy that his dad was a god because....sallys whole thing was NOT telling him in order to keep him safe...i know they changed it in the show so sally knew he was going to camp immediately but that does not mean i have to like it

the scene with sally and percy in the pool. i hated everything about that. sally would never talk to percy like that never talk to him about money never make it seem embarassing NOT TO MENTION that percy simply wasn't scared of the water. that's stupid as fuck. theres a part in the book where percy literally says being by the water calms both him and his mom like...come the fuck on just admit you can't fucking read or at least didn't read the book.

sally annabeth get behind me so they cant hurt you anymore

i did loveeeee percy praying to sally though...absoutely insane and true of them. also the "I AM SALLY JACKSON'S SON" yesss baby you tell them about your mommy!!!!!!

them making athena moa level bad in tlt is quite interesting. setting up annabeth siding with percy pretty well.

also the whole impertinence thing over medusa's head was weird to me. when annabeth first said that i had immediately thought that annabeth's impertinence was telling percy to pray to poseidon IN ATHENA'S TEMPLE bc that made much more sense to me...but whatever

the annabeth/medusa parallel is intriguing at the very least

the underwater scene with the neraid was cool even though i hated the parallel to the pool scene w/ sally.

the dumbass pinecone fate line. 0/10 did you read the book? did you pay attention to how empathetic and reflective percy was when he found out about thalia?

honestly....i think disney was just the wrong place to go with this show because it's like what...pg? it should be pg 13 and should have more... sustenance.

this medusa was so cool though. which we could've seen a fight.

i need to know how many women are in the writer's room though...because It Does Not Look Good. funny how the characters that they're fucking up are all women....crazy. weird. totally coincidental.

are we just not going to talk about the vitality and pressure of getting the bolt back on time? where is the inherent inevitable danger, the suspense, the fear of not accomplishing a seemingly impossible talk looming over everything

this is 10000% not all of my thoughts but im not going to rewatch in order to collect them all so this is what you get xoxox

[bonefall]

Better Bones Profile: Houndleap

"The horrifying eldritch fallen angel likes ME best because I'm hot"

[ID: The Better Bones AU version of Houndleap from Warrior Cats. He is a black-and-white tom with ginger flecks in his black parts, and a fluffy white tail tuft. His ears are burned away, and he has orange, swirly keloid scars. He also has a heart-shaped paw pad.]

Here by popular request! Holy MOLY you all jumped on the offhanded manwhore comment lmao.

Houndleap's a great example of cats who are in the Dark Forest for breaking non-violent commandments. The only thing he's killing is the gene pool, with his 6 known mates and the 16 kittens between them all. No, he wasn't in love with them all either, he just liked to play the game.

He is as close to the ideal Clan cat as one can get, and he knows it, and flaunts it. Tri-colored with beautiful ginger flecks, he fell victim to a terrible moor fire and came out with severe burns. His surviving was already a great mark of strength, but then he became even luckier when his shiny scars raised, and slightly spread from the initial injury.

Clan cats didn't have a word for keloids, they only knew it was gorgeous. As if StarClan had given him a scar that dances and shimmers.

Houndleap "abused" this gift, seeing as many cats as possible and cheating on his 'official' mate back home. In the modern era, he might have just been a very popular Honor Sire, but this was before the Queen's Rights and the Aftergathering. He was eventually caught, and after his death, he was banished to the Dark Forest for violating the Law of Loyalty on more than 5 counts.

Yes. More than 5 counts. StarClan was able to see that he had even more than 5 halfclan mates (and they're not even counting the wife he cheated on) but only 5 got pregnant.

Alignment: Dark Forest, ex-WindClan

Time Period: Skyfall Era

Relations: Too fucking many

Houndleap's addition to the Dark Forest is Lover's Beck, a twisted, romantic version of a spot in the Gorge where he used to meet with his secret lovers. It's his worst memory because he planned poorly and two of them showed up at the same time and that's how he got caught.

More trivia below!

Canon said he's solid-colored and I said no. Pretty boy.

There are several minor features in his design that will be seen in modern family lines. I won't point them out but there's 3 total (so far.)

I decided to use him as an example of nearly ideal beauty standards in BB, since I famously overhauled them from canon. He is brightly colored with complicated patterns, slightly chunky, and has a HUGE scar on the face.

Personality is slut. He just wants to flirt, man. Theme song is Mambo #5 he's just like that.

He works with Tigerstar in OotS mostly because it's not like there's anything better to do. Plus some of the trainees are hot, "hellooooo Ratscar"

When Antpelt dies, Houndleap is one of the cats who needs the most convincing to come back into the alliance. It's one thing when it's funny haha Attack And Dethrone God or whatever, but PERMAdeath??

Thankfully, Hawkfrost is a fantastic diplomat.

Generally, Houndleap is motivated by whatever's fun. He was one of the first to fall in line under Ashfur and will do basically anything if he's bored.

"We're teaching people how to kill? sure lmao. Oh we're attacking the living? Ok cool. Guard the prisoners? Not like I had plans anyway. Anyway wanna get evil dinner later, handsome <3 ?"

Likes drama, tea, stories, games, anything that brings him a little excitement really.

He can usually be counted on to join whatever silly project the group's up to this time, like catching Shrewpaw's Pheasant.

I cannot stress enough how much of a normal Crummy Dude he is. He's just some standard jerkwad guy. The Dark Forest in Better Bones contains several people like him, who might be sleazeballs or jackasses, but we would generally agree don't deserve Hell.

When canon comes up with a Houndleap backstory, I'll consider what to do with it. But for now we only know that Hound came from WindClan, which I've included.

[jqmalikhsgib]

ynyln

5,674,000 likes

ynyln 🩷🩵

view all 22,000 comments

ynfan29 very beautiful.

ynfan1 i literally love you. you look so amazing.

ynfan33 my crush every single day.

rileywilson i cannot believe my best friend looks so fucking amazing.

tmz gorg

lizzo i just want to marry you and never look back.

dojacat kiss me you beautiful bitch.

eddiemunson

5,200,000 likes

eddiemunson 🎸

view all 18,000 comments

ccfan4 god, i love your hair.

ccfan14 everyone, say hello to my man!

corroded4life i cannot wait until this album comes out. it’s gonna be one of the best!

metallica 🤘🏻

ccfan20 god, he’s so fucking hot. shit!

ynnews

3,490 likes 

ynnews yn and eddie seen leaving her apartment building.

view all 245 comments 

user3 i fucking love them!

user12 they’re the cutest fucking couple ever.

corrodededd i want what they have.

abbie.gal i met them and they were so fucking adorable. i didn’t ask for a photo of them to give them privacy. but they were kind and they said hi to me.

ccfan24 they’re so banging.

eddiecoffin

5,677 likes

eddiecoffin yn and eddie on vacation recently.

view all 263 comments

eddiefan1 im so glad they’re dating, but they deserve privacy.

ccfan55 please, they’re classic publicity. it’s pretty obvious.

yneddie @ccfan55 tf you talking about?! just because they had their privacy invaded?

ynnews they don’t deserve the paps invading them like this. this is sick and wrong.

eddiefan3 i like them. they’re an odd pair but they fit so perfectly.

eddiemunson

15,000,000 likes

eddiemunson the perfect view 🌅

view all 127,000 comments

ccfan2 this soft launch!!

eddiemuhmuhmunson holy shit! eds post yn. this is not a drill people! 

rainbowsandcoffins this is so cute!

dojacat i want her and you took her. now we have to battle.

corrodedcoffin beach babes has to be a title to a song, man!

zackrose she’s so beautiful. it ain’t fair!

steveharrington you just confirmed what everyone was guessing, munson?

eddiemunson @steveharrington i didn’t confirm anything, harrington! just admiring the view in front of me.

[crowehorte]

*inhales, holds it, then exhales* Okay, so.

Yesterday, I realized that hey, I could ~stream~ Loki Season 2, and boy did I gorge myself on that while working on art for an event. Now, I will be among the first to say that Marvel's Loki is not The Loki, but man. That climax. You should have seen my face as Loki brought all the threads of time together and sculpted them into a tree.

Yggdrasil

*inhales again* God, that is some good shit.

I'm not gonna lie, that entire final episode just. For the first time, it felt like someone at Disney/Marvel read the myths and understood them. Marvel's Loki may not be The Loki, but as a variant, as a representation of that myth, he finally hits home.

Loki is known as the god of mischief, chaos, and trickery, but he is so, so much more than that. He's the god of Consequences, of Fuck Around and Find Out. He is the god who knows his own fate. If Victor Timely is He Who Remains, then Loki is He Who Endures. He who endures loss, grief, anger, pain and agony.

Loki is He Who Endures the destruction of self, again and again and again. First when he is bound in the roots of Yggdrasil, poison dripping into his face for countless years, then again at Ragnarok, when he sails with the giants, knowing he will meet his death at Heimdall's hands.

Unlike the Aesir, Loki never runs from his fate. He never tries to avert Ragnarok. He knows that it must come, and that he must be the sacrificial lamb to slaughter. In the hope of building something new, something better than before. In the hope that this time, they'll get it right.

There are a lot of different interpretations of Ragnarok out there. Some say it's a singular event that has already happened, others say it is yet to come. Personally speaking, I like the idea of Ragnarok being cyclical, of being a metaphor for failure and self-improvement.

Loki Season 2 Episode 6: Glorious Purpose is a time loop. One where Loki goes through numerous centuries worth of repetitions trying to find a way to prevent the Temporal Loom's destruction - in other words, Ragnarok. Yes, in this retelling of the Ragnarok myth, Loki does try to evade his fate, but the important factor is that he doesn't give up. He never declares it hopeless, and he watches his friends, his sister-self, everyone in the world not just die, but cease to exist, over and over and over again.

Until finally he realizes that he cannot avert Ragnarok. That the Temporal Loom must be destroyed. There is no way around it.

But that destruction doesn't have to mean the end of everything.

"I know what kind of god I want to be."

And in that moment, he becomes the sacrificial lamb, willingly walking into his own imprisonment because this is the way it must be. Because he must give everything, he must destroy himself, and he must endure the pain of loss, of grief, of isolation.

For love. For hope. For a chance to build something better.

For all time.

Always.

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Hey, dear! could i get an extremely fluffy picture/oneshot Daemon x pregnant!poc reader where ever since they found out about reader's pregnancy he has been super protective, loving and an excellent husband with her and the unborn baby so one afternoon they're spending quality time together (maybe she's reading to him) while he caresses her belly and the baby kicks for the first time, please?

Here you go.

The soon-to-be father

Pairing: Daemon x Fem. Reader (From the Summer Isles)

Themes : Soft | Fluff

Warnings : None

Word Count : 1.3k words

Want to be tagged? Want to know the reader request rules? Read all   here

It was the height of autumn.

The leaves turned red, dusk crept in faster, and there was a growing nip in the air.

The dragons had taken to gorging on anything and everything the dragon keepers offered them, as if preparing for the lean winter years. It would not be long, they said, before the dragons retreated under the pits to sleep away the winter.

Even here, in the Red Keep, life grew slower, with the rooms and corridors growing darker. Torches were lit everywhere, and fires were blazing to provide the warmth and light that the sun couldn't. Despite everyone’s efforts, the cold still crept in through tiny cracks and crevices, as if the season was determined to have the last word.

Today, however, was tolerably pleasant, although you debated if "tolerably" was the right word. As a lady of the Summer Isles, you were accustomed to warmer weather and sunnier skies. Still, this was the place your husband called home, and you were determined to love it.

No, you tell yourself. This isn’t just your husband’s home. This is the place your unborn child will call home soon enough.

Your hand fluttered to your growing belly. Two more months, the Grand Maester said. Two more months, and everyone will know if it is a son or a daughter.

Your husband didn’t care if it was a boy or a girl. He was just eager to be a father. A father who was driving everyone to distraction with his plans for the nursery, the midwives, even going so far as to insist on being present for the birth. Not that you minded. You were just happy to indulge his whims, often shaking your head and grinning whenever he went overboard, something he did frequently and without shame.

A pelt being draped over your shoulders brought you out of your daydreaming.  "You’re shivering." Daemon had walked in, silent as always. "Come sit by the fire, you’ll be warmer."

You studied him, discreetly, as he went over to the hearth to add more logs to the fire. Daemon was much calmer now, a far cry from the bundle of brash energy he was when the two of you wed. He also looked a little surly this afternoon. "What happened at the council meeting?" you asked, as you made yourself comfortable on a large sofa. Daemon finished his task and took his usual place next to you, picking up a book as he did so. He threw an arm around you and sighed.

"The pissant everyone is determined to make king has been visiting fighting pits every night for weeks now." Daemon rubbed his eyes, wondering how his brother managed to sire one such as his oldest nephew. Perhaps it was a punishment from the Gods for what had been done to the late queen Aemma, he reasoned, though he'd never say it aloud.

"Fighting pits?" You inquired, your gaze drawn to the book in his hands. It was dubbed, The Songs of the Seven Kingdoms. "Like your boxing?"

Daemon sighed and shook his head, his mood darkening. "I wish it was the case. We all do. No, my sweet, this is nothing like that, where there are judges and rules and where the opponents are grown men.

"But I’d rather not talk of that." He continued after a moment’s pause. "I just want you to promise me that you’ll come to me if Aegon comes anywhere near you."

You'd heard the rumors about the prince; everyone had. But hearing something that was passed off as mere gossip confirmed as true was a frightening prospect. "It cannot be that bad…." You say in disbelief. "I mean…. Aegon is a prince… He’s Viserys’ son, surely he…"

"Aegon is nothing like his father, so promise me," insisted Daemon. "Promise me you’ll come to me. Aegon is nothing like the sweet princeling he pretends to be. He’s far more dangerous than you think."

You swallowed as the gravity of the situation started to sink in. Daemon had moved with and fought alongside some of the most dangerous men in the kingdom. And if he thought Aegon was that bad, then—

"I will come to you if Aegon approaches me," you promised.

"Good," Daemon was pleased. "And how have you been? How is our child?"

"A little uncomfortable now that the baby is getting bigger, but I’m good. And the baby is healthy," you said indulgently, rubbing your belly. "And growing strong. The Grand Maester is very happy with everything. He said two more months before the baby is due to make their grand appearance."

Daemon placed a hand over yours, his joy matching yours. "That’s good. I told Viserys I’m not going anywhere till after out child arrives. He agreed."

"And I’ve had word from my mother," you picked up a letter on the side table and hand it to him. "She’ll be here before the birth. She also said four of my father’s finest warriors will be coming with her, and that they’ll be staying here as my sworn protectors. It’s rather odd, since I never asked for such a thing."

You tilted your head to one side when Daemon went red in the cheeks. "Husband," you said in amusement. "What did you do?"

Daemon groaned and mumbled something under his breath.

"Husband," you snickered. "What. Did. You. Do."

In one quick breath, Daemon  finally mumbled: "Imayhavebadgeredyourfatherintosendindwarriorsforyou."

"I’m sorry, but what?"

Daemon groaned again, speaking more clearly this time. "I- may have - badgered your father into sending warriors for you."

You just chuckled and buried your face in your hands. "Oh Daemon. It’s not necessary, my love, really."

"Not necessary?" Daemon stammered in shock. "My dear wife, did you not just listen to a word I said about Aegon? And have you not heard of that brother of his?"

And there he goes, being the protective husband. You couldn't fault the man because your own lord father was exactly like him. It honestly made you love him even more. "I heard you. And yes, I have heard the stories about Prince Aemond. Alright. Father’s warriors can stay."

"Thank you," said a relieved Daemon. "Now, enough of dark topics. How about something light?"

"Like this book?" You hold up the Songs of the Seven Kingdoms. "Perhaps I could read it?"

Daemon picked out a story, about the North and the children of the forest. He was content to let you read, his hand still over your belly.

The afternoon drifted on, with nothing but you reading stories out loud and Daemon rubbing your stomach whenever you grew uncomfortable. He became aware of something beneath his palm. Muscles rippled as something moved. "What’s that?"

There it was again, and this time you too felt it. "That, my love, is our baby." You put the book down, placed your hand over his. Sure enough, there was another ripple. "Kicking at my insides again."

Daemon grinned. "A child of true Targaryen and Summer Isle stock then,"  he said it so gleefully, you forgot your discomfort in an instance. "I wonder if they would be the one to bond with Grey Ghost."

You gave him a double-take. A wild dragon? Your child wasn't going anywhere near a wild dragon. "Grey Ghost? No."

Daemon’s eyes glinted mischievously. "Sheepstealer then?"

"Not on your life!"

He tsked and thought about it again. "I know! The Cannibal!"

"No!" You grinned. Daemon was only teasing you, after all. "My love, can we please stick to the practice of placing a dragon’s egg in the babe’s cradle?"

"Spoil-sport," he said cheerfully. "Alright, my love. An egg in the cradle it is."

"Thank you." You allowed Daemon to take the book. He then spent the rest of the afternoon reading to you and the child in your womb.

[thrashkink-coven]

hello!! I have a question. Are your dreams about deities something you've practiced to have, or does it come naturally to you? if you could tell me about your experience with those dreams that'd be awesome, thank you!!

So I started my magical journey with Archangel Jophiel at about the age of 7 or so. As a young child I had unknowingly practiced many astral journeys and things of the sort before I entirely understood what I was doing. Archangel Jophiel taught me how harness that behaviour to use my brain as an analogue machine. When I say analogue machine, I’m referring to a thing that is greatly influenced by the stimuli that is fed to it. For whatever reason, my subconscious brain is very involved in the details of my waking life. Most of my dreams revolve around real life settings or scenarios I find myself in. The other day I was biking in a thunderstorm. That night I dreamt I was a thundercloud. Whenever I go to the beach, I dream of the beach. I do also have a random absurd dreams, but those are far less common than ones like these. In order to influence this pattern and invoke a deity, I only need to feed my brain stimuli from them in my waking life.

Jophiel taught me how to use my senses to influence my reality, to abandon my senses in states of trance, and to harness my senses to understand messages. He did this most memorably through the methods of scrying and sigil work along with a plethora of meditative practices that have been in use for centuries. Angelic magic is very concerned with spiritual and psychic development, so they always love teaching dream divination.

I cannot speak to whether or not I have a talent, what I do know is that I have been practising these methods pretty constantly for years at a time now, since I was 7 years old, so it is more likely that I am not talented, just that I have a muscle that I have been working out all this time. The only real talent I might have is my extreme tendency to lucid dream or be aware of my dreams as a kid.

Most of the time when I receive these dreams from my deities, I am doing a combination of things to invoke them. Whenever I get those dreams that seem random, or come about without intention or practice, those are the ones I pay the most attention to, because they are usually from unfamiliar deities reaching out for the first time.

But when I do intentionally try to invoke these dreams I am usually keeping all of these things in mind:

1. Saying the deities name out loud or in your head constantly. Imagining, writing about, speaking of and to them as concepts and people. When I write poems about my deities I am not only speaking to their physical attributes, I am conjuring a hyper specific identity and gorging on it’s spiritual correspondences to help my subconscious brain familiarize them and adequately summon them when I’m asleep. “Winged footed, clever whisperer, cultured hands that have shaken a million others, with the clanging of coins on his belt” , that’s Hermes. “Warm chocolate, water speckled rose pestles and pearl enchanted mirrors, gentle laughter in a heavenly oasis surrounded by a sacred grove”, that’s Aphrodite. When I hear the clanging of coins in my dreams I can bet that it’s Hermes, and when I see a field full of roses I can bet that it’s Aphrodite.

I’m willing to bet that a lot of folks actually are getting reached out to, but because they haven’t learned to identify their deity, they just think they’re having a reoccurring dream about a guy shooting arrows at the sun. Meanwhile it’s actually been Apollon this whole time.

2. Saying these names as I fall asleep, ensuring they are the last things I say before I drift off, as if it were a prayer. Saying these names in my head until I am no longer conscious. This also might be a cheat code but asking for a deity to appear in your dreams “by the will of Hypnos” or any other God of dreams works very well for me.

3. Using their sigils, creating sigils for them, staring at them and meditating on them until the symbol burns into your brain. Our brains love symbols. They’re amazing for communicating messages instantly. I see sigils and symbols in my dreams more often then I actually “see” a deity. Other times sigils have acted as portals for deities. Whenever I am in Inanna’s realm I feel as if I’m being shot through the Venus star.

4. Singing and humming their enns or chants. Our brains also adore music, especially those with predictable patterns. Make up your own personal tunes and memorize them better than the alphabet. When I’m in a dream and I hear the words “we go down as she goes down” I know I am in the realm of Inanna. If I hear “Renich Tasa Uberaca Biasa Icar Lucifer” I can immediately identify who I’m with.

5. Using colored lights to psychologically influence my environment for the intended energy I’m attracting. If I’m hoping to attract Aphrodite I sleep with a pink light on. Imagery of all kinds.

6. Burning incense right before bed and saying chants as I do. Your brain associates smells even more so than sounds or visuals. If I’m unconscious and constantly smelling the incense I reserved for Aphrodite, I am more likely to see her in my dreams.

7. Asking specific questions right before bed. This is a big one for me. Very often I will tuck myself in and think something like “hey Hermes, why do you run so fast?” and he will likely show up in my dreams to offer an answer. This can be a double edged sword if you’re too annoying with it lol, sometimes deities will ignore you if you ask them questions you already know the answers to.

8. If you’re already gifted at visualization then your half way there. I often visualize myself doing rituals for my deities in my “dream world”. I light their candles and incense just as I would at my altar. There are a few well documented methods (Raymond Buckland’s comes to mind) that practitioners use to access their mind temple. I personally visualize my mind temple or holy place as a scaled up version of my real altar because all the things there are extremely familiar. My little crystals become towering mountains of quartz and my offering bowl becomes a pool of flowers for me to swim in. When I lay with my eyes closed, not quite asleep or awake, I imagine myself at my altar summoning my deity in an elaborate and fantastical ritual.

9. Understanding the bigger picture.

I don’t remember a good 60% of the details from the dreams I have with deities unless it’s extremely important. Often times I only remember the way it made me feel along with the most important details. In the dream I described just today about Aphrodite wanting me to paint her, I don’t remember whether or not I actually had paint, what she was wearing, what the nymphs were doing, or exactly how she posed. But I do remember the way my heart skipped a beat when she asked me to paint her, and I vividly remember her saying “please do!”. When I share these stories I am massively paraphrasing.

Sometimes shit genuinely does not make sense (looking at you, Hermes) and you have to ask for more guidance to understand it. The very cool thing about Jophiel in those first few years I was learning from him is that he’s very willing to show you the same dream again and again until you understand. There was a period of a couple months where he showed me the exact same dream every single night.

10. Listen to your senses.

Lots of times the Gods do not appear human. I’ve seen Aphrodite more times as a garden than a person. Jophiel often appears to me as a ball of light or something enormous like a planet. Sometimes no words are said at all, but you feel a breeze on your neck that feels like a kiss, or you feel a foreboding presence and know who it belongs to. Sometimes you hear three bells in your dream only to remember that it’s the same sound as the bell in a store you know, and when you return there you find the perfect offering for that God you’ve been thinking about. Sometimes you smell a carcass and know that a Death God is trying to tell you something. So many messages can be shared without words. Lots of my dreams with most of my deities like Cerberus and Leviathan don’t even involve any words at all, even if an entire conversation is being had. Many times I don’t see them, but I know they’re there or that the message was from them. Sometimes I’m not even entirely sure what the entire conversation was, but the things that resonate with me stick with me. Leviathan never actually said “without the struggling combat of the natural forces no peace could ever be known to Earth”, he just showed me a roaring ocean and a blazing sun giving birth to land and air. Lucifer didn’t actually tell me that he wants me to read a specific book, I only saw the book and his sigil blazing above it.

11. Sometimes there is no real message. I often have dreams about Cerberus where he just reminds me that he’s a spooky death God. Sometimes I just see Lucifer because he wants to see me. Sometimes a God just misses you or wants to mess with you (looking at you, Hermes). I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had dreams about Hermes where the only thing he does is say hi and then run away, it drives me insane. I’ve had so so many dreams of Lucifer just wanting to share coffee and then asking me something seemingly random like if I prefer velvet or silk liners in jackets (??? still wondering about that one) .

A thing to keep in mind is that dreams are not the end all be all to deity communication and you are still capable of having a relationship even if your internal word isn’t as vivid. These things do take years of practice. You’re very deliberately trying to manipulate your brain into recognizing the signs of your deity. They seem to come to me easily but even I have periods of time where I don’t receive anything, and that’s also okay and good.

[hiemaldesirae]

Swap nonny:

Alastor does sometimes sleep by the fishtank, yes! He also feeds the sharks himself not trusting anyone else to do it.

Alastor also kept Vark; who was at the Vees tower during the fight and was Alastor's deathday gift to Vox. (He had to pay handsomely for Vark to be brought in from the Envy ring) that last Deathday was recorded by Vox (much to Alastor's chargin at first) but during those 7 years it was so heavily watched that Papermint (Vox's canon eel assistant, now Alastor's) had it copied multiple times.

Vark was trained by Alastor and imbued with some of Alastor's powers, so he can't ever die. (So Al can't ever lose this piece of Vox either.) Vark is still growing because of it, though. (He also ate Arackniss, and anyone Alastor wants to give a special message to their family too.)

Vox's bed is sprayed every day by Niffty with Vox's perfume, and during Alastor's worst days (where he doesn't/cannot sleep), she brings in suits/shirts/pants/pajamas/undergarments that she had immediately vacuum sealed (that still carry Vox's scent) opens them up and hands them to Alastor, the stag immediately burying his nose into them, sleep beginning to claim him.

When Alastor finds out Vox is Alive, well....if Vox hadn't been working with the Morningstars when Alastor had found out, and it'd just been another overlord pair, he'd have called in a favor from Rosie, pulled Valentino's and Velvette's chains, all of their Souls and gone to war.

Now though...he'll be patient. He'll join his beloved in bed every night, curling around him, becoming the big spoon, secretly feeding his rather scrawny mate. He does stamp his hooves in victory when he first sees Vox happily gorging his cooking again. Yes, Angel had to disguise it but that was okay. Vox said it was the best lobster roll he had in awhile.

Horrific! i hate this! thank you !!!

genuinely sooo fucked that alastor had vark eat arackniss. iwonder how it makes angel feel, to know that (assuming the actual killing happens after alastor first finds out of vox being alive and that angel finds out only after they've become friends or something along those lines) voxs pet shark who he speaks of with such fondness is actually the one that killed and ate his brother. like. theres. I mean. that would break a normal friendship i think but also vox is technically being stalked by alastor and angels spying for the guy anyway because he doesnt want to die either so its all kind of a clusterfuck isnt it

oh my FUCKING god yeah now im thinking it is SOO lucky that vox made his deal with lucifer instead of someone else. because any fucking other person in hell, even like a goetia, alastor would probably have taken his chances and tried to fight or trick them into a deal for vox specifically. like ???? this guy is so fucking obsessedWHAT is his fucking DEAL !!!! (<- i know what his deal is i just like antagonizing him)

anyway i generally love creepy horrible obsessive stalker swap!alastor he's suuuuch a freak. i can literally like, picture how radiostatic acts after vox gets alastors soul: als like clasping his hands together and like spinning round in circles humming love songs to himself meanwhile vox is planning his 23rd escape plan in the span of an hour

[paragonrobits]

I have to admit I find the prospect of Big D actually being the God-Emperor prior to the Dark Age of Technology to be a deepy strange one from a lore perspective, because while I can sort of see character development, bitterness and the horrors of humanity making him become the authoritarian and deeply callous person we see in 40k canon, lore-wise it's... at best tricky, at worst you have to actively ignore the canon of World of Darkness to believe it makes sense.

I've talked about before about how WoD's cosmology is deeply weird and fundamentally incompatible with the Warp and the nature of the Chaos Gods; something like how outer space is arguably human perspective of another dimension/the spirit world that we only think is outer space at all because we think its outer space, the planets are the self-contained realms of immensely powerful spirits, the end of the world is nigh and by that I mean legitimate cosmic annihilation that will wipe away humanity as we know it with all the indifference of a squished bug being wiped off a shoe (and its over six different flavors of apocalypse), and more!

For example, Wraith the Oblivion does posit that there's a KIND of afterlife for those who can't move on. ...It sucks. It's not unlikely you'll be turned into an ashtray for a rich ghost. But this also precludes the whole concept of the Warp's aspect as an afterlife of sorts; the Warp does not exist in World of Darkness, and CANNOT exist in it.

But above everything else, Big D's character is that he is a punk. He is, in fact, a distillation of the ideal World of Darkness protagonist; barring the possibility of him being some flavor of supernatural, he's apparently a mortal with enough knowledge to know its dangerous to share it at all, he's cunning and wily, and he absolutely hates all authority and corporate power, lashing out against it.

World of Darkness is, after all, a Gothic Punk setting. He IS the archetypal gothic Punk.

And that, in turn, makes him the polar opposite of the Emperor in a lot of the ways that matter; among other things, he is a deeply compassisonate person, while the Emperor deliberately excised his compassion in the name of progress; Big D fights against the power that crushes the average person, the Emperor would have nationalized Pentex if he could have, and its entirely possible to read him as not even bothering to stop Pentex from doing their horrible Captain Planet villain nonsense.

One reading of 40k lore posits that even compared to many of the other potential antagonists of the setting, the Emperor himself may well be the biggest and most amoral or brutal monsters in the entire setting, allowing for the cruelty and tyrannical dystopia of the Imperium to exist at all. The Imperium, in all its brutality, is precisely what Big D would hate, based on what we know of him.

(And also, if you subscribe to the theory that Hunter the Parenting is the Emperor's fevered fantasy of a good ending, lore-wise that's a very unusual choice to make given the Emperor's extreme 'Humanity First and Only' mentality. While humans are important, one reading of lore is also that they are unavoidably corrupt to the spiritual core, that the literal power of spiritual defilement and torment could not exist as it is without human evil gorging it 24/7, or that some of the most unspeakably evil and vile forces within both WoD and Chronicles of Darkness are just bored humans with a lot of privilege and power.

If the setting IS the Emperor pretending real hard that things are actually okay, it would be deeply weird for him to imagine up a setting where one valid interpretation of lore is 'humans actually do canonically suck and are partially responsible for everything being bad forever'.)