#lord knows I did when I was a beginner

[phykoha]

On today's episode of "Tiktok Doesn't Know What That Means"!:

Chicken scratch

[cherry-leclerc]

dirty mouth ☆ cl16

genre: humor, fluff, a tiny bit of smut

word count: 2.5k

Winter break and your boyfriend convinces you to go with him for his annual training in preparation for the new season, and this unleashes a natural disaster when it comes to him.

req!… hope u guys enjoy a bit of pottymouth!charles lol

When your boyfriend first brought up the idea of you tagging along to his winter training you thought, yeah, it doesn’t sound half bad. Sitting by the fireplace - hot chocolate and an overdue book in hand…

“Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc I am going to kill you,” you screech as you slide down the fast hill, white snow flying all around you from the sudden speed. His heart races fast as he chases after you.

You had begged for hours for him to let you read in peace. It’s all about the experience, he would yodel as he pointed out the window where everyone was skiing. Come on, it’ll be fun. 

Given, you wanted him to stop moaning every second - not in that way at least - and so, you complied. “Oh, amore, you look so cute! Wait, hold on, let me take a picture.” 

“I look like a stupid snowman,” you growl as you look down at your ski suit. Wincing at the strong flash of his phone, you scrunch your nose. He frowns. 

“An adorable snowman.”

As soon as you stepped foot out, you wanted to punch him square in the face. It was so cold that for a moment you thought your limbs would give out. Joris giggles as he snaps a quick Polaroid of you pouting, cheeks the darkest shade a pink. You flip him off before turning to Charles. 

“You don’t love me.” He groans, already knowing this card all too well. You hum. “Nuh-uh, you don’t because if you did then you wouldn’t put me in this position.” A smirk slides onto his soft lips.

“Don’t worry, I know a position that will warm you up later.” Your jaw drops. Leaning down to press a kiss onto the tip of your nose, he continues. “And I do love you, don’t be ridiculous.” 

You realized he wasn’t going to give in to your pleas to let you turn back around, so you sucked it up and followed him and the boys. Andrea bumps his shoulder against yours, trying to get your attention. 

“Vous plaisantez j'espère?” you groan as you fall down into a pile of snow, unbalanced from his delicate nudge. His smile drops. Sorry, sorry! He checks to see if you’re hurt because Lord watch out if you are, Charles would kill him. 

“Questo é fantastico,” Joris mutters as he takes another picture. You bite the air. Andrea waves him off before helping you plunge through the snow. 

“Please don’t tell Charles,” he begs as you squint your eyes teasingly. Don’t worry, I won’t. I’m fine, aren’t I? Your boyfriend’ trainer silently thanks you. “I was just trying to ask if you were ready?” He wiggles his dark brows. 

“Ready for what?” You look around. “To freeze my ass off?” He stops dead in his tracks. “Oh! You mean to go to the bunny slope!” Cheerfully, you clap, wide grin stretched onto your lips. “I’m kind of scared, but it’s for beginners so I think I’ll be okay. Plus, you guys will all be there.”

Andrea shakes his head, almost seeming disappointed. “Charles, Charles, Charles…”

“Charles what?” 

“We’re here!” Looking up at your boyfriend, he buzzes as he points up at the ski lift. Your smile drops. Angrily, you struggle to make your way up to him before smacking his shoulder. 

“You said the bunny slope!”

He grimaces. “I know, I know, but you need to feel the rush!” He tries to kiss you but you swiftly turn your head causing him to smack his lips right onto your helmet. “I know you’re mad-”

“Of course I’m mad, you lied. I can’t go up there.” Huffing, you cross your arms. He winces at your tone. 

“Chérie, but I’ll be there with you! Joris, Andrea, Antonio, me…” He coolly raises his brows. “We’ll keep you safe.” 

You scoff. “Better start planning my funeral.”

“You’ll be fine, let’s go.”

-

“Alright baby, bend your knees - come on - you know how to do that,” he teases with a cocky tone. The boys groan as they cover their ears and you burn bright red. He throws his head back laughing as he continues. “Lean a bit toward, too.” He suppresses another dirty joke when you throw the ski poles all frustrated.

“I’m not doing this if you keep this up.” 

“Okay, okay, I’m done,” he promises as he hands them back to you. After a bit more coaching from all of them, you nod. 

“Lots of mansplaining, but I guess I could give it a shot.” You narrow your eyes at your friends. “Promise you guys will go after me if I can’t stop?” 

Promise, they repeat in unison. 

“Pro?” a teenage boy asks as he looks you up and down. Charles clenches his jaw as he steps in. She is. His voice comes out harsh and the worker just raises his arms up in defense before winking over at you. Have fun. 

Dragging you away, you squeal as you try to keep up. “He was only being nice!” Nice my ass, he sourly grunts as he makes sure your feet are secure. You pout. “And I’m not a professional, you stinky liar.” You roll your eyes. “Guess that’s all you know how to do today - lie.”

Playfully, he mimics your movements, then he smacks your ass. “Be a good girl and show us all what you learned.” You squirm at his words before nodding. 

Knees slightly bent, like how they are when you bounce up and down around his thick cock.

Lean forward, like when you press your naked chest against his own and he kisses you until your lips burn out. 

Everything somehow led back to moments between you and the Monegasque and maybe that’s what made you far too unfocused that you missed your step and started sliding down the hill before you even had a chance to notice. 

“Guys!” you wail as you fly past by them with their jaws on the floor. “You group of liars!” 

The brunette quickly snaps out of it and chases after you, avidly skiing past other skiers. Andrea, Joris and Antonio all follow after him as they breath heavily. 

“Turn, baby, turn,” Charles screeches as he clumsily throws out reminders of what he taught you on how to come to a halt. Shift your body weight! 

Shutting your eyes for a brief second, you send a quick prayer to the man up above and curse your boyfriend for a lifetime. “I can’t do it, I’m sca- agh!” 

You’re barely able to safely swoosh past a group of boys as they all yell at you. Charles flips them off before sliding past them. 

“Smile!” Joris demands as he clicks his camera. You little bitch, you shout. Help me, douchebag! “Right.” He’s just about to catch you when all of a sudden he loses his place and falls. “Oh, allez!” 

Then comes Antonio who as much as he tries to help, he can’t seem to get close enough. Charles huffs a puff of cold air. “Just grab her!” She keeps getting away, his friend pants. 

And Andrea isn’t really trying but he’s definitely in for adrenaline as he cheers for his friends like their own personal cheerleader. Oh, so close! 

Joris eventually catches up but can’t do much anymore, apart from start recording. He laughs as you zigzag, arms momentarily flinging through the air. 

“No! Keep them still!” Charles yelps, terrified to see you hurt yourself. 

“I’m never listening to you ever again, Charles! You never think when it comes to these things, do you?” You tremble from the icy breeze. “Noooo, he never does! Because all he thinks about is fun, fun, fun, fu-”

Next thing you know, you’re crashing into a chunk of snow as you groan from the sudden stop, but nothing hurts. “Oh thank God,” you let out. Patting yourself down, you squint your eyes at the group of men who ease their pace as they grow closer to you. “Dickheads.” You look around. “Where’s Charles?”

Hearing the shutter of a camera go off, you tilt your head in confusion. “Oh yeah,” Joris gasps. “This is definitely going to be shown at your guys’ wedding.”

Feeling something twitch underneath you, you squeal with panic as you try jumping up but only hear a ring of grunts. And you recognize them like the back of your hand. 

“Charles?” Taking off his helmet abruptly, he heaves. As soon as he catches his breath, he touches your face carefully. Are you hurt? Are you okay? You throw your arms over him like a koala and kiss his clothed neck. “What do you mean, am I okay, what about you?” He shrugs it off.

“As long as you are.” 

You swoon before swatting him all over his chest. This is pure gold, Joris adds as he continues recording. 

“Men are all dirty, filthy, scrummy, stupid liars,” you hissed as his large hands tried to ease your hits. “You said you guys would help me!” 

His eyes darken. “What do you call what I just did? I basically gave my life for you!” He brushes white snow off his lashes. “I’m lucky to be alive, you brat.”

Dinner that night is filled with snarky remarks from Charles and strong bickering from you. 

“If you hadn’t forced me then I wouldn’t be bitching about it!”

His right eye twitches for a split second. “I already said I was sorry! I saved you, be a little thankful.”

The group of friends could tell the tension was growing thicker between the couple as they munch on their food quietly. He just doesn’t have a single cell to help him think about the consequences, you mumble as you bite down on a brussels sprout. 

“You know what? How about we all just relax?” Andrea tried to lessen the rigid behavior of his two friends. “How does a trip to the hot tub sound?”

-

The Monegasque stiffens as soon as you walk out with your tiny bikini. You were a quivering mess, which made you cross your arms to try and warm yourself up, which in return ruined your boyfriend's sanity. He was practically drooling like a dog at the sight of your perfect tits being pressed up. 

In a singular motion, Charles removes his shirt, leaving him in only his swim shorts. His large bulge increases your heart tempo as you remind yourself to keep cool since Joris and the rest were still around. 

“Mierde, you know what? I forgot the towels.” Joris turns to Andrea and Antonio. “Do you guys mind helping me?” They patiently nod before making their way back into the cabin. 

Teeth chattering is all he could hear coming from you, white rings flying in the air as you let out shaky breaths. His arms itch to bring you in and it’s not until he looks into your loopy eyes that he sighs and makes his way over.

He towers over you as his arms wrap around you like the warmest blanket to ever exist. “Are you still mad?” Despite letting him touch you, you still keep your face straight, not letting him be able to read you. “Chérie-”

“I want to get in,” you cut him, creating distance as you dip your toe in first into the hot tub and then the rest. Annoyed, he tsks his tongue before doing the same. Be like that then. 

Click. 

Turning fast to face the glass door, you vividly catch a glimpse of your friends locking it and closing the curtains. Make amends, Andrea yells out like a strict parent. 

“Connards!” Splashing your hands onto the water as a mini tantrum, you moan. The green eyed boy keeps quiet as he watches you. “What are you looking at?” you hiss. Nothing.

You think about climbing out and trying to find a way back in but the hot water feels too good so you decide against it, choosing to enjoy the sensation. As soon as you close your eyes, the brunette starts whistling. 

At first you try to tune him out, but it only gets louder from there. Theme From A Summer Place. You recognize it in less than a second. It’s what he always plays for you on the piano as you bake him snickerdoodles. Whether it’s summer or not - it’s a routine. 

Your silly resentment grows smaller with every curve his tongue travels through, soft symphonies somehow making you feel more cozy than the actual hot tub. 

He could hear the way you tread through the water, but it still catches him by surprise as you climb onto his lap, graceful fingers pushing his long hair back a bit. 

“I’m sorry for being a bitch today.” 

He chuckles deeply, leaning up to kiss your wet lips. “I’m sorry for almost killing you.” He drums his fingers against your thigh. “It scared me when you lost control…I should’ve just let you stay back.”

“It wasn't right for you to assume that I would be fine skipping the bunny slope and jumping straight into that, but I know you meant no harm.” His jaw ticks. 

“Of course I meant no harm, are you kidding me? You dragged my heart along with you when you flew down that hill.” You giggle sweetly, strands of hair sliding off your shoulders. He smiles. 

“It’s not entirely your fault.” He quirks his left eyebrow. Blushing, you begin playing with the droplets that sprinkle across his chest. “My mind went…” He whistles seductively. You nod, avoiding his green stare. “Yup.”

“It’s normal, no? I mean you are my girlfriend.” 

“But not in a moment like that, Charles! We all nearly died,” you wheeze as you shift on his lap. He grunts. 

“And yet, we didn’t.” Turned on by everything about you, he angles his head upward before linking his pink lips to yours. Water droplets tickle your chin as he moves his mouth against your own. Your body temperature increasingly grows heated and not just from the hot tub. 

The way he kisses you with such urgency is enough to make your head spin, as if he’s been away for years and just barely got the opportunity to enjoy your pillowy lips. Slowly, you circle your hips as he groans, hands pinching you in return as he grows harder. 

“God, I’m so glad you didn’t die,” he mumbles in between your lips. Laughing, you vibrate against him as he cringes at the sudden change. “Anddd you ruined it.” You poke your tongue out.

“Don’t say perverted things then!” 

His stare drops. “How is that perverted?”

Shrugging, you climb off his lips as you press a warm kiss against his stubble. “Teasing, Mr. Leclerc. But how about we go up to bed?” 

His eyes crinkle at your simple words. “Shoot me in the head if I ever say no to that.” Splashing out of the pool, you giggle as he grabs you, kissing every inch of your glowy skin.

-

Headboard hits the wall strong and fast as you cry out against his chest, groans flying past his lips as he circles his fingers against your swollen clit. 

From downstairs, the boys grab Charles’ car keys as they hurry out the door.

“Andrea, what were you thinking?”

[atrwriting]

mercy — fem!highborn!reader x davos blackwood

was everyone else going crazy to find out that this man is actually named davos ?? absolutely wild. i refuse to believe it is davos, but alas — i must comply.

someone said that this guy would match your freak and i haven’t been able to unsee it and therefore i compose

as always, warnings: smuuuuuuut, knife play, choking, swearing, switch reader, power bottom davos, my very own self indulgence

____

with your family and several others declaring for rhaenyra targaryen, the one true queen, it led to others seeing women in a different light. a daughter of a highborn family like you would not be trapped to embroider for the rest of your life — unless you wanted to. that was the beauty of choice and what rhaenyra had started — you should have the same opportunities of men in that age, including the opportunity and ability to choose.

and so you did: you chose to fight.

with war brewing, how could you stand by and only wield a needle and thread when you didn’t want to and had the ability to do something else? what, were you going to embroider the war? some battle with red thread? illustrating the rage and fighting of men losing their lives with and against fire and blood? absolutely not. if you could wield a sword instead, and weren’t half bad — maybe that would save someone else from fighting.

and so you did. you started training.

you weren’t half bad, honestly — given your size and age. most men began when they were boys and very small, growing into their strength and work ethic. you could not be blamed for your lack of skill — it just meant that when you could wield a sword against a worthy opponent and beat them, you would gain the respect you deserve.

and you would work for it. you had to.

in order to achieve that, you had to actually find willing opponents. despite the fact that they declared for rhaenyra, that did not mean that other soldiers wanted to face a woman in a fair fight. you tried not to take it too personally — as they would probably fear for your father’s response if you had been hurt. you tried to understand, but you wanted to improve — needed to improve.

however, there was one person that was willing to spar with you.

you rolled your eyes just thinking of the name.

davos blackwood.

there was nothing wrong with him — but he bothered you. got under your skin in a way that no other man could, nor even dream of being able to. he taunted you the first time you had ever met him, and taunted you further towards the first time you had ever sparred with him. you did not mind someone baiting you, but to be constantly reminded of your lack of skill, your womanhood, and the approaching war was a weight on one’s shoulders that a beginner could not always bear the weight of. they would not expect a young boy to withstand that pressure, and didn't understand why davos would expect you to handle it. when that insecurity was opened and showcased for onlookers to see fighting in daylight, it was even harder. you didn’t understand why he was trying so hard to, frankly, haze you — and it’s not like he seemed open to fair or friendly communication.

so you tried to avoid him.

you tried.

you really, really did try… but in the end, he was the only one willing — and you had to learn.

you sighed with reluctance — knowing what you had to do.

when he was alone in the camp you were both staying at, you walked up to him.

“...lord blackwood?” you asked, trying to refrain from using a soft voice.

he turned around to face you, a smirk already growing on his lips. one of his hands was lazily gripping the hilt of his sword, while the other grasped his hip. his shoulders were wide and strong — indicative of how skilled of a fighter he was. you clenched your teeth — hoping you wouldn’t regret this, as you could only benefit. you had to keep reminding yourself of that — a means to an end. that's all this is and would be. it's worth it. you then tried to meet his eyes as the wind swept his brown hair from his line of sight.

if he wasn’t so snarky, you might have found him attractive.

might have.

“yes, my lady?” he asked.

you could hear his smirk in his tone — like he already knew what you were going to ask, and how much you did not want to ask it.

you folded your bottom lip in between your teeth. “...would you be willing to spar with me?”

“i would,” he replied. “you have not asked me since our last. i have some time now — should we find an open space?”

you shook your head. “perhaps this evening... when people have retired?”

he raised an eyebrow, obviously displeased with your decision. “...why is that, my lady?”

“less of an audience, my lord,” you tried to say confidently.

he raised an eyebrow at you. “battles are not won in private, my lady.”

you tried to keep your tone flat, fighting the urge to turn your nose up at him. “i’m aware.”

“so why do you not join me now?”

“i would like to make mistakes once or twice in private — and then i will feel more comfortable where others can see.”

“you would do fine now, my lady,” he spoke, but then dipped his head. “but as you wish.”

you felt dirty after he agreed — you couldn't put your finger on why. the dip of his head — like he was giving into the conquest and silly dream of that of a young girl. a young, naive, innocent girl who would never be taken seriously, no matter how hard she tried — but you couldn't think like that. you couldn't afford to — especially not during the time of war. you swallowed you pride, and waited for your meeting.

he kept his promise. later that evening, when the sun was setting, you finally met him in the sword shed before you intended to meet him in the makeshift arena. you found him sharpening his sword, face being illuminated by the lamp light. you entered the shed.

"good evening, my lady," he greeted, with a hint of grit in his voice.

you narrowed your eyes at him. "good evening, lord blackwood."

"following in your fashion — should we start with something easy? something, say — one starts with at the wee age of — eleven, perhaps?"

“i never asked you to go easy on me — but i would have hoped that after i voiced my concerns as to why i would prefer not to have an audience when i spar with you, you would’ve understood.”

“and — pray tell, my lady, why would i have understood?”

you slapped your sides in defeat, beginning to get frustrated at the fact that he couldn’t read between the fucking lines. your cheeks were beginning to pinch at the feeling of flush. “because it was like you were constantly reminding me that i am new to this and that it was unlikely that i would ever get better!"

he raised his eyebrows then, eyes widening. the smirk was still playing at his lips, as he couldn't help but let an amused chuckle push past his lips — intending mockery. “my intention was to make you better, my lady.”

you shook your head in disbelief, almost scoffing. “i just — it would’ve been nice —“

“nice?” he scoffed, walking towards you then. he approached you with his hands behind his back, but his walk was led by his head, neck, and shoulders. it stuck out at you like he couldn't wrap his head around as to how you could believe or say such a thing. “my lady, there is no nice on the battle field. not only do you have to beat the swords you go up against, but also the men wielding them. i was not nice to you because there is not enough time. you do not have enough time to learn at the pace of a boy, because you are a learning to fight as a woman during the time where another woman is fighting for her crown. you need to be good — for your family, for your army, for your queen — and because i want you to be good.”

you narrowed your eyes at him, sucking in a sharp breath at his words. there stood davos, pleading with you to have confidence in your own ability and skill — despite how he always made you doubt it. you didn't know what to think, let alone believe. “i am not naive enough to believe that the battle field is nice — just forget it, i can’t —“

you went to turn away, but he stopped you. he grabbed you by the elbow, and you immediately turned to face him. within almost an instant, you had stopped his other arm. you shoved his grip down at the same time you pressed a knife to the skin of his neck with your free hand.

you bared your teeth at him, the tip of your nose pulsing into a snarl. there was a dagger to his throat, but nothing compared to the ones you shot with your eyes. your pupils dilated so the only thing in your vision was blackwood and his dark eyes, only focused on yours. both sets of eyes had seen peace and danger, fire and ice —but neither knew the feeling you had when you looked into davos blackwood's eyes and witnessed the exact moment he realized you had been the one to best him. to have his throat at the mercy of your wrist, and have him still smirk down at you — was a feeling that startled you, and excited you.

he pushed against the blade, forcing you to reluctantly allow his head to lower to yours. you could feel his hot breath on your face, shrinking your space. "is that what will make you feel more confident, my lady? — you think you can best me, with a knife to my throat?"

he walked forward, forcing you backwards. you continued taking steps backward when he did not stop. soon, your back was pressed up against a table your lower back had been stopped by. the force of davos' hips collided with yours, pressing you against the table. the plumpness of your ass was pushed into the wood as davos planted himself between your thighs. "is this how you make yourself feel safe? — because even if i am stronger, that does not negate the fact that in a moment's time you could bleed me."

"i could —" you bit — as if that statement was something monumental. as if you hadn't agreed with his own statement. as if it wasn't pathetic.

you watched as he realized that fact the same time you did.

"but will you?" he asked, in a soft, taunting voice.

"i could," you spat again.

pathetic, you spat to yourself in your head. at that same moment, davos smirked down at you.

"there is nothing more enticing than a woman who knows her strength," he spoke, tone threatening to break. "especially against a man whom they both know could end her.”

“testing me, davos?” you spat, nose turning up at him. his smirk wavered when he felt the sharpness of the blade scrape his skin, threatening to draw blood.

“oh — i find myself doing more than that, my lady,” he pressed forward once more, so your noses were almost touching. there were inches — barely inches — between your lips, words ghosting over your skin. his breaths hit your lips with such force you almost believed they were touching. you couldn't let it show on your face — couldn’t let him know he was winning, or that he won. “you want to keep that blade at my throat? be my guest — as long as you let me do this.”

with your lower back pressed against the table and the knife flat on his throat, davos locked you in by placing both of his hands on either side of your thighs. he leaned forward, and he took what he wanted. he took, and took, and took until you were putty in his hands. he held your lips hostage with his own, leaving you at his mercy. mercy, mercy, mercy. you were jailed in his embrace, hating and relishing it at the same time.

your free hand gripped his collar, pulling him into your knife and you. you didn’t even realize you were doing it — or maybe you didn’t want to admit it. maybe you didn’t want to admit that you liked the man who constantly bullied you, nor that you liked the boldness in his smirk before he kissed you.

“you bastard —“ your insult was breathless. pathetic. ridiculous. it made him smile, and it only made your pride and shame swirl in your chest more. how dare he? how could he? “you fucking — !“

“that’s right, my sweet — “ he grunted, pushing your skirts to the side. you felt the cool air hit your exposed thighs, a blush rising to your cheeks. he laughed against your lips before sliding his tongue into your mouth. you could’ve if you wanted to — you so could’ve — you could’ve, you could’ve, you fucking could’ve, but you didn’t want to — you didn’t want to push him away. the knife, still pressed against his skin, wanted to push him away. wanted to cut him. wanted to bring him pain. wanted to get him away — but you? no. your body’s reluctance fell away once you felt his hands slips between your thighs. “hate me — come on — show me how strong you are — show me how much you fucking hate me.”

his thumb was on your clit, sensitive with excitement and anger — never been touched before. his finger drew circles; a long curve on the top of your bundle of nerves, fast when it made he made his way towards the top of the circle once more. long, and drawn out was his torture. he wound you up tight, only for him and at his mercy. he shoved his middle and ring finger inside you, letting the pads of his fingers rub the length of the roof of your cunt. the beckoning motion brought you closer and closer to him, no matter how hard you tried to fight him inside.

“keep that knife at my throat, my lady,” he spat. “let’s see if you can keep a steady hand without drawing blood when i make you cum. — i’m betting you can’t.”

“fuck…” you trailed off off, getting lost in his movements. “f-fuck you.”

“that’s all the brave fighter’s got?” he spat into your ear, making your hair stand. “weak words? you claimed you were of a higher skill — am i going to be the one to prove you wrong?"

you couldn’t concentrate. you couldn’t. there was no way. it would’ve been useless to even try. your let your neck relax as his lips found the length of the side of your jaw, kissing and nibbling at the clammy skin. he found your pulse point — thumpthumpthumpthumpthump — and sucked the blood from the source, and to the surface. you couldn’t see, but you felt the blood rise to the top of the skin and settle. your blood, your veins, your fucking heart was pounding as it rested at his mercy. his. him. davos. he controlled every part of you — including where your blood moved, pooled, and clotted — and you didn’t know how to feel about it. you were swimming in his embrace, holding onto him for dear fucking life.

“fuck, fuck, fuck…” you cried.

“that’s right, my sweet,” he spoke. groaning in your ear, “that’s it. show me. show me how much you hate me. i want that knife to almost cut me when you cum. i want to see the look of hatred in your eyes when you make a mess on my fucking sword hand.”

you couldn’t stop it.

you couldn’t.

it was useless. pathetic. worthless.

your head fell against his strong, broad shoulder and you felt every part of your being lose control. every single one of your muscles tightened. your grip on the hilt on the knife tightened and the grip on his leathers tightened. everything was so fucking tight you didn’t know how the strings inside of you that were wound so tight didn’t fucking snap. it should’ve snapped. it should’ve snapped like the light behind your eyes, blinding white being the only thing you could see. you thought you could hear your own cries, his grunts — but you weren’t sure. your were lost, floating in your own release while his fingers didn’t relent against you.

“so-so sensitive,” you choked out, vision still hazy.

“you think i’m done with you?” he spoke. your strength was beginning to waver, as was your knife from his throat. you could feel the exact moment he realized it. “can’t even keep a knife to my throat at your most vulnerable? how do you expect to fair, yeah? in battle? — shall i get you a needle and thread instead, my lady?"

something inside of you snapped inside you for a second time that night — but this time it was anger. your gaze, aflame, caught his. how dare he? how fucking dare he? with a snarl, you spat, “unlace your fucking leathers, blackwood.”

fire also danced within his irises as the corners of his mouth raised once again. for the first time that evening, you had me davos' fight as an equal match.

you would not back down.

his fingers left your dripping cunt, and he began working at his strings. you struggled to catch your breath as you came down from your high, forcing yourself to regain composure. and, yet — there was davos. smirking. confidently. not fearing the knife at his throat, nor fearing the girl who held it, nor that she was now his match.

his tore his eyes away from you to spit on his hand, coating his long member. though angry, you couldn’t help but grow hungry at the sight of his red, leaking tip. there was no desperation on his face, but davos blackwood had control over his expression. his demeanor. his emotions. but his cock? red and neglected? there was no control. it plunged into your sopping wet cunt, buried in you until the hilt.

your cunt blossomed around him. you felt your walls blossom for the man on top of you. your womb, warm and welcoming, wanted to suck him in and never let him leave. you had never known pleasure like this, wanting even the most frustrating of men to give it to you.

you threw the knife on the ground.

you pressed your flat palm to his throat, curling around it. your squeezed the sides of his throat. your teeth were bared once more, fighting for dominance against the predator before you.

davos smiled, diminishing your resolve.

“there she is,” he spat, smirk wide with his teeth on display. “there’s my fighter.”

"fuck you," you replied.

"good," he responded, before sliding his length inside of you.

that was the thing with davos — showing vulnerability like succumbing to pleasure made you feel weak, whereas davos never felt weak. even in a vulnerable state such as this — this, joining bodies as one, each thrusting their hips against the other seeking to reach their own peak, while also relishing in the fact that you were helping the other reach theirs. his fingers dug into the flesh of your hips, deliciously painful and bittersweet. even in his most vulnerable state, davos radiated power. there was dominance in his state of weakness and pleasure that was asserted over you, and you had no choice to bow — no choice but to give in.

“you missed me so bad, didn’t you?”

there you were — a light sheen of sweat on your skin glistening with the dim light of the lantern as you thrusted your hips to meet his. there was one firm hand of his, pressing down on your stomach. every time he could feel the thrust of his own cock through the soft skin of your stomach, you witnessed a flash of mischief in his dark irises. a groan collected in the back of davos' throat — building, building, and building until it came out in a growl. carnal. animalistic. untamed, and all yours. you couldn't help but moan at the sound, sending a gush of pleasure swirling around his cock. he glanced up at you, smile being illuminated by the lantern.

“that’s it, my sweet — whine for me.”

and you did. oh fuck, you did. it was all you could do besides let your muscles go taut at the idea of losing all control to the pleasure of the tip of his cock hitting that space behind your clit deep inside you. once more. that's all you needed. once more. one more peak. your pride would understand — you could not feel shame with the feeling of pleasure so electrifying. every crook of your body was hot and clammy — but you didn’t care. you couldn’t care, and neither could he.

“you just want to cum, don’t you?” he asked. “i know you do, yes? — answer me.”

he slapped your your sensitive clit. it sent sparks up and down your nerve endings, making you squeal and jump. you glanced up at him, and immediately connected your gaze with his dark one. his eyes tested you — your pride, your shame, and your being. however, the want and need in your hips was stronger than you — but that didn't matter. that was the strength and fight davos' wanted, and he would lose to.

“i do,” you whimpered, folding your bottom lip into your mouth. your eyes, like a doe’s, pleaded with him through your thick lashes. you thought you saw a flash of pride on his face, but you couldn’t tell. “fuck, youfuckingbastard — please, davos, just a little longer… ‘m so close.”

“ohhh — that right, my lady? yeah?” his gaze was heavy — dark, tired, but fueled by lust. his throat was worn and scratchy, and the thickness of his voice mirrored it. “showing that fight you promised me, yeah? just like i asked? so beautiful and fucking strong —”

"fuck..." you sobbed. your womb was blooming once more, sucking him in farther and farther into you. he welcomed the pull from your warm, wet, and gummy walls — for you had no strength to push him from you, and neither did he.

"shall i spill my seed into you, my sweet?" he asked, chuckling darkly. he cock continued to pound into your throbbing cunt until you could only think davos, davos, davos. your grip on his throat grew tighter — but not because of your anger, but because you could only cling onto something to hold you present. "shall we create the bravest, most dangerous fighter there has ever been?"

his words were beginning to slur together, like ears underwater. your brain was swimming, being pushed and pulled through saltwater waves that wove ropes around your lungs and hips.

"if you dare..." you whined, failing at sounding brave.

"i would dare," he immediately spat, plunging his cock in once more.

your grip on his throat tightened as he spanked your clit once more, sending you spinning. your thighs locked around him, pulling you into your core and trapping him there. it only enraged him — energized him. it was the final fire that spread throughout him to snap his hips once, twice, thrice more into you and spill himself inside you. your peak made you cling to your lover in the lamp light — holding onto him as you both fell forward into each other, clinging to each other.

you had fallen onto his shoulder, seeking rest. his cheek was pressed against the side of your face. his lips pressed a warm, wet kiss on your cheek — and then another onto the love bite he left on your skin. you felt his tongue poke through his soft lips and lick the bruised skin, sealing his mark in. with his dark gruff voice, davos stated, "that is how you best a man, my lady."

"fuck you."

----

so what do we think? love u guys xoxoox - L

[antiquarianfics]

Accidental pt. 4

What happens when you accidentally kidnap the exact man you were looking for?

pairing: mob!bucky x reader

warning(s): canon level violence, kidnapping, profanity

a/n: it’s my birthday, so let’s celebrate with their date 🤭

You do not have permission to copy, translate, or repost my work; however, feel free to like, comment, and reblog.

part 3

»»———-———-———-———-———-———-———-««

"Oh, and one more thing," you say, catching the man's attention before he gets back into the SUV. He raises an eyebrow, you smirk. "Tell James he better damn well bring flowers."

—

You sigh as you stare at your reflection in the mirror, smoothing out your blouse. You turn to the side to see the back of your outfit and straighten back out again.

“You’re wearing pants to a fancy date with a crime lord?” Ellie asks, judgement lacing her question. You turn and raise an eyebrow at her, crossing the room to find the loafers you planned to wear.

“Yeah. Problem?” You ask, not really caring about Ellie’s opinion of your date attire. After all, it’s really more of a business transaction than a date.

“Yes! He’s probably expecting a dress, heels! Something low cut! You’re supposed to look sexy! You,” she pauses, gesturing to your body with an exasperated hand motion, “look like a JCPenney commercial.”

You scoff, a smirk teasing your lips. “Ellie, I don’t care. First of all, I can run a hell of a lot easier in loafers than heels, in slacks than a dress. Second of all,” you pick up your handgun where it lie on your dresser and check the safety, “I can’t hide this as easily in a dress.” Once you’re satisfied the safety is on, you tuck the gun away in the back of your pants, pulling your blouse back down over it. You look in the mirror again and fiddle with the tucking.

“Should I French tuck this?”

“Yes,” Ellie says distractedly before continuing. “But, Y/N, this guy is dangerous. You should play it safe. It’s just a date, so be who he obviously wants you to be.”

You sigh, turning back around to look your sister in the eyes.

“Ellie,” you say, tone dead serious. “Why are you so afraid of him? What did he do to you?”

Ellie blanches and doesn’t say anything. You sigh again turning back around to the mirror to fiddle with your hair, making sure it’s out of your face.

“I never saw him,” Ellie says suddenly. You watch her through the mirror where she sits on your bed staring at her hands. “I never saw him,” she starts again, “but I don’t think I was important enough for him to spare me his attention.

“I was at home making dinner when his men came for me. There was knock on the door, and when I answered, they stuck a bag over my head. Next thing I knew, I was in a dank, small room. There was a mattress on the floor for me to sleep, a toilet. Nothing else. I was there for maybe two days before someone came for me. I was taken to a conference room. There was a man there. I forget his name, but he was tall. Blond. He asked if I knew why I was there, I said I did, and he asked if I had any way to repay what I owed.”

“What did you owe?”

“750,000 dollars.”

“Ellie! How do you—? What? How?” You’re shocked, unable to comprehend how your baby sister could owe anyone so much.

“I… I met this guy, Zemo. We were just friends, but he started taking me around his friends. His friends hung out in these speakeasy type clubs. They played poker and stuff. I don’t know. I usually just watched, but after a few times, they talked me into it. Told me it was easy money, and, Y/N, I needed the money! So, I played, and I was doing really well. So I kept playing long after Zemo and his buddies left. I made so much down there, but I got too cocky and I lost an all-or-nothing. I played again to try and win it back, but it was like I’d lost my mojo, like I’d been playing on beginner’s luck.”

“Ellie,” you say sympathetically.

“I was $750,000 in debt and I couldn’t pay it, but the man I’d lost to—I think he felt bad—he said I could have 72 hours to get him his money. If I didn’t get him the money in time…” She trails off and you realize you’re clenching your jaw. You consciously unclench it. Ellie takes in a deep breath and exhales slowly. “He said if I didn’t get the money to him in 72 hours he would just have to find another way for me to pay him back. I don’t really know what he meant by that.

Anyway, the blond man asked if I could repay the money. I said no. He looked… sympathetic? He told me I’d have to go back to the cell until they could find use for me. I was there until they brought me home.”

You sit next to her on the bed, circling your arm around her. “Elle, I’m so sorry. I wish you’d come to me for help. I would’ve helped.”

“You don’t have that money, either. Plus, you are helping.”

“I guess.”

“What time is it?”

“6:30.”

“Are you nervous?” Ellie asks.

“I accidentally kidnapped the most powerful man in the city and threatened his life, sis. I’m not nervous at all,” you say sarcastically.

Ellie opens her mouth to respond but is cut off by the ringing of your doorbell and a knock on the door. The two of you exchange a surprised look and you double check your watch: 6:34.

“He’s early,” you say, standing as you take a deep breath and try to swallow your nerves.

“Hey, you’ve got this. I know it,” Ellie reassures you, but she makes no move to follow you as you leave the room and go to make good on your end of yours and James’ bargain. You’re settling her debt and she makes no further move to support you.

You sigh as you reach the front door, swallowing your nerves and the tiny bit of resentment for your sister forming. Swinging the door open, you come face to face with the same man you had kidnapped and assaulted the day before: James Barnes.

James is looking around him when you open the door, but his attention is immediately on you as the door opens. His striking blue eyes meet yours, take in your person, and meet your eyes again. He grins.

“You look beautiful, Doll,” he says. He sounds breathless, completely blown away. You give him a questioning look, still so unsure of his motives.

“Thank you. You clean up nice. Not being tied up to a chair suits you,” you say. Your words come out funny. The ‘thank you’ sounds somewhat genuine but the compliment comes out somewhat strained, like you’re not sure you should be saying it.

James ignores your tone and lets his grin widen. He then takes a hand out from behind his back—you hadn’t even noticed his hand was behind his back—and hands you a bouquet of blue hyacinths. You just stare at them for a while as your brain attempts to catch up with your eyes.

“You actually brought flowers.”

“You threatened me again,” he teases.

“James, I…” You trail off, speechless. You wonder how you keep getting away with threatening him. Most people would be, at best, locked away, at worst, dead.

“Bucky.”

“What?”

“My name,” he says, “is Bucky.”

You let your eyes trail from the hyacinths up to his eyes (you can’t help but notice they’re the same color), and you think that he looks shy—timid. James—Bucky—looks like he is nervous to ask you to call him by this other name.

“Bucky?” You ask, and, against your better judgment, as you ask it, you pull back your front door and step aside, inviting him into your home. He looks equally surprised you’d do such a thing, but he enters, taking a few steps into the corridor before pausing to look around and to wait on you. You close the door behind you and lead him to the kitchen where you pull out a vase for the flowers.

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s—erm—a nickname. It’s what my friends call me.”

“We’re friends?” You ask skeptically.

“Well, no, but we’re going on a date. ‘James’ is just a little formal,” he says, wrinkling his nose at his own name.

You offer him a friendly smile (which surprises you). “Well, Bucky, you’re lucky I’m ready because you’re, like, half an hour early.”

Bucky has the decency to look embarrassed, but he ignores the accusation. “Well,” he says instead, “shall we go?”

You nod and follow him out to his car. Once you make it to the vehicle, Bucky opens the car door for you, carefully shutting it behind you. He takes his spot in the driver’s seat a moment later.

You let out a breathy laugh and he side eyes you as he starts the car.

“What?”

“Nothing! I just sort of expected you to have a driver. You’re just… surprising.”

He smiles at your admission. “Careful, Doll. Someone might think you like me.”

“Doubtful.”

It’s not a long drive to what is certainly a high class establishment—an establishment nicer than any you’ve been to before. Bucky gets out of the car, rushing to let you out. As you get out of the car, he offers his keys to the valet and his arm to you. You glance briefly at his arm and give him an annoyed look as you loop your arm through his.

Bucky escorts you to the double glass doors that lead to the restaurant where a doorman waits to open the door for you. You say “thank you” as you pass and Bucky gives you an unreadable look. Then, once inside the restaurant, Bucky whispers something to the host who nods and leads you towards the back and up some stairs that lead to a glass enclosed landing where two guards stand on either side of the door leading to the rooftop seating. Bucky lets go of your arm and steps forward as the male security guard mirrors him. The guard pats Bucky down, finds a handgun tucked away in a holster at his waist, takes it, and then allows him to step to the side so that you may take your turn.

Your breathing picks up ever so slightly as you watch Bucky get frisked, especially once you realize they’re going to frisk you, too. You start to worry when you realize they’re going to find a weapon on you—how is that going to play out? Will Bucky go back on his word? Will he kill you? Then, when they take away Bucky’s weapon, you remind yourself to breathe normally and regain some confidence. He brought a gun, too: he doesn’t trust you and you don’t trust him.

You step forward, making eye contact with Bucky the whole time. You hold your arms out ever so slightly as the female guard steps forward to frisk you. You raise an eyebrow—maybe you’re challenging him to do something—when the guard finds your gun and pulls it out of your waistband. She holds it up and offers you a “seriously?” look, which you see in your peripheral. You shrug at her, eyes still on Bucky. He’s smirking.

The two of you are then led by the host through the guarded door to a single table that sits on the balcony. The balcony has been well decorated with myriad plants and string lights. There’s soft music playing in the background. Bucky pulls out a chair for you and you sit, watching as he takes the seat across from you. The two of you just watch each other as the host offers you menus and promises a waiter will be with you soon. Once the host is gone, the two of you sit, watching, waiting.

“Lovely weather we’re having,” you finally say, picking up the menu. If he isn’t going to say anything, you decide, you’re going to play coy.

Bucky raises his eyebrows, letting out a laugh and looking away before returning is gaze to you.

“You brought a gun to our date,” he says.

“So did you,” you reply, still looking at the menu. “Is the chicken alfredo any good here?”

“What for?” He asks, ignoring the alfredo question.

You sigh, setting down the menu. “Why did you?”

“You held me at gunpoint the last time we met. How was I to know you wouldn’t try to finish the job?”

“I held you at gunpoint the last time we met, but I had you tied up. How was I to know you wouldn’t take the shot now that your hands aren’t tied?”

“We’re here because I already shot my shot.”

“Clever.”

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I’ve given you every reason to.”

He laughs humorlessly. “If I wanted to hurt you, don’t you think I would have done it already?”

“Why am I here, James? Why don’t you want to hurt me? Aren’t you supposed to be some big, scary crime lord? Because you’re not living up to your name.”

Bucky clenches his jaw and looks away. You think you’ve maybe finally struck a nerve, finally gone too far.

“Have you ever once considered, Y/N, that maybe—just maybe—I’m a person, too? Did you ever think you were capable of threatening someone’s life until necessity made you?” You flinch. He notices. “I have a shitty job. I do shitty things. I do even shittier things to even shittier people. But it’s the job I was given, the job I have, and the job I do. Maybe I’m a monster, a freak, an emotionless robot, but maybe that’s just what I have to be so I don’t go crazy. At the end of the day, I’m just a man who wants to live his life, so forgive me for wanting to do that.”

Bucky is breathing erratically. He’s worked up. You stare, mouth slightly agape, surprised. You have a feeling he’s felt this way a while and never had the chance to voice it, but you also realize that your existence in his life might be more to him than just some girl who wants her sister back, some girl who extorted him.

“You actually like me,” you say, genuinely surprised.

He looks at you, eyes softening and looking a little embarrassed.

“Yeah.”

“You’ve got terrible taste.”

He laughs. “That so?”

“I never even introduced myself. You clearly only know my name because you know who my sister is and put two and two together. I’ve been terrible to you. I mean, I have my totally logical and understandable reasons, but I’ve been terrible.”

“That’s true, but I was holding your sister hostage. Not the best conditions. I’m sure she’s thrilled about all this.” He gestures to the table in front of you, the two of you.

“She recognizes I’m cleaning up her mess.”

Bucky looks at you, expression sad.

“Cleaning up her mess,” he repeats quietly. “You don’t have to do this,” he says, louder, more confident.

“What?”

“This date. You don’t want to be here. You’re not interested. I get it. You’re cleaning up your sister’s mess. You can just go,” he says, looking far off onto the horizon. “Don’t worry about Ellie. Her debt’s forgotten.”

You don’t move. You sit, you stare, you chew your lip, and you consider the man in front of you. You consider the handsome, powerful, sad man in front of you who—to your surprise—is genuinely interested in you. You make a decision.

You hear your chair scrape against the floor as you stand up and start to walk back towards the door. You take a few steps past Bucky, turn around, and walk back to the table. You stop right beside Bucky and hold out your hand. Bucky looks at your hand outstretched to him and trails his eyes up to you, and you watch as he carefully searches your face.

“Hi,” you say, smiling. “I’m Y/N. Mind if I join you for dinner?”

Bucky’s face breaks out into a grin as he takes your hand, grasping it firmly as he shakes it. “Bucky,” he greets, playing along. “I wouldn’t mind at all.”

»»———-———-———-———-———-———-———-««

@cjand10 @vicmc624 @mostlymarvelgirl @livingoutsidethetardis @onceithough @thedonswife13 @kaithesimps-blog @buckitostan @julvrs @unaxv @searchn0tfound @10ava01

[daycourtofficial]

I got cursed like Eve got bitten - part X

Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand's sister!reader | WC: 1.5k | Warnings: none

Summary: reports of a rare powered fae popping up in Illyria send Azriel and Rhysand on a journey through the past, unraveling a truth they thought long buried

Previous part | Masterlist

The next morning, you came down the steps, entering the dining room to find your High Lord at the table. He sat, buttering a croissant when he noticed you. “Good morning.”

His voice was low as he greeted you, raising the croissant in your direction. You looked on in surprise, not sure what to make of his presence.

“Morning.” You elongated the syllables, not really sure how to take in his presence. You had spent two weeks here by this point and saw him daily, however the conversations lasted no more than thirty seconds before he ran off quickly. Something about his presence unnerved you, and it wasn’t until now that you had to sit with it in the silence. It was strange - he felt so known to you, like watching the sunset every night - you always know it’s going to happen, but when you see it, it’s like a brand new experience.

“I hope you don’t mind my company, Feyre is occupied this morning. I figured we could spend the morning together.” 

You nodded, a bit hesitant in your movements as you moved to sit a few seats down from him.

The silence settled like a blanket over you two before his throat clearing disturbed it. “How have your meetings with Feyre been going?”

His voice was strained, and you were mentally scolding yourself for opening up to Feyre. Usually he asked you this question in passing, stopping you in the hallway to check in. Now as he sat at the opposite end of the table, you felt trapped here with him. It’s not that Rhys had to like you - by all means, you’ve had coworkers or tavern regulars you couldn’t stand, but you found his silence these few weeks to be odd. When he showed up in your village, it felt like he really cared about your well-being and training you.

Neither of those things had been on his radar the past few weeks, though.

“Fine, I suppose. Like I’ve said before, I’m not entirely sure how it’s supposed to go, but yesterday I made progress.”

His eyes lit up, and you narrowed your own. He seemed surprised at your progress. Did Feyre not tell him about yesterday? His gaze on you was so boyish and excited you almost laughed - he looked nothing like the egotistical bastard the Illyrians you knew had painted him out to be.

In the time you had been here, you had wondered where the truth lay with their words - were the High Lord and his court the vermin they were said to be? Could the High Lord really read minds? You thought about if he really could, not thinking too much before screaming very loudly in your mind, watching Rhys intently. He didn’t move at the loud screaming, so if he could read minds, maybe he could turn it on and off at will.

“What kind of progress did you make?”

“I’m not sure how to describe it, I um- I felt really nervous and then I felt okay. Feyre and Azriel said they felt something, but I’m not sure what they felt. They didn’t say.”

He nodded, his violet eyes watched as you loaded your plate with eggs and sausage. “But they felt something, yes?”

You nodded, chewing your eggs before answering. “It was something, they ended things pretty quickly afterward, which was fine by me. It tired me out.”

He continued watching you eat, making you a bit uneasy before he cleared his throat. “Have you ever played chess?”

You kept your face neutral as you told him, “no, I have not. How do you play?”

-

He walked through the rules with you, telling you what each piece meant, how they moved, and even told you some half decent strategies for a beginner. The two of you ran through a mock game where he allowed you to win, and you knew because you were making the worst possible moves to see how he’d react. He had a decent poker face, but when you placed a piece in a terrible spot and he got a little cocky, one of his brows arched. Throughout the game you sprinkled in ‘accidental’ smart moves, leading him to tap his finger on his chin. 

You smiled as you checked his king after several disastrous moves, beaming with pride. “I’m ready - let’s play for real!”

He chuckled, but you continued. “Come on, don’t go easy on me. I can take it.”

Hands moved across the board, pieces moving back into place. You even misplaced your rook to let him correct you. You let the game linger a bit - not wanting to give him a completely easy game, but still throwing it nonetheless. You played with just enough competence for him to see potential in you as a player.

When the game had finished, after Rhys checked you in forty-three moves, you asked, “how about a wager? I’m getting the hang of this, I think I could beat you.”

You watched his lips twitch in delight, looking down as he reset the board. “I don’t think it’d be a fair game. I have been playing for five centuries.”

You shrugged, unbothered by the time he’s spent playing. “And I just learned a few minutes ago. I’m sure there’s something I can do you’ve never seen before.”

His grin didn’t falter as he said, “if I win, you’ll try to show me what you did with Feyre and Az.”

“And if I win, while I’m here I get put on your line of credit so I can shop in Velaris.”

He leaned forward, his ring-clad hand fitting into your own. His skin was soft as he shook your hand, a small itching feeling taking over your inner wrist. “Deal.” You pulled your sleeve back just enough to see the knight piece there, the black ink shining as you rotated your wrist before covering it once more. 

A knight. A piece of unexpected maneuvers.

Your eyes flicked to his shirt, wondering where his bargain tattoo laid itself and what it was.

“White moves first, no?”

You picked up a pawn, the small piece a winged male with a sword raised, placing it for your first move.

-

“Check.”

You wanted to laugh at the crease in his brow as he took in the placement of your piece. You had him cornered, forcing his hand to leave his king undefended. He tried to keep a neutral face, but you could tell he was not used to losing at this game - much less in twenty moves. 

“And you’ve never played before?”

“Not until our practice game earlier.”

He grimaced, his eyes looking toward the pawn you had used in the first move staring down his king. The whole game he had been off, performing a strange strategy. You were half-convinced he couldn’t actually read minds with the way he played - his defensive strategy was so far from your strategy, it allowed you to check much faster than you anticipated.

He grumbled as he leaned back in his seat, but something about him felt off. Something in your chest felt heavy as you looked at him, some deep sadness permeating your insides. You looked at him, cocking your head before looking away, the feeling dissipating slowly. You looked back at him, the sadness returning. 

“What’s on your mind?”

Your voice startled him from his grumbling before he shook his head, the feeling in your chest swirling with something new. Fear, perhaps. 

He tapped his fingers against the table, a quick rhythm. “Nothing.”

You knocked over one of his pieces, causing him to look at you. His violet eyes were wide and searching, so different to the stories you had heard of him all your life.

His presence in your chest felt devastating, as if his world were crumbling around him. 

“I can feel you.”

His hand dragged his face, stopping halfway at your words. “What?”

“You feel.. sad. “

He sat up straighter, his hands moving to the table in front of him. “Have you been able to feel anyone else?”

His tone was serious, causing you to stutter out, “no, no never. I’ve felt the things I did with Feyre and Azriel but I’ve never.. Felt someone like this. I mean I could feel when people cried or were angry, but I’ve never been able to feel something that didn’t have a visible cue.”

He stood up, standing in front of you, his hands on your face. “So you’ve never felt this before with anyone here?”

You shook your head, fear creeping in at his tone and how drastically he changed. He nodded, pulling his hands from his face. He turned, his steps rushed as he walked out of the room, nothing to note his farewell.

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[khaire-traveler]

I'm a bit tentative to reach out to Hekate as my helpol friends have told me she's 'not for the naive' and that I should set up a protection spell beforehand. Is there anything in particular I should know? Sorry to bother!

Khaire!

This straight up sounds like gatekeeping lol. Every Greek deity has had some wild cult worship throughout history, so maybe this is what they're referring to, but it still feels generally incorrect. Granted, I don't know your friends, and I don't worship Hekate directly (I almost did, as she was reaching out), but every time I've interacted with her, she's been extremely friendly, kind, and welcoming; she's never given off a hint of malice towards me. The only time I've heard of needing to protect oneself when doing anything with Hekate is regarding esoteric practices; in no other context have I ever heard about some kind of necessity to protect oneself when interacting with any Greek deities.

In the recent past, there's been a lot of fear-mongering about needing to protect oneself from deities, but I personally believe deities are the protection FROM evil, NOT the cause of it. I don't think you need to protect yourself when interacting with deities in general; I feel it has the potential to come across as offensive and make a bad first impression. This is all my opinion, however, just as how your friends are of the opinion that you do need protection. I highly encourage you to make your own call. What do you feel is the right thing to do? How do you personally want to reach out to her?

Reminder that there is no such thing as a "beginner" deity, and that includes deities who are "not for the naive". I'm genuinely curious who your friends would consider being "for the naive", considering that children worshipped these gods and goddesses. There is no deity that's flat-out off limits within hellenic polytheism. I've met many people who tell me Hekate is motherly and sweet to them; I've had others tell me that they work with much more intense aspects of hers and have felt her presence more intensely, as a consequence. Experiences will always vary between people. This is to say that I disagree with your friends strongly, general speaking. To claim that any deity is "not for the naive" is such a strange take. I'm inclined to believe they're worshipping or working with her more intense aspects, which you do not have to do if you reach out.

Frankly, if you want to reach out to her, I say go for it! Just because your friends said all that stuff doesn't mean your experience with her will be like that. If you're really that nervous, I would encourage asking a deity you're close with to be with you. Just explain that you're a bit nervous and would like some support. I've asked Lord Hermes and Lord Haides to do this with me before, and all went well; just make sure to inform Hekate of the deity's presence once you invoke her, to be polite. I honestly don't know what the hell your friends are talking about lol. Best of luck to you. 🧡

-

UPDATE FROM OP

[wishluc]

How about a Yan Solomon (Obey me) who uses the fact that he’s a human like the reader, as some kind of leverage to garner readers favour? Like, Solomon always reminds reader that he is always here for you and that no one else—especially those demon brothers, even Simeon (despite being an angel)—will understand you the way he does. Because, would you rather trust a demon to a human? Trust him, he knows how Devildom works, he knows of the dangers that lurks beneath the shadows. And plus, you ought to stick together. It’s easier that way. Solomon will protect you from everyone else. If you stay with him, he’ll guarantee your safety and happiness.

I don't know why yandere Solomon hadn't occurred to me yet...he's really fun to write for 'ヮ'

✧ CW: yandere character, manipulation

✧ PAIRING: Solomon x GN! reader

Seeing how comfortable you were with him now, it would be unbelievable to anyone else that there was a time you found Solomon intimidating.

Asmo, naturally, was the first to insist that you try talking to him. Despite his assurances that the sorcerer would be delighted to finally talk to you, when you thought back to Solomon and the haughty way his lips curled when he greeted you for the first time, you weren't quite sure about it. After all, what would an infamous magician like Solomon have to talk to you about? You weren't particularly well-versed in magic or anything else that may catch his interest. In comparison, you must look like a foolish little human.

Though Asmo insisted that Solomon wouldn't look down on you for such a thing, just the thought of approaching him without having any qualifications under your belt made you feel uneasy. There should be some form of solidarity between two humans in the Devildom—at least, you hoped so—but with everything the other brothers told you and the mysterious air that shrouded your human counterpart, you didn't really know if he felt the same. You could use a human friend in the unfamiliar world you were thrown into, but Solomon had clearly already made a name for himself here, without your help.

It was during a class that you actually start talking to Solomon.

In retrospect, there was no reason for him to be in that class with you. It was a beginner-level magic class, and Solomon was widely known for his aptitude in magic. You chalked it up to Lord Diavolo intervening with your schedules to make sure you had a chance to befriend Solomon. Having the exchange students be unfamiliar with each other probably wouldn't reflect well on his program.

"So, we finally get to talk," Solomon said, spryly sliding into the seat beside you, "you should know that I've been trying quite hard to reach you, but the brothers have been...determined to not let me drop by and say hello." You instantly thought back to the obscure warnings you had received from your dormmates about the now perfectly ordinary-looking student in front of you. "I hope they haven't frightened you already. From what I've heard, they like telling you all sorts of exaggerated rumors about me." "I wasn't scared," you said, and then regretted it immediately, "I just didn't get a chance to say hello since my first day here." "Well," the smile on his face was almost wicked, tinged with just enough mischief to reassure you, "now you have one."

As you quickly learned, Solomon was everything you were missing in Devildom. He understood your yearning for human realm delicacies that weren't found in the Devildom, going as far as to try and recreate the recipe for you. He found ways to bring you all the music and films you wanted to see again, took you out when you were exhausted from studying, and—it was impossible for you to not grow to like him as much as you did.

Things that felt too personal—too intimate—for you to talk about with the demon brothers, you could tell Solomon. He assured you that even though you couldn't trust the demon brothers, because of their nature, you could trust him ; after all, why would a fellow human ever hold your insecurities and weaknesses against you? When you couldn't even walk around the Devildom without feeling like some devil was going to try and attack you, it was Solomon who kindly taught you some protective magic—though he promised you that he'd ensure you'll never have to use it.

One thing that wasn't developing was your relationship with the brothers. Apart from Asmo, who was content with sharing—his words—you with Solomon as long as you didn't play favorites, your other dorm mates didn't seem to share the same feelings. Lucifer was particularly vocal about his disapproval, claiming that Solomon was dangerous, even for a human, especially because of how powerful he was. (Solomon rolls his eyes when you relay his sentiments, muttering loud enough for you to hear that the brothers had put you in harm's way more than anyone else thus far). Levi was peeved when you told him you were watching the TSL DVDs with Solomon, ("Envy," Solomon chuckles, "typical."), and even Satan scowled at the mention of Solomon helping you with your studies.

"It's in their inherent nature," the sorcerer tells you, "as avatars of their respective sins. You can't really trust a demon, because they would feel no guilt about lying to you for their own gain. Remember when they refused to let us meet when you first came here?"

You nod, but a little voice inside you wants to protest. Solomon could be awfully cynical; surely, the brothers weren't that bad...?

He sighs, "it was expected that they'd become possessive of you. I have no idea why Lord Diavolo didn't plan for you to room in Purgotary Hall instead..."

"In any case, be careful around them," Solomon sounds uncharacteristically stern, "knowing them, they'll just toss you aside once they lose interest."

You had expected the conversation to end in this conclusion, but actually hearing him say those words makes your heart stop, hot tears stinging your eyes. You desperately hoped that the brothers, who you were starting to grow fond of, would also warm up to you. At least you assumed them starting to seek you out was proof of that, but you may have been blindsided; Solomon clearly had a more impartial view of your situation.

Now you were glad you heeded his earlier advice to not make any pacts with the brothers. His reasons were that it would be too risky, and hardly worth all the trouble. Solomon, with his many pacts, could confidently tell you that making pacts with demons was no easy task and that you could completely lose yourself in the process since the demon's feelings would affect you to an extent. Making one with an avatar would only make the effects worse.

"Why are you so insistent on making pacts with them, anyway? If it's leverage against them you're seeking, there's no need to worry. I'm confident I can provide something just as effective."

"You're always ready to mess with others, Solomon," you smile, despite the sorrow weighing you down, "I hope I'll never be on the receiving end of that."

"No, not you," he says, nonchalantly, "you're the only one who's safe."

"Not even Simeon and Luke?"

Solomon shrugs, "Only time will tell if they'll make an enemy of me. It's not that they wish to harm us, but they've got their own motives." You frown, "I can't imagine angels having ulterior motives." His lips quirk upwards, "You know how the demon brothers are loyal to Lord Diavolo? Similarly, the angels have their own loyalties, and I can't say for sure that your well-being is always their priority." "I guess...that makes sense," the realization does sting a little, "the brothers and Lord Diavolo will do anything to make sure I stay here and finish my year, so it's only expected that Simeon and Luke also want to make sure the exchange program is a success." "Don't be too disheartened," that teasing smile, typical of the sorcerer, had returned to Solomon's face again, instantly lightening the mood, "you know I'll always be by your side, right? We humans have to stick together in treacherous territories." You can't help the laugh that follows his dramatic statement, and you absentmindedly move down the couch to make space for him, instantly feeling relaxed when his familiar warmth filled your side. "Aren't you just so lucky to have me?"

all works © wishluc. do not copy, steal or repost my works on other platforms. (including translations)

[lostmyremembrall]

📖

love the way you write the prompts <3 may i request prompt 18 ??

📖𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐂𝐚𝐭

𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: 𝐻𝑢𝑚𝑜𝑢𝑟, 𝐹𝑙𝑢𝑓𝑓, 𝑇𝑜𝑚 𝐵𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎 𝐺𝑟𝑢𝑚𝑝𝑦 𝐴𝑠𝑠 𝐶𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝐽𝑜𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 1𝐾 𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑡! Now closed

A/N: Oh my god. I am SO sorry it took this long to get to yours. Please forgive me, and I hope you'll still enjoy this.

You surprise Tom with a cat

Tom’s eyes widened at the sight that awaited him. Four tiny paws. A ball of brown fur. Large two ears. The tiny creature stared up at him, and bared its teeth as it meowed. Tom couldn’t help but jerk his head backwards 

“There he is!”

The enthusiastic voice of Abraxas greeted him when the resident Dark Lord peeked his head in through the doors of the Room of Requirement. His cautious eyes flickered around the room, reminiscent of an uneasy salamander that dared to poke its head out from underneath a rock to survey his surroundings.

“Let’s get this over with,” Tom sighed as he walked towards them, completely ignoring the birthday decorations that you, Abraxas, and Canopus had spent hours putting up.

“Of course. We won’t dare take up your valuable time any more than necessary,” Canopus responded somewhat sarcastically, approaching Tom and reaching up to put the cone hat that read ‘Birthday Boy’ on top of the disgruntled man’s head, knowing full well that he detested it. You might as well say that, for Canopus, seeing Tom in this humiliating hat was the only redeeming aspect of hosting this birthday party. 

“You never fail to make my day, Canopus,” Tom murmured quietly, his eyes coldly narrowing on the black-haired Slytherin. You had to admit, despite the comically small ‘Birthday Boy’ hat perched atop the Dark Lord, his seething glare was still enough to send a shiver down your spine.

  “Well, it’s tradition,” Canopus shrugged with a smug smirk on his lips, a brave reaction worthy of praise from a Gryffindor. You had no idea what it was that Canopus had: courage, stupidity, or simply a warped sense of fear. But, whatever it was, you couldn’t help but pity and admire it at the same time.

“So... Presents,” Abraxas clapped his hands excitedly, contently watching as the group sat around the sofas.

“Here, Tom. Happy birthday,” Abraxas beamed at Tom as he passed the wrapped package that was clearly a book from its size and shape.

Tom did not respond and tore open the paper wrapping.

“Oh. Actually… this is quite helpful,” Tom showed the book cover to you and Canopus; the title read ‘Dictatorship 101: A Beginner's Guide to Regime Change by Khalilah D Smith’. “Thank you, Abraxas. For the thoughtful gift,” Tom even managed a slight curl of his lips.

The blond looked quite pleased with himself, turning his nose slightly up in the air with a proud smile.

“Pshhh, as if our great Tom needs any instructions on becoming a dictator,” Canopus rolled his eyes. 

“I, on the other hand, got the only thing Tom needs on his destined path to greatness: Time,” Canopus added an exaggerated flourish to his hands that gestured to the box on the coffee table, ignoring the clear annoyance that flashed across Abraxas’ elegant features.

“You should know, Canopus,” Tom raised a brow as he opened the box. “Your words bring nothing but anxiety to my already troubled mind.”

You peeked in over Tom’s shoulder to find what exactly he meant by ‘time’, as Canopus dramtically worded. To your surprise, it was packets of energy drink powder.

“Ohh… nooo, Canopus…” you murmured quietly, recalling the Dark Lord’s sensitivity to caffeine. The last time he tried one cup of coffee, he stayed up for four nights in a row. “What on earth made you think this was a good idea?”

“Shush shush,” Canopus silenced your words of terror, not even giving you a glance. “Tom, remember the coffee that you had? Imagine that, but double that.”

Tom’s eyes widened in amusement as he glanced at it. “By that logic, I could conquer the wizarding world twice as fast.”

“Exactly my point!” Canopus’ eyes glimmered wildly. “You don’t trust us with a thing. And you’re right to do so. Imagine how much you could get done if you could do everything yourself.”

Tom hummed, nodding along. “You know what, Canopus? For the first time in my life, you did not disappoint.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes. “You two are just enabling his unhealthy obsession with power!” You grabbed Tom’s shoulders, and he slightly wobbled from left to right as your seething eyes captured Abraxas and Canopus. “What Tom needs is stability. Emotional support.”

The wincing was visible on Tom’s face as you said the word ‘emotional support’, but before he had any opportunity to protest, you presented him with a medium-sized box. Tom was bewildered by the way the box seemed to shake on its own. But still, carefully, he opened the box.

“Oh,” Tom seemed lost for words. “Oh. This is… rather… unexpected.”

“Unexpected? What is it-” but Canopus did not need to finish his question, as a small tabby kitten poked his head out of the box and pressed his paws against Tom’s eyes. 

Tom grew silent.

“You thought giving Tom a cat was a good idea?” Canopus turned his disbelieving eyes to you. “And here you were, telling me gifting energy drinks was irresponsible.”

You scowled at your friend, not noticing the kitten that had begun climbing Tom’s uniform like it was his life mission. “Well, I, as his friend who actually know him, happen to think that an emotionally volatile person like Tom needs a support animal.”

“Emotionally volatile?” Tom repeated to himself quietly, doubting his ears over the words that came from this supposed friend of his. At that moment, Tom was trying to ignore the kitten on his shoulder, who was pressing his paws against his cheek.

You had to admit, Tom was showing a surprising level of patience towards the kitten, a bitter realisation following closely behind that, perhaps, Tom tolerated the kitten more than any of his human friends. The tabby cat began to incessantly meow by Tom’s right ear, demanding his attention.

Abraxas was watching all of this with intrigued amusement in his pale eyes. “Well… let’s just hope that the cat will survive to see adulthood.”

You found the meowing rather adorable, but it was clear that Tom’s patience was quickly wearing thin. Even for kittens, the Dark Lord had his limits, it seemed. “Look, I only speak snake,” Tom barked, turning his head to the right, speaking directly to the kitten with frustration evident in his voice. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

The kitten only responded by pressing his paws on Tom’s lips, perhaps for the first and the last time the Dark Lord was silenced. Either from rage or being overwhelmed by the kitten’s cuteness, Tom’s cheeks turned a bright red. For the sake of the kitten, you hoped it was the latter.

“Oh hey,” Canopus’ eyes widened at the kitten’s bold move. “What do you know? He might just live to see adulthood.”

Tom growled as the kitten began his climb up Mt. Tom again. “How wonderful,” he murmured darkly, his displeased eyes following the kitten’s tail that swung back and forth in front of his face as he made his way up his head. The kitten was now wrestling with the ‘Birthday Boy’ hat, fighting for his spot on top of his head.

“Not so intimidating anymore, are you Tom?” Canopus snickered as his eyes flickered

between the Dark Lord and the cat that had settled comfortably on top of his head.

Tom’s vehement glare from behind the swinging tail was quite the sight to behold. At that moment, for whatever came over its small brain, the kitten leapt off of Tom’s head and landed on Canopus’ face.

“Agh! What’s happening?!” Canopus tried to pull off the kitten while its claws dug into his face. “Get it off me!”

“Yes. Yes!” Tom’s dark chuckle echoed in the Room of Requirement, while Abraxas watched the scene in terror, his hands elegantly covering his gaping mouth. 

You could confidently say, that for the rest of your life, you would never forget the cheerful eyes of Tom when he turned to you and said, “You were right, dear. Emotional support was exactly what I needed.”

A/N: Ended up writing as a sequel of sorts to 𝒟𝒶𝓇𝓀 ℒℴ𝓇𝒹 ℴ𝓃 𝒞𝒶𝒻𝒻ℯ𝒾𝓃ℯ. Not my best writing, but hope you still enjoyed it!

[euryvices]

after exclusively listening to rap music for almost three days, here are my thoughts (a beginners guide to the culture from a beginner herself) + a playlist of recs <3

if you start reading this, please please read till the end (and maybe reblog with suggestions as i'm still new here.) this is (maybe?) a guide for other people who are outside of the hiphop culture, but who still get affected by it and it's fluctuations. (tags at the end, playlist at the end, most of my thoughts at the end.) disclaimer - i have not slept or showered in the three days it took for the preparation of this, whatever it may become. this is all my adrenaline rush and black coffee talking. may my opinions piss you off. godspeed.

hiphop, the term often interchangeably used with the term rap, is actually more than just rap and the inculcation of it. there are four elements to hiphop, which exists as a broadly classifying term for the culture inherited by the people of color who lived in a specific area of america, the bronx. they are :- rapping (or MCing), deejaying (or turntabling), grafitti paintings (or tagging) and b-boying (or break-dancing). But I believe there's a fifth element - the interpersonal connections formed with the knowledge transpired, as the legend DJ Afrika Bambaataa once stated.

before we get to the explanation of the last one though, let's talk about the first sub-culture - rap. rapping is the figure-head of hiphop culture, with more than 12.8% of people worldwide listening to rap. it's a subculture that's based in the bronx, but has travelled so far that today, there are indian rappers, slovakian rappers, etc.

nothing beats a good beat and soul-poetry, which is rap. (shoutout to the producers and the music arrangers who make the music pop. these are the people that are the backbone of the industry.)

coming to the part where i become opinionated : before we understand the culture, let's understand the types of people involved in hiphop culture, starting with the rappers.

the archetypes of rappers : 1. the zeus : this refers to the proud type of rapper, whose talent trumps their behavior, but in several instances fails to see the errors of their ways. rap is very competitive, but these rappers refuse to be humbled (jay-z did slowly find vulnerability after the birth of his daughter, but his legacy remains to be cool ego). they canonically have a lot of ego and have been put on a pedestal by their followers, who form a sacred sort of club around them. it's not even a bad thing, but from an outsiders perspective it can make them feel unreachable, or terrifying - like the lord of the skies, zeus. examples for this can be :

2. the white flag : these rappers are honestly my favorite type. they have too much love and serenity to engage in rap beef*, and they continue spitting bars while finding the serenity of life in every thing. it could be because they value their own peace, or because other rappers know it would be curtains if they beefed with them. either way, they mostly stay unbothered and just...do what they love. some examples are :

(*when i say beef here, its strictly restricted to diss tracks against other rappers)

3. the shakespeares : rappers that write like their hands are dipped in god's blood. these fine lyricists make rap what it is, make the genre what it is. they may also fall under another category, "the zealots" as their words stem from a place of anger, love, hatred, mutiny - strong feelings that invoke strong feelings. while some other rappers don't care about the lyrics (see, "the blue balls") these rappers are all about a message they need to bring to the table. some examples are :

they are called lyrical rappers.

4. the rabid dogs : while the title of this archetype sounds rude, it's definitely not. these rappers are the ones that, while similar to "the shakespeares", write their own tracks but are also out for blood. they have looked into the light unblinking, and then gone for a coffee run. frankly, they terrify me and they should terrify you too - but the respect for them is unparalleled. they are the underdogs/rabid dogs/obstinate toothed rappers that fuel the competitive streak rap needs. some examples are :

they are also called hardcore rappers. *

5. the zealots : these rappers were actually my first introduction to the genre. very similar to "the rabid dogs" and "the shakespeares", these rappers can sometimes be full of blood-lust, or sometimes write very soul moving pieces. it all depends on the day. they have a strong message they want the world to hear. and hear we do. "the zealots" often talk about growing pains and the impact their upbringing has had in their art. their hearts and souls contain what the rap movement embodies - freedom, and the quest for it. some examples are :

they are also called conscious rappers.* some gangsta rap* also falls under this category.

6. the blue balls : some people are good at conflicts, but others are definitely not. these are rappers that are good, but would not know how to release a diss track if the manual came and read itself aloud to them. they are the exact opposite of "the rabid dogs", whose tracks are native to their fighting spirit. these rappers on the other hand, release good tracks but cannot handle confrontation, especially when faced with an opponent who has better aim than them.* some examples are :

(*this refers ONLY to specific instances of the rappers career and is not an overall view of their art. but if a rapper is unable to respond properly to any sort of confrontation, they don't get any of my respect and fall under this category)

7. the slammers : admittedly, when i'd heard the truth about specific rappers my father used to listen to, or my friends listen to, i'd recoil in shock. "the slammers" are the type of rappers that should be/are in jail for horrific crimes against the human condition. i don't mean of the small kind, such as possessing drugs, etc. etc, i mean truly terrible crimes. you can argue that "oh, separate the art from the artist" but with rap, a genre based on the culture and the self, can you really do that? personally, i don't believe it can be done, and no, this isn't an invitation to argue over the semantics. that being said, some of their music truly does hit, even though i wish they didn't.

don't even want to call them examples, but they are :

8. the beat bottoms : i love these rappers within an inch of my soul. while a lot of conscious rap is based on knowledge of the self, these rappers are their antithesis. their music is all about the flow, how the vibes make you feel. lyrics aren't the main concern here, but that's all good - it's about providing your soul a reprieve from the more hard-hitting stuff. some of them even add autotune and make the music soothing. all in all, super catchy stuff. some examples are :

they are also called melodic rappers. *

9. the artemis : stereotypically, rap (as far as i've consumed) has been dominated by men in the industry. this category of rapper refers to the women in the industry who either play by the rules, or break free of them. it's hard to beat a person at their years-of-patriarchal institution. it's also true that while some of these rappers do not essentially fit the bill of what good rap (to me) must be, there is no doubt that there's more need for women in the rap game. one of the first female rappers signed was only able to hit a minor success, despite the songs being gold. nowadays, we see an upward trend with women in rap, and female representation in the rap genre, but as far as i can see, there doesn't seem to be many women in the conscious stream of rap. some lovely examples are :

10. the clowns : saving the most hated for last, this type of rapper is the kind that tends to lie. a lot. it could be about their ghostwriters, or their surgeries, or things in general. while some of their music is indisputably good, it is not as thought-provoking as "the shakespeares", nor as inspired as "the zealots". they have all the ego of the zeus" archetype and all the guts of "the bad bitches" archetype, but none of the talent behind it. however, the issue isn't the lack of deep lyrics, its the lying to the public eye, or actively harming the culture. these fodder rappers are necessary to create adversity in the movement. their main difference from "the blue balls" is in the fact that they are disingenuous & harmful. disappointments are :

to summarize :

now, what exactly are the different types of rap?

oldies : these are institutional hits, the types of songs that pop off even today. some of these raps deserve jail time for the way they absolutely slap.

grannies : rap that doesn't have substance, beat or...anything, really. these raps are (in my opinion) an absolute snooze fest. granny panties vibes. 10/10, would not recommend. if these raps were a hoop, i'd set the court on fire. there's nothing i hate more than uninspired, stupid music.

melodic : this kinda rap provides rest when you listen to a lot of conscious stuff, or if you're super into the sound and not the message this is right up your alley. melodic rappers are godsend, as they combine the two opposing worlds of fast-paced lyricism, and good, soul-soothing music.

hardcore : the people that rap hardcore are crazy. there, i said it. these raps are fast-paced, they are vicious, they are reminiscent of that feeling you get when you're in a coma and your heart speeds up cause someone put poison in your drip bag. it's my favorite type of rap, after conscious rap.

conscious : i love this kind of rap. it has meaning, it has soul. it looks into your house and tells you what's wrong and how to fix it. conscious rap has been the driving force of so much change, personally in my life, and overall in the dynamics of the movement.

mumble : personally, this is the type of rap i loathe the most. i get it, you love playboi carti, but i am a lyrical girlie. if i don't get the lyrics, i am prone to not particularly fucking with a song. no disrepect to carti, i love some of his work (as soon as genius comes out with the lyrics). as mother gothel said, "bitch stop mumbling"

chopper : think hardcore rap but doing bench presses on speed x2. sometimes i wonder if these chopper rappers have lungs or they can just perform osmosis through their skin.

drill : this is a relatively new type of rap that surfaced only in/around the 2000's. it's like if gangsta rap had a different type of flow, something i can't put a name to. some of this kinda rap makes me sick, some of this kinda rap makes me want to lock & pop.

whatever the fuck those uk dudes be doing : imma be very honest, i have no idea wtf any uk rappers are except central cee. after maybe sleeping for a day, and showering, im going to actively start listening to more uk rappers (probably). so far, i understand uk rap to be based off the jamaican immigrants style of rap, a few bands and also dance?

gangsta rap : this is the type of rap i cannot begin to comprehend as someone very, very alien to the gang culture of america. i can say though, that some of the records under this type of rap are goddamn terrifying and give me an adrenaline rush.

if you've read this far, you're probably wondering what exactly "the movement" is, that i've been referring to for more than half of this written blog. so let's go back in time.

back in the '70's and 80's, block parties became a thing in america. in 1964, a historic act called the "Passage of Civil Rights" allowed african-american people to actually fight back in case of discrimination based on color. but, the seeds and stems of racism still existed at the time. black people, who had arrived onto america as slaves as you've probably read, were forced into the margins of society by the continuous hindrance they faced because of white people. they weren't even allowed into the same schools and given a level playing field in the first place! it was terrible, and wrong. and a lot of the children of that era found the inequality to be preposterous and as a result, they met up and started creating music, or dancing, or simply talking about it.

if you wonder why hiphop hadn't started before that, think about it. in a land like usa where white people and police used to be considered the upper echelons of right and justice, who used to target black americans and use them as scapegoats - do you really believe a bunch of black people before 1964 would feel safe enough to hangout publicly and just jam? it's another thing ofc that these pioneers didn't really care about that at the time and were more focused on getting their anger out - creating art from hate.

we've talked enough about the rappers and rap. now, let's go back to the tenets.

DJ Afrikaa Bambaataa, who was one of the most well-known DJ's of his time, said knowledge was one of the main pillars of hiphop, and I believe he's right. Almost every song I've heard thus far that absolutely embodies the culture is steeped in wisdom. the genre is essentially passed down from generation to generation. this creates interpersonal relationships in the rap industry that are like no other. ofc, gangs also create interpersonal relationships in the rap industry as the two are also intermixed, but i would like to idealistically believe that many rappers bond over the message they want to send out to the younger generations, the legacy they will leave. not to say that hiphop and rap were always about gangs. the origins of hiphop were to stop drug use and gang violence i believe, but as the movement changed so did the message. the power of rap went from the masses to the the people who controlled them, as does every other sphere in life.

but that doesn't mean rap has lost it's edge. it's very much a competitive field, with each rap artist trying to out-rap the other. the competition is what creates a forum to diversify ideas, maintain the standard of rap, ensure the best came out of every artist's work, and shine light upon the on-ground issues in america. but over the past few years we've seen a dynamic change. something even a newbie like me can pick up on.

the mainstream has almost always been populated by white artists and white art. this is the case in every field of life, not just rap. while sugarhill rap gang did put rap in the mainstream in america, it wasn't until eminem came around that hiphop became a staple, an actual mainstream. he opened the doors for a whole new set of rap listeners - the white american majority.

it's not surprise that there are more white people in america than black people. 61.6% of people in america according to the 2020 census identified as white alone. rap, being a musical genre that is ethnically tied with the african-american community of america, did not obviously appeal to the white masses at first. but then, as the culture shifted and the doors to rap opened, there came about so many casual listeners that were white people. nothing wrong with that, until rappers started to cater to the white audience instead of doing their own thing.

i firmly believe you should never, EVER forsake your art for the sake of your audience. rap is about the ghettos. it is about people from marginalized sides of america and the struggles of it. it is not fodder for edgy teenage white boys who want to say the n-word while you rap it. if you're a white person, or a poc like me, or any slightly privileged person listening to rap, it's important to remember that this is not your culture. no matter what you do, even if you drown yourself in black paint and play into stereotypes, you will never be a part of the culture. you can aid the movement. you can donate to blm charities. you can relate to the songs. but you can never say that you are a black person. i can't believe i have to actively say this. but there are so many desi men who feel comfortable using the n-word in a derogatory way just because they are hidden behind a phone screen.

moreover, unless you share the life experiences of the people for whom rap is actually ABOUT, then you don't have the right to call yourself an actual rap artist. i'll say it again - rap and the african-american community in the u.s is intrinsically linked.

just like how indians have bollywood music/our own classical music, brazillians have samba, russians have kalinka, etc. etc, rap music is native TO black people. this is exactly why artists like drake, who not only used his blackness as a persona and refused to accept his white side, was taken down for his disingenuity.

an issue i find within rap though, is the hypersexualization of female bodies and how that affects female rappers. you don't see many mainstream conscious female rappers, because most female rappers have to sell their image via their sexuality. and overall, the treatment of women associated with rappers is questionable sometimes. as we progress as a society though, im hoping that all this will settle.

enough of my silly yapping though. here's a playlist. it's been arranged in the order of each artist showcased in this list, then the recommendations i got from this post, and then a few songs i just vibe with.

thank you for reading this post. for all the people that genuinely want to understand rap properly. im proud of you. understanding a genre not native to you is a different experience, but to see african-american culture - the strongholds of a community that has survived after some of the most horrific times, only through the power of their steadfastness and sense of community - you can't help but feel a swell of respect. maybe that's all we really need to understand.

thank you @staaapler, @need-a-name-101, @marblebees, @honeyppie, @thelazaruscomplex, @skullinahat, @salthat, @unihumanitia, @nicknova6, @stopitbahis and @samtalksmusic for the recs. im going to pass out

[cosmiconix]

Hello :D

I was wondering, if the villains (and Onix) could pick a Partner Pokemon what would it be?

Okay, so do forgive me, but I don't know too much about Pokemon like most people do, it's not that I don't like Pokemon, I just didn't fit watching the show into my schedule & I don't have the consoles or the storage to play any of the games. But I did look up a list of beginner Pokemon from the different series & chose some to give the villains. Hope this will do.

So I gave Onix a Chikorita since it kinda looks like a dinosaur & she loves those.

Hades got a Torchic cause the idea of a god having a tiny chicken looking creature following him around sounds absolutely hilarious.

Shan Yu gets a Litten, similar to Hades the idea of a big strong war lord having a tiny kitten is too good of an opportunity to let up.

Frollo has a Snivy because it looks very regal like Frollo & it's also not associated with fire which Frollo attempts to avoid every chance he gets.

Syndrome received a Piplup since I head cannoned that his favorite animals were penguins so it would make sense to give him a pokemon that looks like one.

And finally Facilier, he got Eevee. My reason, in this au Doc likes all things fluffy, especially animals, so of course he's gonna choose the fluffiest one of the bunch when given the opportunity.

Keep in mind, this is the first time I've drawn Pokemon in my life, apologies if I didn't get these too close to their original designs. 🥹

[literary-motif]

Epilogue

In which things work out. ~ 1,500 words

Overview // VIII. Num Scire Volo?

The next morning left you feeling miserable. You were curled up on the armchair in the study while Theodore sat slumped back in the settee. 

Cradling your respective cups of tea, you bounced ideas off of each other, scheming how to get out of your predicament. So far, you had nothing but despair. 

Distantly, you heard the front door fall shut. 

“That must be Elisabeth,” you said, sipping your tea. She had not come home with you last night. 

“Or maybe the authorities are here to arrest me,” Theodore said, burying his face in his hands and glancing at the door worriedly. You scoffed.

His anxiety was contagious, however, and you waited tensely for whoever would reveal themself. 

There was no knock before the door flung open. The black fabric of a puffy dress caught your eye immediately. Both you and Theodore let out a sigh of relief. 

Elisabeth waltzed into the room with a smile so bright it felt foreign in the gloomy desperation of the atmosphere around you. Without another word, she walked up to the coffee table between you, slapping a piece of paper onto it triumphantly.

“You are welcome,” she said. With a pleased hum, she took a biscuit from the previously untouched tray. 

You frowned, paralleling your brother as he leaned forward to get a better look at the paper. It was a check. Your eyes widened in disbelief as you saw its value.

“What—” Theodore stuttered, beside himself. “Where did—? How—? What did you—?”

Setting the porcelain on the table carefully, you placed a hand over your mouth in shock, still trying to understand. Your debts were paid, with plenty of money to spare. 

“Elisabeth—?” you breathed astounded. 

She shrugged, letting a cookie hang from her lips as she poured herself a cup of tea. “I met a kind man,” she said, adding two sugars before getting comfortable on the cushions, “and had an amazing night, might I add. I fulfilled a dream.”

Theodore’s cup shook violently on the saucer. She plucked it from his fingers before it tumbled to the ground. 

“How—?” he gasped, disbelieving that the problems that had been steadily crushing him for weeks could dissolve with the help of a kind stranger. 

“Doesn’t matter how,” Elisabeth said. “You are much too focused on understanding everything. Sometimes, you need to accept things as they are because there are no explanations to be given. With this” — she gestured to the little piece of paper — “the Hoares will get off out back, and there is enough to spare to finance the wedding you have always wanted,” Elisabeth said, adding almost sadly, “provided she wants you back. I suggest you run and apologize after we have settled things with the bank.”

He nodded slowly, still speechless with his eyes fixed on the check. 

You could not utter a word. It felt like an illusion, and you worried that any sudden movement would shatter the spell, thrusting you back into the grim reality of your threatening doom. 

Elisabeth glanced between you, her mouth twisted into a smirk. “Yeah, I know,” she said, finishing her tea and picking up the paper as she rose to her feet. “I bet I looked like you two when he gave it to me, like gaping fish. Come on. I would like to appease the bank now if it aligns with your busy schedules.”

It was only after settling your debt — Lord Hoare accepting the check with raised eyebrows but a smile on his face as he offered you tea and tried to convince you to invest — that the dream began solidifying into reality.

The fresh London air filled your lungs after stepping out of the building with your siblings. It felt like the first breath of air you had had in a long time.

“I still cannot believe it,” you said, watching Theodore scurry off into the distance to seek out his ex-fiancée and undo his mistakes. “Thank you, Lizzie.” 

Elisabeth chuckled as your brother tripped in his haste, nearly landing face-first on the dirty road. 

“Of course,” she said, shooting you a glance before beginning to walk home with you. “You were right, you know,” she said after a while when you had passed the theater and crossed the Thames. 

It had been ages since you had taken a walk together, and both of you were enjoying the peaceful quiet of each other'scompany. 

“I often am,” you teased, nudging her shoulder playfully as she rolled her eyes. “What exactly was I right about this time?”

She hesitated, and you suppressed the urge to offer her a cigarette. 

“I talked with him all night,” she said quietly, staring into the distance at the overcast sky. “There is nothing wrong with me. I know what I want, and I know what not.” 

You felt a surge of affection and pride for her. “I’m glad,” you said, smiling gently as she turned to look into your eyes. 

“He says he is sorry,” she added after a pause, her brows furrowing in confusion and curiosity. “After I mentioned you, he asked me to tell you that. He apologizes for his friend and wishes you the best.” 

The reminder of Xanthus made your blood freeze. You nodded, forcing a smile. 

The pieces of your broken heart would take a while to mend themselves back together, and it would take you many paintings and long walks in solitude until you had processed all that had passed between you. 

Dontis was a kind man, and you were infinitely grateful that he had helped your sister discover part of her identity. 

You could see she had questions about how you knew him — what he was apologizing for — but you felt now was not the right time to answer them. 

Over the next months, the loose threads of your life began tying themselves back together by your arduous effort. 

Lord Leighton reached out to you, offering you the chair of a professorship at the Royal Academy of Arts. You declined. 

London was not the city for you. It had always felt suffocating, and despite your new family dynamic and setting down flowers by an unmarked grave, you could never exchange it for the artistic levity you felt in Paris. 

You had longed to return to your studio from the day you had stepped foot onto the island, revisit your acquaintances, and return to your unfinished painting with the clear blue sky. 

No teaching position in the academic field would bring you as much contentment. With your family’s wealth restored sufficiently, there was no need for you to worry about the economic aspect of your life. 

Your reputation remained unblemished after Elisabeth forged the letter informing you of your parent’s deaths. Your number of commissions increased daily. These added royalties, as well as the earnings from the many exhibitions you held both in France and England, allowed you to lead a comfortable life.

Theodore married in the spring after fully disclosing everything that had happened to his spouse and asking her for forgiveness on bended knee. As far as you knew, she was the only other person besides your siblings to know what had truly happened regarding your parents. 

Elisabeth continued studying the occult. She won renown in these circles for her insights, broad knowledge in the field, and rigorous method of study. There were three volumes on the subject of Incubi published under her pen name. In her latest letter, she told you of her work on one relating to werewolves. 

In her spare time, she held seances in the library of the family mansion, which she looked after alone after Theodore had moved out. She never took a lover, confident in her disinterest in romance. 

When you traveled to London for an exhibition or as part of your promise to your siblings, she would always greet you at the train station with open arms, her black dress flowing in the breeze and her lips twisted into a content smile. With time, you felt the rift torn into your relationship mending.

On one of your visits, you had gathered the courage to tell her about your experiences with Lord Claiborne. With her knowledge of the unexplainable, you hoped retelling your story might grant you the closure your paintings had not been able to give you. 

Elisabeth had poured you a cup of tea, listening closely to all the foggy details you remembered. 

“What do you make of this?” you asked her after finishing with your account of what had happened at the ball. 

She looked pensive, letting the silence stretch between you as she contemplated what you had told her. 

“It’s no wonder that house burnt down,” she said eventually, shaking her head sadly. “A tragic loss of life that could have been avoided. Poor Lady Alderton. She still comes to me twice a week in the hopes of talking to her wife, you know. I do not have the heart to tell her that the dead cannot be heard unless they want to.”

Elisabeth cleared her throat, setting down her tea. 

“You’re lucky you got out of that story alive, Picasso,” she said gravely, her gaze settling on you. “To me, it sounds like you had a run-in with a vampire. A ruthless one by the name of Xanthus Claiborne.”

Annotations

[thrashkink-coven]

Hello! I hope it’s okay I’m asking this..

I’m very interested in working with Lord Lucifer (King Asmodeus as well) for a long while now and I do not know how to start. The downside is that I currently don’t have money and a job yet. What’s your advice? I already did some research on them and I don’t know what to do after that.

-Sincerely anonymous K

The great thing is you don’t need any money to start worshipping or working with Lucifer!

If you’ve already put a lot of time into researching and understanding Lucifer, you should start focussing your efforts towards connecting to him. A worshipping relationship may or may not differ from a working relationship depending on the kind of reverence you have for him. When you’ve decided what kind of relationship you want to have with him, the rest will naturally fall into place. Some will encounter Lucifer as a fatherly figure, a godly authority, others will interact with him as a causal friend who aids in spell work, and others will address him as a lover, a brother or mentor. It’s impossible to know what to do with Lucifer before you’ve established what Lucifer is to you.

Because he is such a great guide, he tends to pick up beginners pretty quickly. He’s an extremely popular deity so there are a lot of resources on him and many different ways to connect to him. I personally have a lot of luck listening to, singing, and meditating on his enn. (Renich Tasa Uberaca Biasa Icar Lucifer) Burning his sigil with chamomile and lavender before bed can help to attract him in dreams. If you’re not yet fully capable of interpreting him directly, tools like tarot cards can allow you to have a cohesive conversation without relying entirely on intuition. Chances are with repeated practice, you’ll start to get inclinings towards the certain offerings he may want. Putting those things together in a little space usually evolves into an altar.

It’s important to have a complete understanding of your boundaries when working with any entity, but especially with infernals. It’s not necessarily because Lucifer will try to push your boundaries, but more so that he will make you extremely aware of them if you weren’t already. If you’re uncomfortable with things like blood offerings, sex offerings or sacrifices you should establish that right away. He will be willing to work within your comfort zone.

Depending on the sphere you’re working in (the qliphoth for example), different trials or forms of initiation may be used. Oftentimes, the process of communicating and figuring out the fundamentals of your relationship and contract will act as trials in themselves.

One of the very first acts of worship I started integrating into my craft was the celebration of Venus Day every Friday. Establishing a little time in your routine to recognize him is one of the first steps in devotion! I also suggest writing letters addressed to him which you can burn or keep on his altar.

[sitp-recs]

Hi Liv! This might be a bit of an odd ask/sos hehe

My younger brother (huge hp fan - has never read ffs before) recently asked me for fic recs that have canon-divergence/time travel and I'd love to ease him into ffs (without freaking him out forever) but am desperately in need of ideas. He's particular about characterization and would prefer gen fics (tho he says he's open to any pairing if well-written). As someone who reads mostly drarry, I was hoping you or your followers would have some other suggestions. Ik it's v different from your usual recs, so pls don't be pressured to replyy!! Thank you so much 🤗

Hi anon! Not an odd ask at all, I’m excited to see you gently guiding him into Drarry lands 😂 one of my personal favorites in terms of characterization is WWPWCS but that one is quite romantic, so I’m listing below fics that could be a great entry point if you’re looking for Gen, plot-focused fics. I also have a rec list with G and T works and a Drarry for beginners list (although this is quite shippy so maybe something to explore later on!). I hope you find them helpful and pls let me know how the Drarry agenda goes 🌝

Turn From Stone by harryromper (M, 45k)

Harry knows there’s nothing he can do to stop Hermione (war hero, historian, author of the reissued “Hogwarts: A History”) once she sets her mind to something. Even an extremely risky last-ditch effort to restore the ancient castle and lay its newest ghosts to rest. What he wasn’t counting on was her insistence that Draco Malfoy be part of the plan.

Heal Thyself by astolat (T, 47k)

"Are you going for the course?" Lovegood asked. "You have the NEWTs.” “What course?” Draco said, then, “No, don’t be ridiculous,” when he realized she meant the notice pinned up on the board he’d been staring at: Applicants To The Introductory Mediwizard Course For The Coming Term Shall Present Themselves In The Chief Mediwizard’s Office By August 24th.

The Pure and Simple Truth by lettered (G, 65k)

Harry, Draco, and Hermione go to a pub. Harry, Draco, and Pansy go to a pub. Harry, Draco, Pansy, and Hermione go to a pub. Harry, Draco, Hermione and Ron go to a pub. Harry, Draco, Hermione, Ron, and Pansy―you guessed it―go to a pub. I could go on. In fact, I did. Harry, Draco, Hermione, Pansy, Ron, Blaise, Luna, Goyle, Neville, and Theodore Nott go to a pub. In various combinations.

A Young Radical's Guide to Love by blamebrampton (T, 66k)

Memories of the war are still fresh, which is all the excuse Decent People need to do appalling things. In this quietly waged conflict, Draco Malfoy is happy to be on the right side of things for once, and even happier to find he’s not alone.

Timecode by Rasborealis (M, 73k)

Harry Potter has been dead for two years, and Draco would laugh in the face of anyone claiming differently. Well, anyone but Hermione Granger.

Hermione Granger's Hogwarts Crammer for Delinquents on the Run by waspabi (T, 93k)

'You're a wizard, Harry' is easier to hear from a half-giant when you're eleven, rather than from some kids on a tube platform when you're seventeen and late for work.

The Secret Keeper by fools_errand (M, 225k)

On Halloween 1981, Albus Dumbledore made a decision that would change the course of history, concealing Harry Potter’s survival at the hands of Lord Voldemort underneath a Fidelius Charm. But when Harry comes of age in the Muggle world, Dumbledore realises too late that the fate of the world may depend on a boy who has never held a wand.

Eclipse by Mijan (T, 287k)

Draco swore his revenge on Harry for Lucius's imprisonment, and Harry all but laughed at him. But Draco is planning more than schoolyard pranks this time. The old rivalry turns deadly when Draco abducts Harry for Voldemort. It's the perfect plan, guaranteeing revenge, power, and prestige, all in one blow. But when Draco's world turns upside down, the fight to save himself and Harry begins, and the battle will take them both through hell and back. If they come back.

[scurvgirl]

Some Uncle Grog fluff for your Sunday. Shout-out to all my fellow dyslexics out there.

Anyways, here is little Wolfe De Rolo bonding with his Uncle Grog.

_

While Vox Machina wasn't always together anymore, there were times where they made sure to be together. Winter's Crest was one of those times. Grog was in Whitestone Castle, getting ready to head out to the bakery before probably working out with the Whitestone guards - gotta remind them that defense isn't ALL in the guns.

Grog walked through the hall when his ear twitched at a noise. Huh. That was weird. Curious, he turned and opened up the door closest to him. It was closet, full of mostly blankets but also Wolfe.

"Oh it's just you, Uncle Grog." The boy sighed.

"Uh what do you mean by that, just Uncle Grog?"

"I mean you're not...one of them."

"Who?"

He sighed again, "My tutors. Leona....my parents."

"Hmm, Percy has been in a pissy mood lately."

Wolfe shrugged, "Mum's pregnant, he's always in a mood when she's pregnant. But that's not why I'm in here. Look I just...I just can't do school today."

"Oh, well you want to go out with me? I was gonna pick up sweets then hit some stuff."

Wolfe's eyes lit up, "Yes! I'd love to do that!"

"Alright! Let's go, little buddy."

"Hey! I'm tall for my age!"

Still small to Grog but maybe Wolfe was right - he wasn't gnome sized even. "Medium buddy!"

They headed to the bakery, picked up a bunch of bear claws then headed to the training yard.

"Alright, boys put down your little fun sticks - time to practice some REAL combat!" Grog shouted, ready to get a nice brawl going when...hm. Wolfe was here. Vex had two, no, THREE rules for the babies. One, no beer. Two, no brawls. Three, no house of lady favors. It limited Grog severely BUT maybe...maybe he didn't need to brawl but show Wolfe some beginner steps. Percy certainly didn't seem to be training the boy for anything for guns and school. It occurred to Grog then that he could teach Wolfe how to be strong.

"Make room for the...little lord Wolfe De Rolo! Today, he learns how to be strong!" There's a pause before the guards hollar and hoot in agreement. Wolfe smiles brightly up at Grog which makes him feel a weird warm tingly feeling in his chest. Not bad, kinda like when Pike heals him but also not like that. Cool.

For the next several hours Grog showed Wolfe how to train. They did push ups, sit ups, pull ups...lots of ups, not many downs. He even showed Wolfe how to properly hold a sword and how to punch without breaking your fingers.

Grog called the end when Wolfe started looking like he was maybe a bit in pain or too tired. No sense in making his nephew hurt.

"Alright! That was good! Keep working out like that and maybe you'll be as ripped as me one day."

"That was intense but good. I liked it, I think my body may feel different tomorrow - but this was good. What do we do now?"

"Now we go to the bar! Like strong men do!" That earned Grog another bright smile and warm feeling in his chest.

They headed to a tavern where Grog bought himself some ale, a giant sandwich and....a giant sandwich for Wolfe too.

"You got a weapon you think you would like?"

Wolfe smiled, "Mum has us practicing the bow, which I like. But...I want to try an axe."

"Atta boy!" He reached over and clasped Wolfe's shoulder. "So, you gonna tell me why you didn't want your parents and...others to find you today?"

The smile on Wolfe's faded and the warm feeling in Grog's chest was replaced with a twisty feeling he did NOT like.

"It's...embarrassing."

"Oh, did you poop your pants or something?"

"No! Nothing like that. I just..." Wolfe sighed, "everyone in my family is so smart. Dad invented guns and mum is so, so good with money and Vesper knows so many languages now. Leona reads so fast, and even little Danny is beginning to read. But...I'm not like that. Reading...is so hard, Uncle Grog. It doesn't make sense in my head, the letter and the sounds... they thought my eyes were bad like Leona but nope, it's not my eyes. I'm just...not smart."

The twisty feeling in Grog's chest worsened. It reminded him too much of the hard parts of being in Vox Machina, of always being around smart people.

Wolfe kept going, "But...maybe I don't need to read. Maybe I can just be strong! Like you, Uncle Grog!"

That...felt wrong. This was Percy and Vex's boy, and more...Grog hated he couldn't read for so long. Hated books, hated words, hated...his brain. Wolfe shouldn't go through that.

"We worked a lot on being strong today. You did some really good work. But being strong isn't all about muscles." He said carefully, thinking about Earthbreaker Gruun.

"It isn't?"

Grog shook his head, "Strength is about doing hard things. Doing things that make you work. You don't get strong by doing easy things. You get strong by doing the work and...and standing by your friends because sometimes that's hard too.

"Sure, you could get all muscly like me but you have to ask, Wolfe - where does your strength come from?"

Wolfe was silent for a long moment before he sniffled, "I don't know, Uncle Grog."

"That's okay. You can answer that later. But first, reading is a challenge, yeah?" Wolfe nodded. "Meet the challenge. Beat it. And if what you're doing isn't working, then WE can find a way that does."

"Okay...will you help? I don't think I can do it alone."

Grog smiled at the boy and clasped his shoulder again, "Of course. And when you need a break, we can BREAK stuff!"

"Yeah!"

They finished their afternoon meal before heading back to the castle. Halfway there, a familiar, pissy voice came in over the earring.

"Grog Strongjaw, tell me you have my son with you."

"Hey, Percy. Yeah, Wolfe's here. We had a good man day!"

"MAN DAY?! Did you take my son to a brothel?! He's NINE, GROG!"

"Relax! We got sweet, hit stuff, then got sandwiches at the tavern."

A long suffering sigh phased through the earring. "Just...bring him home."

"Already on our way."

Wolfe looked up at Grog, "Is he mad?" Grog shrugged.

"He'll get over it. Hey, you wanna ride on my shoulders?"

"Hells yeah!" Grog hoisted him up and they finished the rest of the walk this way with Wolfe peering down at everyone who was suddenly much shorter than him.

They reached the castle, which meant meeting a pissy Percy, a perturbed Vex, and put-out tutors. Grog took the blame - he wanted some alone Uncle Grog time with Wolfe. He could take his friends' annoyance. Leona and Vesper took Wolfe aside to go play upstairs while the grown-ups stayed in the study.

"So uh, Wolfe told me that reading is hard for him."

Percy waved him off, "Yes, we know, we are working on it-

"Well, it's not working. I'm gonna stay to help. Show him what worked for me."

Vex looked at Percy and shrugged, "He makes a good point, darling."

They all talked a little longer, working out what Percy called "logistics."

Before the children went to bed, Wolfe ran over to Grog and gave him a hug.

"You're the best uncle, Uncle Grog. Thank you."

Grog held him a little tighter. He was a good uncle. That warm little feeling in his chest returned in full strength.

[honoviadakai]

Diaboys at a Crane Asada with Hispanic S/O/Reader: Mukami edition

Ruki

Please warn him in advance. Like, minimum one week ahead of time

He wants time to study up on your culture and language to impress both you and your family

Tbh he can study for a week straight and still feel incredibly under prepared

When you guys arrive, he’s going to try and speak as much Spanish as possible throughout the entire event.

His Spanish is not fantastic, but for a beginner, it’s not half bad.

Doesn’t mind the music but good lord why is it loud??

Of all the drinks served there, his favorite is sangria soda

He thought it was actually wine and he felt so sophisticated that you didn’t have the heart to tell him…your dad did on the way out though

Again, the music is really loud for his taste but damn he’s amazing at Tango ;)

He find the food to be delicious, but heavy. His favorite dish being menudo

You need to help him because your abuelita keeps pushing tamales onto his plate and no mater how hard he tries, he can’t say no to her sweet face

Hates the beer your dad and tios are drinking but he will participate in any guy talk they’re having and they’re gonna enjoy it cuz Riki’s gonna mispronounce some words

He’s surprisingly good with kids so your younger cousins love him. He tired out after a few games so you’ll have to save him

Will absolutely help clean up afterwards. Your mom ain’t touching a single dish because he has designated himself as the night’s dishwasher

Kou

So Kou is canonically a famous idol, and if K-pop Stans have taught me anything…it’s that being part of a different culture/country doesn’t stop their love of their favorite artists

So if you have family that’s a huge fan of Kou’s music…maybe leave him at home until you can safely bring him

If he DOES come along though…good luck

Any family that are fans of his are going to swarm and either try to get an autograph or steal him away.

If things go down civilly, they’ll still gawk, but they’ll probably ask you in private/over text to talk to him/get an autograph

He’s a charmer so even if no one knows who he is, he’s gonna charm the pants off your family…hopefully not literally.

He thinks a lot of the food is WAY to heavy for him but watch this man scarf down 12 quesadillas and an entire bowl of mango salsa after complaining that the food is gonna destroy his figure 🙄

Loves Fanta, piña colads and mojitos like the rich white woman he secretly is 💅

If you guys have a chihuahua or Pomeranian, he’s gonna hold them the rest of the night cuz it’s a cute tiny doggo

If you have cats…they’re his now…sorry

You have to translate for him or he’s gonna have a translation app open but he’s not gonna attempt to speak the language purely cuz he has outs

Will not touch the beer, and he’ll probably only talk to your dad or abuelito in terms of guy talk

Will play with your cousins, but only for a bit

Will not help out with clean up, he doesn’t wanna chip his nails or hurt his back…even though he’s not human and could totally handle it 😒

Your family might give him nicknames like “guerito”, “flacito” or “sancas largas” cuz he just…gives off a vibe 🍌

Your family’s impressions will be…mixed…but mostly positive!

Yuma

Oh god this one’s gonna be a wild ride

Yuma is HUGE so already I can see him being nicknamed “El Gigante” or something the moment he sets foot in the host’s home

Thankfully he has a lot of energy so he doesn’t mind the loud, rowdy atmosphere, it’s very welcoming to him actually

Which is good because first thing that’s gonna happen is your much younger relatives are gonna wanna climb him like a tree

Absolutely will play with the kids, he thinks they’re endearing, especially when they talk about his height, so he’ll play whatever games they want

Will try to learn Spanish, he’s literally only gonna pick up the bad words though

Manz can pack away the food so your family loves him

He loves the Agua Frescas because they’re so refreshing and handmade so he’ll swap recipes with someone just so he can make these drinks at home, same thing goes for the food

Your family loves all the gardening, cooking and other suck tips cuz they’re genuinely helpful. He’s probably gonna end up helping out a lot around the place

The men in your family love having a couple beers with him cuz despite his big, gruff personality, he’s very down to earth and they appreciate that

Actually really likes the music so he’s gonna dance any chance he gets

Really good at bachata dancing

One of your cousins got the oh so devilish idea to play ‘Hoedown Throwdown’ and Yuma tore it up on the dance floor like his life depended on it

Your family filmed it, your cousins sent you the videos later…you’re grateful for the multiple angles ;)

He’s gonna do almost all the cleaning when the party is over

Your parents want you to marry him tbh xD

Azusa

This boy is both one of the best and worst people you can bring

He’s the best because he’s very polite and he has a high spice tolerance so your family will very quickly start to love him

But he’s also the worst because well…the spicy food wasn’t enough pain…he wants more…

Please for the love of god do not take your eyes off him, he might try to make the biggest Tio there punch him in the face as hard as he can if you’re not careful

If you can manage to keep him in check he’s honestly lovely to bring to events like this

He’ll play with you’re younger relatives whenever they ask…might be a little too keen on playing fútbol because the ball might hit him or someone could hurt him…

Because he’s on the smaller side, your family is relentlessly offering him more food and he’s gonna eat every bite both for the stomach pain and because he doesn’t wanna be rude

Will be invited to have some cerveza with the men in your family and tbh they really like hanging out with him!

He’s very chill and a good listener, this kinda becomes a bright green flag to your family that he’s gonna treat you right and one of your tios and your Abuelito give him their blessing after some drinks

Surprisingly likes cerveza??? And he’s weirdly not a lightweight either so he’s kinda just trying all the drinks there

His favorite is the Micheladas

He wants to learn some Spanish but he’s only gonna pick up a little bit of the language by the days end, his pronunciation isn’t perfect but it’s not terrible either

If anyone asks him to help out after the party’s over l, he absolutely will help

Your tias and Abuelita love him, expect them to pinch his cheeks

[zeke-in-devildom]

Dissonance - Chapter 10: Of Psychics and Magic

The walk back to the House of Lamentation was pleasant enough. Asmo and Solomon were happy to chat away together about school drama. Apparently Solomon had been in the Devildom considerably longer than him. Long enough to keep up with the Avatar of Lust when it came to juicy gossip. Zeke, on the other hand, felt more than a bit lost at it all. Compared to the drama he remembered from school this seemed remarkably tame. Sure he went to a school for troubled teenagers, but who was sleeping with who, who was cheating on who, who wore some fashion nightmare, who got into a fight with who - it was so normal.

When they did arrive at the house, Asmo left him in the garden with Solomon so that he could change out of his school uniform and fix lunch for them. He wasn’t particularly hungry, but he had a feeling that the present company would insist he eat anyway. They had missed lunch at RAD due to that attack.

 Zeke had not expected that the sorcerer would want to begin lessons immediately, despite Lucifer’s instructions for him to rest. Then again, there was no time like the present. Nobody wanted a repeat of the earlier incident. Even before school had started that morning he had felt excited to learn as much about magic as he possibly could while in the Devildom, and now he was more determined than ever. He hated feeling helpless. 

There was only a slight problem with this though.

“You want to teach me to summon a demon?” There was no doubt in Zeke’s mind that he absolutely wanted to learn how to summon Lucifer. That said, he knew Lucifer was presently very preoccupied. The Avatar of Pride seemed to be a very busy demon in general, and that made sense. He was Lord Diavolo’s right hand man and Vice President of the student council, not to mention being the eldest of seven. Summoning Lucifer as practice seemed like a terrible idea - at least without consulting him first.

“Yes. As I understand it you’re supposed to have an escort at all times, but clearly that cannot be relied upon exclusively. Should you find yourself alone and in trouble again, the safest thing to teach you is how to summon your pacted demon, or demons, to protect you. Now, who will you be learning to summon today?” Solomon’s smile was congenial on the surface, but Zeke suddenly understood why Lucifer had told him to be cautious. He didn’t need to be able to read the sorcerer’s aura to know that he was fishing for information. Something told him that Lucifer probably didn’t want Solomon to know. Then again, maybe the sorcerer already knew and was just looking for confirmation.

“Somehow I doubt summoning a demon is the safest, pact or no pact. What about that healing spell that you used to treat my scratches?” A healing spell seemed exceedingly useful. 

“Healing spells, even the ones that seem simple, are hardly beginner magic. Healing relies on not only your own magic, but the energy of the person being healed. You can only do so much, depending on your own power and the endurance of the injured person. Severe injuries are especially difficult. Heal too much and you risk not only exhausting yourself but killing your patient.” That sounded slightly less useful and significantly more daunting than Zeke had imagined. Still, he was serious about wanting to learn everything.

“Such a determined face.” Solomon laughed softly at him. “Don’t fret, my adorable apprentice. As a psychic you have a distinct advantage, since you can sense and possibly even see the flow of magic. We’ll have you casting all manner of spells in no time at all.”

“I have an advantage just because I’m psychic?” Zeke had never known that being psychic gave him an edge with magic. Although he supposed it made sense. When Solomon had summoned Asmo earlier he had been able to see the swirls of magic around the sorcerer. He wondered if he could recreate spells just from seeing them performed. Wouldn’t that be something?

“Indeed. As I said, psychics are incredibly rare, and most of those that are psychic aren’t particularly powerful. You, on the other hand, are an incredibly powerful psychic. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t have had such a strong reaction to coming to the Devildom.” That was also news to him. “You have a stronger affinity for magic than most witches or sorcerers, and that without any training at all. I can only imagine how powerful you’ll grow as you learn. That’s why I think it best to being your teaching as soon as possible. For your own protection.”

“Then what about that wind spell? The one that knocked the demon away from me? Is that one too complicated for a novice like me?” He tried not to sound too put out by being told he was too inexperienced to learn something, but he supposed Solomon would know best. Zeke would just have to learn healing later. He chose to ignore being called adorable, once again he could thank his poker face. The compliment didn’t really fluster him, certainly not more than Asmo’s compliments tended to.

“Hm. Yes, that one is rather simple. It could be good practice on controlling your magical output too. Put too much of your magic into the spell and you’ll make a mess, not enough and it might as well be a gentle breeze, unless of course a gentle breeze is your goal. Knowing how much and when to channel magic is good. It is a fine defensive spell as well.” Solomon seemed dissuaded from summoning for the moment.

“Great. Then let’s start with that and work our way up to summoning.” Zeke really needed to consult with Lucifer before tackling something that would require his involvement. He doubted the first born would allow it. Would probably find it demeaning or something.

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

As it turns out, magic training is not easy. Zeke felt as if he’d worked out, the way his body started aching and growing heavy. All he had managed to do was create breezes strong enough to ruffle their hair as he practiced the incantation over and over again. Solomon seemed encouraging, suggesting that was actually good for his first day using fully-fledged magic that didn’t stem from his own innate psychic abilities.

Zeke couldn’t help but feel disappointed though. The wind gusts he produced were not nearly strong enough to push back a demon. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was doing wrong. With his frustration growing, that flicker of irritation that burned in his chest, that rage against everything that had hurt him, burned brighter. For the first time he realized that was actually magic. 

Seizing that swelling power inside of him, he tried twisting it in the same patterns as the wind that Solomon produced, but instead found electricity crackling through the air around him. It was only for a moment, and then it dissipated. He felt his hair standing on end, and realized that Solomon looked a little static shocked too.

Asmo had come outside to call them in for lunch, but had stood frozen in shock for a moment. Then the avatar squealed and launched himself at Zeke, clinging to him with a delighted giggle.

“Look at you! Already using lightning magic! Aren’t you the best little sorcerer?! Beauty and brains and brawn! The whole package.” Asmo was cooing at him and practically wiggling in excitement as he stepped back to work at smoothing down Zeke’s hair, fussing over him in a very Asmo way. “You’re going to be so powerful.”

“Yes well, we were going for a wind spell. Also you did that without an incantation, which is tricky even for advanced magic users. I imagine that’s why your spell went awry. As far as lighting magic…You’ll need to put more magic into it and direct the flow better - but nicely done. I daresay a stronger shock might at least buy you some time until help arrives.” Solomon was fixing his own hair, watching as Asmo doted upon Zeke with an amused smile. “He really is quite taken with you, isn’t he?”

“Well of course! Zeke is simply breathtaking.” Asmo beamed at Zeke, looking very much like he meant it. Of course Zeke could tell he meant it, and that baffled him, but also made him fill with so much gratitude and affection. It was obvious that all of the brothers were trying to make him feel at home, each in their own way, but Asmo far and away the one that he felt like he was connecting to the most so far.

“He certainly has a lot of promise and potential. Now, why don’t we take a break to eat lunch before moving on to your next lesson. Don’t think I forgot about teaching you to summon a demon you have a pact with. I really think it needs to be taught sooner rather than later. Any sorcerer with a pact should know how to summon and command the demons he has pacts with. I realize you’re reluctant, although I can’t imagine why.” Was that another bait? Trying to make him admit that he didn’t want to bother Lucifer by summoning him?

As they spoke Asmo had started herding them both into the house for lunch, leading both humans by the hand.

“I don’t really have a demon I feel comfortable summoning, Solomon.” That was the truth. He wasn’t comfortable summoning Lucifer if it wasn’t an emergency. If he’d been able to summon him earlier, that would have been different. That inability to summon him was also why he really needed the lesson.

“Oh! Well why didn’t you say so, darling! Make a pact with me, I’ll gladly let you summon me anytime~” Asmo gave him a dazzling smile even as he pushed him gently into a seat to eat what looked like some kind of pasta.

“Wait, what? Asmo you really don’t have to do that. I know pacts are supposed to be a big deal. Also I still am not giving up my soul.” He didn’t care which demon asked for a pact, even if he liked Asmo a lot, he was not losing his soul.

“You can keep your soul, hon. I just want your friendship, just promise to keep having spa nights with me.” Zeke stared at the Avatar of Lust, flabbergasted. All Lucifer had asked for was his cooperation with the exchange program, and now all Asmo wanted was for him to promise time and attention?

“But why?” Why would such a powerful demon care about him? Why would Asmo agree to be bound to him in such a way? Zeke offered a glance at Solomon, but the sorcerer seemed perfectly content to eat lunch, only sparing him an unreadable smile. 

“Because you’re going to be a very powerful sorcerer, darling. A pact doesn’t only benefit you, hon. Solomon can enhance my power through our pact too. If I make a pact with you, you’ll be able to make me more powerful when necessary. Also because you’re simply precious, almost as cute as me~” Okay that was a very Asmo answer.

“Are you sure?” Zeke had never intended to make any pacts, but since he already had one with Lucifer…

“Absolutely!” Asmo’s eyes were already glowing a faint pink, then Zeke could see and feel the swirling infernal magic wrapping around him. The feeling was different, but similar to when Lucifer had forged a pact with him. Instead of the tingling at the nape of his neck, he felt a slight burning beneath his navel. Of course Asmo would put his pact mark there. Like before, he suddenly felt drained and slumped slightly, but two pairs of hands caught him before he could topple over.