#so i took it upon myself to write this on a whim

[drinix]

A Vow for Eternity

01 - Before it all began

Pairing: General Kirigan X Female Reader

Part 02

Warnings: None at all. This series encompass mainly romance, fluff, angst.

Summary: A Princess embroiled in an arranged betrothal to the most feared General Aleksander Kirigan, the leader of the Second Army in Ravka. Would this be a mere political alliance or something more than it meets the eye?

Bonus: I couldn’t stop listening to the soundtrack while writing this chapter.

General Kirigan stood skimming the map of Ravka which was laid down on an enormous table that ran almost half of the space in the room, immersed in his thoughts. The sound of firewood crackling is the only thing that could be heard in his dark-lit war room. The room was cramped with cabinets loaded with maps, artifacts, paintings, books and whatnot. Beside him was his untouched Kvas, in front of him, on the wall was a black banner showcasing his coat of arms, embellished with glittering intricate silver details, which depicted the Sun in Eclipse but not a single star was there to adorn it.

He had found his Sun Summoner whom he had been looking for centuries after making many endeavors. He had made sure to keep an eye on her every step of the way because he wanted to make sure nothing goes awry so that everything could be executed according to his whims and fancies.

His eyes rested upon the banner of his symbol for a while. “It feels empty and lonely, just as my soul”, He thought to himself. He was too adamant to admit that he was lonely in this world after spending centuries on his own.

General Kirigan’s train of thoughts was interrupted by subdued knock on the door.

“What is it, Ivan?”, the General asked in his husky voice.

“The King’s brother, Prince Richard is here for an audience with you, General”, Ivan replied. He was one of the General’s Oprichniki and most trusted soldiers.

General Kirigan knew why the Prince requested an audience with him that evening. Few weeks ago, the King himself communicated to him about his betrothal to the Princess Y/N, which was indeed considered as an emblematic union that benefited both parties by the King and his advisers with the intention of bolstering the alliance between the Grisha and the people of Ravka. Even though, the General didn’t have a speck of an hope to get married, it was not his position to defy the King. Whether he wanted or not, he was deprived of any choice but to concede.

“Ah yes. I was informed about this meeting. Don’t keep him waiting, Ivan.” said the General while fixing up his kefta.

Ivan opened the door for the Prince to enter.

“Moi tsarevich, it’s an honor to have you in my chambers.” The General bowed to the Prince.

“It’s pleasure meeting you, General. I wanted to meet you myself here because of the gravity of the matter I intend to discuss with you.” The Prince said glancing at Ivan.

“Ivan, you may wait outside” Ivan bowed to the General and the Prince and took his leave, closing the doors behind him.

“A glass of Kvas for you, moi tsarevich. Let me send a word to the kitchen to bring some refreshments for you” The General offered a glass of Kvas to the Prince.

“Thank you, General. No need for other refreshments. Let me cut to the chase.” The Prince uttered with a grave expression on his face. “ I hope you’re aware that my daughter will return to the Grand Palace on the day of the Winter Fete.”

“Yes. The King informed me about her arrival few days before” The General nodded in agreement.

“There’s something about her that others are not aware of, specially the Royal Family which puts her safety at peril” The Prince muttered, turning towards the General.

The General furrowed his brows. “ What is it, moi tsarevich? If it concerns her safety, it must be a grave matter.” Anything that would put his prospective bride’s life in harm’s way, would affect him as well, at least remotely.

The Prince stared at the fireside for a while, swirling the glass of Kvas. “This is a secret that should be kept between us, General. Otherwise, the Princess’s life will be at an immense stake”

“I give you my word, moi tsarevich. You have always been an ally and a pillar of support of Grisha.” General bobbed his head respectfully.

Your father had been supportive of Grisha in many respects for many years. He always believed that they should live in harmony without being downtrodden or marginalized. As a matter fact, he had played a integral role in holding discussions with the Fjeardan government on behalf of the royal family of Ravka regarding the Grisha held in custody at the Ice Court of Fjearda and even gone out of his way to help them escape from the Fjeardans. Therefore, your father was a well-respected royal by Grisha. You, his only child, well, there’s a saying that an Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

“ I trust you, General and you’re her fiancé. It is the reason for me to have this conversation with you” The Prince stepped closer to the General. “My daughter, Y/N is capable of wielding the powers of Small Science”

The General was astounded by what the Prince just said. He found himself dumbstruck for a moment as a pin-drop silence loomed over the room for a minute or two. He couldn’t believe his own ears for moment. A Grisha in the Royal family was such a rare occurrence. It had never been known for Grisha to have a Royal descent; A Grisha Princess.

“You mean, she is a Grisha, moi tsarevich?” General Kirigan broke the silence. There was a scintilla of uncertainty in his voice. “Was she tested when she was little?” The members of the royal family were hardly tested by Grisha examiners as the chances of a Royal being a Grisha was minimal. Until this moment, it was reckoned null.

“No. We got to know it few years ago, before she was sent to Ketterdam” The Prince added. “Now that she will be here, I want to ensure that her life is not at stake. I have heard many rumors about attempts to kidnap the Sun Summoner.” He paused for a while before uttering what he really wanted to say. “You will not, by any means, use her as one of your Grisha soldiers, General.” It sounded more as if the Prince was commanding the General, rather than engaging in a typical conversation between soon-to-be father in law and his son in law. “It will only transpire more chaos than what our family already has”

“You have my word, moi tsarevich. I’ll personally see to her safety concerns. She’ll be safer here than being at her home. Don’t worry” The General’s assuring words appeased the Prince’s doubts about your safety to some extent. “As far as this alliance goes, I don’t intend to make her one of the soldiers.” Besides, his focus was mainly centered on Alina Starkov in that period of time.

“It’s a relief to hear those words from you” The Prince placed his hand on the General’s shoulder. “Thank you, General Kirigan. From the day of Winter Fete onwards, she will be one of your prioritized responsibilities, in addition to, leading the Second Army of course” The Prince chuckled, looking at the war table which denoted the current positions of the army encampments.

“It’s my honor and duty to you” The General said reassuringly.

“Then I must take my leave, General Kirigan” The Prince walked toward the door with the General to his left side.

“ Looking forward to meeting the Princess, moi tsarevich” General Kirigan paused for a while. “Before you leave, do you know what order she belongs to ?”

The Prince turned back to face the General.

“An etherealki, technically.”

General Kirigan’s eyes gleamed as a smile settled on his lips.

The General sat on the edge of his war table after the Prince left. A prickle of excitement went through his skin, engulfed with impatience to meet the Princess. He was never fond of this alliance, until he heard the word that you were a Grisha, just like him which piqued his enthusiasm to see you and get to know you. The crowning glory was he was the first to know and nobody else in the Royal family knew about it. At least, he knew he didn’t despise the idea of being introduced to you.

There’s not any dull moment nor rest where youth and pleasure meet.

[ohbo-ohno]

HEY so about that Orpheus/Eurydice au Soap/reader fic idea.

Since Ghost was Hades in the other ideas you bounced, one could then extrapolate....

Reader winds up in Ghost's hands when she dies. Maybe it was an accident, maybe Ghost saw her and took her. Either way. She is miserable, sobbing, crying out for her boyfriend, her husband, her lover. This bothers Ghost; what man could be so great as to inspire this anguish upon separation? What mortal could possibly measure up to a god?

And then. Oh, then.

This beautiful man appears on Ghost's doorstep with Cerberus (Riley) panting happily at his heels, and Ghost understands. This man with eyes like the summer sky, who traversed hell for his love. Of course you couldn't bear to be apart from him.

And then he demands - demands! - in a voice like music, that Ghost set you free. Ghost refuses, obviously. What kind of god would cave so easily to the whims of a mortal? But Soap threatens, cajoles, and finally begs, and oh, doesn't he look so pretty on his knees, with tears in those blue sky eyes?

So Ghost strikes a deal and allows you to leave, and he can see how hard it is for both you and Soap to keep from looking over your shoulders as you depart. Silly little boy. Sweet little girl. You should have known that it would only be so long before the two of you returned to him. There's nothing you can do.

And Ghost is very patient.

~@slashhinginghasher

i was GOING to ghoapxreaderify that little plot bunny but then i added in the other two just ghoap ideas and didn't bother BUT this is literally exactly what i was thinking (except written beautifully omg??? like wow i want to steal your brain and keep it for my own tysm)

but yeah, i imagine that ghost kinda has an obsession with soap and reader when they come down, and he only lets them go because he knows that inevitably they'll be back. neither of them could possibly avoid death, it's only a matter of time before you both belong to him again

anyways i love this and im screenshotting your writing to keep for myself <3

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #177

I woke up in a bit of a funk today for some reason. Probably because I forgot to eat yesterday. And probably because I was a bit dehydrated when I woke up. I corrected the hunger and the dehydration immediately upon exiting the bed, but… it took me a hot minute to get the gumption to get myself upright.

I wonder if you have days like that.

Well. I made a tea today. This one was a blend of black tea and rooibos, flavored with vanilla, cream, citrus, cornflower, roses, chamomile, and peppermint. It tastes like a bright, sunny, breezy day outdoors in a garden. I sweetened it with that orange simple syrup and a bit of cream. I'll show you today's swirls:

I thought about playing Dead Cells again. I haven't touched it in some time though, so I'm probably not any good at it anymore. But that's all right. I thought to stream it sometime so people can maybe watch me derp around like a n00b as I relearn the controls. So I got a different streaming platform, because I guess the one I'm using has discontinued support. Oh well. I got so far as getting it set up today, but I didn't do much else.

I ran a few errands after that. I got my medicine, and I got CBD oil for Hoshi (one of my cats) for his epilepsy, and I got them a few new toys from the pet supply store, too. Mogwai is especially fond of the ones with feathers, and the very first thing he did was carry them to the cat-proof outdoor space that J and I built, haha! I'll retrieve them and bring them in before dark.

Along the way, J and I took some pictures of the sky for you, because it was especially dynamic today!! I'll start with some that J took:

Here are some of the ones that I took:

...On a whim, I got some weird ones of the moon, too:

...And a weird one of the sun shining between tree trunks!

None of these were especially difficult to get this time. But I hope you like them anyway.

I came out of the funk shortly after getting out of the house. I imagine that moving around, getting some fresh air, and actually eating and drinking things probably helped a lot. I'm gonna try not to drop the ball again tomorrow.

Hey, Sephiroth? I hope soon you'll get to have fresh air, tasty snacks, warm, soothing things to drink, and exercise that isn't related to you needing to fight for your life. Try to get these things soon, okay? Maybe you'll feel just a tiny bit better. DDR is a good way to get exercise, and so is walking on nature trails in places that aren't dangerous. I hope you'll get to try it out!!

I love you. And I'll write again soon, okay? Please stay safe and take good care of yourself. Please treat yourself like a friend would...

Your friend, Lumine

[mal-urameshi]

Since I have a weak heart, I need you to write the fluffiest fic about our girls.

Maybe about how they reunite after a long time apart… OR maybe they just moved in together 🤔

No rush though, I know you got big things coming for you 😁

A Fluffy fic, for big sis’ weak heart.

Guys I'm slightly tipsy writing this. But you all wanted to be fed. I had to come thru.

Shuri paced around as the Royal Talon Fighter zipped through the sky, “Can you fly this thing any faster, Okoye? Her last examination is going to be called any minute now.”

Okoye rolled her eyes as she concentrated on piloting the aircraft, “We are traveling well past High-hypersonic speeds. We’ll have more than enough time for you to greet her.”

Shuri blew an irritated puff of air.

She was finally going to visit Riri again. It had been almost nine months since she was able to visit her girlfriend. Between the rigorous demand of juggling being the Black Panther and her duties as Queen, she felt as though her relationship with Riri was put on the back burner.

And she never intended it to be! Shuri tried her absolute best to be present for her girlfriend, but it was quite difficult.

She hated that word. Nothing was too difficult for her. No matter if she had to try a thousand times, the task at hand would get done one way or another.

But long distance relationships were a whole different ball game.

Shuri had made it her mission to be able to visit Riri at least once a month. But as the relationship progressed, it was like every and anything tried to keep them apart.

Like when Riri was supposed to visit her for Spring Break, she had an impromptu mission that had her thinking it would postpone Riri’s arrival by a day. Unfortunately what was supposed to be a simple stake-out turned into an almost month long ordeal.

Riri had insisted that she understood. She went into the relationship knowing that dating the Black Panther and Queen of Wakanda would come with Trials and Tribulations. It wouldn’t be easy. But she expressed caring about her too much to let her go.

But Shuri didn’t miss the sadness in her eyes when they’d converse over video call. And the hesitancy to hang up when she insisted that Riri needed rest for classes. Or when she sent those voice messages late at night containing random ramblings, under the guise of not being able to sleep.

Shuri hated, loathed, execrated her circumstances. She wanted to be able to hold her girlfriend. Hug her. Go on dates. Call her at any point of the day. Pop by on a whim. Be comforted by her. Be able to vent about certain things like a regular freaking human being. Be in her presence.

It was so frustrating.

Shuri wanted to be a constant.

Regardless of her current happenings, Shuri wanted to do better by Riri.

So when the semester was coming to a close and Shuri just so happened to be free of any burdening responsibilities, she took it upon herself to drop by the campus to kidnap Riri herself.

She remembered the conversation she had with Riri two weeks prior.

“Are you nervous for your exams?” Shuri relaxed into her chair while she looked at Riri sifting through some papers at her desk.

Riri gave her a look, “Nervous? What do you take me for? This shit is child’s play to me. I just can’t wait for it to be over.” She then placed a few sheets of paper into a folder before moving on to the next pile.

Shuri smiled, “Ever the confident one. So what are your plans for the summer?”

Riri slumped in her chair and looked at the screen, “Go back home. Probably see if I can hustle some highschoolers who have summer homework for some extra cash. Just to keep myself occupied.” She shrugged.

Riri picked up her phone and walked over to her bed. She laid on her side and pulled her phone closer to her face, “I wish I coulda spent it with you though. Cuz I’m still kinda sad I didn’t get to come for Spring Break.” Riri used her bicep as a pillow, “Not that I’m complaining. I know you’re busy. And I get it. But I just miss you, you know?”

Shuri allowed her cheek to fall into her open palm as she looked into Riri’s eyes, “I miss you too. I’m having Riri withdrawals. I miss the way you play with my curls. And nuzzle your face into my neck. Or when you gently rub your finger over my nose. I miss the way you hug me like a koala bear.” She gave a light sigh of longing.

Riri found herself smiling at Shuri’s lamentation, “We'll be able to link up soon. Something will happen.”

Shuri grinned, “I love you.”

Riri softly smiled in turn, “I love you too.”

“Okoye!” Shuri continued her pacing while resisting the urge to bite her fingernails. Her anticipation was through the roof.

“Bast! Ask me one more time, Shuri. I may just throw you the rest of the way to MIT campus.” Okoye grumbled, “Our estimated time of arrival is half an hour.”

Riri walked out of her last final of the semester with a grin. That shouldn’t have even been classed as an exam. The lecturer wasn’t even trying. He couldn’t have been! She was out of there within an hour. She wasn’t complaining though, there couldn’t have been a better way to end the semester.

She was free! Free!

Riri jumped up and clicked the heels of her Jordans together in glee. She walked back to her dorms while contacting Shuri. She knew it was impromptu, but she wanted to tell her about her exams. Hopefully she’d be available. Riri adjusted her headphones as the phone kept ringing. She paused at her door to unlock it, but realized the door was already slightly open.

“The fuck?” Riri slowly opened up the door and walked inside, “I know I ain’t forgot to close my shit.”

She looked down at her phone when she heard that Shuri had finally picked up, but the wind was literally knocked out of her when she was lifted off the floor and into someone’s firm hold.

The sudden attack made Riri’s mind go blank as her heart dropped to her stomach. It took a split second for her to scream and try to beat the assailant off with her fists.

“Let me go!”

“Riri! Ow, ow! It’s me!” Shuri shouted as her shoulders and back were beaten by her girlfriend’s haphazard punching.

Riri immediately stopped and looked down, “Shuri?”

Shuri smiled, “Hi.”

Riri’s legs found their way around Shuri’s waist and her arms around her neck, securing her in a deadlock, “Shuri! What are you doing here? How?”

Riri pulled back and looked over Shuri’s face with unshed tears, “Are you real?” She gently palmed the sides of Shuri’s face and took in her features.

“Yes, my love. I’m really here.” She chuckled.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

Shuri pressed a kiss to Riri’s lips, “I wanted it to be a surprise. I was about to pack your stuff up, but I should have known that you would have blazed through your exams.”

“Wait back up, pack my stuff?” Riri tilted her head to the side.

“You’re coming back to Wakanda with me.” She finally put Riri down, but not before stealing another kiss from her lips.

Riri’s eyes bulged, “Are you being for real?”

Shuri walked over to one of Riri’s already opened suitcases and placed some folded clothes into it.

“I already have your toothbrush in there. And your laptop.” Shuri then picked up the fuzzy black panther slippers she got her, “Can’t forget these.” She snickered and dropped them into the suitcase.

Riri flopped onto her bed, feeling the toll the semester had taken on her finally seep into her bones, and looked on as Shuri shuffled around the room, grabbing what she deemed to be necessities.

“Hm, you ain’t even asked if I had plans or anything.” She excitedly kicked her feet and followed Shuri who was traipsing about her room.

“I know you don’t have any. Need I remind you that you were planning on taxing high school children for doing their summer assignments?” Shuri walked over to the bed and dragged Riri onto her lap.

“I wasn’t going to let another day go by where we were apart. I’m just taking the necessary steps to facilitate us maximizing our time together.” She allowed herself to hug Riri and just bask in her presence.

Riri tenderly grazed her fingertips over the nape of Shuri’s neck, which caused a shiver to trickle up her spine. She still couldn’t believe that Shuri was here. She stroked the pad of her thumb across Shuri’s cheek.

“You look tired. You could have come pick me up tomorrow.”

Shuri shook her head, “No. I wanted you today. I need you with me. I just missed you so much. And everything feels like it’s too much.”

Shuri gulped a deep breath but it didn’t extinguish the quiver in her voice, “I just wanted to hold you again.”

Riri pressed a kiss to Shuri’s forehead, “It’s okay. I got you babe. I got you.”

Shuri pressed her face into Riri’s chest, relishing her comfort.

The couple stayed like that for a while until Shuri pulled herself together. They then continued packing Riri’s things.

Once they were done, Shuri slung Riri’s duffle bag over her shoulder and slipped an arm around her waist.

Riri couldn’t wipe the giddy grin off of her face, nor did she want to as she pressed herself impossibly closer to Shuri’s side.

“Are you ready to go home?”

Riri nodded, “Yup. Let’s go!”

Taggies: @karimwillia @neptoons1998 @pantherheart

[afraidparade]

Fluff is great and all but I wanted to make a request for some Lufa hurt/comfort. No pressure the ofc.

i hope you will accept some in the form of writing 🙏

(faust gets injured, luka's the one who's hurting. BIG juicy faust lore in this one)

"High Pain Tolerance"

Word count: 3650

Content warnings: physical injury, scars, trauma, mentions of abuse, mentions of death

_____________

“Yup. That’s dislocated.”

Luka’s face froze in expressionlessness. He tended to be a rather stone-faced individual, but there were notable dissimilarities between his usual calm and whatever it was that he felt in that moment. Namely the way his lips parted slightly (despite the fact that he wasn’t breathing), and the pale, sickly complexion his skin took on when he realized what he’d done. 

It had happened before — neither of them were particularly clumsy, it was just a risk that came with cohabitating alongside someone of a vastly different size — where Luka hadn’t been paying attention and accidentally knocked Faust off the surface of his desk with a casual, careless movement. He’d love to say that his protective instincts frequently sprung him into action, that he could flawlessly and heroically catch the falling demon in his palm whenever he was in danger, but truthfully, his reflexes weren’t all that fast. The only thing he could do was hiss out a curse and keep himself from toppling out of his own chair while he assessed the state of his roommate. 

To Faust’s credit, Luka had noticed on numerous occasions just how sturdy he was for his size. The handful of times he’d fallen before, he ended up a little disoriented and sore, sure, but aside from him barking at the human for being so oafishly careless, the tumble didn’t seem to result in much else. So Luka wasn’t sure what was different about this time. Maybe the angle at which he hit the ground? Or perhaps he’d blindly shoved the little imp with more force than he realized? Either way, Faust’s shoulder was clearly swollen and quickly turning a dark reddish hue.

“How—“ Luka had to pause and close his mouth and swallow, since his throat had gone bone dry, “How do you know it’s not broken?” His mind began to race at the possibility. What would he even do if it was broken? It’s not like he could check a three-inch demon into a hospital, and Google could only help with so much. 

Faust stared at the joint for a few seconds in thought, tapped it lightly, then winced as he attempted to move it. “It’s just not,” he concluded, his eyes flicking back upwards to meet Luka’s. Upon seeing that his companion didn’t seem fully satisfied with that answer, he huffed a sigh and added, “Look, let’s just say I have a lot of experience with this. It’s just dislocated, trust me.”

Just dislocated. Just dislocated. As if that diffused the situation entirely! As far as Luka could tell, this was the worst injury he’d been witness to in their time together. And he caused it. It was sinking in now. Slowly, more noticeable signs of distress became evident on Luka’s features. His brows furrowed and his eyes began to widen, and while he’d managed to resume breathing, all of his inhales were shallow. 

“W-what do we do? How do we treat it?” he asked in a trembling voice. For every bit as panicked as Luka seemed, though, Faust seemed wholly unbothered. Mildly annoyed, if anything.

“What do you think, genius? We just pop it back into place. It’s a pain in the ass to do it myself, but luckily you’re here to help me out. Just don’t be too rough with it, or it’ll actually end up broken.”

No way. The thought alone nearly made Luka black out. 

“I can’t do that!” Luka quickly rejected, his voice cracking with anxiety. Faust actually seemed surprised by this sudden outburst, as if his request had been as inconsequential as fetching a bandage to put over a tiny scrape. The demon had experienced Luka’s nonchalant whims plenty of times in the past, so maybe that bewilderment was justified. But this was just something Luka couldn’t do. “I’m– I’m too big, and I don’t know what I’m doing. I can’t risk hurting you.”

Faust scoffed. “A little late for that, don’t you think?”

Luka felt nauseous. He knew it was meant as a playful jab, but it made the reality all too clear in his mind. He hurt Faust. This happened because of him. Faust acknowledged that. He said it out loud. He blamed him. Was that it? Had he destroyed nearly a year’s worth of trust? Would Faust forgive him? Would Faust leave him?

“Alright, whatever. You’re clearly too much of a wimp for this sort of thing, so I’ll just…” the imp’s voice trailed off as he straightened his back and brought his good hand to the wrist of his limp arm, then bit down on his lip with disquieting anticipation. 

Luka’s blood went cold. But once again, his reflexes were far too slow. “Wai—“

Faust yanked the arm up and pushed back, then with a strained yelp and sickening pop, he stumbled forward a bit before dropping to his knees. “Fuck!” he hissed, gripping the wound that was now stained with an even angrier red. He took a moment to catch his breath, wincing every now and then as he tested the limits of how much he could move his arm in its current state. All in all, it was a marked improvement from how it had been a moment ago, but would certainly take several weeks to heal fully. Once he settled down again, Faust appeared no different than his usual, crabby self. “Shit, that hurt more than I was expecting. But maybe if a certain someone hadn’t thrown a fucking crybaby tantrum, I’d—“

Upon looking back up, Faust nearly bit his tongue from how quickly he forced his mouth shut. He knew Luka could get moody every now and then, but even still, the amount of times he’d actually seen the man cry could be counted with just one hand. Evidently, he could now add another finger to that count.

It started with a sniffle, a sharp intake of air as his body instinctively attempted to suppress the phenomenon, then when his eyelids quivered and his vision had gone completely blurry, he overflowed. Tears began to fall freely as strained sobs escaped the back of his throat, each one doubling in intensity from the last. His hands wavered and his fingers curled spastically, trapped between the decision of reaching for Faust, wiping his own face, or curling into tight fists on his lap. He stayed there, wobbling and weeping, unable to bring himself to do much else. This messy, desperate, speechless, fragile Luka was unlike anything Faust had experienced before. And the sight of his adoring caretaker shaking from his own bawling — the sheer helplessness he felt in that moment — wrenched something in Faust’s chest that hurt far worse than his shoulder. 

“Wh– why are you crying?” the demon stammered, clueless as to how he should even begin to diffuse the situation, “I’m the one who—“

“I know!” Luka choked in a tone Faust had never heard before. He almost sounded…angry. But somehow, that bitterness didn’t feel as though it was directed towards him at all. Luka took in a shaky breath, forcefully quieting his tone. “I know you’re the one who got hurt. But I’m the one who hurt you. And- and even when I had a chance to make up for it, I couldn’t help you, I just…”

“Luka, for fuck’s sake, I was kidding! I’m not upset over a stupid accident, so calm down,” Faust tried. He didn’t exactly have experience in comforting others, but from the few times his human companion seemed to be in need of a reality check, remaining objective and sticking to his normal, crass self usually worked the best. He hoped the same would hold true this time, because truth be told, he didn’t have a Plan B. “Look, I’ve dealt with a lot worse, so I have a high pain tolerance. I already told you I’m used to this sort of thing, right? So—“

“But you shouldn’t HAVE to be!”

There was a heavy silence after that. Faust didn’t have a response. Truly, he had no idea what to think, let alone say. Sometimes the disparity between the two’s upbringings became all too great. And sometimes it slipped Faust’s mind that Luka didn’t even know the half of what he’d seen in his homeworld. Or what he’d done. As the arrhythmic hiccuping attempted to subside itself, the smaller man could only turn his gaze to the floor and realize he’d dug this grave all on his own. He felt utterly useless. 

To say that Luka calmed down would be a severe overstatement, but at the very least, he managed to get his breathing under control. His eyes were still glassy, bloodshot, and sullen, while his gaze remained unfocused. It took a long time for him to come back from whatever daze he’d become lost in, but when he did, his voice was hoarse and painfully, heartbreakingly small.

“I’ve seen you cry over some really stupid things, Faust. But you never cry for yourself.” 

Faust clenched his teeth. “So what?”

“It’s hard to watch, that’s what,” Luka replied, some of the agitation from earlier returning to his tone, “Why do you treat yourself as if you’re something expendable?”

The small, black claws of his good hand pressed so deep into his palm that Faust wouldn’t be shocked if he ended up breaking the skin there. But his voice stayed uncharacteristically level, almost resembling a convict under interrogation. “It’s what I was taught,” he answered simply.

“Then you should be mad to the point of tears about that, too.” 

This time, there was no response. Sensing that the other had run out of manufactured responses for now, Luka took in a deep breath and continued, “Look, I’m not going to pretend I know what you’ve been through. And I’m not going to ask you about it, either. But I do know there’s something keeping you trapped in the past, and it’s doing something horrible to your mind. And not being able to…to help you, it’s such a scary feeling. I guess what happened just now was a result of not being able to handle that feeling anymore.”

Faust felt both a searing hotness and a hollow emptiness at his core. Was he supposed to apologize? He didn’t know what he’d be saying sorry for, so was there any point? And what did Luka know about fear? Real fear? That was about the only emotion Faust reserved for himself. So why did Luka bother wasting his own fear on such a pathetic cause? What a stupid, naive, all-too-human endeavor.

“I know I’m speaking out of turn here, and I’m sorry about that. I went and made your getting hurt all about me. I’m pretty lame, huh?” At this, the faintest smile pushed past the wet streaks on his face. “Though if you’d allow it, I’d like to make one more selfish request. Do you think you could put a little more trust in me, even if it’s just a fraction? I know I’m not perfect, and I know I’m the stupid idiot that pushed you off the desk in the first place, but until you finally get sick and tired enough to leave, you’re sort of stuck with me. And for as long as it’s the two of us, I want you to feel like it’s just that: the two of us. You’re not as alone in this as you think, okay?”

Ah.

What a miserable hypocrite he was, Faust realized, thinking he wrote the book on fear and being afraid. He didn’t understand it until now, but that burning emptiness inside of him did have a name. It was a new kind of fear to him: a fear built on hope. Without realizing it, that seedling of hope that longed to be happy, to be safe, and to be with this human whom he had grown…mildly attached to, had flourished and now branched into every fiber of his being. For once, Faust felt like he actually had a future. And nothing terrified him more.

He let out a slow, steady breath. One step at a time. Not to mention that during all this, Faust’s shoulder only began to throb more and more. “…For the record, I already thought you were lame,” Faust muttered, not quite smiling, but in a tone far from hostile. “So then, can I ‘trust’ you to help me make a sling?”

———

It didn’t take too long to gather the supplies for a sling, as well as some ice to apply to the injury. Both parties used the time to collect themselves individually, and after Luka had rinsed his face off and Faust pondered the nature of the other’s request, they reconvened at the scene of the incident. The sling was simple enough to craft out of an extra scrap of thin fabric Luka kept from one of his previous sewing attempts, and although the edges were too small for the human’s fingers to work into a knot, Faust made quick work of it using his uninjured hand and his teeth. Yet another display of his frighteningly extensive experience with this sort of scenario, but this time, neither commented on it. 

“Are you able to take off your shirt? It’ll make it easier to see where I should put the ice,” Luka asked as he finished bundling a small lump of crushed ice in more leftover fabric.

The smaller nodded, catching the hem with his fingertips and tugging it upwards. It took quite a bit of wriggling and finessing, but eventually the demon was successful in sliding the garment over his arm and off his body. While Faust casually tossed the shirt to the side, thinking nothing of the motion he’d performed countless times in the human’s presence, Luka’s movements faltered and his stomach tightened. Now that the other’s back was exposed, he was reminded of the countless scars that marred the flesh there. Hundreds of discolored, thin gashes that overlapped each other in straight lines — some short, as if he had just been grazed, and others long, stretching nearly the entire length of his back — that appeared to have never healed quite right. That sinking, spiraling anxiety that sent him over the edge before came back to gnaw at his insides, but Luka reminded himself that he needed to focus on Faust’s wellbeing for the present moment. Unfortunately, it seemed like he had that realization just a second too late.

“Is something wrong?” the smaller asked, looking over his shoulder to see what the hold-up was. Upon seeing Luka bat his eyes in surprise and avert his gaze as he stammered for an answer, Faust sighed and faced forward again. “You’re worried about my scars?”

Luka frowned shamefully, but after collecting himself, he moved to position the makeshift ice bag on the swollen wound. “Sorry,” he apologized softly, pressing the fabric against the bruised flesh with a light touch, “I know that’s off-limits.”

Faust flinched as the stinging cold caused the entirety of his arm to throb, but after the initial shock subsided, he remained still and allowed Luka to apply a bit more pressure. A soothing numbness soon took the pain’s place. “No, it’s…fine.”

In the silence that followed, Faust furrowed his brows. Trust, huh? Well, he was already small, injured, and virtually defenseless. What was just a bit more vulnerability?

“…You know that I was a soldier. Or, that I at least trained to be one,” he began slowly. He didn’t need to turn around to sense Luka’s quiet surprise. “I, um… Actually, maybe this isn’t the best time to—“

“No,” Luka interjected, urgent but soft, “Please. If you’re comfortable with it.”

Faust swallowed. It didn’t look like he could back out of this one, so he continued after a brief pause, “You might find this hard to believe, but even in a world that’s…well, more me-sized, I’ve always been kind of small.” There were certainly several things Luka could have said about that. But he didn’t. “I’d always been the smallest demon in my platoon, from my very first memory of enlistment to the time of my, er, departure. To tell you the truth, I don’t know why they didn’t just label me as a runt at birth and kill me then. Maybe I just barely passed the acceptable threshold, or maybe it was someone’s idea of a sick joke. I doubt I’ll ever find out.”

“Anyways, it’s not like I was a pushover just because I was a little short. I trained like hell to catch up with the rest of my platoon, but it’s like my body just had a limit I couldn’t ever push past, no matter how hard I tried. And I fucking tried,” he added with a noticeable bitterness. “Demons are all born at the same level, but once they gain more power, they become bigger and stronger. We call those ‘High Ranks.’ And for every group of ‘Low Ranks’ — that’s what I am — one High Rank acts as their commanding officer and oversees their training. That’s where K… m-my platoon leader comes in.”

Faust swallowed dryly, his posture having gone stiff and his tail coiling in a tight spiral. Luka flashed a concerned frown, then bent forward slightly and gave his companion a light nudge. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, “We can stop if you want.”

Upon hearing his roommate’s voice, Faust allowed himself to breathe and release the tension that had gathered in his muscles. He reminded himself of Luka’s affirmation that he wasn’t alone anymore, and managed to reel his mind back to the present. 

“No, I’m good. It’s just not the greatest memory, y’know?” the tiny imp replied with renewed determination. “So…that High Rank I mentioned, he was pretty strict on everyone, but he had a method of training that relied on the weakest link. With every regiment, we would all train with the knowledge that whoever ‘he’ determined to perform the weakest would, um…” Faust swallowed, briefly weighing his options. He was already sharing an overwhelming amount, so maybe it was best to spare certain details from this story. “...Receive punishment. Brutal punishment.”

He reached to hug himself with the only arm that could manage to do so, grazing the edges of a few scars with his fingertips. Maybe it was the memory, or maybe it was just the cold from the ice pack, but he swore he could feel them aching. 

“I-it wasn’t me every time. Sometimes someone else would fall behind, and I’d be left alone for a while. But…for better or for worse, they wouldn’t last very long, if you know what I mean. I don’t know how I did. Maybe all that extra training was good for something, or maybe he just wanted to keep me alive to…”

He inhaled sharply, cutting off the thought. “So, yeah. That’s basically the long and short of it. Now you know where my scars came from.”

Luka stared forward, speechless. Honestly, he wanted to cry again, but he wouldn’t. Faust didn’t need to deal with that twice in one day. He just didn’t know what else to do. He had wanted to learn the truth so he could help, but now that he knew it, he’d never felt less sure of what to do or say. Just how horrible had things been in Faust’s world? Were they still like that? How many demons like him were experiencing the exact same trauma at that very moment? The questions and uncertainties were maddening, but with the brittle thread of knowledge that Faust had finally been willing to open up to him, Luka kept himself together. 

He opened his mouth to say something, reconsidered, then closed it.

“Don’t tell me ‘I’m sorry’ or some stupid shit like that,” Faust sneered over his shoulder. His sour disposition brought the air of familiarity back to the room, which Luka welcomed readily.

“I wasn’t going to,” he replied.

“You were,” the smaller drawled, waving a hand through the air, “You’ve got that sad, dopey look on your face. I don’t wanna hear it though. None of that has anything to do with you, and pity pisses me off.”

Luka laughed through his nose. While it was frustrating to see Faust dismiss his problems before, this felt different. Not quite dismissal, as much as acknowledgment and acceptance. That was a start. 

Seeing as the ice had turned into more of a slush at this point and began to make quite the mess on his desk, Luka collected the small bundle into his cupped hand and began making motions to stand up. “Alright. How about a ‘thank you’ then?”

Faust looked up, confused frustration evident on his features. “For what? Telling you my sob story? I don’t want to hear that, either.”

The brunette shook his head. “No. I had a feeling that would upset you as well, so not quite. I was thinking more along the lines of a ‘thank you for not giving up,’” he said through a smile, “Maybe you think the reason you’re still alive is due to dumb luck or some sort of cruel conspiracy, but I think it’s because of your own perseverance. You’re just too stubborn to die.”

Luka stood fully and began exiting the room to discard the ice pack and tidy the small mess he’d made in gathering materials, but paused by the doorway to add one more statement to his previous sentiment. “Every choice you made that kept you alive eventually brought you to me. I couldn’t think of anything to be more grateful for.”

Faust couldn’t do much but stare at the empty doorway, even long after Luka had left. He swiped a hand across his face, stared down at the droplets that accumulated there, and huffed a short, incredulous laugh. After all that, this was what made him cry?

[haven-foxx]

Five hundred and fifty-five days.

That's how long it took — from the day I left my comfortable London life to pursue my lifelong dreams in music to the day those dreams finally came true. From January 10, 2022, to July 19, 2023, a whole five hundred and fifty-five days have passed.

555. The number that represents change and transformation. How serendipitous. A fairytale.

But the journey here had been nothing but.

If I were to count how many days it has been since I've been trying to break into the music industry, I'd have my entire life in numbers. Because my dreams didn't start here in L.A. Nor did they start sometime during my teenage years, on a whim or on a dare. I've wanted this since I can remember. But every effort I'd made in London had been an agonizing uphill battle. With my parents' name, money, status and reputation attached to mine, I'd been surrounded by people who'd congratulate my parents for my job well done. Because that's how they saw it. That 'Haven was only able to sing at any given event because of her mother and father's pull, not at all because of her talent'.

Determined to show the world that I'm more than my last name, I took it upon myself to buy a one-way flight ticket from Heathrow to LAX with the money I'd saved up on my own. It was a whole new year. What better way to take the leap? Even my parents knew better than to discourage me, not when I have both my mind and my heart set on seeing my goals come to fruition. And although they weren't keen on seeing me leave, they sent their love and their support anyway, as long as I'm happy.

That was their one condition: Do what you need to do, as long as you're happy.

From the moment I set foot in Los Angeles, I put myself to work. Not one second was going to be wasted. After managing to find a tiny apartment, I worked on my demos every minute I could. And when I wasn't, I would scour the city for every record label just so I could personally send my work to their respective A&R teams. I'd even taken up jobs from any establishment that had anything to do with music just to put my foot in the door, from waitressing at clubs to writing songs at a record company. Every second of every minute of every day was poured into making my dreams come true. But eventually, I learned that passion and determination were simply not enough.

As days passed, so did the countless no's. Rejection after heartbreaking rejection had become a regular thing. And many days, I wanted to quit and go home. Eventually, I was running on fumes and dragging along a dream I wasn't sure I even deserved anymore.

Then came Brennan. Love of my life Brennan.

Not once had I factored him in any of my life plans, or any man for that matter. But he came into my life just when I needed him most. Not for his connections, no. But his belief. In my talent, my passion, my drive. The kind of encouragement I didn't even realise I needed. But I swear, his support has countered every nay-sayer I've ever met in my life.

I managed to hold on a little longer because of his support, and of course, that of my family back home. If it weren't for any of them, I'd have long given up, defeated and lost. But I didn't. And because I didn't, I was there to take the one call I'd been waiting for my entire life, from a recording company who'd once rejected me no less. Apparently, there had been a new shift in management, and their new head of A&R had gotten their hands on a demo I sent not long after arriving in L.A., wanting to give me the chance I thought I'd never get.

555 days was how long it took. From when I closed my eyes to take the most momentous leap of my life to the day I finally signed my first ever music contract. It's been almost a week since, yet it still feels like a dream. Even more so as I stand here in the recording booth, seconds away from bringing my music to life.

But one thing's for sure — whether or not it is just a dream, I plan on riding this crazy ride with everything I've got, and never will I doubt the power of dreams.

[thegirlintheredchair]

السلام عليكم ورحمة الله وبركاته

Look who has emerged from the depths of her own mind to write a blog post. I haven’t written in ages. I had planned on writing “Letters to Allah” (a sort of summary of the month and what I learned) in my journal after each month but I sadly didn’t keep up. 😕

It is birthday month! (No, today is not my birthday). I’ve never liked birthdays and I’ve never celebrated them (apart from treating myself to good food, donating or planting a tree) but if anything, I use birthdays as a measure for my spiritual, mental and worldly growth.

I feel like I’ve aged 50 years since the beginning of this year and I am definitely not the same person at all. I feel like two different people tbh. (I would like to think I’ve progressed mentally and spiritually. Lol).

It has been a tumultuous year so I’m highlighting 31 lessons I’ve learned this year before turning 31. Some are constant lessons and some are new ones.. I hope this benefits you too.

Prioritise Allah over everything, especially over your desires and whims…this life is for His obedience and to gain His pleasure. In other words, the deen of Allah requires sacrifice. We are already sold… Allah has already promised us heaven granted we place Him over everything else. Yani there is nothing more beneficial to a person than seeking and possessing the pleasure of Allah. If He is pleased, He will give you contentment in all your affairs, in this life and the hereafter. Guaranteed! In short, Don’t lose sight of the akhira. Nothing in this world is promised. The reality is that there is only one reality!

Take time out to send salutations on our beloved Prophet (ﷺ) and you will be amazed by the change you’ll see in your life. I am currently not in the habit of doing this daily but I’ve experienced its benefits. My aim is usually to send salutations at least 500 times daily and countless times on a Friday. The shortest darood shareef is simply his name. I also like this one: "صلى الله علی سیدنا محمد و آله و سلم"

Lots of people need to hear this: Please take your Salah seriously! What even are you if you can’t say your five daily prayers?? It is the bare minimum. They make up less than 50 minutes of your day! You are depriving yourself of not being able to enjoy the comfort of talking to Allah. Also like how dare you abandon the one who provides for you continuously and unconditionally?? How do you intend to have a productive day when you don’t start it with Fajr? How do you intend to sleep peacefully if you don’t end your day with Isha?

DON’T.STOP.MAKING.DUA!! It took me a long time to idk internalize this? Lol. Yani I went through periods of asking for something diligently and then not asking for it at all. Because you know your hope wavers. And that’s okay but don’t stop making dua. It’s like that quote, (I forget who it’s by; I think it’s by Umar (RA)) “if He has inspired you to make dua, know that He wants to grant you what you’re asking.” Besides Allah never says no to our duas. He only has three response: “There is no Muslim who calls upon Allah, but that Allah will give him one of three answers: He will quickly fulfil his supplication, He will store it for him in the Hereafter, or He will divert an evil from him similar to it.” (Musnad Aḥmad 11133). Pair your dua with tahajjud and watch miracles unfold!! ✨️ ("The dua made at tahajjud is like an arrow which does not miss its target. - Imam Ash-Shafi’")

Learn the etiquettes of making Dua (I might do a separate post on this) but for real don’t just start with what you want. I’ve been looking into this lately and this is what I’ve learned so far (briefly): Start by Praising Him. Call Him by His Greatest names. (Al-Rahman, Al-Raheem, Al Ahad etc).Thank Him for the countless blessings he bestows on you. Every.Single.Day. Then pour your heart out!!!! And ask. Please ask unapologetically and shamelesslesly? He is the Lord of Impossible. The Lord of Miracles. Who else even is there in your corner?? End the dua with salutations on the Prophet (ﷺ). “Du’aa’ is suspended between heaven and earth and none of it is taken up until you send blessings upon your Prophet (ﷺ)” - ‘Umar ibn al-Khattaab [al-Tirmidhi (486). That being said, you can make Dua at literally any time.

Sit with the righteous. This is sooooo important. You need these circles that talk about Allah. The Sunnah of our beloved Prophet (ﷺ). The Noble Quran. These are your anchors for sanity in this world tbh. (Yes the internet lectures are good but if you have actual physical circles with real tangible people thats even better) These circles lift your imaan (much needed in todays world), keep you sane in the face of adversity; I honestly wouldn’t know how to solve or navigate my problems, if it weren’t for Islam. I am where I am today because of His religion. Its like that quote by Umar (RA) [can you tell he’s one of my favorite companions 🙃] “We were the most humiliated people on earth and God gave us honor through Islam. If we ever seek honor through anything else, God will humiliate us again.”

An attitude of Gratitude. This year has been a huge lesson in this. It made me be thankful to Him in every situation. Gratitude brings abundance, it unlocks the fullness of life. It’s the little pleasures in live (that we take for granted) a roof over our head, hot meals, the presence of parents and siblings that care and love you. A family that practices the Deen and has the same mind-set. Sunsets, the moon. Friends like family, your health, an unblocked nose. Our own existence as Muslims! (We’re from amongst the guided, imagine if we weren’t?) Just there’s far more to be thankful for than to dwell on that one problem(s) you’re facing. Gratitude needs to be our default position. This year I made a concise effort to become a person of Shukr and it has kept me anchored and has brought me back from moments where I was about to give up hope. 🥹🫶🏻

#PocketsofPeace. Sit with the Noble Quran, ponder over its meaning. Pick a surah for a year or go through random ayats. No amount of time with it will ever be enough. The Honorable Quran is like the ocean, the deeper you dive into its meaning, the more you’ll discover. Also this will build your faith. We live in end times and our resolute faith is the only thing that can save us!!! Faith is the only thing that has survived the test of time. It pivots you back to the one thing that will always remain constant in your life no matter how much the world modernizes; Allah.

Qadr Allah; Tawakkul. Every year I say I’ve internalized it and every year I struggle with it. I will say that this year this has strengthened in comparison to last year. Qadr is the sixth pillar of faith (not believing in it can take you outside of the fold of Islam). The thing with Qadr is that it is only appreciated in hindsight, or viewed in the past tense. Your way forward to navigate Qadr is through your Tawakkal in your Lord and your duas. The Prophet (ﷺ) said (on his son Ibrahims death): “The eyes are shedding tears, and the heart is grieved, and we will not say expect what pleases our Lord” (Sahih Bukhari 1303)

There is always khair in delay. “What is meant for you will reach you even if it is between two mountains. And what isn’t meant for you will not reach you even if it is between your lips” –Imam Ghazali

“But perhaps you hate a thing and it is good for you; and perhaps you love a thing and it is bad for you. And Allah knows, while you know not” (2:216)

Define your boundaries! especially if you're an empath. Whether it’s at home, work, university, or even friendships. You are your biggest advocate! I have to say this though that learning and knowing more about my religion has helped me become firm on setting them and not budging from them or feeling guilty about them or thinking that people will think I'm weird. Define your boundaries from the beginning so no one gets to take advantage of your empathetic nature. You can be empathetic and still say no.

The other end of the spectrum is just as shitty (excuse my French). This one is a lesson solely for me. I wish to explain this one no further.

Log out of social media once in a while! It is refreshing. There’s less noise because you are only exposed to the lives and opinions of those immediately around you (as God intended. Lol). This might not be a hot take, but we aren’t meant to hear every thought, see each other’s lives or know about people’s emotions who we will probably never see face to face.

In the same vein, be mindful of media you consume. When I took a break and came back, it just made me realize how much none of it matters??? Likewise being always on SM we are constantly receiving information. Like Too Much Information. I don’t think were supposed to crowd our brains like that. Take at least 24 hours off of social media every week. You’ll thank me later.

Peace of mind over everything. Im a big advocate for this! “When a thing disturbs the peace of your heart, give it up.” -Prophet Muhammad (ﷺ).” [al-Zuhd wal-Raqā’iq 1147]

You are on your own, you can’t rely on people to do what’s important to you. If it’s important to you, you’ll have to do it yourself. No one is going to step up. You need to show up for yourself!

Keep Husn Adh Dhan (thinking good of other people). Boy do I struggle with this one! People can be bone deep kind, loving and self-reflective but can still be selfish in certain situations. People can be well meaning, generous, sociable and easy going and still hold deep seated opinions that turn them into vicious little bullies. Every person is a kladeiscope and they will surprise you. (I don’t think you can ever fully know another person) You will surprise yourself too. It’s not a warning and it's not a judgement and it's not an excuse either. It’s also not a reason to stop trying or to stop trusting. (Even though I’m still struggling) it is just a fact! I understand the concept of Husn Adh Dhan, and I’d like to think this year I’ve internalized this a little? But I have a long way to go.. May Allah help make it easy to distinguish who is gold and who is gold plated.

Privacy is power!! A quiet life is so underrated! SM and capitalism and culture has put such a significant emphasis on the definition of success as fame, being known, having an accolade of worldly accomplishments and excessive wealth. There is so much power in anonymity. Your life does not have to be a grand spectacle for others to have a worth. You don’t need that kind of validation bro! Plus it saves you from so much Ayn!

Trust your gut. Vibes and energy don’t lie. If something is off about a situation or a person. It means it is off. Intuition is God’s gift! And women have it down to a science.

Cut music out of your daily life. I swear to you, you could be doing much better stuff with your time than numbing your brain with beats. Also I feel it opens the path for you to commit other sins and just look at sinning in a different light? Do I make sense? Lol. Replace that with nasheeds or Qur’anic recitation. You’ll end up memorizing a few ayats too (or a whole surah). It’s a win!

Not everything needs a reaction. Learn to walk away. Spent your energy and your time wisely.

Make Dhikr a part of your daily routine. Your heart is your most hardworking muscle but it needs to rest too! (please, Im trying to be poetic) "Verily in the remembrance of Allah do hearts find rest." (13:28)

A Litmus test for choosing a spouse: the single most important decision you'll ever make as a woman is choosing the father of your children, everything else is secondary to that. If he is God-fearing and God-loving, you have a winner!

Learn the difference between people who are good in general and people who are good for you. Not everyone will understand you or has the same heart as you and that’s okay. Move on don’t keep waiting for the same effort. Some people are just meant to be acquaintances.

Pray for your parents. They put on a tough act for us. Pray for their emotional and mental well-being and that they get to see you successful in both worlds.

Respect and understanding over love. If some one claims to love you and doesn't respect you, they don't actually love you.

Reflecting on your own destructive habits and working towards fixing them is self-care. You have to work towards change; quitting that sin you keep going back to, looking at what needs to go or what needs to be added for your life to move forward. People usually assume self-care is about indulgence (self-worship) or doing whatever you want (selfish). I think it’s more about doing things that are healthy for you.

Cut out people who think you’re arguing or personally attacking them every time you try and solve an issue or express your emotions. It is draining and mentally exhausts you. If someone cannot tolerate you making an effort in communication (read ask clarifying questions) and sharing what you feel, distance yourself from them. No one is a mind reader!

Communication without comprehension is a waste. You could be sharing your most darkest, scariest vulnerabilities with a person and not be reciprocated even with words. I suffer from incomprehension sometimes (read come off as cold). I pray Allah makes me better at easing someone's suffering in whatever capacity I'm capable of.

Be quick to apologize when you know you've hurt someone. Trust me it will take nothing away from you. Even if it was unintentional, it’s so easy to just apologize and move on. I personally think it helps maintain the trust in any relationship.

If you’ve read till the end, congratulations to you!🤝🏻

Theres been a lot more changes, lots of things i started doing differently that have helped me grow as a person. I like the current me, i feel like i can handle certain situations better than i wouldve last year. Its the small victories that count ✌🏻

Hope you related and benefited from some of these lessons/experiences. May Allah be pleased with us and give us a beautiful end to our lives here. Ameen. ✨️

Love, Phi 🕊

[bunnieandbea]

ACOTAR Commish

A friend wanted a bookmark for their new reading quest, so I happily took it upon myself to make one of the most EXTRA bookmarks for them. My full write-up of the process is on ko-fi ☆

Worked with watercolors for the first time in forever and fell in love with the process all over again ♡ This is the not-bookmark-sized original art version:

The center is laminated transparency. I only wish the weather was nicer that day to get better pictures, but Mother Nature has its whims.

My indecisiveness when it came to shrinking the final edit down as a bookmark resulted in six different versions 😆

But I had a blast with this. Will definitely be picking up more traditional arts and getting back to some burning this year!

Cheers,

Bea

[lorei-writes]

Letters: From: Me ; To: You

(And Some of What Happened In-Between)

Clavis Lelouch & OC (OC Chart: Laura) Summary: A letter sent out in desperation, and how -- or whether -- it manages to rescue Laura from an arranged marriage. Word Count Estimate: 400 Other chapters: Masterlist

Content Warnings: none

—

Your Highness,

I write to you again for it appears the situation has somewhat changed, although perhaps it would be better suited to say it has clarified itself. I implore you, hurry, unless all your words and care extended towards me were merely an elaborate jest.

Lord Dönhoff arrived at our mansion a day early. However, as soon as I woke up, my nanny covertly told me he has appeared right at dawn. I presume I was not meant to be aware of his presence at the time.

It just so happened that my music teacher did not feel well, so our class was postponed. In search of slightly less stuffy air, I approached the window, and saw what could be a large pennant in the colours of Lord Dönhoff’s personal crest. I expected the guest would soon be announced, but since that did not occur, I took it upon myself to find whether I have not misseen. I intended to approach my father about the matter, and so, I… overheard certain things.

You see, our mansion is old, its history goes back a century or so. My father’s office has been in a dire need of a door replacement, as the vicious thing refuses to close properly, and so chilly drafts open and shut it at a whim. Nevertheless, father always seems to have more urgent issues to resolve waiting at him, and it is precisely this door that I should direct my thanks at today.

To paraphrase it, my fate has been sealed for ten years, and that is how long Lord Dönhoff has been waiting for “this precious porcelain doll”, meaning: myself. He then urged my father to pressure that holy priest, for he “postponed procuring an heir long enough as it is”. (I dread the thought, Your Highness.) The list of the deeds he has done in our favour is far longer than I have thought it to be. Perhaps it may be that his “friendly intentions” towards my family have always been padded with a certain kind of rapacious fiendishness.

I could not listen for much longer, as my nanny has begun searching for me.

Please, help me. If you so desire, I will even love you in exchange. I am most certain you are much keener than Lord Dönhoff, so whatever it is that you intend to take, I am willing to give it away.

Yours faithfully,

Klara Scherf

PS:

I was informed that an official engagement ball shall be held at Lord Dönhoff retreat in two weeks time. I am most worried. Mother seemed pallid.

Yours faithfully,

Klara Scherf

[burnrage]

Tell us about your most inspired muse here and why. Why do you love them? Why do you have the urge to write them?

whew, this was not an easy one. so i'll break this down to my top and then list the others always in rotation hehehe.

anthony bridgerton, netflix's bridgerton. i choose him first because i'm literally fighting myself on giving him his own blog again. (this happens every time a new season releases.) so to start, the first time i watched s1 of bridgerton, this man got on my Last Nerve. i could not stand his ass. it took watching s2 for me to love him, followed by a couple of rewatches to really appreciate and understand that while he can have very dumb moments, he comes from a good place of heart. and i'm pretty sure you never saw this show so the tldr version: his father died before his eyes when he was 18, stung by a bee and collapsed. at that age, he quickly became the viscount and had to grow up quickly and handle their family affairs, pregnant mother, vscount duties, while also becoming the "man" of the house to 6 other siblings, soon to be 7. so when s1 of bton airs, he's a bit of a mess. he's fooling around with an opera singer (which is frowned upon by their societal standards because he's a viscount and she's stations below him) and his sister is being presented into society and needs to find a match. anthony was beyond overprotective, kept wedging his way into her business because he was thinking a beneficial match vs love match for daphne. all ends well with the season and s2 he announces he's looking to wed. not for love though. he wants a wife to lead an example to the rest of the siblings. so he goes for the diamond of the season (the queen's pick) but doesn't realize he's falling for her sister, kate. s2 brings about a lot of growth for anthony and understanding of why he is the way he is. also i just love a dumbass in denial who finally gets their shit straight. this was the very loose weak version of it all but yeaaah. but lookie at him and his now wife.

and the others i always wanna remake, fully devote myself to but it lasts in short spurt whims so that's why they're multi-zoned: octavia blake - the 100 (obviously!), harwin strong - house of the dragon, bonnie bennett - the vampire diaries, alcide herveaux - true blood, rosita espinosa - the walking dead.

[mellythedork]

How in the ever-loving gourd has it been ten years? Time is an illusion that I stopped seeing ages ago.

10 years ago, at the tail end of 2013, I had a huge, friendship-ending fight that shattered me. In an attempt to keep myself together, I hid behind a character and wrote the most self-indulgent crossover fic I'd ever concocted. After 5 years, 2 rewrites, too many OCs to count, magic mechanics I didn't think through, and conversations with my former best friend about what had happened, I finally let that fic rest. I knew that if I tried to continue it, I'd never move on, as the very basis of it was focused on that fight.

But it was still such a colossal part of my life. 5 years to spend on a project is no laughing matter, and it felt like it was the only trustworthy constant as I struggled to make my way through everything going on around me. It invaded RPs with friends and basically everything I did...and that wasn't always a good thing. It was a coping mechanism that went too far, but I still cherished it so much.

Things never got anywhere near back to how they had been before that fight. But I learned a lot about myself and how to better handle problems I hadn't realized I was creating. I feel like being forced to think about it while writing the original Mooniverse helped me come to terms with it and move on--which was, of course, the intention all along! But it came to a point where I knew it had to end.

There was never any rhyme or reason to that fic, in any version of it. I wrote it purely to have fun and go wild. It's so odd looking back at the chapters now; I keep laughing at how things went without direction. But it was pure and adorable and I'll always look back at it fondly...beyond the cringing at how much I shoved it in my friends' faces.

For…I was going to say over a year, but I feel like 2 would be more accurate. For about 2 years now, I've struggled to create anything. Both art and writing have felt impossible. I burned out on most of my personal projects without realizing it until last month, but that realization took a weight off of me. And without that weight, as I realized the anniversary that was coming up, I was able to create something on nothing but a whim and enjoy it again.

My art block certainly isn't gone, and nothing about this is what I'd consider perfect. It's not even finished. But I set the sketch as my goal, trying to keep the pressure low, in hopes that I'd be able to post it at all. I do want to touch it up and finish it one day, but I'm not going to worry about that now.

I have been a bit inspired, though! I want to do more things like this. Like the original Mooniverse Melodia and the final one standing side by side here, I want to pull together more OCs with such connections and growth and see how far they've come. I don't know how much of that I'll accomplish, but it's been fun to think about for sure.

I hope everyone's holidays have gone well and that your plans for the new year are fulfilling. I think this year is going to go a lot better for me than the last.

--

From left to right we have: The original Annie along with the final Annie (Of course they'd be friends!)

The final Melodia (with slight modifications to her outfit in order to make a bit more sense; ditto to her bangs. Seriously, what was I thinking when I made that mess?? lol)

The middle-ground Moon (as I no longer have the design for the original, but wanted to include her)

The final Hope (in one of her alternate outfits)

The original Melodia (I didn't think I had any references left of her, but after about 2 hours of searching, I gave up only to stumble upon one by chance the next day. Sure was a surprise!)

And finally the middle-ground Myasu (just think of her & Moon as representing the first rewrite!)

-- I knew most of my art problems were from my difficulty and dislike of drawing bodies, so to make this possible at all, I used a base.

I also very much referenced the original image, the hair of Love Live and Idolmaster characters, and self-made bases from Shugo Chara, both due to time constraints and to keep my sanity. I'm very out of practice and didn't want to get so frustrated I abandoned the drawing altogether.

[purplewitch156]

Oooooo, @tohru-n!!!!!!

Okay. So. Deathless. You have no idea how happy I am that you asked for it because god almighty, I love it to bits. I love it so much that I have to calm myself down in order to write anything for it. That’s how bad it is.

The premise is that Voldemort and Harry are immortal. This is my version of the Being Master of Death Makes Harry Immortal trope. Oddly enough, I haven’t read very many immortal Harrys that I’ve enjoyed so this is my gift to me. It will follow canon pretty closely. I’ll make some adjustments to the final battle, as in Nagini doesn’t die. She’s not even at the battle. And Voldemort ends up getting imprisoned for life in Azkaban. Harry won’t realize he’s immortal right away. It’ll be a gradual realization and he won’t like it. At all. I honestly think that Harry wouldn’t do well being immortal and I want him to struggle with depression and suicide in this story, so I get it if Deathless gets skipped when it’s finally posted.

When Harry DOES realize he’s immortal and he can’t do anything about it, he starts to rethink Voldemort. He grows uncomfortable with the lifelong sentence for someone who cannot die and eventually succeeds in convincing the Wizengamot to release him. But he won’t be a ‘free man’. There will be safeguards put in place. There will be a method that stifles a person’s magic and it will be in the form of a tattoo because V needs to rock a tattoo. Voldemort will also be ‘employed’ by the Ministry to continue his sentence.

I want a great deal of time to pass in this story. When you’re dealing with immortals, it feels like you need to lean into centuries rather than years and figuring out how to structure that in a story will be a fun challenge. I’m really looking forward to exploring Voldemort’s and Harry’s relationship as it shifts from enemies to friends to lovers. My heart just glows whenever I think about Deathless. It makes me so happy.

Here's a snippet:

Conjuring a mind palace took a great deal of concentration and energy. He could not sustain it indefinitely and when he was forced to Wake he was always unnaturally tired. It was during one of these periods of great lethargy that Phillips returned to his cell and said through the bars, “Potter’s back. He wants to speak to you again.”

It took a moment before Voldemort replied.

“No.”

He did not turn his head to see whether Phillips had gone, keeping his half-lidded, unfocused gaze upon the black stone blocks that made up the ceiling, the blood runes blurring.

“He promises not to mention … whatever he mentioned last time.”

That made Voldemort turn his head.

“Is that so?”

The option to stay in his cell just to spite Potter crossed his mind, but once again, he was tempted by curiosity. If Potter wasn’t here to discuss Nagini’s whereabouts, then why was he here at all?

Laboriously, he sat up. His vertebra cracked as he rose from the cot.

“Do you need a mediwizard?” Phillips asked, watching him.

“I need a better bed.”

Phillips grunted as if he had sucked in a laugh. The cell door unlocked and Voldemort once more traveled down to the Visitor’s Wing. Potter was again at the eighth mirror.

“What do you want now?” Voldemort asked the moment he sat in the opposing chair. The walk down had tired him even further. It was difficult not to slump.

“Are you all right?” Potter asked, looking slightly alarmed.

“Yes,” Voldemort replied crisply. “What do you want?”

“I —” Potter seemed to flounder, almost as if he hadn’t thought this through, almost as if he’d chosen on a whim to visit Azkaban and drag his life-long enemy from the cold, knobby comfort of his cot.

Voldemort was not amused, but he was so tired that the idea of hoisting himself up and walking all the way back through the prison was enough to keep him in place. So he donned an expression that revealed just how little he thought of the wretch.

“The guard said you wished to talk,” Voldemort prompted. “You are doing very little of it.”

Potter’s lips thinned.

“Sad, little Potter. Are you not enjoying your victory?” Voldemort asked mockingly. “Perhaps we could trade places.”

Potter’s cheeks flushed crimson, his jaw tightened, and Voldemort finally felt a surge of energy. He rested his elbows upon the desk and leaned closer to the mirror.

“Are you lost without me? Did I supply the only purpose in your tiny, unimportant life?”

The mirror wiped itself blank but not before Voldemort had seen the livid expression on Potter’s face. He laughed, feeling better than he had in weeks.

 >>>

Now on to Echoes!

Echoes will be a non-magic ghost story with a past-life twist. Harry, in need of money, will house sit a haunted house while the owner takes a holiday. Bella is the owner and the haunted house is Riddle House (obviously). He begins to be haunted by the Riddle Ghost – a sixteen-year-old boy who murdered his family.

As I said, this is a past life story. Unlike canon, Merope and Tom Sr stay married and Tom is raised at Riddle House, but it isn’t a happy family. Tom’s grandparents hate him and Merope and …. Tom Sr is … he’s not abusive but he’s not loving either. He’s just not present in Tom’s life. He pretty much ignores Tom. And Merope, for that matter. Tom’s positive relationship is with his mother, but Merope has always been frail and she dies when he’s sixteen. Struggling with the loss, Tom finds himself gravitating toward the new groundskeeper, a young man named Harry Potter.

I’m not sure if I want the story to be a back and forth between the past and the present or if I want to start the story in the past and tell it to its bloody climax (because Tom does kill his family) and then for the story to move into the present and have the reader know everything but Harry is clueless because he’s forgotten his previous life and now Ghost Tom is trying to get him to remember him. I think I like the second option more. I think that would be a cool structure, but we’ll see.

Instead of a snippet you get this:

When Tom and Harry begin their affair (cuz they’re gonna have one) Tom takes nude pictures of Harry. He stores them somewhere safe. When present day Harry is house sitting he ends up finding these pictures and gets thoroughly freaked out because the bloke buck naked, posing in highly suggestive ways, looks 100% like him.

[ufuckingpastry]

I've been feeling in a rough patch lately and most of it's manifested in insecurities and a general lack of motivation to work on any writing projects. I haven't touched PB since I put it on hiatus. I came up with a really fun writing series that just petered off into nothing. I've barely progressed and done anything, even though I'm having all these cool story ideas!

If you've been here for a while, you might've noticed that I stopped writing a couple years back, right around when Homestuck ended. Homestuck was the first major fandom I was in and the first one I posted fanfic for. My AO3 has 50 works just for Homestuck. And, when it ended, it felt like so did my desire to create.

Of course, this was right around my last year of college and ohhhhh fuck that was stressful. Plus I got really into WoW too. I didn’t really have much time to write in general.

I struggled for 3 years feeling like I could barely write anything at all. I was in such a depressive funk at the time, and the feeling like I couldn't create only worsened it. It took me 3 months to write 1000 words.

And then, one day, something amazing happened. I got into dsmp, I got into these characters, and on a whim, I sat down and wrote my first fic for it. In the span of 3 days, I wrote 3000 words! And I was happy! And I posted it and people seemed to love it!

My AO3 now has at least 30 fics just for dsmp, and I've got folders upon folders of other projects and ideas springing up every day for new fics for other smp series!

And yet, I'm starting to see myself falter. With the dsmp ending, and especially ending like it did, it reminds me so much of Homestuck. And I see myself doing the same things and behaving the same way I did 6 years ago. Struggling to write. A lack of focus and motivation to work on any of my projects. An external source of immense stress that makes me feel like I don’t have much time to write anymore.

And it's frustrating on a personal level to see that. Therapy opened my eyes to recognizing my patterns of behavior. I can prevent myself from spiraling. I can recognize when I need a break and I can take that break and barely feel guilty for it. And yet, here I am again. Will it soon take me a month to write 1000 words?

Have I even written 1000 words this very month?

... so I've written 5000.

In 2022, I decided that I wanted to track my yearly word count. I wrote so MUCH in 2021 that I broke 100k words posted on AO3 for that year. But that was just finished works! None of my wips, which I knew I had a lot more of! So I tracked my word count in 2022 and I think I hit around 150k? And that's impressive! That's cool!

So I did it again for 2023. But it's been harder to keep up with that over the last few months. I've been in a limbo of not knowing how many words I've written. Based on the fact that I haven't made any progress on my fics, that number must be very low, I thought.

And then I updated my word count yesterday. And I realized something:

I've written over 5000 words this month. Which isn't a lot, sure, but it's a lot for me. And, you know what? That's on track for January and February. March was fucking wild cuz I broke 14k words in March. And I know from tracking it last year, whenever I get a huge spike of words in one month, it takes maybe another month to recover. So my next month won't be as big or grand, but that's okay.

And that made me sit back and really look at what that means. I've been rping a lot, which is where the majority of those words come from. I wrote 1.5k words in a single DAY and I'm over here wondering why I don't have any words left in me! When I was in my last writing slump, I was still rping. All I did was rp.

I'm still writing, even when I don't think I am. I'm still expressing myself in these creative outlets even when I don't think it's "real writing". And why does it matter what's real writing anyways? Isn't it enough that I'm still doing it?

It is. It is enough. Therapy helped me recognize my patterns of behavior, and sometimes the answer really is to just. Take a break.

It'll still be here when you get back.

[laoiseach]

I’ve never been much of a writer. I would read though. As a child I devoured books. When my mom was in hospital with her heart my grandad used to pick me a up a book from the small shop to keep me occupied in those white rooms. (All hospitals should have a shop). When I turned 14 I started drawing and painting, I sought distraction in the visual instead.

When I was 15 I started working, the time wasn’t quite there for a good book. Then covid hit. I turned 16, and eventually 17. In lockdown I discovered queer books (and myself within them, though I cant remember which came first). I would order queer books online, ensuring that they didn’t look queer from the outside.

Somewhere within that mess my brother gave me a copy of Good Omens for my birthday. It was a change from the easy-read YA love stories that I’d been devouring, but it was exactly what I needed. I sat outside and read for hours and hours in the sun. My back had sunburn scars for weeks because I didn’t realise the time passing, but then again, it was covid and time wasn’t real in my backgarden. Covid ended. I went back to work and back to my exams.

I’m now in my second year of college. I’m still working, and still trying to read when I can. I went to a massive second hand bookshop local to my college-city looking for some essay materials, and instead stumbled upon Norse Mythology. I read it, loved it and thought about it often. Later that month I went into another bookshop, picked up a copy of American Gods and debated spending €15 for a brand new copy. I left it there, groceries took preference that day unfortunately. On that same day, on a whim I went into a local charity shop. I found American Gods and The Graveyard Book sitting on a shelf. 2 for €5. The lady there gave them to me for €4

The Graveyard Book

I have a lot of things to say about this book. Instead I will say this: I am glad I didn’t find this as a child. I would’ve been insufferable. Within this same breath I mourn for the child I could’ve been, this would have changed me.

I know it’s a childs book. But I was once a child so it doesn’t matter. If i could read it again for the first time I would. It has somehow wormed it’s way into my favourites list. I have more to say about this book, maybe I will. I probably won’t terrorise this site with all my thoughts.

Moving on.

Amercian Gods

This was the longest book I’ve read since I was a child. That probably doesn’t say much. Religion has always been a very fickle thing for me, it’s something I don’t like to think about often. I think this book is a masterpiece of fictional theology, and though I won’t subscribe to a belief based solely on one novel, this helped me quanitfy some things.

I only finished this last week so I need some more time to think on it and Monarch of the Glen. I think I actually liked Monarch of the Glen more than the main novel. I’m excited to read Anansi Boys which hopefully will arrive this week (along with 3 other Gaiman novels. Oops.)

Fragile Things

I am 2/3rds of the way through this one. I was originally skeptical about the concept, I don’t havs a great record with short stories. Cue the flashbacks to my copy of Metamorphosis and Other Stories by Franz Kafka. The annotations stop halfway through. Oops again.

Fragile Things is becoming quite dear to me. Much like The Graveyard Book, I can feel it carving a permanent space in my psyche. I connect to the stories in this more than I did to American Gods. This book and it’s stories are more relatable. Don’t get me wrong, I thoroughly enjoyed American Gods, but the characters gave me a feeling I can only describe as ‘boys club’. (And I say that as a young, sisterless, Irish Military woman). Fragile Things is easier to feel.

These 5 books are so far the only Gaiman books that I’ve read. Which is a wonderful thing- I won’t run out for a while. Gaimans writing style feels like a hug. It’s comforting in a way that the subject matter should not provide. It leaves me confused and longing and nostalgic for the words I just read. I know that I could re-read each book 10 times and still take something new away each time. I think in another life I’ve read them all already, they all feel just more than vaguely familiar.

My life has been changing a lot lately and these books feel like a rope tethering myself to myself. I’m really grateful for them, and to have them. And I’m grateful for @neil-gaiman whose very active tumblr brings me joy in my book-less moments. Thanks Mr.Gaiman :)

[talldarkandroguesome]

17th of Morning Star, Tirdas

The days have been slipping away like ashes through my fingers in a wind. How did it get to be another week already? And now half spent, too.

I have been meeting with many different potential connections for this match of a mistress. I have hardly slept at all. I find myself nodding off even as I attempt to write now. When was the last time I got a full night’s rest?

Was it last Turdas? No.

Perhaps the Middas before that? 

I cannot recall any more. Probably not a great sign that I cannot remember at all.

At any rate, setting aside all the tiring meetings with every mer with a female relative of age in the city, I should speak of my next plan.

I received back from Tel a letter.

They thanked me for the invitation. But more than that, they have agreed to taking time off so that we might travel together to Black Marsh.

Of course, they did not give any potential dates. They simply asked that I give them some prospective availability for them to request their leave.

I immediately went to my desk and began to write a reply. Then I stopped. I threw the parchment into the fire. Why would I start a protracted exchange that could go on for months, when there were simpler ways to sort all of the dates out. Much, much simpler ways.

So I informed Cheerz and Avon of what I was doing and took my leave.

It was warmer in Vivec than I would have expected, given it is so much further north and right off the Sea of Ghosts. I suppose it has been a while since I visited in winter, I had forgotten how Red Mountain seems to keep Vvardenfell warmer than one might be prepared for.

I headed to the Temple to search for Tel and found that they were on guard duty for Vehk. With nothing else to do, I took in the city a bit. I got a quick bite to eat and then headed to the barracks to await Tel getting off their shift.

The Armigers, for who they follow, are a good lot. Several had remembered me from previous visits with Tel and I agreed to provide some entertainment to them for allowing me the hospitality of waiting with them. I made sure to put myself into my most charming mannerisms and asked for a lute. I played and sung some of the Temple songs I had written. A few of the Armigers knew the songs and joined in.

I did have to stop once or twice as words or timing had been altered or the key changed. I explained my musical choices and how they were made to be sung in a space that allowed for an echo to harmonize. It fascinated a few of them who had not been aware of who exactly I was. And soon I had myself a small gathering of mer who wished to hear me sing.

How lovely it was to have fans of my works. To know that so many of the songs I wrote have hidden messages of praise for the True Tribunal. They may appear to venerate Almsivi, but there is more to it than that. And to know that Vehk’s own Armigers were unknowingly giving praise to the True Tribunal filled me with pride and glee.

Wine was poured and I found myself draped across a couple of Armigers as I had someone playing with my hair as I continued to sing and play.

That was when Tel came back. Everyone was saying how they had been visited by the songwriter and composer of some of their favorite songs, something I think they added for my benefit alone. Tel came to greet me and had a look of surprise and confusion, quickly replaced with amusement.

They asked what had brought me there and before I had the chance to reply, they had me wrapped in an embrace and were playing kisses upon my lips.

I eagerly returned the gesture before answering about why I had decided to come. Tel apologized that they could not simply take off on a whim and I had to stop them to explain that it was purely a trip to work on finding dates, given that it might take weeks or months otherwise to come to an agreement. I had brought with me an appointment book so that I could ensure that I had the dates marked and that no other obligations were present that day, nor that any others would be placed upon Tel’s requested leave time.

After a few more songs, we left to take some time in private. We settled on a time in just a couple week’s time. It will give me time to ensure my Spiderlings are all set for their next month’s of tasks and to have settled some other business back home.

We had a lovely dinner, my treat, of course. I wanted to ensure that Tel had a meal better than the rations they were served. And we shared the entanglements of an intimate reunion.

I wished I could have stayed the night, but alas, so much to get done. So much to prepare. Loredas is the next new moon of Masser. I need to finish all my personal business. So much to do. I should end here. The Three grant me strength.

[ri-ahhh]

good vibes

sometimes best friends get a little curious

warnings: badly written smut

***

“Gray, can you help me with this?”

Inspired by your best friend’s new affinity for minimalism, you had decided to clean out the junk drawer of your nightstand. You had been hit by one of those random whims to do something productive, and the mess in there had been bothering you for months.

But now, even though it’s practically empty and a good few pounds lighter after removing nearly all of its previous contents, you’re struggling to shove the damn thing back into the nightstand. The solid wood is heavy, and the high of accomplishing something is starting to wear off in wake of the frustration that the stupid thing just won’t go in. It’s like a reverse of the prank Jim pulled on Dwight when he jammed his drawers to only half open; yours will only half shut.

The final straw is when you pinch your finger between the drawer and the corner of the opening in the nightstand, and you let the whole thing fall to the floor with a heavy thump that your downstairs neighbors will most definitely not appreciate.

“Ow, fuck!” you exclaim, holding your finger with enough pressure to keep the throbbing at bay for a moment and to check if your nail broke. “Gray!”

A dark head peaks around the doorframe, handsome features drawn in concern. “What the hell are you doing?” he asks, stepping into your bedroom.

It always takes you by surprise somehow, how much space he takes up in here. He’s shirtless and still slightly sweaty, having taken advantage of your apartment gym while you did your cleaning thing.

You pout at him. “I need help.”

Grayson rolls his eyes and chuckles, glancing at the drawer on the ground as he puts two and two together. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he says as he strides next to you and squats down so he’s level with the nightstand.

“Shut up,” you mumble, flushing as you suck the little spec of blood off your cuticle (the biggest casualty from your drawer mishap) and shove his giant, rounded shoulder with the other.

He barely budges, and squints at the open space. “There’s something stuck that must have fallen from the top drawer when you took this one out.”

Before you can even think to stop him, he’s pulling the top drawer — your underwear drawer — out of the nightstand now. And there, right where you left it that morning on top of a pile of skimpy lace and cotton, is your hot pink vibrator.

Grayson stares at it for a moment, and you can tell he’s processing what it is before smirking as you gasp and snatch it away from his curious gaze. “Nice.”

You scoff. “Don’t be gross. Girls masturbate too, Dolan.”

“I’m well aware,” he retorts, eyebrow raised at the way you’re hiding the object behind your back as if he’ll forget about it if he can’t see it. “Fingers don’t get the job done?”

You don’t think you’ve ever blushed this hard in your life. But, after all, it’s just Grayson — he’s your best friend. And, with his track list, there’s probably nothing the man hasn’t seen.

“I keep my nails too long,” you say with more confidence than you really have. “Plus it’s just... better.”

“I’ve never seen a girl use one in person,” he says. He looks at you and cocks his head. “You should show me.”

A purely instinctual bark of laughter escapes your lips. “In your dreams.”

“You are,” Grayson admits, his smile cocky but soft. “Way too often lately.”

You pause and consider that, your belly heating and head swimming momentarily at the idea that you might have some semblance of the same effect on him that he does you. “Only because we’ve been spending so much time together the past few weeks.”

“We can over-analyze the reasons later,” he says dismissively. “I’m serious, I’ve only seen these things in porn. I wanna see first hand what they do that I can’t.”

You can’t resist digging at him a little. “And here I thought fuckboy extraordinaire Grayson Dolan had seen it all.”

“I’m not a fuckboy,” he says pointedly. “That implies a certain level of shitty behavior that I don’t believe in.”

“Fair enough,” you concede with a shrug. You really look at him for a moment, and much like the urge to clean, a similarly sudden wave of “fuck it” overtakes you. You bring the vibrator back into sight, and watch him look at it curiously again. “You’re telling me you’ve really never had one of your little girlfriends use this with you in the room?”

“Nope, I swear,” he says with an insistent shake of his head, hazel eyes wide as he realizes you’re maybe about to actually agree to his suggestion. “Please?”

Are you really about to say yes to this? You take in his shirtless self, muscles bulging from their recent exertion, skin a leftover honey bronze from the summer, eyes warm, lips pink and inviting...

An idea hits you.

“Fine,” you say, crossing your arms and smirking up at him. “But you have to do it with me. Jerk off, I mean. It’s not fair if I show you mine but you don’t show me yours.”

His arched brows shoot up into his flop of hair with surprise, but it only takes him a second for a wide, crooked smile to break across those lips you were just admiring. “Deal.”

You roll your eyes, but the grin won’t leave your lips. “That was way too easy.”

“What can I say? I have no shame,” Grayson shrugs, dropping the drawer he was still holding onto your bed. He reaches down and picks up your favorite leopard-print thong, letting it dangle from two of his thick fingers. “These are cute, by the way.”

“Don’t push your luck here,” you warn, only half-joking; you’re still a little cautious about this whole plan, no matter what your pussy is telling you right now at the thought of seeing Grayson completely naked.

He follows you without question out to the living room. You choose the couch rather than your bed for a couple of reasons. Easier to see. Less intimacy. He can take his pick of which one he wants to think was your driving force behind it.

You settle on one end of the couch, and he the other. You’re surprised to see the half-hard outline of him already through his sweats, and it’s truly pathetic how fast it has you clenching your thighs together.

“How do we start?” you ask, head tossed back with an embarrassed, breathless giggle. Your toes wiggle next to his against the middle seat cushion. “I didn’t think this far.”

When you look back at him, Grayson is staring at you with a surprising intensity. He’s got a palm over his sweats, right over his dick, and your eyes are drawn there for a hot, sticky second. His hand itself is turning you on, wide and veined and masculine.

“Let’s talk,” he finally says, drawing hour gaze back to his handsome face. “What do you like?”

“What do I like?”

“Yeah. Like... what’s your favorite position?”

You’re catching on. It’s not the most conventional dirty talk, but the simplicity in just learning these new things about him so casually is kind of hot in its own right. The thought alone makes your nipples tighten behind your shirt — his shirt, you’re just now realizing.

You hope he can see them through the thin white fabric as you answer, “Doggy.”

“Mm.” The corner of his lips turn up in a quick smirk and his hand starts to move over his crotch in slow strokes. “I think I like missionary most, to be honest. The kind where I’ve got her legs pushed back or over my shoulders. Super deep. Eye contact. All that.”

Fuck. “So we’re opposites,” you grin, and to Grayson’s visible approval you allow your legs to open some — his eyes zero in on your center, hidden beneath your tiny sleep shorts. “Do you eat pussy? I can’t get the vibe if you do or don’t.”

He looks genuinely offended, and pauses the motion of his hand, eyes meeting yours again. “Of course I do. Wait, do you really get the impression that I wouldn’t?”

You shrug and drop a palm to rest low on your belly. “I just have it on good authority that Ethan does it very well and very willingly. And you guys are so opposite. You just never know.”

Grayson deadpans you, his breathing picking up along with the movement of his hand again. “Are you asking me to eat you out? Because that sounds like a challenge you know I can’t refuse.”

“No. I like the idea of being your first ‘something,’” you say. Grayson’s dark eyes glance to the object in question clutched in the grasp of one hand, then follow the fingertips of your other as they start to trail lightly across your waistband. The heat of his gaze makes your pussy throb, and you’re actually getting more and more excited about this. “And I thought tonight was about what you can’t do.”

“Tonight, maybe. But then there’s always tomorrow,” he says, voice low and gruff. He squeezes his dick through his pants and growls a little. “Fuck. Can we — fuck, your tits look so cute in my shirt. And it’s taking everything in me not to rip off those damn shorts.”

“You wanna see my pussy?” you ask in an almost-whisper, lip caught between your teeth. His words and the neediness behind them flood you with confidence and desire. The vibrator is warm and heavy and apparent in your hand, calling your name as your body heats steadily at the sight and sound of Grayson a mere six feet from you.

“As much as you wanna see my dick,” he counters, and his fingers finally hook teasingly in his own elastic waistband.

You’ll feed his ego, if that’s what he wants. You’d expect nothing less from him — and, to be fair, he’s not wrong.

“That must be a lot, then,” you say, and then you’re both pulling down your pants and underwear until you’re naked from the waist down and he is completely.

Your legs close shyly once your bottoms are discarded to the floor, the hand cupping your pussy trapped between your thighs. You’re nervous again for a few seconds, but then you see his cock wrapped loosely in his big fist, and you can’t help but relax again.

Dicks are ugly, in a general sense, but not Grayson’s, you think. Long and thick, ridged on the shaft and swollen at the tip. You instantly think about what it would taste like, or feel like buried inside you. Because he’s definitely got the vibrator beat in that department.

“Lemme see,” he murmurs.

You take a deep breath and obey, knees still bent but parted as you move your hand from completely covering your center to tracing the smooth skin with your middle finger. Grayson groans, and his hand leaves his dick long enough for him to spit in it for lubrication when he instantly returns it there.

“I can see how wet you are,” he says, and you wonder if he’s even talking to you or just making an observation.

You answer him anyway. “You have a nice dick.” Your fingers migrate to your clit, and you twitch with a little gasp. “Big. I always kinda wondered if you were just compensating.”

“Of course not,” he grins, and it just makes him way too sexy. His teeth gleaming in the low light of your living room, tattoos covering his legs — one of them bent on the couch and the other planted firmly on the floor, muscles hard... you don’t even realize you’re sucking your fingers into your mouth so they’re nice and wet when you bring them back to your clit to start rubbing slow circles in time with the strokes he’s giving his cock.

“Damn,” Grayson mutters. His eyes are wide and fixated on your pussy, and his hand starts moving quicker. The beats of his chest pick up, too. “Can you use it now? Please?”

You nod, starting to feel desperate for release yourself. You push the button a couple of times until the silicone buzzes to life on a medium setting; there’s enough teasing going on between you and Gray, and you don’t need anything other than a good, steady vibe to help get you to the edge.

“This isn’t gonna last long,” you admit, gasping when you trace it against your pussy so it can become coated in your arousal.

If Grayson responds, you don’t hear it, because as soon as you directly stimulate your clit with the vibrator, your mind is going blank as you moan wantonly. Definitely not going to last long.

He speaks, and your eyes open at the sound of his gravelly voice. They lock first on the rapid pumps of his fist over his cock, then on his face with his brows drawn and his jaw clenched.

“Feel good?”

“Really good,” you whimper, tugging on your nipple through your shirt with your free hand. “God, you’re so hot, Gray.”

“Yeah?” His voice turns a little whiny in the sexiest way possible, but still low and a hardwire to your pussy. “You’re fuckin beautiful. Can’t believe I get to see you like this.”

You moan quietly and press a little harder with the vibrator and finding the perfect spot with the perfect pressure. Your back arches and you instinctively fling a hand behind your head to find a grip on the back cushion of the couch. “Fuck!”

“Oh, shit, are you really gonna cum already?” Grayson asks in disbelief.

You whine out mindlessly in affirmation. Your breaths come sharper, you moans higher pitched. The wet noise of Grayson’s fist moving faster and faster on his cock prompts you to let your eyes open to watch him, and all it takes for you to fall over the edge is to watch him watch you.

Your legs shake and you whine pretty moans as the continuous vibrations drag out your orgasm perfectly. You come down just in time to hear the rough groan and raspy grunts of Grayson cumming too, and open your eyes to the glorious sight of his head tossed back so his thick neck is open and begging to be sucked on. His balls are drawn tight, abs clenching, fingers and chest painted with white streaks that you’re kind of sad you missed.

Something tells you this might not be your only chance to see it happen, though.

You turn off your vibrator when you become far too sensitive to take any more and toss it to the side. Your body slumps into the couch cushions, and the room is silent other than both of your heavy breathing for what feels like ages as you both come down.

Grayson shifts at the end of the couch, and it prompts you to do the same. You reach to the floor for your shorts and pull them hastily back up your legs, mind still hazy as you sit up and tuck your legs beneath you. You stare at him unashamedly, not feeling nearly as awkward as you think you should, all things considered.

Gray pulls his underwear on, and reaches his hand out to you. You take it with a sheepish little grin, and let him pull you closer.

“So, be honest, was it really the vibrator that made you cum that fast, or did I have any part of that?”

You laugh and slap his chest playfully. “Maybe when I find out what your mouth can do, I’ll consider you competition for the vibrator. You need to be knocked down a peg or two, Dolan.”

“Hm. Well, like I said, we always have tomorrow.”