#the ritual is the first time she shows her true face

[nyaskitten]

WHOAH what the fuck is that the evil LGBT squad ???? whoaa no way!!!!

(PLEASE REBLOG THESE DESIGNS WERE HELL TO COME UP WITH...)

[elly-grace]

Game day surprise

Pairing: joe burrow x reader

Word count: 1339

Today was the day, the day your husband took the field for the first time since November of last season. The first game of the regular season was here The Bengals versus the Tennessee Titans. Preseason went by in a blur, Joe didn’t play preseason due to fear of reinjuring his wrist. Joe wasn’t happy with the decision, but he supported his coach's choice.

Joe woke up at 7:30 that morning, he knew he had to get to paycor early enough to do his pregame ritual. He tried his best not to wake you but as soon as he got out of bed the empty feeling woke you.

“Joe come back to bed.” you spoke softly.

“I can’t, baby. I need to go to the stadium.” he mourned. He wanted nothing more than to stay in bed with his wife. The temptation to go back to bed was strong but he knew that he needed to complete his ritual. He took steps towards You and placed a quick peck on your nose,your nose crinkled as you let out a small laugh. You then pull your husband into a quick goodbye kiss.

“Please let me know when you get to Paycor I don’t want to worry about you.”

“I’ll send you a text. I love you, see you later.”

“I love you too, now go” you said.

He pulled you in for one more kiss and started to leave, when you thought about telling him about the positive pregnancy test.

“Joe.”

He turned around after hearing his name.

“Yeah?”

“I’m-” upon further thought you decided this wasn’t the time. “Nothing good luck today.”

Joe looked at you concerned, “Are you sure it's nothing?”

“Yes, now go!” you said with a smile.

“You can tell me everything, I don’t believe it's nothing.”

“I promise you it's nothing Joe, I love you.”

You knew Joe would be happy with the news you have been trying to get pregnant since the twins turned two.

After Joe left you couldn’t fall back asleep instead opting to clean the house a little bit. True to his word Joe texted you around 8:15 letting You know he made it to the stadium safely. At around 8:30 you decided to get yourself ready. You rummaged through your closet looking for something to wear. You were already starting to show a tiny bit so finding something that wouldn’t show your tiny baby bump was hard. Finally you found an orange dress that wasn’t tight fitting. You finished getting ready by putting your hair up in a ponytail. Walking downstairs you see the front door open, you quickly turn around and go back up the stairs.

“Good morning”

You knew the voice right away. It was Robin. You let out a sigh upon hearing her voice. Joe gave Robin a key to the house for when she watches Logan and Leo. But you didn’t expect her to be here right now. You walked down the stairs to greet your mother in law.

“You scared me! I didn’t know you were coming over today.”

“Joe called me, he said you were acting weird. He is worried about you”

You checked your watch and saw the time, it was honestly an attempt to avoid telling her why you were acting weird.

“Oh won’t you look at the time, I have to go get Logan and Leo ready.”

“What's going on? You are acting strange.” she expressed, concern was clear on her face.

“It’s nothing.” you brushed off trying to walk away.

Then it hit her, call it mothers intuition. A smile grew on her face at noticing a certain glow she'd only seen on you once before.

“You're pregnant aren't you?” It was more of a statement than a question.

Your face paled as sadness covered your features.

“Surprise” You said softly, you wanted Joe to be the first one that knew.

Upon seeing your face Robin became worried.

“Why are you sad?”

“I’m not, I just haven’t told Joe yet. I mean the last time I was pregnant I went into Labor during the biggest game of his NFL career. It distracted him, he had a chance to win the superbowl. But Logan and Leo distracted him, I distracted him.”

“You think he cares about losing that game?” she looks at you, all you can do in response is nod. “He couldn’t care less because even though they lost the game, it was the day you welcomed your two beautiful boys into this world. He loves you and them more than this sport. You guys have been trying to get pregnant for a while now. He called me after every negative test. He wouldn’t admit it but I could tell he was sad. You need to tell him, he is going to be so happy.”

You offer Robin a small smile knowing she's right. The boys run down the stairs and jump on Robin.

“GRANDMA!” they both yell as they see her, she smiles and gives them both hugs.

“Alright you two let's get you ready so we can go see daddy play.” You ushered the kids back up the stairs.

“I’ll tell him tonight.”

You followed the boys up the stairs.

They both wore their burrow jersey’s and blue Jean shorts. As soon as they were ready they ran downstairs.

“Oh won’t you look at you two!” Robin said, standing up from the couch. “Hey, why don’t we take my car. Jim and I will take them tonight so you and Joe can talk.” She smiled at you.

“Are you sure?” You questioned.

“Of course”

“Thank you!” You give her a hug.

“How far along are you?” She pulled away from the hug with a questioning look on her face.

“5, maybe 6 weeks.”

“You’ve kept this from him for this long?”

“I mean my husband is a very hard man to sit down and have a full blown conversation with right now. Plus I only just found out for sure, I met with my OB yesterday.”

“Yeah Joes been on the go recently.”

“I promise he’ll know today.”

She smiles as you two walk with the twins to robin's car. Each of you buckled in one of them before getting in yourself.

The car ride was silent, the only noise was the music on the radio playing quietly.

Once you arrive at paycor you get out of the car and grab your boys. Walking into paycor you see Joe about to head to the locker room. Security let you in instantly without checking your id knowing who you were. Joe noticed you and ran up to you.

“Why are you guys here so early?” He asked then gave you a kiss.

“We wanted to see you practice today.”

“I’m so glad you're here baby! I was worried about you this morning.” He said giving you a tight hug, that’s when he felt the bump. He pulled away and gave you a questioning look similar to the one Robin gave you earlier. “Are you? Are we?” He couldn’t contain his happiness.

“Pregnant? Yes, I’m sorry I kept it from you, I just wanted to make sure.” He smiled and picked you up and spun you around.

“I can’t believe it.” He beamed and gave you another kiss.

“Now go get ready, I love you.”

“I love you too!”

Logan and Leo see their dad and run to hug his leg.

“Good luck daddy!”

“Thanks boys! Luckily my lucky charms are here.” He said picking up Leo and giving him a hug before doing the same with Logan.

“Okay guys let’s let dad go get ready!”

The frown on the faces of the two little kids was enough to make you cry.

“Mommy don’t cry.”

“I’m okay boys, let head to the box”

Making your way back to Robin you all made your way to the box. Safe to say that was one of the best games Joe has ever played after finding out the news.

Requested by @funnyjb

Thank you I hope you enjoyed!

[sexyandcringe]

Hopeless romantic

Part 1 ◇ Part 2

Warnings: none except mentions of readers past traumas, mention of sexual objectification.

Content: osamu x reader, Angst (to fluff in the next chapters), hurt no comfort.

A/n: it's my first long-fic, please be nice :)

You're not used to being loved.

Your parents were always strict, hardly ever showing their affection, you didn't even have any close friends until you started working, where you found your best friend who showed you the blessings of a platonic love; but time passes and things happen, you had to move out of the town, leave your one true friend behind.

You are not used to love but especially romantic love, because all men did was see you as the object of their sexual desires, or maybe a good time-pass until a better one came along. Never as a person with feelings, never as a woman who loved them more than they loved her.

Sometimes you were too much, sometimes you weren't enough.

Too affectionate, too clingy, too dramatic, too loud. Not pretty enough, not smart enough, not horny enough. You tried and tried to be more, to be less, to be loved, but despite your efforts, love remained elusive, even with women.

So, after years of hoping and yearning, you resigned yourself to a loveless existence.

It is not to say that you never felt happy; even if you didn’t have love, you had fun and drama, you had friends to drink with (accompanied by the ting of pain the day after), you had a lot of books to read (leaving a bitter taste in your mouth whenever you finished one), you had dates and clothes and all the good and beautiful things in life and you've learned to appreciate these fragments of happiness.

But sometimes you get lonely.

You are used to it at this point, the crushing weight in your chest at 11 PM is your daily ritual before you finally give in to sleep.

So when you see Osamu Miya’s warm smile as he greets you in his restaurant, you battle to stop your stupid crazed heart, which is currently trying to jump out of your mouth.

You are just a client, his smile doesn’t mean anything, he is only doing his job, and you have seen him give the same smile to the old ladies who only order a coffee and linger to chatter for more than two hours, too. He’s a professional, after all. You are a regular and all he wants is your money, the bastard.

(you completely ignore the fact that he remembers details about you that no one bothers to remember; like the colour of your jewellery, the names of the dogs in your shelter or how your eyeliner is a little glittered today.)

Still, you are glad you got to know him. If anything, at least he is a good friend to you, always listening to what you have to say and filling your stomach with delicious food.

“ ‘Evening, Y/N. The usual?” He asks. You nod as you sit on the corner of the counter, the same seat you sat on the first day you came in.

(Osamu puts a “Reserved” sign on it every day until your arrival, not letting anyone else sit on it because it’s yours. But you don’t need to know that.)

You chatter with Tsumoto, the part-timer student who works in his shop, about his new crush, giving him advice you wouldn’t listen to nor follow from somebody else, and just as you are about to tell him that he should just write love letters to his crush, the doorbell rings; a pretty girl with dark long hair and the body of a goddess walks in, looking around for something, or better, for someone.

“‘Samuuu!” she calls him just as he comes out of the kitchen, and his face lights up, his arms envelop her figure and her lips meet his cheeks in an affectionate gesture.

… what?

“Emi! How are you, doll?” his voice holds tenderness as he guides the girl to one of the seats available, “Have a seat, I'll fix something up for you.”

She is a beautiful girl indeed, her hair flutters in the air like sea waves and her deep green eyes would make any man weak in his knees. She graces him with a smile, her flawless teeth gleaming.“A coffee is enough ‘Samu, I’m going to meet a friend soon.”

“Roger that!” he nods, signaling to Tsumoto for the order, before returning his attention to her.

He looks happy, you don’t think he has ever looked at you with this much fondness, and you’ve never witnessed any girl embrace him, let alone kiss his cheek. Hell, you didn’t even know if he had any female friends who were not his friends’s girlfriends.

(You feel your vision blur and something clenches in your chest. You swallow it down.)

You have no idea what they are talking about, you are not listening, all you can think about is how much you feel so so stupid. You didn’t hope for anything, you tried not to hope for anything at all, but feelings are hard to get rid of, especially if you see the one causing these feelings every week.

You look at them talking like best friends who haven’t seen each other for a long time and the feeling of inadequacy gnaws at you. You wonder if you ever even stood a chance to begin with. You yearned to be someone close to Osamu, someone who could give him hugs and kisses easily, someone who knew everything about him; you yearned to be part of his inner circle, but now you feel utterly stupid and delusional. Of course, he would never see you in that light, his affection is reserved only for a pretty girl like her. Of course he wouldn’t even think about getting physical with you. What were you even thinking?

Of course, you can’t be part of his world.

Reblogs are really appreciated! - Part 2

[myabsurddreamjournal]

Fate

(part 1)

Soldier Boy x Fem! reader

Summary: Reader is a scientist who is forced to work at lab that they keep soldier boy frozen, she talks and cries to him when she is alone, thinking he can't hear her but he hears everything.

warnings: None, im a ace so my character and story is going to be asexual💜

she slowly approached to cryo where they kept him frozen. it has been a while since she had a opportunity to do this. Since she was taken here they always kept an eye on her, watching every move, punishing any sign of disobedience. It didnt take long for her to learn to be silent, be obedient. scar on her arm reminded her to keep her mouth shut every time she wanted to question something they do. She still remembered the pain. It was her second week here, and she made a mistake of asking why they kept him frozen for almost 40 years. She got the scar for her mistake. The sound of her bone breaking... She could still hear it.

Teardrops started to fall from her eyes as she opened the door of cryo, whenever she was alone she was crying now. It almost became a ritual, sitting on floor with her head hanging low while confessing and apologising to him. Who looked like a statue of a almighty god.

"Hello Ben" she opened her mouth. It made her feel weird hearing her voice saying something other than "yes", or "sir"

"its september 19 today, your birthday isn't it?" she was crying harder now. "i read your file other day. It says you had a rough childhood, me too you know, and now we are both prisoners here. What a fate huh?" she looked at his face as she said that. He looked pale, too pale for human. Well he was in this damn lab for almost 40 years...but deep down she liked the thought of him being something other than a human. Humans always hurted her after all.

After watching the torture tapes she learned he experienced pain and anger just like her. (she threw up all night after seeing the tapes for the first time) he had a life once, he was a child, he had a family. favorite food, favorite drink, he even smoked weed which made her a bit shocked when she read it on the files. But in time she found out he was a lot different from what they made him seen. She saw the few unaired interviews where he acted strong and confident as usual until he was asked about his family or childhood. His eyes getting teary for few seconds, Then his hard expression getting back. His mouth twitching every time journalists made a rude remark.

She knew he was a human. But him being alive after all things human did to him told her he was also something other than human.

and it made her feel good.

"i never wanted to be here, i never wanted this, she said. "i wish i could save you. If i had a powers like you, i would burn here to the ground. And kill all of them. But im so weak. Im so sorry Ben. Im so sorry." She waited there for few minutes. Her head between her hands. Until tiny beeping sound from her watch made her flinch. Telling her it was almost midnight. She needed to get up. Too many work tomorrow. Another day as a prisoner here

She cupped his cheek before closing the door of cyro. It was so cold, but still soft. She couldn't help and kept her hand there while looking at his face. His closed eyelids, then freckles on his nose. Still remembering the first time she noticed his freckles, it was one of the days where her legs hurted for being on her feet for so long. She was taking his blood for monthly test. And she saw them. He had freckles on his nose! They were never shown in his movies or pictures, always hidden behind makeup or his green-gold mask. But they were here. She found them adorable. Never showed it of course. keeping hidden behind her cold emotionless expression.

But she often find herself thinking about him when she tried to sleep at night in "room" they gave her. what else he was hiding under all that persona? What made him happy or sad before all this happened? was it true that he never cried? She tossed and turned at night. Sometimes thinking about him and sometimes thinking about her life. The similitaries between them. Humans hurted him just like they hurted her. They stole their life. She usually fell asleep with this thoughts. And in her dreams it was always end of the World. Everything burning in flames and she watching it from distance with smile on her face.

with a deep exhale she withdrawed her hand from his cheek. "see you tomorrow Ben." she whispered. And she was gone. Not knowing that he heard every word.

that night, she dreamed of something else for the first time since she was captured. Pair of green eyes. They were looking at her. Their shade reminded her a small lake she saw everday when she was a little girl. It was on the right side of the road that she used while walking to school. She always loved the way water moved in small waves. After 2 years, for the first time, she woke up with a warm feeling that morning. it felt like gentle morning sunrise.

[byunpum]

Hey, I hope you are doing alright. I would like to make a request between Aonung x human reader where the reader has been unknowingly accepting all the courting ritual gifts and gestures, so that when Aonung finally asks if they accept to be their mate, it surprises the reader and makes Aonung think that they don't reciprocate, but the reader does and shows him that 😉. Thank you!

Pairing: Aonung x human reader

Tags: fluff, crushes, mating seasons.

Warning: None <3

Request are open, feel free to ask.

AVATAR MASTERLIST

You had arrived with the sully asking for shelter, it was no surprise that at first the looks of disapproval, disgust and discrimination towards you were noticeable. You were a person from the sky, and if the sully were already a problem, you were chaos. Their parents are upset and were refusing to help them. Jake sully tried to explain the situation. "This is my adopted daughter, her mother was a great friend of mine… before she died she asked me to take care of her. See the girl over there points to kiri she is her sister, but from the avatar body of the same mother" Jake tried to explain everything, The couple didn't understand much. But they could see the sincerity in the family's eyes, and let them stay. Aonung was staring at you, while you stood next to your sister holding her hand. You give her a sidelong glance and hold on tighter. You didn't know why he was staring at you so much, you felt like he was studying you.

You went to all the swimming lessons, you weren't the best and it took you longer to adapt, but you would never give up. You were obedient and barely spoke. Any doubts he had about you went away, when he was fighting with your brothers and you tried to stop them and without realizing it he punched you in the face. Making you scream and fall to the ground. The results of this incident led to reprimands and punishments from both families, he didn't mean to hurt you, he didn't do it on purpose. So when he could, he approached your marui and apologized to you. You smiled at him, with a noticeable bruise on your face. He had hurt you, but you still forgive him and understand that it was an accident. Aonung must admit, he also judged you at first. You were an alien, short and quiet. But what bothered him the most was how quiet and understanding you were, even though everyone treated you badly. You were rejected from the groups, they would say barbarities as you walked by or even to your face, and you just smiled and went on your way. The boy became very attached to you, he couldn't help it.

After the altercation they had with the sky people, the sully stayed in the village. It was definite, this news pleased aonung. It was true that he was friends with the sully, his best friend was neteyam, your brother. But knowing that you would stay made his heart fly. But at no time did he say or do anything about his feelings for you. And so the years went by… They had already done all the rituals to be able to be true navi, they were ready. And they were also ready to get a mate. It was tradition for the metkayina, that as soon as they passed the challenges they would get a partner. And he already had in mind who he wanted to be his partner.

You had grown up as a beautiful woman, you might be human, you might look different from them… but you were beautiful. Besides, you were a strong woman, with the attitudes of a leader and generous and kind. You had earned an important place in the clan, even their mother, Ronal had accepted you, you were in responsible for the area of the children and pregnant women of the clan, you helped them and took care of the babies. The trust they had in you was impressive. He was well aware that many metkayina males were interested in you, were ready to court you. And he was going to do something fast.

He started by asking your brothers. He didn't want to do anything outside of your family's approval. Of course, your brothers agreed… the hardest one to convince was neteyam but he managed to convince him. So he set his plan of conquest in motion…

He started by making you small accessories, some for your hair and others for you to wear on your hands or ankle. "Y/N, I want to give you this accessory…I made it myself" aonung gives you the accessory, it was very beautiful, it had pearls and shells. "I made it myself with my…hands" you laugh at his comment. You can see how nervous he is getting. "Help me put it on" you speak. Aonung comes over and helps you put on the necklace. "I love pearls…they look beautiful" you say as you look up and smile at him. "I know…they are your favorite" he takes your hand and they give it a squeeze.

He keeps making different gifts and you accept them without any problem. He feels confident, because he knows that you had been offered courtship gifts and you had refused them. Aonung had even prepared a new outfit for you, it was similar to his own. His chest puffed out when he saw you wearing it. You looked so beautiful, it fit your curves so well… this boy was lost for you.

The second part of the courtship plan was also a success… He liked to invite you for rides on his Skimwing, have chats with you on the beach and he would invite you to eat with his family. He is surprised when his parents accept you without any problem. Ronal is very sweet on you, Tonowari adores you, he thinks you would make a great leader. And you got along very well with his sister, after all she was starting to date one of your brothers. He felt it was the perfect time to ask you if you wanted to be his partner.

It was still early in the morning, you had gone to do your homework… so aonung took the opportunity to go to your family's marui. There was jake and neytiri. The boy was nervous but dared to ask for her approval. Jake accepted immediately, he knew that the boy was a good man, and to know that one of his daughters was going to be the partner of the clan leader's son was a great honor for him. On the other hand, Neytiri hesitated a little, she was very overprotective of you. But in the end she accepted, she knew that Aonung was not a bad boy.

Aonung came out of the marui happy and confident. He was heading to your work area. When he arrived he saw you, you were carrying and taking care of some children. He was already imagining his own family with you. You noticed he was at the entrance, so you went to greet him. "Hello… what are you doing here? Did something happen?" you ask, you already had your hand playing with one of his hand pieces. He had noticed, how you were getting closer to him, how you were touching or caressing him. "I'd like to talk to you…in private" you smile at him, and hug his arm, as they leave the marui to be more private.

"I want to…ask you something" says aonung, he is very nervous and your grip on his arm wasn't helping. " mmm what do you want to ask" you hug him around the waist, your face falls just below his belly button, forcing him to look down. "I would like you and I… I love you, I think you are the best woman I have ever met, you are strong, kind and generous. Can I be your partner?" he spoke, he was nervous… his hands were sweaty. He was waiting for you to answer, he could feel you let go and walk away. He saw how your face showed no expression. Panic consumed him… oh no, he had gone ahead, or perhaps misunderstood your signals. He stepped forward and walked away as fast as he could, not letting you speak. He didn't want to hear that you didn't accept him, that would hurt him.

You were shocked, you couldn't believe he was asking you this. You had expected this for so long, you even thought that all his details and treats he had towards you were out of kindness. You knew he had many clan girls after him. But he was choosing you. When you finally came to your senses, you saw that he was not there. You looked everywhere and nothing. You had to look for him.

Aonung had already walked to the beach, he was walking from side to side. How could he be so stupid, it was obvious she didn't want to be with him. He was a navi, he was sure you didn't even find him attractive. He couldn't stop thinking about everything he did, and that it was all for nothing. Maybe you were interested in another clan man, there were many better than him. He was so deep in thought, he didn't notice how you approached him. "aonung?" he turns around, you could see his look, he was kind of tearful and sad. "Y/N sorry really, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or tell you those things." He started talking, as you moved closer to him. "I know I'm not your type, there are many clan men who would be perfect for you… but I don't want to lose your friendship" aonung had sat down on the sand, while he was talking. You approached him and took his hand and handed him a bracelet. It had some blue shells on it, and various pearls. "I made it for you… I never dared to give it to you because I thought it wasn't enough. But now it's time, don't you think so?" you say, hoping that he will understand that you do correspond his feelings. He takes the bracelet and places it on his wrist. " It's perfect " He puts his hand on your face, to bring you closer to him. He gives you a little kiss, and pulls you away for a moment. " I see you, ma Y/N" you kiss him back, now wrapping your arms around his neck, so that you are closer. "I see you aonung" you say to him as you rub your nose against his nose.

[bettyfrommars]

Death Becomes Us

a True Blood au

vampire!eddie x supernatural!reader

Part 7: Cry Little Sister

masterlist playlist

It's been over 2 months since you had more than a glimpse of Eddie, but you had the feeling that he never let you get too far out of his peripheral vision. Some vampires you've never met before come looking for him while you are trying to housetrain your new companion. Just as you're about to have some quality time with Eddie, another visitor shows up.

word count: 4.4k

18+only for mature themes, vampires, mention of illegal drugs, a demobat, allusions to smut, angst, werewolves, ode to The Lost Boys

authors note: this is a shorter chapter, and there is not a ton of action like in the other parts, but I will make up for that next time.

I had a few names I was considering for our new companion, and decided to go with Bela, in honor of Bela Lugosi, thanks to @somnambulic-thing

You’d picked up an old, pea green recliner at the thrift store, and that was where you sat in the morning by the lamp to drink coffee and read as much as you could about demobats. 

There wasn’t much known about them, but you had gone to Robin at the bookstore with your search, and she found an obscure issue from a dead publication and ordered it. You told her it was purely to satiate your curiosity after you’d witnessed them firsthand on your way to Sacrament. You didn’t know if it was good sense, or even legal, to have one residing in your home, so you decided to keep your new friend a secret for the time being.

Days turned into weeks since you'd last interacted with Eddie, but you kept track of when he was home and when he wasn’t, as if it was your job. Sometimes, when you were watching TV in your living room with the curtains drawn, you’d catch his kitchen light click on about an hour after dark, and you imagined him walking through in his boxers, yawning, scratching his stomach where the trail of hair from below connected to his bellybutton.

What you didn’t know was that the first part of his waking up ritual was to crack his bedroom curtain and see if you were home. If you weren’t at work, the answer was usually yes, and he’d watch the flicker of your tv in the window reflection.

That morning, you had a black, hooded sweatshirt in your lap, and in the sweatshirt sleeping like a baby, was a demobat. 

You peeled back a bit of the material to take a peek at her face. Her enormous mouth of teeth hung open and her leathery wings twitched like she was in the middle of a dream, your arm straining at the heft of her weight. She didn’t have any eyes, but her sense of hearing was excellent and sometimes, you had to make noise for her to find you, like tapping your knuckle on the wall or countertop.

You didn’t realize she’d followed you from the Upside Down until a good three days later when you came home from work late to find her collapsed on your porch. You imagined she got desperate because she was starving. This wasn’t the same world as hers, and she didn’t know her way around or how to find nourishment. She let you pick her up when you found her, after one long roar to let you know she was dangerous, and then she wrapped her wings around you.

  You were worried that she might go after Eddie’s cat, Dio, or one of the other strays you were feeding at the trailer park, but you were surprised to read in the book that they were not carnivores.

A vegetarian demobat? She especially enjoyed canned mandarin oranges and corn on the cob.  Everything considered, she was docile and attention-starved, for the most part, until she could sense voices a bit too close to the trailer, or the mailman slipped letters in your box, making the metal flap clink shut.

And then she would go berserk, screeching at the top of her lungs, wings outstretched, trying to make herself look as big and threatening as possible.  

“Bela,” you called to her, using the name you’d decided on, inspired by Lugosi.  You clapped a few times, using vibration to get her attention, and she eventually learned to come to you.

Weeks turned into months and there was snow on the ground; a light dusting to accompany the late-November freeze.  You’d only recently caught a glimpse of Eddie in passing, from a distance, or just before he snapped his trailer lights off in the morning to go to sleep.  He stopped by Main Vein a few times  to sit in his regular spot and have a NuBlood, but you had a strong feeling that he was avoiding you.  The second you walked over, he’d either check his pager and act busy, or he’d excuse himself and say he had to run.

He never failed to leave some of his artwork scribbled on a napkin, though, and you were always quick to snatch it and put it in your pocket.

You felt like he was keeping tabs on you, yet keeping his distance, all at once. 

You’d dropped off a carved jack-o-lantern on his porch a few days before Halloween, and the day after that, you were surprised to find an odd butterfly animal made of scrap metal, sitting on your welcome mat.  Your smile cut into your cheeks so hard, a tiny ache throbbed there as you admired the welded legs and haphazard laser cuts on the wings.  

To honor the family memories that were so ancient they were almost dust, you got up on a ladder outside to string some colorful Christmas bulbs, and you put up a tiny tree of the Charlie Brown variety inside.  You had a Bing Crosby album while you decorated.  Mostly, it was a sad attempt, and the other vampires in the lot hated the holiday by definition, so they all gave your place pointed looks over the upturned collars of their jackets.

Bela looked like E.T. between some stuffed animals with silver tinsel on top of her oddly shaped head, hanging down like hair, when there was suddenly some kind of commotion outside.  You strained to listen and swore you heard a loud voice shouting for Eddie.  

The demobat sprang from the couch, flaring her wings wide; she was a blur of holiday delights being thrust away by her sprawl.  A feral sound escaped her that was part howl, part Velociraptor caw.

You jumped up and moved in front of her, so she lowered her wings--which were also used as hands with extremely strong fingers---and hovered behind you in the air.  She finally dropped to the counter and waited with a snarling mouth while you pressed your forehead against the cool of the window to see what was going on.

There appeared to be four boys dressed like 80's rockers in long black coats, and you noticed a motorcycle for each parked just between your two trailers.  They continued to call Eddie’s name, almost taunting now, and two of them hit the trailer with the flat of their hand, trying to get his attention. 

“He’s not home,” you went out onto the porch, shutting Bela inside to shriek to herself in private. You did not know for a fact that he wasn’t home, but there was no car parked in his normal spot, and you sincerely wanted them to go away.

They all turned to you, pale faces stern at first, but then smiles crept across their devilish mouths exposing the points of vampire fangs.  The one with the platinum blonde hair and earring in one ear caged his fingers in front of him and rolled his thumbs over each other as he spoke.

“And, who might you be? He cocked his head, and the others seemed to mirror him, four pairs of eyes sweeping over you.  

The sounds inside the trailer told you that Bela had moved to the far end, possibly the bedroom.  You could hear her shrill cry followed by a thud.  

From your higher vantage on the porch, you told the vampire your name, appraising him down the end of your nose.  “What do you need from Eddie?”

He walked closer, almost to your steps.  “Oh, we’re old friends, just hoping to catch up.”

He was positively enigmatic, in that way only vampires can be, but you had a feeling this guy never had a hard time getting what he wanted even when he was human. There was sarcasm in his tone and, for some reason, the others snickered.  

“Well,” you took a breath and grabbed for the door handle.  “Good luck finding him.”

In a flash, they were all up on the porch, crowding you, making you gasp.  “Not so fast there, princess,” the blonde one grinned.  “Maybe we want to get to know you better.”

You could hear the ticking of the time bomb inside of you, on its final few counts before detonation.  Your heartbeat quickened, and you were sure that they noticed.  You watched them freeze and exchange a few curious glances.

Then, there it was: the inhale, that quick and deliberate sniff of your scent.

The blonde one ran a finger down the scar on your cheek.  “You don’t smell like a human.  Why is that?”

You shrugged away from him.  “Please get off my porch.” 

They were all leering at you, their crooked grins mocking.

You wondered if he was trying to glamour you—to make you do whatever he wanted by hypnotizing you—but he’d soon find out you were impervious to vampire party tricks. 

“Don’t be so hasty, princess,” the main one moved as if he were about to touch you again, his cold breath matching the chill of the air outside.

“Hey, are you bozo’s looking for me?” There came another voice, just below the porch railing.

It was Eddie.  

You stepped back, closer to the front door, face flushing with the heat of relief. 

He was in the typical Eddie uniform of all black, but for the white of the Iron Maiden tee under his leather, and the rips in his jeans where pale, tattooed flesh peeked out. He wore heavy motorcycle boots that were covered in mud, and when his hands flexed into fists at his sides, you saw that the knuckles on one hand were bloody.  You wondered where he’d rushed from the moment he felt your fear.  What sort of car jacking or obligatory beating had he been partaking in when he felt your need?

You never meant to call for him on purpose, but now that he had your blood in him, he could sense any ripple in the force that hinted to your discomfort. 

The look on Eddie’s face when the vampire boys parted, and he finally found your eyes, was a mix of worry and white hot anger.  “Are you okay?”  

You nodded once, that was all you could manage.  You were so glad to see him, and it wasn’t because you worried that the guys on your porch would hurt you.  There was another, more foreign emotion that bathed you in a sense of calm.

Meanwhile, the thudding at the other end of the trailer stopped abruptly. 

“Easy boys,” blondie spread his arms wide to motion for them all to step back.  “Give the lady some room.  We didn’t come here for trouble.”

“What did you come here for, then?” Eddie bit.  His stare was trained on you as the vampires santured down toward him.

You could’ve, or possibly should have, gone inside, and even though you knew Eddie could handle himself, you didn’t feel good about the 4 on 1 odds.  One of the mullet boys had a butterfly knife that he was fidgeting with; opening and closing it with a flick of his wrist while he walked. He had black gloves on, and you wondered if the blade of the weapon was made of silver.

“Just a friendly visit, Munson,” Blondie said. You watched him stop a few feet from your neighbor while the rest circled him like they had with you.  “We were told you had something of interest to us.”

Eddie shot him a look, confused, but maintained his composure. “If it’s Dice you want, I haven’t sold that shit in years.”

Dice: the vampire drug of choice.  

The only drug on the planet designed for vampires to experience the equivalent of a human Benzo.  Highly addictive, and made with a lot of illegal, human-derived ingredients that Eddie preferred not to think about, it was also deadly in large amounts to vampires because of the trace amounts of garlic oil.  

The four guys who looked like they’d just walked out of a heavy metal video exchanged bored expressions. Eddie knew the platinum-haired one fairly well, his name was David, and the shorter one with the butterfly knife was Marko, but he’d never cared to learn the names of the other two.  They lived down at The Caves in a vampire “nest” with a few others, and had only been turned recently, so therefore, were no match for Eddie’s strength. Still, they were cocky as hell and always looking for trouble, as most young ones were. 

Eddie chanced a glance at you, hoping maybe you’d gone inside by then, but also, he liked having you where he could see you. He looked over his shoulder to get an idea of how many other residents were lurking around.  

“We should probably talk business inside my trailer,” Eddie inclined his head.  “Too many ears out here.”

“If you don’t have it,” David lowered his voice and tilted his head.  “I bet you know where we can get it.”

Sure, Eddie knew one guy in town who had it, but there was no way he’d send those creeps over to Reefer Rick’s place.  His long time friend was still human, and he didn’t trust the irrational hunger he saw in their pinned pupils.

“There’s only one person I know for sure would have some and that’s Jareth,” Eddie lied.

The other three guys mumbled to each other behind David, but then David shushed them with a hiss and flap of his hand.  

Eddie knew that would shut them up pretty quick.  No one could just stroll into Sacrament and ask Jareth for drugs.  Also, Jareth never wanted money in return, he always wanted services for “favors”, and they were always tasks that would make any normal person, vampire or otherwise,  have a hard time looking at themselves in the mirror afterwards.  

David began to back up, toward his motorcycle. “Alright well, this was a pleasure,” his gaze lingered on you and he gave a slow, generous lick of his lips.  “I really hope we bump into each other again sometime.”

Eddie couldn’t help the death stare he was giving him, grinding his back teeth so hard, the muscles in his jaw bulged.  He hated that they knew where you lived, he hated that they had been so close to you, to know that you were different.

The motorcycles began to start up, headlights snapping on to blare right into your eyes, making you blink away.  

The rest of their motors idled until David took off first, tires making tracks in the thin blanket of white over the ground, and then the rest followed onto the gravel road before blasting onto the highway, howling to each other like wolves as they went.

“You sure you’re okay?” Eddie was up on the porch with you as fast as if he had teleported.

The sudden jolt of his new proximity knocked the wind out of you; you still weren’t used to the lightning speed at which they could move.

“Could you please not do that anymore,” you clutched your throat. “Maybe just walk up the steps like a regular person?”

Leaning back against the railing, he grinned.  “My bad,” he mumbled, playing with the chunky ring on his middle finger.  

The truth was, he’d been going crazy trying to get you off of his mind.  Ever since he took you to the Upside Down, he’d been wrestling with some serious demons and trying not to think of  you in a sexual way, but his efforts were fruitless.

It was normal for humans to have sexual dreams about a vampire if they ingested their blood, but he’d never heard of it happening the other way around.  He’d been prey to so many wet dreams of tasting your cum on his tongue that he’d lost count.  It was getting to the point that he looked forward to the fantasies because it was a way to spend time with you; to feel the warm, wet lining of  your cheek when you sucked his fingers, to not only split you open with his cock and deny you until you begged to cum, but to make soft, deep love to you when he confessed things that he could never say out loud.  

He wasn’t allowed to have feelings for you.  It would make his job very…complicated.

That other secret job of his, the one you could never know anything about.

“Have you been avoiding me?”

Eddie’s head snapped up at your question. “Why would I be avoiding you?” Indeed, that is exactly what he’d been doing, but he didn’t want it to be obvious.

With an absent shrug, you realized all of a sudden that you only had a light cardigan on over your jumper, and your teeth were chattering.

“I’ve been really busy with…” he trailed off.  “...stuff.”

“I loved the butterfly you made,” you told him, hoping to see those flecks of gold dance in his eyes again.  

“You mean the bug soldier?” He chuckled, correcting you. “Those aren’t butterfly wings, that’s a cape.”

“He’s inside.  I’ll have to apologize to him for calling him a butterfly.” You wrapped your arms around yourself.  “Do you want to come in?”

“Shit, sorry, yeah, you look cold.  Here.” He shrugged his leather jacket off, exposing the patchwork of tattoos along his arms and neck, and you let him put it around  your shoulders.  You were suddenly shrouded in that familiar musk of his and you felt safe.

But then, he let the weight of your other question sink in.  “Are you inviting me in? Officially?”

If you invited a vampire in, that meant they could enter your home any time they pleased, by whatever means necessary.  There was always the option to resend the invite, but it was an important decision that would eliminate the barrier of magical protection.

Just as you were about to make a decision, you heard the sound of glass breaking, like a window shattering.  

And then you heard the all too familiar screeching.

“Oh shit, Bela,” you cursed under your breath.

“Bela?” Eddie tried to peer around the trailer to where the sound was coming from. “Who is —”

She appeared over the top of the roof then, jagged teeth ready to strike as she shot down at Eddie like a missile, roaring as she went.

Defensively, he exposed his fangs to meet her aggression.

“No, no Bela! He’s a friend!” You put your arm out like a shield to protect him and she landed on it like a trained Hawk or Owl, curling a finger from one of her wings around you for support.

She hissed one more time at him for good measure, and then her wings fell slowly to her sides as she crept up your arm to settle on your shoulder.

Eddie’s jaw went slack.  

“Is this the…same one that we…how?”

You told him about how you found her on the porch and the way she refused to let you too far out of her sight.

He lifted a hand to maybe touch a finger to her belly.  “Can I?” He asked you.

“I wouldn’t,” you responded quickly, noting Bela’s low growl.  “Not until she knows you aren’t a threat to me.”

He dropped his hand and hooked a thumb into his belt loop, taking in the details of what it was like to see one of them up close.  “I’ve never heard of a human, or anyone, making one of them into a pet. I didn’t think it was possible. They are killing machines.”

You let Bela rest one of her heavy tentacles gently in the palm of your hand, swirling it into a spiral.  “I don’t know if she’s a pet as much as…some type of guardian.  She’s tuned into my emotions somehow. I think that’s why she’s not trying to eat your face off right now.”

You were enjoying the awestruck expression on Eddie’s face.  “Did you still want to come inside? Or have you changed your mind?”

He remembered the wet dreams he’d been having, how many times you’d buried his length inside of you while seated in his lap.  The sweat dripping down, the groaning, the words of adoration.  The way he fingered you in the shower and made you—-

“Earth to Eddie?” Your voice snapped him from his thoughts. “I said, would you like to come in?” 

You had the door open, and you gestured for him to follow, with a feral demobat casually riding on your shoulder.  It had begun to snow again; petite flakes that melted as soon as they hit  your skin.  One got stuck on Eddie’s eyelash.  

“Yes,” he swallowed, raking a hand through his hair. “Yes, I would like to come in.”

“Okay, let me put Bela in my bedroom real quick,” you went on ahead into the warmth of your place, shivering.  Eddie put his boot in the door to keep it from closing, taking in the gravity of the situation.

You had invited him inside.

As a vampire, it was not something to be taken lightly.  

You had to put Bela in the bathroom momentarily, until you could duct tape over the broken window in your bedroom.  You felt like she’d listened to you well enough, but the doubts you had gave you anxiety, so separating her from your new guest felt like the best idea.  You put a soft blanket on the bathtub in there, and she nestled down in it like she was sleepy.  

When you came back out a few minutes later, Eddie was still standing in the doorway, just inside the threshold.

“Did the invitation not work?” You asked, curiously.

“No, no, it did,” he took the final step in and went to close the door behind him.  “I was just enjoying the moment, I guess.”

You noticed that his hand, the one that had been bleeding earlier, was completely healed already.  

Just as the front door was about to shut completely, headlights from a car lit up the porch as someone approached from the road and parked in front of your trailer.

“What now?” You sighed, exasperated.

But then you heard the rumble of the big engine that belonged to a classic, square-body Chevy, and your blood ran cold with sudden recognition.

Eddie closed the door the final inch and turned to note the way you nervously adjusted yourself.  “Were you expecting someone?”

Shit shit shit

You cursed to yourself quietly. 

Could all this be happening at a worse time?

Also, how could you forget? Between Bela and Eddie's motorcycle buddies, the fact that you’d agreed to go on date that night had somehow slipped your mind.  

The headlights turned off and the engine cut. 

“Yeah, um, I agreed to go to the movies with someone tonight,” you cleared your throat.  Why were you nervous to tell him you had a date? It wasn’t like Eddie had made a move, in fact, he’d been giving you the cold shoulder for weeks.  You were starting to think he was repulsed by you.

“Someone?” Eddie heard the heavy footfalls climbing up the wood steps, and realization dawned on him. Everything made sense all at once.  The fact that you were dressed up in clothes he’d never seen you in, and you smelled extremely good, even more so than normal.  

What had he expected you to do? Wait around on the porch for him, knitting, until he was able to work through his issues and ask you on a date himself?

Someone else had beaten him to hit, and he didn’t care who it was—he fucking hated him.  Wanted to rip him open and stomp on their guts.

At the sound of the doorbell, Bela screeched from the bathroom.

Chaos, you mused, pure chaos.

You squeezed your eyes shut and wished for a hole to open up in the ground and swallow you up.

With a tight jaw, Eddie was the one to open the door.

Steve Harrington had a bouquet of daisies in his hand. A full head of hair that was long down his neck, and black and red flannel over a new pair of blue jeans. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of you standing just behind the vampire with the murderous look on his face.

Steve’s eyes shifted to you.  “Is this a bad time?”

“Yes,” Eddie said.

“No,” you corrected, pushing by Eddie to take the flowers and thank him.

“These are so beautiful,” you cleared your throat.  “Um, Steve—this is Eddie, my neighbor.  Eddie this is—”

“I know who he is,” they both said in unison.

You watched Steve’s brown eyes glow a bright yellow for a moment as he regarded your other guest with stern resolve. 

You took off Eddie’s jacket and handed it back to him with a shove. “Just give me a second to grab a few things?” You said to Steve in a rush.  “I’ll be—I’ll be right out.”

Steve stared right at Eddie when he said, “I’ll go wait in the truck.”

“You do that,” Eddie muttered as Steve turned to go.

Eddie was quick to slam the door shut again.  He turned to you with a scowl on his face, “A werewolf?” He balked.  “You’re going on a date with one of those smelly dogs?”

“Yeah, well,” you tossed the daisies on the counter while you fumbled with your handbag. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” he pursed his lips into a tight line and shook his head.

“Good, that’s settled,” you took a deep breath.  “Not that you deserve any explanation, but I’ve been running into him at the bookstore for weeks, and I mentioned that I never go anywhere, so he invited me to a movie.  We’re just going as friends.”

“Friends don’t bring you flowers.” 

Outside, the truck rumbled to life and the headlights snapped on again. 

“I can’t do this right now with you, Eddie.  I need you to go so that I can get Bela out of the bathroom and calm her down before I leave.”

Without another word, he reached for the door again.

“Hey Eddie,” you softened your tone.  You’d meant to grab his arm, but took hold of his hand instead.  He squeezed your fingers back, but he did not turn to meet your eyes.  “I’m sorry we didn’t get to…I don’t mean to run out on you like this. Maybe tomorrow?”

“I’m busy,” he mumbled.  He rubbed his thumb over your knuckles once, and then, in a blink, he was out the door and gone.  

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Love you all for your patience on this! I look forward to your thoughts and reactions through comments, reblogs, and asks so much! All my love!

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[meazalykov]

you smell like vanilla

selma bacha x lyon!reader

warnings: none

As I step onto the field, the familiar scent of freshly cut grass mingles with the cool crisp air of Lyon's training ground. This is where I belong, where I feel most alive. As I zip up my blue windbreaker jacket, I cover my lower face with a black ski mask so the cold air doesn’t trigger my allergies. 

As I place my ski mask over my face, I am reminded of the ritual I never skip. A spritz of vanilla-scented perfume consumed my nostrils and I remind myself of my signature perfume I put on before practices. The delicious scent wrapping me in its comforting embrace. It's a small indulgence, a reminder of myself and my home. And as I catch a whiff of the sweet fragrance, I can't help but cough one time—maybe I sprayed a little too much this morning.

Practice is grueling, demanding nothing but perfection for the upcoming champions league semifinal against PSG. Yet, amidst the drills and tactics, there's always the distraction lurking nearby. Selma Bacha, the best left-back in the world—she's a force to be reckoned with. But my heart flutters everytime I see her. It's not just her talent that captivates me; it's the way her french eyes light up when she's on the field, the passion that radiates from her every move.

And then there's her reaction to my vanilla perfume every time she's near me. It's subtle, barely noticeable to anyone else, but I see it in the way her gaze lingers a moment longer, in the way she inhales deeply when she passes by. It's a secret I guard closely, the knowledge that something as simple as a scent can stir such emotions. But Selma, she's not one to hold back.

“*sniff sniff*---hm–--délicieuse” Selma sniffs extremely close to my neck before looking me in the eyes. She smirks before walking around me to get to the other side of the pitch. I wasn't fluent in French but I had an idea on what she said, considering this isn't the first time she's done this.

Her flirtatious banter, her playful nudges – they're impossible to ignore. And though my heart races at her proximity, I fake my annoyance, masking the turmoil and gushy feelings within as I roll my eyes. It's safer this way, I tell myself, to keep my feelings hidden beneath a facade of annoyance.

“I saw that.” Ellie says as walks up to me. We both start drills on the agility ladder at the same time. My eyebrows knitted together before asking the Australian, “What do you mean?” 

“I saw that interaction between Selma and you.” 

“Its not-” 

“Don’t pretend that you didn’t like what she did.” Ellie cuts me off with a smirk as I roll my eyes again.

See, I'm not as subtle as I think. All of my teammates, especially Ellie, Lindsey, and Danielle, see through my charade with knowing glances and a teasing grin. They know the truth, I didn’t have to tell them. My poker face might’ve been decent to strangers but my eyes can’t conceal my true feelings for the French woman. My heart skips a beat whenever Selma's near, that beneath my tough exterior lies a vulnerability I dare not show.

Hours later, as the sun sets and the day draws to a close, I retreat to the comfort of my nightly routine. The warm water cascades over me in the shower with a mingling with the scent of vanilla that fills the air. I take my vanilla scented scrub and lather it over my body, making sure the dead skin goes away before I shave. My night routine is a moment of solitude, a chance to unravel the knots of each day’s events.

But even in the sanctuary of my shower, I can't escape her presence. Selma's laughter echoes in my mind, her image etched into my thoughts. As I finished shaving and started to wash myself with a Vanilla scented body wash, I hope that she will notice the scent in training tomorrow morning. 

And as I towel off and slip into bed, I can't shake the feeling that despite my best efforts, I'm falling deeper with each passing day for Selma.

The next morning after a grueling training session, Danielle corners me with a determined look in her eyes. She knows there's something I've been hiding, something I've been avoiding. However, I am the strongest on the team when it comes to hiding my feelings. With a gentle yet persistent tone, the Dutch begins her heartfelt plea.

“Danielle, not now.” I sigh, feeling drained and exhausted. But Danielle is not one to let things go, especially when it comes to relationship matters.

"Y/N, we need to talk about Selma," Danielle insists, her voice soft but unwavering. "I see the way you look at her, the way you light up when she's around. You might believe that you’re hiding your feelings very well– but you aren't. Sorry but trust me, she feels the same about you."

I'm taken aback by her words, a flicker of hope stirring within my heart. Before I can respond, Danielle continues, her words flowing freely.

"I know you're scared, Y/N. Scared of letting someone in, of being vulnerable. We all know about the shield you try to put up so you can be the “stronger person”. But love isn't a weakness; it's a strength you know?? And Selma, she's worth the risk. She won’t tell you how she feels about you unless you give her the green light."

My defenses begin to crumble, the weight of my emotions threatening to overwhelm me. As much as I wanted to say it– my words choke inside of my throat. After a quick deep breath, while shaky, I met Danielle's gaze, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Danielle, you don't understand. I'm not just scared of being vulnerable. I'm scared of being in love with her. It's like... like giving someone the power to break me into a million pieces. Especially since we are on the same team, you know? Is this how you and Ellie felt before you guys were together?” 

“Yes–but we took the chance. Now we are getting married next year!” Danielle smiled. This gave me reassurance as I smiled at the shorter woman. 

Danielle's expression softens at my smile, a silent understanding passing between us. She reaches out, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder covered with the blue lyon windbreaker.

"I get it, Y/N. I really do. But sometimes, you have to do it before it's too late. Just tell Selma how you feel so you can stop stressing yourself out.” 

My heart aches with the weight of Danielle's words, the truth ringing loud and clear in my ears. And as I looked towards the goal post closest to the two of us, I knew I needed to tell Selma how I felt. If Danielle wasn’t wrong, maybe I won’t embarrass myself. 

An hour later I sit in the passenger's seat of Selma’s car, the engine idling softly as Selma sits beside me, the silence between us almost tangible. Before this, I asked her in the locker rooms if we could talk somewhere. Believing that the locker room around teammates wouldn’t have been the smartest idea, we chose to go in her black suv instead. My heart races with nerves, my palms damp against my thighs covered with my black yoga pants. This is it, the moment I've been building up to, the moment I can't avoid any longer.

Before I could start, Selma spoke up first with a laugh: “You smell very good.” 

I laughed softly before saying thank you. Remembering that i’ve purposely sprayed my vanilla perfume on before leaving the locker rooms to get here.

"Selma," I begin, my voice barely above a whisper, "um—there's something I need to tell you."

She turns towards me, her gaze soft and encouraging, a flicker of curiosity in her eyes. This look was unusual for the hyper and silly woman, "What is it, Y/N?"

I take a deep breath, gathering my courage, knowing that this is a moment that could change everything. "I... I love you, Selma. Um— I love you more than just a teammate– I love you, as a lover" I said. I could have worded that better but my nervousness got the best of me. The French woman looks at me with a smirk before processing what i’ve confessed. 

For a quick moment, the world stands still, the weight of my confession hangs in the air. And then, slowly, the smirk spreads across Selma's face again, a warmth filling her eyes.

"Y/N," she says, her voice barely above a whisper, "I love you too. I fell in love with you at the beginning of the season, which is why I didn't stop bothering you. I love you so much."

Relief floods through me, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes as she reaches for the space on the jaw below my ear. She pulled me into a kiss which warmed my heart entirely. Her plump lips felt soft against mine and I relaxed into the feeling of finally being hers, after pretending like I didn’t want to be. 

“Damn– you own vanilla lip balm too?” Selma says licking her lips, she pulls away to look at my lips before looking at my love-filled eyes again. I laughed, knowing that I did have vanilla lip balm in my vanilla collection too, “Yes I do.” I smiled. 

"je l'aime." Selma says before leaning for a kiss again.

<3

[gnomeantics]

for those unable to attend the livestream i present:

NOTES FROM THE HATCHETFIELD HALLOWEEN PARTY 14th October 2023, 01:00 BST (my time!) / 13th October 2023, 17:00 PDT (their time!)

Note: These notes are at times a little nonsensical and useless and just quotes. This is because it lasted from 01:00-04:00 for me meaning I was incredibly tired. Please bear with <3

Section 1: Nerdy Prudes Must Die talkback

Started with chiptune of Feast or Famine and then chiptune of Jane’s A Car

Steph’s dad may be dead but at least she has a boyfriend <3

Joey was eating beef and potato stew for most of the first segment

When Jeff was asked for the inspiration for The Summoning: “[…] I don’t know. That just popped in my head. It could be true.”  (His answer was Wizard of Oz.)

Section 2: Hatchet Town Trivia Challenge

I tried to keep track of “chat vs cast” points but lost count and failed rather miserably

Nora’s last name is Beanie. Nora Beanie

Jeff is “an avid lover of baby-water” (water pure enough for babies to drink) and “widely known as Doctor Spreadsheets” (my notes just say “baseball game”)

Every time the world destroys, Ted dies twice: once as Ted, once as homeless guy

Lex helped deliver Hannah by teleporting her out of the womb through the Black and White

Greenpeace Girl’s name is Harmony Jones!

Wilbur Cross murdered Duke Senior (Duke Keane’s dad) this may be explored in future.

Section 3: Workin’ Boys

All of my “notes” here are just gushing about the characters. I have written nothing useful enough to be put here

Section 4: Workin’ Boys talkback

Chad was not included in WB because it was deemed that nobody could live up to the legend. This spawned the “Darren 4 Chad” movement in chat

The Workin’ Boys album will be out around next week if all goes to plan. It is 5 tracks and would include Mariah’s version of the Show Stoppin’ Number monologue as well as at least some of her singing it (as seen in the show; hoping for a full version!!)

Mariah’s character in the audience was called Woman.

Lauren’s character in the audience was Courtney, Thrash’s girlfriend from Killer Track

Paul Gabriel’s character was Paul Gabriel

Linda Monroe auditioned for Workin’ Girls and was the only one who didn’t get a part (Ruth was chosen over her). This is why she was happy to see it crash and burn

The programmes made for Workin’ Girls had very detailed bios, which hopefully when in full quality will be readable when paused. This may set up the potential for the Workin’ Girls actresses to be in future HF projects where this can be explored

Jaime will hopefully be in the next Starkid musical!!!!

The Black Book was originally supposed to debut in Workin’ Boys, in its original form in 2020

The 2020 version was planned as a feature-length film but eventually it was decided that it was confusing and remodelled.

The Summoning was supposed to be in Workin’ Boys – the producer would have tricked Hidgens into making the girls perform a ritual; it was realised that this didn’t make much sense so the song was transferred to NPMD

Section 5: The Future Of Hatchetfield

Hatchetfield was supposed to be finished by 2020

Starkid is not going to be exclusively Hatchetfield in the future; their next full-length musical will not be Hatchetfield

NMT3 is hopefully going to happen provided there is enough interest! It was supposed to happen in the same year as NMT2 but they take a long time to write (much longer than a full musical) so that couldn’t happen

NMT3 would conclude Lex and Hannah’s story after Yellow Jacket

It would be produced more face to face like a TV show – Nick said “less Zoom call-y”

It would include stories withheld from NMT1 and NMT2

It would entirely depend on how much interest, particularly views on NMT2.

It would be Halloween themed.

“More things akin to Workin’ Boys would be nice” - Nick

The episodes would be:

Bottle Imps

“Bill Woodward has been chosen to test CCRP’s latest and greatest product: Bottle Imps. These reality-bending buddies will bring their owner the one thing they desire most. When his new imp, Lovely, leads him to his soulmate, Bill decides to use his magical companion to play matchmaker. But to help Charlotte find the man of her dreams, Bill will have to bend the Imp’s rules. Rules he’s been warned, must never be broken…”

Frankenruth

“Desperate to see a naked body, Ruth Fleming and Richie Lipschitz volunteer at the morgue of St. Damian’s Hospital. Their terrible plan becomes exponentially more terrible, when they become unwitting subjects in the experiments of the body-snatching madman, Doctor Lazlo, who claims to have conquered death itself. If Hatchetfield thought Ruth was bad before, then they will cower before the unspeakable horror of… Frankenruth!”

Becky Barnes Climbed A Tree

“Becky Barnes is on top of the world! Not in a literal sense, of course. She’s deathly afraid of heights. After years of struggle, Becky’s life is finally everything she dreamed it would be. She’s engaged to her High School sweetheart, Tom Houston, and the two have a surprise baby on the way! But as the couple prepared for the arrival of Baby Marie, a shadow from Becky’s past returns to haunt them.”

Devil’s Night

“Tim Houston has a crush. Unfortunately, it’s on his older, mature, and totally cool babysitter, Grace Chasity, who he fears will never see him as anything but a snot-nosed little kid. But when a devilish maniac with murderous designs on Grace attacks Hatchetfield the night before Halloween, Tim must protect his beloved, or join the killer’s growing body count. It’s another slashing adventure on the night HE came home… Devil’s Night.”

Miss Holloween

“It’s Halloween in Hatchetfield once again, and Miss Holloway is celebrating the same way she’s done for decades, staving off the horrors that go bump in the night. But when Duke gives her an invitation to his wedding, the dejected Miss Holloway begins to chafe under the terms of a contract forged many years ago. She strikes a new bargain, but unfortunately her creditors are known for their tricks, not treats. Just as Miss Holloway gives up her powers in exchange for a mortal life, a monstrous new threat rears its ugly head. As All Hallows Eve descends, and all Hell breaks loose, Miss Holloway must save the town or die trying… for real this time.”

Orbweaver

“Lex Foster had a life once. A home. A boyfriend. Now there is only the road, and her sister, and the fear of the men who are hunting them. As Hannah Foster watches Lex sink deeper into despair, she is certain of only three things: Webby is gone. She cannot help them. They are alone. Elsewhere, an old soldier awakens from a catatonic state. Returned from some unimaginable Hell with a mission. He knows that somewhere two magical girls require immediate evac… then maybe some coffee.”

As NPMD was conceived of first, it was supposed to be a Nerdy Prudes series: Nerdy Prudes Must Die, Horny Campers Must Die… (this was turned into NMT2’s Abstinence Camp)

The next Hatchetfield full-length musical would probably be about Miss Holloway if there was enough interest.

There is the possibility of a full movie set in Hatchetfield if there is enough interest. (Workin’ Boys was like a trial for how Hatchetfield works in film)

It would be called Cast Party Massacre

“The Hatchetfield Community Players. You will never find a cattier troupe of two-faced thespians. But when the blood begins to flow at their latest show’s cast party, they must consider: is there a secret murderer in their midst? And more importantly, who amongst them is a good enough actor to pull off such a performance? Can they set aside their petty squabbles and tangled romances, or is it curtains for this ensemble? Who will survive… the Cast Party Massacre!”

It would possibly feature the girls from Workin’ Boys.

The licencing rights to TGWDLM will be available soon!

[appleblueberry-pie]

There aren't many Yandere Nanami requests, so I came up with one. How would you react if the reader was a second year student at Jujutsu school, was a beautiful and intelligent woman, and had one of the most powerful rituals in her clan? Maybe she would have tried to get closer, but she didn't count on the fact that she turned out to be Gojo Satoru's girlfriend (this would be set in her teenage years to be precise).

Kento was a little nervous. No, he was extremely nervous and even anxious. He couldn't eat this morning or even eat lunch. He knew he was going to confess to you today. Kento has a hard time with hiding things from people he admires and are close with. So, it's about time to tell you about how he truly feels, knowing it's been clawing at him to finally tell you the truth behind his actions.

The only reason he was regretting this moment and how it can end is because you never seemed fully receptive in his gift giving. He always got you your favorite juice boxes from the vending machines and even bought you lunch a handful of times when you didn't have one. But you always seemed.....he doesn't want to assume, but it kind of feels half-assed when you say you genuinely are grateful for his gifts and his efforts to get to know you better.

But nonetheless, he will tell you today how he truly feels. Right now. As he sits next to you and fiddles with his fingers as you wait for him to spit it out.

"Yes.....um....Y/n, I have to tell you something very important that I feel you deserve to know." You nod and scoot closer, thinking something bad happened, especially with how his voice was shaking and he was almost sweating. "I-...........I have had a romantic interest in you for quite some time now."

He watched your face drop as if you had seen a ghost. You seemed to almost lean away from him when you sat up straighter at his words. His heart dropped at your reaction and his stomach began twisting and turning when your lips pursed together.

He was gonna puke. He can't say anything else knowing you definitely didn't feel the same way. That reaction told him everything he needs to know. He can't even look at you anymore and this silence was giving him a heart attack. God, just say something so he doesn't do something stupid. "Nanami...." You just said his last name instead of his first. What has he done?

"You know I'm dating Satoru, right?"

Would he be crazy for trying to act like he didn't know this? "I......."

You brought your hand to his shoulder, as if you were comforting a child, and suddenly, he felt like a disgusting little kid. He never deserved you. But knowing you will always be had the hands of his terrible classmate will continue to make his heart burn in rage. All he wanted was you, and he can't because he was too late. He can't even prove a point. Not when he was weaker than you. Not when he can't protect you and Gojo can. Not when he was a pathetic little boy holding onto a broken dream to finally have the girl that was meant for him.

'Don't be sorry for me. Don't look at me like that, and please don't tell me that disgusting truth all over again. I see it every day.' He wishes he could say that out loud, but the last thing he wants to do is break your beautiful heart. He wants to hug you, but it would never feel the same as it used to, and all he wants now is for things to be how they used to.

All this does is piss him off even more. He will find a way to have you. If he has to meet your family himself, find a way to kill Gojo Satoru, steal him from you, find a way to meet your strength to show you what devotion means, find a way into your mind to make you see the truth and what will always remain true between him and you, then he'll take his sweet time to get to where he needs to be to make that happen. He will always be yours and you won't know it until he can show you. Until then, he'll take this slap to the face.

i feel so fucking bad for him in this oh my god

[lavendertales]

SEÑORITA: Chapter 5

pairing: Javier Peña x Murphy!f!reader

summary: you agree to go out with Steve & Connie to get their idea of a blind date out of the way. but once Javier arrives, you're nothing if not overly excited to give your time to him instead.

word count: 5.7k

series warnings: reluctant friends to lovers, lots of playful banter, mutual pining, slow burn, secret relationship, filthy smut.

chapter warnings: mentions of alcohol & smoking; jealous!Javi, tension, mutual pining.

gif: @beldros

series masterlist | AO3

Within the following days, you allowed guilt to chew you and spit you up. You avoided Javier’s eyes at any cost, barely responding to his “good morning” as you continued your morning ritual together. It felt tainted, such a small act of curtesy; tainted by basic biological needs, filthily and sneakily performed in the darkness of your bedroom, culminating in a name you refused to moan in full, but one that still lingered on your mind.

Doesn’t matter whether you said Javier’s name in full or not. He was the one you thought of in the throes of seeking your solo ecstasy and now, whenever you were met with his polite face, bright and early, you felt your cheeks burn red as you inevitably recalled burying your fingers in your wet heat, thinking they were his instead. You were beyond embarrassed, and you swore that under no circumstances he could ever know. Not that you believed the topic could ever come up, but just for safe measure, you had no intention of confessing this to either Connie or Sylvie.

It was just a momentary lapse of judgment, the result of a long dry spell and the presence of a charming, handsome man in your house. Nothing else.

But Saturday rolls around, and you find yourself wondering whether Javier would join you for drinks or not. He hadn’t made his answer clear when you asked, not even replying something sly when you mentioned you were quite certain that you were being set up for a blind date. Maybe he really didn’t want to witness all that; after all, that would mean he’d be the fifth wheel at a table with two couples.

Not the most pleasant atmosphere, and this you know firsthand.

So maybe Javier has no intention of showing up tonight. Truth be told, it’s probably for the best; you don’t need to be sipping alcoholic drinks and avoid looking at him in fear that he’ll notice your blush, ask about it, and then find out he was the star of your random moment of weakness.

You make an effort for tonight to look as good as possible. You find yourself excited about the idea of going out, letting loose a little and simply living. You put on a black dress with spaghetti straps that goes just above your knees, a pair of sandals and do your makeup to the best of your abilities. Then you take a cab and head downtown, your heart thrumming in your chest as you remember that tonight you’re most likely going on a blind date.

It was Connie’s idea; she told you about this guy from her job—Dean, was it?—that would apparently be a great match for you. Funny, kind, smart and a cook—the description sounded too good to be true, really, but Connie managed to spark your interest so you agreed to go, more on the premise of “let’s see what happens”. You found that living life from day to day was better than planning weeks or months ahead and then ending up disappointed or even hurt when certain plans wouldn’t come to fruition.

Which means that you have no plan for tonight. You just want to enjoy some good music, have some drinks and maybe, hopefully, dance.

You notice Connie first upon entering the bar, mostly because she’s wearing a white dress that definitely stands out in the washed out crowd of grey and black. You wave at her and she excitedly waves back, then you notice Steve sitting next to her, looking a bit uncomfortable. You’ve been on speaking terms, but you haven’t hung out since that dinner at their new apartment, so you understood the level of discomfort.

Thank goodness you were in an environment which provided an endless supply of drinks.

“Wow, you look gorgeous!” Connie exclaims as she comes in to hug you.

“You look just as gorgeous, if not more. Look at you, little miss angel!”

Your eyes meet Steve’s, and you spontaneously decide to hug him as well. He’s stiff, clearly taken aback, but not a second too late he reciprocates, wrapping his large arms around you, thus nearly covering you completely.

“Long time no see, huh?” you tease.

“A few weeks, hasn’t it?”

“I’d say so. Where’s Olivia tonight?”

“Going to bed early club. My mom offered to watch her, so we have the night off,” Connie explains.

“Feels good to be out of the house.”

“Tell me about it!”

You have a seat, ordering a Long Island Tea, and strike up a conversation about work. You gladly listen to Steve’s stories from the precinct, they are far more interesting than anything that usually goes on at the library.

But now your mind is somehow set back on Javier, so you take a bigger sip of your drink.

“Oh, I didn’t tell you that Javier stopped by the library last week,” you blurt out.

“He did?” Connie’s tone is filled with surprise.

“Yep. He was on his lunch break and wanted something to read.”

“What did he get?”

“A Pablo Neruda book.”

You abstain from laughing at Connie’s frown and her parted lips revealing shock.

“I know, I had the same reaction,” you say. “Would’ve never thought a guy like that reads romance poems.”

“Yeah. Me neither,” Steve says in a low voice.

“In Javier’s defense, there wasn’t much time to pick up a hobby like that in the middle of everything that was going on in Colombia.”

“Fair point.”

“He said he started reading poems shortly after returning to Laredo.”

Steve’s eyes shift onto your face in a feeble attempt to read through it and see if anything’s amiss, but you don’t give anything away. If there’s something you’re great at in this life, it’s hiding things from your big brother.

“Sounds like you’ve got to know him quite a bit,” Steve deadpans.

“We talked for like five minutes, handed him the book and called it a day.”

Nothing else happened.

“Well, we talked some more when he stopped by to fix my pipes but—“

Steve nearly chokes on his drink. “Excuse me?”

“Didn’t I mention that? How silly of me, I’m sorry. Yeah, I asked him if he could stop by my place to help me with the pipe issue I’ve been having. He was more than capable. Handled it like a pro, actually.”

There’s a big vein on the side of Steve’s forehead that’s about to burst at any given moment simply because from the way you phrased everything, you’re about 97% sure he’s picturing something else entirely and being beyond aggravated by the fact that he spend five, six days a week with Javier and the latter definitely did not mention this to him.

“Don’t dwell on it, big bro,” you tell him amused. “That vein of yours is about to pop.”

Connie chuckles behind her hand as she tries to hide away from the discussion, but her face changes when she glances in the direction of the entrance.

“Heads up, my colleague is here,” she turns to you excitedly. “Don’t freak out, but this is supposed to be kind of… well…”

“Connie, I know it’s supposed to be a blind date.”

Color drains from her cheeks. “Oh. I’m sorry, I just—“

To which you giggle, placing a hand over her exposed arm. “It’s fine. You weren’t exactly smooth about it.”

There’s plenty more Connie wishes to share with you, based on the way her lips remain parted and she stares at you desperately, but a man approaches the three of you at the bar, shaking hands with Steve, then briefly hugging Connie and—his eyes land on you.

“Hi,” he smiles, and oh shit, is that a dimple? “I’m Dean.”

You shake his hand, introducing yourself, and only then notice that he’s much taller than you. He has charcoal hair, styled nicely and carefully, and what appear to be green eyes. He’s wearing a black t-shirt underneath a leather jacket, and you gulp. He might not be a bad boy from Connie’s descriptions, but he sure has the look.

The only thing missing would be a tattoo and you’d even consider leaving this bar with him tonight.

“You are way more beautiful than what Connie said,” Dean smiles, and you already feel flustered. “And she did offer quite an in-depth description.”

“I’m glad to hear her words don’t do me justice then.”

“They really don’t.”

The way he’s staring down at you has you a little weak in the knees, but you do your best to remain composed. You cannot be acting out tonight, certainly not in front of Steve.

“Can I buy you a drink so we can go somewhere and get to know each other maybe?” Dean proposes.

“Sure, that sounds great.”

“What’s your poison of choice?”

“They don’t have that on the menu, but I’ll stick with a Long Island Tea.”

Dean chuckles, ordering exactly that and a greyhound. You turn around to ask him what he does for work, only to witness him removing his leather jacket and accidentally revealing a forearm tattoo that extends all the way to his bicep, by the look of it.

Oh no. oh, this is not good.

Calm down, girl. Just breathe.

“Maybe we can find a booth,” he suggest.

You’re stuck in some sort of trance as you keep glancing at his tattoo, but you quickly nod, hoping to dismiss the rush of emotions the entire image forces out of you.

“Told you she’d like him,” Connie playfully smacks Steve’s arm, visibly enthusiastic over the possibility of having set up a fantastic date for her sister-in-law.

“Dean’s a really cool guy.”

“They fit together quite nicely, don’t you think?”

“I’d say so, yeah.”

You spend the next forty minutes just talking to Dean and you gotta admit, he seems like a fine man. You find out he works in statistics—which undoubtedly means he’s smart—he has a dog, loves plants of all kinds, and he managed to squeeze several chuckles out of you in the past few minutes. Worst—aka best thing of them all—he’s a huge Star Wars nerd.

You’re sold on the idea that if by the time you finish this second drink and manage to dance with him, you might just take him home because the opportunity is too good to pass on. Dean doesn’t strike you as the one night stand kind of guy, but you decide to live even more in the moment and see where and how the night progresses.

By the third Long Island Tea, you decide to firstly cut yourself off, and secondly, if Dean keeps making you laugh, even as you manage to persuade him into dancing, you’ll almost have no choice but to take him home with you.

You are having the best time you’ve had in a long time; that much can be noticed even by Connie and Steve, who watch everything unfold from the bar. Everyone seems so focused on you and Dean that nobody notices the silhouette emerging from the shadows around 11:37 p.m., an exhausted look residing on his face as he makes his way through the crowd with an unquenchable thirst for some hard liquor and a cigarette.

God, he’d give anything to smoke right now; it’s been such a long afternoon stuck in the office trying to explain to that moron of a Lieutenant why the Berger case hasn’t been closed yet. But it’s been almost months since he last smoked, and he’s quite proud of the progress he's made, and there’s no solid reason to interrupt this marvelous streak he’s got going on.

That is, until he loosens his tie, takes off his blazer and orders a whiskey neat and in the sweaty crowd on the dance floor, he sees you.

He wasn’t even looking, not at first; his eyes were merely scanning the crowd, just eager to see anything else but case files before them, and somehow they managed to land on your silhouette, covered in what appears to be a rather sultry black dress, dancing the night away next to a guy who is so tall, it makes Javier squirm in his seat, feeling unusually small.

“Javi? What are you doing here?”

Steve’s the first one to approach him and they shake hands, followed by a brief kiss on Connie’s cheek.

“Wanted to blow off some steam,” Javier shouts towards them. “Your sister mentioned you guys were going out tonight.”

“She did?”

“Yep.”

“Glad you could join us!”

“Me too. Thrilled, really.”

The way he chugs his whiskey is anything but an indicator of his presumed excitement. He instantly orders a second one, the craving for nicotine even stronger when he has to force himself to peel his eyes from the dance floor.

“Who’s that?” Javier asks passively.

“Her blind date. Connie’s idea.”

“Guy from my office, his name’s Dean. Amazing guy.”

“Right, the blind date.”

“They really hit it off, look at them laughing!”

There is no reasonable explanation for the feeling that’s bubbling inside Javier’s chest. All he knows is that it’s something ugly that he deeply resents and spends the next half hour or so denying its existence, all the while stealing glances at you and this guy Dean.

And what he’s left with is the fact that you look really pretty when you’re happy.

It’s uncanny to think this way when he doesn’t see anything happening between the two of you, but even Javier cannot deny that tonight you look really ravishing and that seeing you smile is quite the sight.

You sure look happy dancing with that Dean guy. And Javier hates what it does to him because it’s all so bizarre and new to him. Though he draws one conclusion as he sits at the bar and sips from his third whiskey of the evening: he doesn’t like seeing another guy around you and that can only mean…

No. No fucking way.

It’s just a typical case of wanting what you can’t have. You’re off-limits, and Javier’s lizard, primal brain, along with the never-ending dry streak, decided that being stuck on you is a good idea. You’re cool and funny, sure, but still far from Javier’s usual type.

Which means that even if he were attracted to you—and you sure are a pretty girl, objectively speaking—he absolutely cannot sleep with you as a form of palate cleanser. If you were any other woman, maybe; but Steve’s little sister? Never in a million years.

The amber liquid in his glass worked its magic and loosened him up, though in the past it hasn’t been proven to be the best choice when around an attractive woman.

But knowing that you are beyond off-limits does help in a way. So he grits his teeth, swallows whatever it is that’s bothering him so deeply and forces himself to look away from the dance floor.

“You’ve got some moves!” Dean leans over to chuckle in your ear.

“Thanks! It’s mostly the Long Island Tea, but I gotta give credit to my college partying days.”

“Celebrated a lot, I take it?”

You grin, your hand resting ridiculously comfortable on his bicep. “Oh, Dean. You can’t even begin to comprehend.”

You faintly notice the way his eyebrows cock upwards, revealing surprise. He smiles, spinning you around to the rhythm of a song you do not recognize, and then he pulls you back to him.

“Listen, I have to make an appearance at a friend’s birthday party in a bit. Two blocks away. Would you like to come?”

You open your mouth to offer your response when you notice a third silhouette by Steve and Connie. You gulp, suddenly your back sweating more than before.

Shit.

“I’ll take a raincheck on that if it’s okay,” you smile politely.

“No problem. I guess we’ll be in touch?”

“Sure. It was nice spending time with you, Dean.”

“With you too.”

He leans over and presses a chaste kiss to your cheek and you feel that very same spot burning with flattery instead of guilt, which is a more than welcome change. But when your glare returns to the bar and you notice the figure dressed business rather than casual, you gulp and miraculously, your guilt returns full force.

In spite of your better judgment—which really left the building after your first drink—you make your way back to the bar, now face to face with a visibly exhausted and grumpy Javier.

“Hello there,” you greet him.

His face lights up once you address him—or so you’d like to think. Why on earth do you want to think that?

“Hello yourself,” Javier replies. “You look—“

“Where did Dean go?”

Steve’s question bothers you more than what you let reveal. “None of your business,” you reply.

“But I thought—“

“Let them be.”

You don’t say anything else to Javier, and neither does he, but somehow he still finds himself standing up from the rather uncomfortable chair and walking you back to the dance floor, as if that would make both of you invisible to your family.

“I was—what—what are you doing?”

Javier stares at you dumbfounded, his hands not even touching your waist, yet frozen in that very direction.

“I thought you wanted—“he begins, now questioning his every intention.

You shake your head, guiding his hands back to your hips and gulping with difficulty. God, your throat is like sand on paper.

“It’s fine,” you reassure him.

Of course the song in the fucking background had to be by Carlos Santana. Of fucking course. The song bumps all around you, Javier’s hands guiding you steadily along the rhythm and your body naturally following. It’s quite relaxing—if you wouldn’t be busy thinking about the way that your body seems to naturally respond to his touch, as if you’ve been doing this for years.

You were already sweaty from before, but now, with all the people grinding around you and the unbearable heat gathered from the alcohol and the dancing, your temples were dripping with beads of sweat, as well as your neck. You couldn’t help but notice that Javier suffered of the same predicament: he rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, the first two buttons undone, and again you gulped. You are painfully reminded of the night a similar image had sent you over the edge, and you blush right there with his calloused hands pressed ever so gently on your waist.

He moved both of you expertly, guiding your hips; eventually, your hands found solace around his neck, feeling the heat radiating from his body. But then he makes a move that spins you around, then pulls you back to him so that you bump into his chest, his skin on yours, and you feel afire. His eyes are locked on your face, and when they finally meet with yours, it’s electric. Goosebumps erect all over your skin, and you swear you didn’t feel this way when you were dancing with Dean. For fuck’s sake, you considered going home with Dean. You felt attracted to Dean, he was so handsome and funny and sweet—

But somehow, this moment right here feels more intimate and forbidden than anything else, and it’s evident in the way your breaths come out—ragged, almost as sweaty as you. You swallowed hard at the sensation of being so close to Javier, this mystery man with a troubled past that was the star of your illicit fantasies.

At first you thought it was the drinks that made you see things, but once, twice, thrice you’ve seen his eyes roam all over your body, every once in a while pausing to admire a certain part of you that wasn’t stereotypical to the male gaze: your collarbones, shoulders, the way your waist fit in his hands—

“Penny for your thoughts?”

His voice is like honey dripping straight on your skin when he asks that next to your earlobe.

“You really do know how to dance,” you observe.

“It’s a curse.”

“Cause the ladies can’t stop jumping on you?”

“You one of them?”

In spite of his smirk, you chuckle mockingly, as loud as you can go. “Don’t flatter yourself, Texas.”

“How did things go with the Dean guy?”

You frown at him. “Do you really want to know?”

“Just making conversation.”

“Ask me something else then.”

“Okay. What’s new at the library?”

“Literally nothing. All of our stock is fairly old. Except the two librarians working there. They’re fine.”

I know for a fact one of them is, Javier thinks fleetingly.

“Why the sudden interest in how am I doing?” you can’t help but inquire.

Javier shrugs, spinning you around once more. “You said we’re friends.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Sometimes I feel like I barely know you. Just trying to get some intel.”

“Old habits die hard, huh?”

Javier makes a funny face, and you hold back laughter. It’s the first time you see this side of him, loose and almost worry-free, and there’s something inherently captivating about it. When he spins you again, he doesn’t let you face him—instead, your back is against him, and you feel every ridge and bump possible.

Including, but not limited to, the outline of a growing erection.

You try your hardest not go gasp, though the heat that shoots through you is nothing if not making your mouth dry. You want to get lost in this moment more than you’ve wanted anything in a long time, but the rational side of your brain reminds you that your brother and sister-in-law are probably watching the spectacle, and you’re not fond of that audience one bit.

Otherwise…

“So you want intel?” you tease him once you can look at his disheveled yet impossibly handsome face again. “Okay Texas. Let’s see. I’m almost finished writing a book, actually. A real book, my own story.”

Javier’s eyes widen in the slightest. “Really? That’s incredible.”

“Thanks. You’re the first person I told this to.”

“Me? You didn’t tell Steve or Connie about it?”

You shake your head. “Connie, I might. Sylvie, I might. But Steve… you heard what he thinks about fanfiction. Why should he get to see my actual book?”

“He can be very supportive, you know.”

“I know. But I don’t feel like sharing this with him, not right now at least.”

“Did he ever read anything else of yours?”

“No. After his comments, I didn’t want to share my craft with someone who mocked where most writers begin. Especially since that someone happens to be my flesh and blood.”

“I understand. It’s a shame though. I bet you’re really good.”

“Still talking about writing?”

Javier cocks an eyebrow, the faint outline of a smirk gracing his lips. “Are you?”

“Touché.”

“If I didn’t know any better, Peña, I’d say you’re trying to butter me up to get into my pants.”

He scoffs. “Not a chance.”

“Good. We wouldn’t want chaos in our lives, now would we?”

“No, we definitely wouldn’t want anything so… troublesome.”

Back at the bar, Connie’s fed up with Steve’s relentless questions about you and Javier. She doesn’t have any answers, but she sure plans on getting some; that’s the mission in her mind as she strolls through the crowd of sweaty, grinding bodies to get to the two of you.

“What on earth is going on with you guys?” she shouts at the two of you.

To which you and Javier exchange a confused glare. “What do you mean?” you ask.

Ever so foolishly, might you add.

“It is very much obvious that you two like each other.”

“She’s not even my—“

“Oh, shut up, Javi.”

You make a shocked face. It’s not often you get to see someone as sweet and calm as Connie be so bold.

“Damn,” you mutter.

“You shut up too. You’re both adults! Grown ass adults acting like kids hiding from their parents. And for what, may I ask? I doubt either one of you is scared of Steve.”

“I just want to be respectful. I made a promise to him, and… we’re friends. That’s all.”

“Spare me. That is such bullshit. Friends don’t look at each other like that. They don’t dance with each other like that. How much longer are you gonna keep up this lame charade? All the lying…”

“We’re not lying to anyone, much less to Steve,” you remind her.

“To yourselves! Good God, you guys gotta figure this out before it’s too late.”

“But we’re not—“

“There is no ‘but’, Javi. Figure it out or cut it out before someone gets hurt.”

Whatever good mood you were in before, now it’s long gone. Guilt returns and simmers in the depths of your stomach, even as you do a twisted version of the walk of shame back to the bar. You refuse another drink, your head still buzzing from the three you’ve already had—and the moment you just shared with Javier. You can’t even bear to look at Steve brooding and judging you from afar. Not that you care; you really don’t give a shit what he has to say about your friendship with Javier, but Connie does have a point.

You have to figure out what this is between you and Javier.

Obviously you find him attractive. Very much obvious by now. But you meant what you told him: you do consider him a friend. Though you must admit, strictly to yourself, that you’ve never masturbated to the thought of a friend before, regardless of how attractive said friend was. Which mean that at least physically, you enjoy having Javier around you. Which also means… you’re physically attracted to him. Okay, that’s not bad. It happens. And based on what you’ve heard about him and women, he wouldn’t be opposed to getting this attraction out of the way so you can continue to be friends. Maybe under the right circumstances you can—

What the fuck are you doing? Thinking about propositioning Javier with a one night stand? Well that’s a new fucking low. You shake your head several times, prompting a few concerned glares from Javier in the backseat of the cab, and look straight ahead. Connie and Steve left separately on account of letting you two talk things through, but the silence residing in between is earsplitting. It’s like you’re both trying to figure out what to say to each other whilst also reminiscing of the evening you left behind.

Javier’s mind is racing as fast as his heart. He can’t get over how beautiful you look tonight, how he held you in his arms, barely touching you, and yet his body burned and ached all at once as if—

As if he belonged to you.

No. It’s just the booze and the hormones. He can’t do relationships, that much he knows with certainty, and he won’t ruin his friendship with you or with Steve by initiating something he will regret later. Eventually, something always goes wrong and somebody does get hurt. He doesn’t want that for you.

He takes a big, deep breath, a sudden scent invading his nostrils. It’s not bar-like, nothing pungent of the sort; no, this one’s pleasant and calming. He turns towards you, discreetly inhaling again, and then he holds his breath.

It’s you. Your smell. Something comforting and reassuring, yet all the while alluring, calling out to him.

When the cab driver announces your arrival, Javier practically sprints out of the car. Despite your protests, he still walks you to the door of your apartment. While you search for your keys in your purse, he lingers with his gaze one second longer than he would’ve personally liked, but he can’t fully help it. It must be around two in the morning now, and yet you still look so mesmerizing.

“That scent,” he almost groans.

You look up from your purse. “What scent?”

“It’s—you. Your scent, it’s—I swear to fucking God it’s everywhere.”

Taken aback, all you can do is stare at him and gulp. Your mouth still runs dry, as if no amount of water will ever feel the quench that resides deep in your bones.

“It’s lavender soap,” you clarify in an unusually small voice.

“Fuckin’—lavender.”

Before you can chime in with any other word or even think about what is happening, you find yourself closing your eyes and leaning dangerously closer to Javier’s face. He does the same, his heart thrumming at insane rates in his chest and in his ears by now. You exhale, and Javier abruptly pulls away, eyes wide open and his mind in control once again.

“Go inside,” he orders.

His voice is stern and yet caring, but it still surprises you. “If that’s code for something—“you try to joke, but your smile fades when you see Javier’s face.

“Don’t,” he warns. “Go inside, get some sleep.”

“Why are you so adamant about it?”

You do hear him groan this time, a sound to reenact some pain he’s in, and you shudder.

“Because if you don’t, I might just do something very regrettable within the next few seconds and I’ll break my promise to my best friend,” he nearly whispers, his warm breath tickling your face and your sense. “And just like that, I’ll be the Javier Peña everyone knew in Colombia. And I don’t want to be that Javier Peña anymore. So please, don’t—don’t do this to me. Not now, not ever.”

Stunned, you only stare at him for what feels like an eternity. You take that time to soak up every detail of his face, the way it’s scrunched in pain, the desperation in his eyes, the neediness and urgency in his voice—and it breaks you.

“What if I want to do something regrettable?” you ask instead.

“Just—just go… inside. Please. I’m askin’ as a friend.”

You don’t think you’ve heard Javier ask or beg anyone, not this way, so tenderly desperate, and it’s disarming you of any speck of self-control you thought you had left.

Mark my words, this Javier is gonna be on his knees before you, asking you to teach him how to be good.

“You can come inside too if you want,” you whisper.

You regret the words the second they leave your mouth, especially after seeing Javier’s nearly shocked expression. He cocks his head to the side, eager to dismiss your words and complain, but you’re one step ahead of him.

“We’re both a little buzzed and… a little tense too, so let’s have a cup of coffee and call it a night. We don’t even have to talk,” you tell him.

There’s no verbal confirmation; just Javier following you inside your apartment, hyper vigilant and aware of his surroundings. He’s afraid that any move he might make now or any word he might say will conspire against his sanity, and he’s already having trouble keeping focus. So he admires your book shelves while you make the coffee, slowly pacing around the living room. Something out of place catches his eyes, something that looks handmade and colored purple by hand. He takes it out, examining it.

“Believe it or not, that is my Star Wars story,” you smile fondly.

“This is it?”

Suddenly Javier feels like he’s holding a very important artifact in his hands, and he takes a mental note to treat it as carefully as possible. He flips through the pages with utmost interest, soaking up the words as the smell of coffee and lavender fill the tense air.

“Here we go,” you announce, handing him a cup. “Decaf. I thought you wouldn’t want to be up till six in the morning.”

“Thanks.”

Javier still reads through, as much as he can, picturing a younger you scribbling down this story so excitedly, coloring it to make it seem like it’s a book in and of itself, and the sight makes his heart grow even fonder.

So maybe he’s not just lonely and horny. Maybe he cares about you a little more than initially anticipated. But that’s not bad.

Is it?

“Thank you,” you say after a while. “For walking me home. I mean, you do live right above, but… still.”

“It’s what friends do, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

You can tell he’s avoiding looking at you, a sentiment you are certainly familiar with. After all, the very fingers that hold your improvised book between them were in your head less than a week ago as you pictured them buried knuckle deep in your most sensitive place.

“I really respect you a lot, Javier. You’re being very honorable towards my brother with this stupid request of his. And towards me too.”

Javier swallows hard, feeling anything but honorable.

“Yeah, well. He’s my best friend. And you’re—“

“Not your type. I know.”

Feeling less and less honorable at this very moment.

“You—you can’t be,” Javier seems to warn you. “I’m not someone to love. I’m someone who can offer some temporary pleasure and call it a day. And you deserve more than that.”

“I’m no stranger to temporary pleasure.”

So much for the right timing in terms of propositioning something so outrageous.

“You should get some sleep,” Javier coos, removing a lock of stranded hair from your face.

You shudder. You don’t have it in you to protest anymore, not after that dance you shared with him and the tense moment by your door. You just can’t. Maybe you do need some sleep, after all.

“See you Monday morning?” he asks.

That gives you hope. You smile and nod as Javier leaves the coffee mug on the table and promises you that he can let himself out. He’s thankful you didn’t see him sneak your story behind his back while he left, and he’s thankful you can’t read his mind to see the plan he hatched.

previous | next

tags: @pedrostories @psychedelic-ink @milkymoon2483 @ifall4dilfs @casa-boiardi @spidermanfrog

[dgrailwar]

Round 13, Day 1 - The Path to the Grail

FIRST: RULER/ALTER-EGO - FOREIGNER/GUNNER - MOONCANCER - AVENGER

-

The approach to the Grail was silent. Tense.

Each Servant followed a different path, however the darkened halls were similar. Pulsating and flesh-like. Beating with the rhythm of a heart- a path thoroughly alive.

The Gunner and the Voyager followed the path carved by the Gatekeeper, their steps bold and adventurous, even in this new space.

The MoonCancer followed the massive trail of the great serpent monster, warily letting herself be guided by the slow rumbling of its large form.

The Ruler and the Alter-Ego followed the path guarded by the hellhound and the Ancient God, their steps echoing through the darkness.

The Avenger followed the path opened by the massive draconic beast, showing no fear as he followed the winding path.

Regardless of the path they were following, there was a constant feeling of familiarity. Nostalgia, even, despite the fact that none of these 'Heroic Spirits' recognized the pulsating walls around them.

The deeper the Servants went, the denser the mana became. At this point, normal humans would begin to fall sick, or worse. However, the very nature of Heroic Spirits- the very nature of these 'Heroic Spirits' was 'inhuman'. They were made to survive in these conditions.

' I apologize, my children. '

The voice echoed within the minds of each of the Servants. It was soft, yet heavy. A cushion that enveloped and overtook every sensation- overwhelming by every degree, but not unpleasant. A blanket, that seemed to squeeze tighter and tighter, ever so slowly, the more the voice spoke.

' You no longer wish to fight. I no longer wish to put that burden on you. '

Step by step. Each one descending into darkness. The voice continued.

' So, I will do what I must. But before so, I selfishly ask to look upon you one final time. '

The six Servants, each from their own path, coalesced in a large chamber. The ground was slick and wet, with a substance that they couldn't identify- if they even wanted to. Collectively, their eyes widened as they looked at the sight before them.

"...Behold."

The Avenger said, calmly.

The Gunner chuckled, his face twisting into a wry grimace.

"...There she is. 'Mother'. Our Holy Grail."

A massive, grotesque being sat inside, smaller monsters spilling from her form like water.

A monstrous woman. A gargantuan goddess, great and terrible, her body twisted and malformed- yet beautiful in it's own agonizing way. To the eyes of heroes, to the eyes of those who are considered 'just' by fate, this was a monster. A grand, mutilated beast that held no place alongside the world of mankind.

The magical energy radiating from her- there wasn't a doubt in the minds of any of the Servants that this was their 'Grail'. The cup that they had spilled out from, and the cup that they were destined to return to.

She who called herself 'Grail' for the sake of this unholy ritual. However, the True Name of such a monster was evident.

The Mother of Monsters, Echidna.

[angellayercake]

when true love's kiss

Papa Emeritus III x Reader | Papa Emeritus III x OC

from this slumber you shall wake | AO3

After waking up in his glass coffin Papa has travelled back to the Abbey in search of something he needs to regain his true strength. This is a sequel to from this slumber you shall wake and for @petrifyingpapas resurrection prompt

TW for choking and murder

It was a nightly procession, a ritual completed in reverence to her lover. Her dead lover. It begins as the sun starts to dip beneath the horizon, sitting at the half empty vanity she applies his paint in slow steady strokes. Her dull eyes staring out of his face, the familiar paint only causing a dull throb in her heart where once it had inspired overwhelming love, then after, overwhelming despair. She had learned the shapes and contours painting his face before his rituals, mass, meetings. It was a small intimacy, one of many they had shared but she had always preferred helping him wash it away. Removing Papa and revealing her lover underneath. The man only she got to see. No more though. When she washed the paint away she only saw her own ashen face. He would forever be resting as Papa or at least she thought.    

As darkness falls across the room she affixes her veil draping the dark material over her face, the delicate lace pooling around her waist as she sits. Her reflection shows the shadow she has become, her old life just a silhouette underneath a shroud of darkness. She adds the final touch, pulling on her gloves lace covering the last glimpses of skin, the golden claws another signature of his, glinting in the muted light. She must stare at herself for a moment longer sitting motionless, where her gaze lands is lost in the shadow but what else is there to see but herself. Suddenly she stands and the next stage of her ritual begins. 

She walks through the corridors like a ghost. If you really tried you might hear the whisper of her skirts against the tile but you couldn’t distinguish her footsteps or the choked sobs that rise from within her. Any siblings lingering in the hallways move aside lest they interrupt her procession now, long since startled by her presence. It had been a shock the first time they had witnessed this ritual. The once warm and charming Prime Mover, dead in all but body along with her Papa. No one saw her for weeks after and then she began her mourning ritual which continued and then continued until now, a year on from his murder she still hadn’t ceased.

Her procession ends in the Chapel of Lilith now, but she had worked her way through them all. Satan, Belial then Lucifer, Belezebub, Asmodeous, then Behemoth but her prayers had not been heeded. None had borne witness to her nightly vigils, leaving her to commune with her chosen demon in privacy, but it was not hard to guess at the subject of her prayers. For him to be returned to her, for her to be able to join him in hell, for the ones responsible to receive their due punishment but when she had finally seemed to give up hope for an answer to her prayers she took solace with Lillith. 

She kneels before the statue as is her usual custom, her bare feet visible now under her layers of skirts, a surprise given her carefully layered dress but perhaps she needs some way to feel grounded, just that small connection to the reality she is forced to live in now without her Papa. Her reminder that she is still here and still alive even if she doesn’t feel like it. Her head is bowed, the long veil obscuring most of her body now she has made herself small before Lilith praying for the strength to go on. Although she has followed all the same steps, completed all the same measures, there is something different about this night. A year on from his death to the day there is a finality in her manner as she prays. Is it that her mourning period is coming to a close? She has spoken to none but the demons she had begged for relief since she learned of his demise but as she whispers her mysterious requests to the mother of all evil her body begins to shake. The rosary that had been clutched in between her fingers clatters to the floor as her prayer ends as she slowly, carefully draws up the front of her veil revealing her painted face, the silent tears she had wept leaving wet grey streaks in their path. Her eyes are locked on the statue as if waiting for something to happen. 

A rush of wind fills the chapel whipping around her, her veil and clothes disturbed by its strength and just before it dies every candle in the room extinguishes simultaneously; the only light left is the muted beam of moonlight shining through the window above the altar. A haze of smoke from the candles hangs in the air as she twists and turns looking for the cause of the sudden gusts but in her frantic search she misses the slow moving shadow at the end of the pews. Turning back to the statue she stares up at unmoving face, scrabbling to pick up her discarded rosary without taking her eyes off it.

‘What does it mean?’ Her voice is broken and dry from disuse and her suddenly dry mouth. She had wanted a sign, whether she should move on, give up hope, try to just keep him as a fond memory and had been given this. ‘Please what does it mean?’ The tears that never really stopped cascade down her cheeks, her shock and confusion overwhelming her after all this time. 

‘It means you have been loyal.’ She freezes when she hears his voice not even remembering to breathe. It must be a trick she would recognise that voice anywhere but it just couldn’t be. His heavy footsteps echo through the otherwise silent room and she can almost sense the disturbance of the air, everything else is so still as if in anticipation of their reunion. ‘It means mia regina,’ she shudders every memory of him calling her that running through her mind at once. ‘That you will be able to help your Papa return to this world and take back what is rightfully his.’

She turns to him slowly where he has come to a stop conveniently in the pool of moonlight. As much as this is what she had been praying for she seemed almost reluctant to look at him, scared of what she might see. He is alive, somehow, that is obvious, but something about him is very wrong. There is a stiffness to how he holds himself upright and his eyes are no longer filled with love and joy and life just malice. 

‘Terzo,’ she sighs, an acceptance that he really is standing there in front of her as haggard as he looks. His vestments are creased, his paint flaking away. He looks exactly like he has been laid in state for a year. ‘How?’ The shock and her lack of practice speaking make it almost impossible to articulate anything more. He smiles, well smirks, there is no warmth there but it draws over his face almost in slow motion, like the muscles need time to remember how to react to his body's commands. 

‘Someone wished very hard for me to be returned to them, no matter the cost.’ He continues coming closer, his jerky uneven steps getting more sure the more he moves. Still on her knees she crawls back until she is sat at the base of the statue, hoping that Lilith will heed her prayers one more time, her instinct told her she would need it more than ever. When he reaches the altar steps he collapses with none of his natural grace, bracing himself on his hands and hissing in pain, his joints unnaturally stiff from his time at rest. But he continues on towards her until he is close enough to touch.

‘You missed me amore?’ He whispers and she winces at the understatement. 

‘Yes,’ She hadn’t just missed him, her whole existence had ground to a halt. She wanted so desperately to reach out and touch him, confirm that he was truly there, real and in front of her but something stayed her hand.  

‘You prayed for me?’ His face is cast in shadow now and looks all the more sinister for it. Up this close she could see his muscles twitching to maintain his expression like someone else was trying to control them.

‘Yes,’ She twists her rosary between her fingers, the clicking of the beads drawing his attention before his hand closes over hers, stilling her nervous fidgeting. Feeling his touch even through the gloves steals the breath from her lungs.

‘Then help me finish what you started?’ He dips his head drawing her attention away from where his hand clasps hers.

‘How?’ The smile he wears grows at her lack of dismissal anticipating that she will agree to his demands.

‘Give yourself to me.’ She nods slowly unsure of exactly what he meant but as she looked into his eyes she saw a glimpse of the man she loved, something inside of him begging and pleading her to help him and she knew she would do anything he asked. He reaches for her with his gloved hand cupping the back of her neck, drawing her towards him. She can feel how warm he is through the tight leather and the pinprick pressure of his nails transports her back to memories of smooth soft leather contrasting with the cold sharp nails as he stripped her leaving his mark on her bare skin night after night. 

He barely has to guide her now she is caught in his trap, she comes easily kneeling up to meet him halfway. His distinctive scent, though stale, fills her senses and she is ensnared. He could ask anything of her and she would do everything in her power to grant it. She thought or perhaps hoped that he would kiss her, help her remember the feeling of him against her once again, but first she felt his other hand circle her neck and it seemed to break her from her reverie. She tried to pull back, eyes widening in shock but he had regained more strength than he had let on and as his grip tightened she could not break free. 

Her windpipe was closing and his sharp nails bit into her skin sharply as he squeezed tighter and tighter. She clawed at his wrists trying anything to lessen his grip but he did not falter his wide manic eyes boring into hers. As panic began to take hold she reached for his face, his eyes anything to allow her to breath but even as she managed to slice his cheek he didn’t flinch so set on her destruction. As her vision tunnelled, her body shutting down due to lack of oxygen she realised what he had needed all along. He needed her life. She was foolish to wish for his return, naïve to think it would come at no cost. In her grief she had forgotten the fundamentals of the world, the balance that must always be maintained. All the fight left her then, if her life was what he wanted then he could take it, she had spent the last year living as a shadow now she could allow the darkness to embrace her completely. His cruel victorious smile is the last thing she sees as her vision dims, acknowledging her surrender and the last thing she feels before everything else fades away is the press of his rough lips, so soft in comparison to his deadly grip but she clung to that feeling knowing it would sustain her wherever it was she would end up. 

You watch him kneel over her body, lying her back gently as her life force leaves her, flowing into him in twisting translucent tendrils. You keep quiet not wanting to interrupt his moment. He didn’t seem sad though. He had been resigned about what he must do as you had surreptitiously travelled here to the Abbey, almost sullen and disinterested with all your questions. But once he was on the grounds it was like he was possessed with a new vigour. Perhaps returning to the location of his murder had impassioned him but you could see the difference almost instantly. He had been most impatient with you as you had slotted back into Abbey life so you could report back to him. Nothing you did was good enough but perhaps now he would be happy with you. You had delivered him the final piece of his plan. The soul of his Prime Mover. He had never explained to you exactly why he needed it. You had offered him yours and he had only scoffed but seeing your disappointment he softened slightly explaining that it was not your role to sacrifice yourself for him, not yet any way, that he had much bigger plans for you. Your heart had swollen with pride at that, that he would entrust you with such important tasks but he was hard to please and you tried so so hard. He straightens up leaving her prone at the foot of the statue ending your time for rumination. 

‘We need to leave now, little one.’ He sounds stronger already and any lingering regret you had about her fate fades away. She had been wasting her life anyway; her soul would be much better served empowering her Papa.  

‘Do you want me to do anything with her?’ She was in a better place now but part of you wondered whether it was right to just leave her there but he turns on you with a fire in his eyes. 

‘No let them find her. Let them guess at what power I now possess. Let her be a warning. I wonder if they will heed it.’ He looks down at her tracing along the smudged lines of their shared face paint. ‘She was so beautiful. It was a shame it had to come to this but I need to be at full strength for what is to come.’ He stands movements much more fluid, he looks healthier, more alive now and you marvel at him. The more you learn, the more you see, the more you crave his presence and his approval. When you had gazed at him through the glass you had never dreamed you would get to be his right hand, his confidant yet here you are helping him to steal away into the night, back into hiding until he was ready to make his next move. As you hold the door for him you notice him pause, looking back at her. He is right, she was beautiful you think. She is bathed in moonlight now, laying as a beautiful sacrifice at the altar of Lilith but when you look at him you see the first hints of sadness.  

‘Did you love her Papa?’ He looks away but pauses before he answers.

‘Maybe, once, but what was more important was that she loved me. That was all that I needed.’ There is resignation, you think in his voice rather than regret but you hate to see him feeling that way at all. You believe he must do what he needs to do even if he will not yet reveal his reasons to you.

‘I love you Papa.’ You sense at this moment he needs that reminder.

‘I know little one and you still have your role to play.’ He turns away after one last long look at his past love but you reach for his hand as you notice the darkness beginning to lift. A rich sense of satisfaction fills you as you hurry into the dawn. She was his past but you were his future. 

[sleeplessdreamer123]

Fanfic Idea! (ABO Lucemond, war hostage Lucerys)

For those who don't know:

Muña - mother (Lucerys)

Kepa - father (Aemond)

---------

Alysanne Targaryen was nervous. Today was a special day, and she wanted to look absolutely perfect. She wore a black and blue dress (she received hesitant stares from the seamstress, but they were her favorite colors, her muña said she looked best in his colors, and her kepa said she could ask for whatever she wanted), her hair braided to look like a crown on her golden head, and a sapphire necklace with a seven pointed star her grandmother gave her on her eighth name day.

She was the first to arrive for dinner, and sat down at her designated spot. She nervously twisted the necklace, glancing eagerly at the door.

The next to arrive was her kepa, who changed from his dragon riding clothes to one suitable for tonight, though Alysanne pouted a bit when she noticed he wore a green shirt. True, she didn't notice it was green until he was close enough, but that didn't change the fact he wore green. She knew just how much it made her muña unhappy.

Before she had the chance to ask him to change, the door opened to reveal her muña. She stood up to greet him by curtsying, wanting to show her how much she improved from last time.

She felt a warm, gentle hand patting her head, and the scent of salty sea and lemons wrapping around her. She looked up to see her muña smiling at her, pride in his eyes. Like her, he wore an all black dress, and a neck guard decorated in sapphires. What shocked her was the fact that he had a larger stomach than last moon, where she last saw him.

She took his hand and guided him to sit next to her, ignoring her kepa's frowning face. Muña usually sits in front of her, right beside her kepa. She wanted to be closer to her muña tonight though. It was the only time she gets to see him outside of his chambers, without his guards following his every move. Besides, he willingly sat next to her, and her kepa didn't say anything, so it must be fine.

The dinner was how it usually was, her muña asking her about her life, how she fared in her studies, if she had any trouble with them, how she was feeling everyday. He always placed the best parts of every meal on her plate, which she delightfully accepts. She answered all his questions, asking her own, basking in his presence. Her kepa, as usual, was silent, watching them as they conversed, a strange look in his eye she couldn't really describe. Other than asking her to pass certain meals, he stayed quiet, allowing Alysanne to completely relax and talk to her muña about anything and everything she could think of.

Dinner ended perfectly, no shouting, no glares, no tears. Alysanne was very pleased with how both her parents were behaving (they were both ignoring each other's presence, only ever talking to her, but at least they weren't fighting like her earlier dinners with them). Soon, it was time for her to get ready for bed, and she walked as slowly as she could, so she could continue talking to her muña (she guesses that muña wanted to continue talking with her as well, because he said nothing about their snail-like pace to her chambers). Her kepa was like a shadow, following behind them.

When they finally entered her room, she asked her muña to help her with her curly hair like he has always done, complaining that the septas didn't know what they were doing. Her muña agreed, waited for her to finished bathing, before washing her hair gently, carefully drying it, pouring oil and styling it for bed. Alysanne enjoyed this ritual the most, loving her muña's hands on her hair. He didn't comb roughly like the septas, nor did he complain about her hair's volume and curls. When she was dressed and ready, she eagerly patted jumped on the bed, and patted the empty spot next to her.

Her muña took a little longer to get comfortable (his larger stomach making it difficult to find a good position), and when he finally relaxed, she handed him the story book of the night. It was her favorite, a book about dragons. It was also the longest book she had. Not that she planned for that, of course. Not at all.

She loved her muña's voice, so sweet and warm, only for her. She snuggled as close as she could, enjoying the warmth and her muña's scent. He played with her hair fondly, petted her head and occasionally used his hands to exaggerate the details, making her giggle.

She fought to keep her heavy eyelids open, fought to stifle her yawns, and fought to keep her mind awake and alert.

Unfortunately for her, she was a comfortable child on a comfortable bed snuggling close to her comfortable muña, who was reading to her with a comfortable voice. By the time they were halfway done, she was already asleep.

Aemond, who was leaning against the wall the entire time, approached after making sure she was asleep. Lucerys kissed both her cheeks and her forehead, whispered sweet things in High Valyrian, knowing that his time with her is now ending.

He glanced at Aemond, a silent plea in his eyes, but Aemond's face remained unchanged. Lucerys sighs, hugging his daughter one last time, inhaling her sweet childish scent, before slowly crawling out of her bed.

He stood proud and tall, ignoring Aemond's gaze, only looking back to see her sleeping figure, before leaving her room once again.

Outside the room, the guards followed the pair of dragons back to Lucerys' cage.

----------

When Alysanne woke up the next day, she wanted to cry, looking for her missing muña, his scent still on her bed, but his side was already cold. She knew it was foolish of her to hope he would stay for the night, that she would open her eyes to see him sleeping next to her. It had only happened on special occasions, like her name day, but she still hoped he would stay a little longer. She sighed unhappily, but she had to get up to start her lessons with the septas. She had to mentally restart counting again.

30 days before she gets to be with muña again. 30 days before they get to eat dinner as a family. 30 days. She only needed to wait for 30 days.

She hates it.

--------

Update: part 2

[feyhunter78]

A part two for the scar on your palm please 🥺 i must know how aemond announces it, the drama the detail all of if i must know!

But really if you do make a part 2 I appreciate your time and effort! It means a lot! Your writing is fantastic!

Lol I got super carried away with this one XD I hope you like it though!!! I'm so happy you wanted a part two!!!! <3

TW: Death, abusive language, reader's father is physically abusive, but it's short

The Scar on Your Palm pt. 2

You stood beside Aemond as he stared but his and your father down.

“Father, Lord y/n, I know there is a betrothal set for Lady y/n, but it cannot be honored.”

Both men looked at him, his father speaking first. “And why is that?”

Aemond held up yours and his scarred palms. “At the age of ten and six, we were married in Valyrian tradition. To force her to marry another would be bigamy.”

Your father’s face was a canvas painted with a multitude of emotions, and his eyes darted to the king.

Aemond dropped your hand, and switched to holding your hand behind your backs, squeezing it to reassure you.

 He showed no sign of fear, but you? You were terrified. How were you to know that ceremony was binding? It was all in High Valyrian a language at that time you struggled to grasp. It was not that you did not want to be married to Aemond, but you feared what your father would do.

“You mean to tell me you have married the Lady y/n without anyone’s permission and have merely let us all run around like fools for years searching to find you both matches?” King Viserys said, his eyes hard, his tone less so—sounding almost entertained.

“Yes father. Y/N and I are bound by Valarian tradition, and we have consummated our marriage many times over.” Aemond said, his head held high, voice steady.

Your own head hung in shame, why oh, why did he have to say many times over? It was prudent enough to say their marriage had been consummated and be done with it.

“Y/N is this true?” Your father asked.

You stepped forward, releasing Aemond’s hand and addressing your father. “Yes, it is, and I am so sorry father, I did not know that—”

“You did not know that sullying your virtue with a prince would still make it impossible for you to marry? That binding yourself in some outdated ritual was not an excuse to throw yourself at the nearest man?” His voice was angry and raising in volume.

“Now, Lord y/l/n, there is no need to shout.” King Viserys said calmly.

“Is there no way to undo what they have done? None of this news needs to leave this room, y/n may still be able to salvage her betrothal.” Your father said, turning to the king.

“Y/N is my lady wife, she has been so for years now, there is no undoing of what we have done.” Aemond spoke up, anger just below the surface.

“My son speaks true, Valyrian wedding ceremonies are legally binding.” He turned to Aemond. “Who performed the ceremony?”

“My aunt and your cousin, father, Princess Rhaenys.” Aemond said.

Viserys massaged his temples. “Here I was hoping you had asked Aegon and then perhaps an argument could be made, but Rhaenys would not perform the ceremony with false intentions.”

Your father was livid, and he grabbed your arm, yanking you close. “You have ruined yourself and this family, you stupid girl.” He hissed.

Tears pooled in your eyes. “Father I am so sorry, I was not aware that it was binding, but I love Aemond, and marriage to a prince would be better for the family, think of the benefits.” You pleaded.

Viserys had called Aemond up to the throne and was speaking to him in low tones.

“Benefits? What benefits are there to a broken promise and a whore for a daughter?” Your father sneered, his grip on your arm tightening.

“I know I have disappointed you, but father, you are hurting me.” You tried to pull your arm away, your eyes flickering to Aemond.

Your father grabbed your chin and jerked your head back towards him. “Do not look at him, that son of a Hightower whore, he cannot save you. You must face the consequences of your actions.”

You swallowed hard, fear twisting around your lungs and seizing. “Father, please, not in front of the king, think of what others will say.”

“You have already ensured they will speak.” His hand reared back, and your head snapped to the side with the force of the blow. The sound of his hand slapping against the skin of your cheek echoed throughout the hall, and you kept your eyes down as you braced yourself for the second blow. He hit your other cheek, the strength behind it sending you staggering to the floor.

“Father...I am so sorry.” You choked out, cheeks stinging, vision blurry with tears. You could vaguely hear someone yelling, but there was a ringing in your head that drowned it out.

When no other blow fell you pushed yourself up to see King Viserys struggling to restrain Aemond who was lunging for your father.

“You vile, wicked man, how dare you lay a hand on my wife?” He spat, breaking out of his father’s hold and lunging at your father, his hands wrapping around his neck.

King Viserys called for guards and rushed over to you, helping you to your feet. “Are you alright, Lady y/n?” He asked kindly.

“I did not mean to cause such trouble; I am truly sorry.” You cried, voice trembling, as you brought your hands together, thumb rubbing at your scarred palm.

“No, no, the blame is not yours.” King Viserys reassured you.

The guards finally pulled Aemond from your father and threw him towards you.

Aemond tugged you into his embrace. “Ñuha dōna, are you alright, are you in pain?” His words were rushed, and you could feel him trembling against you.

“My skin stings, but the ringing in my head is quiet now.” You said, burying your face in the crook of his neck, tears dripping onto his tunic.

He rubbed your back soothingly. “Oh my love, my wife, I never should have let go of your hand, forgive me?”

“I forgive you, you had no way of knowing he would harm me, husband.” You said, pressing yourself closer to him as your father began screaming.

“How dare you? I was disciplining my child. It is my right?”

Aemond turned, pushing you behind his back, his arm keeping you close. “Your right? She is my wife. If anyone is to discipline her, it would be me. You lost that right the day we bound our souls together.”

Your father shook his head. “You do not understand, and it seems I was not strict enough with y/n, but daughters need strict discipline, or they will turn out to be whores. You will understand this if you are cursed with your own daughter.”

Aemond’s shoulders tensed, and he stalked forward, leaving you in the company of his father. “My wife is not a whore.” He snarled, grabbing your father by the lapels of his coat. “And you are a fool to think I would ever lay a hand on a child. In fact, you should pray y/n does not bless me with a daughter. For if she does, our girl will be raised the way we see fit, and when she is old enough, I will take her to spit on your grave.”

Your heart fluttered at the way Aemond defended you and your future children, and it skipped several beats when he looked back at you, his hand inching towards his dagger. In a rush of rage and courage, you nodded.

Aemond’s hand moved faster than you could blink, and soon your father was crumbling to the ground, Aemond’s dagger piercing straight through his throat. “Perhaps even our sons will spit on your grave as well.”

You should not have found that attractive, you knew this, but a wild part of you craved your husband, and you rushed to his side.

Your father reached for you, but you ignored him, fretting over Aemond instead. “My love, did they hurt you?”

He cupped your face and kissed your forehead. “No, sweet wife, I am unharmed.”

You sighed in relief and let Aemond lead you out of the hall, his arm linked with yours.

Tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @svtansdaddyx, @fan-goddess, @dc-marvel-girl96, @shintax-error, @bellameshipper, @the141bandicoot, @the-phantom-of-arda

[astrangetorpedo]

Boy Power: The Women of Boygenius on the Joys of Nourishing a Supergroup Without the Superegos

By Chris Willman

The three singer-songwriters who make up Boygenius are musing about what they did and didn’t intend to accomplish when they went into the studio to make “The Record.” The six Grammy nominations they just collectively reeled in for their first full-length album together? Not actually part of the master plan. Neither was establishing themselves as role models for a much-needed sense of community across a swath of young America.

“We didn’t set out to be like, ‘And we symbolize friendship!’” bandmate Julien Baker points out, musing about the benevolent qualities that have been attributed to the group. “We just were like, ‘Let’s make a good record.’”

Fair enough. But have we mentioned that Variety‘s Group of the Year does, in fact, symbolize friendship — to the point that the band has virtually become an iconic representation of trifold intimacy? Sharing the bond the trio developed in the studio and on the road has been a key part of the appeal for the band’s avid fan base. It’s a conclusion that band member Lucy Dacus was not avoiding when she recently told Teen Vogue that “being affectionate onstage has been really fun and sweet, and it exhibits behavior that I think is healthy and good.” They even wrote about their growing closeness in meta album tracks like “Leonard Cohen.” “True Blue,” their signature loyalty ballad, may or may not be about the group itself, it’s hard to escape the feeling that a line like “It feels good to be known so well” somehow applies not just to the trio’s interpersonal relationships but to the generally progressive, empathetic, LGBTQ-friendly, folk-rocking audience at a Boygenius show.

No wonder Boygenius seemed to consistently have the longest merch lines of 2023 (at least this side of Taylor Swift’s), with fans seeking ways to fly their colors. In what can still register as a man’s world, suddenly, it kind of felt like everybody wanted to be a boy.

A concert by the trio has its rituals. The band members describe a private rite that occurs early in a set, right after they’ve opened the show with a handful of their hardest-charging songs, like “Satanist” (another friendship song, once you get past the irreverent title) and “$20,” and are transitioning into something more reflective. “We have a little moment where we look at each other during ‘True Blue’ every show,” Dacus reveals, looking across the table at bandmate Phoebe Bridgers, “and sometimes I’ll wink at you and be like, ‘Here’s the time where we check in.’ And sometimes I feel like we can see when each of us feel crazy.”

Bridgers agrees, saying, “Or we have a weird day, and we have to look at each other and just be like, ‘Oh, my God, this day is still trudging on,’” suggesting that there are hidden cues and codes being passed around while Dacus’ soft voice is tucking an audience of thousands into a warm, communal bath.

But there’s a more public-facing ritual at the end of the show, when the members basically pile on each other in some form or another. It can look like sheer, rough horseplay, but given that everyone in the group identifies as queer, these full-body collisions also been described in reviews or fan comments as “Sapphic” moments. How would they characterize them? “It’s Sapphic horseplay!” says Bridgers, grinning, and maybe not entirely kidding. “That is exactly what it is.”

“With the horseplay,” says Dacus, taking that term and running with it, “sometimes we kiss. Sometimes we spin around. Sometimes we throw things at the audience. Sometimes we crowd-surf. Sometimes we pick up Julien or bow to her. It’s never really planned. Sometimes our tits are out.”

Bridgers remembers what felt like a signal change moment at a London show in the summer: “Someone got on her friend’s shoulders and flashed me in Gunnersbury Park. It was right after we took our shirts off the first time” at their prior show. “I was like, ‘This is so sick'” — the good kind of sick — “‘that someone feels safe enough to do this.’”

Dacus agrees. “Yeah, it doesn’t feel violent or violating in that particular circumstance. Like, if someone walked by and flashed us right now, I’d be like, Uhhhh. But, yeah, there’s something about what the show culminates in, where it does feel very safe and celebratory.”

Where we are right now is the outdoor patio of a Studio City coffeehouse, where the only things being flashed are Baker’s easing-into-autumn sweater, or slightly more provocative items like the “I Love Cuntry Music” trucker hat that Dacus has just doffed, or the Viagra Boys cap that Bridgers keeps on, maybe to deflect any possible attention that passers-by might otherwise give to her tell-tale platinum hair. The few passersby wouldn’t guess that this is a group about to play a long-sold-out headline show at the Hollywood Bowl for its 2023 tour finale, or to do “Saturday Night Live” a week and a half after that. They’re laid-back and still capable of surprising and delighting each other in conversation, and not at all giving off any America’s Greatest Current Rock Band vibes, although they’ve earned the right to some attitude, with an album that much of the indie-rock crowd and not a few critics would agree is the year’s best.

“Phoebe was the one that was like, ‘This is gonna be big,’” Dacus says. “I had aspirations; you had plans,” she says, looking at Bridgers. “You were like, ‘We’re gonna do it!’”

“We had talked about the Hollywood Bowl in the kitchen of Shangri-La, remember that?” Bridgers says, referring to the Malibu studio owned by Rick Rubin, where they cut “The Record.”

“But I didn’t have any context,” Baker says, noting that neither she nor Dacus had ever set foot in America’s most iconic venue, having grown up around Memphis and Richmond, Va., respectively, versus the Pasadena stomping grounds that’d given Bridgers lifelong access to some bigger dreams. “Our last show” — in Los Angeles, at the end of their debut 2018 tour — “we played the Wiltern, and I was tearful backstage,” Baker says, as she remembers exulting: “‘I’m so proud of us! All my dreams have come true!’ Like I’d topped out.”

The Bowl, and Madison Square Garden just before it, were milestones even for Bridgers, the most visible solo artist of the three prior to this year. She’d topped out herself locally, maybe, at the Greek. Then a funny thing happened on the way to the Cahuenga Pass: “The Record” immediately established Bridgers, Baker and Dacus as equals in every way, even in the eyes of fans who might previously have favored or just been more immersed in one solo career or another. There was magic to how evenly gifted and well matched they were as frontwomen, as songwriters, as harmonizers. They truly put the super back in “supergroup” … and took the ego out of superego, in a manner of speaking.

Strength in numbers: What a concept! Why didn’t anyone ever try it before? Well, there’ve been a few tries at bringing existing titans together over the years, and hoping they wouldn’t clash. There was Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, and Asia, and the Souther-Hillman-Furay Band and … um … Well, let’s let the geniuses here come up with some slightly more contemporary analogues.

“You could look at Broken Social Scene and New Pornographers,” Baker says, but as soon as she starts dissecting the dynamics of those groups, it’s clear there aren’t really any recent antecedents that compare.

“I bet a lot of people try it, with a pretense that falls apart once they start to make it,” Dacus says, and then affirms why they’ve been able to come up with a successful joint project where others before them have bailed. “This collaboration is as important to each of us, if not more important, than our solo work,” she says. “And I bet a lot of supergroups are, even internally, thinking of it as a side project or a momentary thing.”

Bridgers agrees. “Yeah, because you’re going to make a third of what you’d earn making your own thing. So you’re like, ‘It’s my side thing — I’ll devote six months to it.’ But we put as much attention into it as if we were making our own records. The album took us so long to make, and we worked on it relentlessly. It was pretty serious from day one.”

Baker says, “It’s sick that the band has an identity that’s more than the sum of its parts.” (This maxim may be the closest Boygenius will ever come to a cliché, but they, and you, have got to embrace one that is this mathematically inescapable.)

When it came to the material they brought to the table, far from coming up with tunes that felt like discards from their solo releases, “The Record” ended up being chock-full of extremely personal and introspective songs. But it also included some of the most inherently commercial songs any of them have done, apart or together. You may recall that Bridgers had to be kind of coerced into making “Kyoto” a banger; in each other’s company, there was no such reticence.

“Definitely with ‘Not Strong Enough,’” Bridgers says, “I was like, ‘It’d be fun to have a radio song.’” (And, as it turns out, a Grammy song; it’s up for record of the year.) “With the songs that we were gravitating toward, we knew ‘True Blue’” — a Dacus-led ballad — “was gonna be such an indie smash, and fucking ‘Satanist’” — conceived by Baker — “goes so hard. ‘Strong Enough’ was the one we finished last, and I was like, ‘Let’s each write and sing a verse, because this could be the single.’” It didn’t feel like a sellout. “A lot of stuff that would feel contrived, solo, doesn’t feel contrived with these guys, because it’s just all in the spirit of fun and being together. And, yeah, it’s the first time I’ve ever been like, ‘Damn, people are gonna sing along to this part!’”

That delirious spirit stands in healthy contrast to the sad-core image some people might have slapped onto one or all of the band members. But it’s hardly all about the mirth. At the Bowl, as on every other night in the latter parts of the tour, Bridgers asked the audience to put away all phones for the album’s devastating final track, “Letter to an Old Poet,” as she walked the semicircular platform separating the front two seating areas. She says, “Every once in a while I see a phone and I fume, but mostly they’re great and they put their phones away. And because most of the show has been looking through people’s phones and not at their faces, suddenly they become a roomful of people, and it’s insanely powerful to me.”

Why that number in particular, for shutting down cameras? Is it just one of a dozen possible moments to make that request, or is there something in particular about this one’s wounded and angry spirit…

“I play plenty of heavy songs,” Bridges says, “but that one feels too dark to not be having a communal experience.”

“Isn’t that the only time that you’ve cried while doing a vocal take — during that song?” Dacus asks.

“Yeah. I had a couple years where I had a hard time crying,” Bridgers affirms. “I’m over it now, thank God. Now I cry all the time. But ‘Letter to an Old Poet’ is one of the only times I’ve cried onstage.”

“Lucky,” Dacus says. “I hate crying onstage. It happens. I hate that shit.”

These asides about tears might give a Boygenius novice the wrong impression about the band. Even their softer songs tend to have a barb in them, and others, like the screamfests “$20” or “Satanist,” are undeniably hard-ass. A cutting irreverence is the hallmark that makes the sentimental moments honest and disarming.

Their irreverence comes through in their choice of stage or TV outfits too: At the Bowl, they dressed up as the Father, Son and Holy Ghost (with Dave Grohl sitting in briefly on drums as a zombie priest). “If you think of a three-person costume,” Baker explains, “what’s three things? We were like, ‘We could be the Trinity.’” Maybe it’s just as simple as that — numbers as Halloween destiny. But the band members don’t demur when the suggestion comes up that maybe it also had something to do with the phrase that is repeated over and over again in the bridge of “Not Strong Enough”: “Always an angel, never a god.” They switched up that equation, if just for one night, getting deistic at the Bowl.

Less than two weeks later, for “SNL,” they dressed up as the Beatles in their Ed Sullivan-era early prime. The Trinity? The Fab Four? Screw CSNY and all the rest; these women know a real supergroup when they see one.

When “SNL” came around, it was clear they would only be emulating the Beatles and not, like, the Who. There was definitely not going to be any attempt on the show to repeat Bridgers’ guitar-smashing solo appearance of 2021. “Hey, I tried,” she says about not quite fully breaking her ax on that occasion; the guitar took a licking, but almost kept on ticking, a resilience she was amused, not annoyed, by.

This year, the group has been more about melting hearts than heating up flame wars — whether that’s been in their more nakedly revealing songs or taking up causes like dressing in drag in Nashville to support the trans community under political attack there, or inviting Indigenous groups to provide invocations before select tour dates.

When the band receives its Group of the Year award at Variety‘s Hitmakers event, Joan Baez will be presenting the honor to the trio. That may seem like an odd pairing if you’re only considering Boygenius’ more irreverent moments, but an utterly apropos matchup if you are keeping in mind the band’s deeply earnest side and, especially, the social conscience that flares up around their performances. As it happens, the group has also performed at Baez’s Bread and Roses benefits in the Bay area.

“Oh my God,” says Dacus. “Sometimes I have to remember how important she is, because in our experience of her, she’s just been super-kind, and complimenting us, and then it’s like, ‘You’re Joan Baez! You made music joyfully political for a whole generation of people!’ Sometimes we lament how people in media are asked to basically be politicians now…”

“Because politicians aren’t being politicians,” Bridgers interjects — “they’re being fucking TV stars.”

“But she set this example of, because you’re a human, you have to stand for things,” Dacus continues. “So, it’s not because we’re musicians that we care about these causes, it’s because we’re people, and we would be caring about them if we all had office jobs. A lot of people are afraid to do that, and she wasn’t, and it’s a great example for us. We are not very afraid to say what we believe. … Just as a person, I hope to be like her.”

Bridgers notes that Baez, in her initial heyday as America’s folkie sweetheart, “was losing opportunities because she was radical — and then that ended up being the fuel for her whole career. How radical she was was then rewarded.” She sums up Baez’s appeal in a nutshell: “Woody Guthrie was screeching this, and I’m gonna sing it.” (They crack up, with Bridgers noting that no offense to anyone living or dead was intended: “We’re big Woody fans.”)

Baker has thoughts about how they earn the right to be what might be perceived as political, whether it’s something as seemingly un-divisive as having Indigenous people do Land Acknowledgements introductions before their sets, or speaking up on trans or reproductive choice issues.

“Giving them something of ourselves in the songs is like an endearment practice, where we’re like, ‘You will trust us because you have an emotional connection to something we’ve said that resonates with you.’ So when we are in drag at the Nashville show [just after the state enacted anti-drag laws], kids are trusting our judgment, because we’ve gone to the trouble of sharing something difficult or even painful for us to communicate. Then it’s worth it for them to enter that conversation, because we’ve set the stakes of like what’s important to communicate, even if involves conflict or pain.”

The songs themselves aren’t always, if ever, aimed at the fans, though. Sometimes the target audience for the material is, well, Boygenius.

“We write songs to each other as a communication method,” Baker says.

Bridgers doesn’t think it should be mistaken for oversharing. “We have plenty of stuff that’s sacred and not shown to anybody other than each other. I think there’s this weird misconception sometimes that we don’t have a private relationship, because so much of it this year has been monetized in our performance.” And yet, Dacus says, their music is as transparently interpersonal as it sounds. “Some friendships over years don’t get to enough of a level of intimacy to share the types of fears and desires and hopes that we are saying.”

“We hang out,” declares Baker, as if this might not be a matter-of-fact thing for a working rock group. (It doesn’t go without saying.)

How long will the hang last?

In October, the band put out a four-song EP called “The Rest,” a sequel or companion piece to “The Record.” The title does have an air of at least temporary finality to it, as if the cupboard is bare. Says Bridgers, “It’s funny that it’s called ‘The Rest,’ because we absolutely do have more songs that we didn’t put out.”

But where do they go from here? In 2023, did the side hustle so overtake the main hustle that they should keep Boygenius going into 2024, when they could certainly sell out sheds or maybe even arenas they didn’t come near this year? They’ve already broken with supergroup form so much; would it be a terrible thing if they were to further break it to the point of unexpectedly doing an immediate, sequential band album? Or do they revert to their solo corners? Fans might wish there could be a multiverse in which the band never pauses, on one track, and individual careers proceed apace on another.

Conventional wisdom would suggest they will not let solo albums go unmade just for the sake of rocking more venues. But you will not get a definitive answer here.

“I don’t know,” says Bridgers. “It’s incredible to me that we have kept the ethos behind the band the whole way, which is: it just has to be fun. We’ve done a lot of shit, but there’s also shit we said no to, stuff that felt like it was like pushing a boundary as far as travel or labor and stuff that sounds like we might push ourselves into not having fun. So that gets to continue forward, after this album cycle. I think we just are gonna do whatever is fun, and remain each other to each other. These guys are as involved in what I do as they are in Boygenius. We show each other ideas, and…”

“We need each other’s brains,” Dacus says.

So is it possible to specifically say that solo albums are what’s next, or do they want to leave a bit of mystery?

The attempt to pin it down leaves them unusually cagey. “It’s a mystery,” Bridgers says.

Dacus: “I’ll just say I’m not thinking about it.”

Bridgers: “Oh, yeah. It’s a mystery to us.”

Dacus, having the final noncommittal word: “If it’s a mystery to you, it’s a mystery to us too.”

Hard to tell whether there might be any real indecision here, or whether they just don’t want to lay out all their cards for the outside world, or whether they might be having a difficult time reconciling themselves to a near-future in which they might be Zoom advisors to one another instead of daily physical confidantes.

In the immediate meanwhile, there is Grammy season, and a slew of awards to be won, or not won. Bridgers has some experience there, with her multiple nominations in 2021. “It was still very deeply fucking COVID when I was nominated, and I was pretty like traumatized last time, and like the only way I felt it was on the phone. To find out in a room full of people and be celebrating, it’s already way more fun.” Dacus says being collectively recognized is “triple the joy, right? Much easier to feel happy for them” than for herself, she says. “Much easier to feel.”

Is there a line from any of their songs that could maybe encapsulate how they’re feeling right now, between the six Grammy noms, the “SNL” appearance and the impending end-of-year accolades? At that question, they start to laugh.

“Give me your funny ones,” someone says.

Then Dacus says, “Ohhh, I have a cute one.”

“Which one?” the others ask, curious to get an earnest answer after all.

Quoting one of her own lyrics, Dacus lowers her voice, as if it’s suddenly occurred to her that it’s a secret that she’s sharing. “‘I never thought you’d happen to me,’” she says.

(x) photos by Jingyu Lin

[emily-the-fae]

Alastor's Biggest Regret

A Hazbin Hotel Idea

so i just found out about the existence of Hazbin Hotel and it has demons so totally my cup of tea

I have been familiar with the fandom for a total of 48 hours, have seen several human Alastor fanarts and headcannons and have had 4 cups of coffee today so here we are

Houston we have a headcannon

I barely know the fandom so take this with a grain of salt. Just a fanfic idea:

her name was Madeleine and she was Husk's younger sister, Husk had known Alastor for a while by the time he accidentally introduced them to each other

Husk sincerely didn't want to, he had been getting a bad vibe from Alastor from the very start, yet here they were - the three of them talking one Thursday night at a local pub in summer 1922

Madeleine and Alastor instantly hit it off: he was extremely charming when he wanted to be, she found it easy to accept people with oddities. Husk was brooding and for once in his life trying to end the evening early

the pleasant acquaintance soon turned into courtship, Alastor was quite smitten by the vivid character of his unfortunate friend's sister, and that feeling was reciprocated

in about a year they were happily married, living together in a lovely townhouse in New Orleans

well, happily for a while...

Madeleine had always, almost since day one, noticed her husbands... unusual tendencies. The weirdly dark sense of humor every now and again, the sharp switches in his mood that happened not so often but not as rarely as to go unnoticed

the first few years of the marriage seemed cloudless, almost too good to be true, Alastor's job on the radio was going uphill and he was enjoying it tremendously, Madeleine had settled into a position in the newspaper that she had wanted for a while and they were deeply in love with each other

yet too good to be true turned to be the correct evaluation

Alastor had violent, destructive tendencies. Husk had warned her. She never thought it was serious. To be fair Alastor had perfected the art of concealing his true face

...and hiding the bodies

but destructivity often happens to progress and so it did in Alastor. At some point Madeleine simply had to notice something was off

and she did

he was late from work more often, his aggressive moods were starting to get regular. She tried to confront him on it, figure out what was wrong. He got defensive

he was defensive every time she tried to find a way for them to discuss it. when his defensiveness wasn't enough he got angry

and soon abusive

Alastor didn't want to be so, if anything definitely not with her, but he couldn't help it: in a mix of fear of being exposed and desperation not to lose her

Madeleine was growing scared of him. She tried to stay silent

until one day she found a shirt with too many bloodstains to be his own and silence stopped being an option

when she woke up in hell she would barely remember the fight that happened: she wasn't straight away planning to expose him although she probably should have

but she would remember the piercing pain of the big kitchen knife going through her ribcage

Alastor got scared, then mad, then terrified of her slamming the door and disappearing from his life forever and then a cruel red fog descended on him

when he found himself on the kitchen floor holding her motionless body and covered in her blood, he cried. He clutched her to his chest, rocking back and forth, begging her not to go. Over the destroyed, evaporised ashes of his demonic soul would anyone ever find out about how that night looked for him

when Charlie asked Madeleine why she was doomed to hell, Madeleine responded that she bedded a serial killer

Madeleine would never know that the real reason was because the said serial killer found the idea of dooming his wife's soul to hell through a dark ritual much easier to accept then the thought of never crossing pathways with her in the afterlife

when Alastor showed up at the hotel Madeleine begged Charlie to never mention her name

when they inevitably met and Alastor, for the first time in 90 years realised that his ritual worked, Madeleine slapped the feared Radio Demon on the face

"we had our bit of falling out, every couple has that!" "a falling out is an argument and few days apart, not a knife in your wife's chest!"

she told him that never in eternity would she let him get close to her again

and he noticed that even in her demon form she still kept the little blue starry sky locket that he gave her on their wedding night