#Hellfire Plumes

[call-me-strega]

Dc x Dp prompt #13: Hell to Pay

They say there are only two things certain in life: death and taxes. That’s why even the Joker doesn’t fuck with the IRS.

However, unfortunately for the Joker the other certainty is death and he has yet to pay his dues. Just like how he could only get away with tax evasion for so long, there are only so many times the Joker can dodge death.

Death is coming to collect, with interest.

And the Joker will have hell to pay.

~ A dark green cloud swirls over the city. From it, emerge three oppressive figures:

The one on the far left with flowing hair like white-hot fire. His vambraces made of (what appeared to be) molten glass stopped under his fingers, which then extend into into claws that seemed to drip lava. He had spiked obsidian pauldrons on his shoulders, fastening a luminous, stark-white cape to his shoulders. He wore a coronet of lightning and wielded a flail that appeared to be made of coal chains and a shrunken Red Giant star.

The second on the far right had a helm of dark iron wreathed in a plume of purple flame. His gauntlets and sword flamed with green hellfire. A pure black sheath seemingly made of void and a silver hunting horn were tied to his waist. He wore an armor forged of shadows and proofed with fear. He rode atop a mighty stead. An inky dark stallion with a curved horn and bat-like wings. His form was constantly slightly shifting depending on the angle which you viewed him making him appear larger and more slippery than he was, enhancing his disquieting nature.

The third stood in the middle, smaller but no less terrifying than her companions. Her hair was wild with movement, only just visible because it appeared as if someone had bound the winds to her head. She wore a tiara made of storm clouds and pearls. She carried with her a spear, the shaft crafted of amazonite and the tip of a clear quartz, almost reminiscent of sea salt. At her hip lay a whip made of a restrained gale and a sea glass knife. She wore armor that appeared to be Greco-Roman in origin: a chest plate made of some sort of coral-like material and a battle skirt decorated with metallic bronze feathers.

They slowly descent on the city, bringing down a sense of power and dread. They paused at the top of Wayne Tower, where the city's vigilantes had all gathered in an attempt to create and feasible plan of action to discern what these beings want. The young woman in the middle speaks and the wind carries her voice. She is not loud but it the whole of Gotham hears her words.

"Greetings, Heroes of Gotham. It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Spirit, Princess and Head Diplomat of the Infinite Realms. This is Samhain, the Fright Knight, loyal knight to the king,” she gestured to her right before switching to her left “and this is Prince Wraith, current General in Chief of the Realms. We come to you as the King’s Guard and entourage. We have official business in your city and wish to civilly notify you of our presence. The King will be arriving shortly and your cooperation would be great fully received.”

Batman moved forward to shake her hand and address the situation.

“I’m afraid that we prefer not to have unknowns operating within the city. Would you be able to tell us what business you have here? Perhaps we could reach an agreement?” Batman tried to negotiate as politely as he could. He did not want to risk offending the evidently powerful beings.

Princess Spirit’s smile sharpened as she thrummed her finger against her knife. She spoke again with an unnervingly pleasant tone.

“It appears you do not understand. We are not asking for your permission.” Her grip around his hand tightened. “ We are informing you.” She finished releasing his hand.

Batman withdrew his aching hand and regarded her with the beginnings of a protest on his lips. She didn’t allow him to speak.

“ This is out of your jurisdiction Batman. This is a matter of the Realms and the Afterlife. Whatever worldly rules or morals you wish to impose on those who enter this city do not apply to us. We will do our best to work within them, so as to appease you and to attempt to maintain a friendly relationship but in the macrocosm of the multiverse and afterlives you have no official power over us. Additionally, we have direct permission to operate here however we see fit from the City Spirit herself, Lady Gotham.”

Batman’s shadow seemed to fluctuated. His and his team's shadows moved from beneath them, closer to the Princess. Lady Gotham, though not manifesting, was making her presence and approval known. Batman could not deny what he was seeing. His team shifted uncomfortably behind him. He appealed to her once more.

“ I see that we can’t stop you. We don’t want to get in your way either. Could you at least tell us why you are here?”

She smiled as if telling a joke, “All will be revealed in time”

Suddenly, there was a loud noise that sounded like tearing fabric. The green clouds mixed with purples and blues and began to churn faster. The cyclone emitted a flashes of bright light. In unison all three of the King’s Guard lifted up from the roof and took place underneath the eye of the wind storm.

Spirit holds her spear aloft. With one swift, commanding move she slams the butt of her spear down, creating a platform out of solidified air.

Wraith bellows out smoke and ash onto the platform to discolor it. With ferocious and precise movements his claws to carve in a sigil, leaving a soft orange glow against the black and gray.

Samhain sheathes his sword and pulls his horn from his waist. He wills his dark stead to rear up as he blows the horn, letting out one loud prolonged cry.

The three warriors stand at attention and Princess Spirit calls the winds to project her voice once more.

“ Now introducing the Ruler of the Infinite Realms, High King of the In-Between, The Great One, The Benevolent King, The Peace Maker, The Guardian of Souls, The One with the Cloak of Stars and the Crown of Frozen Light, The Perfect Balance, Ancient of Space and Reality, The Infinite King: Phantom!”

With a flash of white light a figure appear in the center of the platform. Simultaneously, the three knights bow in reverence.

The King has arrived.

As the Heroes of Gotham regain clear vision they are met with a striking figure.

There stood a toned young man appearing both boyishly young, yet wisened and weathered. He had side swept hair the creeped to the bottom of his neck. His skin was pale with an icy blue tint. He opened his eyes to reveal they shone an electric green. Upon his head rest a crown made of a crystalline material, reminiscent of an aurora. He wore a navy blue cloak that had a rich purple hood lined with stark white fur. The underside displayed a shifting galaxy pattern. His under suit was the same midnight black as Samhain’s. He donned golden arm bands and a gold chest plate in style quite similar to Spirit’s. His hand were covered in snow white gauntlets that matched Wraith’s vambraces.

They all stood in awe, beholden to the almost divine figure.

The king sent them a gentle smile. It was warm and comforting yet sent a chill down their shoulders.

King Phantom began to fly down toward the center of the city, his entourage fell into step behind him. He hovered several hundred feet over Wayne tower and looked down at the city. He then spoke in a booming voice, his tone kind but commanding.

“ I humbly greet the Lady Gotham, her champions, and her citizens,” the shadows curled toward him appreciatively. “ I am grateful for your cooperation in our effort to rectify a great injustice. As High King of the Infinite Realms it is one of my duties to preside over the afterlife. To bring guidance, peace, and justice to the souls under my jurisdiction. Recently, it has been brought to my attention that there is a soul among you who has not only dodged death, but caused great strife to a vast number of souls who call for justice.”

On the roof of Wayne Enterprises Jason and Damian both stiffen, but remain firm in their gaze toward the king. The king looks out at the city and sparing them the quickest of glances. He continues onward.

“ The man formerly know as Jack Napier, now called The Joker. He has avoided death on many an occasion but his life should have ended moment he fell into a vat of chemicals. Since then he has sent hundreds more to the afterlife. He has long yet to pay his dues. That is why on the behalf of justice, restoring balance, and of my subjects I officially condemn Jack Napier.”

“Jack Napier, you have been allowed 24 hours turn yourself into our custody in order to be put on trial for your crimes in the Infinite Realms. Should you fail to turn youself in, we shall take that as an admission of guilt and acceptance to be punished for your actions. After the 24 hours are up, Samhain shall use his horn to summon The Hunt and we shall track you down.”

His gaze passed specifically over Red Hood, one of the Oracle’s drones, Nightwing, Signal, Red Robin, and Batman before he spoke his next words.

“All those souls who have been wronged by the Joker, both living and deceased, who wish to have a hand in their justice have been invited to join The Hunt if they so choose.”

The king lifted his hand, calling the swirling green clouds to his gather in his palm. The clouds swiftly rearranged themselves into a smokey timer hanging in the sky.

An impish smirk graced King Phantom’s face as he let out a malicious laugh and gave his final decree.

“ Your time begins now!”

#dc x dp #long post #danny fenton #danny phantom #ghost king danny #dani phantom #dan phantom #fright knight #jason todd #the joker #totally legal manhunt for the joker proclaimed by the king of the afterlife #The joker must pay his dues #Bruce fucking hates the joker he’s not gonna try to stop this #Strega’s dc x dp prompt

[cannibalizedyke]

Cool As Hell

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Word Count:

Warnings: Language

Summary: The Hellfire club finds out about Eddie's girlfriend.

General Taglist: @gg-is-a-loser @yesshewrites1

Moots: @iheardarumorthings @thewritingbabe @scandalous-chaos @ddejavvu @winterwisteria @abibliophobiaa @roxetteblack @plumes-de-nuit @sapphireplums

"Is she wearing a Hellfire shirt?" The members of the Hellfire club whispered among themselves as you walked into the cafeteria.

"I've never seen her come to a campaign before," said Mike. "Maybe she's new?"

Eddie walked in a moment after you, grinning. He flung an arm around your shoulder and whispered something in your ear that made you laugh.

"Oh my gosh," Dustin whispered.

Eddie led you over to Hellfire's table and pulled you onto his lap. "Hey guys," he said, running his ringed fingers over your thigh. "This my girlfriend, (Y/N). (Y/N), this is the Hellfire club."

The club members gaped at you.

You waved nervously. "Hi."

"You have a girlfriend!?" Dustin blurted out. Mike hit his shoulder.

Eddie shrugged. "Yeah."

"Holy shit," Dustin breathed.

"Is it really that surprising?" you spoke up.

"I mean…" The boys began to stammer, struggling to explain themselves.

"You're just so… pretty," said Mike, immediately wincing. He scratched his head. "I would've expected Eddie's girlfriend to be more…" He struggled for a way to finish the sentence.

"More of a punk nerd?" you suggested, doe eyes wide.

"Yes!" Mike narrowed his eyes. "No?"

You laughed. "I'm just playing. Don't worry, I'm just as much of a freak as the rest of you." You leaned forward conspiratorially. "I read fantasy novels and play D&D too," you whispered.

Mike and Dustin grinned.

"All right." You slapped Eddie's thigh. "I'll be right back, I need food."

Eddie kissed your cheek and you got up and left. "So, what do you think of her?"

"Your girlfriend's cool as hell, man," Dustin appraised.

Eddie grinned. "I knew y'all would like her."

"So is she part of Hellfire now?" Mike asked.

Eddie shrugged. "If she wants to be."

"But she's wearing a Hellfire shirt."

"Oh, that's my shirt."

Dustin gagged.

"Oh, come on, man." Eddie rolled his eyes. "Grow up."

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson

[munson-blurbs]

Eddie and Ms. Sweetheart's honeymoon 🥹🥹🥹

The way I ran to Google Docs to write this, not just because I love me some fluffy smut, but also because I love you.

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

Summary: Relaxing on the beach, giving your new husband a sexy surprise...what more can you ask for?

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), p in v, breeding kink (of course), Ms. Sweetheart/Reader wears lingerie

WC: 1.1k

A/N: Big thank you and smoochy kisses to @jo-harrington for helping me make this piece body-inclusive, and to @corroded-hellfire for ensuring the breeding kink was on point.

August 1998

“What a day.” Eddie flops onto the king-size bed face first, still in his wet swim trunks. Sand sticks to the bottom of his feet; you swear he’s traipsed in half the beach. “Who knew lounging in the sun could be so exhausting? I don’t know how we’re gonna go back to our normal lives.” He flips over onto his back so his words are no longer muffled. “Like, my body might be back in Hawkins, but my mind will be in Myrtle Beach.”

You laugh, arms crossed over your chest and pressed against the thin fabric of your cover-up. “Can you drag yourself into the shower and wash off?” When he doesn’t move, you let your fingertips dance along the sole of his foot. He giggles maniacally and reflexively, drawing inwards. 

“Dammit, okay, okay!” He shakes his head and pushes himself up to an upright position. “The things you do to get me naked…”

“Mhm.” You roll your eyes dismissively as though his suggestion is absurd—even though that’s exactly what you’re trying to do. 

As soon as you hear the squeak of the spigot and the ensuing stream of water, you unzip your suitcase and rifle through until you find what you’re looking for. You feel it before you see it, fingers grasping the lacy fabric triumphantly. 

You shed the flower-printed cover-up, catching a glimpse in the mirror of yourself in your swimsuit. Eddie had picked it out for you—a one-piece that hugged you in all the right places. Truthfully, you could wear this and it would turn him on, but this is your honeymoon, and you want it to be special. 

Peeling off the damp suit, you toss it aside; it lands on the floor with a comical thwack, and you make a mental note to pick it up later. 

The teddy you’d bought weeks ago suddenly looks daunting, purchased during a trip to the mall with Jess. She’d insisted that no honeymoon is complete without some lingerie, and you’d reluctantly given in after she’d assured you multiple times that Eddie would, quote, “lose his goddamn mind.”

Soft black cups perfectly hold your breasts in place, accentuating your decolletage. The sheer mesh covering your torso is embroidered with lace roses, leaving just enough to the imagination. 

All right, you can admit it—you look good. 

You lounge on the small sofa that faces the bathroom, adjusting the bodysuit’s thin straps as you wait for the steadily falling water to cease, punctuated by several rogue drops. Your heart leaps with excitement as you hear the door knob twist and you’re bathed in a plume of steamy air. 

“Surprised you didn’t try to join—holy hell.” Eddie exhales with a grin, taking in your scantily-clad body. A white towel is slung low on his hips, sopping up the water trickling from his curls. “Where did you get this little number, baby?”

Heat creeps into your cheeks as he saunters toward you, one hand finding the small of your back while the other caresses your cheek. He leans in and kisses you hungrily, his burgeoning erection pressing against your bare thigh.

“Got me all worked up just by looking at you, Mrs. Munson,” he murmurs into your lips. It sends a shiver of pleasure down your spine as he deepens his embrace, pulling you as close as he possibly can.

Your fingers dip beneath the towel, tugging it from where it’s tucked along his waist and letting it drop. He’s fully exposed, and it takes all of your willpower to keep up this game of seduction and refrain from kissing down his happy trail.

“Since you’re so tired tonight, baby,” you coo, nipping at his earlobe as you speak, “I figured I could take care of you.” Your palms journey the expanse of his chest, draping them over his shoulders and guiding him onto the bed. The fresh bed sheets are crisp underneath your knees as you straddle him, grinding your core against his. “‘S that okay?”

Eddie nods, letting out an incredulous breath. “Course, yeah, whatever you want…” He sits up slightly, mouth drawn to your breasts as though pulled by a magnet. 

“I want you,” you tell him, sucking bruises into his neck that you hope will last until you return home. “I want you inside me, filling me up, making me feel so, so good…”

The fabric between your thighs is already soaked with proof of your desire, and you shift it over so you can sink down onto his hardened length. You take him inch by inch, the tip breaching your hole and stretching you in its delicious, familiar way.

“Oh, my god,” you whimper, bringing his hands to the flesh of your ass and giving your movements more stability. Each rock of your hips draws a moan from your husband’s plush lips, his tongue darting out to wet them every so often. “Eddie, oh, my god!”

His grip on your ass tightens as you clench around him and continue to bounce. “‘M close,” he grunts, breath hitching as he begins slamming up into you to chase his release. “Fuck, baby, you’re so fuckin’ tight…can’t hold back any more…” He speaks through gritted teeth, purely animalistic in nature. 

Your middle finger finds your clit, rubbing small circles into it. The small movements drive both you and Eddie absolutely wild. 

“Thassit…touch yourself for me,” he groans, barely audible above the lewd sounds of skin-on-skin and the way you’re drenching him right now. “You look so goddamn perfect like this, filled to the brim with my cock.”

“Wanna be filled with your cum, too,” you whine, feeling the beginnings of your own orgasm. “Wanna take all your cum, Eddie, like a good little wife.”

Eddie’s eyes practically roll back in his head. “My good little wife, all barefoot and pregnant…fuckfuckfuck…takeittakeittakeit.” With a final few thrusts, he spills into you with everything he has. His grasp loosens as he softly kisses your arms, desperate to remain close to you in any way possible. 

“So,” you start with a giggle, gently moving off of him so you can cuddle into his perspiration-slick chest, “looks like you got a second wind.”

He tilts your chin up, his eyes studying your face like a precious gemstone. “Give me ten minutes and I’ll get a third, okay, Sweetheart?” He winks, thumb gliding up and down your jawline. “Keep that sexy outfit on f’me, though. I’m not done with either of you.”

--

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui

[probablyasocialecologist]

If Plan Dalet was a settler-colonial script for the destruction of Palestine from 1948 onwards, it was preceded by – and had its conditions of existence in – the imperialist vision of an entity imposed on the land of Palestine for the protection of the interests of the core: access to raw materials and markets, prevention of subversive projects, buffer zones and counterweights against more distant rivals. In 1840, it was cotton, Muhammed Ali and Tsarist Russia. 127 years later, when the occupation was completed, it was petroleum, third world liberation and the Soviet Union. We are dealing here with an exceedingly deep structure, not an event or two; a ratcheting up and escalation across two centuries, a worsening and intensification of patterns first developed in the early nineteenth – also, not coincidentally, the temporal form of global warming itself. I have pointed very quickly and superficially to three further pivotal moments of articulation. In 1917 and after, the British occupation of Palestine was part of the transformation of the Middle East into a foundation for fossil capital, by dint of its oil resources. In 1947 and after, Western support for the new Zionist state was informed by the consummation of that order; in 1967 and after, by its defence. The steps along the way to the destruction of Palestine were simultaneously steps along the way to that of the Earth.

[...]

The destruction of Gaza is executed by tanks and fighter jets pouring out their projectiles over the land: the Merkavas and the F-16s sending their hellfire over the Palestinians, the rockets and bombs that turn everything into rubble – but only after the explosive force of fossil fuel combustion has put them on the right trajectory. All these military vehicles run on petroleum. So do the supply flights from the US, the Boeings that ferry the missiles over the permanent airbridge. An early, provisional, conservative analysis found that emissions caused during the first 60 days of the war equalled annual emissions of between 20 and 33 low-emitting countries: a sudden spike, a plume of CO2 rising over the debris of Gaza. If I repeat the point here, it is because the cycle is self-repeating, only growing in scale and size: Western forces pulverise the living quarters of Palestine by mobilising the boundless capacity for destruction only fossil fuels can give.

#palestine #israel #zionism #british empire #fossil fuels #a long essay but a good 'un

[indigovigilance]

Miraculous Energy

Guys, I think I found a hole in the plot. We should probably walk through it together and see what we find.

inspo citation by @ritz-writes

Originally this post had to do with holding hands.

The 25 Lazari Plume

In S2E1 they hold hand through the conduit of Gabriel and perform "the tiniest, most insubstantial, fractional half a miracle we have ever performed. No traces of anything miraculous left behind. No- no- no alarm bells ringing in Heaven" miracle.

Even though they were trying to be surreptitious, they failed drastically. Common fanon is that their combined angelic and demonic energy, or the power of love, creates a holistic power greater than the sum of its parts. The result:

A miracle of more energy than anyone knows what do with: per Shax, "a miracle of enormous power... the kind of miracle only the mightiest of Archangels could've performed."

But.

This isn't the first time they've combined their powers to perform a miracle.

Two quotes from Gail Neiman:

The instance in question:

Theory:

There are at first glance two solutions to this paradox. Either

a) They did create a burst of energy but everyone above and below Earth was so freaked out by them having just survived hellfire and holy water (respectively) that they were like "yeah that tracks and we're not touching it with a 10 foot pole," or

b) They did not create a burst of energy in the body swap, and therefore the plume of power didn't have to do with the boys combining powers but instead has something to do with either (b1) Gabriel or (b2) the nature of the miracle being performed.

I don't like (a) because Saraqael is so dismissive of the idea that Aziraphale could have performed such a miracle. It creates a narrative inconsistency.

We are left with (b), and since purple is the color of Gabriel's divinity this would be narratively consistent. (b2) doesn't track because the nature of the miracle being performed is fundamentally the same: in S1E6 they were (what in other fantasy fiction is frequently called) glamouring to hide their identities, and they did the exact same thing to Gabriel in S2E1, obfuscating his angel identity with a made-up human one.

So, yeah. It perhaps doesn't lean into our preferred conceptualization of the super-powerful duo, but it does fit the evidence.

~~~

It looks like @ineffable-suffering already put forth this theory, I just missed it. You can read it here: What if it wasn't Aziraphale and Crowley who performed the 25 Lazarii miracle?

~~~

special shout-out to @flameraven for the scripts, you make my life much easier now that I can copy-paste quotes instead of transcribing.

If you liked this, you can find my meta index here.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #ineffable husbands #25 lazari #they like holding hands #crowley #aziraphale

[shoutoutout]

Believer, Took Me Over Like a Fever - (Charlie/Vaggie)

She dreamt in red each night that first year. They warned of gnawing mouths and sharpened teeth, of noxious plumes and toxic air, of ceaseless hellfire and depravity—Vaggie knew of the darkness that ran through every sinner’s rancid soul. But she knew nothing of red.

Vaggie & Charlie, pre-series.

#hazbin hotel #chaggie #charlie morningstar #vaggie #ao3 #fanfic #hazbin hotel fanfic #fic

[sweetyyhippyy]

Excuses. Eddie Muson x Fem! Reader *ANGST*

*NOT MY GIF*

Summary: Eddie doesn’t show up on a date with his girlfriend. She proceeds to go off on him. 

Word Count: 1.7k

TW: Used the word “fuck” a lot. Mention of smoking/weed. Arguing. Eddie being sad. Happy ending. 

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

10:24pm.

Over 2 hours late for dinner that he promised he would be on time for.

They hadn’t had a date night in over a month because one of them was busy with something, whether it was work, Eddie’s band, Hellfire club meetings, or Eddie meeting with customers.

She chewed the inside of her cheek in anger, her fingers tapping at the table in annoyance and anger as she stared at the empty chair across from her.

“Ma’am?” The young waitress sheepishly comes back to the lonely table of one, with an apologetic look on her face. “I know you said you were waiting for someone else and then you would order, but I’m actually closing out for the night and was wondering if you still wanted to order?”

She could tell the poor girl felt horrible about asking her question. “Actually, no. I‘m going to head out actually. Here’s some cash to cover the drinks and because I wasted your time. I’m sorry.” She sighs, handing over some money to the girl and walking out of the restaurant.

With each step she took, the clacking of her heels on the asphalt to her car only made her more angry. Eddie had never made her this angry but here she was, sitting in her car with red hot ears and blood.

He better have a damn good reason as to why he wasn’t at dinner.

***

She pulled up to their trailer, seeing that Eddie’s van was parked outside in its usual spot.

“You fuck.” She spits to herself, grabbing her purse and throwing the driver's side door open, getting out quickly, shutting it with all her strength.

She storms up the few steps to the door, unlocking the door and ripping it open.

The front room was filled with a slight haze of smoke, the strong smell of weed hitting her instantly.

She spots her boyfriend sitting on the couch with a half smoked joint between his lips, his head snapping up to look at her.

“Hey! I was wondering where you’ve been, babe.” Eddie smiles, taking the joint out of his mouth and exhaling a plume of smoke. “You look goddamn beautiful. Where were you?” He asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Where was I? You really don’t know where I was, Eddie?” She narrows her eyes at him, slamming the front door shut.

Eddie looked at her confused, putting the joint out in the ashtray. “What is going on?”

She laughs in anger, tossing her purse onto the couch. “I was at Joyride fucking waiting for you to show up for a date that you promised, fucking promised me, you would be here for!” She shouts, throwing her arms around as she yells.

“Wait, Joyride?” He mutters, still lost.

“Are you kidding me, Eddie? One date was all I asked for! We haven’t had time for each other in over a month! You promised me this morning before you left for work that you would meet me at the restaurant at 8!”

Eddie sighs heavily, rubbing his chin. “Shit, I’m sorry baby.”

Fucking sorry.

“I am so sick to fucking death of your ‘sorry’ bull shit, Eddie!” Her voice strains toward the end of the sentence. “It’s always ‘oh, baby, I’m sorry I forgot’, ‘oh, baby, I’m sorry, something came up,’, ‘oh, baby, I’m sorry I haven’t seen you in 2 days because I don’t fucking come home until you’re already asleep’. I’m fucking sick of it!”

“Baby, calm down, please. It’s just that…” He was scrambling at this point, slightly terrified because he had never seen his girl this mad, and especially mad at him.

“It’s just what?” She interrupts him, walking toward him on the couch. “What’s the excuse this time, Eddie? Band rehearsal? Or playing that stupid fucking game with your little high school friends? Or were you selling drugs to cheerleaders again? Which one is it?”

Eddie stayed silent, looking down at his hands in shame.

“So you have no excuse? Not even going to try lying?” She was inches away from where he’s sitting, still yelling at him.

“Anything I say is just going to make you even more mad.” He mutters, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Don’t you think I have a reason to be mad? I waited for you for almost 2 hours at the restaurant! The poor waitress knew that I got stood up, but what she didn’t know was that it was my own fucking boyfriend that did it.” She spits, turning to walk away toward their bedroom.

“Babe, please.” He catches her arm, standing up finally.

“Please what?” She pulls her arm back, looking up at him. “Tell me what was so important that you forgot about the promise you made to be there? It’s not like I asked for much, Eddie. All I wanted was one night with you because I miss you.”

He felt like the biggest asshole in the world. That last sentence killed him. “I’m sorry.”

“Fuck your sorry.” She spits, walking away down the narrow hallway of the trailer, slamming their bedroom door shut behind her.  

***

Eddie had been sitting in front of their bedroom door for hours, his back and head resting against the door, picking at the rips in his jeans.

He knew that he was slacking as a boyfriend. They barely spent any time together lately. He was working a lot of hours at the garage he worked at, plus he still wanted to make time for his band and for Hellfire. She was really put on the back burner in his life and he was so blind to it.

He really didn’t know if it was smart for him to open the door and talk it through with her. She was definitely still going to be mad at him, and rightfully so.

There was a lump in his throat the size of a grapefruit, tears welling in eyes every so often that he had to blink back.

Part of him was terrified his worst fear was going to come true and that she was going to leave him. Ever since day one, the little voice in the back of his mind would taunt him by saying “she’s going to leave and never come back”. He did anything and everything to keep her happy that way she didn’t leave and never come back.

What if this was the thing that made her see he truly was a loser that didn’t deserve her?

His eyes stung with tears at the thought of him waking up in the morning to her with her bags packed saying she was leaving.

***

There was a few reasons why she couldn’t sleep; she was still upset with Eddie, the bed was empty, and it was way too quiet. Usually Eddie’s snoring lulled her to sleep.

Sunlight started to seep in through the makeshift curtains in their room, birds chirping from outside.

She sighs before throwing the sheets off of her as she gets out of bed, grabbing a pair of shorts from the clean laundry basket in the corner of the room and sliding them on.

The rest of the trailer was quiet, she wasn’t even sure if Eddie was home anymore. She walks toward the door, opening it a crack just to see if Eddie was walking around somewhere. She sees a shadow on the floor by the door, not quite making it out yet.

She opens the door a little more to see Eddie laying on his side on the floor asleep. Her heart hurt seeing him curled up on the floor fast asleep. She kneels onto the floor next to him, shaking his shoulder lightly.

“Eddie, wake up.” She says in the same soft voice she used every other morning to wake him up.

His body shifts slightly, still asleep through her trying to wake him up.

“Eddie, hey come lay in bed. Wake up.” She brushes some of his curls out of his face.

Eddie finally jolts awake, his head looking atone at the different scenery than what he was used to. Finally he looks up at her, his face instantly reading sad. “Hey.” He sits up and slides to lean his back up against the wall.

She joins him on the floor, sitting up against the wall on the opposite side, their legs touching. “Can we talk about last night?”

Eddie doesn’t look up at her, choosing to look at his palm instead. “Do you want to?”

“Yes. I feel horrible that I went off on you the way I did. I hated yelling at you.”

He finally looks over at her, noticing her eyes were puffy from crying. “I get it though. I fucked up really bad. I’ve sucked as a boyfriend lately, not making time for you. I didn’t pay enough attention to see it though.” He sighs heavily and shaky. “I get it if you want to leave.”

“Leave? Eddie I’m not going to leave after one fight. Especially if it’s something that we can talk through.” The tone in her voice sounded so hurt that he even brought up her leaving. “You thought I was going to leave you?”

Eddie shrugs and nods his head. “Yeah kinda… I’ve had this fear of you leaving me since we first got together. You are way too good for me, sometimes I can’t believe that you’re still with me because you really could have your pick of anyone in the world, and you chose me.” Eddie sniffles, not wanting to cry in front of her.

“I’m with you because I love you. It’s going to take something a lot worse for me to just up and leave you, Eddie. The fact that you’re willing to talk through our problem and work on it and change is all I want. I was so angry with you last night, I didn’t give you a fair chance to explain. All I did was yell at you and I didn’t want to accept your apology even though I knew you meant it. I’m sorry I was so horrible to you, Eddie.”

“I promise I’m not going to do this again. Any and every date night I’ll be there, I promise.”

She moves to sit next to him, resting her head on his shoulder and wrapping her arms around his. “It’s still early, can you come back to bed with me? I missed you snoring in my ear all night.”

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson angst #Eddie Munson fic #Eddie Munson headcanon #Eddie Munson x fem! Reader #Eddie Munson x fem reader

[morningsofgold]

blue light dreams Velvette-centric with background staticmoth Rating: M Wordcount: 4,524 READ ON A03

Weekly status meetings between the Vees were volatile by nature. Sometimes they were mind-numbingly boring, with Vox going off on a tirade about his newest reality torture show or whatever the hell the radio demon had been up to, or with Valentino singing his own praises and showing off clips from the editing bay of his new favorite star debasing themselves for the sake of money and views.

Sometimes, meetings were considerably more entertaining, like when they brought in underperformers to beg for their lives while the Vees downed drinks from Vox’s private stash of booze. But most often, the trio bickered like children and argued over the budget and took potshots at each other, until they inevitably zoned out and started gossiping about the other overlords or scrolling on their phones.

But this week, Velvette was determined to keep the boys on track. This week, she knew what she wanted, and she intended to get it.

She arrived to the boardroom right on time, and found Vox leaning over a seated Valentino with his hand curled around Valentino’s shoulder. The two men were snickering around something between themselves, red smoke pluming in a heart from Valentino’s ever-lit cigarette. So they were “on” again this week. Fine by her; sometimes it was actually easier when Vox and Val could entertain themselves with each other instead of constantly going for each other’s throats. It usually meant that if she could convince one of them to do something, the other would follow.

“Velvette,” Vox said in that brassy, used-car salesman voice. “You’ve got hellfire in your eyes. Spend your morning dismembering interns or something?”

Velvette spread her hands on the gleaming wooden conference room table, pushing up on her tiptoes as though a few extra inches of height would convey her seriousness.

“Can we cut the chit-chat this time?” She asked, using her most professional voice. She would switch to shouting if she needed to, but it was better to go in with the velvet glove before breaking out the iron first. “I”m on a tight schedule and I’ve got a favor to ask you, Vox.”

“What else is new?” Valentino muttered with a smirk. Oh, he was in fine form today. Sometimes Valentino was tolerable, occasionally even fun to be around, but he was also spectacular at getting under Velvette’s skin when he felt like being a little shit. Which was often. “Little Miss Independent needs help cleaning up her own mess.”

Velvette tipped her chin up and spoke clearly, ignoring the anger bubbling under her skin.

“I need to run updates on Voxtek’s social media algorithm. It’s out of date, and it’s killing our engagement.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the algorithm,” Vox said, steepling his fingers as he sank down in his seat at the head of the table. An LED grin sparked to life on his face, and it could have fooled someone stupider, but Velvette knew when she was being bullshitted, and she knew when Vox was trying to placate her. “Everyone in Pentagram City is plugged into your platform, sweetheart.”

Velvette slammed her phone down onto the table, hard enough to make Valentino roll his eyes but not hard enough to crack the screen. Velvette, who often fell asleep with her phone in her hand and knew from experience exactly how much pressure it took to fracture one of Vox’s shoddily manufactured screens, tried to reign in her temper where her phone was concerned. The interns she reduced to tears were replaceable and so were the runway fashions she occasionally shredded if they fell below her expectations, but her phone was special. Not only did it host all her private dossiers on the other otherlords and plenty of photographic blackmail, it also held all her saved memes and most glamorous selfies.

“Don’t try to sweet-talk me. Do you know what the bounce rate and time-on-site metrics are looking like for the news outlets you own?” Velvette demanded, scrunching up her nose in disgust. “We’re not even close to meeting our KPIs! We’re blowing budget on Val’s porn studio but it’s sure as shit not reflected in ROI. I lost almost 2,000 followers from my personal account last month.”

Val was too busy fiddling with the olive in his martini to look up at Velvette, but not too busy to get in a jibe.

“The only word in that rant I understood was “followers”. It sounds like you’re pissed people are getting tired of looking at your face.” He idly flicked one of the bells hanging from the Fizzaroli bot loitering at this side. “Not our problem.”

Velvette wanted to tear her hair out, but she had just slicked it back into a perfect high pony, and he wasn’t about to sacrifice perfection for the sake of Valentino of all people. She had known him a long time, and if she had any family, he would probably be the closest thing to it, but sometimes he was so stupid.

“How have you gotten this far without even knowing what ROI means?” She demanded.

“I’m an artist,” Val shot back, pressing long fingers over his heart in faux-offense. He had always been a bad actor, even back when he was turning amateur tricks on camcorder for pocket money. “Not a marketer. That’s your job, Vel, and if it’s all getting to be too much for your delicate constitution, why don’t you just lay down and die and spare us the bitching?”

“An artist?” Velvette barked out a laugh, leaning towards Val across the table. She lowered her voice to its most cutting pitch. “You’re just a tacky pimp with a bloated ego, you ignorant, washed-up–”

“Say washed-up again,” Valentino said, eyes narrowing in ruby shards. He drew himself up to his full height and blew his noxious smoke into Velvette’s face. It smelled like strawberry lipgloss and cheap, sweaty latex and desperation. “Go ahead. Say it.”

“I think everyone’s getting a little heated,” Vox said, taking a long gulp from his ever-full coffee mug. “Let’s just sit down and talk this through.”

“If you would just let me patch the algorithm we wouldn’t have to fight about inane shit,” Velvette said, strapping her arms across her chest. She usually got her way by bulldozing everyone who tried to stop her, bloodshed and verbal evisceration included, but sometimes, pouting was more effective. Vox, as much as he liked to pretend that he indulged her antics only as a means to his own ends, was fond of her in his own strange way. He could sometimes be manipulated under the right conditions. Valentino could too, but he was currently staring daggers at her with smoke curling out of his nostrils, so she tried her hand with Vox instead. “Come on. I’ll be in and out in two shakes of an imp’s tail.”

“I somehow doubt that,” Vox said. “Last time I let you root around in the code the whole city went dark for four hours.”

“But that was an accident,” Velvette said, deepening her pout. “It won’t happen again! Just think of the kind of fuck-off money you could make if the alogo worked better! Voxtek ads and product placements at the top of everyone’s feeds, from here to Cannibal Town. You’d double your profit!”

“I’ll admit I don’t hate the sound of that,” Vox said, narrowing his eyes. “You promise you won’t get carried away if I give you access to the mainframe?”

“I promise,” Velvette said, batting her eyelashes for good measure.

Valentino scoffed from across the table, but Velvette ignored him. This was her area of expertise, and the best thing Valentino could do in this situation was shut up. Not that shutting up was one of his areas of expertise.

Vox held up two fingers, and a white-hot spark jumped from one to the other.

“Two hours, Velvette. That’s all I’m giving you. I’ll take socials down for two hours, and if you cant make the updates in that time, it's your head on the platter, got it? I can’t afford to lose any more revenue.”

“Thank you, thank you!” Velvette exclaimed, leaning in to press a black lipsticked kiss to Vox’s screen. He grimaced and wiped the smudge off with a nearby napkin, but he didn’t push Velvette away. Even though her affection swung as wildly as her mood and was usually just there to grease the wheels in getting her what she wanted, Velvette knew that Vox privately appreciated being appreciated. He also no doubt appreciated Valentino’s more…enthusiastic overtures of affection, but Vox and Velvette had never had that sort of relationship. Then again, they didn’t need to be fucking to understand each other perfectly, or to begrudgingly enjoy each other’s company.

“And I’m coming with you,” Vox said.

“I don’t need a chaperone, old man,” Velvette replied, bristling.

“First of all I’m not that old, and secondly, you absolutely do. What if you crash a site or send out some faulty broadcast that requires mass hypnosis to mop up? I’m not leaving you unsupervised.”

“Can I come too?” Valentino asked, blinking those big moth eyes in a way that roughly approximated innocence. “I want to watch Velvette flush her career down the toilet.”

“You can come if you reign in the attitude,” Vox said. “I don’t want any fighting in my control room.”

“Ugh,” Velvette said, scowling. “If you’re going to insist–”

“I am!” Vox sing-songed.

“Then fine. But I don’t want you two breathing down my neck and throwing off my rhythm either. Social media manipulation is a complicated process.”

“Of course, chiquita,” Valentino said in his stickiest sweet voice. “We would never meddle.” HIs smile sharpened, all teeth and malice. “Just don’t choke.”

Velvette wasted no time in goading Vox into making good on his promise, although he insisted she only make updates in the wee hours in the morning when most of the denizens of hell would be either asleep or so plastered and coked out at one of Pentagram City’s many bars that they probably wouldn’t notice a system outage.

So, that night at 3am, Velvette found herself waiting at the control room door for Vox to unlock it and let her in. He was late, as usual, probably caught up in putting out some fire, but Valentino arrived surprisingly on time. There was a sleepy squint behind his huge heart-shaped glasses. Despite being a night creature by nature and by trade, Valentino needed his beauty sleep, and he didn’t get out of bed for anything he didn’t think was going to either entertain him or make him money.

“Come to rain on my parade, pissant?” Velvette said, not bothering to look up from the editorial lingerie shoot she was color-correcting on her phone. Call her a micromanager, but there were some things she didn’t trust her employees to do right.

“I’m too tired to fight,” Valentino said with a yawn, bending from his considerable height so he could rest his chin on Velvette’s shoulder and spy on what she was doing. “Hey, is this that collaboration you did with that succubus influencer who hosts the pop-up orgies? Not bad, not bad…You don’t see many racks like that anymore. She interested in doing a little freelance camming on the side?”

“Not on your life,” Velvette muttered. She wanted to be meaner to him, but she was feeling the late hour as well, and she was more focused on the task at hand than verbally sparring with Valentino. “At least not until her modeling contract is up with me.”

“Suit yourself,” Valentino said, winding a claw through one of Velvette’s curls. “But there’s no harm in slipping her my number, right?”

“Okay you two,” Vox said, appearing around the corner. He looked slightly disheveled from the day, and was wearing his shirt sleeves bunched up around his elbows. Velvette doubted he had been to bed at all that night. “Let’s get this over with. Do you two remember the rules?”

“Yes, Vox,” Valentino and Velvette sighed in longsuffering unison.

“What are the rules?” Vox said, politely but with a menacing flash in his eyes.

“Don’t touch any screens,” Valentino said.

“And don’t push any buttons without your permission,” Velvette put in.

“And don’t broadcast your secret stash of Alastor footage to the whole city,” Valentino sniggered.

“Very funny,” Vox said flatly, his mouth glitching into a perturbed line. “Watch that mouth, Valentino.”

“But you usually love what I do with my mouth,” Valentino said with a wide grin.

“You two are disgusting,” Velvette said. “Just open the door, Vox.”

Vox produced a glowing access card from his breast pocket and slid it into the port on the door. A moment later, the light above their heads flashed green and the heavy metal door slid open with a pneumatic hiss. Inside the control room, wall to wall screens filled the cramped space with an eerie blue glow. The control room hadn’t been designed with multiple people in mind, and there was only one chair in front of the custom display. This was where Vox sat when he spied on the citizens of Pentagram City, or when he overrode the many channels he controlled for an emergency broadcast. It was also where Velvette, with Vox’s express permission, patched up Voxtek’s bloated social media platform when it inevitably crashed, or made her algorithmic updates. Velvette would rather spend her time setting trends and controlling narratives, but sometimes, getting her hands dirty in the digital realm was necessary.

“Tell me again why you’re so obsessed with this?” Vox asked sidelong to Velvette, ushering her into the room. Valentino followed, ducking to avoid hitting his head on the low doorway.

“You just focus on working your magic and I’ll work mine,” Velvette said. She was smiling at him to put him at ease, but privately, the nerves were starting to set in. Calibrating the algorithm wasn’t easy on a good day, when she had unlimited time and wasn’t dealing with an audience, but she wasn’t about to let Vox and Val see her sweat. She was the social media overlord, after all. She hadn’t gotten this far by cracking under pressure.

“Say no more,” Vox said, and snapped his fingers. The largest screen in the room flashed from a screensaver to a secure login page, and Velvette tapped in her password with her manicured nails. Then she took a seat, breathed in deep through her nose, and pulled up the backend of the social media site where she spent most of her work (and leisure) hours.

“Hey,” Valentino said, lighting a new cigarette and squinting at the screen. Even with his glasses on, Velvette doubted he could make out the tiny script. “Think you can bump up the trailer for my newest fetish flick in the algo when you have a second? It keeps getting buried in chatter about the last extermination, and I spent way too much money on all that custom leather gear to have it flop.”

“While you’re at it, Velvette,” Vox put in, “Could you suppress all keywords related to that stupid hotel? I’m tired of hearing about it.”

“No free favors,” Velvette said, tapping away at the keys. She tried to block Val and Vox out, focusing instead on manipulating the complex series of digital commandments that made up the algorithm. She had constructed it herself, with input from the other Vees of course, and it had been designed to speak only in her language.

The algorithm was a complex beast, but it served Velvette’s ultimate end of making sure Voxtek media and products were always trending, that the gossip magazines were always buzzing about Valentino’s favorite show ponies, and, most importantly, that the messaging Velvette devised was absolutely inescapable.

There was no such thing as gospel truth in Hell, but if there was, it might have been written in Velvette’s tidy cursive. From breaking scandals to PR relationships and coverage of tragedies in the other rings, Velvette controlled it all.

Velvette grew increasingly irritated as the new commands she wrote for the website failed to graft onto the existing algorithm. It was part computer program, part living thing, and sometimes, it fought back. The large screen flickered dangerously as she tried to force the commands though, but Velvette kept pushing. She wouldn’t be bested. Not this time.

“Take a breath, pumpkin,” Vox said in a voice he no doubt thought was soothing. “You’ve still got an hour and a half. No need to rush.”

“Could you get off my dick, please?” Velvette responded.

“Whoa!” Valentino said. “No need to get testy. All that frowning is going to give you wrinkles.”

“It’s not listening to me,” Velvette said through grit teeth. “I don’t understand. It should listen to me.”

Vox and Val exchanged a look over Velvette’s shoulder, one they probably hoped she wouldn’t catch. It was a look of genuine concern.

“What’s eating you, Velvette?” Valentino asked.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said, pulling up yet another window. It promptly crashed. Velvette groaned and smacked the display.

“Easy on the merchandise,” Vox said in warning, but then his voice softened slightly. “Seriously, what’s up with you?”

Velvette said nothing, just tried to force another command through again. And again. And again. Each time, she was met with an error message. When she tried and failed a fourth time, the tears started to sting at her eyes. She pushed away from the sea of screens in Vox’s swivel chair and smacked the escape key, shutting down the whole process and rerouting herself back to the password screen.

“No one is listening to me anymore,” she said, trying to keep the grief and fury out of her voice. She hated crying in front of anyone, especially Vox and Valentino, but they were perhaps the only two people in hell who could witness such a thing and live to tell the tale. Her fingers turned to claws at her side. “No matter what I do. My influence is slipping.”

“Babydoll!” Valentino exclaimed, and the worst part was, he sounded truly appalled to see her so upset. His hands came to rest on her shoulders, rubbing soothing circles into her clavicles. “That’s not true. Everybody loves you. Even better, everybody fears you. You’re the head bitch in charge!”

“My engagement is in the gutter,” she sniffed. “Nobody wants to look at me anymore. They’re bored of me, and they’d rather waste their clicks on whatever new shiny piece of ass is out there strutting around, calling themselves a crime boss and livestreaming their kills. Street criminals, Val; I’m losing to street criminals!”

“Velvette,” Vox said, drawing out her name in that syrupy way that had no doubt convinced hundreds of small-time entertainers to sell their souls away for a shot at a primetime TV slot. “It kills me to see you so down on yourself. So you’ve lost a couple thousand followers, so what? I say fuck em.”

“I’m…” Velvette’s lip wobbled dangerously, and she was sure that the waterworks would unleash with whatever she said next. “I’m going out of fashion.”

Valentino and Vox tutted while she furiously wiped tears off her face, and Vox produced a baby blue handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it into her hands. The Vees might have hated each other some days, and the peace between them might be tenuous at best, worn away by infighting and power-grabs, but underneath it all, they looked out for each other. This was not the first time the boys had talked Velvette down from a complete spiral, which usually happened whenever the internet turned on her. Velvette might be tough as nails, and she knew how to hold her own in a fight, but when it came to the quivering adoration of the masses, she was an addict in need of her fix.

“What if I’m getting too old?” She moaned. “I’m still the youngest overlord, but I’m not as young as I used to be. Maybe I should cut my hair, or get a hellhound as a statement pet.”

“Why don’t you show some tits and ass?” Valentino said brightly, doing his best to be helpful. “Even just a bit of sideboob. I can set up a whole boudoir shoot for you; we’ll keep it classy.”

“No, that’s a last-ditch effort spotlight grab,” Velvette said. “If I bust that out, what have I got left? What’s the point of me if I can’t hold people’s attention? I might as well just retire to fucking Tahiti.”

“Nobody’s going to Tahiti,” Vox said. “We’d be bored out of our minds without you.”

“Yeah?” Velvette asked, daubing her eyes.

“Yeah,” Valentino responded, still rubbing that pressure point on her clavicle. It was surprisingly steadying, and Velvette found herself grateful for the touch. “And you know why? Because you’re goddamn good at your job. You earned your spot. You’re really gonna let some two-bit drug dealers with shaky phone footage take the crown from you?”

“No,” Velvette said, still feeling rotten on the inside.

“I think we’ve all had a long day,” Vox said, stepping into the role of defacto leader, which they all rotated through as necessary. “How about we sleep on this and try again tomorrow?”

“I can’t,” Velvette said, suddenly feeling exhausted to the bone. “I need to check up on the new content mill and make sure they’re still pumping out those phony articles, and then I should probably run through my to-do list for tomorrow because Satan knows my airhead PA can’t be trusted, and then–”

“Velvette,” Val said, as gentle as she had ever heard him. “Wanna sleep in the nest with me and Vox tonight?”

“Bold of you to assume I’m going to end up in your room tonight,” Vox muttered.

“Bold of you to think anyone believes you when you play hard to get,” Val responded breezily, then turned back to Velvette. “Does that sound nice?”

Velvette finished drying her tears, and looked over her shoulder to the looming computer. She probably had about an hour left on the clock per her arrangement with Vox, and maybe, if she tried harder, she could do something with that time. Or maybe, she would just fail again. Either option sounded exhausting.

“Yes,” She admitted. “That sounds nice.”

Valentino’s quarters took up considerable real estate in the Vee complex, with a large sunken living room for entertaining (read: sex parties) a big kitchen for cooking gourmet (read: mixing drinks and reheating delivery) and a massive master bedroom outfitted with dim rosy lighting and a stunning view of the city outside. Valentino’s bed, which Velvette had – at first disparagingly and then with affection – started referring to as his “nest” was a futon the size of a California King swathed in sheets and throw pillows, with a gauzy web strung above and around it. The resulting effect was cocoon-like, and the gauze curtains provided a sense of seclusion from the outside world.

Velvette hauled her pink pinstriped silk pajamas, her matching silk hair wrap, and her toothbrush down from her room, then primped for bed in Valentino’s bathroom while Vox and Val talked in low, unhurried tones outside.

She could pretend all she wanted to be disgusted by her concern for her, but deep down she was grateful that someone cared, and she did feel a little bit lighter after crying out her frustrations. At the end of the day, there was no one nastier and more self-serving than Vox and Valentino than Velvette herself, and there was a strange sense of camaraderie born from that. Sure, they stabbed each other in the back from time to time and they fought often, but who else could possibly understand Velvette’s black heart better than the two demons she had chosen to throw her lot in with?

Velvette emerged from the bathroom to find Vox and Val already in the bed, thankfully keeping the PDA to a minimum. Valentino gave her one of her showman’s grins and held an arm out to her, and moments later, she was nestled between them, her cheek pillowed on Valentino’s chest, one of Vox’s arms draped lightly over her waist.

Neither of them had ever made a pass at her, mostly because they were too busy breaking up and getting back together every ten seconds, and because they knew that Velvette would bite their fingers off if they ever tried. They were two of the most brutal overlords in hell, but sometimes, though she would never admit it, they were the only people Velvette felt safe with.

“Tomorrow,” Velvette said, her words muffled by Valentino’s chest. “Tomorrow I’ll try again. I’ll come up with something spectacular and awful. A gorgeous train wreck nobody can look away from.”

“And I’m sure you’ll be right back on top,” Vox said with a yawn. His display was already dimming.

Velvette mindlessly unlocked her phone and clicked on the search alert she had set up for her name, scowling at the results.

“No doomscrolling before bed,” Vox said, and tapped her screen with a glowing fingertip. The cellular display winked out.

“Hey!” Velvette snapped.

Valentino just pulled her in closer, burrowing down in the expensive sheets.

“If you’re going to sleep over, I don’t want you keeping me awake with all that blue light. And don’t kick me out of my own bed again.”

“No promises,” Velvette said, giving in to drowsiness despite her best efforts. She often ended up tangled in the blankets like a beached starfish, pushing Vox and Valentino to the edge of the bed, but they always forgave her.

“Do you really think people are still scared of me?” Velvette muttered. It was a thought she was almost afraid to voice aloud.

“So scared of you,” Valentino said, turning the lights down even lower. “And I’m sure whatever that twisted little mind comes up with next will be enough to scare the piss out of anyone stupid enough to think they stand a chance against you.”

“Thanks, Val,” Velvette said, so quiet she wasn’t sure he heard her. She didn’t like thanking people, as a general rule.

“Get some sleep, babydoll,” Valentino said. Velvette was aware his ability to soothe her after a spiral was the result of a long career of lying to and manipulating the people who answered to him, but sometimes, Velvette caught a flash of genuineness underneath the facade. And Vox, for all his bluster and bravado, had been known to shut down entire productions when she reached the end of her rope to make sure Velvette got what she needed. Velvette wasn’t grateful for either of them. The only person she was grateful to on any given day was herself. But she had to admit, in times like these, she didn’t hate having them around.

“Goodnight boys,” she said, letting her eyes slide shut. Vox sidled up beside her and switched on his hypnotic screensaver, the one that always knocked her out faster than two benzos and a glass of white wine.

Moments later, Velvette was asleep.

#what if the worst people you ever met were secretly soft for each other I ask #vox and val are the only ones allowed to see Velvette cry #even social media overlords get burned out sometimes #hazbin hotel #staticmoth #velvette #the vees #hazbin hotel fic #spilled ink

[poppy-metal]

I come out of my Tumblr hiatus to bring u a thought. Pirate! Eddie. Him with the jack Sparrow look. The eyeliner. The clothes. The hat. He fucks u into practical unconscious bc 1. The dick is heavenly and 2. He doesn't know when he's gonna see u again bc 3. Your a royal and not supposed to be sleeping with the enemy. Idk just some food for thought

hey this physically did something to my brain it has stopped working. i also made it soft im sorry.

sneaking on pirate eddies ship to escape your marriage to lord creel (heh) nd his crew finding you and dragging you up to his chambers. you're terrified, you've heard the rumors about how ruthless a pirate munson was, how he and his creq ravaged villages and ships. but you were more scared of your life back home.

being brought to him and forced to kneel at his feet, where he sits in a makeshift throne of sorts, a big ancient looking thing. he's a beautiful and intimidating man. both everything like the legends and nothing like them at all. his white open vested shirt parts at his chest, revealing dark tuffs of his chest hair, and the start of inked lines that you guess are tattoos. his hair is long and wild, eyes soft a doe like, despite the kohl liner rimming them.

he taps his fingers idly on his the arms of his chair as he assesses you, quiet as he takes you in, dark eyes roaming over your tattered wedding gown.

a hint of a smile, "a runaway bride?"

you keep your head held high despite your racing heart. outside of his room his crew is tripping over themselves to see what's going on. "im no one's bride."

one of his eyesbrows lift, and you realize, despite his appearance, how nicely he presents himself. the whole get-up is purposeful. looking as feral as he unhinged as he does, he still gives off an air of superiority and regalness. "well." he says slowly, tap tap tapping his fingers. "i suppose you aren't now." he looks you over again, "did you hide yourself away on my ship hoping I'd keep you safe from your beloved?"

as he speaks he flips open a metal case near him, plucking a cigarette from the tin. he lights it as he waits for your answer.

"i just want safe passage." you hedge, watching how his rings glint as he cups his hands around the cig when it lights, fanning the smoke as he leans back comfortably. "i know i can't get that for free. i sought you out on purpose for that reason."

a plume of smoke blows from his lips. he looks intrigued, motioning towards you broadly, "go onnnn."

at this, some of your maidenhood returns, your eyes turning downcast. you're still wearing your engagement ring. the damn thing was too hard to get off when you'd tried before.

"m'not naive enough to think any pirates will do me favors. especially when im Henry Creels bride." you make yourself look at him, seeing the recognition of that name light his face. many people are scared of that name, but munson just looks curious, flicking ash of his cig as he listens. you lick your dry lips, "which is why....i plan to be of service. I know where my fiancé kept his investments. i know where he's kept hidden jewels."

even eddie munson isn't above greed. he's a pirate after, all. he licks his lips, and he stubs the cigarette out. standing, his heeled black boots thump against the wood of his floor as he comes to you.

you meet his eyes as he looks down at you, hair hanging down around his face is waves. pretty, you think.

when he holds his hand out for you, you take it, letting him pull you to your feet. he grins at you then, mishevous, and dimpled. "i think we have eachothers best interests at heart, little runaway. welcome aboard hellfire."

BRAIN BUZZING!!!!!! letting eddie lead you across sea, getting close with his crew after that, late nights in his chambers playing board games and teaching him how you and your childhood friend prince!steve used to dance (prince!steve whos currently scouring the very sea you're on to find you because hes in love with you. he's hitched a ride with pirate robin, his new best friend) at balls. he's clumsy and always steps on your feet but you think its endearing. finding out the rumors about him are basically just that, rumors. because eddie munson has a heart of gold.

and when you let him take you to bed weeks later, you're both feeling heavy with the fact that your journey is coming to an end. he'll have the treasures you promised him soon, and you'll be far and free from henry.

you let him lay you down and strip off your silk gown, run your hand down that smattering of hair down his chest until you reach that hard cock you've been craving between your legs since you first stowawayed on his ship.

he makes love to you, its your first time, sweet and intimate and hot, trading sacred murmurs you'd never speak out loud in the heat of the day. the bed rocking with his motions as he takes you, cradling you to him, lips pressed to your ear, your temple, your cheek.

"love you, my sweet little runaway. I'll never forget all that you've given me. your light, your laughter, this precious cunt. I'll take it all with me, forever."

#ask #eddie spaghetti #not me dropping lore abt ur ex and best friend steve and robin just to leave it at that #also he comes back for u. duh. he cannot live without u #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader

[penguicorns-are-cool]

There's something to be said about how much more violent heaven execution is compared to hell

Like they both have the same effect. But heaven has no trial just like put you into a plume of hellfire and watch you burn and hell has a trial even if it's not necessarily very fair then you take a bath. And sure the result of that bath is pretty gory, but it's still a bath where you dissolve vs fire where you get burned alive.

then also in the things that heaven and hell do. From the Demons we see they've done stuff like: tempt adam and eve into eating an apple (morality of which is up to interpretation), tempt a priest and politician with pretty girls and a bribe, make the highway the ancient symbol of an old demon, shut down all london mobile phone networks, make some zombies, and take credit for some wars. And setting a nunnery on fire and attacking a bookshop of course

Meanwhile from the angels we have stuff like: kill all of Job's animals and kids and take all his other stuff too then have her wife give birth to 7 more kids as a reward, wipe out all life in a local area, smiting and turning people into salt in sodom and Gomorrah, executing Jesus

and it's mostly cause the angels are just blindly following god without taking any effort to understand what that really means for the humans. As a result, the angels end up doing extremely violent things with huge consequences just cause they're treating mortal humans like immortal angels while the Demons are just a bit more aware of how humans work because the humans end up in hell usually and they aren't blindly following the orders of anyone, except Satan at what they believe is the end of the world. Neither group really cares for humans too much, but at least most demons have interacted with humans at some point or another.

In the end, both heaven and hell want to end the world, but I find it interesting how the things we hear heaven doing are just a tad bit more violent and jarring than a lot of the things we hear of hell doing

#good omens #good omens 2 #heaven and hell #good omens analysis

[darkhighness]

Good Omentober Day 10 - Beelzebub

Prompt by @disaster-dog

Beelzebub remembers the longing they felt. What was meant to be a punishment for the demon Crawly ended up being a journey of self-discovery for them both.

Crawly was struggling to find their way in Hell. The stench never really left and it felt like the place was always crawling with something. They’d slowly begun carving a place out for themselves in hell.

They’d gotten the hang of playing practical jokes on the demons and were slowly getting better at tempting the humans but the most fun was seeing how much chaos they could unleash on Hell without being caught.

Crawly’s most recent exploits included making half of Hell uninhabitable as he created a huge plume of hellfire and ensured it had enough fuel to burn for centuries. The demons were welcome to walk through it but the smoke and the smell was too much for anyone to bear for an extended period of Beelzebub placed a flat ban on the area.

Now, however, Crawly was summoned to face Lord Beelzebub themselves and part of them was nervous. Sure, nothing could be worse than falling but Crawly also wasn’t trying to test that theory.

“Crawly, the little practical joker of the underworld. I’ve been expecting you,” Beelzebub buzzed. They were perched on their throne staring down at the demon.

Crawly shifted somewhat awkwardly and looked up at the superior in front of them. They were hesitant to say a word knowing they already had enough reason to be in hot water.

“We have a unique job for you. We have been looking for a reason to get you out of our hair and the perfect position just opened up.” A ghoulish grin began to spread across the Lord’s features and they moved to lean forward, their hands resting on their knees.

“So like, a promotion?” Crawly quizzed, “I was expecting some kind of punishment but if you think I need a promotion I won’t complain.”

“We need someone on the ground to make sure the angels don’t influence the humans too much. We already have a couple of demons out doing some tempting but after your efforts in Eden, I think you’re more than qualified to be our representative on Earth. Permanently.” Beezlebub muttered darkly, standing up to move closer to Crawly. “That angel in your past reports, Aziraphale, was it? Well, a few other demons have reported seeing him around so we’re worried Heaven might have the same idea. You need to keep an eye on that one.”

Crawly simply nodded, feeling more intimidated with each step Beelzebub moved closer, “I’d be more than happy to. Someone has to keep the humans in check.”

“That doesn’t mean you get free reign, Crawly. I have eyes everywhere. We will watch your every move,” Beelzebub threatened, grabbing Crawly’s collar to limit the distance between them, “You will not fuck this up.”

Crawly got shoved aside and Beelzebub sat back down on their throne. The Dukes of Hell began to file into the room, ready to see Crawly off. All the demons were ready to be rid of them but Beelzebub had a sense that they were too valuable to lose just yet.

Beelzebub wasn’t kidding when they said they had eyes everywhere. For a long time, it felt like there were more demons on earth than humans, all watching to see Crawly’s next temptation or to see what kind of big tragedy they’d cause.

Whenever Crawly was with Aziraphale, they felt chills run down their spine and they swore they could always hear the buzzing of flies. It always made the demon feel paranoid but they should’ve expected Beelzebub to keep their word. And they did. Beelzebub always paid particular attention to Crawly, or Crowley as he’d come to be known. They’d watched as he kept crossing paths with Aziraphale and they'd always have to check to make sure there were no demons fraternizing with Heaven. That wasn’t the only reason, though.

Beelzebub was intoxicated by the thought of having someone that close, especially someone who was meant to be an enemy. Occasionally, they would follow the two around just to hear about whatever they were talking about. Ducks, dinner, driving. They wanted to see Crowley and Aziraphale admit their feelings for each other. If they could be together then it would give Beelzebub some hope for their own life.

Beelzebub never thought they’d find someone like that for them. It’s the kind of thing that was drilled into the Fallen. They were unlovable, worthless and not good for anything but temptations and evil.

--- The first person who had ever told them otherwise was Gabriel in their few unlikely meetings. It was like he saw right through them, saw right through their dark exterior to the heart of someone who just wanted to feel like they belonged again. Despite being on opposite sides, Gabriel could understand how it felt to have thousands of people at your beck and call. Gabriel understood what it was like to have to be in control of everything but felt so out of control.

Beelzebub would constantly arrange opportunities to ‘bump into’ Gabriel after their first meeting. They wanted to feel those butterflies in their stomach again and they wanted to feel like they meant something to someone. The demons in hell only listened to them because they had to. Gabriel listened because he wanted to.

Beelzebub quickly realised that waiting for Aziraphale and Crowley to set an example wasn’t going to work. They were both too stubborn and Aziraphale still hadn’t learnt to listen to Crowley. Beelzebub never had that problem with Gabriel, though. They instantly fell into a whimsical dance and the Lord never wanted it to end.

When they both agreed to leave their slides behind to devote all their time to each other, Beelzebub finally felt whole. The longing they’d felt in Hell was finally filled and they found paradise among the stars.

#good omentober #crowley #aziracrow #good omens season 2 #good omens 2 #good omens #beelzebub #beelzebriel #fallen angel #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction #crawly

[sealrock]

junelezen, day 13: ancient times

dimetor... my darling boy, my precious boy. you were destined for greatness someday, I had no doubt. it was my duty as a mother to protect and guide you, to encourage your mind to pursue anything you could've ever dreamed of doing. that was the will of the star, that was my charge and I performed my obligations without complaint. I could never complain, for you are my greatest treasure. but when our world threatened to tear itself asunder before our very eyes, I couldn't save you... I failed. I couldn't protect you, my son.

the air was overcome with thick plumes of smoke from the hellfire that rained down from the heavens, the ash falling much like snow that you enjoyed playing in. the stench of bodies, bodies upon bodies, threatened to beset my senses as I walked past in my vain search for your father. but I feared that he, too, had turned into one of those... abominations. our fears and sorrows were made manifest into these wretched beings I have never seen before in my lifetime. I soothed you as best I could and shielded you from the worst, your eyes were not meant to see this level of horror.

I watched my fellow colleagues disintegrate as the fear and despair washed over them, their bodies horrifically transmuted and twisted into the dread-beasts that stalk the ruined streets of amaurot... amaurot. our home is no longer a home, a safe haven for you to run and explore. by the stars, our home is dying. the very same people I once called friends began their chase, their minds forever lost. I told you to keep your head down and your eyes closed as I ran for dear life, my tattered robes flapping behind me.

I refused to stop, I refused to become bait. the dread-beasts soon had us cornered, however. I was not trained in the art of combat, but I conjured a meager blade to defend us. you began to cry and begged me not to let the monsters grab you. never in the deepest pit of the underworld would I allow that to happen, I would fight to my very last breath if I had to. but I was quickly proven wrong.

even with all of my strength and determination, they were not deterred. they inched ever closer, the strong odor of death and decay hot on their breaths, their gnashing teeth and lapping tongues and infernal moans growing more frenzied with each passing second. I realized then, my poor dimetor, that we would not make it out of this alive. your hands gripped my robes with such desperation to anchor me to the cracking ground, I squeezed you next to my body and gave you what would be the last words I will ever say.

"dimetor... I'm so sorry...

dimetor... if we meet in the next life, where the sky is forever blue and the land is a vibrant green, I hope you realize how much I love you. even if we are strangers or enemies, I will never stop loving you, my treasure. I will find my way to you... we will always have each other.

I love you so much-!"

"... ah... that dream again..."

"no... it was just a nightmare."

#junelezen #junelezen 2023 #mypost. #ffxiv gpose #ffxiv screenshots #ffxiv oc #my game crashed. FIVE separate times without warning during this. i wanted to do more with the terminus beasts but i got mad #i almost bit into my drywall #anyway tauvane's ancient name was melpomene and achille was dimetor obvs #venat hit the nuke button just before the transition cut. they didn't turn into terminus beasts at least :^) #🎐 #q.

[cannibalizedyke]

Cool Sexy Elf Man

Eddie Munson x GN!Reader

Word Count: 355

Warnings: None

Summary: You braid Eddie's hair.

A/N: I think I'm in my "obsessed with Eddie's hair" era.

General Taglist: @gg-is-a-loser @yesshewrites1

Moots: @iheardarumorthings @thewritingbabe @scandalous-chaos @ddejavvu @winterwisteria @abibliophobiaa @roxetteblack @plumes-de-nuit

"Can I braid your hair?" you asked suddenly.

Eddie looked up at you, smiling in confusion. "What? Why?"

You fidgeted uncomfortably. "I dunno. Your hair's just so long and soft and pretty and I wanna braid it."

Eddie stared at you, blinking.

"You'd look like a cool sexy elf man," you prompted.

"Do it." He sat in front of you and handed you a brush.

You laughed, reaching over to grab a scrunchie. You ran the brush through Eddie's locks as gently as you could, but it was kind of hard with how much of a rat's nest it was. "Jeez, Eddie, do you ever brush your hair!?"

"No…"

"My gods, that explains a lot." You put the brush down and stood up. "Hold on, I'm gonna get my detangling spray."

Eddie gave you a thumbs-up.

You came back after a second and sprayed a generous amount of lavender-scented detangling spray onto his hair. "Okay, that should be good." You tried again and the brush went through much more easily.

It took about half an hour to fully brush his hair, but once you finished it was beautiful, silky, and incredibly wavy.

"You look so pretty!" you cooed, holding up a mirror.

Eddie laughed. "I do, don't I?"

"Look how nice it looks when you brush it."

Eddie smiled. "You still gonna braid it?"

You nodded, smiling, and set the mirror down. You parted his hair into three sections and twisted them together, finishing the braid off by tying the scrunchie at the end. "There." You held up the mirror again.

Eddie grinned. "You're right, I do look like a cool sexy elf man."

"Yeah you do!" you cheered. "I like it."

Eddie nodded. "Me too." He kissed you softly. "Thanks. I'm gonna wear it to Hellfire."

"You are not." You grinned.

"Yeah I am." He cupped your cheek. "And next week Mike and Dustin'll have their hair braided too."

You laughed. "They probably will."

"Oh, definitely." He leaned forward and kissed you again. "Really though, I honestly love it."

"I'm glad." You strung your arms around his neck.

"Braid it tomorrow?"

You grinned. "Definitely."

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson

[jamandsteaksandwitch]

This is a story based off of a game of Warhammer AoS, where I rushed in my VLoZD and got a lot of wizards killed:

As Karazai the scarred looked off at the approaching armies, he felt there was something wrong with the winds of magic this day. While not nearly in tune with the winds as his brother is, even he could tell something was wrong.

"Many things are wrong, this is merely a distraction, likely meant as an intimidation strategy from the foe." he thought to himself, as he observed those he was preparing to fight along side. While the usual armies of the Stormcast Eternals gathered around him, Orruks from the nearby badlands had also arrived to stand against the oncoming tide of undead, as well as the followers of Nurgle. Strange times made for strange allies indeed. He quickly banished the thoughts from his mind, however, as he saw another dragon surge towards, him, its rotten body pulsing and strengthened by necromantic might. Riding atop of it, a veiled woman, in a bloodstained wedding gown.

"Finally, some entertainment!" He thought, as he rushed to meet the undead monster in melee combat. The two dragons exchanged breaths as they grew close to one another, and beneath them, Karazai could hear the roars of battle, as the two opposing armies charged into one another. So enthralled by this sight, he almost missed Neferata charging through her trademark dark mists atop Nagadron. Almost. As fast as he was, however, and with two monstrous combatants bearing down on him, he was still the superior combatant. These fools, having neither the experience nor raw prowess to slay him here and now.

So why defend?

Taking advantage of an opening made by the sordid dragon, Karazai demonstrated why his deeds were legendary amongst those who have fought in Ghur, and ripped the vampire atop the dragon to shreds, and even managed to get a powerful hit against Neferata as well. He took a moment to admire his handiwork as the zombified dragon plummeted towrads the ground.

And a moment was all he was given, as the death of the vampire began a chain reaction that not even the great Son of Dracothian could have foreseen: The necromantic energies within the dragon erupted, creating a massive magical explosion, devestating the battlelines fighting below, and managing to injure Karazai himself. The chaos did not end there. Neferata, weakened already by her brief combat with the mighty dragon, was torn asunder, and quickly she too exploded in a plume of magical hellfire. And so too did the wizards brought fourth by the Orruks, the Stormcast eternals, and the remaining necromancers skulking around the battlelines of the undead, each and every one, torn apart by a magical explosion, each one unleashing one upon their demise. As the chain reaction stopped, Karazai looked around the battlefield, confused. Never had he seen anything quite like this, never did he wish to see it again. The armies of the undead had been entirely wiped out, as well as significant portions of the Orruk and Stormcast forces. What remained of Nurgles forces on the Ghurish plain had turned tail and begain to flee. Sensing no reason to stay here, the remaining Stormcast forces turned to return to Azyr, as the remaining Orruks pursued the fleeing Nurglites. There would be no great battle fought here today, only the scars and remnants of foolishness.

#writing #creative writing #age of sigmar #warhammer #fantasy #Karazai #battle

[wheatisstillwheat]

to keep me honest - here's a WIP that I'm hoping to post TOMORROW!!!

a One Shot CrimeBoss AU! -- hands down, I'm too proud -- inspired by @inklessletter's INSANE fanart that has been living in my brain rent free for 2 months.

so here's a sneak peek:

Eddie Munson. 

Munson owns The Underdark, and Hellfire, and Speak(easy) Friend, as well as who knows how many other holdings around the city. But even Steve knew he must have his hand in damn near everything. 

They called him The Puppet Master, but godsforbid it was anywhere within his earshot. The man could pull and pluck strings like nobody’s business. And it was just that — nobody’s business. Munson worked hard to keep it that way.

Steve could appreciate that a nom de plume, even a cool one, didn’t exactly vibe with working in the dark. Can’t be a shadow if you have a fucking stage name.

But everything about this place spoke to the kind of man Munson was - a man of means. The lush colors: deep plum and peacock blue infused the velvet curtain lining seemingly every upholstered surface, fuchsia and deep gold brocade accenting every tucked away corner. The jewel tones complemented the art deco design as did the sumptuous marble and gleaming mirrored bar tops spanning the center of the large open room.

And somehow juxtaposing insanely and yet perfectly was the purple neon pulsing above said bar lauding The Underdark’s unofficial motto- “you can certainly try.”

Combine it all with the electric guitar, sultry bass, and steady rock beats bumping through the place and you had quite the potent cocktail. The whole thing somehow gave the air of being an eclectic dive bar that a rave was ready to break out at any moment and a private, secluded little getaway where you wouldn’t be spotted, noted, or bothered. 

#steddie fanfic #my stuff #wheatisstillwheat

[bardic-perdita]

A Tale of Many Tavs

A series of short scenarios to introduce my three main Tavs— Zeke, Mina, and Breoch (pronounced Bree-ock). This is how they would be found and recruited by the party.

Leader Tav is @critical-goat 's lovely Talon who I love and adore

Rating: General Audience

Word Count: 2.5K

Content Warnings: Injury mention, blood mention

The stench of smouldering viscera stung Talon's throat as they inhaled lungfuls of the rancid smoke. They had already found three survivors of the crash: a dark-haired half-elf cleric, a pale well-dressed elf, and a purple-clad human wizard, and all of them now had to traverse through the wreckage of the nautiloid. It was a miracle that anyone had survived the crash at all. Yet through the plumes of smoke and flames, a horned figure stood poised in the midst of the destruction. Two long straight horns pierced through an immaculately styled head of lavender hair; the perfect stillness of the stranger's broad shoulders and spiny tail made Talon shiver in apprehension. They spied the glint of a blade.

Even amongst the haze of their amnesia, they were certain of one thing: this fiend was dangerous.

Talon motioned for the group to move closer. The man's eyes were fixed on a spot in the air and he seemed to be…talking…to himself? The details of the conversation were lost to them as the man spoke in a hellish tongue unfamiliar to them. His tail flicked and his gaze darted in the group's direction. His voice boomed, a dart of black hellfire exploded at their feet, a warning shot, and he pointed his glaive toward Talon.

"Szizy hafr efreawy!" The fiend commanded.

Astarion blinked and glanced at Gale, who merely shrugged in response. Talon ventured a peek at Shadowheart and saw that she was similarly confused. Seeing the blank look on the interlopers' faces, the fiend's tail drooped between his legs and the grip on his glaive slipped.

"Ah, right. State your pur—...!"

His words were halted by a psionic blast. Both Talon and the fiend doubled over, the tadpoles squirmed deeper into their memories, and snapped visions of their lives beyond their control. Flashes of endless waters, a palace adorned in blue flame, and screaming innocents scrambling through city streets fleeing a nautiloid ship flitted across Talon's eyes; then the man's clawed hands digging to rescue children from the wreckage of buildings, the inside of the nautiloid, and fights alongside a group of imps as the ship was beset by devils— the images slipped through Talon's consciousness and left only a faint impression upon their amnesiac tadpole infested brain. This man had been caught trying to save others: a wannabe hero that allies himself with devils. A most peculiar tiefling indeed. He straightened his back and massaged his temples.

"Ugh, Baalzebul's balls…what in the nine hells was that?!" He groaned.

"Ah, it seems your wriggly cranial parasites are becoming acquainted with one another!" Gale said with a flourish. "You must have also been infected aboard this nautiloid."

"So that's what they put into my eye? I suppose that makes sense." The tiefling's glaive fizzled into air and he shook Talon's hand. "My name is Ezekiel Ignistinea, but most people just call me Zeke. Sorry for the whole…pointing a sharp blade at you."

"Oh, don't worry. You're not the first one to try that today." Shadowheart looked at Astarion pointedly.

Zeke laughed heartily. His disciplined military poise melted away and was replaced by a disarming grin. His shimmering emerald eyes studied the group as he shook their hands in turn, asking for each of their names and committing them to memory. An imp appeared on Zeke's shoulder and chattered anxiously into his ear; he replied reassuringly in infernal.

"No need to worry, Titchy. These are our allies. Now, where shall we go next?"

"You could have waited for me to move away before setting fire to the blasted things!" Astarion yelled at Gale as he patted down the embers on his clothes.

"How was I to predict that she would jump out the way of my fire bolt? I had no idea that barrels of fire wine were so explosive." Gale licked his fingers and extinguished the small flame flickering at the end of Astarion's perfectly coiled wisps of hair.

"You two are lucky there weren't more of them. Your bickering is loud enough to wake the dead." Shadowheart said. Talon had finished rifling through the dead bandits' pockets and spotted a blood trail across the room. It led under a door besides the now destroyed barrels. With one decisive motion, Talon hushed the group and pointed to the trail under their feet. A low chuckle rumbled in Astarion's chest as he unsheathed his dagger and began silently slinking into the room. He followed the crimson droplets with surprising ease and paused at the doors of a shabby wardrobe. The blood pooled under the gap of the door and seeped into the ancient woodwork. Dagger poised to strike, Astarion flung open the doors and was surprised when his blade was deflected by a well-aimed dinner plate, rather than sinking into the soft flesh of the woman wielding it.

"Please don't hurt me! I mean you no harm!" The woman had curled up in the corner of the wardrobe, her hand clutched at a large gash in her side, and her clothes were drenched in a deep crimson. Astarion covered his mouth and stepped back, seemingly reeling from the sight.

Something about the woman shook Talon at their core. Maybe it was the fear evident in her teary eyes, or the matted blood in her golden ringlets? For the first time since leaving the nautiloid, Talon felt a tinge of familiarity. They had seen this woman before, but where? The woman's gaze fell on Shadowheart.

"Can you help me? I was attacked by an intellect devourer when I was escaping from that crash." The woman's lip quivered as every breath looked more painful than the last. Shadowheart paused for a moment, trying to decide the best course of action, and ultimately decided that the woman didn't appear to pose any threat to them. A deep purple mist cloaked her hands as the woman's wounds sealed under her touch. The woman rose to her feet shakily, almost crumpling to the floor until she was steadied by Gale and Shadowheart.

"How did you even get in here?" Astarion asked. There were no windows for her to sneak in, and the trail of blood would indicate that she had walked in through the only door to the room. The bandits here hardly seemed the welcoming type, even for a damsel in distress.

"I asked if I could rest here for a while so I could patch myself up. They were kind enough to lend me this bed." The woman sat on the rickety bed and met Astarion's scrutinising gaze. He sensed an untruth to her words, but her performance was flawless— this was someone whose ability to manipulate the truth matched, or perhaps even exceeded, his own. It seemed it was enough to earn the others' trust however.

"Who are you?" Talon said at last. They'd wracked their brain trying to remember her face and still the answer eluded them.

"Mina Briar, I'm a seamstress from Neverwinter. Well, I was until I was snatched up by some strange cultists and had a mindflayer tadpole inserted into my eye. It's…all a bit of a shock really."

"Oh, how awful for you darling. Well, I'm sure you can find your way back to Neverwinter from here." Astarion sneered, his distrust growing deeper the more it seemed the others fell for her act of innocence. Talon glared at him.

"Wait, cultists…? You weren't abducted by mindflayers?" Shadowheart said. Mina rubbed her wrists, her eyes flitted imperceptibly at Talon, and hummed thoughtfully.

"Yes, I…I think so. I don't really remember much of what happened. Sorry…" She gazed at the floor. Another untruth, Astarion thought, but who was he to judge others for their secrets? "I may not be the best in a fight, I'm too much of a pacifist, but I do have some trader contacts who could help us pull together enough supplies to make camp tonight. If you give me a couple of hours, I could probably rustle together enough bedrolls and tents to make sure we all sleep as comfortably on the road as we can."

"Do you truly think that'll be enough to persuade us to let you join our camp?" Astarion cut in, the venom in his words barely disguised behind his fanged smile.

"Uh, I'm also rather adroit with a sewing needle?" Mina stammered.

"Well, I for one think our little merry band would be much improved by your presence, Mina. Not to mention the improvements you could make to our modest sleeping arrangements. We'd be happy to have you." Gale announced finally and helped Mina to her feet once more. Her sleeve slid further up her arm, revealing a glimpse of a blue flower tattoo, Astarion narrowed his eyes as Mina swiftly covered her wrist again. Talon couldn't shake the ghost of a memory that seemed to linger around Mina's image. Just who was she really?

If Gale hadn't fallen down the well, they never would have discovered this place. Spiderwebs covered every surface of this cavern, creating vast walkways across the deep crevasses. One could almost spy the fluorescent glow of the Underdark down here as great holes burrowed down further into the abyss. Talon kicked the phase spider's corpse, satisfied that they had finished off the last of their attackers. However, something was off. Dotted around the cave were several clusters of spider eggs, yet their matriarch was nowhere to be seen. They tread deeper into the cave. A disgruntled series of curses echoed around the room; the voice was cursing in Undercommon and the words were familiar to Talon.

Turning a corner, the group saw the towering matriarch spider hovering around an ensnared drow. He had evidently fallen foul of the spider's web and was now wrapped securely in her silk cocoon. She had paused in her attempts to bind him as he berated her fiercely. Astarion giggled to himself at the irony of it all, and even Talon couldn't suppress the wry smile that twitched at their lips.

"You are by far the most ill-mannered spider I have ever had the misfortune of meeting, madam! Your time here on the surface has evidently dulled your sense of decorum." The drow cursed in a refined Undercommon dialect, the kind that Talon had only heard from the great families of Menzoberranzan. A few eldritch blasts and arrows to the spider's head were fortunately enough to scare it away. The drow's head snapped in Talon's direction and the air around them almost seemed to grow colder. "Lolth preserve me…I successfully avoided filthy surface elves for two centuries, only to now have two— and a half— here to laugh at my misfortune." He said mostly to himself.

"Watch what you say, or I might be tempted to leave you there," Talon couldn't resist quipping in reply. The drow flushed sheepishly, a little embarrassed that his words had been understood, but he soon recovered himself and smiled at them.

"Hm, I'm impressed. Your Undercommon is some of the best I've heard from a traveler." Flattery seemed as easy for him as breathing, and Talon couldn't help but feel at ease in his presence. The man was rather unusual looking for a drow elf, although not altogether unattractive. His hair was a midnight blue tinged with rose at its ends, the complete opposite of the pure white prized among drow nobility. His pale lilac skin looked almost iridescent in the faint light, and was adorned by patches of shimmering white scales across his cheeks and forehead. Talon had seen similar scales on a couple of others: a feature commonly found among draconic sorcerers. He could prove a powerful ally, Talon thought. His eyes further betrayed his draconic heritage. The right eye was the deep crimson characteristic of Lolth-sworn drow, a gift from their goddess, but his left eye was a piercing blue, presumably derived from his white dragon ancestor. A deep scar ran between his eyes, yet it didn't detract from the natural charisma that emanated from him. The drow tilted his head. He savoured being under Talon's inquisitive gaze. Then, as though growing restless, he looked Astarion up and down before his eyes rested at belt level.

"You look like you know how to handle a blade. Would you care to cut me free? I'd be most appreciative," the drow practically purred. Compared to his noble eloquence in Undercommon, his speech seemed more stilted now he'd switched to Common. The language sounded foreign coming from his lips— a deeply accented pattern of intonations that mirrored his native tongue. Yet it was no less charming in the attempt.

"I thought drow enjoyed being tied up?" Astarion teased, relishing the flicker of annoyance behind the drow's smile. "Are you sure you don't want to stay there a little longer?"

The drow pressed against his silk bindings, arched his back, and a quiet satisfied sigh fell from his lips. "Mmm…I know we drow are known to indulge in a little bondage now and again, but this is a little excessive…" he levelled his gaze at Astarion through half-lidded eyes, "even for my tastes."

"Just cut him down, Astarion. You two can flirt as much as you want back at camp," Talon grumbled. Astarion did as he was told, not wanting to argue with their group's unofficial leader, and cut the drow loose. The drow pulled the strands of silk from his lavish clothes and dusted himself off.

"Thank you," he bowed and offered his hand to Talon in greeting. They placed their hand in his; his touch was as cold as plunging bare hands into fresh snow. It almost stung as he raised their hand to his lips. "I am Breoch, eldest son of the House of V'ysse. It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Pleasure, my name is Tal—...!"

Another psionic blast hit them as their tadpoles' connection collided once again. A whirlwind of images through Breoch's eyes flashed in their mind: the warm skin of countless lovers' bodies, a male drow's twisted smile, a bloodied scalpel, his hands shackled to a table, a white-hot searing pain slicing across his chest, a snapping and crushing of bones, his ribs, and a hand clenched around his heart. Talon wrenched their hand from his grasp. They stumbled backwards and slipped on the ice on the ground. The icy surface centered at Breoch's feet. His skin glistened like blades of grass on a winter's morning, a layer of frost spread from his fingertips and up his neck. His breath crackled in wisps of vapour as he tried to calm himself.

"They got you too…" Breoch said at last.

"It seems there's a few of us around," Talon replied, their head still reeling from the phantom pain they'd just experienced. Astarion helped them to their feet. "I keep stumbling across them everywhere."

"I just want to be rid of this parasite and go back home to Menzoberranzan. This problem is bigger than anything we could possibly imagine. And as much as it pains me, on my dignity as a drow, I think we'll need to work together."

"Even though we're 'filthy surface elves'?" Talon asked with a raised eyebrow. Breoch winced and sighed deeply.

"Yes…" he regained his composure and returned their question with a teasing smile of his own. "Although, I'm not averse to a little bit of 'filth'." He winked at Talon and joined the group as they made their way out of the spiders' cave.

#bg3 fanfiction #bg3 gale #bg3 astarion #bg3 shadowheart #Bg3 Tav #Tav! Zeke #Tav! Mina #Tav! Breoch #I hope the 2 people who might read this enjoy it #I had fun writing about these sillies #Love imagining all of the Tavs in one chaotic camp