#buckle up for magic shenanigans

[revelisms]

Antichrist Copia theory has overtaken me yall. I was not expecting to crank out a full thing on this, but, uh...if you're looking for one big indulgent braindump on Terzo trying to unpack his feelings on this while Copia gets possessed by a demon, look no further?

Quick context setting—I'm still working out these headcanons a bit, but what I'm generally tinkering with here:

Everyone tied to the Emeritus bloodline has some degree of magical abilities, which were formally "awakened" in an oath-taking ceremony at a point in the boys' childhood. This is the Sight mentioned here (i.e., whatever is up with the white eye), and each of the brothers have a slightly different angle for it: Primo can see into the minds of living things, Secondo can see into the past, Terzo can see into the future, and Copia can see into the realm that bridges life and death—and is somewhat a literal bridge, himself, between those planes of reality.

The Exaltation ceremony is a formal handoff from each Papa to the next heir, in which their Sight is tapped to its greatest potential in preparation for becoming head of the church. This typically involves a delivery of rites, a magical blessing, and an opening of the Gate between worlds (which, in this context, is technically Hell itself).

Basically: mayhem ensues.

here we lie

4k words | Rating: M | Terzo-Centric | Antichrist Copia | CWs: Ritual magic, dark imagery, near-death experience, blood, language, existentialism, doomed fate, whump, anger issues, dysfunctional family dynamics, hurt/comfort. Also on AO3

The exaltation ceremony goes wrong.

By all accounts, it shouldn't have.

As with any long-standing traditions of the church, the ritual had been perfected to the scrape of dust one was allowed to wear on their boots—and, as such, had been prepared with the expected flurry of pomp and circumstance.

The esteemed Monsignor Emeritus, firstborn, blessed with the Sight, had cleansed the air thrice with dishes of althea and frankincense and bistort: enhancements for protection and divination. 

Sister Mariella, well-familiar with the customs, had laid down the sigils for the Gate flawlessly: shadowed by the slow-prowled growlings and page-turned rites of Secondo Emeritus, Archbishop of the Eternal Light.

The ceremony, as was custom, was set to be led by the head of the church: their Exalted, sheened in black from neck to toe, the points of his clawed gloves glinting in the lowlight—for whom the Sight of premonition had seemed both a blessing and a curse, and never more so than now.

He was distracted, perhaps. Dehydrated, maybe. Dreading the moment he would stand at the door to the realm beyond—a threshold of time and space untethered—that would soon devour the faceless flesh-form of a ghoul cast back to the shadow (his One, his All, his own); a door he himself, in time, would one day find himself crossing, with body and soul split, head and neck cleaved, heart and mind shattered.

From the moment he'd slopped a spoon through the breakfast his secretary had slid on his desk that morning, he'd known, instinctually, that this damned thing could turn so haywire, if only because he'd been the one shackled with it.

His jittery magic, his restless brain, and Copia—

Well. 

Copia has been anything but normal, from the day Sister carted him up the chapel steps.

Terzo knew he had magic—the likes of which few could fathom, even from his sticky-fingered child days. The night the little rat had taken his oaths, the air had sung with it: a strange buzz of sensation that felt like the sun had tipped off-center. 

And now— 

Now, the Gate is laid open beneath Terzo's hands, the unseen ink of his spell-marks glowing a blood-lilac fuchsia, bright enough to glare violently through his clothes, and the void of Hell itself screaming in its glory—and Copia is not imbued with the Dark One's majesty, as he should be—is no man, is not living, has flames for eyes and claws for teeth and wings like the undead and is screaming—

"Close it," Secondo snarls at him, a blurred tower of shadow and piercing white—

—and Terzo knew this.

Knew this boy-man-beast-hellspawn of Christ-Shadow Beholden always was. 

He'd looked him in the eye—kneeled there in the cat's cradle of a pentagram scraped in chalk, hands fidgeting at his cassock—and gave a crook of his head: murled, Ready? like a tease, though some part of him had meant it as, You'll be alright, eh?

But unblessed saints and demons below, Copia isn't.

What writhes before him now is a creature that terrifies him to the bone—one that may not abandon his brother completely, should he fail at this any farther than he already has.

"Terzo." Primo, now: an urgent hiss at his shoulder. "Close the gate—"

"I know." His magic burns at his fingertips, sears through his blood. "That—thing hasn't released him—"

A thing with claws cradling Copia's head like ceramic a hairline from shattering, spitting a pained growl through his teeth.

The sacrament in Mariella's hand shakes. "Papa, what's...?"

"I don't know." The flamelight flickers unnaturally against the domed walls: a great breath that lapses to darkness, sparks back again. "Shit, I—I don't know."

"Terzo—"

"Close the gate—"

"Hell Satan—will you all shut up?!"

There are horns in Copia's hair, slick-red-gold between his grappling fingers.

His stomach is in his head. His brain in his feet.

Mariella swallows. She's always been a strong soul—far more than him, now: level-headed in a storm, vibrant in a fog; a presence that guides as much as it grounds.

"How long can you hold it for?" she whispers, firm and calm. 

He pulls dry air into his lungs. "As long as I need to." 

He steps forward, spellwork singing in his veins, and lets his hands unfurl. The air whips at his vestments, wailing with the bone-deep unease of voices old as Creation straining to be heard.

Somewhere in there is Copia's own. He'll drag it out by hand, if he has to.

"You imbecile!" Secondo is shouting, muffled behind the blurred opalescence of the Veil: a wall that glows off the circle Terzo crosses, consumes him with the prickling unease of a limb losing its circulation. "You can't reason with it!"

The flames warp again. A shadow like death bends over the walls. 

Terzo's no stranger to the taste. His dreams have been riddled with the stench of it, from the day the Sight was force-gifted upon him. And like he had, then—a child with battered elbows and bruised knees; a not-man with awkward limbs and disdain for the old orders of this world; a Cardinal with paint on his teeth and a straightjacket of woolen expectations—he repents.

"I call on the spirits of the Then and the Below." A twitch strings through his fingers: with it, a flare of violet light. "To the Beings of those Beyond, the Eternal, I speak now, and speak only—" The pitch of his voice mangles, ragged with the corded growl of a beast: the underbelly all their half-human souls peel clean, when drowned deep enough in this waste. "In my Blood, see my will. In my Sight, my path—"

"What is he saying?" Mariella asks, her voice muffled as though through glass.

Primo calls a sharp warning: "Don't cross it—"

The air whistles with a faint singing of metal—and splits. It grapples at his clothes, twisting his hair with a gravitational pull unseen. 

He breathes in chalk dust, sighs out knives.

Beneath Copia's shivering limbs ripples the black expanse of the Gate: an aether so endless one couldn't capture its history in a millennia: a presence so indefinable that even Primo, with years of such history under his belt, can only stare through the blur, voiceless and rigid at the sight of it.

With twitching claws and lightless eyes and Hell beneath his feet, Terzo beckons.

"Bare yourself to me."

The room shivers. The walls shriek. The flames stagger, flutter, wheeze again—and snuff out, completely. 

In the pitch, it is only the Eternal, and the glow within his veins, and the white of his eye, and Copia's beast-man-beast-man-fanged grin with a split lip— 

A Being that takes the air of the room by the throat, and speaks in a voice that thunders.

"It is time."

Terzo feels its presence slithering up his legs. The weight of its All on his lungs. 

He keeps his hands steady, his intent clear, even for the exertion that leaves his arms quivering.

"Not here," he grits back, a strange echo in the ringed light that encases them. "Not now."

A hand that is not Copia's, is scaled and rotted and red, slaps to the stones. "When?" The shriek hits his ears like a thunderstrike. A chill is crawling under his veins: a heaviness that isn't right, is this thing more than his own blood. "When?"

Primo's magic is wafting through the air—some swift-casted attempt at a ward around them, far too late now. The scent of it itches on Terzo's tongue: dragon's blood, rose-ash, frigid at his back. His own aura swats it off like a gnat, too distracted to let it in, to think.

Fuck, he needs to think.

A stage—

The Being wails.

His downfall—this one's own Ascension—

Ice knifes into his ankle.

A stage and heat and lights and purple-bleeding-black and blood on his throat—a syringe in his brother's own hands, a demon masqueraded—his Unnamed's voice gristling in his ear, Be still be still be still now—

Mariella squeezes a talisman in her palm, smoking sweetly with the taste of Secondo's own protection charm. 

"Papa," she calls out: her voice a muddy, drowned thing.

His lashes flutter open, heavy as lead. 

"Coward!" the Being retches. Hellfire blisters against its silhouette, a nebulic haze. "Tell them of your death. Of Our purpose. Where We were sewn. You know it—"

Mariella holds the stone out to him, guided through the surging current of Primo's ward. The air wrestles like a gale through her sleeve.

"You know it!"

His claws catch at her palm—not his gloves, but his own, thick and black as talons. The talisman burns a sunspot-bloom through his marrow, bright as a thousand stars.

"Thirteen months." His speech is one he doesn't recognize: child and entity and Bloodline infinite. "On a black dais, surrounded by your flock." The talisman melts like a balm into his skin: an unseen shield that ripples with half-lit iridescence. The chill biting into his skin flinches. "You will know it," Terzo grits on, "and now is not it."

He thinks he hears Copia's voice through the fray. He can't be sure.

"And then?" snarls the Being.

Not a being. Not a thing. 

No—this is Lucifer-incarnate.

An orchestration.

"It won't be finished, then." The shell of magic around them snaps like embers in a flame, a jolt wrestling up his arm. So much time. So much weighed down—and he weighs it down, still, his breath shuddering. "You'll have years to go—"

"And then?"

Scraped nails, dead eyes, bloodied horns, Copia—

Secondo's gloved palm tears through the gleam, squeezes like a noose around his bicep. "I won't say it again, you fuck," he spits, the words warped and crackling. "You're going to get him killed—"

He can't shake him off quickly enough. 

"Close it!"

Copia's eyes. Copia's soul, trapped in the All. Right there—

His magic flares like a supernova, spears through that gate and holds: a cosmic blast that shouts his throat raw, knocks Secondo nearly off his feet, leaves him lightheaded and with blood on his teeth—but he has him—

"Thirteen months' time," the Being roars, "and you'll be taken with it."

Terzo hisses, his claws scraping at his brother's skin. 

"So is the Rule."

The Gate grapples at his silks. 

Copia's gloved fingers shake, snatching desperately at his arms. His own voice breaks through the loom. "Terz—"

"I've got you," Terzo spats. Sweat sticks at his neck. 

The fibers of his magic are fraying at the edges. 

Red eyes glare up at him. "Do you accept it?"

The portal whines.

"To the day it is marked, you'll have it. As it is written." His claws slip on Copia's sleeve. "As it always was."

The Being grins. "And so it will be."

It spits his brother out.

His hold on the Gate snaps like a wire—and shatters the well of magic, with it. The howl torrents through the room with a cello's blare, and whips to a bee-winged nothingness.

With the loss of it, gravity lurches in his gut. He cracks to his knees, catches himself on the stones just enough—gloves still intact, not torn through, only clawed with gold—and heaves blood. 

"Papa!"

And his brother. His damned demon brother: rubber-legged, staggering, Copia gasps like a man near-drowned.

Unscathed, somehow—Satan willing.

Primo is across the room, in an instant. "Copia. Unblessed beneath, are you alright?"

"Ye-Yes, yes, I—shit." Primo catches him, his gloves slipping at his sleeves. Unsteadily, he veers back on his feet. "What...what happened?" 

It's too dark. Too quiet. Too loud.

Terzo swallows down bile; chokes on blood and phlegm. Mariella's habit swims in his vision.

"Papa," she hushes, clear as crystal now. "Papa, look at me." 

Secondo, halfway between them: "Is it gone?"

Her fingers skim through the sweat-dripped mess of his paints: press cooly at his temple.

"Is it gone?"

"Yes," she breathes.

Hazily, lashes flicking, Terzo tips out of her touch. He chokes on his words, the first try; rasps them, the second. "Where's the rat?"

"He's here," Primo answers him. "He's fine."

There's a clumping of boots, a rustling of silks, Mariella scurrying from the floor.

"What in Hell's name were you thinking." Secondo's hand jerks at his sleeve, wrestles him half-blind back into his bones. "You could have doomed us all. We never—never—speak to the Unnamed without wards in place. You know that—"

"Brother," Copia croaks.

Secondo rips his head over his shoulder. "You shut your mouth. I haven't even gotten to you." With a firm grip, his hand slips under Terzo's arm, helps him slowly to his feet. "Get up," he huffs. "Come on. Are you alright?"

"I'm—fuck. Fine. I'm fine."

His elder brother scowls down at him. "Good. And you better stay that way, because I have half a goddamned mind to put a fist through your teeth—"

"Dino," Primo snarls, "This is helping nothing." Years of practice in such misguided events has left him rationed, calm: a quiet glance turned to the pale-faced attendant behind him, who stands shell-shocked, having seen unwantedly the darker veins of their Order—and ones their customs would soon have him forget. "Jean," Primo says, waiting for his eyes to drop. "We will need a medic. Say nothing to the All-Father."

Secondo scoffs. "Oh, yes—Nihil will have this one's ass, when he hears of this—"

"Saints—ignore him, young one. A medic, and Priestess Diana. Quick as you can."

The boy nods and takes off through the hall's doors, stumbling up the stairs in his haste.

In his absence, the room holds a collective breath, the eyes of the siblings still in attendance fixed like rabbits on the four men clustered in the center of the room.

"We're alright," Primo says to them all, in a tone that is more order than reassurance.

It couldn't be more of a reach.

Terzo wheezes a snarl, a laugh. "Alright." The stones sting beneath his feet: five paces that drive him out of Secondo's iron grip, steer him straight into the path of Copia's saucer-wide blinking: eyes blue and white and younger than they should ever seem, in a face that has grown so weathered, as all of them have.

And he knew.

He lifts a clawed finger, his breath too slow. "I knew."

Primo, sharp as steel: "Do not take this out on him—"

He couldn't give a shit. 

He almost killed him.

The bastard wasn't living.

"What are you, mh?" Terzo licks his lips, tastes the bitter metal of blood. He lifts a shaky hand. "No, no—what did she make you?" He smears the leather against his mouth, the heat of his stare unwavering, a knife-edge sliced from shoes to frazzled fringe. "That—that Aether just within you, eh? Always that, under there?"

Copia shakes. "I didn't," he blunders.

"This is why she brought you, isn't it? Satan, of course—"

Secondo wrestles for his elbow, a steadying squeeze. "Terzo—"

"You saw it—!"

His brother's eyes simmer: one black in the lowlight, the other white as a moonbeam. "I saw you."

His bites his nails through his glove. Rattles in a breath.

"Calm down, the both of you," Primo says coldly, a hand still on Copia's shoulder. "It was reckless—but you managed. We are all still in one piece." He steps between them, pointedly, studying Terzo's face like a leech. "Your Sight will be strained for weeks, after that. You did not have the power to even attempt that on your own."

Terzo snuffs. "A good thing one of us sorry shits did."

Behind the sharp slope of Primo's shoulder, Copia shivers, eyes downturned. "I—"

"Don't." He drags a gloved hand through his hair. Shaking—still shaking? Outraged—always. Horrified, still. "You're good," he tells his brother, tells himself. "It is all good. You're alright. Okay."

Primo's eyes stare through him, see a bitten-lipped boy with a bandage on his cheek.

Terzo turns away. "Okay," he hushes again, and walks, past Secondo's stone-still glare, Mariella's worried frown, and walks, and walks, and walks—

"You are not running away, now—"

"Dino. Leave it. Copia, do not linger on that, alright? Don't listen to it. You know how he is. It is not your fault—"

"But what—what was that? What happened—?"

—up the gnarled stairwells, out the maze of lower halls, stumbling over the grasses, and sits like a stone on the side-entry's steps. Like a ghost.

Sits for an age.

He must—because, by then, the medics have come, and the stench of that room has been dragged open, and Mariella's whispers are drifting across the corridor's arches—after he's ripped off his gloves, dug his fingers through his hair, tried to breathe and not think—and he expects her. 

He expects her fear, her pity.

Not Copia.

The fool's boots scuff on the stairs.

"Is it, eh..." His brother muddles over a breath. "Alright if I—?"

Terzo doesn't have the mind to fight it—not with sweat still cold at his back. He swats his palm, some attempt at allowance, kneading his other fingers over his brow.

Copia slumps down to the steps. Just stays there, in awkward, insufferable silence.

Finally: "Shit—it's chilly today, isn't it?"

Terzo leers through his fringe. "Going to talk about the birds, next?"

"I'm just saying."

"Just saying. Yes—and you'll be singing, after." He combs back the half-tamed waves of his hair, hangs his hand across his knee. "Old chamber smells like a cesspool."

Copia manages a smile, the thistles of his mustache wrinkling. "Bleh. Nasty place. I've always hated it, down there."

"All the more reason to, now, huh?" Terzo forces a sneer of his own, glaring away. He sniffs. Pits his tongue against his teeth.

For a beat, his brother says nothing. Then, his gloved fingers squeaking over each other: "I'm alright."

Terzo chuffs, furrowing his brows. "Barely."

He can feel the rat's eyes on him. It makes his skin crawl. "Primo...told me. What it—well." Copia frowns at his boots, at the graveled path beyond. "Did you mean it?" he hushes, lifting his eyes. "That you've...seen it, before?"

Terzo bites the inside of his lip. "Seen lots of things."

"But—that. It's—I've always thought...er...felt that, maybe, she'd..."

"Sister?"

"Mother, yes—"

"Your mother."

Copia's shoulders twitch.

"I—sorry," Terzo mumbles, shifting his fingers over his thumb. "I know it's not..." 

His fault, his intention—his anything, right?

But it is. Isn't.

Should be.

He flexes his hand, pitters his fingertips together. Looks away. "Anyway."

A breeze rustles cooly through the shrubbery that flanks the stairs: a feathered hush along the pines that tower over the grounds.

"Anyway," Copia repeats, shifting his tongue around his mouth. "It's just...you, eh...you have seen it, before," he says again, watching the air ripple through the leaves, "haven't you?"

Terzo glances at him. Sister's sloped nose. A paintbrush-smattering of freckles. The white of his eye, fixed on the swaying branches. Lanky little thing, as he's always been. The mirror to his own placelessness, own purposelessness, own forced mantle he never asked to have thrown upon him—but craved, clawed for, claimed, nonetheless.

"Told you, little thing," he says, tipping his heel off the stones. "Seen lots of things."

"But I know. I've always...felt it, I just haven't—" Copia fumbles, lacing his fingers. "Had the words, I guess." 

"Rare thing, for you."

"Shut up."

"Heh—even rarer for me, eh?"

"Ugh."

They breathe in unison, the air thick with it: hope, despair, magic, emptiness.

"When it...when that...thing took over me, did it...say anything to you?"

Terzo's mouth ticks.

Thirteen months. Poison in his neck. His body tossed through the gaping maws of the realm beyond.

He stares at the points of his boots, still speckled with his own spit and blood, and scuffs his thumb at it.

"Eh...not clearly. Hard to make out, in the muck of it."

"None of it came through?"

Terzo tilts his chin on his shoulder, fixing him with a narrowed look. "It wasn't you, Coppie," he says. "Just...forget what I said, before. Old temper of mine, rearing its shitting head again."

"But what if—"

"It wasn't." Terzo plants his palm on his brother's knee, chipped black on his nails, and squeezes. "It wasn't," he murmurs again.

Copia stutters. "Well, even if it wasn't—it—it felt like I was..."

"Delirious?" He perks one brow, fox-grinned in his usual reach for deflection, distraction. "Dead, even?"

"Whole."

The smile wanes. 

For a breath, he tries to hunt for that beast beneath his brother's skin—the way he so often does in the steamed glass of his own mirrors, and so easily sees it in them: the spire-teeth, the winged limbs, the eyes half-living. 

He finds only a quivery little boy, tucked in the cage of a man's body. The same one who spent years, against all odds—against his own stupid, spiteful jealousy—clinging like a barnacle to his side.

He slides his hand away. "The Sight does it to all of us, little rat. Strips away the Veil." He picks at his thumb, the gravel hazing to a fine blur, and swallows: white stone crisping to clarity, again. "Catch an Emeritus in the right light—even a clueless one can see the Fallen in them."

Copia frowns.

Maybe it's not a comfort. All the more proof that he isn't one of them, as he has so often feared.

The Other, above all else.

"But what if I am?" he says quietly. "Whatever that...thing was? Will, eh...will something happen, if that's true?"

Terzo lifts his eyes to the sky—grayish with cloud-cover, damp with the chilled humidity of a storm along the way, something to wash this whole mess clean—and lies through his teeth. 

"Happen?" he snides. "What is this—Armageddon, itself? You worry worse than Nonna, Coppie." He wrinkles his brows at him, his smile thin, his paints half-smeared off his face. "And even if you were—would it be so bad? All of us are hardly human, eh? Perhaps you are just farther along the evolutionariness—the truest Creature of the Night, of us all." His eyes widen, teasingly. "I mean—psh! I will have my fangs, no? And the pincher, his wolf-pelt, and Primo will, eh...Hell, what would the old goat be?"

Copia rolls his eyes, leaning into the cradle of his elbows. "A zombie?"

"Feh—the Nihilist is the rotting corpse, surely."

His brother rolls into a snicker. "Sea creature?"

"Agh—not the lagoon man! We will insult the dear river's integrity, with such things—no, no." Terzo sniffs, feigns smearing away his paints instead of the heat itching at his eye, and smiles wryly again. "Let's be realistic, here—the old gardenia will be the enchanted plant that traps one's bones for the witches, yes?"

Copia wheezes on another laugh.

Saints, he hates that laugh. Godawful sound, a mimicry of his own: a snort and a tea kettle and a giggle all in one. 

The brightest sunbeam of any.

"He has to be the, er—the witch, right?" Copia wonders, giving him a teasing glance.

Terzo flashes his teeth. "Now, if that is the category—I will rule above them all, no?"

And his brother laughs again.

Their little brother, little demon, little star. The highest heir of them all, doomed to a path he should have never been put on—as all of them are, in their own ways. Always have been; always will be.

Terzo ignores Primo's shadow in the corridor, flanked by Mariella's quiet eyes. Ignores the hawkish leer of Secondo's folded-armed scowling, waiting to deflect the plague that will no doubt burst into the halls, once news of it all has reached the ears of their Highest.

At least for this moment, he can pretend.

Flit away what is yet to come, like a bottle tossed to the sea—Nihil, Sister, this brother tressed in silks and jewels for a price he hadn't the slightest knowledge would be paid—and goad another laugh out of him, and another. 

Relish in the denial that this is all that ever was. Ever could be. 

Copia: blushing, teary-eyed but toothy, knocking his shoulder into his—unable to do anything but choke at the idiotic scenarios he conjures for the four of them, in all their monsterly glory. As distracted as he deserves to be, after that wretched thing. The memory of it all forgotten, if for a moment.

And that's enough, Terzo thinks, the cool tang of rain on the gales.

For now, maybe, that's enough.

#writing #the band ghost #ghost band fanfic #papa emeritus iii #papa iii #papa terzo #terzo #papa emeritus iv #papa iv #copia #papa copia #cardinal copia #this is just 4k of whump i truly have no words #🫡 #sorry? #buckle up for magic shenanigans #and family dysfunction: per usual #we're on angst train again that when terzo isn't a chronic flirt he's maybe actually a Mess (tm) #they all are in their own ways let's be fr #tw: blood #tw: dark themes

[madelynraemunson]

pass the salt • e.m. smut

DAD’S BEST FRIEND!OLDER!EDDIE x FEM!READER

summary: you’re home from college and staying with your dad for the summer, spending as much time as you possibly can with him…and his hot best friend that you’ve never seen in your life.

authors note: okay have you guys ever seen those text posts like “when you say ‘daddy pass the salt please’ and your father and your man both reach for it” 💀💀 well this is inspired by that concept. also i went overboard and this is a LONG BOI

disclaimers — photo credits to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple 🫶🏼porn with plot, reader’s nickname is “sunshine”, reader has female anatomy, race unspecified, divider: @iluvpooks

NSFW — 18+ obv, porn with plot, daddy kink pls keep scrolling if it’s not ur thing, slight age gap (eddie is mid to late 30s, reader is in her early 20s), corruption kink, size kink, masturbation (m&f), p in v sex (protected), dirty talk, teasing, sexual innuendos, extreme flirting, eddie kinda being a perv, praise kink

The sound of breakfast on the griddle summons you downstairs.

Dad never cooks.

For as long as you can remember, weekends at your dad’s have always consisted of Lucky Charms cereal and powdered donuts. That tradition continued even after you started college.

Oh yeah. Someone is here, alright. Someone Dad desperately wants to impress.

Trailing after the commotion, your fuzzy pink slippers guide you down the wooden steps of your dad’s ‘bachelor pad’ and into the kitchen. And when you near the bottom of the steps, you can make out two distinct voices — one belonging to Dad, another belonging to someone who's identity is obscure.

“God, I fucking missed you, Jeff. Missed everyone so much.”

The smells of pancake batter, cigarette smoke, mint, and petroleum fuel reel you in, but not nearly as much as the sight of the man sitting on the opposite side of your dad. He's built, handsome with wavy brown hair, leather, black denim, twiddling a toothpick between his teeth as he listens to your dad speak with a smile on his face. That is, until you come into sight. It then that his intense focus circles in on you.

Funny. You don’t remember this friend. And something in your gut tells you that you won’t ever be forgetting him after this.

The stranger's grin curls into a wonder-filled smirk. You can feel your knees start to buckle.

“Uh oh. Looks like our shenanigans woke up Sleeping Beauty.”

When you get a closer look at Dad’s friend, you observe his faint brown beard — neatly kept and lightly peppered with some gray — delicious lips, shiny white teeth, and grooves along his laugh lines that would deepen with every theatrical cackle he belted out.

You can't help but freeze in your tracks as him and your dad continue on with their banter, reliving their glory days like it was yesterday. Man. What a damn dreamboat.

Your dad’s eyes light up with glee when he sees you.

“Hey, good morning, Sunshine!” Dad cheers. “Thought you’d never wake up. This is my friend Eddie. We were in that band together in high school. Come say hi.”

"Yeah, come say hi," Eddie agrees. feeding into the obvious tension in the room. "I don't bite."

The stranger laughs at his own comment as soon as he utters it.

There’s a charm — a magic — about Eddie that could only be found in Hollywood or the Big City. But of course, you didn't expect any less from Dad's supposed ‘Rockstar Friend’.

When your parents had you at 17, life went on for Dad’s band Corroded Coffin. And although he missed out on the ‘Sex, Drugs, and Rock&Roll’, Dad insists that tea parties and white picket fences were an ideal trade-off. Because — despite how things ended with Mom — it still meant a life spent with you.

You tell him your name as Eddie offers you his hand to shake. Electricity serges through you when your hand is enveloped by his firm, calloused one. Eddie smiles down at you, his presence all-consuming. It's almost as if he knows it. And as much as you were dying to, you resist the urge to fall into him.

Eddie's no better.

It takes everything in Eddie's power to keep his eyes above your collarbones, reprimanding himself with the utmost tedium. Because heaven knows he'd be TOAST if his best friend found out that Eddie thought that you were absolutely stunning — strutting around the house the way that you do, without a bra underneath that poor excuse of a sleep shirt — a sleep shirt far too tight for your own good. With tight, pajama shorts to match…

Of course, this is all an assumption…Not that he caught wind of it or anything.

“You know…” he mentions. “Your dad has told me SO much about little miss Sunshine.”

“Me, really?” is all you can say behind those fuscia cheeks.

“Really,” Eddie insists. “He never shuts up about you, darling.”

“Hopefully you’ve only heard good things,” you mutter faintly.

And instantly, your dad and Eddie share a laugh.

“Only good things,” Eddie assures you. He nudges your dad playfully.

Your dad doesn’t exactly deny the last part, basically confirming to Eddie that you’ve got a hint of spunk to you. The heat settles at your cheeks as you shy away from your father’s curious friend.

Taking note of how timid you’ve just become, Eddie furrows his brows.

“What — was that an implication that you’re not always good?”

“No comment,” your smile melts into an awkward one.

“Kept me on my toes back then,” your dad reflects with a sigh. “Keeps me on my toes now.”

“You don’t say…” Eddie smirks slightly, gaze panning back over to you.

Eventually your dad leaves you two alone, going into the garage to fetch something that he insists Eddie would like. But little did he know that such thing was already in the room, leaning…reaching into the fridge for some orange juice, not realizing its atmosphere caused your nipples to harden.

Eddie’s eyes proceed to follow you as you strut back to the griddle, flipping some hot cakes over before tending to your messy bedhead.

Eddie probably doesn’t know — or maybe he does, who knows? — that you feel him staring at you. It’s a burning gaze that practically impales you, but you’re too nervous to say anything. You’re better off pretending like it’s something you don’t notice.

You and Eddie continue to help yourselves to breakfast, enjoying the company of each other and your mutual silence. That is, until Eddie speaks up.

“Got some sausage for you if you’d like.”

“I’m sorry?” you sputter, looking up from your food.

Eddie shoots you a weird glance as he holds up some breakfast franks.

“Sausage?” he repeats. “Store was out of beef so I settled for turkey. Hope that’s not a problem.”

“Not at all,” you clear your throat. “I love turkey sausage.”

“Okay, good,” Eddie chuckles, seemingly relieved at how quickly the situation had diffused.

“Cool,” you chuckle with him while taking some links to cook.

The silence returns once more and is replaced by the sizzling of the grill. It’s short lived, however, because soon, the man nearly twice your age speaks again.

“What’d you think I said?” Eddie circles back.

“Nothing, why?”

“You just looked stunned.”

“I just woke up,” you shrug. “My mind’s somewhere else.”

“I can tell,” he smirks. “Get that thing out of the gutter.”

The coming days paved way for some more innocent flirting.

…Like when you make sure to wear the shortest skirt in your closet when running Eddie his afternoon beer in the garage.

“Well don’t you look absolutely darling…” he says as he peers up from his guitar.

“Hehe,” you smirk connivingly. “Thank you!”

“You are so welcome.”

Eddie downs the liquid guilt along with his pride, watching you strut around…the hem of that pleated cotton fabric just barely covering the roundness of your asscheeks. And as you blush a rosy pink when you process his little remarks, Eddie can only clear his throat in arousal, fantasizing about just how badly he wanted to turn your other cheeks that very shade.

…Or when you come downstairs the next day to help Dad manually wash his car.

While he and Eddie are harassing each other with soap and that god-forsaken hose, you decide to join in on all the fun.

“Watch out, Sunshine,” Eddie forewarns. “You’ve just entered the splash zone!”

And with the intention of cooling you off on a hot summer day like this, Eddie teasingly sprays you with said hose, your white shirt becoming transparent when lathered with water. He could see everything. Your erect nipples. Your perky tits bouncing in the sunlight as you jump around in excitement. How glazed your oil-nnuendo’ed skin looked when glimmering in the sun. All as intended.

“You got me,” you surrender yourself to him. “You got me good, Eddie.”

And when you walk away, Eddie mutters slyly to himself.

“Yes, yes I did.”

…And then there’s dessert after dinner.

Eddie watches as you lick your popsicle, his fingers curling at his thighs in arousal as you retract the wrapper before enclosing your lips around the bright pink dessert. And he swears he’s going to blow his pants when he envisions the melted sugar shooting into your mouth with the swiftest hollowing of your cheeks, the quiet suction noise you make with your pursed lips forcing him to adjust the way he’s sitting.

…The final instance takes the cake.

“What’s your major?”

You’re in the home library grazing some of Dad’s old books and vinyls, talking to Eddie while your father gets ready for the day. Meanwhile, Eddie is perched at your dad’s desk, rolling around in his expensive swivel chair and occasionally doing some spins on it to make you laugh.

“History.”

“Sounds boring.”

“You just haven’t found a topic that interests you,” you point out.

“Mm,” is all Eddie says. “Maybe I will eventually.”

Eddie watches as you waltz around in front of him, following your movements with his eyes as you get onto your tippy-toes in order to grab some books on the top shelf.

“Oh my god!” you yelp.

Your plan to entice him seemingly fails when you graze a book that’s halfway off the shelf. It’s already flying off of its platform, headed straight towards Eddie's lap before you can even stop it.

Eddie catches it before any damage can be done, saving Dad’s old campaign book with the hand furthest from you and snaking the other around your waist to prevent you from sinking any further into him.

Phew. Crisis averted.

Your eyes meet again.

“I’m so sorry, Eddie,” you gasp in embarrassment. “That book has a mind of its own.”

“You’re fine,” Eddie laughs. “Can’t defy the laws of gravity. Sometimes it betrays us.”

You feel yourself burning up a fever. Excusing yourself from the room, you leave Dad’s library and make your way over to the kitchen for a glass of water.

But you’re nearly taken aback when you feel tight, calloused hands wrap around your hips, and like a feather it’s like you’re whisked away into the air, and soon your body is pressed up against the wall.

Slam!

Breathing heavily against each other now — chest to chest, lips so unbearably close you can smell the whiskey — Eddie draws you even closer to him. You both study each other intently. It’s like you’re waiting for the other to say something. Eddie does the honors and speaks first.

“I wasn’t born last night, doll. I was also your age at one point.”

———

To his own despair, Eddie touches himself later that night. Facing your room, he strokes his rock hard cock with his lotioned-up hand, running his thumb across the slit of his head, pretending it’s your tongue giving him a little tease like you did the popsicle.

“Fuuuck,” he grunts quietly. “You like when I fuck your throat, baby? Gonna suck me dry with that pretty little mouth of yours?”

You’re playing make-believe just as much. Because at the same time, in your room, you’re a drooling, pathetic mess, riding your wall-mounted toy to oblivion in your bathroom, legs trembling when the thick, veiny piece of silicone slams into the spongy part of your heat, initiating shock-waves all across your body.

“Eddie,” you find yourself blubbering. “EddieEddieEddieEddie…”

You both know it can’t be like this, but that was the mere thrill of it all. And when you both have overcome your peak, just one mere wall apart, the floodgates of guilt outweighs both your arousals the way it comes pouring in.

So, so wrong. But oh, so right.

You’re anticipating…waiting…aching for Eddie to make the next move.

He doesn’t.

“Going to the store again,” Eddie announces. “Hopefully this time they’ll have beef sausage. Need anything?”

Need you, is what you think. But you end up shaking your head, a part of you disappointed that you and Eddie won’t be able to spend some time alone together.

“No,” there’s defeat in your voice.

“Are you sure?” Eddie questions softly.

“Mhm,” you nod.

“Okay,” he gives you a grin, one in the form of a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll be right back. You be good.”

“Ha-ha,” you roll your eyes.

——

Eddie leaves the door of his room open that night. Just a smidge. You end up following the sound of his TV that he’s placed at a low volume, making out that it’s Seinfeld just by Jerry’s voice and the laugh track.

Your heart skips a beat as Eddie laughs along with the show, shaking his head at a stupid joke. But he shifts his focus immediately onto you when he sees you at the doorway.

“Having some alone time tonight?” you ask him.

“Mmm…not by choice,” he responds. “Tuckered your dad out after dinner doing P90X.”

Eddie follows a crazy workout routine. He says that it helps with his stamina, especially when he does crowd work during his stage performances. Your mind can’t help but wonder what else he may be using it for.

You snort. “Yeah. Dad wasn’t what you’d call an athlete in high school.”

Eddie laughs at that too. Both you and him know that.

He then pats the space on his bed beside him. “Wanna come watch with me?”

Your stomach does a series of cartwheels when you process Eddie’s question. You know what’s bound to happen if you follow through. And it seems Eddie knows it too. Even if there wasn’t any sexual tension between you both already, the concept of it all would rub anyone that way.

But you still follow through with it. Just like Eddie knew you would.

“You comfortable?” Eddie asks you, eyeing you endearingly as you squirm around on the bed.

“Yeah,” you breathe.

“Good…” he replies, voice nearly at a strained whisper now.

You two watch the show in silence for a few minutes, exchanging commentary and pleasantries regarding the show every so often. It’s not too long after Eddie pulls a laugh from you that he starts closing up the space between you both, scooting himself closer…and resting his gruff palm over the base of your knee.

You inhale sharply as he does so. And evident by your refusal to pull away, it’s enough of a green light for Eddie to hike up further.

A soft moan escapes your mouth from the back of your flustered throat, but you bite your lip in restraint.

"I'm sorry," you whisper.

"For what?”

You shrug sheepishly as Eddie continues to graze your thigh. Your breathing falters even more.

“Don’t be scared,” Eddie coos.

“I’m not,” you insist.

“Then what’s stopping you from getting on top of me? Hm?”

He’s in between your legs now, the rough material of his denim jeans riding up your sex, teasing your clit with every calculated rub against it.

“And riding my rock hard cock til those pretty legs give out?” Eddie continues. “I see how you’ve been looking at me, doll. It's all over your face how bad you want it.”

“The bed is squeaky,” you answer honestly. “And that headboard is a lost cause.”

Eddie puts the dirty talk on pause, squirming around to assess the guest bed’s squeak factor. When it checks out, he gives you an understanding nod. You giggle.

Eddie wastes no more time. You watch as he grabs one of the pillows on the bed and wedges it between the wall and headboard. He issues you a sly smile.

“Oldest trick in the book.”

You're back to fooling around shortly after, your aching core burning with lust as you pine for him.

“The boys at school ever touch you this good?” Eddie quips rubbing circles around your puffy, needy folds as you hopelessly cling to him out of pleasure.

“No, Eddie.”

“Didn’t think so.”

He continues to tease, gliding his fingers along your slit before slowly inserting two large digits inside of you.

His calculated pumps into your needy pussy are steady, a pace so agonizingly beautiful that it makes you squeal sweet nothings into the crook of his neck.

"Shh, baby," Eddie hushes you. "Your dad's gonna hear us. Gotta be quiet for me, mkay?"

Your hot, messy, and muffled sounds cease as Eddie soothes your quivering lips with his tender ones.

The wet sounds that ricochet and fill the room in tandem is almost enough to send him over. And Eddie is sure to communicate that… with an abrupt curving of his three thick fingers.

Fuck.

Needing him direly now, you tug helplessly at his pants.

“God, Eddie,” you whimper. “Just fuck me already. Please.”

Eddie laughs at the desperation. He hasn’t ravaged you to his fullest extent yet, and you’re already a pooling mess beside him.

“Well since you said please, sweet girl,” Eddie obliges as he starts to undress himself. “Your wish is my command."

You watch Eddie as reaches over into the bedside drawer for a fresh box of condoms. Looks like the sausage links weren't the only things he went to the store for.

“Oh.”

Eddie chuckles at your observation before shrugging. Can you really blame him? You both knew what was coming.

You watch with absolute lust as Eddie slides the piece of rubber over his long, girthy, throbbing cock. He’s bigger than anyone you’ve ever had before, and the snarky, hooded-eye smile as he watches you fawn reveals to you that he knows exactly how to use it.

"On your stomach, babygirl. Will have you all nice and pounded out just like you wanted.”

You situate yourself in prone and spread your legs for Eddie to line himself up against them. He teases his wrapped cock against the entrance of your pussy, and when his soothing countdown is over, your lips part in disposition as you accommodate his ruinous stretch.

A throaty moan spills out of the both of you the moment Eddie snaps his hips in and out of you. Meanwhile, one of his hands lays tauntingly at your stomach, so the prideful man can feel himself wriggling inside you, glazing his shaft with your slick more and more with every pump into your weak cunt.

"Fuck, Eddie... yes..." you mewl. "R-right there, Eddie, please..."

And then it picks up. You can feel Eddie’s hips practically collapse right onto you, his balls slapping against you as he digs further into your body.

"God damn..." the man sighs in disbelief.

He can only beam down at you in awe. You were taking him so good, pussy swallowing him so nice and tight. And when you nestle your ankles between each other to keep him there in prone, the nearly cries out in pleasure, but refrains because he knows your dad is resting — just a thin wall over.

That still doesn’t stop him from going to town though. Practically seeing stars, the broken record of a mouth that belongs to you chants Eddie’s name like it’s all you know. Eddie attempts to keep you contained, offering you his fingers to suck on as he’s railing you dumb.

And when he fucks you through your climax, Eddie continues with his string of lust-filled praises, satisfied at himself that he was able to make you wet enough to soak the mattress.

“Did so good for me, angel,” he praises you as he sucks at your temple. “Always knew you weren’t all that innocent.”

The griddle comes out again on Eddie’s last day. But this time, for a homestyle southern dinner.

You and Eddie were on mashed potatoes and gravy duty at the stove, an ordeal that only opened doors for lots of innuendos on Eddie’s part. Meanwhile, Dad insisted on making the rest, having taken pride in continuing his Mama’s legacy.

“This is amazing, Daddy,” you rave. “I really missed this. Do you mind passing the salt, please?”

And to your horror, you watch as your father and Eddie automatically extend their arms, bumping into one another in the process en route to getting you the salt.

The gentlemen meet each other’s eyes.

“Ohp!” Eddie exclaims, letting out a slight chuckle. “Sorry.”

You try your hardest not to blush. Eddie kicks you from under the table, and softly he oh-so-seductively he mutters,

“I was just tryna help her out.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #older! eddie munson #older!eddie #older!eddie munson smut #older!eddie smut #dad’s best friend!eddie #dad’s best friend!eddie munson #dom!eddie #dom!eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader smut

[canonkiller]

Loving your D&D stuff.

thank you! however you are going to get a long answer because you have opened an opportunity for me to list things, which is my favorite

very few of the campaigns I'm in / have latched on to that my friends play are actually in D&D any more, for various reasons (primarily 1. WOTC sucks, 2. the system is not really designed for the kind of thing we like the most, which is "impactful character choices," and 3. "why play skyrim as a farming sim"). The games I've been a full player in are, aside from 5e:

Eberron / An Airship Is A Horse That Loves You is in Pathfinder 2e! We started in D&D 5e, which is why there are some semi-homebrewed imports, but it's a very similar system to 5e in gameplay PLUS Pathbuilder is a desktop and app program that will automatically put together character sheets for you, which is arguably the worst part of 5e. It's great, and I highly recommend considering it as an alternative to 5e if you're wanting something that still has the combat rolls and everything but also has more innate design for doing shit as a character. ALSO also there's a ton of included assistive devices, which range from normal stuff like wheelchairs and hearing aids to specifically magical stuff like my favorite: a wheelchair that has legs and can kill. Derien is my PC in this one, fresh out of the oven.

The only other actually active PC status I have had in this group was in an Eyes On The Prize oneshot! EOTP is a fake-marriage game (made by @iraprince !) with flexible setting / character guidelines that's played with a deck of cards, and I highly recommend it for shenanigans. My character was Moonlight Saidluck, a bug centaur fae who accidentally let a human into the fairy world and was pretending this newcomer was their partner and definitely not a human who had accidentally entered the fairy world. I played the one shot with two other couples, which did make it run overtime, but it was a delight. We also had very little trouble playing remotely, with one person in charge of cards and points tracking on an online draw-party style page.

The other games I'm more a spectator in, and then occasionally contribute ideas like fucked up boats or extended debates about magical darkness and the water cycle. That big list of alternative systems is ~

Persona: The Tabletop RPG (PersonaBS)

Quest (Luxknights)

Kids on Bikes (Streams of Consciousness)

Lancer

Beam Saber (AFI, but we haven't been calling it that)

Girl by Moonlight (MMM / Magical Girls)

Cyberpunk TTRPG

Numenera

Monster of the Week

aaand probably more that I'm forgetting because we're. Quite prolific about our play pretend time (and I've got a few concepts brewing that I still really want to nail down - Tanglethorn, the unnamed one about the sinkhole and Bad Hand may grace this list someday if I really buckle down to iron out the wrinkles)

I'm glad you're enjoying my little guys though! I just love a chance to get people into other TTRPG systems, especially when most of them are easier to learn and play than D&D and there's such a wide range of options.

Here's a little Moonlight png, as a reward for reading

#not art #ttrpg #dnd #ask #fractalsliver

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

Save A Tree, Eat A Beaver - Priestly x Rowena

“Save a Tree, Eat a Beaver” - Priestly x Rowena

Part 1 of Pets4Punks

Rating Teen (Part 1)

Priestly x Rowena

Tags: Mild Angst, Fluff and Flirting, Owls Go Bad, Zoo Shenanigans, Homage to Betty White, Spell Casting, A Comedy of Errors

Word Count: 3800

Priestly’s nursing a broken heart. Rowena’s exacting some magical revenge. What will unfold when these two meet at a Beastly Ball?

I'm participating in @jacklesversebingo and this part will fill my "Flirtation-Whiskey-A Mistake At A Zoo" square.

Image created in Canva (credit for photos used: “Ten Inch Hero”; movietvtechgeeks.com)

“Would that be an invitation, there, then?”

Priestly dabbed his brow with a kitchen towel slung over his shoulder. It was hot in the food tent. Even if Beach City Grill was serving up pre-made hero sandwiches, bookending vendors grilled and fried their fare with furious abandon. Other heat factors included portable spotlights and generators. The warm night breeze created a tiny suffocating vortex under the tent for Priestly to inhabit.

Priestly panted. Hot didn’t seem like an accurate description. 

No. When you added in the thousand or so bodies at The LA Zoo’s 37th Beastly Ball, the temperature downright sizzled. 

Priestly attempted to blink away his discomfort. A cacophony dialed his irritation up to ten. People chattered. A DJ spun another record through an obnoxious sound system with speakers the size of refrigerators. Even if the funds being raised tonight benefitted the zoo, he couldn’t imagine a bear or lion being okay with any of this. If there weren’t barriers in the way, he was pretty sure this entire crowd would be mauled to death by some very irate mammals. He only had so much patience for the human race of which he was unfortunately a part.

At least he’d get to see Betty White in person tonight. She was the Beastly Ball Chairman. That woman was a national treasure. And probably the only one that would be spared if the animals rose up.

He sliced up another of the more popular menu items being gobbled up by donors. The Mane Attraction hero had been a hit with the carnivores as suspected. Despite the surging heat, he’d kept his nose down and worked in the background the entire evening. Piper and Jen were the all-smiles servers, front and center, greeting the deep-pockets milling about the food tent.

“‘Scuse me, lad?”

It was the addition of ‘lad’ to the second question from a very Scottish sounding woman that had him look up.

Turned out, he didn’t need to look up very high. An elegant, petite wisp of a porcelain lady stared up at him. One of her copper-tinted brows arched. Lush, fiery red ringlets cascaded from the top of her head to her pointy elbows. A dusty peach wrap made of silk hung and clung to a body made for ballet. The chunky black vinyl belt with a sequin studded buckle cinched the dress in at the waist.

She was magically delicious.

Priestly smiled and wiped the roast beef gravy from his hands. He then pointed to Jen manning the front table. “One of our lovely servers will be able to plate up anything you’d like to try, Miss.”

“Including you?” Her coral stained lips curled up into a grin.

Priestly froze. He had to have heard her wrong in the middle of all the noise. “I-I’m sorry, what?”

One of the woman’s expertly manicured fingers pointed at his chest. “Are you being canny with that shirt? Or, would that be an actual invitation, there, then?”

Priestly gulped. “Um…”

The woman offered a playful frown. “Well, when you get your voice back, you let me know the answer, aye?”

*

Rowena didn’t have time to wait for the pretty punk boy to remember how to form sentences. So, she’d sampled the vegetarian sandwich the mousy haired twenty-something called The Panda Munch and then it was off toward the animal habitats.

She had work to do and little patience.

The rowdy bunch of guests, chatting and being all kinds of obnoxious for over ten minutes, had taken root by a particular set of sanctuaries that held her interest. 

She stood by the guard rail on the opposite side of the walkway, sipping from a champagne flute. Her fingernails tapped the top of the fence. She gazed over at a nearby pond. The current inner debate in her head was whether she should ignite the shoes aflame of the loudest person in the group or temporarily immobilize his tongue.

The ticket to attend this pathetic attempt at a soiree had been overpriced. Good cause her arse. A good cause was exacting any bit of covert revenge she could toward the Grand Coven. An even better cause was finding a way to unshackle her powers.

And what she currently required –to fund the greatest cause, which was herself– could be pilfered more easily under the veil of night. Amid distracted security, overworked zoo staff, and intoxicated guests, what could go wrong?

Rowena sighed and eavesdropped on the eejit in the lavender polo shirt drone on about the Lakers. She watched him pretend to dribble out of the corner of her eye.

A majority of the upper echelon of Angelenos could be trite and vapid. All surface, no substance. But that also made them easy to grift. If she stayed under the radar for another year or two, her little shop might be a very lucrative business.    

An announcement interrupted the awful excuse for music emanating from the stage some ways off where most of the guests congregated. Betty White would be giving a speech in about ten minutes.

That got the group moving.

“Finally,” Rowena murmured. She abandoned the glass atop the guard rail and sashayed toward her target. Her gaze landed on a security camera high atop a lamp post. She whispered, “Confractus.” A satisfied smile emerged at the subsequent sizzle and crack from the surveillance equipment.  

*

“Go, take a break.” Jen shooed Priestly with her hands. “Betty’ll be on soon. I don’t want to hear you complain later about missing that.”

“Are you sure?” Priestly untied the black waist apron.

Jen nodded. “Anything that makes you smile should not be denied.”

Priestly knew Jen really wanted to say, “We’re sick and tired of seeing you all mopey since Tish moved to New York.”

“Maybe you can get her to autograph your shirt,” Piper added with a giggle.

“Betty appreciates a dirty joke.” Priestly nodded with certainty.

Jen cleared her throat. “You’re definitely making a statement with it.”

“Oh! Don’t forget that dude at the Whiskey distillery stand said to stop by and get us some samples in exchange for these.” Piper shoved three wrapped sandwiches in Priestly’s hands.

“Right, I’ll go do that before Betty. Back faster than The Flash.”

*

Rowena had gotten turned around more than twice on the Employees Only path. Nestled amid the Night Wing area terrain, the dirt walk lacked signage for the untrained. A paltry number of floodlights scattered warm amber streaks here and there to guide the way.

Why didn’t the coordinators of this benefit include a flashlight in their extra large swag bag? “Buncha beetroots,” Rowena mumbled, hefting the cumbersome tote over her shoulder. At least she could have both hands free when needed later, what with her tiny clutch now in the bag’s bottom.

To add to the indecency of the two other cameras she had to decommission along the path, a staff member had chanced upon her stumbling through foliage in black vinyl thigh high boots. Steel nerves she’d forged over a few centuries rattled only for a second. The young male, whose time on this planet tallied up to nothing more than a couple decades, had been quite amicable. He’d politely offered to escort her to the main path. 

Rowena thanked him and followed his lead for a few yards while he made small talk. She fished out her clutch, found a hex bag, slipped it into his jacket pocket, and then glamoured him. He rotated slow and turned to face her. 

With syrupy sweetness, Rowena asked to be directed to the owl habitat entrance and unlock it. He stammered, with dilated pupils and enamored smile, that it was only his third day on the job and he didn’t know which gate that was. 

“Well, there shan’t be any harm in you opening up a gate or two for lil ole me, would there?” She batted her long lashes even though there was no need. Rowena did enjoy leaning into theatrics.

The junior zookeeper bobbed his head, turned, and floated back the way he came. “Follow me.”

*

The abrupt temperature change required Priestly to slip on his tartan plaid vest over his t-shirt. Away from the benefit crowd, the night air cooled slick spots of sweaty skin.

Listening to Betty White wax poetic about her love of animals had made all the hard work worthwhile. She’d even given him a cheeky little wink from the stage. Seriously, Priestly thought he might have a major crush on the woman. She was even funnier and more radiant in person than he’d expected. She could be his Golden Girl any damn day of the week.

After he, Jen, and Piper toasted with Whiskey samples to a job well done, he’d been released from cleanup duty. Excitement filled the segment of his brain in which the still six-year-old part of him resided. Okay, so it wasn’t like he was sneaking through the zoo. Staff members stationed at various checkpoints and exhibits nodded in greeting as he passed. But the grounds, typically experienced in the light and warmth of sunshine, now crackled with a forbidden energy.

It was nice to feel some excitement. His emotional state of late had been devastated. He hadn’t been able to shake himself out of the volley between self-pity and feeling responsible for Tish’s move. Maybe if he’d been more (more what, though), she would have stayed and they could have worked things out.

The three shots of whiskey had not helped the spiral of self-doubt. He hadn’t been enough. Pure and simple. Had it been juvenile to think his “normal” makeover would have been the key to winning over the girl of his dreams? Of course. Did that make it hurt any less that it hadn’t worked out? Of course not.

He recalled the flirty, testy banter with Tish over the years. She could slap him onto a sizzling griddle or submerge him in a bucket of ice with that sharp tongue and flippant hair toss. That drew him to her even more. He admitted to himself early on that he really liked how she took charge of a situation and gave zero fucks. That was what she presented to everyone on the surface, anyway. She’d been hurt. Sensitive. Cautious to risk any more of her heart. The armor had thickened. Just like him.

In the end, they’d been pretty compatible. But, in hindsight, most of that had been due to his ability to bend and compromise. She didn’t tell him much about what she wanted. He had to guess. Trial and error. And that attitude had transferred to what happened in the bedroom.

Priestly wasn’t a fucking mind reader. He didn’t have a clue. He figured she liked confidence and showmanship between the sheets. The kind that could run a porn marathon without breaking a sweat.

But that wasn’t him. And he could only keep that up (heh, child) for so long.

The same went for the preppie exterior he tried on to win her over. A few weeks after their first kiss, he snuck back on one of his piercings. Then another. And another. And another. Then the hair got dyed (fuschia). Then spiked up with gel. Next, he sported some eyeliner. He pulled out a signature statement t-shirt here and there. Dusting off the kilt might have been the last straw for Tish.

But he wanted to like the reflection in the mirror. All that skin-shedding pleased Tish. Not him.

So, the relationship met its inevitable conclusion and broke his heart. They’d agreed to revert to friendship status. He hadn’t expected Tish to up and leave a couple of months after that, though.

Jen had said it best one day. Tish probably couldn’t piece herself back together again here, around him. Fresh start and all. Finding your fucking self and all that bullshit.

That was all fine and good for everybody else. How was he supposed to figure that out for himself? Would he ever find someone that was willing to learn that along with him?

*

The zoo minion had been quite helpful for Rowena. Three gates unlocked in total. He’d made suggestions on the best direction to begin the owl search after her explanation on where they liked to hide. She’d thanked him kindly, pilfered his tiny flashlight, and then wafted a Forget Me spell over the man. “You won’t remember me or any of this. In fact, why don’t you take the rest of the night off? You deserve it for being soooo helpful.”

He toddled off repeating, “Sooo helpful.”

Times like this, an assistant in the dark arts would be a boon. This kind of menial labor, well, it was beneath her to be honest. Having to scour grasslands for a hole in the ground? She might as well be a pig, snout covered in dirt, snuffling for truffles.

Though truffles were delicious, she was in search of a Burrowing Owl. She’d done her research of course. No self-respecting witch starts something without the proper information. Sourcing all the ingredients for this divination spell –one of her own crafting– was a daunting task. But, what was the saying these Americans liked to bandy about? Go big or go home?

And one didn’t diddle with the Grand Coven without a well thought out plan. One required impregnable magic that a dozen of the most powerful witches on the planet would attempt to untangle.

Rowena held more power in her pinky finger than any of them before the Coven had punished her egotism and shackled her abilities. She needed to get that power back and back at them in the process. But in order to find what would cut right to the core, divide and conquer, would require eavesdropping. The divination spell would uncover the cloaked locations for those she needed to sentence for their condemnation.

Rowena’s eyes had adjusted to the dark. Silhouettes danced around the beam of white cast by the flashlight. Flying insects sparkled in the halo of light like falling snow. Her toe boots dug into the dirt here and there.

What would she do if this didn’t work as she hoped? She’d paid a high price for what she’d been told were the feathers of a Burrowing Owl on the black market. When the spell fell flat the only thing that could have been incorrect were the bloody feathers. But who would she complain to or demand a refund? Boris, or whatever his name was, wasn’t registered with the Better Business Bureau. She already had enough enemies.

So, it appeared serendipitous when an invitation for the Beastly Ball landed in her mailbox. She’d made a call to the LA Zoo’s information center and chatted with a lovely woman. The tale of having a daughter obsessed with owls spilled with ease and believability. This made-up child had been going on and on about an owl that squatted in another animal’s home in the dirt. They were in luck. It just so happened the zoo had a burrowing owl in their exhibit. The woman on the other end did warn Rowena her daughter might be disappointed, though. The chances of seeing one during the day were quite rare. 

Oh well, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d disappointed an offspring. 

More importantly, the universe sent her a clear message.

Take matters into your own hands.

Several minutes passed. A strong breeze rustled swaths of grass. Lots of ginger steps and toe boot shovels later, she came across a promising hole. Her heart raced. She bent down to inspect with a ruffle of fingers along the grass. A sharp quill pricked her thumb. Her hand cascaded over the soft frills of a feather. Then another. And another.

Hopefully, the feathers belonged to an owl that had fit itself into the burrow of another animal (or a facsimile of one made by a staff person). It had to be a Burrower!

Three feathers snatched off the ground were stuffed into her swag bag. Rowena surmised they would have fit into her little clutch as well. However, the bag proved an auspicious benefit souvenir.

She rose and dusted off her hands. Eyes closed, she inhaled deep, then exhaled. When she opened her eyes, she oriented her direction as best she could. She could reverse-track the way she came. A sigh released from her throat, satisfied. One step closer. She began the journey.

She passed once again through the forested area of the exhibit, which, in her opinion, better-suited owls. The sharp smell of pine filled her nose.

Her steps halted at the alien chuckling right above her head. Rowena stared up and squinted. She debated for a moment before shining the flashlight upon the sound source.

A set of bright yellow eyes peered back at her. It chuckled again. The tiniest owl Rowena had ever seen wasn’t spooked by the light. It couldn’t have been any bigger in stature than her hand.

“Aren’t you a curious little thing?”

It tilted its head as if answering in the affirmative. Rowena could make out expertly lined white eyebrows created by its feathers.

Rowena had always wanted an owl.

Was this another message from the universe?

Rowena pursed her lips.

There was only one way to find out.

*

Priestly stood under the spotlight by the Night Wing exhibit map. He’d learned a few new interesting facts about bats and owls as he continued to read.

A commotion within the fenced area pulled his attention from the signage. A figure bursted from the tree line a couple of yards away. He jumped back in surprise. “What the…”

He squinted. Crouched on the ground, the person gasped, almost hyperventilating.

He blinked in recognition. It was the red-headed woman earlier from the food tent who’d made quite an impression. “Are you alright?” he stammered out the question.

Her head shot up. Wide eyes stared back framed in a wild mess of curls. He gulped at the skin on display under the lamp post light. Tiny red marks crosshatched along her arms and bare back. She clutched a tote over her chest. The top half of her dress hung in tatters over her belt.

Priestly raised his hands and approached slow. “What happened?” He knelt beside her.

“I-I-” She waved a hand, arms tight to her sides so the flimsy bag’s material could preserve some modesty. “I went down that path” –she pointed back from where she appeared– “and, a bunch of the exhibit gates were opened.” Her voice cracked. “Before I knew it, there were owls and bats, everywhere, and I-I got caught in this awful melee.”

Priestly wanted to pat her in comfort. But, considering she was half-naked, he thought better of it. “The gates were opened?” he asked, incredulous. He scanned the path as far as he could in both directions. “Where the hell’s an employee when you need one? Is this Best Buy? They were everywhere a little while ago.” He muttered to himself before gazing at the woman. “You’re hurt. I’m gonna go get some help.”

He rose, only to be snatched up into a fierce embrace. She fisted his vest with both hands. The tote’s canvas material, which held some stiff objects, smushed tight between their bodies. “No,” she begged. “Please, don’t get anyone. I’m in such a state. I’ll be mortified.”

Priestly lifted his hands up and away so there was no chance of an accidental brush or touch. He felt like the one in trouble at the moment. “Um,” he thought out loud. An idea formed. “Listen, you need to get looked at by someone. But let’s work on getting you out of here first. Okay?”

She nodded into his chest. He inhaled. Her scent was rather pleasant. Spicy and sharp. 

“Why don’t you go behind that sign there? I’ll give you my shirt to put on.”

“Alright.”

He breathed in relief when she released him. A fast blur scurried around the area map. Without wasting time, he peeled off his vest, dropped it to the ground, and then tugged the T-shirt over his head by the collar. He turned around and stepped backward until his side hit the hardwood of the sign. “Here.” Eager fingers snatched the material from his hand.

“Thank you.” 

The lilt in her voice fluttered Priestly’s heartbeat. Goosebumps formed on the back of his neck. He wanted to blame it on the cool air skirting along his bare chest. “No problem,” he said. He tried again. “Are you sure I can’t go and look for some help? I think I saw a medical tent near the stage.”

“No!” She expelled the word with force from her throat that time.

“Sure. Sure.” He mumbled as his gaze scoured the ground. He picked up the discarded vest and plunged his arms through the openings. The benefit coordinators probably wouldn’t appreciate a punk Tarzan impersonation.

“I’m very grateful for this. Truly.” The woman called out. “What can I call you, besides my knight in shining armor?”

He chuckled. “Um, Priestly.”

“Presley?”

“No, Priestly.” He emphasized the “t”.

“Oh. Priestly,” she repeated. “I’m Rowena.” Her voice was closer now, no barrier between them.

Cautious, Priestly looked up. He couldn’t help but smile at the vision before him. She stuffed the remnants of her dress in the big bag. The forest green shirt, slightly roomy on him, swallowed up her slight frame. She’d wrapped the big black belt around it. The bottom hem fell just above the top of her thigh high boots. Her fingers threaded through the mane of hair to wrangle it in place. “I wish we could have met under better circumstances, Rowena.”

She sighed and grinned at him. “Aye. But, we might not have met again if not for this.”

He recalled her flirtation from earlier. He stared at the design and text on the shirt he had custom made for the Beastly Ball. A cartoon panda munched away on some bamboo. A text bubble above the panda’s head declared in big, bold font: Raw Dog Me, I’m a Bottom.

She strolled over and rested a hand on his vest. “How can I ever repay such chivalry?” She whispered something else after the question… something he couldn’t make out.

Before he could ask her to repeat what she’d said, his thoughts clouded. Nothing seemed very important at the moment. A sense of relaxation washed over him.

“I would very much appreciate a walk back to my car, Priestly. And, I promise I’ll make sure I get myself straight to a hospital.”

He nodded. His head bobbed and swayed. “Good idea. I mean, yeah, bats and owls. You probably need a rabies shot.”

“Probably so.” She nodded in agreement. Her grin reached her ears. She held up a business card and tucked it in another one of his vest pockets. “But, you. You’re going to stop by my shop soon to pick up this shirt, aye?”

He smiled, then nodded. “Aye.”

~~To Be Continued~~

Story Notes: Google pics of a Burrowing Owl and the absolutely adorable Elf Owl. I have plans for this story to fill four bingo squares over as many parts. Things are gonna go off the rails (and probably quite smutty). Will see how my first foray into writing for Priestly goes. Also, so many thanks to @sam-is-my-safe-word for brainstorming all the chaos and kink with me.

#jacklesversebingo23 #boaz priestly #rowena macleod #fanfic #light angst #fluff #humor #flirting

[nobleclover]

Rayman Headcanons

Oh shoot. I've become so hyperfixated on Rayman (despite not having time to play the games 😭) that I've developed some headcanons for him. Buckle up lads, this is gonna be one hell of a list.

Rayman's creation is pretty much the same from the trailer for Rayman Origins except he was actually a literal baby when the ritual worked. Oh and he was also created as part of a test for Betilla to pass for some magic exams or something.

His mother Betilla was pretty shocked at the results but soon adored the little thingamajig she created using some energy from some lums, an eggplant (lol), random strands of hair and blood. Rayman's cuteness won her extra marks as well. XP

His grandfather is the Magician who took Betilla in when she was young, alongside some other little nymphs who were displaced due to Mr. Dark stirring shit up.

Rayman and Betilla had a peaceful life together until he was only five when Mr. Dark began attacking the valley. She had to send him away to an old friend of hers, Murfy, to ensure that he'd be safe, even if it was painful.

For a while, Rayman had trouble adjusting to his new surroundings in the Woods of Light, until he met a talkative young Glute called Globox. Since then, the two of them had been best friends for life.

Rayman isn't a "prophesised" hero nor was he originally created to be the protector of the Glade of Dreams. He was just a magic experiment that became his own person, and he's cool with his unusual origins.

He's pretty much got the same personality as the one in the games, with his eagerness to help people being very great. Betilla was hesitant to give him the abilities he earned to fight Mr. Dark, but since nobody else was up to the task (or unable), she relented.

Even while being the Guardian of the Glade, he's still a big kid at heart and always tries to have fun so that he wouldn't be bored. Murfy jokingly calls him a bad influence that has dumb luck.

COMPLETELY in love with Ly, a wingless fairy, that is studying lumology.

Freed and befriended Clark at the start of the pirate invasion.

Initially hated the Rabbids with a passion for their shenanigans until he managed to convince them that invading another planet (Earth) wasn't right and managed to help broker a peace deal between them and the humans. Yes that does sound over the top but c'mon, I can definitely see him preaching for world peace. XD

Met Barbara when he was travelling between different worlds for a vacation. Their meeting was awkward since the people in her kingdom mistook him for a monster but she managed to befriend him after he helped her in slaying a dragon.

Often has nightmares about Mr. Dark, the robot pirates, the rabbids becoming evil again, the teensie Magician (different from his grandfather).

He is 28, similar to the age of his first game.

He is also demi-bisexual and is pretty open about it.

Loves chocolate, the native fruit to the glade, chicken (from Barbara's world) and peach juice.

His eagerness to help people often leads to him unintentionally neglecting himself and becoming burnt out. So he has to be reminded to take it easy every once in a while. XP

Is godfather to Globox's 650 children and finds babysitting them hectic. XD

#rayman #rayman headcanons #long list #headcanons #ubisoft #i'm so fixated on rayman like what the hell

[piratefalls]

i'm back with more psych au! we're clocking in at 12k now and it's becoming more than i thought it would but i'm still having a lot of fun. so so so many thanks to @priincebutt (this is also a tag for you lmao) for both reading through what i have and giving me some great feedback and encouragement, so as a gift here's something new. partially under a cut because it's long.

They’re greeted by a man with a terrible Irish accent wearing a green suit and a hat with a buckle. “Hello, me buckos! I’m Marvin. Welcome to Shenanigans, home of the world-famous Blarney Stone fajitas.” “World-famous?” Alex asks before he can stop himself. “You’re really gonna stand by that?” Nora nudges him with her elbow. “Alex, come on.” “What?” She shakes her head, all but begging him to let it go. “Nora, this restaurant isn’t even part of a chain. I bet he even pronounces fajita with a hard ‘j’ when he’s not hamming it up for work.”

There’s a large part of him that wants to keep poking at this guy, both for his own entertainment and because it’s the principle of the thing at this point, but before he can come up with another zinger he glances down and finds himself focused on the stamp pad at the host stand. “Is that also a world-famous clover stamp?” Marvin rolls his eyes. “That’s the one.” “Do me a favor,” Alex says, grabbing Nora’s arm. “Stamp my friend’s wrist, please.” “If I do, will you leave?” “With glee.” Marvin stamps Nora’s wrist and, just like Alex suspected it would, the curve of the leaf matches their victims. Excellent. Now he knows where to direct the investigation and get them officially hired on this case. But before they can go, there’s one last thing he needs to do. “Listen, Marvin,” Alex says. “Can you do me just one more, eensy-weensy favor?” His shoulders sag. “What?” Alex gives him his most shit-eating grin and says, “Say ‘magically delicious’.” “Get out.”

absolutely no pressure tagging @wellhalesbells, @ereborne (am i making it up or did you share something recently?) the always lovely @alasse9, @kiwiana-writes for the open tag, anyone else who wants to share!

#wip wednesday #rwrb #firstprince #red white and royal blue #kelly writes a psych au

[moresrush]

Title: Honey Magic. (Ao3 link.) Chapter 1: Silence. Fandom: Octopath Traveler 2. Pairing: Osvald/Partitio. Word Count: 1406. Warnings: Consensual magic shenanigans.

Summary: After going weeks without being able to have a moment alone, the tension between Osvald and Partitio finally shatters.

Distance has proven to be something like torture — it’s been the better part of a month since they were last able to rest their heads somewhere with a roof — and by the time they end up in an actual city, a few of the traveler’s nerves have become more than a bit frayed. The tension between Osvald and Partitio, specifically, has been something of whispered speculation mixed with knowing stares between Throné, Castti, and Tenemos; the two of them have done well not to actually be caught doting on each other — but the signs are there, for those of them who know where to look. There’s a lot that they need to do. Supplies that need to be refilled. Dulled weapons that need to be replaced. Shopping is one of Partitio’s favorite little pastimes — especially if it means that he can chatter to them about the quality of the wares they cross — but as people move noisily through busy streets the merchant’s jaw stays set in a way that one might describe as cranky. Anxious. Whenever they stop moving, Partitio seems unable to fully still; foot tapping or fingers twitching as they all decide who is going to go where amongst the music and vendor’s shouts. Usually Partitio swoops in at the chance to go clothes shopping when it is mentioned — and with a bad tear in one of Angea’s dresses there is more than a need to find something to replace it with — but today the merchant digs into a pocket and places a heavy coin purse into the dancer’s hands and smiles in a way that almost seems … strained. “Hikari’s gonna be your main man today, Angea; he’s got a good eye for this stuff even if he doesn’t believe it.” Hearing his name causes Hikari to turn, curious and a bit concerned — Partitio sounds rushed, and unfocused. Somewhere else. “We’ll wanna see whatcha come up with at the inn later, we’re havin’ dinner right? Right — so. Let’s say — eight?” Dark eyes dart to where Osvald looms, the scholar’s body a bit more rigid than usual. Tension in his shoulders, aches that the merchant tries not to buckle and fuss over in the middle of the street as their eyes lock for a split second.

“Eight-thirty.” Partitio looks away quickly, as if trying to avoid a spell as he looks to everyone else. “Inn. Dinner. Alla you. My treat. And ‘till then — Mister Osvald?” It’s almost remarkable, how they do this. How they act so calmly around the others despite everything welled up in their chests. Osvald offers a sound of acknowledgement — small, nothing actually important. Nonchalant, maybe, if not for the way that the tips of the scholar’s ears darken some at the understanding of what comes next. Partitio doesn’t miss a beat as he starts walking again — controlling his steps, his expression, his tone. “M’gonna need y’t’do some heavy liftin’ for me, iffin y’don’t mind.” Behind him, Throné actually steps on Tenemos’ foot to keep him from chuckling as Osvald follows without another word to any of them. Mind focused, there’d be no stopping him anyway. It isn’t long before the two of them disappear into the crowd itself and the rest of the group disperses in their own directions as well, happy to once again be surrounded by civilization and its comforts.

~~~ Silence falls over Osvald and Partitio as they walk, the scholar only a few paces behind. He knows it’s been too long when their shadows cross and he finds himself envious of them — connected and whole and intimate in ways that he wishes he could have all the time. His hands stay balled into fists as he follows the golden merchant into one of the inns placed in a side street — away from where most travelers like to rest their heads and find some peace. This is an indication, without words, that Partitio has no intention of being quiet — that he’s actually close to a breaking point. Any little quips about his being the so-called Wild Stallion stay in Osvald’s head as Partitio’s gloved fingers fuss with the key, and if he ends up amused by the small mutter — a curse common in the Wildlands — said amusement is also kept very much to himself. The door is all but kicked open once the lock gives way, key quickly slapped onto a table near the entrance with such a force that it’s a wonder it doesn’t scratch the surface. The way that Osvald nudges the door shut with a boot is no better — and as Partitio whirls around to say something — he suddenly stops. Osvald is closer than he thought, absolutely looming over him with every extra inch that he has. Somehow the tension manages to rise — and for a split second, Osvald swears he can actually feel it. Electricity. The air in the room becomes charged like that before a storm. Partitio’s mouth opens, brows knit. “I—.” “Silence.” Osvald’s voice has power behind it — the spell hitting Partitio as Osvald steps closer. Osvald watches Partitio’s expression change, he gets the result that he wants as the merchant suddenly deflates and glares. The taller of the two is still perfectly calm as he finally reaches for Partitio, but his hand goes higher than what is wanted. Restraint is tested on both of their parts, but on the cowboy’s especially as Osvald cooly removes his hat from his head, savoring the eye-contact as his lover’s gaze suddenly darkens. There it is. The look that Osvald has been hoping for.

It could be mistaken for seething, perhaps — if not for the blush overtaking Partitio’s face and ears — if not for the burning lust in his eyes. Hackles rising, Osvald knows that the tension is something that can be savored, in itself. Should Partitio have his way, this room will be in shambles within the hour — this look, this specific wild desire in his lover’s eyes is an alarm. Partitio is frustrated; likely aching as much as he is if not more, and Osvald knows that means more than just ‘one rodeo,’ as the other would likely put it. He has the stamina and the passion to keep up with him, today. But that doesn’t mean he can’t also take his time. This is his intention when he turns to calmly hang Partitio’s beloved hat on a hook. The merchant continues to glare as Osvald looks at him, again — practically shaking in place — and when Osvald speaks again he actually jumps a bit from just how tight he’s managed to wind himself in the silence between words. “Jacket, next.” The huff that comes out of Partitio is like the snort of a bull as he shrugs off the yellow trenchcoat he’s become known for and offers it over next. It joins his hat on the hook and Partitio knows that Osvald doesn’t need to move at such a pace to do it, he knows that Osvald is testing him —- literally experimenting with his patience and resolve. “Gloves.” Defiance flickers in dark eyes and Partitio’s head lifts just a bit with pride before he uses his teeth to pull one of the gloves free — eye-contact maintained. Silenced, but still very capable of testing Osvald’s composure. This attack is quickly parried when his naked hands start to reach for his tie and Osvald actually stops him, his own hand catching a wrist and causing Partitio’s eyes to flare. “Aht.” A sound — a scold that has the two of them too close to each other as Partitio jerks his hand away and stomps his heel on the floor for the sake of making noise. Perhaps this kind of behavior is where the Wild Stallion nickname started. “I’ve waited weeks to undress you, Partitio. I want to enjoy this, enjoy you.” It’s Osvald who ends up untucking the tie from underneath the merchant’s vest so that he can hook a finger into the knot. Body still, Partitio seems to even hold his breath as Osvald makes work of the knot itself — but before finally slipping the tie free he chooses, instead, to grip it near his lover’s throat so he can suddenly pull Partitio flush against him. Face to face, eye to eye — their lips brush when he speaks again, when he releases the spell with a gentle warning. “You’ll sing for me again, my love. I have you for several hours — and I intend to use them fully.”

#octopath traveler 2 #partitio yellowil #osvald v. vanstein #osvitio #trans partitio hours #fanart #hux draws #hux writes #blows a kiss at all of you #this is what the poll was about

[atomatowriter]

Hi! I'm Alex, she/her, 32 years old. I was a member of the writeblr community a few years ago, though I never made a proper writeblr introduction. I stopped being active around the time of the pandemic, unsurprisingly and for a number of reasons. Now that my life is back together and the internet is...the way it is, I decided it was a good time to come back here. I love interacting with other writers, gushing about our stories and swapping worldbuilding questions. I also have a discord for indie fantasy writers (published and unpublished) if anyone is interested in joining that.

What I Write

I am a self-published author with a debut novel that released in May, The Wounds of Wisdom. Wounds is the first in a YA romantic fantasy trilogy with court intrigue called the Time's Sacrifice Trilogy. I currently expect the second book to be out in September of 2024. You can read book one for free on Kindle Unlimited.

My stories feature messy, emotional characters coming together and learning to lean on each other while unraveling still messier truths about the world around them and the people who hold power. I also write about the queernormative worlds that I want to see, and draw much of my inspiration from years of playing tabletop RPGs.

WIPs (buckle up, folks, there's a bunch).

The Time's Sacrifice Trilogy - A would-be knight, a reluctant prince, and a prickly bodyguard from an enemy nation, each gifted with mysterious divine powers, find themselves thrown into dangerous intrigue when someone begins killing their fellow Wise Ones and they learn that the history they've been told is far from the truth. YA, Arthurian vibes, political intrigue, polyamory.

The Fox Eyes Duology - A young woman looking for the lost realm of elementals in hopes of saving save her uncle and the dying forest she calls home crosses paths with another young woman who would give anything to escape the elemental powers she considers a curse. NA, campfire talks and traveling shenanigans, dark gods and darker humans, elemental magic.

Seasons of Terrafae - a quartet of companion novels, each taking place in a different continent on the world of the Fox Eyes duology, where each continent represents each of the four seasons. Elemental magic, D&D vibes.

Siren Star: The Last Defense of a Notorious Pirate - An aging pirate captain looks back on her career, focusing on her greatest crime of all, the theft of divinity itself. Pirate fantasy, worship of the stars, flying ships, gryphons.

Wildery and Wolf - Friends-to-lovers-to-awkward-exes, Wildery and Wolf unfortunately still have a magical bond due to an experiment with a forbidden ritual a couple years ago. They embark on interdimensional shenanigans together. NA, contemporary fantasy, Bee & Puppycat vibes, not a second chance at romance but a second chance at friendship.

[Working Title] Fake Transcripts for Vampires - An upcoming webnovel about a floating music hostel for creatures of the night, that also offers fake transcripts so they can blend into the human world. Being Human meets Hotel Del Luna, episodic, vampires and werewolves and fae and demons oh my what is that.

Come Home - A boy finds out he's a changeling and plunges into the enchanted forest surrounding his hometown to trade himself for the sister he never knew. His older brother follows after him, unwilling to lose another sibling. YA, Brother centric, ace sex averse MC, scary fae woods, there's a cute puppy.

Asha Crowe Mysteries - A whodunnit murder mystery series in a high fantasy world. Asha Crowe has been chosen by the God of Death, so deaths just kinda happen around her. She gets fed up and starts investigating them. Reluctant protagonist, gods fucking with people's lives, immense fantasy world.

And some more that aren't mature enough to describe yet!

What I Love In Books

Found Family bc who doesn't

Expansive worlds with chunky lore

Friendships and family relationships that are just as intense and obsessive and messy as the romantic relationships

But also yes some good good romance

Messy politics

Full and hard-fought redemption arcs

Characters learning how to people or how to relationships

Adventure stories with lots of travel

High stakes mysteries and intrigue

Probably more idk I read a lot

What I'm Looking For Here

Honestly, I'm an extrovert and I just really love yelling about our stories with my writer friends. I'd love to find some critique partners, or just to hear about what you guys are working on! Just consider this me running up to you on the playground and shouting "HEY CAN WE BE FRIENDS."

#writeblr introduction #writeblr #writeblr intro #writing community #writers on tumblr

[lunarrolls]

polymorph, chetney, and ashton. i know the prompt list was hurt/comfort but honestly go as silly as u want with this one

this is literally the best prompt ever i think. i had far too much fun with it. ashton and chetney are already two of my favs, especially when put together, and then you throw in the ULTIMATE SHENANIGANS KNOWN AS POLYMORPH? absolutely FLAWLESS. they’re so stupid. i love it. banana you’re the best

•

Polymorph is a fourth level transmutation spell on the bard, druid, sorcerer, and wizard spell lists.

This spell transforms a creature that you can see within range into a new form. An unwilling creature must make a Wisdom saving throw to avoid the effect. A shapechanger automatically succeeds on this saving throw.

The creature is limited in the actions it can perform by the nature of its new form, and it can’t speak, cast spells, or take any other action that requires hands or speech.

The target’s gear melds into the new form. The creature can’t activate, use, wield, or otherwise benefit from any of its equipment. This spell can’t affect a target that has 0 hit points.

•

Ashton stood with the handle of their hammer between the doorknob and the jamb, trying their damndest to keep their pursuers from breaking the thing down completely. Their muscles strained as they leaned all of their not insignificant rocky weight on the door.

“Any fucking day now, Chetney,” he gritted out, scowling in the gnome’s general direction.

“Shut up! This shit takes time,” the old man snapped back, flipping him off as he picked the lock on the desk. “No goddamn patience.”

“Oh, by all fucking means, take your time!” Ashton said, pointedly staring at him as one of the crew (probably the damn goliath, the way the door nearly buckled under the strike) slammed against the door and nearly sent him flying across the room. “I don’t know what I was thinking!”

“Finally getting some appreciation from you,” Chetney sniffed as the lock clicked open. “See what happens when you shut your mouth?”

“Just grab the fucking necklace so we can get the fuck out, Chet,” Ashton snapped without any real heat. They were actually sort of worried this crew was gonna start using weapons to break open the door, and they preferred their body un-skewered.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m working—oh,” Chetney said, going very still.

“What?” Ashton demanded, his gaze whipping over to where Chetney stood. “Hells, Chet, what could be so—“

His sentence was interrupted by a loud popping noise, followed by a strange green arcane blast. Ashton’s first thought was fuck, a trap that bastard forgot to disarm, as they ducked and covered their head, trying to avoid whatever magic was just released by Chetney’s incompetence. When they opened their eyes again a fraction of a second later, they were not greeted with the familiar sight of a crotchety old gnome. In the gnome’s place, a small, furry mammal wrapped in leathery wings and sporting massive brown ears sat, blinking confusedly. A fruit bat, Ashton thought.

The good news was that nobody could take the necklace from Chetney now. Ashton didn’t see it anywhere in his little hand-talon-wing appendages. So that was good.

The bad news was that, in his surprise, Ashton had stopped leaning against the door as much, and now those fuckheads were seriously about to slam him across the entire damn room if he didn’t move in the next two seconds.

Quickly, they stumbled to their feet, snatching their hammer from where it was wedged—protecting the room was a lost cause at this point, they’d already gotten what they came for, even if it turned the old man into a fucking fruit bat, apparently, what the fuck—and the small, furry form of what was probably Chetney Pock O’Pea from the carpeted office floor just as the goliath smashed the door in half with her polished battle axe.

“Greymoore!” she bellowed, leveling her axe with Ashton’s face. “Nowhere to run, fuckhead. It’s just us now.”

“You underestimate the shit I’m willing to do to not have to deal with your bad breath,” Ashton said, immediately feeling like a twelve year old for the stupid taunt. The feeling was pushed to the back of his mind as he assessed his options.

“I don’t think I’m underestimating shit,” the goliath snarled, her friends (the fucking sneaky little katari who ratted him out and the elf with the bow who’d tracked him, dammit) fanning out behind her, “considering the shit you pulled to avoid paying me back.”

“Listen, I forgot about that. Genuine mistake. I can get the gold to you soon, promise,” Ashton said. He did kind of mean it, too, but mostly he was just trying to figure out how the fuck he was supposed to get out of this second story room. The original plan was to have Imogen fly up and get them if anything went wrong, but she hadn’t arrived yet, probably because Ashton had held the door instead of signaling for her. He hadn’t accounted for several random people who he’d apparently cheated out of a small fortune in a gambling house a couple years ago showing their stupid faces again, sue him. Honestly, he hardly remembered even playing a game with them. He’d cheated a lot of people out of money in that gambling house.

Besides the point. The bat in his arms seemed displeased. Ashton was very displeased, also, so Chetney wasn’t fucking unique in that regard.

They clutched the small animal tighter, realizing the only possible escape.

There were rooftops close to the study they were standing in. Ashton was gonna have to jump out of a goddamn window again, because that had gone so well for him last fucking time. Couldn’t get enough of window jumping.

Chetney seemingly realized what he was about to do before he did it, squeaking loudly in surprise, or maybe warning, but Ashton never listened to Chetney even when he could speak and he certainly wasn’t about to start listening to him now that he could squeak.

He hastily stuffed the small bat into the pouch around his leg, slung his hammer over his shoulder, and sprinted for the window.

“Hey!” the goliath shouted behind him, taken aback by his decisiveness, but Ashton was already on the windowsill, catapulting themself out into the air.

For a horrifying moment, they were suspended there, mid-leap, left to briefly wonder if this was how they’d fallen off that stupid balcony. Then, gravity took hold, and they started on the gradual arc of descent.

Randomly, they found themself annoyed that Orym hadn’t been sent on this mission as Chetney’s bodyguard. He was certainly more likable and far less likely to have a group of people out for his blood for doing literally nothing (in the past two years) to piss them off, and he had those magic boots that let him leap jumps like this no problem. Ashton had fucking nothing.

They didn’t bother to pray, just brace themself as they fell and hope that either their feet hit a solid rooftop or that they didn’t hit anything too horrible on the way down.

They immediately proceeded to drop like a stone (ha ha, they sarcastically thought to themself) and slam their head on the edge of the rooftop they’d tried to jump to. Their hands scrambled against the shingles, trying to find purchase, but of course, they were too heavy to get any traction, so down they went, straight onto the pavement.

Ashton yelped as they landed hard on their tailbone, probably fracturing it, and smacked the back of their head on the wall of the alley. Bat-Chetney protested in his pocket, squeaking as if to say, the fuck was that, Greymoore?

“Shut up, Chetney, hells,” Ashton growled, shakily standing up. They had to get the fuck out of here before that stupid gang caught up with them.

“Come on,” Ashton hissed, sprinting deeper into the alley. “We gotta blend in. We’ll find the others in a bit.”

He blended into the crowd as best he could when looking like he did, keeping his hood up and his head down and sticking to alleys until he was sure they’d lost their tail. Sighing and wincing, he roughly grabbed Chetney from his pouch and held him up, studying his new form.

“Gods,” they said, poking Bat-Chetney’s snout, “you’ve never looked better.”

The bat squeaked. Ashton snorted. “Don’t suppose you even understand me right now? Fuck, I’m trying to remember how this shit works. Fearne would know.”

Speaking of Fearne, Ashton had no idea where she was. Looking up, they realized they also had no idea where they were. They’d lost the tail, but in the process, it seemed like they’d also lost their allies.

Well. They’d be getting a strongly-worded message from Imogen, then. Hopefully she didn’t try to message Chetney. That probably wouldn’t go well right now.

Ashton did spend a little too long giggling at the idea of Imogen sending out her usual psychic brainwaves or whatever and just getting a bunch of confused bat noises back. That was probably what happened whenever she tried to message Chetney anyway, though, they reasoned.

•

Imogen was about done with their missing party members. She loved them to death, but gods, they were stupid sometimes.

They should have sent Orym with Chetney. Lord knows what possessed everyone to agree that Chetney and Ashton were the right people to discreetly grab that necklace. They’d managed to fool everyone into believing they were competent thieves, and now she was having her second infuriating psychic conversation from halfway across a city with Ashton.

The good news was that they weren’t dead or captured, and they’d gotten the necklace, but true to Ashton fashion, they’d managed to piss someone off and also turn Chetney into a bat, somehow. That did sound pretty funny, though, she had to admit. She hoped Chetney was still a bat when the duo was found.

Her hopes were dashed somewhat when F.C.G.’s locate creature spell led them to their friends, both in their respective humanoid forms, hiding out in the back of an ally.

“What in the hell were you two thinking,” Imogen demanded, waving her hands with the words. “That was supposed to be a quick smash and grab!”

“Well, it was!” Ashton smirked. “We’re here, aren’t we? And we have the necklace. We smashed, we grabbed. Good times were had by all. Now we can go get drunk off our asses to celebrate!”

Imogen massaged her temples. They had no goddamn business being that smug, considering the amount of magic she and Letters had burned trying to find them, but if she told them that, both Ashton and Chetney would get even more unbearably smug.

These two would fucking kill her one day if she didn’t kill them first.

“Fine, whatever,” she said, crossing her arms and turning to peer out of the alley, making sure nobody was paying attention to them. “Let’s just get out of here.”

“Where’s the necklace?” Fearne piped up, putting on her best innocent smile. It worked on exactly none of them, but it was funny to see her try. “I can hold onto it. For safekeeping, of course.”

“Of course,” Ashton agreed, smiling in that enabling way they often did when Fearne stole shit and leaning to fish the pendant from Chetney’s grasp.

“Ash, wait—“ Orym started, but he didn’t finish the sentence.

A green flash of light and a loud popping noise later, a very confused adolescent deer was standing with the Hells in the alley.

Chetney laughed so hard that he bashed his head on the wall.

Imogen was actually going to murder both of them as soon as Ashton turned back. Even though part of her was very happy at seeing her earlier wish fulfilled.

#cr #cr3 #ashton greymoore #chetney pock o'pea #imogen temult #roll performance #charisma save #spelling disasters #i rolled three times for this prompt hehe #chetney rolled a seven on his polymorph save #ashton rolled a nineteen on a dex save to avoid the door slamming open #and then subsequently rolled a fucking seven athletics to jump to the next rooftop #i probably could have rolled stealth and another saving throw for ash’s polymorph #but i wanted the funniest possible option #i am a huge fan of polymorph shenanigans i’ll eat them up every time #i’d write this forever if i could

[thestarfilledsea]

[slides in] ella ella tell us about the ikea :)

BUCKLE THE FUCKLE UP EVERYONE. SIT BACK AND ENJOY THE RIDE THAT IS “sleepie Wukong in IKEA” in the sleeping sun au

Little background summary, after Wukong fixes the hibernation sleep deprivation (just barely) in a whole big thing blah blah blah,

But there is one remaining effect to his neglect, one that would probably go away within the century but until then, once a month Wukong gets really…off.

The delirium of 500 years of magical sleep deprivation comes back monthly, causing him to fall back on his base hibernation/monkey instincts until he goes to sleep and wakes up again.

Think of a cat on catnip.

Except the “cat” is an overpowered god.

NOW THAT THAT’S ESTABLISHED LETS ROLL

The traffic light trio had been wandering around in a farmer’s market with Wukong when his “sleepies” hit. MK had warned him before they went that it had been awhile since his last ‘episode.’

Wukong had brushed him off. And here they are now.

Mei, Red and MK huddle to try and figure out how to get a very much out of it Wukong back home without people noticing, but when they turn around he’s gone.

They lost the Monkey King.

A very. Delirious. Monkey King.

Unsupervised.

Uh oh. Grandpa’s loose.

MK and Mei frantically search through the city for him, only catching glances of him before he evades them once more.

Where they eventually follow him to was an ikea.

Of course, they find him swinging on a light fixture, nervewrackingly dodging the gazes of employees.

And from there it goes from bad to worse when MK recognizes a glamoured Macaque walk in.

Red makes a noble sacrifice and goes to shop with Macaque to keep him busy and preferably not looking in the others direction.

It’s hard to explain but have these screenshots of me and Tals figuring it out.

And then, the fated crib.

He wouldn’t get out of it so they have to get one of those plat thing that you put furniture on to to move it.

Mei and MK’s grand plan to get Wukong out of IKEA without being recognized?

Lampshade

They put a lampshade on his head, give him a plushie to keep him quiet, find disguises of their own and pray to the stars above that the cashier didn’t ask questions.

As luck would have it however, Macaque was in the checkout line with Red across from them.

…They keep the plat-cart thing. And the crib. Which leads to some more shenanigans but hooo boy this is getting long

But yes, IKEA has become the staple of the sleeping sun au.

Enjoy this hastily written thing, and know that me and Tals will never look at an IKEA store the same again.

#lmk #lego monkie kid #monkie kid #the stars ask me stuff #lmk au #sleeping sun au #this was one of the first times me and Tals talked #it cemented our friendship I think shdkshskshs

[mllx-anazra]

Lay All Your Love on Me (Eddie Munson x fem!reader smut) part 2

Summary: Eddie thought that sticking to the radio while you two go at it would prevent any ABBA-related shenanigans. He was seriously underestimating your power of persuasion, and his lack of luck.

Read part 1 here. Cross-posted on Ao3.

Warnings: Smut, so minors DNI, porn with plot if you squint, p in v, protected sex (duh), oral (m! receiving and implied f!), Eddie is still a music snob but you're more stubborn, my terrible sense of humour, more horniness related to ABBA, Eddie has a metronome dick I refused to be convinced otherwise

Notes: I have too much fun writing this. Also, looks like I can only write song-related fics. Oh, well, at least this one is incredibly horny. As always, comments/reblogs and likes are appreciated <3 I am but a writer in need of validation bc this is still fairly new to me [REPOSTED, BC THERE WAS A PB WITH THE INITIAL POST RIP]

July 1984

            “Fuuuuuck, what are you doing to me, sunshine,” Eddie moaned, as you steadily bobbed your mouth up and down his rock-hard cock, hands pumping what you could not fit yet. The sight was enough to make him combust here and there, your lips prettily wrapped around his shaft, lashes fluttering almost coquettishly as spit collected at his base and you spread it with your manicured hand, red polish matching your cherry shaped earrings swaying rhythmically with your movements. He let his head fall back on the picnic blanket you had spread by the shore of Lovers’ Lake, fisting the scratchy material as the sinful sounds of your mouth on him broke the peacefulness of nature and your battery-powered radio in the background. 

            Since what he had dubbed the ‘playlist incident’, Eddie insisted on favoring the radio over the mixtapes you had concocted, until the one he was working on was done. A channel dedicated to hard rock music had been your compromise because you had refused metal on principle, wounding him a little initially. “You make your pace match the fucking songs we listen to while we go to town, there’s no way in hell I’m letting you pistoning me in rhythm with Metallica, I want to be able to walk the next day, thank you very much. You use your dick like a metronome, I swear to God” you had supplied after he had begged you for the umpteenth time the week prior to let him play his music. Although he tried (and failed) to play it cool, your words had inflated his ego and Eddie’s fervor for you had only increased exponentially, curious to see which song would make your body sing for him the most. To both of your surprises, Heart’s Barracuda was the unmatched champion so far.  

            Dio was still playing in the background, the metalhead too far gone in the feeling of your warm mouth around him, as you suckled his tip going up making him hiss in ecstasy, your left hand still working him like magic as your right arm pinned his hips to the ground to prevent him from buckling too much. 

            “Are you close, pretty boy?” you had the audacity to ask innocently after releasing him with the lewdest pop he had ever heard. 

He struggled to not go cross-eyed at the sheer pleasure you were building in his core. 

            “Yes, fuck yes I am, but don’t wanna cum yet, just, just…”

            “You don’t want my mouth anymore?” you asked, all pouty as your hand kept wanking him without faltering. 

            “No, no, no, no, fuck, angel I love it I love your mouth I just, I just, unnng…” his sentence broke in a pitiful moan as you began pressing wet kisses along his hard length. Your hand moved south to fondle his sack, making him curse loudly. When your tongue replaced your nimble fingers, Eddie swore he was ascending to a greater plane of existence as an entire body spasm rocked through him. His left leg sprang like coiled wire in the constraints of his half-downed pants and underwear, and his foot kicked the radio unexpectedly, sending it tumbling further down the blanket. The contraption was not the sturdiest, and the shock of the kick switched the channel, replacing the electrifying beat of ACDC with what Eddie dreaded the most: ABBA’s pop-y keys and vocals. 

            It was like shooting a sitting duck, a little small talk, a smile, and baby I was stuck, the speaker blared, stilling your movements as laughter bubbled in your throat, a full cackle erupting at the look of sheer dismay and doom on the metalhead’s reddening face. 

            “It’s a fucking curse, are you shitting me? I’m getting ABBA’ed TWICE??”

Tears were springing out of your eyes, and you wheezed at Eddie’s indignance, his still throbbing cock neglected. 

            “You, you did it on purpose!! Entrancing me with your wicked mouth so this goddamn fuckery of a song could play! This is torture, this is a hate crime!”

            “I’m flattered by the power you think I can wield, baby, but I don’t control airwaves or radio channels programming”, you teased, straightening out on the blanket, and wiping the water out of your face. “Besides, I don’t think ABBA playing while we’re having sex qualifies as a hate crime.”

            “Well, it’s a musical crime and I hate it!” his dramatic antics will never cease to amuse you.

You smirked devilishly, and crawled up his seated position, legs caging his hips as the skirt of your dress rode up with the movement. Eddie’s glare was slightly subdued at your proximity, but you could tell he was still greatly aggravated by the song playing in the background.  

            “I wonder what could right this wrong, you poor, poor, metal baby” you cooed mockingly, nails grazing at the base of his scalp down to his neck. 

            “Just turn it off” he murmured, his palms cupping your ass and massaging over the thin fabric, trying to bring you closer so he could kiss your swollen and spit-shiny lips. 

            “Mmmh,” you pretended to ponder, left hand flying out of his hair back to where he needed you the most. “But then I’ll have to move, and I’m so, so cozy here.”

He hissed and swore stars were clouding his vision as you deliciously squeezed his length, and his tip came in contact with the burning wetness of your folds. 

            “You… you… Where are your panties?” Eddie managed to inquire, wracking his sex-hazed brains to remember if he had taken them off you at some point during your time by the lake. 

            “Seems I forgot them at home, silly me.” Your innocent tone could not hide your shit-eating grin as Eddie cursed loudly, from both your confession and lowering hips on his. 

            “Shit angel, you’ve been… Fuck, you’ve been going commando this entire time? With this short ass dress? Are you trying to kill me here?”

            “No-oh Eddie dear, what use are you to me if you’re dead, mmh?”

Any quip he might have tried to bite out died on his tongue as you fully sheathed yourself on him, velvety soft, dripping wet, encasing him in your heat in the most heavenly manner. 

You savored how full he made you feel, basking in his fucked-out state, all flushing pink and eyes closed, and grinded back up. 

The drag of your walls felt better than ever, and Eddie’s bliss came crashing down when he figured why. 

            “Shit fuck stop, stop babe the condom, we forgot the condom sh…” his panicked rant is stopped with your index on his lips, wicked grin still firmly placed as you cleared out: 

            “I am incredibly forgetful today, am I not; I’ve been taking birth control in the past two weeks baby.”

The implication of your words fried the remaining functioning braincells of the long-haired freak in front of your, head swarming with curses and images of your lovely cunt dripping with his white cum. 

The awed look in these big brown eyes you’ve grown so fond of made you beam, and you whispered in the stunned metalhead’s ear: 

            “Happy birthday, Eddie”

Before he got a chance to reply, you slammed your hips down and start thrusting deep and long, in synch with the song still playing on the radio. 

            You are heaven and hell incarnate, he thought, gazing up at your glowing grin, hair flying out of your updo and shining like a halo in the sun, hips gyrating in the most sinful of acts as your walls clamp him in a new proximity, coaxing moan after moan of his begging lips. 

He buried his head in the slope of your shoulder, curses and praises like prayers in the softness of your skin, as you amped up the rhythm of your movements, gripping his shoulders for balance as his warm hands helped you up and down, up and down, the bared length of him. 

            It’s a weird realization that struck him, as his pleasure mounted and mounted, that he will never love someone as much as he does love you now on this blanket right this instant and has loved you in the past months. The monumental realization of Eddie’s feelings for you did not last long, a blessing and a curse, as he realized that you were not just humming your pleasure but along the song that has quickly become the bane of his existence. 

            “I feel a kind of fear, when I don’t have you near”, breathy and teasing, Eddie felt no ounce of annoyance as you kept bouncing brutally and clenched around him so, so well. Especially as his orgasm was on the verge of overtaking him. 

            “Baby… Angel… I’m not gonna last long I… fuck… Feels too good.”

Rendering the great Eddie Munson speechless even though you’re mouthing the lyrics of ABBA while you’re taking him raw for the first time was a feat you planned on bragging about for years to come. 

            “M’close too, darling” the tips of his ears pink at the use of this pet name. “You can let go. Lay, all your love in me.”

The mischievous double entendre you meant more as a joke than anything exceeded your expectation. It’s absurd, how much Eddie reacted to it. Really, really absurd, for a metalhead to come harder than he ever did in his entire lifetime, while fucking ABBA still played in the background and you made a terrible pun with the cheesy lyrics. 

You would have teased him endlessly, but thankfully, your climax was too close for you to antagonize the wrecked long-haired man in front of you, especially as he pressed lazy and trained circles to your sensitive bundle of nerves. Foregoing the song’s beat, you grinded intensely on Eddie’s fingers and squeezed along his oversensitive shaft, chasing the waves of your high. It came crashing down, washing your body from head to toe as your arched under the Indiana sun, a godly sighting if the metalhead ever saw one. 

            The radio had the audacity to die down as you both collapsed back on the ground, still joint most intimately as Eddie let you crush him with your weight, the feel of you, all of you, both toe-curling-new and heart-skip-comfortable. He peppered kisses and loving murmurs along your damped hairline, running (groping really) along your frame. A snort of laughter was not the response he anticipated after his quite honest “fucking rocked my world sweetheart”. 

            “I can’t believe I made you cum this hard while ABBA played,” you teased, both lazed out by your afterglow and smug like the cat who got the cream. 

            “I can’t believe you sweet pussy was out there for me to take this entire time. Raw,” he groaned, draping an arm across his face in shame. 

            “I wanted to make it special!” you cooed, moving his limb out of the way so you could gaze at his handsome face, entangling your fingers together and pressing light kisses that had his insides fluttering with swarms of lovesick butterflies. “Besides, the effect is not immediate; could have still knocked me up if we did not wait a little. And as much as I like you Munson”, your confession turning the flips in his stomach into Olympic worthy dives, “I don’t fancy raising your devil spawn fresh out of high school just yet.”

            “Just yet, uh?” his wiggling eyebrow and shit-eating grin making you groan in turn. 

            “Umph. Buy me a pretty rock and drop to your knees nicely for me, and we’ll see what we can do.” You quipped, hoping to sass him enough to silence him. 

You clearly underestimated the speed of which his brain was catching up on his blissed-out state, as a mischievous gleam adorned his brown doe eyes. 

            “Well, you’ll have to give me some time for the stone sweetheart but as for the other part…” he flipped you back down on the picnic blanket, dress riding higher and displaying your puffed out sex in all its glory, “I think I can manage the kneeling part right now.”

If you thought Eddie’s oral obsession was bad before, turned out licking off your mixed fluids of your pussy took the cake. 

#eddie munson/reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #anazra writes #eddie munson fanfiction

[rockybloo]

Thinking of writing a fanfic crossover where Jack and Nana end up in Decking city after a magical accident (Still fleshing out the details of how said accident worked).

If comfortable answering:

I'm curious about how you think Nana and Jack would react to such a such a big change in a new place like that, in a general sense. Especially if there's a bigger issue bringing them here and they realize they have to solve it to go home.

Thank you, and lovely day either way ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ ♡

A fanfic of Jack and Nana would make me screech because they are the most ship ever for me and I'd be overjoyed. 😭💚❤️ The concept of anyone considering taking time out of their day and writing a fic about my OCs in general makes me happy.

and WOW my brain waves are powerful because I was literally thinking of an old Beanstalked plot point that basically dealt with the idea of how the main team get yeeted from Lore to Earth and have to figure out how to get back and how to tie it to Glitter and Guilt for a funny little crossover arc.

I won't go into detail about the ACTUAL events that cause it to potentially happen (bc I dunno if I'll do it...I mean I probably will but as a separate oneshot from the main storylines of both stories) BUT I can def answer how Jack and Nana would respond to a similar situation.

This will be a long one so buckle in

First thing to know is that Lore and Earth are two separate planets in the same solar system. Both are waaay closer than either think.

Lore occupants know about Earth, specifically they know it as "The World without Magic/Happy Endings/Fairy Tales/etc." It's kinda of mythicized.

Earth has no idea Lore is a thing because Lore has magic rings (kinda like Saturn's but cooler I dare say) that spin around it and make it invisible.

Bloopers are a glitch in reality in Lore where things from Earth often pop up there. Often old or lost objects.

Jack works part time for Baba, who tends to have a whole bunch of bloopers in his shop, which means he has very mild knowledge of Earth. Not a whole lot but if he winded up there-he would know "Oh! This is Earth!" and he'd be able to point out some stuff and name it. So he would know a car when he sees one-it's just a matter of actually being aware of how one works.

Hazel and Kettle have a TON of bloopers they hoard in their bedroom which serves as the attic for the inn Miss Castor is the keeper of. Specifically, they have the super fun bloopers like retro game consoles and comic books. Chances are, they even have some Sweetheart merch but are under the belief that she is merely fictional character.

So Jack is vaguely aware of Sweetheart. SPECIFICALLY as "The pink hero my little siblings thinks is cool".

Merch of villains is a whole lot more locked down with most being illegal save for what is made for the Decking City Park of Heroes AKA the Disney World/Universal Studios of Decking City entirely focusing on it's homegrown hero culture.

So Bitterbat is def not someone Jack is aware of.

When it comes to Nana, she doesn't really dabble much in bloopers or even learning about Earth. Unless it's from Jack's ramblings or mini adventures, she tends to limit herself to Lore and its shenanigans. She spent most her life living in a forest and is just now branching out to learn more about Briar Patch and Lore as a whole thanks to Jack making her realize "Oh hey the outside world is kinda fun".

She's taking baby steps and Earth is a very big jump she ain't trynna make yet.

So when it comes to them getting yeeted to Earth, SPECIFICALLY Decking City, Nana is def more reliant on Jack when it comes to knowledge. Where ever he is going, she is gonna be right there, hugging onto one of his arms for dear life because neither wants to lose the other.

Decking City is very interesting with how it's the least mundane setting for Jack and Nana to wind up in, which works perfectly because they come from a fantasy world. They will ironically feel a lot more comfortable when they see a giant monster attacking or some hero versus villain battle going on than dealing with crossing the street with a buncha traffic or even walking through a grocery store aka over stimulant central.

The biggest problem would be adapting to their temporary stay. Decking City is loud and busy and both would be overwhelmed quite easily from just the sights and sounds alone. A city is vastly more imposing than a kingdom when it comes to its buildings and even then, Jack and Nana spend most their time in Briar Patch which is a small humble town.

Nana would have the worse time because her keen Lupine hearing means every car honk, screech of tires, Kaiju alert siren, civilian yelling at another civilian, would lead to the biggest headache.

Protecting the other and making sure they're safe is their main priority. They care deeply about each other and seeing the constant look of discomfort on Nana's face and how nervous she is is enough to break Jack's heart. And the second anyone so much as breathes in the slightest bit of irritation at Jack seeming to not know where or what he's doing, under the belief he's a tourist, would lead to Nana snarling with her full set of chompers on display.

That's enough to cause anyone in the proximity to steer clear of them...or at least treat Jack very nicely because it's very obvious the two are traveling together.

ULTIMATELY, both would want some safe place so they can gather their thoughts, which are currently being scrambled by the city sights and sounds, calm down and figure out what they need to do to get back home.

Whatever they need to do, they are def willing to accomplish because they are used to being in some slice of hell situations. They've always figured their way out of them. Back on Lore, the gang adventures a bunch and have encountered a lot. Some of which I cannot share for spoilers but just know they are no strangers to dealing with the unknown.

It's just a big matter of figuring out exactly what unknown they are dealing with this time.

#ask #ask: beanstalked #ask: red beans #ask: jack #ask: nana

[geekgirles]

I am reminding you about the Gwen spin off

Thank you, Anon. Sorry to keep you waiting but I knew this was gonna get too long to just type it on the phone. Seeing as the fandom clearly cares about Gwen or any character that’s not Ben (not that I have anything against him, I just got my favourites) more than the showrunners ever will, I decided to take it upon myself to do something with that Lucky Girl Spin-off we should’ve got a loooong time ago. 

These are mostly my own ideas, so if anyone has anything they’d like to add, please go ahead. Buckle up, everyone, ‘cause this is going to be a ride.

OK, first of all, the show has to be set in the original continuity. I don’t mind if it’s after Omniverse (though many of us could do without the Osmosian retcon), but it has to include Anodite Gwen, Charmcaster’s redemption and working alongside Gwen, and Kevin living his best life exploiting his Tydanite car, maybe getting back to work at the garage, supporting his girlfriend, and being the proud owner of an Anubian Baskurr. 

Good? Good. 

The show has to be about Gwen, so this time Ben and Rook take a backseat like Gwen and Kevin did back in Omniverse and make occasional appearances, usually when the stakes are higher. 

Now, let’s talk style.

A redesign is mandatory. Period. I don’t care if they choose to go with Omniverse’s style (in which case, refer to @vreedleedleedle) though it is unlikely after DJW’s passing; or if they try a different approach, in which case I advocate for a mix between Man of Action animesque and cute (in this case, refer to @walcraftart). But we need a redesign after the travesty that was Gwen’s design in Omniverse, meaning, she either has to go back to being a prep like in UAF, a jock like in the OS, or preferably a preppy jock. But she cannot keep being a nerd when that is not what she is. This is not negotiable. 

With that out of the way, let’s get into the lore, shall we?

Since this should be Gwen’s show, I’d say it should finally focus mostly on magic. But since aliens have been an important part of Gwen’s life since she was ten, I wouldn’t be opposed to some opponents being aliens from magic-using species, though preferably because magic and anything occult is part of their culture, like Anur Transylians or Geochelone Aereos. Instead of, you know, introducing cheap knock-offs of Anodites. 

Considering Charmcaster is now a member of the team, I believe the overarching plot should be focused on helping her defeat Addwaitya and free Ledgerdomain once and for all, seeing as he escaped back in Third Time’s a Charm, with the adventures leading up to that shaping Gwen, Charmcaster, and Kevin into what they’re supposed to be. Especially Gwen, who’s supposed to be named High Magus in Ben 10,000’s timeline. 

You know, show how that came to be instead of leaving it as a throwaway comment. 

So while the driving force would be Addwaitya and Ledgerdomain, there could be more lighthearted episodes introducing other villains (bonus points if the show developed in such a way that it was eventually revealed even the most harmless villain is a key piece in Adwaita’s revenge), or maybe even your usual Spell Gone Wrong shenanigans. 

The show should definitely delve more into the magical lore. Anything that’s related to Gwen’s character, really. 

Explain how Ledgerdomain came to be, how humans started populating it—are they settlers? Descendants of the original inhabitants? Did something happen in the past that breached the interdimensional distance between Ledgerdomain and Earth?—, show us Anodyne! I swear, it is unfair that the team never visited what is, essentially, Ben and Gwen’s ancestral home. 

But now that we’re on the topic of Anodyne…What if we connected Anodites to Ledgerdomain? Wouldn’t it make sense that the mana-based species originated from the source of all the mana in the universe? Perhaps they lived in the magic dimension for aeons until, millenia ago, Addwaitya took control and forced them to flee and settle in Anodyne. Perhaps Verdona is old enough to remember that.

As for the characters, before I go in depth with the main trio, I’d like to establish that to parallel somehow the Alien Force/Ultimate Alien line-up Hex should take Grandpa Max’s place. With this I mean he should take the place of the knowledgeable if retired badass that offers wise advice and explains things to the team. But regardless of his role in Gwen’s life, his interpersonal relationships should focus primarily on rekindling his family bond with his niece. We’re not going to pull an UAF where oftentimes Max’s attention was solely on Ben, no. Family comes first. 

Although…perhaps it would make for an interesting interpersonal-relationship heavy episode to have Hope frustrated at the attention Gwen’s receiving from her uncle and snap. Leading to a better understanding between the two girls and between uncle and niece…

But I’m getting off-track. 

Aside from Hex being a source of guidance instead of an active team player and taking Max’s role, I think Bezel should take Asmuth’s. He should be the distant and eccentric mentor who doesn’t really offer much advice or help unless there’s a crisis going on. Because, come on, he works as the university’s fucking janitor! He cannot be any more accessible…

OK, with that out of the way, let’s go into the main trio:

Gwen:

This is probably going to be the longest, because she’s my favourite character and, let’s face it, the franchise has been doing her dirty for a long time now. So…get ready. 

Alright, aside from the mandatory redesign, I think we need to talk about her Lucky Girl outfit. Because the show is about Gwen being Lucky Girl, you know? 

I must admit I’ve eventually developed sort of a fondness for the Omniverse interpretation of how an Anodite looks, but don’t be confused. I don’t like the design; as I said before, that’s not an Anodite, but a human-sized, purple Smurfette. What I like is the idea my in-denial mind came up with instead; that is not Gwen’s Anodite form, but a hybrid between her human and Anodite forms that’s supposed to give her a boost without risking her humanity. 

And I thought we could keep that. Explain it’s some sort of glamour Gwen uses to keep her identity a secret or an actual physical form she’s developed. I don’t know, maybe something unique to non-full-blooded Anodites?

But please, someone redesign it so it at least resembles her original Lucky Girl aesthetic. 

The show should also definitely draw attention to how Gwen’s supposed to handle everything, like back in It’s Not Easy Being Gwen. I mean, she’s a 16-year-old in college, surrounded by older people she most likely has no interactions with outside of school; a very dedicated and perfectionist student, a part-time hero, a budding master magician if she isn’t one already; her parents seem rather strict… People much older than her would’ve crumbled under the pressure already. 

I think we should be allowed to see the effect it all has on her. 

I also think she should be allowed to have more focus on her hybrid nature, like Kevin did when being an Osmosian meant you belonged to a species of aliens instead of a lab experiment. And I think visiting Anodyne and reuniting with her more judgemental relatives (i.e. Sunny) could be a good start. 

You might be wondering “But, Geeks, how is Sunny one of her more judgemental relatives? Verdona literally tried to destroy her body!”

And you would raise a valid point. But if you think about it, Verdona sees much of herself in Gwen, and after the girl explained what her current life means to her, what being human means to her, Verdona finally backed off. And even though the option of taking her to Anodyne will always be there, she doesn’t push her. 

Sunny, on the other hand, judging from her throwaway comment of “She thinks she’s too good to be an Anodite; that’s what I heard,” seems to resent Gwen for choosing humanity over her Anodite side, among other things. 

So I really would appreciate it if the trio went to Anodyne for whatever reason and Gwen and Sunny had an argument over the latter being condescending and a spoiled brat and the former being ashamed of her heritage. With that last comment prompting Gwen to snap and go on a tirade similar to the one she gave Charmcaster in Charmed, about how being an Anodite doesn’t define her, because she’s so much more than that. She’s also human, and saves the world, and studies, and goofs off, and is a black belt, and likes hanging out with her friends…

(Yes, I have watched Young Justice. Yes, this is inspired by M’gann’s own argument over her Martian form with her older sister. Don’t judge me). 

And last but not least, a Rogue Anodite Gwen Arc is compulsory. Mandatory. Non-negotiable. C’mon, it’s her show and we’ve waited long enough for it already. It’d also be a good arc to bring Ben and Rook back, and have every character evaluate the impact Gwen’s had on their lives now that they might lose her forever. 

So…pretty please?

Charmcaster: 

So Charmcaster would at first be a bit of a reluctant ally. Despite the few moments she connected better with Gwen in UAF, there’s this residual envy. But in spite of her inner reservations, now that she’s away from Michael and Addwaitya’s influence, she’s forced to face the consequences of her actions, and acknowledge she's done very questionable things in her search for power. 

Hence why she’s helping Gwen. 

Considering I imagine the show’s main plot to be about freeing Ledgerdomain, an expansion on Hope’s backstory is needed. Perhaps even through a flashback episode. Alongside that, it’s important to remember that this is something very personal to her. Addwaitya separated her from her dad and then killed him! 

So I believe it’d be an interesting angle to have Hope doubting between letting bitterness, rage, and resentment consume her and avenge her father, or finally bringing real justice to her homeland. A quandary that only gets worse the more time she spends with Gwen and her sense of morals rubs off on her. 

Kevin: 

Despite the show probably focusing more on Gwen and Charmcaster, Kevin should still have somewhat of a role; episodes where he has some impact. 

Of course, I'm not talking about a new mutation 'cause that's been done to death and it doesn't fit quite the same if the show would most likely have a more magical than sci-fi background. 

But perhaps Kevin-centric episodes could be about him questioning that role in Gwen's team. Sort of like in Trade-off, where without his powers he sort of felt like he'd been relegated to Ben and Gwen's chauffeur. 

Because Kevin's role in Ben's team was being the guy with connections, the knowledgeable one with alien technology. If the alien tech is going to take a step back in favour of magical items, someone with Kevin's skillset isn't as needed, because he no longer has connections or said knowledge. 

So perhaps the episodes focused on him could be about coming to that realisation, trying to solve the inadequacy he's feeling, and eventually branch out in his area of expertise and learn more about the magic market. 

And last but not least, an episode where the three of them kick Morningstar’s ass is also mandatory. We love to see it.

#ben 10 #gwen spin off #lucky girl spin off #ben 10 alien force #ben 10 ultimate alien #ben 10 omniverse #gwen tennyson #gwendolyn tennyson #charmcaster #hope #kevin levin #zed #hex #bezel #ben tennyson #rook blonko #addwaitya #ledgerdomain #anodyne #anodite #verdona #sunny #ben 10 sunny #ask&answer #cartoon network #man of action

[shrunkupthejams]

hey! it's been a hot minute and my writeblr intro could use some refreshing, so here we are!!

my name is achilles! im 18, and im a hobby writer. im in university right now, but i still try to make time to write when inspiration strikes! just here to share my stories, have fun and goof around! my target audience is always, first and foremost, myself.

my favourite things to write are high fantasy and world building!! mostly, my stories all take place in the same universe, an archipelago on a planet named dirt. in my works, i like exploring trauma, sappy fluff, and unconventional relationships.

when it comes to storytelling formats, i'm most often just holding handfulls of writing snippets and hoping for the best while i piece them together. i tend towards short stories, or short story collections, though most of my works will probably become novels or novel series. (im just a bit allergic to structure.) (though, i think i might just hate chapters.)

i also dabble, just a little and very self-indulgently, in fanfiction! inspiration for fanfiction tends to strike me very randomly (in frequency and in content), though i do have a few small finished fanfics! fanfiction is actually what got me into writing, way back in middle achool. it's all very much an exercise in cringe and heartfelt silliness for me.

with my wips, i tend to bounce rapidly all over the place and not get much done for it, but here's what i've been working on! some old (since middle school!!), some new!! (for my sanity and the sake of the length of this post, none of my fanfic wips will be included in this list.) (however, i refuse to exclude any of my original wips, so buckle up!! there are a LOT.)

working title: camilla marie & co.

the gist: what starts as a sort of chosen-one magic school shenanigans becomes a wild goose chase around the archipelago of dirt when camilla is taken by the knights of the capita. a high-fantasy coming of age story about chosen family, fate, and figuring out who you are in the face of adversity and others' expectations.

[☆ intro post]

working title: double a batteries

the gist: an accident that leads to kesh discovering they have superpowers turns their life upside down. a sci-fi/fantasy story that explores morality and familial obligations.

related aus: the adventures of jet astriak, jaiw au

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working title: isr: afters

the gist: two childhood friends, moriah and charo, reunite years later after becoming affiliated with the same magical gang. explores parental issues, with a healthy helping of childhood friends to lovers, organized crime, and vague religious trauma.

related aus: moriah & the greasters, cutiepete future au

[☆ intro post] (none yet!)

working title: shielda x dlade

the gist: follows the relationship between shielda, a reluctant chosen one, and her friend sabine as her newfound status moves her up through the ranks of iroma's military. explores intimacy and the line between right and wrong.

related aus: théqet & ardain, apartment neighbours modern au

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working title: seeing ghosts

the gist: when rea moves to calderine city to finish her practicum, she isn't really looking to make any friends or connections, not even with her very sweet new roommate, madden. but when she begins to be physically haunted by ghosts of her past, she is forced to learn to trust and rely on the people in her life, madden included. a fun little exploration in being haunted by your past (physically), self-sufficiency borne of trauma, and intrusive thoughts, maybe.

[☆ intro post]

working title: nnsei

the gist: existing on the fringes of the teenage academy population in their own ways, victoire, félix and aeliane all have their own problems in addition to clawing their way through their last year of school. victoire won't stop exploring the catacoumbs below the academy, even at the risk of his own health and safety; aeliane is still grappling with the trauma of her mother drinking herself to death; and félix, well, félix won't ever tell his friends what's going on behind that ever-present smile, but rumour has it his sister was offered up as a blood sacrifice in a solar cleansing ritual a few years ago. and in addition to all that, there might just be something sinister going on behind the closed doors of the academy, especially if the monsters stirring in the catacoumbs are anything to go by.

related aus: the sacrifice of brinelle somer

[☆ intro post]

working title: of sea jewels and great lords

the gist: after being tasked to find a group of missing villagers, geo finds themself responsible for imprisoning chad, a lackluster, troublemaking magician beneath a mountain. the trouble is a) finding such an uninhabited mountain, and b) travelling with said troublemaking magician. the trouble is also a third secret thing: the choice between duty and love once geo finds themself falling for chad against all odds.

[☆ intro post]

working title: as cherry wine

the gist: rosy is killed the night before she is due to return from her bride's pilgrimage to marry leisel. she awakes as a vampire and is forced to reconcile with her new identity and eventually, to reconcile her relationship with her former fiancée, who still believes her dead.

[☆ intro post]

working title: waldosia

the gist: after seven years at sea, wallie fischer, the last person shia wants to see ever again, returns to their hometown and all the things he left behind with a warning for shia of an imminent threat to their smuggling outfit and loved ones. shia is forced to work with wallie against the threat, but they can't seem to let the past rest, especially given they had been wallie's fiancé before his abrupt departure seven years before.

[☆ intro post]

working title: bentley

the gist: how bentley met her wife, and how her loss led bentley's descent into madness and misfortune. (could probably be considered an au off of waldosia)

[☆ intro post]

working title: giselle & darius

the gist: not long after her marriage to darius, the vampire king, giselle decides she must get her hands on the crown, through any means necessary. *any* means. (could be considered au of [REDACTED] <- literally the only thing i will ever fuss abt spoilers for lol)

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working title: timekeeper kiddos

the gist: the life and times of oaken and her friends, beginning with their discovery of a door between worlds that takes of the appearance of pvp battle arena, where they take on the roles of otherworldly deities called 'timekeepers'. when the lines between reality and the arena begin to blur and people begin to get hurt, they're forced to figure out how to send the timekeepers back to their own reality. beyond that, the web that connects these six friends, and chaz, flows them through adulthood, as they go their separate ways.

related aus: jungho at psu au

[☆ intro post]

working title: jmg

the gist: when enki and akira fight to help sora and his siblings escape their abusive and negligent father, they're surprised to learn sora has been dead the entire time.

[☆ intro post]

working title: cymothoa exigua/modern au

the gist: a tragedy about socio-economic and individual power, gender roles, and self-censorship; leaving behind the rigid expectations of a conditional parental love, only to leave yourself behind in the pursuit of romantic love. despite getting out of the negligent household of his childhood with several of his siblings in tow, zenith fails to escape the patterns of his parents, repeating his mother's sacrifice of individuality for love.

[☆ intro post] (none yet!)

☆

#ps.txt #writeblr intro #(reintro technically ☝🤓) #intro post

[bluiex]

Okay so grian‘s backstory as I understand it I might not have all the information it has been a while since I’ve watched Sam gladiator but let’s do this it’s 12 o’clock I’m very tired.

So grians life that we see the start of, starts off with him being sent to Japan for elementary school where he is entered into school as female  now we see him consistently state that he is not a girl now you can take this as trans or his parents being neglectful this is where he meets Sam the bunny hybrid and taurtis the human (I don’t think it is stated anywhere that he is a hybrid)  No shenanigans insue and grian is pulled from school and take him back to England.

The next time we see him And sam gladiators yandere high school Series it’s a weekend and he’s coming to visit his friends for like the weekend it’s very normal they go on a beach day and then Grian goes back home

Grian then comes back for Halloween and this is where things start going crazy So buckle up buttercup they go around trick-or-treating with their friends from high school I’m not bothering to name everyone and at the end of the night they going to the “haunted school” Which is actually Haunted Sam goes crazy pull the knife out and stabs taurtis In the gut and then runs off into the night Grian manages to get taurtis onto a bus to take him to the hospital and they never make it the bus crashes and then someone calls 119 and they survive now taurtis is missing and is a John Doe but no one knows this and Sam has gone a bit cuckoo and is convinced that Grian is taurtis and has now basicallykidnapped him trying to gaslight him into believing that he is taurtis (Sidenote just for angst purposes Sam also force-fed Grian into eating Doritos cool ranch plastic bag included I hc that Grians has a eating disorder because of that) they find taurtis who has amnesia from the bus crash and is convinced his name is Jerry no matter what Grian says no one believes that Jerry is taurtis Sam somehow gets them in debt with the gang and then inducted into said gang They get in to witness protection which doesn’t last long and then they excepted into the police not the police academy into the police they are then given guns and told to arrest the yakuza that they were in Taurtis this memory is returned and Grian is finally able to leave swearing up and down to never talk to them ever again…. This does not last long

A bunch of things happened and they are moved to a new high school Sam Taurtis Grian and Domrao 

In this timeframe in order , to the best of my memory, Because I do not feel like watching all of Tokyo ghoul sam gladiators role-play again

The roommates Somehow, taurtis gets cloned multiple times, Sam picks a fight with a store manager for not hiring him, The clones are turned into slaves and they have to free them, Somehow get a new teacher who is the chupaca, they fight storm troopers, they meet the “ Queen of England” who is really just Lizzie or LD shadow lady, They run from the cops (again), meet an alien, Get drafted by the government to kill the aliens, The terminator is there I forget what he’s for, Taurtis turns into one punch man for a bit, Then they summon Cthulhu, some more things happen that aren’t really necessary knowledge for Grian but the Important thing you need to know is that Sam makes a deal with Cthulhu to end his entire dimension existence except for his house and his three roommates.

From here this is head canon until We get to the point where grian starts uploading videos and I will tell you when we get there





Now my head canon is that Grian also makes a deal with Cthulhu to learn magic so we can make a portal into a Minecraft hub server and takes taurtis and Domrao with him leaving Sam behind (for the better really that boy was crazy)

Grian and gang getting away from Sam’s abusive clutches clutches now trying to figure out how to navigate the server hubs this is where Grian discovers his love for a building and starts playing build battle and where he first meets pearl he then goes on to work for a recording company building their sets until the company dissolves and he just goes back to freelancing until he saves enough up to buy his own creative world and starts posting tutorials and start building a little Community he starts playing built swap with Taurtis and some new friends that he made then he gets the idea to make Evo

I haven’t watched evo yet so I know the concept but I haven’t watched it so we’re basically out of headken and territory now

Things happen tortoise leaves the server but they’re still friends and they still talk green makes evil with pearl and a bunch of new friends that he made where he starts discovering how much he likes pranks and how chaotic he actually is the near the end of the server the watchers come and all of that stuff happens I don’t know the specifics of this time period

Blah blah blah he meets mumbo they get to know each other very well and then Xisuma on mumbo‘s recommendation gets invited to hermit craft

And the rest is history!

Grians life is so traumatic I love it so much

This isn’t very cohesive but it is almost 1 o’clock I spent an hour on this I will not be editing this

good night

~🐍

Wow. That is A LOT XD but thats pretty crazy. Some of that I went like OH thats where that came from! (from reading fanfics that like hint at that stuff) really cool! thank you so much! :D

#long post #bluie gets an ask poggers

[nosnexus]

I love reading about other people's ttrpg campaigns. Could you talk about yours if that's okay?

OF COURSE ITS OKAY! THank you! I literally am always down to talk about this campaign because we have such an amazing group. We're following an adventure path, so if you're planning on playing you might not want to read too much (it's a fun adventure so far, play it!)

Our party consists of Gnelwynn (Gnome Rogue), Chadrum (Human Swashbuckler/Champion), Narek (Hobgoblin Alchemist), and Wren (Aasimar Sorcerer) ((That’s my kid!)). The Extinction Curse adventure path SO FAR has involved Circus shenanigans, beating up Zulgaths/dinosaurs that want to destroy beacons of Aroden, and inadvertently having to become heroes to save the Starstone Isles from an Extinction Curse. And pie making contests.  Lots of pie making contests.

Alright folks, buckle up. Shit be going down. Here’s the state of our motley crew from the circus of Wayward Wonders!

In our last few sessions our party has finished clearing out the temple of Aroden beneath the city of Escadar. Our party went through a couple of encounters, searching for more concrete evidence of Mistress Dusklight being the worst that we can hand in to the police, before findinga room with a stone golem holding a grail. Red flags all around to be honest. We’ve got no reason to grab that damn grail. We’ve been warned. But dammit, some of us were cocky. And that grail looked hella shiny...

For context, here's the current state of the union leading up to this:

The Celestial Menagerie is our rival circus being run by the tyrannical Mistress Dusklight – two of our members ran away from the circus because of reasons and Dusklight was actively abusive towards pretty much everybody

Things apparently had gotten WAY worse there after they left. Like…Devil contracts level of way worse. Oh and Dusklight is in cahoots with Zulgaths (who are fucking up Aroden’s long begotten shit). And she’s got a rat in the police force. Also she’s sent people to kill us a couple of times. And she’s a dick. (with a +25 to her intimidation check)

Our Swashbuckler’s ex is in deep shit apparently because he was supposed to jump the party and refused – now he’s in the circus equivalent of a Goulag, beaten and starved to think about his life choices of not being a dick (like Dusklight)

We’ve witnessed more circus horrors happening to people and animals alike within the Celestial Menagerie and it makes everyone want to burn the place to the ground and give everyone therapy afterwards.

We’ve been had by Dusklight when we went to scope out the circus the previous day and NOW we’re in a time crunch before Dusklight starts retaliating

Oh and we have a show of our own the next day. Nice.

Now back to the golem.

Half the party wants to push the big red button. Wren is freaking out because we're in a time crunch; but majority rules and Wren already made an impulsive decision a few rooms back that has them vibrating - so they don't try to argue further. That button gets pushed and boooooooy howdy it went as well as you’d think.

SOOOOOO…we’re all cursed.

None of us are able to heal kind of cursed. Wren exhausted most of their healing spells, and due to the level of the curse, it would take multiple crits in order to fully break it on multiple party members (the curse would lift if you magically heal to full health after a counteract check, or a high enough remove curse is used). And since we were planning of hitting the Celestial Menagerie later that night, we're in trouble. It takes us more time than we’d want to (and more gold than we wanted to spend) for us to remove the curse – but hey, we get an hour “beach episode” while the curse is lifted thanks to a helpful Druid in the city. Thanks Soothing Spring!

Less great - as we leave the druid’s place, we see smoke rising from the outskirts of the city, where our freaking circus is.

The bitch got us. It was bad.

No one was killed, but it was close for a lot of the major acts. One of them was almost drowned in her escape tank, some of the animal acts were murdered, a bear that Wren loves has been bear-napped, and our Swashbuckler had a severed finger placed in his quarters with a note stating: “a new contract has been signed”.

Andera – the police captain - had deputized us earlier that day and asked us to arrest Dusklight. Alive.

Yeah, that wasn’t happening.

We just finished up our big bad fight with Mistress Dusklight, with some interesting outcomes that will be unravelling our next session. A LOT happened in our lead up to the big bad and I honestly wished I had live blogged it but I was SO STRESSED.

Highlights from my kid tho - Wren beat up Dusklight’s aasimar boytoy, double flipped off a devil (that will have no consequences whatsoever), found out said devil may know their dad?!?, SAVED THE DRYAD they were worried about, and accidently?Notaccidently helped two of the gate guards set up a lotion stall at their circus so they can make money to take care of their grandma. It’s probably an MLM… Oops.

#nexus plays pathfinder #nexus talks #sorry this is kind of stream of consciousness #the next session is gonna be juicy as hell and I can't waaaaait