#BUT WE AIN'T AT THAT !!!! THIS IS FRESH HORRORS!!!!!!!!

[thewinter-eden]

That Your Man?

images are mine (except middle LK pic that I got from pinterest). please do not use without permission. Apparently all the ATE pcs are my inspo this time.

part 2 of my skz crack!horror series.

pairing: Lee Minho x fem!reader rating: mature, dark themes summary: mugger!Minho holds you and your bf up in an empty parking lot one night, ready to give you the old ‘your money or your life’ routine, but when your bf pushes you into the line of fire so he can run away, Minho has second thoughts.

warnings: Fear, Minho has a gun, attempted mugging (obv), asshole bf, rude Minho, scared but defeated reader, Minho's kinda soft but he ain't gonna admit it, language, satire, unrealistic robbery, unrealistic Minho, food-related insecurity, nerve/muscle/twitch-related insecurity, hurt/comfort, Minho’s a softie but also a criminal coffee.

Comment and reblogs appreciated!

word count: 4k

series info

“Shit, babe, don’t cry.” Your boyfriend pulls you off to the side, a playful laugh on his lips as he uses your scarf to wipe your face. It’s a brand new scarf—he just gave it to you for your birthday, and some of the fibers stick to your face. “It’s just a movie.” He crouches low to your face, diminishing his own height more than necessary in a way that makes you feel so small.

Embarrassment floods your cheeks with heat, and you do your best to pull yourself together. This is not at all how you thought this would go. Crying in front of him is one of the less enjoyable ways to spend an evening, particularly when he’s in a diminutive mood, as he is right now. You’re both standing outside the theater, huddled together in the glow of the neon sign, while people pass you by with the scent of popcorn and chocolate on their clothes.

“Sorry,” You laugh at yourself. It’s easier to deal with him laughing at you when you’re already laughing at yourself. The movie was a biopic on a musician you’ve always loved, and the final scenes had been comprised of the last footage taken of them before their death. You didn’t mean to cry through the credits, but here you are, sniffling into your new scarf.

“Aww, that’s okay, babe.” Your boyfriend coos, and gives your arm a squeeze. He’d thought the movie was ‘sensationalist crap.’ “You wanna grab food? We can get whatever takeout you want.”

That’s how you found yourself crossing the dark parking lot towards McDonalds, Jake’s debit card in hand for his half of the bill. You hadn’t really wanted crappy fast food for your birthday dinner, but while you had been considering your options, Jake had caught sight of the famous golden arches gleaming across the lot.

He couldn’t go with you to collect the food, of course. He had a work call to make and would rather sit in the heat of his car than walk through the cold as he did.

This behavior isn’t new.

You’re used to it.

You’re independent, you can handle being left to your own devices.

And his work calls are boring as hell to listen to, anyway, so why not make the most of the situation and take a walk?

It’s even starting to snow.

It’s a beautiful night for a walk.

As you turn your face to the sky to catch fresh snowflakes on the tip of your nose, you hear running footsteps behind you. “Babe!” Jake’s voice pants.

You turn to find him fighting the slick of the icy parking lot to catch up with you. He’s laughing, rolling his eyes at himself, waving his wallet at you. “I totally forgot.”

You open your arms to catch him as he comes skittering into reach, shiny black shoes nearly slipping out from under him. His long limbs flail briefly before settling against you, his weight thrown against your hip to keep himself upright.

He’s got his earpiece in, his phone clutched in one hand, the word ‘conference’ rolling across the info line. His side of the call is muted so he can speak to you.

You thread your fingers through his jacket, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips, but he’s too busy digging through his wallet to receive it. Your lips glance off his chin and are left cold and unsatisfied.

This is also normal. You’ve stopped letting it sting.

“Here.” He plucks his debit card from your hand and replaces it with another. “Use my work card for my half. I can technically write this off as an expense since I’m working.” He gestures to his phone significantly and then pinches your cheek fondly. “Thanks babe. Love you.”

Derision swirls in your gut, but you fight it down. “Love you too.”

But he’s already checked out of the conversation. His eyes float somewhere above your head, listening to whomever is speaking on his call. A twinge of annoyance twists his lips.

Deciding to leave him to his work, you turn on your heel and continue your jilted jaunt to McDonalds, only to run smack into someone in the otherwise empty parking lot.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” You pull yourself away from the man you’ve just plowed into, looking for his face past the blackness of his hood and face mask to gauge how much you might have just pissed him off.

Because that’s just what you need—getting chewed out by a stranger in the cold.

“Babe?” Jake’s voice wonders behind you. “You okay?”

You don’t answer.

You can’t.

Because you’ve just seen it.

Poking through the folds of the stranger’s dark jacket, the muzzle gleaming in the light of the street lamps, and pointing straight at you, is the barrel of a handgun.

You’re frozen.

The man steps closer and you see his eyes then, narrow and focused. They meet your gaze for an instant, flickering with some unreadable thought, and then settle just over your shoulder. He’s sizing up your boyfriend, still silent as the night.

“Babe, answer me, are you—holy shit.” Jake is standing next to you then, his searching gaze landing on the gun, and his hand grips your arm.

You’re mentally going through your options, working your way through potential scenarios.

Most likely, it’s your average mugging.

Probably nothing like the time you and your nephew gathered up all of his tiny plastic play kitchen mugs and pelted them at your brother, all while shouting “You’re being mugged!” Great fun for a six-year-old, probably not so much for this man.

He’ll take your phones and your wallets, maybe even your car keys, but he probably won’t shoot anybody. He just wants quick cash, maybe for drugs or rent, and he’s probably not interested in being a wanted murderer.

He looks too old to be a teenager, and he’s rock solid, calm and collected, which comforts you. He’s not a stupid kid, and he’s not totally strung out. You might just be lucky enough to rely on some rational decision making.

While you’re thinking your way through your chances of surviving, Jake is erupting into panic next to you.

“Oh my god. Oh my god. This isn’t happening. Oh my god.” His hold on your arm is like a vice, clenching around your muscle with more than enough strength to bruise. Half of you wants to pry his fingers off before they splinter the bone, the other half wants to hide behind him and pretend this isn’t happening.

“Calm down.” The stranger scolds your boyfriend coolly, but he’s cut off.

“Oh my god, please don’t hurt me. Please don’t hurt me. I have an electric car, just take it.” And then Jake’s scrambling through his pockets, while the stranger’s eyes further narrow into slits.

His gaze darts to you, where you’re still frozen.

“Take it easy, Romeo,” The stranger takes a step closer, an action that completely spooks Jake.

Your boyfriend lets out a wail of terror and promptly dives behind you, his hands hurling you forward. You scream, your body colliding with solid warmth. In the next second he’s gone, bolting back across the parking lot towards his car.

You hardly notice the flash of headlights or the screech of tires as he squeals out onto the street, because your boyfriend’s actions have just launched you directly into the arms of the man who’s trying to mug you.

The stranger had caught you by reflex, his gun now jammed forcefully into your ribs, and you definitely hadn’t accounted for this scenario.

There’s a rush of grunts and tangled limbs and skidding shoes as you shove yourself away from him, your eyes wide, lungs gasping, but the stranger is staring in the direction that Jake just drove off in.

“Shit,” He mutters in disbelief, and finally turns back to you.

You’re still petrified, terrified, abandoned.

Where are you gonna go now? Hoof it to McDonalds and hope the bigger, stronger man doesn’t catch you before you get there?

Well.

Then again.

Might be your best option.

But then the stranger reaches behind himself and tucks the gun into his waistband, bringing his now empty hands back into view. In a second, he’s knocked his hood back and tugged his mask down, revealing shocks of fluffy brown hair and the highest cheekbones you’ve ever seen. He hooks a thumb back towards the street. “That your man?”

It’s enough to open the floodgates.

You burst into tears, so relieved that you’re no longer at gunpoint, terrified because you’re alone with the man who tried to mug you (did he even get the chance?), pissed and hurt because your boyfriend shoved you into the arms of a gunman, confused because the gunman is now speaking casually to you.

It’s a lot.

At your sudden explosion of emotion, the man leans back on his heels, sighing at you. This isn’t how he expected the altercation to go, but now that he’s left in the whirlwind aftermath of your nightmare boyfriend saving his own ass, all he can do is stare as you dissolve into a puddle of tears.

Through sobs, which you barely manage to hide in your scarf, you squint up at him past the falling snow. “What do you want? Are you robbing me?” You might as well ask—what is he gonna do, shoot you?

After a few seconds of pensive silence, the man steps forward with a nod. You flinch backwards, but he just lifts his empty hand, palm up. “Yeah, I am. Give me the card he just gave you.”

You blink, tears momentarily paused. “The card?”

He nods towards where your hand is still clenched around the company credit card. “Yeah I heard all that ‘pay for my half with the work card’ bullshit. I saw that lame-o pathetic kiss, too. He’s a real winner. Gimme.”

His fingers crook at you expectantly, and you’re so tense that you jump and immediately pass the card over. He tucks it into his pocket, and then cocks his head oddly at your scarf. “What is that fucking monstrosity and why are you wearing it with the tag still on it?”

He doesn’t know what to do, either. None of his victims have ever sacrificed their girlfriends to him before; admittedly at a loss, he decides to play it by ear. You haven’t called the cops yet, so he still has some time to see where this goes.

More confused than ever, your eyes fall to the bright orange and blue felt scarf, and realize that there is in fact a tag sticking out of one of the folds. Before you can take a closer look at it, the stranger’s hand snaps out and plucks the scarf off your neck. A rush of cold air chills your skin where the fabric once was.

He’s…stealing your scarf?

“Hey, wait—” You argue, and then freeze when his challenging eyes snap back up to you. “That was a birthday present, please don’t take it.”

He holds up the tag, a neon green discount marker from a local thrift store. “Who gave it to you? Because—”

You snatch the scarf back, humiliated. “My boyfriend gave it to me.” You can’t believe you just yanked something out of the hands of the man with the gun.

He gazes at you for a long moment, hands jammed in his pockets. He doesn’t know much about you, except for the fact that you handle duress better than your boyfriend does, but he did overhear the company card conversation which suggested you were expected to pay for your own dinner while your boyfriend wasn’t even willing to pay for his own, and that you were sent to collect dinner by yourself, and, now, that your birthday gift had been a horrendous piece of second hand garbage that—by the looks of your clothes—isn’t your style at all.

“Your boyfriend got you a thrifted scarf for your birthday.” He repeats blandly.

You sniffle, putting a few more feet of distance between you. “He knows I like cozy things.” There’s not much you can say to defend Jake at this point, but you can’t take any more degradation right now.

“Tell me he got you something better last year.” The stranger scoffs.

You scowl at him. “Aren’t you robbing me?”

His teeth flash in the lamplight, and he waggles Jake’s company card at you. “I already did. Shall we go get him fired?”

Voracious, incredibly stressed laughter bursts out of you. “What?”

This guy holds you up in a dark parking lot at nearly midnight, witnesses the most embarrassing display of emotional betrayal you can imagine, and is now offering to get your boyfriend fired as payback for abandoning you?

He tucks the card back in his pocket with a shrug. “Just seems to me like it’s more worth my time to give that asshole what’s coming to him than to steal the money you probably don’t have, considering he makes you pay for shit.”

There’s nothing in the world that could have prepared you for that.

Your mouth falls open. “I have money!”

“Are you offering?” His hand goes back towards the gun in his waistband, his smirk teasing, and your heart leaps into your throat. His joke falls flat when your gaze drops to the ground, chin tucking against your chest, your entire personality seeming to instantly deflate.

His heart sinks at the sight, which is not something he wants to decipher right now.

“Alright, wait.” He drops the edge of his jacket back down over the gun. “I was kidding, please don’t cry again. I’m Minho, what’s your name?”

“Why the hell would I tell you my name?” You snap. Then you shoot him a look. “Why the hell would you tell me your name?”

He shrugs again—an action he seems very fond of—and nods to the scarf still in your hands. “Throw that piece of shit away and come with me. There’s a coffee shop right over there that’s still open. You can warm up while you order another ride.”

You balk, moving backwards once again. At this point, you could fit an entire shopping cart train between you, and Minho is smiling.

“I’m not going with you!” You exclaim, clutching the scarf like a shield.

He points to the other side of the parking lot, where a coffee shop pours warm light out onto the pavement. “We would be walking. Just come with me for a cup of coffee. Alright? You said you like cozy things.”

A few seconds of tense silence pass. He blows snowflakes out of his eyelashes and blinks at you expectantly. You can’t understand what the hell is happening right now.

“Why?”

Minho sighs, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “You just got mugged, alright, you’re in distress. You just got stranded here with a dangerous stranger, and you look like you’re turning blue. I can’t just leave you here.”

“You had no trouble robbing me at gunpoint, why can’t you just leave me alone?”

The teasing smile falls from his face and he frowns at you. “Because I just robbed you at gunpoint and that’s not even why you’re crying. That’s a whole new level of pathetic. I can’t in good conscience leave you here.”

You burst into tears all over again.

He lifts his hands in surrender, approaching you carefully. “Alright, listen. I’d rather run up a shit ton of debt on your ex’s company credit card than keep making you cry. So can we start with a cup of coffee? Please? Once you’re in the Uber I’ll be on my way, buying TVs and chipotle gift cards until he’s out of a job. I swear.” He crosses his heart.

“He’s not my ex.” You sniffle, because he’s not. Who wouldn’t be terrified in the face of an armed robbery? You can’t totally blame Jake for his reaction, as miserable as it makes you feel. Did he even think about coming back for you? What if you had been shot after he left?

Minho shakes his head at you and watches you crumble all over again. “Come on, jagi, why are you this upset over that deadbeat nobody? You’re making me feel funny.” Pity. The nurturing monsoon swirling in his gut is pity—something he’s never felt for somebody he’s mugged before. His eyes lift to take in the movie theater behind you, and then at the scarf still clenched in your fists as you weep.

“Don’t tell me today is your birthday.”

You sob harder, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes. You’re not afraid of this strange criminal anymore, rather heartbroken and disappointed that your already lame evening has taken such a miserable turn.

“Well, shit.” Minho mumbles. “Wait, shit. He was going to make you pay for your own fucking McDonalds on your birthday?”

“Why do you care so much?” You screech, reeling away when his hand touches your arm.

He throws up his hands in equal amounts of frustration, eyes widening as much as yours. “Because you look like an abandoned fucking kitten and I’d be a horrible person to just leave you here.”

“You are a horrible person.” You shout back, and then your mouth clamps shut. Your hand slaps over your lips, staring at him in utter terror as you realize that you’re firing insults at someone who could just shoot you if he decides you’re offensive enough.

But he just laughs at you. “Yeah, fair enough. So, come on—coffee?”

Without a single sane reason to support this decision, you walk across the parking lot with him and step into the comforting heat of the busy coffee shop. It’s weird, it’s definitely weird, but in the past five minutes he’s showed you more interest than Jake has in three months, and you can’t help but want to spend a few more minutes in the company of someone so attentive.

And as the light washes over his decidedly attractive face, you realize that he’s not so bad to look at, either.

After all, he robbed Jake—not you.

Minho stands at the counter, ordering your drinks, and then nudges you and points at a display case full of cake. “Eh? For your birthday?”

Your stomach rumbles with hunger, but your face flushes with heat. “Oh, no, I’m good.”

He frowns. “I’m not going to make you pay for it, not after the way that ass treated you.”

“Because it was so much worse than the way you pulled a gun on me?” You hiss, eyes flashing to the barista who miraculously doesn’t hear you.

Minho rolls his eyes. “If you were my girlfriend, I never would have pulled a gun on you, much less pushed you in front of one. It’s completely different. Get a slice of cake.”

The barista’s eyes go wide.

You wave his suggestion away. “No, really. Thanks anyway.” The cake does look incredible, though.

“I can hear your stomach growling. Would you rather go get something different? Protein?” Minho pushes, glancing around your person as though he expects you to faint right in front of him. It’s almost sweet enough to cancel out your suspicion of him as he waits for you to order a slice of birthday cake.

You step away from the register instead. “I’ll eat at home.”

Minho squints at you. “You don’t eat in public?” It’s sarcasm.

“…No.” It’s not sarcasm.

“Because…”

You’re getting antsy, the barista’s getting antsy, and the three people in line behind you are getting antsy.

Minho doesn’t care.

Why would he? He’ll just rob them all later.

“Because I have a facial spasm when I eat.” You whisper, embarrassment flooding your cheeks.

The man before you looks like he’s not surprised at all by this information. “So? That’s not uncommon.”

“But it embarrassed my boyfriend—”

“Your ex.”

“It embarrassed him so we stopped doing meal dates in public.”

He stares at you. “You’re fucking with me.”

“No, my face twitches really badly and it’s embarrassing. Just the coffee please. Please. I can’t take this anymore.” You can’t stand the fact that you’re spending so long holding up the line, so you shake your head at him and move towards a table in the corner, refusing to delay the process any longer.

Your retreat forces Minho to turn around and complete his order, paying with Jake’s company card, but a few moments later he’s approaching your table with two plates of cake. He puts one in front of you with a hard set frown. “Just eat the damn cake. Your ex is shit. It’s not like your side of the booth faces the room anyway, so you won’t feel uncomfortable.”

He sits across from you, scooting his own plate closer to himself.

“He’s not my ex.” You argue quietly. “And my side of the booth still faces you.” It shouldn’t matter, to show one of your more mortifying qualities to the guy who held you up in the parking lot, but it does. You want to put your beautiful slice of cake into a to-go box and take it home to eat it curled up in your armchair where no one can see you.

Minho doesn’t look up from his cake. “He’ll be your ex boyfriend after tonight. There’s no reason for you to be holding on to the bitch ass who throws you at the barrel of a gun on his worst day and is too ashamed of you to take you to dinner—or let you fucking kiss him—on his best. Now eat your cake before he becomes your late boyfriend.”

Blood drains from your face as you reach for your fork. “Please don’t hurt us.” The words break past your lips in a whisper, but you scoop up a bite of cake. It nearly wobbles right off your fork as your hand trembles, but you manage to keep it onboard. “I really don’t know what you want from me.”

“I want you to chill out and have some birthday cake.” Minho glances up at you right as you take a bite and lift your hand to hide your face politely. He frowns as you chew. “Put your hand down. Did I tell you to cover your face?”

Your eyebrows lower, tears pooling in your eyes. “You’re being kinda mean to me.” It’s too weird, the juxtaposition of the man who mugged you at gunpoint outside and the man who is having cake and coffee with you in celebration of your birthday.

Though, to be fair, he didn’t really get the chance to rob you before Jake freaked out, so does it really count?

He just stares at you blankly. “Would you rather I take you out back and mug you again?” Before you can start crying again, he nudges your foot under the table with his own. “You’re safe, jagi. I’m sorry I scared you out there.”

It takes a second, but you convince yourself to relax. You’re safe.

You eat your cake, you drink your coffee, you smile every time Minho calls you jagi, exactly as he intends; you force yourself stop paying attention to the twitching in your cheeks while you chew, not even knowing that he’s watching you because it’s cute, not because it’s weird. He spends ten minutes trying to convince you to break up with Jake, and by the end of the meal—the first meal you’ve had in public since you started dating Jake a year and a half ago—you’ve decided you agree with him.

No more Jake.

Minho all but cheers. No more Jake.

At the end of the night, he watches you order an Uber, and then he borrows someone else’s phone. Actually borrows it, doesn’t steal it.

“Yes, hello, police? A woman has just been mugged. The guy had a gun, and he drove off in an electric car—” And, despite your insincere protest, he gives a description of your boyfriend as the assailant before hanging up. Minho returns the phone, waits with you for your Uber, and then sends you off with a cheeky wave of Jake’s company card.

He keeps the scarf.

Let me know what you think! (And look out for Changbin next <3)

taglist:

@whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @estella-novella @babyphotos0325 @softfor-svtptg @furfoxsake22 @tubelightanyaa

[starheirxero]

How can you not be losing it from the angst? Anyone else would grow tired of it…

BECAUSE ITS SO FUNNN AGAHAGAIDJWKX

Like, this is all my FAVORITE kind of angst too. Grief that changes and corrupts. Relationships stained or ruined for good. Major character death. It's hitting my favorite tropes right on the head and it is JOYOUS !!!!!

I'm sorry to everyone else who can't do a lotta the angst, but me? I am THRIVING <3<3<3

[gabriellessworldd]

Never get yo bitch back!

☆ Part one ☆

plug!connie x black fem reader

wc- 2.3k!

☆ warnings ☆: this is part 2, if you haven't read part 1 you should read that first. Not proof read! this might be a lil longer than i intended. mdni! small small time skip (3 weeks since the party, fb is included), mentions of guns, smut again lol i'll write some fluff soon maybe angst who knows 😜, pnv, degradation, oral (f&m receive), choking, spanking, praising, Connie get a lil mad

"what..what the fuck is wrong with y'all?"

The seven letter question still fresh in your mind 3 weeks later. Sure what you and Connie did was wrong, but what Eren did was way worse.

(fb to party night)

Connie stood there tying his sweats nonchalantly while you fumbled to put your clothes frantically. Eren looked heated, his fists clenched while he poked his tongue at his cheek. "One of y'all fucking say something." Eren's eyes darted between y'all, "Oh cállate perra, no actúes como si te importara ahora." oh shut up btc don't act like you care now Connie started walking towards Eren and he stood up straight looking Connie in his eyes "Whatchu gon do bitch boy? You can have the slut I don't care" Connie chuckled and punched Eren in his jaw. Eren grabbed his face and swung at Connie's nose, leaving a trail of blood running from it.

The boys traded hits each of them landing until Eren paused and spoke, "You know what, ion even know why I'm fighting about this shit, I cheated on yo ass wit Annie anyways." He looked at you with a smug grin on his face. That's when Connie finally had enough, he pulled his gun from his waistband and pointed it right at Eren. "Say some dumb shit to her again and I swear to god ima shoot you bitch." Eren then pulled his gun out and pointed it right back at Connie "Cmon then pussy you ain't gon do it." You watched the situation unfold, stunned by Erens words. Neither Connie or Eren was backing down and all you could do was watch. No one was still at Jean's house besides Ony, Armin, and Jean. They all decided to come upstairs after hearing the commotion and were shocked to find Connie and Eren pointing guns at each other.

"You wanna know something else Y/n, I fucked her a month ago nd her pussy was wayyy better." Eren looked at you over Connie's shoulder, making sure you heard him, and at that moment you realized that you meant nothing to him at all, the year of unconditional love and being his #1 supporter meant nothing to him. 'pop!' You looked around in horror when you heard the sound of a gun go off, you never expected either of them to actually shoot each other. You looked at Eren and watched him clutch his side, blood staining his pure white tee.

"damn Connie what the fuck bro" Ony was shocked "I mean at least ian kill him" Connie said slipping his gun back in his waistband and popping his blood stained knuckles "We gotta get him to the fucking hospital" Armin sighed and rolled his eyes before speaking again, "Y'all couldn't just talk this shit out like normal people?" Jean looked at Armin puzzled "Y'all worried about them fucking talking it out, he just shot him in my damn house man" He started pacing back and forth while clutching his head, slightly tugging at his hair "Got his ass gushing blood on my carpet." Eren looked at Connie "Fuck you bro. you deadass shot me" None of them were taking this serious at all, this felt so normal like it didn't phase any of them.

Armin and Ony helped Eren get in the backseat of Armin's car, "Sorry man but he ain't fucking up my nice cream seats." Ony said shrugging. Connie grabbed your hand and lead you to his car, while Jean stayed at home to clean. Connie hasn't said a word to you or looked you in the eyes since he shot Eren, just staring into the distance, deep in thought. It wasn't like he had never shot anyone before, this was his lifestyle, he was used to it at this point, and after being involved in this shit for so long, all of them were. He was scared that you would think less of him, that you wouldn't want to be around him, that you would find someone else who wouldn't shoot his homeboy for you. But honestly when you saw how far he'd go for you, it made you crave him even more.

"Thank you, Constance" you looked at him with a peaceful expression on your face, he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and his face softened when he heard you speak, "Anything for you, hermosa"

(back to present)

"Y/nnn I'm back" Connie yelled, coming in through your front door sliding his yeezy slides off while setting down a bag of cfa and a bouquet of beautifully arranged roses. You'd given Connie a key to your apartment 2 weeks ago after he started visiting you everyday. Something about you made Connie feel at peace, the way you smile at him, how your eyes light up when talking about your interests, the way your face tells how you're feeling, even the way you would glare at him for not cleaning up after himself. Maybe it wasn't just something, it was everything about you. He loved being able to visit you anytime, you'd always make him feel cherished, like you cared for him so deeply.

"Hola mi hermosa, how you doing?" Connie walked towards you and wrapped his arms around you, squeezing you softly. "Hi Con, I'm good. What'd you get to eat?" You stretched, body feeling stiff after laying in bed most of the day. Connie went and grabbed the stuff from the table by your door, "Here, also these are for you princesa." He handed you the roses and you looked at him with teary eyes, "Con, these are so beautiful. What are they for?" You grabbed them from his tattooed hands "Damn I can't just do something nice for you" He chuckled wiping the small tears from your tanned cheeks.

You both finished eating and were laying in your bed when you heard the front door open. You and Connie both got up, he grabbed his gun from off the nightstand and walked in front of you. Standing in your living room was none other than Eren Jaeger with the box in his hands you'd labeled 'trash', it was all his belongings that had been left in your house, and after that night you stuffed it all lazily into the large box. "Just came to get my shit, ian looking for y'all asses." Eren chuckled to himself and looked at you and Connie, a large scar across his left cheek from when Connie punched him with his rings on, a reminder of that night.

"Hurry up and get the fuck out my house." You spat out looking him up and down "Damn Y/n, you so rude to me now. Can't even answer the phone for me no more" Eren looked at you smugly, he knew you had him blocked, he just wanted to fuck with you. "Shut the fuck up bro just grab yo shit nd dip" Connie crossed his arms and leaned back on your counter "Can you mind yo fuckin business?" Eren rolled his eyes and picked up the box. "Give me yo spare key too" Connie didn't want Eren coming back again. Eren threw the key at Connie and walked to the door, "Y/n, you know what my number is, let me know when his bitch ass ain't home" He winked at you and closed the door behind him. "The fuck?" Eren's lil comment made Connie's blood boil.

Connie grabbed you by the throat and pulled your head towards his. The kiss was anything but sweet, it was so sloppy, so nasty, it put french kissing to shame. He sucked and bit on your neck leaving marks behind, "You look so pretty like this mama". Connie picked you up and carried you to you bedroom, he dropped you on the bed "you know I love you, right?" Connie looked at you with a cold stare, "uh yea, why Con'?" you grew anxious and shuffled on the bed. "Cause im finna fuck you like I don't."

Connie stood over you, pulling your small pj shorts down revealing that you didn't have on panties. You laid back on the bed as Connie got on his knees and fixed himself between your legs, resting them on his shoulders. Connie spread open your soft folds with his middle and index fingers coating them in your slick, "So wet for me mami, ay dios mios" oh my god You let out a soft gasp when his fingers grazed over your clit. Connie dived in, sucking on your clit, starting off fast in hopes of you becoming a wet mess quickly. He pushed both fingers in, pumping slowly. "mm Con' faster please" He listened and picked up the pace drastically, curling his fingers hitting that soft, spongy spot "a-ah! fuck Con' right there!" You cried out feeling him lick and suck on your clit again. His left arm was keeping you secured so you wouldn't move your legs. Your hands were tangled in his short hair, gripping as much as you could. "Cmon mami, I wanna taste you" Connie continued the rough pace making your legs gently shake. You could feel the familiar tingle in your lower stomach, Connie noticed you were close, feeling you slightly tighten around his fingers. "Ah! Con' Fuck! 'm gonna" Your words were cut off when a final pump of his fingers clouded your vision. Connie lifted his face, entire bottom half covered in your wetness, "Tan deliciosa, como siempre" so delicious as always

Connie relentlessly fucked your face, his heavy balls slapping your chin with every thrust. His fingers were buried in your hair, keeping your head in place. "Ah fuck mami, feels so good" Your teary eyes looking up at him as he continued his brutal pace, gagging you. Connie paused giving you a false sense of relief, "t-take it all ma" He pushed your head down, forcing you to take all his length. "mm fuck ma i'm cumming" You felt the hot spurts travel down your throat and swallowed, leaving behind a slight burn. "Such a good slut for me hm?"

You were currently on your back, legs pressed next to your ears as Connie fucked you nice and slow, one hand stabilizing himself while the other was pressing on your stomach. "a-ah Con' please, go faster" You knew saying this was like a challenge, but still you wanted to feel the sweet sting of him stretching you out. "hm princesa, you gon be a good girl and handle it?" Connie sped up just a bit, pressing on your stomach harder. You nodded your head, "Use your words, you a big girl right?" The condescending tone of his voice made the statement bittersweet, "fuck! yes Con' i-i can" He laughed at your eagerness "alright mama, get on all 4's f'me"

Connie pressed on your back, deepening your arch. "Stay just like that baby." He rubbed his tip down your folds collecting the arousal, and pushed in without warning. "Ah!" You jumped from the sudden intrusion, "unh uh you said you was gon be a good girl" He smacked the fat of your ass, the sound echoing. Connie started thrusting, going fast just as you had previously wanted, but this pace was nothing like you imagined, "Fuck mami, throw that shit." He smacked your ass again and you obliged, "C-Con' s'too much, I can't" Your right arm went out behind you, trying to push Connie "Nah mami, t-thought this was what you wanted, right? Gimme yo other arm." You leaned forward on your chest giving Connie the left arm, he held them both tightly behind your back with his left hand. "Oh fuck Con'!" He smacked your ass again before snaking his right hand around your throat, squeezing, and pulling you up. "Fuck ma, take all this shit. Keep goin" Connie never let up his pace, fucking you dumb. "Ah Con' Fuck pleasee" You whined out, throat feeling tight from the lack of steady air. "Such a good slut f'me. You wanna cum?" His words made you tighten around him and you nodded your head as best as you could with his hand still around your neck, "What I say about that shit?" Connie sped up, "Mm yes Con'! fuck let me cum please!" Your whole body was tingling at this point, and all you wanted was to cum. "Work for it then, 'm almost there mama just wait a lil bit" Connie rutted his hips into you chasing his high, "F-fuck mami" You were desperately trying to hold off, feeling that knot continuously tighten with every thrust. "Go ahead mama." His words were like music to your ears. You finally let go, the last thrust sending you toppling over, Connie right behind you. The warm liquid filled you up, and he pulled out, spilling some out of you "Mm princesa, hiciste un desastre." you made a mess

Connie helped you shower, and changed the sheets on your bed after putting the old ones in the washer. Connie wrapped your hair up and put your bonnet on, "yea ima have to get you a new wig" Connie giggled making you look at him and roll your eyes "Alright my bad, but for real ima send you some money so you can go get all gorgeous nd shit" You looked up at Connie's face "You bein for real?" You never had somebody offer to take care of your beauty needs. "Hell yea mama, nd I'm hoping that you gon be so excited wit me that you'll dye my hair after." Connie smiled, then he started laughing, "Awl shut up Connie, matter fact get out my bed." You rolled your eyes and soon ended up laughing too. Connie kept his arms around you tightly as y'all drifted off to sleep.

☆ taglist ☆: @universal-s1ut @luccis-coochie @mccookiemonster @taylarxse @empressdede lmk if you wanna be added!

Hi lovebugs!! did I feed y'all well? 😉 I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter, what y'all wanna see in part 3? Also I appreciate all the notes, especially y'alls comments cs y'all are so sweet! Also can we talk about me reaching 100 followers and all the likes cs I never expected any of this, it's very crazy to me nd I'm so glad for all the love and support! (I said "y'all" wayyyy too much lmfao, it's the country girl in me 🤠)

-with lots of love, gabrielle <3

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

Hi, how you doing, luv? I saw your requests were open so here I am!

I told this idea to a friend and we liked it so much I needed to see it written, and I love how you write Arthur!

I don't usually request/like low honor Arthur but hear me out! Low honor Arthur with a female reader and he's user her as his alibi whenever he goes on a killing spree. But she happily applies, smiling at the officers when she gets questioned like "it ain't him officer. how do I know that, you say? he was with me the whole time🤭" while Arthur quietly cleans the blood splatters off his guns

Samy!! Here it is!! I really hope you'll like it😭 Also, hell yes, what an ask! Loved writing it. Makes me want to write more Low!Honor. And ngggh the best compliment ever telling me you love how I write him I can't

˖✧ Pretty lies

✦ Pairing: Low!Honor Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader  ✦ Warnings/Tags: Blood (obviously), guns, cursing, canon era speech, ending is suggestive. Therefore, MDNI, please! ✦ Words: 1,8k ✦ a/n: Okay so, this is my first attempt ever at a Low Honnor Arthur. I guess I just made him bolder, extra cocky+extra flirty? Hope it’ll fit! ALSO, as always, English isn't my first language, I'm sorry if anything sounds weird. Please if you notice any mistakes, reach up to me! ✦Credits. First pic is from Reddeadcomfort on Pinterest, gun pic from Pinterest too. Second one from my playthrough; blood stains and dividers by me.

Arthur’s violence wasn’t a secret to anyone. Not to anybody in camp, not to you, certainly not to himself. 

Not even to numerous people at this point, considering the large number of poor fellas who had the bad luck to cross him and ended up beaten to a pulp, covered in bruises, head in a drinking trough, riddled with bullets, or even worse.

But you loved him, no matter what. You knew about his flaws. Knew about his brutal, crude side. But around you, this heated aura was turning into something else entirely. And you liked it.

So, when a panting Arthur had rushed to you on the porch of Strawberry’s hotel, blood covering his entire self, face and hair included, blue eyes shining sapphires in a tide of rubies, you weren’t that surprised. You were even less when he asked you to be his alibi for whatever the Hell he just did, as he had taken the habit of doing lately. Lying for Arthur’s crimes could have looked like an immoral thing to do, but as a member of the gang too, you clearly weren’t a saint either.

And you really were enjoying this little game.

The subtle grin Arthur had every time you would lie in front of the police for him, asserting with absolute conviction you had been together all day. The rosy tone his cheeks, ears and neck were displaying when you felt bolder and added some details in your alibis. Details about fake, steamy nights or afternoons you were supposed to have shared, swearing to the Lord you had the unholiest of times together. Oh, the look he was giving you. Knowing, amused, dreamy and so, so proud and debauched. Lustful, even.

You were sure he was enjoying it too.

“Alright, I’ll cover for you again. But at least go take a bath, I can’t do miracles.” You ordered him, a devilish smile on your face. 

“Thank you, sugar.” Arthur quickly answered, his voice just a low, breathless mumbling, barely letting you distinguish his words.

He quickly entered the hotel and you heard the receptionist gasp from where you were. You chuckled to yourself, imagining his outraged face rapidly losing all its composure under Arthur’s hard gaze piercing through the layer of blood, ordering him to prepare a bath as gently as if he was doing a hold-up.

Poor man must have liquefied on the spot.

You leaned against the patio’s fence and breathed in the fresh late afternoon air of Strawberry, alpenglow golden and rosy on top of the mountains, a peaceful scenery under your eyes. Contrasting with the horror and brutality Arthur must have left in his trail.

He was quick to join you again, looking fresh and neat as if he were a completely normal gentleman. His messy hair and dirty beard long gone, a nice black shirt, shiny boots, and a scout jacket on, probably to match Strawberry people's clothes. 

The only things that hadn't benefited from a change were his eternal Gambler hat and his holster and revolvers, both still painted with blood stains, a red and morbid Appaloosa coat on shiny metal.

“Policemen won’t be too long to arrive. ‘Hid my face but they chased me down all the way from Flatneck Station.” He informed you, voice calmer and shoulders less tensed.

“What the Hell were you doing there?”

“Robbin’ a train.” He replied with a cocky grin, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“More like slaughterin’ a train, uh?”

“Smart mouth.” He retorted, amused by your remark. “Too many of ‘em bastards had irritated me.”

“And how much did you get exactly?”

“Seven hundred.” His smirk widened as he patted his satchel, which was probably full of stolen money.

“Damn, Arthur! All by yourself? You never cease to impress me.”

His eyes wrinkled in a genuine smile, a rare sight. He didn’t add anything, silence enveloping both of you, as often in his company. But you knew he had loved your praise. 

Arthur casually sat on one of the chairs behind you, legs open to be more comfortable, and took his guns out of his holster, as relaxed as if he had sat to draw in his journal.

He knew the Law had absolutely no proof against him, and that you were charming enough to lead them up the garden path as easily as if they were children. 

As he had planned, two terribly worn-out lawmen arrived, clothes soiled and face tired. It looked like they didn’t have the time to take a good bath contrary to your companion, probably interrogating the whole town before arriving here. One of them, the shorter of the two, climbed up the wooden stair treads and spoke.

“Sir, Missus. We’re searching for a dangerous criminal. He has been described by several witnesses as a tall man with broad shoulders, brown hair, blue eyes, and a black leathered hat…” His words slowed down and turned into a whisper at the end of his sentence, lost in the air, as his gaze landed on Arthur. His eyes narrowed realizing he matched the description perfectly.

“Oh, I’m really sorry, officer, we haven’t seen anyone like this…” You said with your most angelic smile, your body turning politely from the fence to face the policeman.

You were now standing right next to Arthur who didn’t look bothered at all. 

All the contrary, he had given a simple salute by nodding his head to the man, the tip of his hat shaking nonchalantly in his direction, and had begun cleaning his guns, blood visible like porcelain dipped in a vibrant red paint.

The officer frowned, clearly not convinced.

“You, where were you-

“Him? He was with me all day officer."

He does not believe you. Yet. You took his arched eyebrow as a personal invitation to give him a good show:

"To tell you the truth, we’re on our honeymoon here, so we took the time to enjoy our day together…”

While speaking, you put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, to emphasize your words, to look convincing. But you would have lied to yourself telling you weren’t appreciating this, fingers caressing his muscles through the thick jacket, traveling innocently to his neck where you brushed the base of his hair, just underneath his hat, pampering him as if he was a cat.

And Arthur? He had the biggest shit-eating grin you've ever seen on his face. He loved it, the pure audacity of it all, your teasing touch on the back of his head, his own hands busy with his guns, oil and piece of fabric wiping the fresh remnants from his killing spree of a few hours ago, in the most carefree way possible, all of it under the Law’s nose.

A rush of adrenaline spread through him, tingling and warming his body. He tried to fight his own blood from gathering more and more between his legs, but after all, looking all giddy would just make it all more convincing, right?

“But this man really looks like…” The policeman tried to object, before being cut by you once again.

“Officer, I assure you we was here all day…” You asserted, honeyed voice soft to the ears, eyes as innocent as a dove.

“Oh, except for this morning though, we was out. We tried this really special spot, you know? The one in the mountains, where you can bathe in these hot springs… We had a good time there, didn’t we, honey?” You fibbed with perfection, adding even more details to your tapestry of lies.

The hand you had on Arthur slowly pushed his head against your chest, his face ending up cheek against your cleavage. His devilish smirk almost cracked from widening, and the tip of his ears got all red and hot. You could feel it against your skin, both of you relishing in your juvenile, corny lovers play.

Inside, he felt like he was on top of the World right now.

“Yes baby, ‘t was definitely a good time…” Arthur agreed, playful eyes adverting from his revolvers to look at yours from down there, his slightly crooked teeth visible through his gigantic grin.

“A-arlight, I erm…” The lawman coughed, visibly uncomfortable because of your behavior and finally convinced by your pretty little speech. “I’ll leave you to… To "it" then. Good evening Sir, Ma’am.”

He walked back to his colleague who had smoked a cigarette while waiting for him. Arthur and you kept on playing your naive role until both of them were far enough, the last echo of their conversation sounding exceedingly comical into your ears:

“Shit, we lost this asshole…”

 “Told you this couldn’t be him. Who would be stupid enough to strut around right next to the sheriff’s office?”

Yeah, who would be, uh?

You giggled a bit, eyes still locked on the stupid man in question. He hadn’t stopped smiling the whole time, a low chuckle shaking his chest, joining yours.

“This was a close one. You’re getting more and more reckless…” You warned him gently, hand still wrapped around his head.

“But you, on the other hand, are a brilliant actor, darlin’.” He added, his deep voice showing a hint of amusement and mischief. “And you're getting bolder too. A honeymoon, really?”

“The damn bastard wouldn't let it go…” You shrugged with an innocent smile.

It looks like he was comfortable like this because he wasn’t making any effort to pull away from your soft flesh. All the contrary, a sneaky arm curled up around your waist, pushing you onto his lap, his guns and the piece of fabric ending up on top of your thighs.

“Ya know, alibis are fun an’ all but… Maybe we could have a good time for real, sometimes.” He whispered in your ear, big hands handling you gently, one resting on your legs, the other holding your back.

“Yeah? You tired of lying, Arthur?”

“Am tired of doin’ nothin’ while havin’ the most gorgeous woman in town pretendin’ to be my wife…” His thumb slowly strokes your thighs while answering in a low, passionate tone.

This wasn’t just pretty lies anymore. His voice wasn’t joking, it was filled with desire; his hands warm and demanding on your body.

“Mmh… I see… Maybe we could actually book a room here for the night then…” You answered in the same quiet register, betraying your own needs.

One of your hands grabbed his guns, the other the blackened piece of fabric damped with oil, and you finished cleaning up his revolvers for him, fingers delicate and attentive.

His eyes are locked on your hands and their movement, completely hypnotized by them, his ears turning entirely red, this sanguine color spreading less and less subtly on his face and chest too.

You can't help but notice the hardness growing between his legs, pressing under your body. 

And he can't wait for the moment when this won’t be the barrel of his gun you'd be holding and caressing between your hands…

“Sounds pretty good to me, “Missus Morgan”.”

[uzumaki-rebellion]

"Ice Cold Jax" Geechee!Erik Killmonger

Pairing: Geechee!Erik Killmonger x Black Female OC

Warning(s): 18+, Smut, Supernatural Horror, Period Piece, Erik Stevens AU, Black American Folktale.

Summary: Erik "Killmonger" Stevens is a Geechee wanderer and lover of big-legged women and good moonshine. On a trip to visit his favorite juke joint in 1940s Mississippi, he entertains a lover of sorts, Lulabelle, the juke joint owner and Madame of the nearby whorehouse. Erik battles two mythical creatures from Black American folklore, the Plat Eye and the Crossroads Man in order to save Lulabelle and her establishment. The tale is told from the perspective of a ghost who was once Lulabelle's best friend.

Word count: 5.5K

"The winter time is coming

And it's going to be slow

You can't make the weather baby

it's dry long so

You betta come on in my kitchen

because it's going to be Raining outdoors..."

Cassandra Wilson – "Come on in my Kitchen" (Written by Robert Johnson)

There were two things Lulabelle Humphreys knew how to sell in Itta Bena Mississippi and that was moonshine and other people's pussy.

She did that very well until one night of the Harvest moon when cotton would soon be harvested by the local sharecroppers and itinerant Mexican men who traveled through the delta region looking for work like every other Negro or poor white trash far and wide. On that night under a sweltering heat full of drunk patrons and her smooth-talking whores inside her juke joint with the "special ladies" house attached by a rickety bridge that crossed over a tiny creek full of frogs and singing crickets, Lulabelle witnessed the showdown of all showdowns between the Plat Eye and the Crossroads Man, shonuff, right inside her little rambling hot music-havin' and ice-cold beer havin' establishment.

And if it hadn't been for that slow walking city-to-city wandering Geechee man with the gold teeth, slick smile, and flashy suit standing by her with the smarts of his low country kin back in South Carolina, why Lulabelle might've lost everything that night like she lost me so many years ago when that Plat Eye stole me away when we was teenaged girls in these backwoods. But thank the Lord up above for Erik Stevens ramblin' through with that shiny switchblade, and his Gullah ways, cuz shonuff, that was a night to remember and I'm gonna tell it exactly how it happened from top to bottom and all the sides in between. I ain't been dead long enough or forgotten long enough to not tell it all...

"Mavis, how much lavender water is left in there?"

Lulabelle shouted into the open door that led to one of the "loving" rooms inside her special house.

"There's one bottle left," Ruth called out.

The young woman was nothing but string bean arms and toothpick legs, however, she was a favorite among the darker-skinned Black sharecroppers who admired her fair skin and limp shiny black hair. Even the high yella gals envied what Ruth could pull in because the men were willing to part with more money to fuck what was as close to a white woman as they would get.

Lulabelle knew clearly what a fetish was, so she used Ruth for the high income, but she also had Mavis, a crystal Black pearl with a dark hue so deep that negro soldiers from the military base lined up for hours waiting to part her dusky thighs to taste the sticky sweets within. There was someone for everybody at the house. Big women. Little scrawny women. Big Bodacious titties and itty-bitty mosquito bites. For the richly endowed there was Starla with a pussy so fat and deep that blues ballads were written for her. For the poorly imbued, there was Tweety Pie, a tiny woman with a small tight snatch that rivaled Starla in particular-sized fans.

For the men who didn't fawn over the womenfolk, there was Honey Boy, a twenty-something pretty little thing with bow lips, high cheekbones, and a fat ass that posed as a houseboy who brought fresh after-sex towels, water for the whore baths, and rubbers for the men who forgot to prepare for penetration. Honey Boy could dress like a pretty woman and serve clients fat wood if that was to a patron's liking. Lulabelle was surprised at how popular he was becoming on the low low, especially from the men in the military. Men with men had always been a reality, but Honey Boy was multidimensional. He could turn into a Butch boy from a chain gang, to a bullying Army sergeant to dominate and spread male ass cheeks that needed fat balls against balls. Or he could be a dainty femme movie star in a bra and heels with his hard dick swinging. Lulabelle kept a ready supply of costumes for him, more than the women. All the ladies needed were pretty underwear, strong garter belts, and lipstick. She kept quiet that she paid Honey Boy more than anyone else.

The second world war was putting money in her pockets. 1942 was a profitable war year for Lulabelle. Her pocketbook was fat with cash, and she could now afford real jewelry instead of the cheap costume fare she sported the last three years. She could even maintain a steady hot comb appointment at Mamie's Wash and Curl uptown. Her latest favorite style was imitating Joan Crawford's immaculate curls that she saw in the talkies at the Bijou theater. When she really wanted to look glamorous, she would have Mamie swoop up her thick hair on top of her head with a pinned curl on the front and an under curl in the back. The rich white women she saw in the new color catalogues wore their hair like that.

She wore her hair like that for that evening. It was a special night. The Harvest Moon was going up, and the men would be arriving in droves to drink, dance, and fuck.

He was coming too.

The Gullah man. That sly Geechie with the gold teeth.

Erik Stevens.

His arrival always coincided with some new moon every few months. She'd dress up extra special when she thought he was coming through. Her pussy was already twitching thinking about him.

"I'll have Honey Boy get you a fresh bottle," Lulabelle said patting the back of her hair.

It was hot already, and she worried that her hair wouldn't maintain until Erik saw it. Ruth stepped out of the room. The yellow silk camisole Lulabelle bought for her came to her thighs and had enough lace in the front to cover the baby bulge that was threatening to peek out. The girl got knocked up and none of the home remedies the cook Eva concocted worked in knocking the unwanted pregnancy out. Ruth could probably hide the truth for another month or so, but eventually she would have to go on convalescence and Lulabelle would have to rely on the other women to please the Ruth fans until the woman returned or left for a new life in the North. Until then, Ruth was about making her money and camouflaging the bump.

"Can you tell?" she asked.

Lulabelle squinted.

"These men will be too drunk to notice. Keep the garment on and don't worry about it."

Lulabelle checked in on the other ladies and all was well. Seven rooms, seven whores, seven sources of revenue on top of the juke joint next door. She peeked in on one of the mirrors inside a room and felt satisfied. Her beige dress hugged the curves of her big wide hips and large backside. Her heels made her short body have a little height. She needed a little more powder for her round nose, and the grease pencil she used for her eyes held the dark wings she gave herself.

"Eat your heart out, Joan," she muttered to herself.

She crossed the little wooden bridge that led to the juke joint making sure her crème bow top summer pumps didn't get dirty. Her name was painted in fading blue letters above the entrance. By Christmas she hoped to get a fancy electric sign that sparkled "Lula's". Honey Boy swept the porch entry and she could smell the grease being heated on the kitchen stove inside by Eva. There'd be fried chicken, black-eyed peas, collards with ham hocks, and plenty of buttermilk cornbread to sell with the ice cold Jax beer and corn liquor.

Her eyes scanned the lowering sun over the canopy of Tupelo trees. A loud shriek startled her and made Honey Boy stop sweeping.

"What was that?" Honey Boy asked.

His pressed hair was slicked back, and his copper brown skin was moist with sweat from the oppressive heat.

Lulabelle clutched at her chest. The sound came from deep in the woods. The darkness there shrouded any mysteries that lived within it.

"Sounded like something caught," she said.

The hairs on the back of her neck rose.

A memory.

Being a young teen girl with...

No. Don't think of her. That was the past.

Lulabelle pushed down on the terror in her throat and hid her shaking fingers in front of her dress.

"Probably some unlucky racoon ran across Old Man Rickers trap," she said.

"Yeah, you prolly right, Lulabelle. The man been hunting out there this week."

She heard the doubt in his tremulous voice. The lie hung in the air like dark sap on a dying tree between them.

"That sounded like death is on his way," Eva said.

The older plump woman opened the screen door of the juke joint while wiping down a plate.

"Don't say that, Eva. It's just an old coon, or a slow wild pig—"

The shriek pierced the air again.

"Lord have mercy," Eva said.

The older woman cradled the cheap gold-plated crucifix around her neck.

Rifle shots sounded in the distance and Lulabelle jumped, then smiled.

"See? Just some hunters putting some fresh meat down. Let's get ready for tonight, y'all."

Not one of them moved from the porch until Archie started tinkling on the piano keys inside the juke.

Pussy poppin' in the whorehouse, music jumping, bodies swaying, lips sucking down moonshine and dark beer, Lula's juke shook on its foundations. Dollar bills came in hand over fist as Lulabelle strolled around the property checking in with customers and hustling Eva to fry up more chicken plates. She rounded the corner of the makeshift stage shaking her hips to the hot sounds when her eyes slid to the entrance and saw Geechie Erik swagger in. Double-breasted gray suit with shiny silver buttons and matching cufflinks. Steel-blue silk tie, and black and gray woven Oxford shoes had the Geechie man draped. Lulabelle already knew he smelled like a million bucks even though she was standing nowhere near him. Erik took off his black fedora hat. He had kicked up the waves on his close-cropped hair, and his lightly bearded cheeks gave him a pronounced sophistication compared to all the clean-shaven military men taking up most of the space in the joint.

His eyes scanned the wide room and when they fell on her, her heart sang a minuet in his honor just to see those dimples in his cheeks. He strode toward her with long confident strides and when he circled his arm around her waist, she shivered at his touch.

"Lulabelle, Lulabelle. You get prettier every time I see you."

He gave her a wet sloppy kiss on her cheek, and she swooned. His scent was expensive leather, imported cologne, and Murray's hair pomade.

"Lemme get you a drink, Daddy," she purred.

"No, let me get you a drink. Stay right here."

He sauntered over to the big counter and within minutes he brought her back a small glass of whiskey to match his own. They toasted, tossed the liquor back, and he led her to an open table in the low-lit corner as bodies pressed together dancing around them. His thick lips were on her neck before she could gaze into his eyes, and his thicker fingers were already under her dress creeping over a seamed stocking, her garter belt, and the bottom of her girdlette. He inched closer to her core.

"Goodness gracious, you already hot down here," he whispered in her ear.

His finger swiped across Lulabelle's panties bringing her clit to life.

"Oh... there it is... my jewel," he crooned before he slid the garment aside and fingered her slit.

Erik had her sopping wet by the time the band switched tunes. Two of his warm fingers pumped in and out of her pussy, making her pant and writhe on her seat next to him.

"You gon' sweat my hair out already!" she yelped reaching for the back of her neck.

Erik flipped his digits over palm-side up and finger fucked her until a puddle of creamy juices flowed out onto her chair. Once her legs shook and she squirmed uncontrollably, he bolted up from his seat and grabbed her hand. His dick jutted out from his pants and he dragged through the side door that led to the wooden bridge and the loving house.

"Get the fuck out," he told a patron having his dick sucked in the first room they came to.

Tweety Pie was on her knees, her bright red lips puckered around a small light brown penis. Her eyes grew wide when she saw Erik and the rigid length straining against his zipper.

Erik whipped out his switchblade and flicked it open.

"Out!" he barked.

Tweety Pie scrambled from her knees and pulled her customer by his hand with his trousers dragging around his ankles to another room. Erik slammed the door shut on the gawking eyes of the other whores and pushed Lulabelle against a mahogany cabinet that held lingerie.

"Turn around."

The snarl in his voice made her spin and toot her big ass out toward him. He dragged the cool blade up against the bottom of her stockings until it dipped just under the hem of her dress. He yanked her dress up around her chest and the sharp blade skimmed across her black satin-covered ass cheek. With just a little more pressure he could break the skin on her fat rump through the material and make her bleed. Erik jerked the blade and sliced her panties off. She gasped and clutched at the smooth wood of the cabinet for balance. She heard his zipper peel down slowly and felt his hands fumble for a rubber.

"You miss Daddy?"

"Yes!"

He parted her folds before she could catch her breath. The fullness stretching her out made her shout his name and grit her teeth. Pumping into her slowly at first, he teased the hell out of her by pushing in deep, then pulling all the way out so that her pussy lips throbbed needing his dick back inside of her.

"I missed this pussy... so much... taking me so deep!"

His switchblade rested on the middle of her naked spine and tickled her skin purposely.

"Take this dress off!"

He helped her wiggle her arms out of it before unfastening her bra with his hands. Cradling her heavy breasts, he made her cheeks clap as his weapon clattered to the floor. His full concentration was on pleasing her body. Rough wide palms spread her ass cheeks wide as he grunted and pushed down on his thighs to hunch over her.

"Lula, shit... Lula..."

Erik gripped her hips and slammed into her before pulling out and lifting her up. He tossed Lula on the soft lumpy bed, undressed, and plunged back into her. The gold in his mouth glinted above her as he thrust harder and faster knocking the breath out of her body.

Her garter belts bunched up then stretched with her girdlette when he pushed her thighs back.

"Big legged girl... mmmm," he groaned.

He shoved his head down to her folds and sucked on her lower lips before spitting on them and sinking his girth back inside her walls.

"Daddy hittin' that bottom yet?"

"You in there... real deep, Daddy."

"Lemme get deeper..."

Her ankles met her earlobes and the heavy pressure from his dick made her cock-eyed a spilling gibberish from her mouth.

"Oh, Jesus!" she yelped when his fists rested on her sides and he bucked into her, slapping his balls against her ass.

Before he could press his mouth into her swollen pussy again to glisten his face, she clenched up around his dick and squeezed it with rhythmic pulses she had no control over.

"That's a good girl... let that pussy talk to Daddy's dick, Lula."

His eyes watched her contractions yank on his length, and when he finished talking her through her release with high praises and slow wet kisses, he pulled off the rubber and stroked himself against her clit. The silky curls of her pubic hairs were wet with her creamy orgasm and became even wetter when Erik splashed hot cum all over her vulva. His shouts of pleasure filled her with quiet confidence.

"That's it Daddy, cum all over your fat pussy."

He hissed when she said that, and his heated glare encouraged more of his release. A thick rope of semen painted her stomach, and he collapsed on top of her with hard ragged gasps.

"God, I wish I could be in this pussy every day, Lula."

"You could," she said stroking the waves on his hair.

He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling with her.

"Not with the work I do. I try my best to get here when I can. But shit, baby. If I didn't get this pussy for free, I would pay a fortune for it."

She rolled on her side to look at him, happy that he thought of her like that. His eyes were still on the ceiling, but there was a frown on his face.

"She's in the room, y'know. Up there hiding in the corner."

"Don't say that, Erik. You know it scares me."

"If you did what I told you to do, she'd go away."

"As long as she don't start no foolishness around here, I can live with a ghost."

"Can you? Then how come you're scared?"

"She was my friend. I know she blames me for getting away and not her."

"A good coating of haint blue all around the doors would keep her out..."

"I can't. I can't do that to her. If she's just lingering as a ghost, it makes me feel like she can live a little."

"If you say so."

"Let's not talk about her."

His eyes were still focused on the ceiling, looking at Elizabeth, her childhood friend from so long ago. She couldn't see the dead teenager at all.

"She mad?" Lulabelle asked.

"She loves you. It's why she stays around... floating from room to room... following you."

Lulabelle pulled his chin toward her.

"Don't look. Please."

Erik slipped his tongue in her mouth. A knock at the door interrupted them.

"Lulabelle, sorry to disturb you and your Mister, but I need this room," Tweety Pie squeaked out.

"Give me a minute."

Lulabelle peeled the rubber from Erik's dick and tossed it inside some tissue and chucked it out of the window into a well-placed bucket outside.

"You ruined my panties," she scolded as she jumped up to rinse her privates and stomach in lavender water at a large basin sitting on a maple console table.

She dried her folds and fixed her bra back around her breasts.

"Don't need 'em, I'll be back inside of you soon enough," he said.

Pulling her dress back on, Lulabelle tried to fix her hair and make-up in a mirror.

"You look fine," he said zipping his pants.

Erik picked up his switchblade and opened the door.

Tweety Pie had a new man with her, a handsome young soldier with lust in his eyes.

"Pardon us," Erik said as he guided Lulabelle back to the juke joint.

Lulabelle sat on Erik's lap as he joked with some patrons and slammed back shots of moonshine. She fed him cornbread and pieces of chicken bites with her fingers, and occasionally she would bounce on his hardness that rested against her backside. He tortured her clit with occasional strokes under her dress, but he wouldn't let her cum. That would happen later when he was ready to plunder her pussy once more. Tradition held that he would fuck her at least four more times before he disappeared until the next new moon in the future. She sat on that hard meat all hot and bothered knowing he was going to be cruel by plucking at her bud and sticking his tongue in her ear all night. She watched him dance with a few women and flirt while she checked on her women out back and collected her money, stuffing it in her bra.

Erik was a little too handsy with a couple of fancy ladies and she had to check him. He'd become contentious then, argued with her until she argued him down threatening to cut his balls off if he cheated on her. If she pushed him, just a little too hard, his neck would move in a hostile way that put her in her place and made her drip down her thighs. He liked her mouthy and jealous, but not too jealous if he caught her rubbing her ass against some other patron to provoke him. He'd spank her hard and tell her about herself until she stopped being bratty and soothed his ego. That was his way every time he came to the juke. Arrogant. Loud. Threatening other men who got too close to her, then all seductive when he needed her loving once more.

When no one was looking, Erik unzipped his pants, pulled out his dick and slid her on top of it raw at their private table. Her dress covered the action, and he lifted her up and down.

"You bet not cum," he ordered with harsh breath.

"I won't, I promise," she insisted with clenched teeth.

She was snug on his dick, and the friction was too much to bear. She clutched onto his knees and leaned forward, dropping her weight on his thighs. The rhythm was perfect until a slender man as tall as a Tupelo crept over to their table and sat down. He didn't seem concerned that he was witnessing a woman getting fucked within an inch of her life in the midst of her own rowdy and lascivious establishment.

The man's face was long, and he had long teeth... and long fingers... and long legs... and a long tongue that lolled around in his mouth. He had skin the color of a soft sunset and one big eye in the center of his face. The music and dancing slowed all around her, and all she could see and hear was the long man with his long deep breaths.

"Lulabelle... Lulabelle..." the slender man said, and the voice that spoke her namesake was not pleasant and inviting like Erik's. It was sinister. Conniving. Filthy to her ears.

Erik thrust up into her walls, and she gasped. The slender man smiled with his long teeth, and his one big black eye blinked and Lulabelle fell forward and down into a vortex of hideous darkness until she landed on soft grass in front of the crossroads that led into the dark woods near her juke joint.

"Lulabelle, hurry up! If we don't go now, we'll chicken out!"

Elizabeth ran ahead of her. Dear sweet Elizabeth, eighteen and glowing with a gorgeous figure and good hair, and the good sense to know that Itta Bena was to be left behind. They were going to New York to become showgirls in Harlem, leaving all that country backwoods shit living behind. No sharecropping or cleaning after white folks for them. They were young. Beautiful. Full of life and ready to see the world. That meant crossing through the woods at the old dusty crossroad just as the sun was setting. The last train outta town was due in an hour. Going through the woods was the fastest route to a new life.

But then the slender man came. The Plat Eye. The Haint that haunted the trees and lingered in the darkness deep inside the woods.

Lulabelle, full of eighteen-year-old spunk, dropped her heavy suitcase and pulled Elizabeth back with a hard tug on her arm.

"Dontcha see him, girl?" Lulabelle shouted.

"Oh, he's just another traveler headed outta here too, pick up your suitcase-"

"It's the Plat Eye. You don't see its face. The one eye? The long teeth?"

"You so silly girl! Look at him... just a man tryna run like us."

"No!"

Elizabeth dropped her suitcase and stood with arms all akimbo.

"If you don't wanna go, then say that, Lulabelle."

"You don't see that monster right there?!" she shrieked, and it startled Elizabeth.

The Plat Eye smirked.

"Fine, stay here then you big baby. Hey, Mister, wait up!"

"Elizabeth!"

An arm grabbed Lulabelle's elbow stopping her from running after her friend.

"Don't move, gal."

The voice didn't have Mississippi in it. It was low country and slower than cold molasses. South Carolina lived in it.

"She done made her choice and if you move one inch, I can't protect you."

Lulabelle didn't turn to look at the stranger. His words were wise, and she did as she was told.

"Elizabeth! Come back!"

"It's too late, Lulabelle."

"How you know my name?"

"I've seen you 'round here before with your friend."

She tried to turn around, but firm hands held her shoulders in place.

"Don't hurt me, Mister."

"Nah, I wouldn't do nothin' like that."

The Plat Eye grew taller almost reaching the height of the nearest tree.

"She can't see what it is?"

"She see what she wanna see."

The thing that was as tall as a Tupelo bent down and opened its tall mouth and Elizabeth stepped into the dark maw...

Lulabelle gasped and her thighs sensed the strong muscles of Erik's legs holding her up once more. He fucked her still, hitting her walls harder. His hands gripped her breasts as he grunted and rolled her nipples with agile fingers. The slender man of her past smiled, his greasy lips splitting wide as he was long. That single eye a tainted monstrosity to behold on its face.

The juke joint partied on, and men filed out through the side door to pay their money for an extra good time with her girls. The Plat Eye reached out for Lulabelle's arm and Erik slammed his switchblade down on the table.

"Nah, haint. This one here belongs to me."

The Plat Eye blinked that Cyclops eye in shock and its mouth fell open.

"Should've known you'd be around here," The Plat Eye grumbled sitting back in his chair.

A clammy wetness dampened Lulabelle's neck. Memory boomeranged back into her chest. The low country voice. The strong hands that held her waist so that he could rut into her pussy.

Lulabelle turned her head and the glint from Erik's gold teeth became a glowing source of ethereal light. The full lips and bright white teeth still looked human but the reverb of hidden power sat under the guttural rasp of his voice.

The man from the Crossroads.

The one who stopped her from entering the throat of the Plat Eye and turning into a floating haint that lived in the ceiling like Elizabeth.

The Geechee Man.

"Ya don't play fair," The Plat Eye grumbled again.

"And?" Erik said.

Erik's firm hands skated up her sides and rested on her shoulders. Lulabelle's pussy squelched on his dick all rude and loud. Plat Eye licked his fleshy lips.

"This here the one I wanted. Not that other one—"

Lulabelle snatched up Erik's switchblade and jumped up from his lap. Her pussy throbbed from being removed from his erection. She held the open switchblade against his throat. Why couldn't anyone else in her juke joint see or hear what was happening?

She knew the stories. All kinds of frightening things could be met at a crossroads. And if the Crossroads Man himself showed up—

"Put that down, Lula. It's not a toy to be played with," Erik said zipping up his pants.

The Plat Eye leaned forward and shot his arm out to grab her, but Erik was quicker. He snatched the switchblade back faster from her grip than she could blink, and he slashed the creature's arm. Black festering ooze seeped from the wound and sizzled as it splashed on the table burning holes through the wood.

"Give her to me," the Plat Eye demanded.

Erik stood up and straightened his tie.

"Nigga you ain't getting shit but an ass kicking if you keep playing with me. I told you already. This one is mine. Get on about yourself before I send you on your way to a very bad place."

"There are rules!"

The Plat Eye leapt to his feet and towered over Erik. Not by much though.

"I make the rules," Erik said.

An arrogant chuckle tumbled out of the Plat Eye's mouth. He gripped the lapels of his suit and blinked that one beastly eye. His open wound continued to drip ruining her good table.

"My man," The Plat Eye said and held up his long fingers to placate Erik.

The creature slid out from the juke joint with no one the wiser. Erik turned to face her and Lulabelle jumped away from him.

"Stay back!"

"Lula... c'mon, baby. I've been coming to you ever since you opened this place. Have I ever harmed you once?"

"No."

"I just give you good lovin' when I can."

"That's why you can't be with me all the time?"

He nodded.

"I guard the way, and I open it up. Everywhere."

Lulabelle ran to the bar and made Eva pour her the biggest glass of moonshine possible. She gulped it down. Erik sauntered over to her.

"Don't be scared of me, Lula."

"What are you... really?"

"Your man."

"You ain't no man."

"I'm no demon if that's what you're worried about."

"God forbid if I'd been fucking the devil."

"I'm no devil, girl. Far from it."

He stroked her face.

"Let's go to the back. I need you... right now."

His voice made her insides tingle. This was their time. But how could she go back and make love to... to a what? Spirit? Guardian angel? Supernatural being?

He never did hurt her. And never once did she suspect that he wasn't anything other than a switchblade carrying Geechie that made her backbone slip.

"Are there others?" she asked, "Others like you around here?"

"Always. But you don't have to worry about nothin'. You got me. No one fucks with me.'

"How come you didn't save Elizabeth?"

"She didn't want to be saved."

"But I loved her. She was my best friend. Why would she leave me?"

"She's still here. She'll never leave until you chase her on."

"Is she happy?"

"Like I told you, she loves you. If you're happy, she's happy."

"God won't punish me for being with you, will he?"

"She won't. I promise."

"What about me selling pussy and a little dick?"

"Not even on her mind."

Lulabelle smiled.

Erik slinked over to her and rubbed his big body against hers and nudged his bearded face against her soft cheek.

"How many women have you seduced over the years?"

"You my favorite."

"That didn't answer my question.," she said putting a hand on her hip.

"You wanna argue or get some more dick, gal?"

Lulabelle checked the room. Her patrons were happy and not having a care in the world. Eva cooked more food, Honey Boy kept the girls refreshed in their loving rooms, and the Harvest moon spilled in through the window behind the juke band.

Moonlight bathed Erik's face and he slid his hand under her dress again.

"Daddy needs to take care of you... oh see now, my sweet jewel is all plump again."

He removed his hand and licked his fingers sticky with her essence. She rubbed on his crotch and he gifted her with a hard bulge. His eyes drifted up to the ceiling.

"Elizabeth wants you to get all this," he said grinding against her.

"Can you tell her that I miss her? That I love her?"

"She already knows."

Erik lifted her up and carried her across the rickety bridge and back to the soft lumpy bed.

That's their story, and I ain't tellin' it twice. Lula and her Geechee Man played nice for a long, long time. I keep watch and makes sure that stays true. Until we meet again on the next new moon...

Part 2 "There's Some Whores in This House" HERE.

A.N:

This was a birthday story I wrote for @soufcakmistress back in 2021.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

It ain't over 'til the Old Crow sings.

This is the concluding story to go along with the Two Ravens at the Writing Desk blog event! Please note, I was not able to respond to all interaction requests, as many were submitted after the period of acceptance and/or disregarded other event rules.)

Does Two of us make a Murder of Crows? … Or an Unkindness of Ravens?

The Newspaper Club's office was a hub of activity. When its door was cracked open, the smell of fresh paper and ink would greet visitors. The murmurs of concentration and furious keyboard clacking of its members, the organization's calling card.

Raven was fond of it.

She tended to skitter on the outskirts of the club, observing as students drifted in and out, sometimes lugging supplies or equipment with them. Too shy to ask if she could pitch in, too scandalized at the thought of the boys staring at her if she entered.

And so she remained, watching.

Raven peered around her secretive corner. Today, there was a cluster of club members outside the office, caught up in a heated debate. One of them--the leader?--had a thick packet in hand and a frown on his face.

"We can't print this," he was saying, waving the papers around.

"If we don't, he'll be on our asses," protested another member. "Let's just suck it up and send it into the printing press."

"Where's your journalistic integrity, man?!" a third demanded.

"We've put out crappier stuff before," a fourth shrugged. "Remember that article about the seven greatest unsolved mysteries on NRC campus? As if most of us don't already know."

"It's not the same thing," the leader shot back. "That was one piece. This is an entire issue. You really want to flush down our rep?!"

Oh dear, it looks like they've run into some sort of trouble. I wonder what's wrong...? Raven leaned a little closer, cupping an ear.

"What are we going to do" The club leader worriedly paced around. "We don't have much time before the deadline comes up on us... Oh, hmm?"

He cocked his head, noticing a flicker of movement around the corner. "Is that...?"

Raven startled. I've been spotted!

"Excuse me!" To her horror, the club leader approached and called out to her. "You are... the headmaster's something-or-other, right? Someone who can speak to him on our behalf."

"Er, yes. I-I suppose that's true." She tried to control her nerves by smoothing out her skirt, but found herself anxiously wringing the hem of it.

"Great! See, the headmaster proposed running a special edition in the campuswide newspaper. In honor of NRC's founding month, he said," the club leader explained. "Front to back, the whole works. The only problem is... well, see for yourself."

He offered his packet. It was about the width of a modest novel and bulged with additional sticky notes and photographs shoved inside of the stack.

One glimpse at the cover page, and Raven instantly understood what was happening.

Oh, Uncle. You just can't stay out of trouble, can you?

"You wanted the school newspaper to have a Crowley-themed edition for March... Have you gone mad?!"

"I thought it would be an earnest and approachable way for the student body to get to know their headmaster," Crowley faintly defended himself. "And you did tell me to pen some writing by my own hand. Does it not make sense to publish those works in a publicly accessible source?"

Raven held her head in her hands. A migraine was coming on, steady but piercing.

"Please do not impose your agenda on a student-run organization. It is meant to be a forum that promotes freedom of expression, not for personal vanity projects!!

"There are other avenues you could use for publications if you want an 'earnest and approachable' image. For example..." She produced her phone, pulling up Magicam via an app. Personal blogs, social media accounts... There are many other places.

"Oh." Crowley cupped his chin. "I was not aware."

"Many students are on Magicam, so if you want to be relatable this may be a good starting point. Perhaps it's not the best for posting written works, but surely you could take pictures of your daily activities and briefly caption them."

"Well, why didn't you say so sooner? Nothing could be simpler, my dear niece!" The headmaster beamed, displaying his pointed, pearly canines.

“I wish you’d explored these options first,” she sighed. “Then we could have avoided this almost-disaster altogether.”

Her guardian was already preoccupied with his own phone now. Typing in information, fishing up the most photogenic pictures from his album to slap on. A few minutes into setting up his account, Crowley paused. He eyed his child the same way a hawk might eye a scurrying field mouse.

“… What is it now?” Raven asked, dreading the worst.

“Oh, I was just thinking about what my first post should be. Something that says a lot about me and where my values lie. I know exactly what to use: a family photo!"

She raised a brow.

Crowley shoved the rejected proposal packet back into his niece's hands. He then shuffled next to her, holding his phone out--the camera, flipped--and made a peace sign with the other.

A bolt of panicked realization raced through her. "Uncle... you don't mean--"

"Fufufu. Say 'cheese', Raven-kun!"

CLICK!

The headmaster's first post would go up around midnight. Under the picture of a jovial crow and a befuddled raven was a very telling statement.

So glad to have such bright young minds steering the way to the future~ Proud to be the headmaster of NRC 🐦‍⬛

[hyenabeanz]

Can you dumb motherfuckers stop trying even now to SHAME people into voting how you want and instead talk about the good your candidate will do instead?

Fuck.

Democrats, liberals, and "leftists" can't read the room or strategize their way out of a wet paper bag.

Even now, with Biden out and Harris as a prospective new nom, I'm already seeing "yeah our guy sucks but <insert fear tactics here>"

That is not how you get people to the polls for your candidate.

That's why Trump is a threat. He is saying "this is what I'm gonna do." His followers and campaigners are going "this is what he's gonna do." THAT is what the average voter cares about. Is what he says he's gonna do lies or terrifying fascism? Yes. But when people are scared, insecure, full of despair or frustrated, they want hopeful things to cling on to, promises of change and action, what their candidate is gonna do for them, not "they suck but they suck less." And while wildly misplaced and sick, an action plan is what Trump promises, and his followers spplaud. So this shame shit isn't going to move them.

And as for those who are educated enough to see Trump as the horrific mess he is and will never vote for him, but not satisfied with the other option, shame STILL doesn't work. Because despair kills motivation. And "we suck slightly less" is just despair fuel. Why bother if everyone sucks? And no, a litany of horrors isn't motivation. We live in a litany of horrors, that ain't special. Again: Despair = hopelessness and helplessness = why bother?

Some of you may be too young to remember, but for those who aren't: Think of the Obama campaign. He wasn't some amazingly progressive angel with all the best policies (some were horrible.) But he was a hell of a speaker who promised hope. fucking learn from history. That promise, that fire for hope, got so many young people to the polls. It energized. And he won in a comparative landslide.

So Ok, you got rid of the guy who elitist donors and insufferable people on the Internet said they wouldn't vote for. K. Fresh start. Kamala ain't no Obama in terms of gifted speaker, but those of you talking about her NEED to treat this like the new opportunity it is, and start talking up the reason to be hopeful for Kamala Harris.

Here's a starter for you, for one of the big ones:

Harris has already been vocally more critical of Israel than Biden was, and did so much sooner. Has she said Free Palestine, abolish Israel? No. Of course not. No one in this election is going to. It's not gonna happen. So your options here is someone who has said they want to give Israel enough aid to turn Gaza to glass, or someone who at the very least acknowledged back in March that Israel's conduct is unacceptable. She doesn't have the personal connections to Israel that make her have a soft spot for people ordering war crimes.

I've already spent too long this evening writing this considering I mostly use Tumblr for fun stuff vs. my other social media, but that's how irritating some of y'all are being. I'd love to see and challenge others to reblog and tack on more of the reasons to vote FOR the presumptive nom here, vs. voting against the toupee'd terror.

[yakuzacanons]

Yakuza Headcanons: Watching Spooky Movies

Oooooo it's the spooky season ain't it. Hello hello I rise from the grave to bring you some fresh headcanons for the season. For those with asks still in the inbox, I SEE em, just been busy with my horror movie marathon. Anyways, some headcanons below da cut to tide you over. Also welcome bouncing baby boy Ichiban to the gang!

Kiryu Kazuma

Isn't scared easily by much of anything so it's really easy to get him to watch horror movies. Mostly watches them because someone else is too scared to watch them alone. He's the person they can hide behind or who will tell them when a particularly horrifying scene is over.

Gore doesn't bother him as much as something or someone looking creepy or offputting will. Kiryu still won't get scared but he will get uncomfortable. Most of the time he just reacts by going "Ah... oh!"

Fond of the classics and will gravitate towards movies with a strong and likable protagonist. Likes The Evil Dead, Aliens, and Halloween. Directors don't matter much to him.

Majima Goro

He's a mixed bag. If a movie is well put together, then it can scare him pretty easily. He's most scared of ghost stories or paranormal things. Least afraid of slashers because he thinks he could just beat them all up.

Cannot stand jump scares. Sometimes he evens yells at his TV at home in irritation, saying things like "Oi, whaddya keep makin' loud noises for? Sheesh!"

Honestly, the weirder the movie the better. It might seem stereotypical for someone who looks and acts like Majima but he thinks the whole point of horror is to be interesting. Fond of Takashi Miike movies like Ichi the Killer, Audition, and Over Your Dead Body.

Akiyama Shun

Doesn't watch a lot of movies because he totally falls asleep during most of them. He'll at least give it a shot if you ask nicely though. Honestly more motivated by the fact you might cling to him during the scary parts than anything.

As much as Akiyama is a total ladies' man and romantic at heart, he always laughs whenever characters start being intimate during horror movies. He makes jokes out of it, saying things like "Babe, would you still love me if we were in a spooky movie?"

Movies with a good soundtrack actually help him stay awake. Jump scares annoy him though because if he falls asleep, the noise makes him panic. Fond of monster movies or movies about animals like Jaws, Shin Godzilla, and The Host.

Saejima Taiga

Genuinely not scared of a single darn thing. If you want to watch it, he's down to give it at least a try. He might nod off if he's tired or bored, but he tries his best not to. Horror comedy is okay with him too although he might not get all the jokes.

Most of the time he sits with his arms crossed, paying full attention. He's kind of funny in that he makes noises like "Heh" or "Hmph" when a character is caught off guard by something. Makes an occasionaly "Tsk" sound at jump scares. Otherwise he's not reactionary.

Particularly fond of slashers, probably because those usually have villains that are actually kind of his size. He enjoys the Friday the 13th series, particularly Jason X.

Tanimura Masayoshi

Type of guy to be like "Ooh let's watch this, I heard it's really scary" and then proceed to either get scared out of his wits or say something like "Wait, that's ALL?" at the end. Bases most of his movie choices off of other people's recommendations since he's usually too busy to randomly go see however many movies he wants to.

Doesn't really like horror that's super in your face. Gets more scared by the tension itself than anything. Always has movie snacks on hand.

Found footage is probably his most favorite type of horror. Likes The Blair Witch Project, Noroi, and REC. Fond of director Koji Shiraishi.

Ryuji Goda

Doesn't watch a lot of horror movies but like Saejima he's not scared of anything. He's also the type of guy to drop everything to spend time watching a movie with his partner. Gets a kick out of being a shield or protector during scary parts.

Likes movies with a lot of personality and campiness. Slow burns or psychological thrillers just put him to sleep. It doesn't matter if it's good or bad, as long as it's entertaining.

Didn't think he'd end up being much of a horror fan but he's quite partial to John Carpenter. Likes The Thing, They Live, and Christine.

Nishikiyama Akira

One of the bigger scaredy cats of the group. Won't suggest a horror movie but will totally act like he's not at all afraid if you ask to see one.

Honestly, the two of you end up just kind of holding onto each other during scary parts or pulling up the blanket almost over your eyes when a character is about to die. Violence doesn't necessarily bother him but excessive gore kind of annoys him.

Enjoys a good ghost story movie but only if you'll watch it with him. Anthologies are also good too since it offers so much at once. Likes Ju-On, Ringu, and Tales From The Crypt.

Mine Yoshitaka

Likes certain horror movies. Not scared of much but he does get noticably uncomfortable with torture movies like Saw or Hostel. He just finds it to be weird more than entertaining.

Fond of more classic monsters like vampires or werewolves. Mine's the type of guy to actually have a decent home theater setup, even if he doesn't get much time to use it, so he doesn't go to the movie theater much.

Has a soft spot for some of the really old classics in the 30's like Frankenstein or Nosferatu. His favorite horror movie is Interview With The Vampire.

Daigo Dojima

Probably the only one of the boys who actively enjoys slow burns and more psychological horror. He doesn't get opportunities to watch movies much but he does have an interest in the medium as a whole.

Particularly loves anything with spectacular cinematography. Good directing, lighting, or costumes really impress him. Kind of interested in some of the technical aspects as well. Also probably the only of the boys to ever look something up on IMDb.

Especially fond of movies by Kiyoshi Kurosawa. His favorite horror films are Kwaidan, Cure, and Pulse.

Tatsuo Shinada

The biggest scaredy cat of all of the boys. Will attempt to watch a spooky movie with you at least once just for the sake of trying but will honestly just close his eyes if he feels overwhelmed. You HAVE to hold his hand though.

Probably the only one of the boys who actually gets squeamish easily. Gore and blood make him uncomfortable, although he has SOME tolerance in general. He'd just rather watch something that's not super heavy on bloodshed.

Horror films with a particular visual style, especially super colorful ones, make it a lot easier for him as he can actually see what's happening and he feels less worried. Movies like House or Suspiria are good for him. Also likes super over the top movies like The Lost Boys or Killer Klowns From Outer Space as they're so hilarious to him that he forgets to be scared.

Kasuga Ichiban

Somewhat easily scared. He gets more shocked or surprised than scared, honestly. The movie HAS to be interesting to some degree or he will just conk out and there will be no waking him. Doesn't mind jump scares since they help keep him awake at least even if the movie's bad.

Having said that, he does enjoy taking the time to see a movie that's genuinely just really good and talking about it with you afterward. Movies with really good effects tend to impress him a lot. It's also more visually memorable.

Tends to like movies where the main character has special powers. Partial to zombie movies since a lot tends to happen and involves multiple characters. He likes 28 Days Later, The Dead Zone, and Carrie.

[murfpersonalblog]

Carol Cutshall better get an Emmy this year, I ain't playin!

"Cutshall and her team had to embrace a new reality, one initially devoid of the first season’s material pleasures..... Free of their maker, an austere Louis and Claudia flee New Orleans for Europe in search of a coven of vampires to call their own. There they find themselves in the ravaged wasteland of World War II, where sorrow pollutes even the blood they drink."

"It was such a drastic change going into season two. We went from the height of glamour, which we last saw during a Mardi Gras party, to the polar opposite in the premiere. When you look at Louis and Claudia in their shearling coats in Romania and the amount of mud and blood on them, those looks are built for surviving and searching and starting over."

This what I meant when I talked about AMC intensifying the horror for show!Claudia vs book!Claudia. They're starting over, runaway slaves free at last from Massa Lestat's domestic terrorism; following the Drinking Gourd north to the promised land of milk & honey--but their exodus isn't some glorious adventure--it's Hell on Earth!

I adore the juxtaposition Carol makes between the obscene opulence of Mardi Gras NOLA vs the Grimm realities of war-torn Europe. Book!Lou&Claud traveled across Europe in a lavish carriage Claudia picked out, and had the luxury of taking their fancy coffins with them in it.

NGL I was hoping Carol would talk about these outfits in particular:

AMC's Lou & Claud look like they've been sleeping underground/in a battlefield, dressed in animal skins/furs--not the fancy furs PETA jumps folks for, but nasty Caveman Couture rags. And I can't help but think about the furs they wore in the film, looking rich AF, even as Lou complained about how sad he was. 🙄😒

So I am SO IN LOVE with AMC sending Louis & Claudia to WWII Europe. They're in Ploiești/Romania in 1941--in the book they're in 1800s Varna/Germany. Romania was a major ally for the Nazis in WWII, and the LAST place Claud should be--let alone Louis (a gay Black African American man)--let alone because Romania was bombed TF up in the early 1940s.

They're running slow AF like regular humans--no super vamp speed at their disposal to flee from the bombs--cuz they've been STARVING. They're eating the dead like a bunch of ghoulish necrophages (come through, Witcher 3 folklore!).

Like, in the film the big idea was that drinking dead blood could kill a vampire. But in TVL & Blood Communion we know that's not the case when Lestat drinks the corpses Armand gave him, and when Lestat gives the Vampire Court Rhoshamandes' corpse--it's not deadly, but it's not great, either. Drinking blood should be PEAK sensory pleasure; but this just shows what they've been reduced to.

So to see Louis & Claudia tearing into pieces of the dead to suck up what's left is like cannibalism at its rawest, basest & most primitive--straight out of a dystopian zombie apocalypse. There's no transcendent power in the dead like what Maharet & Lestat described. Lou & Claud are scavengers in a battlefield, fighting for scraps just to survive and endure, but not really live.

And I feel so much worse for Claudia, cuz she LITERALLY didn't ask for this mess! Unlike Louis--and unlike book/film!Claudia--she was Born into Darkness w/out her awareness or consent. AMC puts this poor girl through HELL. The things she's seen & experienced made her "built for survival;" but she's also "built like a bird," and just as ignorant about vampires & the Old World as Louis--though they're both bookish intellectuals who THINK they're ready for Europe.

So they have no effing idea, cuz Lestat never told them WHY Europe was such bad news. They're blind and completely in the dark!

And then they FINALLY arrive in Paris--a breath of fresh air after the war.

But glamour returns to their lives as the pair forge ahead in Paris.... Seduced by their habit of living loudly and proudly — at least at night — Louis relaxes into his post-Lestat life, taking up photography and exploring his sexuality in subtle ways. “The look I landed on for him was that of artists and café society, and French workwear with a little bit of a blue-collar look,” Cutshall says. “It’s not the finery that we are used to for Louis, but his fastidiousness in how he wears it — tucked and belted — is still there.” There is a visual hierarchy among these old-world vampires. Louis wears the costume of the common man, placing him below the coven’s creative director, Armand, the so-called love of his life"

The "visual hierarchy" of Louis being "placed BELOW" the Old World vampires had me vibrating in my seat, especially wrt Armand, the biggest baddest boogeyman vs fledgling vampires in the books.

"We want to break away from the disguise he had in season one, because he is the mega predator,” Cutshall says. “He's not threatened by anyone. So, in everything he does and wears, he can be like an animal who is not afraid to lie on their back and bare their belly."

Which is precisely what I said about Lestat in his Mardi Gras dress & his Matador pajamas. Cuz Lou & Claud are constantly put on the exact same level--at the BOTTOM of the food chain & the gendered/social hierarchies of vampire covens in both NOLA & Europe.

But what's interesting's that AMC diversified the Theatre--there's Black & Asian vampires, not the all-white coven from the books.

The Theatre has truly become a microcosm of the entire world, highlighting just how sheltered Lou & Claud were in the New World. The history of America is very black and white--or rather: white versus black. After the Native Americans were wiped out, American racism molded & shaped centuries of slavery & oppression specifically designed to keep Black people at the bottom of barrel, even when they were "freed/emancipated." But in the Old World, power & conquest was continental--Africa & Asia & Europe were ALL major superpowers at one time or another, kicking each other's arses. Race & racism still plays a huge part in European imperialism, OF COURSE, but WWII showed how white folk are just as prone to killing & oppressing each other, let alone anyone else. 😂 Louis & Claudia's problems w/ Lestat are radically different from their problems w/ Armand (now a brown Asian, as Russia & Ukraine are also globalized; dispelling the myth about Russians only ever being white people).

But Santiago's an altogether different beast--but eerily familiar.

"Her thirst for attention is surpassed only by Santiago, the extravagant emcee of the theater troupe. For Santiago’s big onstage entrance in episode two, Cutshall took inspiration from performers like Peter O’Toole and Laurence Olivier. “I started with Fred Astaire, but with a bit of a bondage twist for Santiago’s curtain look,” she says. “Who were the top dogs of the time that he would want to emulate? You can feel him striving for that."

What is fundamentally wrong with Santiago (and Lestat) is that he's a HUGE showboat, desperate for attention & validity, specifically from LOUIS, a vampire older than Santiago, attractive & new & interesting, who's approval he actually wanted & expected. But Louis's too mature/smart for Santiago, and immediately clocked him as a clown and a BUFFOON.

AMC dyed Santiago's hair blonde on purpose, ISTG, cuz the parallels w/ Lestat are hilarious. Armand's the coven master & creative director, but Santiago's the emcee & "show pony," just like Lelio!Lestat was back in the day. Les' pony on meth meme is SO apt!

And just like Lestat pulled the rug under Armand at Les Innocents, taking on a leadership role for the Children of Satan and ushering in their new era as vampires who'd join society via the Theatre, Santiago usurps Armand's position as the ringleader against Claudia & Louis. Even though Armand wanted all that to happen, he's more passive than Les & Santiago, far more active & dominant despite being significantly weaker & younger in the Blood than Armand. Wolf Killer Lestat and "top dog" Santiago are cut from the same cloth, down to the pinstripes--which Carol already said were supposed to symbolize cage/jail bars--"back in your cage, sweetheart."

CAROL! I desire you CARNALLY! ❤️

[boygiwrites]

Harley D. Dixon 1

• Gen Tags. Found family, Daddy issues, Hurt and comfort, Gore.

• Summary. Harley D. Dixon is a tough yet sweet little girl who until the dead started eating the living, thought she had seen it all. Alongside a mismatched group of survivors in rural Georgia, Harley and her Dad are forced to leave their small life behind and learn how to survive all over again through the horrors of the apocalypse.

An amazing edit inspired by this story! (Cred to Cora_Line99) Harley D. Dixon's Pinterest Board! Harley D. Dixon's Playlist!

📖Chapter List.

❤️Cross-Posted from Ao3.

Author's Note. Here we gooo! Argh, I'm so excited.

I've been wanting to write something like this for a long, long time. I've read just about every 'Daryl has a daughter' story out there, and now I've finally got my own to share. I just love Daryl, and Daryl with a kid is a whole other thing. We all know he wouldn't be the perfect parent, so you bet I'm gonna play right into that. He's gonna swear, he's gonna be strict, and he's gonna mess up. As for Harley (Yes, as in the motorcycle brand), I love her too. So ready to write her.

This story will cover the general plot of the show. To keep things fresh, I've made sure that almost every canon scene has undergone at least one small change. Plus, of course, many new scenes. Occasionally, I'll make bigger changes just to keep you on your feet! Nobody's safe! I'm also gonna be expanding on all the characters. And lastly — FOUND FAMILY! Piles and piles and piles of found family, eventually. I live for found family.

Please enjoy reading! :)

My Uncle Merle died today.

I'm sitting in a crinkly green camping chair, watching embers die.

I don't wanna think about my Uncle right now, so I think about something else.

The fire was built last night by Glenn and Morales. Then Lori came along this morning very quietly and made it alive again with logs and wads of notebook paper. Thinking about facts is easy. It's like sucking on a plain candy that tastes like nothing. There's a navy-blue blanket across my lap with three holes in it, perfect for nibbling, poking, and ripping. Dale gave it to me when the cold settled in this afternoon. He told me he reckons it's around June, as he covered my shoulders, which used to be his niece's birthday.

He says she looked a little like me. That means she's dead. So many people are dead, now.

A thin log in the campfire cracks and tumbles over after trying to stay upright all morning. I hope I don't look like that log.

I can hear Officer Rick approaching. My stomach becomes a stone.

I can tell it's Rick because he's got one of them power walks that you can hear coming from a mile away, which I think makes him pretty stupid. He's loud, and loud is dangerous, and dangerous is stupid. My Dad's not like that. Unless he's angry or running, ain't nobody hearing my Dad coming; especially not no squirrels.

He's almost as big as my Grandpappy Dixon, who people used to say was as big as a house, and he wears super heavy boots from a hunting store near our house — but he's still not loud, or dangerous, or stupid. Not like Officer Rick.

"Hey, Harley."

I think I hate Officer Rick. I think I hate everyone.

And I think I might be crying now, too. I focus on twirling the blanket strings around my finger so I have something very simple to think about, which is that it hurts real bad when I twist it tight. I see Rick crouch down in front of me. He takes a while to say anything else, and it's prolly 'cause he's tryna be real careful, so he don't make me cry even more.

If my Dad weren't out hunting, he'd prolly slap Rick and everybody else that's tried badgering me today dead for tryna do his job for him. I feel like, just by sitting here, I'm disobeying him. Rick ain't my Daddy.

"We, uh..." He clears his throat. "Me and Lori, and some other folks are uh... Well, we're all a little worried about you, honey, okay?"

I imagine a small group of folks gathered by the RV right now, watching me and Rick; wondering if he's gonna be the one to get through to me.

I'm worried for when my Daddy comes back. When he finds out about Uncle Merle, he's gonna be fuming. He's gonna be like one of them cartoon characters with the bright red faces and the smoke comin' outta their ears, stomping all around, and he's prolly gonna kill somebody. It's prolly gonna be Rick. He always told me cops are bastard liars, and that they can't help us.

I look up at Rick. Yep, I've been crying.

Rick's all blurry, but I can still make out his ugly Sheriff's badge and his scary blue eyes and his frowning eyebrows that look like clenched fists, and I can tell he's been waiting to be the one to talk to me. I bet he thinks it makes him better than everyone else; better than my Uncle Merle, who he left to die just 'cause he ain't like him. I wanna kick Rick right in the face. I think he knows this, but he doesn't move.

"First off, I wanna say that I'm sorry about what happened to your Uncle Merle." Rick says all nice and gentle.

Nothin' happened to him.

It weren't no freak accident, which is what Uncle Merle used to say happened to my Momma.

Rick killed him.

"I know he meant a lot to you. And I'm sorry. If I had'a known he had a niece to come back to, maybe I woulda been a little wiser with my decision makin'. But Harley," He tilts his head and puts a hand on my knee for this part. "You gotta know, like I know, that your Uncle was a danger to us all."

There's a little angry parasite inside of me. It's been growing and growing ever since the group came back from Atlanta, and I couldn't find my Uncle Merle in the crowd. I've never noticed my Uncle Merle so much than when I realised he wasn't there. It was like there was the wrong amount of space left in the air and Rick was taking up the too much of it. Ever since the cars showed up, everything has been wrong, wrong, wrong.

Ever since Rick showed up.

"If I hadn't stepped in when and how I did," Rick says, "Your Uncle wouldda gotten us all in a lotta trouble."

Another log crumbles in the campfire. My finger aches and pulses around the string.

That hungry little parasite — hungry for Rick to hurt like I'm hurting, needing it more than anything — makes me tell him, "I wish he did." And again, because it feels good. Rick becomes even more blurry, as my voice makes an embarrassing hicking noise. "I wish you died."

I expect to be hit. That's what happens sometimes, when little girls don't know their place.

Tellin' adults I want them dead — That ain't my place. And I know it. I just don't care.

My Uncle Merle wasn't a danger, he was just Uncle Merle; Has been since I could talk. He used to feed me bits of his sandwich out on the deck back at home, like the tomato, 'cause he ain't like the taste. He used to fix my bike when it was broken. He used to make sure I was the first one to open presents at Christmas, and help me wrestle the wrapping when there was too much tape. He used to pull my wobbly baby teeth out for me and let me outside without shoes. He wasn't mean, or bad, or loud, or dangerous, or stupid; at least not always. He wasn't the one that got my Momma killed. He was good. And now he'd dead.

If someone had to die, I wish it had'a been Rick — Stupid, noisy, idiot Rick who ain't shed one single tear after what he done to my Uncle Merle.

I wanna get hit. I want him to hit me so bad that I'm allowed to hit him back.

"Okay." Rick says, and I can't breathe.

I feel like everything goes silent throughout camp, like the chairs and the cars and the people are all holding their breaths like I am. He actually looks a little sad, which feels really, really bad, because I wanna be angry.

"Okay. That's okay."

But as I think about my Uncle Merle, and the tomatoes, and my old bike, and what Christmas used to feel like, and my Daddy, and how he ain't even know about Merle yet, I realise I'm just really, really sad.

I can't even see Rick anymore, my eyes are so watery. My whole body hurts from being sad. I feel like I'm sick and I need to go to the doctor, but I don't even know what for. There aren't even any doctors here. Just two bastard liar cops, some campers, and a space where my Uncle Merle should be.

I think, after a while, Rick leaves.

My Dad still keeps his wallet.

It's in a backpack under his sleeping cot. He says that everything inside that bag will keep us alive some day, if we ever need to leave the quarry camp. He said I need to know exactly where it is so that I can grab it if he can't. He showed me everything the night we got here, because he forced me to, because it's important. The other kids don't learn stuff like this from their parents. It makes me feel smart. I'm in on a secret. He showed me the bug spray, which keeps our skin healthy from bug diseases, and he showed me the flashlight, which has two batteries and a big black button. He showed me the compass, the box of matches, the big knife, the little knife, the rope, and the map. It's like a Jenga tower. If we lose even one thing from the backpack; everything topples, and we die — I die. You gotta listen t'me, chicken. My Daddy's always been like this.

But the wallet made no sense.

We don't gotta pay taxes no more, like Merle said. I don't know what taxes are, except they're bad, and gone, and nobody liked them anyway. And I saw my Dad burn all his money in a campfire one night, so it can't be that.

It's the pictures, Dad told me. He flipped it open like a book, and we looked at 'em together on top of his sleeping bag. I felt like crying for a second because we forgot all my storybooks when we left our house, but Daddy hates it when I cry, so I dried up. Crying is for babies, and I'm a big girl. He showed me a photo of an actual baby, and after he touched the baby's face with his fingertip, he said the baby was me. I didn't think I could look like that. He stopped talking for a while. I listened to the cicadas in the trees to pass the time while he touched the photo. Then it was bedtime.

I'm looking at the photo now, waiting for him to get back.

I was a very pink baby. I was only the size of his forearm, which in the photo, hasn't been tattooed yet. The tattoo of my name is missing, which goes up his wrist in curly letters. Harley Davidson Dixon. It's the name of a motorcycle. The tattoo of the skull and the bleeding angel are missing, too. He's fixing my baby blanket around my chin. I guess he's been doing that since the day I was born. Every night, at least up until last week, my Dad tucks me into bed and sings me the same song. Hush little baby, don't say a word. Daddy's gonna buy you a mockingbird. I like his voice when he sings to me. Usually, he's yelling, or grumblin', but in those twenty seconds before I have to go to sleep, and nobody else is listening, he's softly whispering the lyrics to me, and touching on my ears and my cheeks. In the photo, he's crying down into his smiling mouth. That's something he doesn't do anymore.

The next photo is of us at the zoo. I know it was taken on one of the weekends I was at my Dad's house, because my Momma's not in this one. Just my Dad and two of his friends, I think, who are throwing rock star hands in the air. I'm wearing a black shirt with a videogame character on it that my Dad likes, and brown pants. I'm sitting on my Dad's hip as we pose in front of three giant elephants. My Dad's got a tiny purple backpack over his shoulder that makes him look sorta funny. It used to be mine. I'm looking at the elephant's long, silly-straw trunk as it tries to sniff us, but my Daddy's lookin' at me. I wish I remembered this day.

The third photo is a school photo with a swirly blue background. I remember this one. My Momma did my hair that day.

I know why he keeps his wallet, now. Just like how we need the bug spray, and the matches, and the rope, and the knives, and the map, and the flashlight to stay alive — I think my Dad needs these photos. They won't keep him warm or stop bugs from chewing on him, but he needs them.

I shove the wallet back where I found it, 'cause I'm not meant to be goin' through my Dad's things.

My Dad comes back while I'm vomiting under a tree.

At first, he doesn't see me. He calls for me to come get my little butt over there, so I can help him and Uncle Merle stew up some rabbits for dinner but when he hears me retch, he comes running over. I hear his crossbow drop and some more people call after him.

One minute, Lori and Amy are holding back my hair and patting my shoulders the best they can, and the next, my Daddy's forcing his way in. I'm rocking and I'm swaying like I'm on a life raft in the ocean, and I can hear Rick's voice and then Shane's and then Dale's. My Dad grabs the back of my neck and squeezes it, the way Lori and Amy would never know how to do, and tells me to lean forward some more. It works. I vomit up a chunky puddle of peaches and jerky into the dirt.

Then, I'm empty, and I'm crying — crying hard — into my Dad's lap.

"Someone wanna tell me what the Hell's goin' on here?" He snarls at whoever's around.

Feels like half the camp is here.

"How 'bout we all just try—" Shane's suggesting, but my Dad cuts him off.

"How 'bout ya'll just spit it out? And where the Hell's my brother?"

That makes me bury deeper into my Dad's legs, moaning and hiccupping. He puts a hand over my head. He's clocked the problem.

"Where the Hell's my damn brother?"

"Look, Daryl," Shane levels, "I'm just gonna come out and say it, alright? There was a problem in Atlanta."

My Dad's panting, now. "What fuckin' 'problem'?"

"Listen—"

"He dead?" Underneath me, my Dad's muscles are lurching and stopping, lurching and stopping, like he wants so much to just jump up and knock Shane to the ground, but he won't bring himself to leave me. The camp has gone completely silent.

Shane stammers. I've never heard Shane stammer. "We're— We're not sure."

The silence just keeps on goin' and goin' and goin', and somehow, it's even scarier than the yelling.

"There's no easy way to say this," Rick says, voice lowered. I wonder what my Dad looks like; if I was right about the cartoon thing.

Dad presses my head further into his stomach. "Who're you?"

"Rick Grimes."

"'Rick Grimes'." He spits, like it's an insult. It is. Bastard cop liar. "You got sum' you wanna tell me?"

"Your brother was a danger to us all." Lies Rick. "So I handcuffed him on a roof; Hooked him to a piece of metal. He's still there."

After he says this, something in the air must have changed; something must have snapped without even makin' a sound, because Lori's whispering to me that I should follow her back to camp, like we're running out of time. She tries to pull me away, but I kick her; kick her hard, in the shin. She tries again. I realise she's trying to separate me from my Dad. Then, I realise he's sorta shaking. Lurching, stopping, lurching stopping. Silence, silence.

"Lemme get this straight." Dad whispers, and it's not the nice kind, like when he sings. "You're tellin' me that you handcuffed my brother to a roof."

Glenn's pulling at me now, too. Nobody else moves a muscle.

"And you left him there?!"

This time, he lurches and he doesn't stop. Glenn catches me as I'm flung from my Daddy's hip, and he passes me off to Lori as Dad goes lunging at Rick. The brown pebbles go flying up into the air. My Dad tackles Rick at the waist, and they crash into the leaves and the twigs, and his fist — The one with my birth date tattooed on each knuckle — goes smack, smack, smack, into Rick's cheek. There's yelling; scrambling. Glenn and Shane pull my Dad off of Rick, and that smacking sound stops. Dad beats Shane offa him and then, — 

"Watch the knife!" T-Dog yells. Now there's a swishing sound, and grunting sounds, and I was right — My Daddy's gonna kill Rick.

My Daddy's killed someone before. He did it on accident, 'cause he got so angry that he didn't stop until the guy was dead and gone, which means that it was aggravated manslaughter. It was in the afternoon, just like it is right now, and I was playin' in the front yard in the sprinklers. My Dad and Uncle Merle were in the open garage, smoking and poking at their bikes with tools. Ronnie lived two trailers down. I was small, and easy to pick up, so I don't remember much, but Ronnie snatched me up right there in the yard. My Daddy says he was gon' take me. But he didn't let him. Ronnie got chased into the woods, and for two days, my Daddy and Uncle Merle searched for him. Then they beat him so bad his Momma ain't recognise him when the ambulance people dragged him out in a big black bag, and the cops took my Daddy away while the sun rose. I wasn't allowed to see him for four and a half years.

I need my Dad. Suddenly, I'm shrieking at him to stop, even though I want Rick dead so bad. By now, Shane's got my Dad in a chokehold up against a tree. Are he and Rick allowed to take my Daddy away? Lori and — I think that's Amy — are shushin' me, but I just keep hittin' on them and shouting.

I writhe in the dirt. "Stop! Daddy!"

"Damn pigs!" Dad growls. "You're stressin' out my kid, now! Lemme the Hell go!"

Shane laughs. "Nah, I think it's better if I don't." Then he turns to Lori, because what my Dad said is true. "Get Harley out of here."

I don't let her move me when she tries.

Dad struggles. "Chokehold's illegal, bastard!"

"You can file a complaint later." Shane scoffs. "We got all day here."

Rick steals my Dad's knife off the ground and gets in his face. His cheek is all red and purple. The fight's over. "What I did was not on a whim," He tells my Dad straight. "Your brother does not work and play well with others. I did what had to be done in the moment, to keep us all alive."

He's lyin'. He's lyin' again. My Uncle Merle chopped these people's firewood and brought them meat. He worked well.

My Dad shoots out a foot to try hit Rick in the crotch. He misses. Shane pushes his face harder into the tree.

"It's not Rick's fault." T-Dog holds up his hands, coming close. "It's mine. I had the key. I dropped it."

"You couldn't pick it up?" Dad sasses.

"It fell in a drain." T-Dog serves up this answer like it means anything at all. I hate him.

"If that's 'posed to make me feel better, it don't." 

"Well, maybe this will." T-Dog's lookin' at me, now, too. "The door to the roof — I locked it with a padlock so the geeks couldn't get to him. There's a good chance he's still alive."

I heard this all before, when all them people kept coming up to me at the campfire. Lori told me to get some food in my stomach; the peaches and jerky. Shane tried to make me go play with Carl. T-Dog said sorry over and over again. Dale gave me the blanket. Rick made me cry. I know how this goes, though. Gettin' someone killed and killin' them with your actual hands are the same thing. I know that.

"To Hell with all'a ya'll!"

He shakes Shane off and beelines for me. He takes me from Lori with bloodied hands — Rick's blood — and I let him yank me by the back of my shirt to my feet, and I fall into his chest when he crouches. His breath is heavy on my neck. Even his skin is hot.

Lori's pale as an egg. I think she's scared of my Dad.

He takes a big breath, stands up, and drags me by the hand back to our tent without sayin' another word.

[gladoswantscake]

Nightmare - Chapter 2 - Akira Nishikiyama

Summary: Nishiki ran into Kiryu unexpectedly, but he was not who he once was. And Majima seemed to be in the same situation as Nishiki.

Warnings: If you haven't read chapter 1, this is an AU where Kiwami 1 spoilers are present, horror, gore, and swearing.

Available on Ao3

Chapter 1

Nishiki wipes the tears from his face with his white blazer sleeve. He watches Majima poking his head out from the alley.

"I don't see him anywhere." He pauses, scanning both sides of the alleyway. He turns back to Nishiki. "My office ain't far, but we'll need to be quiet in case he comes back."

Majima was the first to cautiously exit the back alley, motioning Nishiki to follow behind.

Paranoia struck the two of them as they walked down the silent alley. The crickets Nishiki once heard moments ago vanished. Only their footsteps quietly made an echo to fill the dead silence. Nishiki looked back often to watch for Kiryu. Majima could faintly see a small puddle of liquid leaking from one of the back alleys. He begins to slow down.

"This was where I ran into him." Nishiki whispers.

Majima was the first to investigate the scene Kiryu left behind. He slowly enters the area, unprepared for the gruesome sight of his dead subordinates. Fresh crimson blood splattered on the walls and ground.

The one who Nishiki tried to save was the worst sight to be seen. The man's body slumped over to the ground. His head was beaten so many times to the point where the inside of the man's head was fully exposed. Bits of his skull scattered and missing, and blood fully seeped into his dress shirt. The last remains of his brain caved into his obliterated skull. He wasn't recognizable at all.

Being in the Yakuza meant he had to have a strong stomach, but this was too much for him. The sight made him feel lightheaded and nauseous the longer he stared at the corpses. His eyes force on Majima to prevent his symptoms from worsening.

"Majima?" He takes a few steps forward towards Majima who hasn't moved. Nishiki then steps in front of Majima, placing both hands on his shoulders. The color of Majima's skin drained and his eyes were in fear. "We should keep moving." He speaks again.

The feeling of Nishiki's cold hands lying on made him snap out of the trance. "Yer right." He rubs his good eye and exits the back alley.

The two of them shortly made it to Majima's office. The layout was much nicer looking compared to Nishiki's. Then again, he was only starting.

Nishiki briefly explored the small office lobby. The warm yellow lights gave it an atmospheric feeling of the Serena bar. A few couches neatly backed against the wall with a couple of plants to give a home feeling.

"It ain't much, but I'm upgrading in the future. If I'm gonna make it big, I should start expanding." Majima locks the front door behind him. Up the stairs and down the hallway was his office. Nishiki follows closely behind Majima.

The office was unusually quiet tonight. No sound of conversation was heard anywhere. "I thought your men would be looking after the office while you were gone."

"Well, it was one of those nights where I was feelin' nice to let them go home early." Majima's voice trails off. After what happened tonight, he regrets letting his men leave early.

Majima allows Nishiki to walk into the office first. "Make yerself comfortable. We're staying in for the rest of the night."

Nishiki sits down in one of the chairs examining the lack of decor in the office; only several chairs with a couple of coffee tables in between, a desk in front, and a few dull paintings hanging on the walls.

Majima walks up to the alcohol cabinet and takes out one of the several bottles. "Want me to make yerself one?" He offers.

Nishiki was feeling the sharp pain lingering in his head from too much alcohol from earlier. He couldn't handle another glass if he wanted to. "I had a few drinks earlier." He politely declines.

Majima pours himself one to the near top. He carefully walks over to sit across from Nishiki. A loud and long sigh escapes from Majima. "What a night." He downs the whole glass.

"So, was tonight the first time you saw him?" Majima asks.

He nods. "I don't know what to say about all of this. Do you think we should take this to the police?"

"To hear something like we saw, they'll think we're crazy."

Nishiki leans forward. "But your men."

"My dead men are in the hands of the police now." Anger rises in Majima's voice. He quickly catches his tone and leans back in the chair before speaking again. "I'm sure it'll be all over the news in the morning. For me, I'm gonna find a way to knock some sense in him. Even if it means beatin' the lights outta him."

Nishiki awkwardly leans back into the chair. "Did you happen to notice a carving on him?"

Majima hums to himself and ponders. "I do recall seeing it, but I couldn't tell what it exactly was. The carving looked sloppy for me to know who did it."

"Do you know what he wants?"

"I ain't got a clue. When my boys and I ran into him, he looked completely out of it. It looked like something you'd see out of a horror movie." Majima zones out. "One of my men saved me from being choked to death. I couldn't do anything to save them, if I did, I would have been dead along with them. Whatever kind of person he was three years ago is no longer him."

"Do you think he may have gone to the hole?"

"Considerin' my time in that shithole, I wouldn't think they would do something three times as bad, and then send him out in the streets looking like that."

"I think we should let Chairman Sera know about this."

"It will help resolve issue faster than the police will. And I'm sure it'll be safe to leave in the morning. I don't think a half-mutilated shirtless man will be walking around in broad daylight."

"You're right."

"Well..." Majima stands up. "I'm gonna go make sure the doors and windows are locked up. Get some shut-eye."

----------------------------------

Heavy raindrops hitting the windows following loud thunder awoke Nishiki from his sleep. He shifts uncomfortably to sit up from the floor. The clock on the wall read past three in the morning. He looks over at Majima sounding asleep with his back facing him.

"Majima?" He whispers.

He doesn't move, but a small snore could be heard from him.

Another burst of thunder startles Nishiki. He wasn't a fan of thunder and lighting, and there was no way he was going to be able to fall back asleep. It wouldn't hurt to walk around for a bit.

Nishiki stands up from the floor and quietly walks to the door. He turns his head to look at Majima still sounding asleep.

He unlocks the door and leaves.

The lightning strikes briefly light up the long dark hallway. Nishiki's dress shoes made a small echo with each step. He looks out the window to see the storm picking up. The harsh raindrops and wind made the outside hard to see. Only a few city lights could be seen dimly lit. The raindrops hitting the window were the only sound that helped with the eerie silence of Majima's office.

Upon going downstairs, sounds of shuffling could be heard. With the incident leaving Nishiki traumatized, he wasn't sure if it would be wise to investigate.

But perhaps it was his mind messing with him. The wind must have picked something up causing him to react so timidly. It wouldn't hurt to check what the noise was. Maybe it was better to know what it was rather than letting your imagination decide what it could be. Checking it out will alleviate the anxiety that was gnawing at Nishiki's heart and mind.

He cautiously takes small and quiet steps toward the noise that startled him. The noise led him to the lobby. He checks the front door and windows. Both were locked. He feels relieved.

As he returns walking back upstairs a cold wind brushes the side of his face. Nishiki quickly snaps his head around the room. He remains still as his eyes dart around the dark lobby. Then he sees it in the distance.

Nishiki's heart sank as he began approaching the back door of the office. The doorknob was kicked off and cracked open.

It felt as if his heart sank to the pit of his stomach. "Majima!" He shouts and then the feeling of someone's hand reaching for his neck forces his body up against the wall.

Large fingers pressed into his neck making him unable to speak. Both of Nishiki's hands wrap around the person's wrist to try to push the hand away. Lightning illuminated the lobby for a couple of seconds to reveal Kiryu. The rain had washed away the blood and dirt on his body. The veins in his eyes were a crimson color with bags underneath. His face was filled with pure rage.

Nishiki's eyes widen and panics as he tries to push him with everything he has.

"P-Please...don't." Nishiki chokes out. Black dots began to cloud Nishiki's eyes followed by blurred vision. He starts to wheeze as he takes in his few final breaths.

Then a thud was heard. The grasp on Nishiki's neck quickly releases making him fall onto the ground. He takes a few seconds to recover and upon looking up, he sees Majima who seemed to have hit Kiryu with the butt of his tanto.

Kiryu was on his knees leaning on the ground and crying out in pain.

Majima quickly helps Nishiki up off the floor. "Leave now!" He shouts. "I'll buy you time."

Nishiki was struggling to regain consciousness. "Wha'...about you?"

"Forget about me. You must let the Chairman know." Majima helps him to the door to escape.

"I'll hold him off for as long as I can." Majima feels a hand forcing him to land on the floor. His tanto was thrown out of his hand. He watches Nishiki standing at the door. Majima could tell he wanted to help. "Go damn it!" He shouts.

Nishiki obeys and bolts outside in the storm.

Kiryu hardly had the opportunity to chase after him when he felt Majima grab onto his leg making him trip and fall.

Majima quickly stands up. "You ain't goin' nowhere, fucker." He snarls.

Kiryu stands up. His height was slightly towering over Majima. His hand reaches his temple where the weapon collided. He winces as the spot begins to swell and blood covers his fingertips when his hand returns to examine the injury. He had a feeling he wouldn't make it to sunrise, but he knew his sacrifice would allow Nishiki to tell what happened.

"Yer gonna pay for what you did to my men."

----------------------------------

Nishiki's soaked clothes made it uncomfortable for him to run. The fall weather mixed with heavy rain made him freeze. He was only able to run down a couple of streets before he had to catch his breath after running and almost being choked to death. He hid in one of the alleys. He didn't notice where he was at. Nishiki ran as far as he could with whatever energy he had. He couldn't take refuge in a convenience store. It would be risky. But where could he go? The Serena bar was closed, but if it were opened, he wouldn't dare to put Reina's life in danger. He couldn't hide in his home either. Kiryu knew where he lived. The Tojo clan headquarters was far, but it would draw too much attention if Kiryu were to somehow catch up to him. The last thing he wanted was to get pedestrians involved. However, there was one person nearby who could help.

[milfronin]

I’m moving different

This shit ain’t nothing to me man, I’m a dog. I’m biting the fart bubbles in the bath

We smoking Symbiote

Smoking that Whoopi Goldberg South Egyptian fur burger Deluxe Mega Millions scratcher skunk bubba kush

We smoking dung beetle

I’m on 12 vicodins, smoking on Scooby-Doo dick

We smoking Sequoia banshee boogers

We snorting that good Buffalo Soldier tamarind Jordanian gibbies

They must have amnesia, they forgot that I’m him. That Burberry backwoods pack hitting that pussy smell like a Hellcat V8

We smoking shit in a glass pipe, blowing the Lord’s bubbles

I’m sick in the head

I’m on them Broward county Tic-Tacs, I’m on them Georgetown Geronimoes

I’m on them Nashville nibblers

I left my Margiela’s in the Benz trunk, I’ll have to stunt on them next time

I don’t give a fuck if I go blind, I don’t need to see the price tag anyways

I’m high on 12 Jason Bournes, looking to beat the cum out of a thick, fresh oak

We smoking filtered crack you stupid piece of shit, I’ll fucking kill you

Call that pussy The Matrix, cause I’m in this bitch and I can’t get out

Last guy who ran off on the pack got choked out by some Givenchy gloves. The last thing he ever saw was the price tag on them. Slowly faded into darkness, and I let the archangels take him. I need more Sequoia banshee boogers

Don’t be shy girl, I love me some Pastrami mudflaps

I’m moving like French Montana: haan

Welcome to the Cream Kingdom bitch, open up. Blac Chyna, I’d drink her piss out of another man’s balls

My shooter a crackhead, he look like Woody Harrelson

You ain't seen ten bands in your life, jit

Reach for my neck, you'll get turned into an example

Y'all gotta stop playing with me man

I threw diamonds at the strip clubs under the great pyramids. I pushed a camel through the eye of a needle. This shit ain't nothing to me man

Tied the opps to the back of a Trackhawk and dragged them around the block for 24 hours

Motherfucker look like a Resident Evil 5 campaign extra after we was done with him

Opps wanted some initiative, blew up their entire quadrant

I'm moving like Oppenheimer

She dropped that ass on me from an egregarious angle, they thought I was Stephen Wallace

Top shelf zaza, disrupted my circadian rhythm

I have seen the Magna Carta, I have the seen the eye of horror

I was flipping bricks for Mansa Musa before y'all even became a type I civilization

This shit ain't nothing to me you stupid piece of shit

Step the wrong way and you will perish

That pussy feel like Biscoff Butter

You think I care about this shit? Ask me if I care about this shit, cause I don't give a shit

If I had a dollar for every time they said I gave a shit, I'd be broke cause I don't give a shit

My bitch look like David Hasselhoff

I balled so hard they thought I was a fucking nutsack

This shit ain't nothing to me man, I'll kill you, you stupid piece of shit

I'm gonna kiss you straight on the mouth.

[mermaidsirennikita]

spicy book recs?

alright let's see

Sierra Simone writes theee best erotic romance, some of my faves include:

The New Camelot trilogy. Kinky King Arthur--very literally a modern King Arthur retelling in which King Arthur is [drumroll] Maxen Ashley "Ash" Colchester, president, erstwhile war hero, and absolute panty dropper, Lancelot his VP Embry Lance (never forget his middle name is Lance) Moore, my favorite romance character ever, and his first lady is Greer Galloway, the girl who heard a prophecy that was like "please don't kiss anyone" and went "okay I'll kiss everyone". MMF, kinky, angsty, dramatic.

Thornchapel. Quartet about six friends who accidentally awoke a gothic looming horror thing as kids and then continue to awake it as adults with kinky sex rituals. Kinda like The Secret History x Picnic at Hanging Rock x Brideshead Revisited with a dash of occult. Two core romances, one is MMF (childhood friends to enemies to lovers and the girl they both love) and one is FF. TW for incest(?). Very kinky, much group sex and sharing occurs.

Priest. One of her more.... approachable books, about a Catholic priest who falls for a woman who tells him all the shit she's done in confession. Also kinky.

Salt Kiss. Just out, a spinoff from New Camelot that retells Tristan and Isolde but with Tristan as a bodyguard and Mark as his boss who he falls in love with before he meets Isolde, who he promptly also falls in love with. Salt in the Wound is a novella that should be read first, ab out Mark and Isolde. Kinky, queer, intense.

Grace Callaway writes really fun historical romances that lean towards the more erotic. Usually, there's a girl who boldly ventures into danger, and a hero who's like "my god I find her brash impulsiveness compelling, I must eat her out and tell her she's bad".

I really love her Lady Charlotte's Society of Sirens series, which is like, Charlie's Angels but Victorian.

Olivia and the Masked Duke. Age gap D/s romance, bratty heroine paired with a hero who's like "I'm your dad's friend, I can't do this"... but she's obsessed after seeing him spank another woman, so she's pretty determined to make it happen.

Pippa and the Prince of Secrets. Childhood sweethearts reunite after her shitty husband dies. Hero is scarred and runs a band of child spies (I died). They're both really into exhibition and ye olde sex swing.

Fiona and the Enigmatic Earl. Feisty diamond of the season girl ends up in a marriage of convenience with a stern earl. Both of them are basically spies undercover, but neither of them knows lol. She's very bratty with him.

Glory and the Master of Shadows. Heroine gets mentored in badassery by the hero, who's desperately trying to resist her because he's Tainted and she's Fresh and Innocent. At one point he eats her out against the wall while her parents are sleeping with the door open down the hall.

You want a mafia romance? Try Mila Finelli. Her Kings of Italy series kicks off with Mafia Mistress & Mafia Darling, a duet about a girl who is kidnapped to marry this mafioso's son, but the dad like "nah, I want you, be my mistress". My favorite in the series is Mafia Madman, which is about a fucking lunatic blowing up a bar to kidnap the heroine for Revenge. He chains her to his bed and they have an enemies to lovers situation because she keeps telling him he ain't shit and he's like "sadly I am entranced by her". Mafia Target is an M/M assassin/target book, most excellent.

In terms of "contemporary sex club" books, I'd recommend The Salacious Players Club, which is about a group of friends who start a sex club (with two additional installments about the most noteworthy patrons of the club). Each book deals with a different kink--praise kink with an age gap, femdom, voyeurism, "we think I'm a cuck but actually me and my wife and my best friend are just mutually in love with each other", daddy kink, etc.

Joanna Shupe (who is also Mila Finelli) writes pretty hot historicals. I would recommend especially

My Dirty Duke. Victorian novella, age gap, heroine falls for her dad's best friend and he takes sexy old timey pics of her.

Sold to the Duke. Heroine enters an auction for her virginity to save her sister from destitution, gets bought by her dead brother's best friend who's like "I'm not going to take what I bought" and she's like "oh yes you are dude.

Her Uptown Girls trilogy is about three sisters who bop around Gilded Age NYC, getting into trouble with 1) dad's lawyer 2) casino owner attempting to ruin dad because revenge 3) powerful gangster. Very hot and very fun.

Fifth Avenue Rebels is my favorite series by her. It starts off with a house party in Newport and then continues into all the drama after. Recommending reading in order, they're all good, and they lead up to one of my favorites, The Duke Gets Even, about the uptight duke and wild child heiress who've been circling each other for the previous books. Very hot, and they both enjoy rough sex.

S.M. LaViolette (who is Minerva Spencer) writes hot historicals. I just finished her Seducers trilogy, which follows three sex workers/former sex workers from the same brothel as they meet people and fall in love with much drama and high stakes. Hot and romantic as fuck. TW: all of the books feature trauma in the past, but little to none is on the page

Paranormals? Kresley Cole's Immortals After Dark, which is full of vampires, werewolves, witches, and everything else falling in love and having lots of sex across the world. Long running and pretty violent, so check your TWs, especially for the older ones.

Passion by Lisa Valdez is a really wild erotic historical romance with a hero and heroine who start fucking as soon as they meet in the first chapter. Behind a screen the first go. She has a magic vagina that his massive cock can fit into as a miracle basically.

I mean... if you're willing to go, uh, bold as fuck, Tiffany Reisz's Original Sinners is very erotic. Everyone is polyamorous, everyone is bi, it kicks off with a British editor visiting a novelist to work with her, and oops, she's a dominatrix. The central three characters are that dominatrix, Nora, her long time on again/off again lover/dom Soren, who is...a Catholic priest with a sadism fetish... and Kingsley, who owns this kink club Soren and Nora are respectively the #1 and #2 top dogs at. There is a LOT of sadomasochism in this series, a lot of kinky shit, a lot of angst, dubcon and noncon. There's also... some shit I don't think would be written today, like a good amount of underage sex, severely morally questionable relationships, and I don't loooove some of the dynamics written (Kingsley and his long-term partner Juliette make me question much). The writing is beautiful, the characters and dynamics are fascinating, but it's definitely something you should dig into before reading.

But I can't lie, Nora, Soren, and Kingsley have a spellbinding dynamic. It's fucked, but it compels me so. I will add, there were 8 original books (not standalones) and then she revived the series years later. Stop at the first 8 (and their assorted companion novellas and short stories).

[hidemation]

My first time writing a fic

Horror ds - @moonfurthetemmie @wheezethebluejay

Hideverse - @hidemation

(It's crap I know, and I might have gotten some things wrong i think)

Part 2:

Nullus had to ask himself... why did this happened to him, he was having a totally normal day until some random portal sucked him in now his abilities are weakened and he is for some reason in front of a warehouse and smells blood

"Why did this happen to me?" Nullus said, sighing. As he was about to leave, he felt something inside the warehouse that made him stop. 'Negative energy' Nullus thought. 'There seems to be a large group of people inside for that amount of energy, but I only feel the presence of four in there.' He sighed. 'I'm gonna regret this, aren't I?'

"Please... help..."

Nullus hears laughter and senses that one of the people inside has died, along with a feeling of being watched. '...Yep, I'm gonna regret this' he groans, then enters the warehouse, fully aware of the stupidity of his decision.

As nullus walks around, he realizes the warehouse is a maze and is quite impressed as he touches the walls, appreciating whoever made the maze, nullus notes the maze is covered in slash marks and dried blood, he smells fresh blood somewhere but doesn't know where exactly due to the entire place smelling like dried blood

as he walks around he tries to use his abilities again to feel the presence of those inside 'damn that stupid portal weakening me at the time where I need them' nullus concentrates more and finally felt something.

"Shit," Nullus exclaimed, swiftly dodging before he could get sliced in half. "Well, aren't you fast," a man remarked. Nullus scanned the area and saw someone charging at him, quickly dodging again. "This is a fucking slaughterhouse, isn't it?" Nullus grumbled, evading another attack from behind. "Well, aren't you fun," a woman commented.

Nullus stepped back to create a safe distance. He got injured from them but not so serious"Is this how you treat elders?" he asked, eyeing the two in front of him. The first attacker, a short man with black hair and a purple and black hoodie, held a large glowing cyan scythe. The woman, tall and pale with scars covering her body, had red and white eyes.

"May I ask you again, is this how you treat your elders?" Nullus inquired, crossing his arms. "Pfft, I'm pretty sure he's older than you, 'old man', this bitch right here is 120+ years old" the woman retorted. "Shut up, Slash." the man shot back.

Nullus chuckled. "Well, I've got good news for you, young man. You're officially the second youngest here since I'm way over 500 years old," he revealed.

The two looked at Nullus in shock. "Say what right now?"

Before Nullus could speak again, blue strings wrapped around him, dragging him. These strings were similar to a glitch Nullus knew well. "Pixel? Is that you?!" Nullus exclaimed as he was lifted up in the air by the strings. "I don't know who that is," a new voice said, "but I ain't them." "hey byte" "sup pluto" byte looks at nullus and back at the other 2 "why haven't you guys killed this bitch yet?" Byte said "we were going to but he was fast and kept dodging" pluto said.

As the three continued to talk and bicker, Nullus attempted to use his abilities again, and they slowly returned. His ability to sense people's aura came back, and he realized something about Pluto.

"Hey, you with the scythe!" Nullus called out to Pluto, who glanced at him while Nullus was still dangling in the air by the strings. "Your aura is different from the others, why is that?" Nullus questioned.

"Aura? What do you mean by that?... wait, haven't you ever heard of us before?" Pluto responded.

"Obviously not because I just got here!" Nullus retorted.

The three looked at each other and grinned. "Oh, ho ho, you're in for quite a surprise, bitch," Pluto said with a smirk. Byte chuckled as the strings tightened around Nullus, who noted to himself that the tightness was enough to break a mortal's bones. Nullus looked back at the three, and Pluto chuckled.

"So, you're telling me you've never heard of those two or me? The fucking 'demon' of negativity!?" Pluto exclaimed. Nullus's mind raced as he pieced things together. 'Demon of Negativity? Wait, an unfamiliar place (but it seems to be in Omegatale, but Omegatale seems different), string abilities like Pixel's, that tall girl similar to... oh shit,' Nullus thought to himself.

"Are you one of the guardians of positive and negative?" Nullus questioned.

"Oh so you do know and Yeah, why do you ask?" Pluto replied.

'Shit. I'm in another fucking multiverse arent i' Nullus realized. "Listen, where is your Jack?"

"Jack? Who the fuck is that?" Pluto asked.

"Pluto, can't we just kill him now?" Slash interjected.

"Wait, he goes by other names, What about Dream? Do you know or have a Dream as in the guardian of positive or something?" Nullus questioned, Nullus doesn't understand how this world works but if this version of himself is like this maybe this world's jack is different and can help him.

The three remained silent until Byte suddenly used her strings to throw Nullus across the walls and floor. "Don't you dare mention that bitch," Slash said. Nullus sensed the tension in the air. 'Guess they have a bad history with this world's version of him.' Nullus thought as he was hurled around. Byte did a final throw, and Nullus crashed to the ground, breaking the surface beneath him.

As they observed Nullus not moving, his body bleeding black, which shocked them. "Is he bleeding black blood?" Byte questioned. "NGL, but that's kinda cool," Slash remarked, approaching the body. "Gotta make sure you're dead, buddy," Slash said cheerfully, using her knife to slice off Nullus's right arm and stab his abdomen open, wanting to gut him. "Woah!" Slash yelled, backing away as she realized something unexpected.

"What's the matter, Slash?" Pluto asked.

"Dude, this bitch got no organs!?" Slash exclaimed in disbelief.

"What! Are you saying he's hollow or something?" Byte and Pluto approached the body and saw that what Slash said was true; the body had no organs. "How the hell is that possible? He should be dead without organs?!" Byte exclaimed.

"NGL, but that's actually kinda cool... wait, if he has no organs, does that mean there's a chance he could still be—" Before Pluto could finish, something slammed his head hard against the ground making him unconscious, and Byte was thrown across the room. "Byte! Pluto!" Slash yelled, just before something stabbed her in the right abdomen.

Slash screams in pain and looks at the thing that stabs her. It was a black tentacle, and her eyes widened as the tentacle was connected to the guy she was gonna gut out "shit" Slash exclaims before getting thrown across the room but eventually stopped.

Nullus stood up and looked at Slash, who was on the ground bleeding. "That was quite rude of you to gut someone out, 'Slash'," Nullus said, his voice tinged with anger. The tentacles that replaced his arm turned sharp and charged at Slash, but before they could hit her, Byte's strings wrapped around her and dragged her away to safety.

"Slash, are you alright!?" Byte said, worried for her friend.

"Do I look OK!?" Slash yelled before groaning from pain.

The 2 quickly dodges nullus Tentacles before it could hit them

'what the hell is he!?' Slash thought.

'Shit what happened to pluto' byte thought

Nullus removes his mask and glasses, the 2 are in shocked to see his mouth is entirely black and weird black fluid is flowing out and his eye sockets hollow "I'm just a simple guardian that's all and don't worry about your friend he is fine... For now, " nullus chuckles, and suddenly, another tentacle charges at byte. She dodged it, but it sliced a bit off her cheek.

Nullus' head starts growing antlers, and his left hand creates a violet fire. "You sons of bitches are so fucking screwed."

__________________________________

Pluto slowly opens his eyes his head hurts and tries to remember what happened before he got knocked out

"Pluto wake up!" Pluto hears someone said he can't tell who as his ears still ringing

He caught the scent of fire and fresh blood, heard something collapse, and felt something wet on his head, realizing it was his own blood. Slowly, he opened his eyes to a scene of devastation: Slash was wounded and bleeding from her abdomen, while Byte appeared bruised but not as severely injured but looks so exhausted. Beyond them, the warehouse was engulfed in flames. Then, he saw something that made his skin crawl the man they had sought to kill. He had tentacles replacing the arm Slash had removed, antlers on his head, and his mask and glasses were finally gone, revealing his face. Pluto saw that he had no eyes, and his mouth was entirely black, dripping with black fluid but what made his skin crawl even more is the amount of negative energy he feels from him that it surpasses his own and possibly can overwhelm delusion if he were here.

"Ah so my other self has finally awakened" the man said, 'what' pluto thought

"Pluto, we gotta go now!" Byte said and immediately grabbed pluto and slash and began to run.

Nullus immediately chases after them and starts to send more Tentacles at them and all 3 are way to tired to fight or run.

Byte suddenly has an idea, she realizes that they have a good distance and immediately stops running.

"BYTE WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!" Slash yelled

As nullus is about to send Tentacles to charge at her, byte uses her strings and it wrapped all around his body and immediately summons a Portal throws him there and immediately closes it.

Byte pants and falls to the ground exhausted and looks at her 2 friends who are also exhausted.

Pluto has slash arm around his shoulder helping her walk and goes to byte "why didn't you used that earlier" Pluto asked

Byte glares at him "Oh I don't know, maybe is because we were being chased by a god damn guy who we tried to kill but is probably a demon and was trying to kill us and we were heavily injured or something Pluto" byte said still on the ground

Pluto sighs "here let me help you out" Pluto said and grabs bytes arm and has it around his shoulders to help her walk "come on let's go home I have a demon chicken waiting for me"

______________________________

Meanwhile somewhere in outertale at a alley

"Outertale doesn't seem to be that different from the one we know retro" nullus said as he is slowly healing his wounds and regenerating back his arm while looking at the stars.

"Shouldn't we find a more negative au for you to regenerate nulls?" Retro the parasite that finaly left nullus eye socket is now on his shoulder asked out of concern

"Nah we are in a new multiverse that we don't know how different it is from ours it's better to play it safe" nullus said and looks at the parasite on his shoulder

"Fair enough cause I ain't ready or do I want to die" retro said agreeing with nullus "so are your powers back yet?"

"They are still weak but are coming back but is slow so it seems like we are stuck here in the mean time" nullus said

"Well isn't just great" retro said and jumps as he nullus on alert now. "soemone is coming?"

"Yep" nullus said and tries to stand up but fails and falls "shit I'm exhausted"

"Crap what should we-" before retro could finish he hears the footsteps getting louder and goes inside nullus jacket to hide

"Hello?" is the last thing Nullus hears before finally losing consciousness.

[7grandmel]

Todays rip: 18/03/2024

Awesome Taxi

Season 4 Episode 2 Featured on: DJ Professor K Presents: 24​/​7 FUNKY FRESH BEATS FROM TOKYO​-​TO

Ripped by Mcsplosion

Requested by KnightOfGames! (Request Form)

I've talked a lot recently, in posts like ULTRA S+G and Haltmanna feat. Rob Thomas of Matchbox 20, about the excitement that pertained to Season 2 of SiIvaGunner in particular. But I want to make something very clear: just because that was my favorite period of the channel's life, it does not mean that I believe its the ideal model for the channel to follow. If there was anything that the Reboot taught me, it was that SiIvaGunner should NEVER try to conform to the wishes of its audience - and its that defiant, radical spirit that has kept the channel's evolution as diverse as it's been over its past seven seasons. The main reason I'm even able to refer back to Seasons in such a concrete way is because each one has a completely different vibe and energy from the last; no other Season tries to be quite like Season 2, but that just means that they're able to be incredible in their own ways.

What I'm building up to with all of this is, is that it's absurdly impressive that rips like Awesome Taxi was able to make me just as excited as the best parts of Season 2 did.

After an entire year's worth of buildup and the channel's biggest-ever event, DJ Professor K was crowned the winner of the King for Another Day Tournament. We all had our favorite contestants going in, and I'm sure many of us found new favorites even as the tournament was going on with stuff like MissingNo.'s Unhealed, but in the end it was easy to see just why DJ Professor K reigned supreme. September, Fall Breaks, Thank You, Everybody! - Hideki Naganuma's funk was infectious, and the promise of an entire day's worth of songs from other classic SEGA games, such as what we'd get with 88811, was positively mouth-watering. The eventual reveal that the day of celebration would be held with a day-long livestream of almost entirely new rips for its entire run was incredible on its own, but more than that, it felt as if the tournament had rejuvenated my excitement for the channel - I had finally accepted that, even if this wasn't anywhere near the channel's main story, SiIva had found a new way to get me invested me again. And getting to see all of it unfold live was just one more way of reminding me of just how much of a proper COMMUNITY SiIvaGunner is, despite how one-sided the viewing experience often felt for me back then.

The excitement of the livestream, much like my recent excitement over MAGFest 2024's live performances of rips like Sable's Stickerbush, really just hooked me. And for as lovely as it was to experience genuine DJ Professor K bangers through the event, to flood the livestream chat with excitement and grooving along with everyone else, it was the other end of the spectrum that truly got me - the GOOFY shit. My post on AIN'T NOTHIN' LIKE A CHUNKY BEAT delved into this already back in July, but there truly is nothing like seeing an entire chat get lit ablaze by the horror in realizing what the joke in rips like this is - to realize, in this case, that this is a full-on *Fanboy and Chum-Chum* cover of the legendary Crazy Taxi theme, The Offspring's All I Want. From just the intro and instrumentation, one may initially expect a sentence-mixed demon akin to DK Rap God, yet what Awesome Taxi may well be more horrifying. An ORIGINAL vocal performance by Mcsplosion himself, somehow sounding exactly like the Fanboy & Chum-Chum characters in most parts of the song, whilst also sounding uncannily unlike them in just enough parts to only add to the experience than detract. Althewhile the instrumentation hums away in a sound exactly like that of the Fanboy & Chum-Chum intro theme, sticking to the All I Want melody, somehow befitting it near perfectly.

Honestly, I have no clue why Fanboy & Chum-Chum re-entered the public consciousness during early 2020, but it coinciding with Season 4 Episode 2 in particular almost felt like fate. The excitement over the first Summer Festival was truly at that level of childlike giddiness that Fanboy & Chum-Chum themselves portray, and no matter how much we want to call it "cursed" or "cringe"...sorry, but Awesome Taxi is a banger! The amount of effort that Mcsplosion did not go to waste, both in making the punchline hit harder, but also in making sure that the rip would stay incredibly re-listenable after the fact.

Because really, SiIvaGunner is all about commitment to the bit - no matter how much that bit changes with the times.

[3xm-draconic]

Homestead. (werebat Cyris and astarion)

Summary: Astarion tells Cyris about the little community the spawn created in the underdark, Cyris decides to visit… 

As it turns out a giant 30ft brain is really, REALLY fucking hard to find…

They needed to deal first with Orin and then Gortash, to get their crystals so the Emperor (this mindflayer who wanted to help them out) could use them to stop the elder brain.

In the meantime though…they could rest and wait…

“So the spawn and some of your siblings made a little home in the underdark?” Cyris pondered as he and Astarion shopped around for supplies…well mostly groceries for tonight, Cyris was going to make red wine & blood tomato pasta.

Just because they were not…exactly “together” anymore did not mean he’d have to stop cooking for him…or treating him to nice things.

He does love him still…

“Yes, it’s a…lovely place” Astarion smiled weakly “it’s in a little ruin, in a secluded vail were hundred of bloodcrystals grow, bloodcyrstal vail they’ve been calling it… hence the name” he said as he picked out a few fresh tomatoes.

“Hmm…Perhaps I could visit, you could show me around?”, “that sound rather nice” Astarion hummed “they’ve been learning to live off the land, they have a few Rothe they’ve domesticated, rightnow there isn’t really enough blood to go around so they mix it with Rothe milk and mushroom flower to make a grule of sorts” he grimaced “gods…I wish I could help them more but…”

“But?” Cyris pondered as he gently placed a hand on Astarion’s shoulder, “I…I feel like there is not much I can do, they’ve been talking about hunting the kuo toa who live near the lake…gods I can’t have them falling into doing that, eating such things” Astarion sighed “I feel like they are basically back to starving”.

“Well maybe I can help, I was able to find us plenty to eat down in the underdark when we were last there, take me to them and I’ll teach a few tips and tricks.” 

“I also heard you got back in contact with your village, they got your letters finally!” Astarion beamed, Cyris smiled happily “yhea, they were pretty happy to hear from me…they even sent me a few care packages, just some cookies, blood vials and a blanket” he grinned.

The place was…a dump.

There were tents haphazardly set up, fires set in little alcoves, trash everywhere…

Jeez it was a mess, even the slums in waterdeep looked nicer…

“Starry you said this place was nice”, “well…it’s a bit of a fixer-upper darling” he chuckled nervously, “Greeting Cyris…Astarion” Sebastian said as he set down a barrel of dried fish “good to see you again”.

“Good to see you to Seb” Cyris smiled and shook his hand “I hear you needed a little helping hand around here, I came as soon as I could”, Sebastian cocked his head in confusion “what could you help with?”, “well for starters, food, you all need blood to really survive and there are plenty of sources besides Rothe and fish, I can help you find them. Then…I wanna help you clean this place up and set up propper houses, Astarion and I got in contact with Max and my village, they sent over some supplies, Starry can help everyone get started on that while you and me go hunting.”  

Sebastion blinked “you…you got us all this?...thank you!” he hugged him, “ah it’s alright, it’s the least starry and I can do” Cyris smiled.

The creatures of the underdark were fearsome but easy to track once you learned their patterns, a coordinated group of vampires using battle tactics surprisingly managed to take them out quite well.

A few Hook-Horrors were easily outwitted and outmatched by their little hunting party, they now had gallons of blood to drink.

“This is wonderful, Cyris!” Sebastian said as he licked the blood from his lips “at this rate we should be able to feed everyone”, “we ain't done yet Seb, I’am going to teach all of you cooking and preserving techniques to make this stuff last” Cyris turned to him as he hefted a barrel of blood over his shoulder.

At their camp Cyris showed his team of spawn how to cook and preserve blood.

Blood bread with mushroom flour was one thing and cooking it into sausages was another but they could let it congeal into a block, cut it up  and grill it on sticks or mix it with cave fruit into a pasty jam and turn it into a sort of blood-fruit leather.

 They could also mix it with alcohol…a very simple method of preservation and a nice drink, salting the congealed blood and letting it dry into a powder that could be rehydrated was however by far the best.

 “Amazing! Now it will last us weeks, MONTHS even!” Sebastian smiled “I was starting to doubt that Astarion really cared about us…I guess I was mistaken if he brought you here”, “Starry cares about you, all of you, he wants to make up for his mistakes and give you guys a second chance at things…like he now has” Cyris placed a hand on Sebastian’s shoulder.

“...I…don’t know if I can forgive him for doing this to me…but I can thank him for trying to make things right, to give us this chance at living again, even though Cazador escaped…I don’t think he will come after us, he is afraid of Astarion…of you and your friends. We have you to thank for our freedom just as much as we have Astarion to thank” Sebastian smiled.

“Wait? The bastard escaped?” Cyris worriedly looked at Sebastian, “yes sadly” he mumbled, “well…looks like I have another head to add to my hunt” Cyris growled.

 “There now THAT’S much better!” Cyris beamed as he and his troop brought their haul back to the now refurbished town.

There was no more garbage, little homes were actually built, a market was even set up with an alchemy shop, tailor, salon and, Cyris laughed “you guys really built a Tavern down here?”

“You’ll never believe what happened while you were away!” Astarion excitedly hugged Cyris, “well what happened?”, “some deep gnomes came by, they saw all the bloodcrystals we had and wanted to set up a mining outpost, they offered to trade gold and other resources, mostly more Rothe blood to us in exchange for some land and the bloodcrystals” Astarion hummed “so…yes we built a tavern so everyone could enjoy a nice drink now that we have more blood. A celebration is in order, I do believe?” he grinned, “Sounds good to me” Cyris smiled.

The wine, the food, the music… was decent. The tavern was pretty small and the bard they had played the accordion…but the candle light, the hearth and the atmosphere of merriment…that made Cyris happy.  

Cyris saw the deep gnomes who Astarion had talked about come in to have a drink with them, they had just gotten done mining…

Cyris could smell something…odd about them.

One of them sat down at a table next to his and Astarion’s, Cyris saw something on the gnome’s shoulder…a tattoo..

Black bat wings with a white crescent moon and a red 4 pointed star in them…

He then could smell it clearer…the familiar scent of…

The gnome looked up and sniffed the air…

They looked at one another.

“Are you?” Cyris pondered, “well bless my soul, another kindred” the gnome beamed happily, “another werebat!” Cyris smiled.

“Names Menphes, Menphes Gloombeard” the gnome proudly introduced himself, “pleasure to meet ya boy” he shook Cyris’s hand, “to you as well, the tattoo on your arm? You worship the great guardian bat as well?”

“You mean Entumbru? The spirit-ancestor of bats and the god of night? Why yes” he said “he goes by many names, that one I have not heard used before”, “Enthrumbu…” Cyris pondered…

Cyris and astarion left Bloodcrystal Vail and headed home, they settled down at Monty’s Chalice to enjoy dinner and sleep before heading out to hunt for Orin.

“Cyris…is it ok if..if we still sleep together?” Astarion softly asked him, Cyris scooted over on the bed, they…didn’t really cuddly like they did before but Cyris did keep Astarion warm. Astarion hated being cold…somehow?

 “How are you cold starry?”, “well, not..not physically…” Astarion laughed “I…feel…I feel less undead when Iam warm”, Cyris rolled over and wrapped him up in his arms.

“It’s getting cold outside…I better keep you nice and snug” he smiled.