#Bad Fiction

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

"There weren't any witnesses to Jesus' resurrection. None. At. All.

Despite Jesus foretelling that he would rise on the third day after his death, not one of his disciples showed up to witness it. Not. A. One.

And when the women visited the empty tomb, expecting it to contain a corpse, and reported back to the Eleven Amigos, here's their response:

"But they did not believe the women, because their words seemed to them like nonsense." (Luke 24:11)"

-- Robert Conner

None of the characters in the bible actually behave as if any of this is real.

If Beyoncé announced that she was going into a hospital and three days later she'd emerge with a new nose, they would need police and crowd control to manage the fans and paparazzi camped outside to be the first to see it.

Not even Jesus' entourage, who'd been touring around with him seeing all these miracles, knowing the Truth™, and even being told what was going to happen and when, were there waiting for him. And when it did happen and they were told about it afterwards, the reaction wasn't "oh yeah, I remember something about that," it was "lol, nah."

[catpiano]

Hey sorry. Your boyfriend ascended into a living infohazard. Yeah like when you think about him like he starts to become you. Yeah no like. Your entire being is erased and overwritten with his entire being. Yeah no the original Your boyfriend still exists. Yeah like. I mean, hey calm down calm down. Its ok. I am the crux of the destruction of the entirety of life itself, well. We still have one option. We have one last escape. An escape together, before Your boyfriend becomes us.

Take my hand, take my heart, take my brain.

[maa-pix]

Also love the winner of the Crime & Detective category:

"The detectives wore booties, body suits, hair nets, masks and gloves and longed for the good old days when they could poke a corpse with the toes of their wingtips if they damn well felt like it." --Jim Anderson, Flushing, MI

Obsessed with this year's grand prize winner of the Bulwer Lytton Fiction Contest

2022 Grand Prize Winner

"I knew she was trouble the second she walked into my 24-hour deli, laundromat, and detective agency, and after dropping a load of unmentionables in one of the heavy-duty machines (a mistake that would soon turn deadly) she turned to me, asking for two things: find her missing husband and make her a salami on rye with spicy mustard, breaking into tears when I told her I couldn't help—I was fresh out of salami."

[count-demonlord-of-decadence]

The New Girl

Ishtar Knoxville sat on the walkway one floor above and perpendicular to her family's three bedroom condo. Here she could observe her family's comings and goings discreetly. Not that her family took any notice of her except for when she was in trouble. But she learned early that the lack of attention provided ample opportunities to observe and learn. Ishtar wasn't like the other girls that attended her public high school. All they cared about was clothes, Instagram likes and what kind of cars people drove. When Ishtar was seven, her little brother Giuseppe Jr was born, erasing any presence she had in the family. Her school life was painfully ordinary until middle school when her friends wanted to act all grown. They were suddenly immersed in makeup, boys and social media. Ishtar tried to keep up but her “friends” quickly made it clear she was cramping their style. Ishtar rejected the conformist matriarchy her ”friends” embraced and they made her an object of mockery and ridicule. Ishtar took refuge in the school library, the last place any “cool kid” would be seen.

The last day before winter break of her seventh grade year, Ishtar was exploring a box of used books donated to the school when she discovered a copy of Justine by Marquis de Sade. The librarian told her it was inappropriate for school but didn't mind if she took it home. She read the whole book that very night. She was enamored with philosophy, violence and sex. For the first time in her life she saw a world free from the superficial bullshit and embraced a life devoted to the pursuit of pleasure. Of course at age 11 her pleasures consisted of reading, candy and masturbation. And reading is what she did. By her first day of high school she'd read every book deemed pornographic and subversive she could download. Her parents were all too happy to get her gift cards as gifts because it was relatively inexpensive and readily available. When her family asked what she was reading she just responded with the current most popular young adult novel. She was packing a bowl of the low quality high priced weed 14 year old girls have to buy when a strange little man knocked on her family's door.

His facial features made him look like a rat, a rat wearing an expensive suit. He seemed out of place in a suit to Ishtar, more of a blue collar man. The cigarette he was smoking didn't seem out of place. Her father, Giuseppe, opened the door, recognized the man and stepped out, closing the door behind him.

“You outta your fucking mind coming here!?” He exclaimed in hushed tones, unaware that his voice echoed off the walls. “I got kids in there.”

“Oh sorry bother you at your home Giuseppe,” the French accent and added sarcasm made the man's voice slightly more pleasant than nails on a chalkboard, “But you don't return my calls, texts, e-mail or faxes.” Ishtar swallowed a chuckle at that line. “And we need to talk. We've gotten some complaints about your high prices. The Syndicate doesn't mind if you skim a little here and there but you've been marking up the prices and pocketing the difference. Other dealers do the same. And that was cool but now your prices are so high customers are thinking about going to other suppliers. Now the competition knows they could potentially corner the market by simply lowering their prices. Imma tell you the same thing I told the other guys,” he handed him a slip of paper “these are the new prices. Be a good boy and stick to them, or else.”

Giuseppe Knoxville being half black half Italian suffered no disrespect, especially from a man a foot shorter and 75 pounds lighter than himself. But it was the pat on the cheek that set Giuseppe off.  He grabbed the little man by the throat and balls, threatening to toss him over the rail snarling, “Who the fuck you think you are? Come to my house, disrespect me, in front of my kids! You fucking worm! You're just a goddamn go for! A fucking bell boy! I've taken shits with bigger balls than you! Don't ever come at me with no disrespect! Next time your candy ass will be flying to the ground floor!” Giuseppe released the man and stormed back into the condo. The man took 70 seconds to massage his balls and throat before leaving. Ishtar noted it was the coolest thing she'd ever seen her father do.

A week later, Ishtar was sitting in the same spot when the same rat looking man appeared. He wore the “Canadian tuxedo” comfortably with a Dallas Cowboys hat on backwards. Behind him were four eccentrically dressed individuals. The first was an African American wearing a burgundy top hat, tailcoat, dark glasses, and cotton plugs in the nostrils, as if to resemble a corpse dressed and prepared for burial in the Haitian style. The group stopped so a rubenesque Asian woman cosplaying as Saya from Blood-C could paint an ornate skull on the Black man’s face. A 6'1" natural blonde woman wearing a Pocahontas costume watched the painting with visible signs of impatience. Ishtar mused that her breast had to be fake. Last was an immensely tall and bulky man. He has long, powerful arms and legs, massive hands and feet. He has shoulder-length slick black hair and imposing facial features. He was dressed like pro wrestler Pete Dunne. The face painting completed, the Big guy turned the knob and opened the door. Ishtar knew the door was locked, having locked it nine minutes prior behind her, and surmised he broke the knob with his hand. The five entered and closed the door behind them. Ishtar dashed home. The doorknob was indeed borken when she entered. Before she could take in the scene, the blonde woman closed the door and stood guard in front of it. Ishtar noted the woman appeared to be in her 40’s and clearly worked out. The big guy had his foot on her fathers left cheek, pinning his face to the floor. He had her father’s arm left torqued up in a such a manner that guaranteed damage. Her mother, Jessie was holding eight year old Giuseppe Jr., covering his eyes and ears. Isis, her older sister, had her face pinned against the refrigerator. A kunai pointed at her throat kept her docile.

The Black man squatted, his crotch inches from Giuseppe's face and spoke with an Eastern European accent, “Permit me to introduce myself; my name is Count Demon Lord, leader of the Black Magick Syndicate. It seems you ignored my instructions and disrespected one of my men.”

The big guy released some of the pressure on Guiseppe’s arm so he could speak rationally.

“Please, I can get you the money! I’ll apologize! I’ll do anything you say, just don’t hurt my family!” 

Demon Lord rolled his eyes and stood up, the big guy added more pressure to the arm until Giuseppe was silent. 

“OH, please er… what was his name le Fou?”

“Giuseppe Knoxville” the French rat looking guy replied.

“Right. Now see here Giuseppe, this isn’t about the money. We have plenty of that. Hell this isn’t even about thievery or disrespect. We’re big fans of that kind of behavior. The truth is we have money and power beyond your wildest dreams. and the boredom that comes along with it. So when le Fou told us of your altercation, we found what we always seek, a flimsy excuse to act on our most deviant desires. So spare us the pleading and begging, we’re not interested. We’re not here to scare you or teach you a lesson. You all are our prey, and no amount of money or words will change that. Accept your fate so that you might entertain us a bit. Teah…”

The big guy took his queue and loudly broke Giuseppe’s humerus. His scream was drowned out by the laughter of the eccentrics. 

“le Fou, search this hovel for anything of merit. Teah, break his legs. Zara, bring me that girl.” The rubenesque Asian woman dragged Isis by her dyed blonde hair to Demon Lord. Isis was 20 years old and had the kind of body other women slave in the gym for. Her face has always been described as angelic. She had her own room, but was supposed to move out and college so Ishtar and Giuseppe Jr. wouldn’t have to share. Their parents never pressured her to do so though. Demon Lord had Isis down to her bra and panties with seven strokes of a karambit he had secreted on his person. Giuseppe had his protests silenced by Teah loudly breaking his left tibia, much to the delight of the eccentrics. Giuseppe groaned an idle threat which provoked Teah to break his right femur. Demon Lord was roughly fondling Iris while Jesse, their mother, continued to cover Giuseppe Jr’s eyes and ears; begging for God to deliver them from this ordeal. Isis took this moment to resist, clawing at Demon Lord’s face. His response was a right hook that landed just under her left eye. Isis hit the carpet barely conscious, the bruise already starting to form under her tears. He then sliced off her bra and panties and raped her. Teah held Giuseppe's head, forcing his eyes open so he could watch.

Before he could discharge, le Fou returned with a pillowcase full of items in one hand and a book in the other. Ishtar could see it was her copy of Justine. From the sudden tension in the room Ishtar assumed interrupting Demon Lord’s raping had dire consequences for the interrupting party. Le Fou apologized, “Please forgive my rude interruption but I thought you’d find this of merit.” and handed him the book. Demon Lord took the book, his face expressed shock as he stared at the cover. He stood, his erection pointed directly at Ishtar, still staring at the book, “Which one of you animals reads this filth?!” he venomously demanded. The only person who spoke was Jessie, reciting the book of psalms from memory. “Brynhild!” Demon Lord was enraged “Cut pieces off that little boy until I get an answer!” 

The blonde woman moved, but Zara grabbed Ishtar by the back of her neck so she couldn’t escape. Brynhild snatched Giuseppe from his mother’s arms effortlessly. She produced a balisong and threatened to cut off the crying boy’s middle finger. Giuseppe was having his broken arm manhandled by Teah. When Demon Lord started to sodomize Iris with his lizard skin shoe did Ishtar proclaim the book was her’s. Demon Lord approached Ishtar, kneeling in front of her asking, “This is your book?”

“Yes.” Ishtar murmured.

“You’ve actually read this?”

“Twice.” she nodded.

“What did you think about it?”

“Well, I like how the characters do whatever they want without fear of any consequences.”

“Have you read the sequel? Juliette, or Vice Amply Rewarded?”

“Yes, I finished it about a month ago.”

“What is your name Child?”

“Ishtar.”

“After a goddess of sex, desire, justice, and political power; perfection. Ishtar, our syndicate, is full of libertines who follow the treatises outlined in de Sade’s books. Our money and power allow any action to go unpunished by law enforcement. That’s why no police are coming, none of your neighbors will check on you. I offer you an invitation into our syndicate, and a life of vice amply rewarded. Or you can watch us rape, torture and murder your family and luxuriate in it. But know that revenge and justice belong to the rich and powerful and none are as rich and powerful as us. We’ll never be arrested or tried for this. No one would deign to take our lives on your behalf.”

Ishtar thought it over. Her father was a successful contractor out of high school until three years ago, when he injured his back on the job. But because Giuseppe wasn’t following established safety protocols, the company refused to pay his medical bills. He exhausted their savings on a lawsuit he lost. All because he wanted the world to understand he was a real man, full of arrogance and machismo. In the seven years since Giuseppe Jr was born, Ishtar could count on one hand the number of times her father had a meaningful conversation with her; save holidays, birthdays, and half assed parenting during the commercials of baseball games. His son was the focus of his love and affection. Why should she act in the interests of such a man?

Jessie Knoxville wasn’t Ishtar or Isis’ biological mother. That honor belonged to Isabelle Flores-Knoxville, currently known as Prisoner #97S444. She was convicted 12 years ago for arson in the second degree and two counts of attempted murder for fire bombing a warehouse owned by an alleged racist. Two security guards were present with one dying, though she was found not guilty of one count of murder in the first degree. Sentence: 18 years, eligible for parole in five which was denied for amassing other charges while incarcerated. Jessie Knoxville was a woman who assumed her first two marriages to abusive douchebags were due to her lack of faith in God. Every ill and woe in this world was due one’s poor relationship with God, according to her. She became devout and seven months later she met Giuseppe Knoxville. After a 298 day courtship they were married, which Jessie believed was God’s blessing on her. Ten months later Giuseppe Jr was born, another miracle she attributed to God because her first two marriages produced no children. God didn’t keep her from gaining 65 lbs from an increasingly sedentary lifestyle since becoming pregnant.

Ishtar wished her sister refused to move about just to spite her, knowing once her room became Ishtar’s, she’d never get it back. But the truth was Giuseppe squandered their college fund on that failed lawsuit, and Isis would throw this in their father’s face whenever Jessie wasn’t within earshot. But that was a smokescreen for Isis didn’t have talent of any kind. Her grades have always been poor, since kindergarten. Jessie and Ishtar have openly pondered if she has an undiagnosed learning deficiency. She couldn’t learn high school cheerleading routines, sing to save her life or act her way through a high school play. She couldn’t paint, draw, sculpt or weave. She could barely add an app to her phone without assistance.

Giuseppe Jr was only seven and understood his parents would never believe he could sin. Twice his school accused him of vandalism and both times they denied he was capable of such behavior. Ishtar once accused him of stealing a pair of her panties, but their parents assumed she’d misplaced them. Isis accused him of stealing some money from her and nothing was done. He acted with impunity and at that thought Ishtar had her answer. Thinking upon characters from the books she’d read, she put her hands on her hips and replied, “Vice amply rewarded please.” earning applause and cheers from the eccentrics.

“Excellent!” Demon Lord mused, “You may have the honor of orchestrating their fates.”

“Do we have to kill them?” Ishtar asked.

“Only if you desire it, child. Some fates are worse than death”

“Good. I really want them to suffer and go on suffering. I assume no act is taboo?”

“My child, if one here will not commit the act you envision, we can have someone here who will in thirty minutes.”

“In that case, I want one of you to sodomize my little brother.” Ishtar chose her words so Giuseppe Jr wouldn’t understand. The eccentrics all looked to Teah, who released the father, licked his lips and took hold of the son. Brynhild took over the job of guarding the father while Demon Lord resumed his raping of Isis. Jessie became hysterical and tried to rush Teah, but Zara stopped her with a quick kick to her liver. By then Teah had the boy naked and on the carpet in front of his father. Teah removed his own clothing, revealing an uncircumcised member as large as Ishtar’s forearm. Using only his spittle as lubricant, Teah violently forced his prick into the boy, pulling his hair to keep his face in his father’s line of sight.

Jessie began to scream about the wrath of God and how vengeance will be his and how they’re all going to Hell. “Le Fou was it?” Ishtar asked the little man to which he nodded, “Go into my bitch sister’s room, find her dildo and stuff it into my STEP mother’s mouth.” 

“I thought these would come in handy.” Le Fou replied, producing Isis’ John Holmes Realistic Dildo and a roll of duct tape from the pillow case. Zara zip tied Jessie’s hand behind her back as Le Fou approached. Between the two of them, it only took 50 seconds to get the dildo secured in her mouth.

Ishtar used the basting brush from the kitchen to paint an inverted pentagram on her father’s face with the blood leaking from her brother’s continually violated anus. She then kicked him in the ribs six times before asking someone to castrate him. Brynhild was happy to oblige. Le Fou brought her a filet knife from the kitchen and helped Ishtar strip and restrain Giuseppe while Brynhild did the deed. Ishtar took her father’s genitalia and put them in the microwave and set it to cook on full power for 29 minutes. Giuseppe fainted from the pain, much to the disgust of the eccentrics.

Ishtar then approached Teah, staring at Jessie as she said, “I want you to discharge in my mouth so I can show these cunts I’m in for well more than a pound.” Teah intensified his thrusting to expedite orgasm. When on the verge, he pulled out so swiftly and splattered wherever possible. Ishtar aimed the blood and shit covered member to her mouth. Ishtar was startled by the kinetic energy of the discharge; it’s thickness made it impossible to swallow in two gulps. What she couldn't swallow, she spat in her little brother’s face. Taking this cue, Demon Lord pulled out and discharged his thin, yet plentiful semen all over Giuseppe Jr’s face; the eccentrics applauded.

Ishtar went to the kitchen and returned with a can of insecticide. She handed it to Brynhild and ordered her to shove it in Jessie cunt. Upon hearing this, Jessie offered the firstest resistance she could, which was futile given her condition. Brynhild laughed as dodged and blocked Jessie’s kicking as a diversion, Teah grabbed her by the neck, picked her up and slammed her back into the armchair only Giuseppe was allowed to sit in. Before she could recover, Brynhild tore her cheap sweat pants and cheap panties off and Teah grabbed her heels and spread her legs as wide as possible. Ishtar took the cap off and opened her mother’s vagina for penetration. Brynhild lubricated the spray can with juices fingered out of Jessie and herself and used both hands to shove it in. She simply whimpered through the ordeal, until the spray activated; then she screamed and thrashed about as best she could. This amused the eccentrics. Teah and Brynhild released her so she could fall to the floor and give birth to the spray can.

Isis began to stir and at Ishtar's command Zara stood her up by her hair and cuffed her behind the back. Ishtar caressed her sister's smooth skin with the flat of the filet knife as she spoke, “How many times did you call me lesbian, dyke, creep and retarded?”

“Please Ish…” 

“How many times did you punch, kick and slap me? Why did you hate me just for being your sister?”

“I'm sorry Ishtar. Please stop…”

“YOU'RE ONLY SORRY TO SAVE YOUR MISERABLE LIFE YOU STUPID FUCKING COW! But I have no plans to murder you, yet. I want you to experience the lesbianism that disgusts you so. Zara, can you make this bitch cum like she never came before?”

“Not my bag babe, but Brynhild can.” Zara shoved Isis into the armchair and spread her legs like Teah had done Jessie as Brynhild knelt and began cunnilingus. Meanwhile Jessie began to make coughing and choking noises in between random spasms. Demon Lord lacerated her left cheek while cutting the tape. He removed the dildo from her mouth and she vomited violently. This brought Giuseppe back to consciousness, who could only wail in pain and despair. 

“Yes! Oh my gods yes!” Ishtar shouted. “That sound is what I wanted to hear! The sound of a man being devoured by despair, his anguish!” Ishtar stripped off her clothing and began frigging her hairy cunt. “Teah,” she commanded, “fuck my father up the ass. Lube it with his whore’s vomit. Le Fou, fuck his whore up the ass. Have them face to face so they can kiss each other. I wish to discharge my fuck upon the faces.” Demon Lord to position behind Zara adding, “This cunt craves prick, and prick it shall have!”

It was arranged and performed as described.

When all save Giuseppe and Jessie had discharged, Ishtar packed a suitcase with her meager belongings. She dressed and departed with the eccentrics. Teah, Demon Lord, and Le Fou were in one car, Zara, Brynhild and Ishtar in another. Demon Lord’s group had sped off ahead, and as Ishtar’s group followed the spotted Giuseppe Jr three blocks away. He walked like a zombie, naked and dripping blood from his rectum. Ishtar bade Brynhild pull over and she opened her door saying, “Junior! Thank God you got out of there too! Quickly, get in before they find out we’re gone.” Giuseppe Jr was apprehensive, also seven and in a lot of pain. No one answered any door he knocked on, no passerby offered him help or listened to his pleas. This was the only help offered to him since leaving the condo. He took Ishtar’s hand and got in the car. Ishtar closed the door behind him and told Brynhild to drive. The doors loudly locked and they sped to catch up to the other car. 

“Relax little brother, everything is gonna be alright from now on.” Ishtar smiled. This brought a cackle from the driver seat. Giuseppe Jr got a good look at Brynhild in the driver seat and panicked. He tried to open the door but couldn’t, the doors had childproof locks.

[browsethestacks]

Arthouse Muppets

Art by Bruce McCorkindale

[edwardbonnets]

rook: *obvious flirting* emmrich: 😲😲😲🤯🤯🤯😳😳😳??????????

bonus:

[doomedclockworkdotmp3]

just a normal guy surrounded by residents with evil in their hearts

[somewhereincairparavel]

everyone keeps talking about Jason vs Percy but why isn't ANYONE talking about how powerful they looked when they both used their powers TOGETHER at the same time, side by side, in Mark of Athena? Like Annabeth even got goosebumps watching them cook up such an intense storm from afar. Sparky and Seaweed brain, Power duo smh.

[blueskittlesart]

zl wedding (again)

[pocket-size-cthulhu]

If you are a person who doesn't like Frodo Baggins I am taking you by the shoulders. I am shaking you gently. I am asking you if you've ever had to try to do something overwhelming. I am asking you if you've ever had to carry on in the face of insurmountable despair. I am asking if you've ever carried burdens no one else could know of. I am asking if you've never seen yourself in the monstrous. I'm asking you if you've ever been unable to trust your own mind. I am asking if your mental health has ever made you unreasonable. I'm asking if you've ever been too weak to take care of yourself, too weak to do the right thing in the end, too weak to do what, in your heart of hearts, you want to do. I'm asking if you've ever been too small to make a significant difference and if you tried anyway. I'm asking if you've ever faltered under something heavy placed on your shoulders. I'm asking if you've ever taken the next step despite never wanting to move again.

If you haven't yet, you will.

[scealaiscoite]

“i’ll keep you safe” prompts ˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🍊 ꒱

⋆ “i can stay the night, y’know. if it’d make you feel better.”

⋆ “try and get some sleep. i’ll stay right here- i won’t let anything happen to you, i swear.”

⋆ “you should’ve told me this was going on. i would’ve put a stop to it the second i heard about it.”

⋆ “no one gets to treat you like that, you hear me? no one.”

⋆ “either go to bed and get some rest willingly, or i will drag your ass down the hall kicking and screaming. you know i’ll have no problem with either option.”

⋆ “you must be freezing- here, take my jacket.”

⋆ “this place is dicey at the best of times. just take my hand until we’re clear of it, yeah?”

⋆ “anyone touches you, says anything to you, so much as looks at you the wrong way- you come get me, and i’ll set them straight. understand?”

⋆ “i’m not jealous. i just know the intentions that someone like that has for you, even if you claim not to see them yourself.”

⋆ “stay behind me, no matter what.”

⋆ "i know you can't believe it yet, but i promise you can trust me. whenever you're ready to rely on me, i'll be here for you. i swear it."

⋆ “i like seeing you this way. so… at ease. makes me wonder how anyone could ever purposely put you under stress and live with themselves afterwards.”

⋆ “shut up and just let me take care of you!”

⋆ “this isn’t up for discussion. i know you’re used to looking out for yourself, but i need you to understand that you don’t have to live like that anymore. i’m here. for as long as i’m around, i’m going to come between you and anything that wants to hurt you.”

⋆ “no one’s ever going to hurt you again. i promise you that on everything i believe in.”

[delhe-dalim]

Oh Mayday... Warm colors cuz he deserves some warmth 🥹

[chronicowboy]

[aediondraws]

the Magnus Protocol Character Designs

these are just my current headcanons, as well as some things I've seen from others. idk who came up with the Sam amputee hc but I rlly fwi! These aren't final, so feel free to tell me your hcs in the comments, I'd love to hear about them!!

Colin, Lena & Celia are next, and if i find the time I'll try to work on some others like Bonzo etc.

Some details:

[count-demonlord-of-decadence]

Fortress Decadence

“Welcome to Inqaba Ukuwohloka.” said a man and woman in Elizabethan era butler outfits as you entered the lavish mansion designed by Kazuyo Sejima as a love song to Giyōfū architecture, the mansion was completed on August 10, 2019. The main entrance hall is a beehive of social activity with people in and out of dress, in and out of costume mingling, flirting and otherwise interacting. Several celebrities are within your sight, Sharmeen Obaid-Chinoy introduces herself to you, as do Jamie Marchi, Vince McMahon, Jacinda Ardern, Jeffrey A. Rosen, Rose Montoya and Jay-Z. Ellen DeGeneres, Jake Busey, Meghan Markle, Anita Sarkeesian, Keanu Reeves, Megan Thee Stallion, Prince William, Greta Gerwig and Tucker Carlson do not. The further in you go the more casual the attire becomes as does the atmosphere. You bump fists with Joe Rogan, Tom Kenny, Joseph Buttafuoco and Cynthia Erivo. A very drunk Kim Tok Hun bumps into while putting his tie on his head, prompting you to bump into Samia Suluhu Hassan who introduces herself but doesn't recognize you and quickly walks away. A crying Dak Prescott dashes past you, a midget dressed as He-man offers you a cup of applesauce and Ke$ha, looking like Amélie, sprays you with Obsession for men. A tray of Angels on horseback is presented to you just before a man who looks a lot like Claudio Castagnoli wearing a lot of makeup kisses you on both cheeks and is off into the crowd before you can react. A person that can only be described as Tipper Gore cosplaying as Pizzazz, the main vocalist, rhythm guitarist and leader of the fictional rock band The Misfits, apologizes and hands you a pink bellini, which is taken away by someone in a black and white Korean girl’s high school uniform with a gray horse head mask on who directs you to the bar upstairs while dodging a plate of Tokwa’t baboy being offered to you. A dashing Frenchman in an all shark skin gray three piece suit helps you avoid a glass of champagne spilt by Mahdi al-Mashat, only to be separated from him by Elon Musk laughing hysterically. A man clearly older than your father, wearing nothing but a reddish pink feather boa and a matching bandana in his gorgeous hair, gently pinches your bottom and scampers off before you can protest, he is caught and beaten by the crowd, which he rather enjoyed. A tray of Bakwan is offered to you but knocked over as a brawl erupts between rather large men dressed in ill fitting tuxedos yelling at each other in Greek. Katerina Sakellaropoulou said they were fighting over her, while wearing an all too revealing desert brown dress. She takes two of the Rumaki on a tray being offered to you when you are intimately greeted by Mosch. No age, no race, no gender, no labels, no touching; just Mosch. The Dalton Castle entrance attire, bronze tan, make up, flamboyant gesticulations and platinum blonde 1980’s rock god hair gave away nothing. 

Mosch takes you to an elevator with six other people in it. One was a priest who looked exactly like the American Gothic painting. One was actor Billy Campbell, trying not to get noticed. Three are dressed as businessmen who are snickering whilst playing a game of who can release the worst fart. The last is a Palestinian man enjoying the farts. Only you and Mosch exit to the second floor, which is more of a nightclub setting which Mosch laments, then has a mood swing after spotting a young lad in tight Lederhosen and drags you to the bar. He orders, “A Zima for my friend and a martini for me. Three measures of Tanqueray Rangpur, one of Ciroc, half a measure of La Quintinye Extra Dry Vermouth. Shake it very well until it's ice-cold, then add three speared pimento stuffed olives. Got it?”

After correcting your drink order, Dillon Francis’ “I.D.G.A.F.O.S.” came on much to Mosche’s excitement and you two dance, never once touching. By the song’s end your drinks are served by a woman in a violet niqāb. Mosche hands you yours after looking at it with dismay, Mosche tips her a fifty dollar bill and you can't help but notice Mosche has no pockets and carries no purse as you're led to an elevator where a man, woman and a nonbinary person were all over each other. Kissing, licking, groping, feeling, biting, wanting. Two of the three invite you to join them but Mosche declines on your behalf while taking in their sight, sounds, aroma and aura.

The third floor is a hookah bar and smoke lounge with terrible tiki lounge decor and a terrific live band. Mosche walks the room, takes a random hit from a hookah, introduces you to Kevin Spacey, takes another random hit, is waved off by Seth Rogan, briefly makes out with a waitress and you're back in the elevator before finishing your drink. You ride with a woman who looks like Megan Merkel trying hard not to get noticed. The Gull Terrier sniffing up her skirt made it impossible. Mosche informs you out of respect the two of you are going to exit at the next floor.

The music of Phinehas 12 decibels too loud, as the doors open to reveal a bondage dungeon.  Nothing but leather and steel visible between the bodies. While dragging you to the bar, Mosche stops to introduce you to Joe Biden, who is wearing only a diaper and being walked on a leash by Mistress Rouz. Rouz is 30 years old, 1.77 meters tall and weighs 73 kg. She was born, raised and usually resides in Port Louis, Mauritius. She speaks with a heavy Mauritian Creole accent as she exchanges pleasantries with you and Mosch. She wears a black leotard with far too many accessories to be considered tasteful. She is accompanied by Zelmire, a 14 year old Austrian girl with charming features and curly hair. She is dressed as a bunny girl. Mosche asks Joe where their Lord is but Biden responds but he only barks, as Rouz had commanded. Rouz then says, “But if I were looking for anyone, I’d check the observation lounge.” Mosche thanks her and drags you to the bar where you’re served by a Papuan lad clearly too young to be serving drinks. Mosche orders a dirty version of the drink from before and a light beer for you. Mosche vows not to linger but is distracted by Taylor Swift riding Robert Kraft side saddle, allowing you to correct your drink order and catch a breath. What can only be described as a young Arsenio Hall with stunning golden brown Farrah Fawcett hair, wearing a red leather dominatrix outfit and far too much makeup, stands next to you and says, “I hope you don't mind me coming over, but I've been watching you all evening.” They pause to suggestively eat a speared cherry from their Mojito, “And I want to tear you apart. Your friend as well.” 

Before they could move in for the kiss, Mosche pulls you hastily to the elevator where two midgets dressed as cupids are smoking massive cigars, and verbally degrading a red headed obese woman who is loudly masturbating with a Bratz doll.

“The next floor is the S & M suite.” Mosche laments, “I’ve no need to go in, do you? Well we can always come back. I can say the same thing about the Sanguine Suite above us. Let us move on to the school. That’s where our Lord and Master awaits.” 

The elevator ride was a bit cramped with Polish strong man Andrzej Zieleniecki and a constantly performing mime joined the five of you in the elevator. The doors open to reveal a hallway filled with lockers and classrooms. All the other occupants exit and a rubenesque Samoan woman in a black and yellow Korean high school uniform beckons the two of you to the first classroom on the right. Her black hair is worn in curled pigtails and side-swept bangs. She smells like ripe cloudberries. Through the window you see what appears to be Bill Cosby giving a lecture about jazz to a class of teenagers. She takes you to the classroom diagonal to the first where R. Kelly is teaching an all girls choir to sing. Moving diagonally again, the next room reveals Kevin Spacey reading to an all boys class. He was wearing nothing but a velour silk robe that clearly wasn't tied. Mosche introduces her, “This is Sophia Wind. She's mute but not deaf. She gets off on showing people things.” Sophia bows and Mosche asks her, “We're looking for our Lord and master, have you seen him?” Mosche doesn't understand her sign language but you correctly guess the library based on her gestures. Mosche is impressed by your cleverness and escorts you back to the elevator where a guy who looks like Skipp Sudduth cosplaying as Jalen Hurts was trying to persuade a cheerleader who favored Madison Curry to give him a blow job. You ride the elevator down back to the smoke lounge so you can use the bathroom purposely designed and decorated with a cold, mechanical feel. Like the kind one would expect to find on a WWI battleship. When you’re finished, Mosche is waiting with drinks. Your’s appears to be what your previous drink was, garnished with an added speared cherry, olive and lime wedge. 

Mosche escorts you to the elevator where four guys who resemble Beavis, Butthead and their fathers are standing in the now smoke-filled elevator giggling at each other

You feel a touch light headed as the doors open and the four morons rush out saying, “We’re gonna tip over a cow,”

You’ve entered a stable with the obvious hay, smells and noises, some of which were clearly human. Mosche simply mutters, “Oh no, the dierentuin. We don’t want to be here.” and takes one step before a high pitched voice squeals, “Mosche! Thank God you’re here! I need your help to settle something.”

The voice belongs to a blonde woman with big blue eyes and a model’s figure dressed in an all too sexy cowgirl outfit. The kind only a stripper would wear. 

“Please Judy, I'm working.” Mosche laments, gesturing at you.

“What? Oh Hi! I’m Judy Punch, nice to meet you.” She squeaks at you and shakes your hand. Before you can respond she’s back to Mosche, “So I have a problem and you’re the first person I thought of.”

“But Judy, I’m busy.”

“But, you’re already here.”

Mosche dramatically laments before pulling you along while being dragged by Judy. She leads you past three sheep, two horses, two cows and a man fucking a goat while she explains the problem.

“So Viktor and Arse Splitter were arguing about who had the largest dick. I offered to measure for them but I couldn't make Arse Splitter hard.”

“Of course my dear, you're much too old and the wrong gender for that.”

“And now they're trying to fight.” Judy lamented with her squeaky voice.

Viktor, no surname, hails from South Sudan and is very tall at 224 cm. He possesses a hulking, muscular build at 130 kg. His hands are massive enough to close around the entire head of many of his opponents. He is bald and wearing nothing but tape around his hands and feet to protect his knuckles and shins. The man known only as Arse Splitter is 28 years old and hails from Sheffield, England. He has the look of a satyr. He wore a short sleeveless tunic that revealed his genitals.

“I think I understand Judy.” Mosche giggled and took the tape measure before handing you an empty glass. Mosche then whispered sweet nothings into Arse Splitter’s ear all the while making sure not to touch him. And it worked, after 222 seconds he was fully aroused, displaying a penis that is bent saber fashion, it’s head, or glans, is enormous, it is 21 cm in circumference and the shaft 20 cm length. A fine curve to this majestic prick. Viktor’s measured three cm longer but four less in circumference. Judy tips you both twenty dollars after thanking you at a pitch no one would find pleasant. Mosche mutters, “Stupid bitch tipping me like I'm part of the help, what's wrong with her. I hope she gets pregnant and fat.” Mosche concealed the twenty despite having no pockets and escorts you back to the elevator where the red headed obese woman is loudly masturbating while an effeminate anorexic man verbally degrades her. He looks at the two of you and says, “She's not the one who should skip dessert.” And the look Mosche shoots him would've backed down Mike Tyson. He exits as soon as the doors are open wide enough and enters Barack Obama, a young Caucasian man and an older black woman. Mosche introduced you to Lady Eloise Gripenasty, 68 years old and wearing a gold and black Chong sim that revealed her lack of underwear. Christof Select, the youngest capo in the syndicate, wearing a white Armani tuxedo. And the former president is wearing a tuxedo by Versace. Christof is going on about how he can't get a giraffe here on the ride down to the dierentuin, so you don't have an opportunity to chat with Obama before they exit. The elevator stops at the lobby and four elderly white business men enter having a loud discussion about the stocks of aerospace companies and defense contractors. They exit at the club, Mosche calls them perverts and enters a 183 cm tall female bodybuilder from Romania making out with a Mexican boy who was 152 cm tall on his toes and weighed 50 kg at max. Mosche is intrigued and participates as only Mosche can, taking in the sights, smells, sounds and aura, but never touching. The couple exits and Mosche exclaims, “Oh, I’d forgotten about the preschool prostitute ring, shall we indulge? Oh, but I need to introduce you to our Lord and Savior, one more floor up.”

The next floor is the observation lounge which has monitors everywhere displaying the other floors from multiple angles. Everyone who exits is wearing a gray trench coat and matching fedora. Mosche introduces you to TJ Whittenhouse, a man who looks and dresses like a cliched ISTJ. Mosche has him confirm Lionel Virtanen is indeed in the library before heading there. When the elevator arrives a skinny white twink is getting quadruple penetrated by four big buff sweaty black guys vigorously, while they shout every epithet and slur possible. You silently agree when Mosche suggests waiting for the next one, which arrives 100 seconds later with a fresh batch of voyeurs looking to not be noticed. The two of you enter along with a dead ringer for Timothée Chalamet dressed as Raggedy Andy, a 222 kg French chef, the constantly performing mime and Honey Boo-boo. The elevator stops at the S&M suite where the chef exits and three softball players in full West Texas A&M uniforms enter, gossiping about who could fit a bat up their cunt like the whore they did it to. They and Timothée Chalamet exit at what looks and sounds like a gymnasium and a Pakistani couple enters, arguing loudly. This doesn't deter the mime one bit and in fact he incorporates them into the act, which causes them to yell at him and each other. The couple exits at the dierentuin and enters Crown, you know because Mosche gasped his name. Crown is 200 cm tall and a muscular 147 kg. He has long black hair spilling out of his purple and black lion mask and light brown skin. He’s wearing a light blue cowboy jacket with a dark blue poncho, white pants, a black belt, brownish gray shoes and white fingerless gloves. His presence is so commanding it was easy to miss the three other people who entered with him. An Armenian woman in a cute pink Loza Maléombho dress, a Libyan man in a Thebe Magugu tuxedo and a small man in a green screen suit who were clearly intimidated. The mime on the other hand tries to get Crown into his act, to which he respnds, “Déjame en paz antes de que te rompa.” The mime expresses a lack of understanding but continues the act, seeking an explanation from the other passengers. Crown then says, “¡Fuiste advertido pendejo!” and hits the mime with an uppercut that bounces his head off the doors just before they open revealing the Sanguine Suite and its cliche vampire decor. Crown then body slams the mime, mounts him and punches him in the face four times before transitioning to an armbar. The mime’s scream is drowned out by the sound of his ulna breaking then the doors closed. Clearly frazzled, Mosche drags you out of the elevator and into the triage ward, one of the few areas without a full service bar. Mosche is on the verge of a panic attack when a voluptuous woman in a black dress that showed a lot of leg approached. Her steel blue eyes meet yours, she gives you a wink and a smile, then a whorl of curly black hair as she approaches Mosche. And like that, you know everything is going to be alright. 

“You’re looking a little ragged right now.” She says in a deep, breathy voice, “Anything I can do to help?” 

“Oh Raven!” Mosche laments and hugs her, which shows clear indifference to. “Oh Raven,” Mosche pauses to sob, “I’m just trying to take this one to meet Lionel Virtanen for the first time.”

She pulls a cigarette and a lighter from god knows where and lights it, prompting one of the orderlies to shout, “No smoking in here!” 

“Relax sugar, we were just leaving.” 

She leads you to the elevator, followed by a man 1.2 meters tall and dressed like an accountant from the 1920s. He was trying desperately to get her attention. 

“You know what they say Mosche: The harder the journey, the better the destination.”

The elevator doors opened and four orderlies moved a gurney out. On it, you couldn’t help what appeared to be a mime with a face of pureed beef on it, followed by a skipping Anita Sarkeesian. The green screen suit guy was break dancing to DeBarge was inside as was 

Jacinda Ardern, who no one recognized. The three of you, Sendhil Ramamurthy in blood stained scrubs and WNBA star Brittney Griner with a heavily taped left knee enter the elevator. The accountant tries to dash in as the doors close but Raven kicks him in the chin to stop him.

The elevator doors open to a lobby decorated to look like the street front of a discreet Jakarta bar with a half moon rising. There were three people standing outside chatting; Vince McMahon, former president Donald Trump and Kim Belair. Inside is a very classy and impressie decor guarded by two men so large Mosche verbally assumes they were bred for security. But they look at Raven and say, “Welcome back boss.”  then eye the rest of you menacingly. Raven turns around with her hands on her ample hips and says, “Mosche and guest. And…”  You turn around to see the options only to see everyone followed you out of the elevator and joined the trio standing outside, but they were joined by a cowboy, a female construction worker, a biker, a female GI, a Tsuutʼina Nation chief, a Chinese admiral, a female British cop, three non-discript straight white men and what appeared to be a Syrian gigolo; all wanting the same thing, admittance. “...Jacinda Ardern.” Raven pauses to laugh in a manner uncharacteristic of her look and voice and adds, “And the green man.” There is audible disappointment from those not admitted as they return to whence they came.

“Welcome to the VIP lounge.” Raven breathes as the green man clears the metal detector. In the first booth was a man in a gold lion mask surrounded by a harem of girls far too young to be in such an establishment. They were eating from a cuminall five gallon bucket of neapolitan ice cream. The second was a man in a black bull mask surrounded by a harem of boys far too young to be in such an establishment. They were wrestling for his amusement. A woman in a taxidermy deer mask was choking and cursing at a server in Chinese accented English. The next booth had a man in a yellow panther mask and a man in a polar bear mask smoking massive cigars and casually chatting until they saw you looking at them. You look away but they continue to stare until you’re out of sight. A woman in a gold eagle mask is in the next booth beating a dark skinned man wearing only a loincloth with her fan. Her profanities flow from English to French and back again. The next booth is empty and Raven invites you all to sit as a classical jazz version of What’s Goin’ On plays. Raven takes everyone’s order and is the only one not shocked when the green man speaks in a deep voice with a heavy Welsh accent when ordering a pint of Newcastle. Raven is only gone for 90 seconds before the man in the polar bear mask approaches the table. He is wearing a shiny purple sequined sports coat with a black button up shirt, black slacks with violet pinstripes and the 1994 Nobel Economics prize on a gold chain around his neck. He says, “What kind of rabble are they letting into the VIP lounge these days?” like he’s impersonating Jack Nicholson.

“I know, right?” Mosche laments with a limp wristed dismissal. The man folds his arms, poorly pretending not to be agitated and says, “Seriously, I want to know who you people are and what gives you the right to be in my presence?”

“Who the fuck is this cunt?” Jacinda Ardern asked. The man attempted to strike her but the blow was intercepted by the shin of Baek Hae-Ryeong the rising star in the Taekwondo world. Mosche recognized him and remarked how handsome he was. You notice he’s wearing a loincloth and remember seeing him on the way in. The man in the yellow panther mask was trying to console the man in the polar bear mask who clutches his arm like it’s broken.

“Gāolí bàngzi!” he hisses, “Do you know who I am, how much money and power I have?” he doesn't pause as Raven returns with the drinks and a wink that tells you to let the man finish. 

“Of course you don’t and I like it like that! I have enough money and influence over this world to keep my name out the mouths of you people who jumped a border to sell drugs, hijack planes and not speak English as they’re getting railed up the ass by some twink in a turban that jumped another border to escape the Jihad or their corrupt government or some sort of ethnic cleansing or cartels or whatever abomination the Cafri want to infect the rest of the civilized world with!” 

A blonde middle aged woman in a gray pants suit that showcased her flat ass, with a white blouse that showcased her flat chest silently stepped from behind the ranting man and asked Mosche, “Mr. Virtanen was expecting 20 minutes ago, what is the delay?” 

“This man here said he was more important than anybody else and insisted he had to listen to him.” Mosche blurted out.

“Is this true?” she asks, ignoring her tablet for the first time.

“Yes Ms. Prentiss.” Raven replied. Prentlss looks at the rest of the table and all you can do is nod along with them. Prentiss then turns to the masked man, who only now noticed his friend was nowhere to be seen. “You’re the reason for their delay?” she asked while backing him up by advancing.

“Delay?” At this point he’s backed up to the bar, “Okay look I may have had some choice words for…”

“Save it.” she cut him off, her attention back on her tablet, “You and Hae-Ryeong will accompany us. Mr. Virtanen awaits.”

Mosche urges you to finish your drink while not doing the same and rises, silently urging you to follow. 

“And we’ll take the stairs so no one gets lost.” Prentiss says leading the group. The man in the mask tried to protest, but after two words Prentiss stopped walking and sternly asked, “Do I need someone to carry you there?” and continued walking before he actually said, “No.”

The stairs were old stone work. It was up to flights before a heavy wooden door opens to the library. The stone walls were seven meters tall with bookshelves three meters high on every wall. Above those were two meter tall windows that revealed a windy moonlit night. But you recall it being daylight when you arrive. It smells exactly as it looks.

Lionel Virtanen is standing in the middle of the library wearing blue gray slacks and a matching button up shirt and a navy blue vest and tie. His height, hair, weight and face are unremarkable, plain and average. He’s reading an old copy of The Odyssey.

“Mosche and your guest sir.” Prentiss announces. “They were delayed by this man Simon Javier Malhotra born the 20th of January 1963. He is the global chairman, CEO and controlling shareholder of Metal Mammoth Mining and the founder, chairman and largest shareholder of FirstOrder Corporation. In 2022, Malhotra was named to Forbes' annual list of the world's billionaires. Wife, Barbara. Children…” 

“We get the point you fucking bitch, you know who I am. You can shut the fuck up now. Goddamn stupid cow wasting everybody’s goddamn time running off at the mouth with all the yakety yak yak.”

Lionel threw the copy of The Odyssey so the corner hit Malhotra on his penis. He then choked him into a standing position and said, “That’s enough out of you! I know everything! You disrespect my guests, my staff, in front of me, but the most grievous thing you did? Telling that private eye about this place. And why? Because you raped your son's wives on their wedding night and blackmailed you!” 

He released Malhotra and a pair of obvious sicario pick him up after playfully kicking him. Lionel slaps the mask off Malhotra, thrusts his middle and ring fingers up Malhotra’s nostrils and said,

“Low order scum. Prince, pauper, president, pawn, no one is beyond my reach.” He removed his fingers and gut punched Malthora who fell to his knees. The sicario held him up, pressing their crotches into his face. Lionel then looks into your eyes and says, “He’s all yours, what will you do with him?”

[selfship-shinigami]

Your F/O would never abandon you Your F/O will always be there for you when you need them Your F/O loves and adores you No matter what happens, your F/O is never going to leave.