#Please Hear Mr. Flight Control

[ohc-and-the-music-tapes-archive]

Recording of the Music Tapes live performance, 14 February 1999, Echo Lounge, Atlanta, GA.  Recording by Matt Taylor

set list:

1:07 “Freeing Song By Reindeer” performed with Mechanized Organ Playing Tower

4:38 “The Television Tells Us” performed by Static

9:41 “Song of the Nomad Lost”

12:49 “Nomad Tell Us” performed with Clapping Hands and The 7-Foot-Tall Metronome

18:38 “Song for Oceans Falling”

23:46 joke

24:18 “Aliens” performed with Clapping Hands and The 7-Foot-Tall Metronome

27:38 “Tornado Longing for Freedom”

32:49 “Please Hear Mr. Flight Control” performed with Clapping Hands

37:30 “An Orchistrations Overture” performed with Static and The 7-Foot-Tall Metronome

39:55 “Song for the Death of Parents”

43:28 Explanation how 7-Foot-Tall Metronome works

[twinkling-moonlillie]

Hawks Headcanons

A/N: I am currently obsessed with Hawks (if you couldn't tell) and writing for him is fun. I made these headcanons while procrastinating on my midterm paper a few days ago-

Warnings: Some NSFW content; MDNI. Some angst too

Starting things off with an angsty bang, Hawks has a bad habit of plucking his feathers when he is stressed out. It’s never too often and it’s never to a critical extent, but it does occur. Birds often do this as a form of coping with negative feelings, so perhaps he does this after a brutal mission. 

Like many other people, I firmly believe that Keigo has a thing for shiny or interesting looking objects. Again, it’s not to an obsessive extent, but he does have a good eye for pretty trinkets. Especially ones he thinks will look good on you. 

I don’t think Hawks is a good cook. There, I said it. This man barely has time for himself, do you really think he has time to devote to cooking? Do you really think that the Commission taught him to cook? Fuck no. He sticks to quick take out purely out of necessity. 

They say that the quickest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, and this is absolutely true with Keigo. He would love the little lunches and dinners you make for him while he is at work! He gobbles it up like a turkey. He swears that your food is the best thing he has ever had; he literally moans when the aroma hits his nostrils. 

I forget which fic I read this from (I will link if I find it), but I adore the headcanon of Hawk’s taking rut suppressant pills. I just think it makes so much sense since it aligns with his work-centric life and his lack of a wife (we aren’t talking about when you are married to him, obviously). They are probably similar to birth control pills where they stop the rut from happening 5% of the time. 

Even without his rut happening, Keigo still has a huge breeding kink. Can you blame him though? He just thinks that you'll look gorgeous with his cum leaking out of your pretty pussy. 

*whispers* he also has the equipment to match

He has definitely accidentally run into a window from imagining you with a cute lil baby bump. 

He can get a little whiny and needy about wanting to devour your pussy. He will straight up beg you on his hands and knees. Please say yes to him. 

The songs Angel with a Shotgun and Mr Blue Sky fit him so well. Fight me on this. 

Also the song Hey Look Ma, I made it

I just imagine happy birb listening to Mr. Blue Sky after meeting you.

Intentional or not, his wings flap and rustle during sex. 

On the topic of his wings, I don’t think they are as sensitive as we all wish they were. It’s not like he’s gonna start moaning and whimpering when random fans touch his wings (he canonical doesn’t) HOWEVER, it does feel nice when you massage and gently comb your fingertips through them. I’m thinking that it’s similar to hair?? Or maybe his wings are ticklish?? But only in the right context?? 

You are the only person he really trusts to take care of his wings

Keigo loves holding you in his arms and taking you on night flights. The stars always seem brighter when they are reflected in your eyes (at least, Keigo thinks so…). You even have your own set of aviator goggles to wear during these dates.

One of his favorite things is when he DOESN’T have morning patrol and can snuggle you until at least 10 in the morning. Although it may be longer because his sleep debt is so huge. There is just something so satisfying and peaceful with having you close enough to hear your heartbeat. 

His biggest dream is being able to have a family with you in a quaint little house. His life, your life…they aren’t constantly in danger and he can sleep in with you, make you breakfast (it’s only a little burnt), wrap his wings around you. 

Keigo is extremely possessive of, not only you, but the life you created together. He is very sensitive towards things that threaten the small slice of normalcy he has, eliciting a sense of hypervigilance and territorialism. 

His mental state isn’t the best from the culmination of trauma he experiences, leading him to commit psychic cannibalism on himself. He represses all of these negative feelings in order to perform to the best of his ability and be the good lap dog for the Hero Commission. 

Needs therapy.

It’s established that he has some form of echolocation through his feathers. So…hear me out…just to make sure you are safe 24/7, Keigo gives you one of his smaller feathers. I’m not going to rant because I might make this into a small oneshot/drabble later

[jamneuromain]

Wild Child Chapter. 1

Series Summary:

As the granddaughter of the sole Duke in your country, you know that you were going to marry some douche prince, because it is the only way to solidify the grasp the future king has on the Upper House. On the flight home, you come up with a brilliant plan to defy your upcoming matrimony.

Bringing a random man to your grandfather's place, and say you have a boyfriend already.

"Is there anything else I should know about? Before I meet your family?" Ari cocks his head to the side, watching you adjusting your cerulean Valentino dress when you wave your hand dismissively.

"Just say we're in love and help me get out of marrying this D-bag."

Ari Levinson x You

#i didn't know he is my fiance-douchebag-prince

#when i did, it was too late

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome on board Flight CM80072 from London to Ancetol. This is your Captain speaking. My name is…”

The broadcast started as you stuffed your ears with your earbuds. The screeching static along with the horrible noise whenever the captain chewed the mic in his lips and popped every consonant as if he couldn’t speak otherwise.

You should have brought your earplugs.

Or fly your private plane.

Correction: Fly your family’s private plane.

But you guessed they were still mad at you, which was probably the reason why the bodyguard they sent simply handed you an envelope with an airplane ticket inside.

“Would you like to see the menu?” The stewardess asked you with a kind smile, handing you the thick book of menu, “We have foie gras, smoked salmon, or veal rolls for the main course. Of course, you can also choose the vegan meal. All the ingredients are listed below the dishes.”

“I’ll have the veal roll.” You took a sip of the lemon-flavored soda she gave you earlier, “First course - the shrimp, and dessert would be the … ice cream, with extra berry toppings?”

“Excellent choice, Miss Y/L/N.” The stewardess nodded, taking notes of your demands, the impeccable smile still on her lips, “Any drinks?”

The bodyguard to your back coughed. Very loudly. Very spontaneously. As if he would be dead if someone didn’t hand him a glass of water or ship him off to the chemotherapy very soon.

“Cappu…” you changed your mind as soon as you were “reminded” that you were not allowed to drink alcohol, "Screw it, apple cider please.”

“Miss -” The bodyguard in the full black suit tried to warn you, “His Lordship won’t be pleased.”

“His Lordship,” you sniggered, “desperate measure to demonstrate his control over me, huh? Plus, I don’t think I recall our King has issued any announcement on the succession of the title. So, Lord him all you like. Pathetic man. I’m not respecting someone who participated perhaps even less than a minute in creating me.” You muttered the last few words under your breath.

You could practically imagine what “His Lordship” would do when he hears the report from the bodyguard, word for word.

He might throw some crystal ornaments to the wall, shouting at the top of his lungs, as if that would reinforce his authority.

A man to your right chuckled. Like you, he was just approached by the stewardess regarding his meal choice, now sipping scotch on the rocks. You glared at him. He looks like a man in his 30s. Terribly well dressed. The suit fitted his tailoring right up to his cufflinks. Golden cufflinks, you might add. White shirt without a tie. Long hair with a full-grown beard.

“Sorry, can’t help but overhear.” He raised his hands and folded them on his knees, “I’m Guy. Guy Thomas.”

“Mr. Thomas,” you shared your given name with him, but left out your family name, offering to shake his hand.

“Guy.” He stressed, “You’re from Ancetol?”

You were born in the outskirts of Ancetol, the capital of your home country, Ballenia, one of the few countries that are still ruled by a monarch. Your mother was relieved that you were blessed with a quick birth. But your father wanted nothing more than a boy. A boy that could take the family title and carry the family honor. Probably why he didn’t make an appearance until the second day of your birth. Reluctantly. You might add.

You spent the next couple of years of your life in a small town in Ballenia, growing up with your mother who thought innocently that your father would miraculously love you and accept you both as family.

You stopped believing in “a happy marriage” a long time ago. No. You stopped believing in “marriage”. And the fairy tales. And the lovely stories that told you one day, Prince Charming would come to rescue you riding his big white horse and ask you to be his wife, and some happily ever after bullshit.

No.

The reality was, fairly close to the story of your family, where the “Cinderella”, your mother, was abandoned by the prince, who is your father, and he had a couple of mistresses when Cinderella was only allowed to be presented during formal circumstances.

Ah yes, after all, a divorce would destroy the reputation of His Lordship. Making them look bad if they kick a civilian woman out of the door. The press would go frenzy about it, spreading the news that the “Cinderella” had been divorced by the cold-hearted heir of the Duke.

Luckily, or, unlucky for your father, it was your grandfather who carried the Duke title. Your grandfather who was equally displeased with you, a useless girl. Your grandfather, who passed away quite recently. Three days ago.

Hence, your urgent return. And some pretenses for the reputation of your family.

So, sunglasses it is then. During the funeral. With a white handkerchief. No one will see your dry eyes incapable of producing tears, not for that old bastard anyway. You thought to yourself, eyeing the huge bulk of a man next to you.

Did you forget to mention that the late Duke did the same trick as your father? Marrying a civilian woman and keeping a dozen mistresses in the same mansion they live in?

“You sound local.” You commented on the way he speaks English, “Are you from Ancetol as well?”

“Aww, what gave it away?” The man switched to fluent Ballenian, the language you haven’t heard of for years, and asked you, sounding sincere, “Is it the ‘r’? I always mess up the ‘r’.”

“Your name doesn’t sound local though,” you buckled your seatbelt as the stewardess stepped close to inform you the plane was ready to depart, lowering your eyes to fumble with the metal link, “Guy Thomas. Very American.”

Ari, no, Guy, pushed a little smile on his lips.

Of course, this name sounded American. You would freak out if he told you his true name.

“My mother is American and my father is Ballenian.” Which was 75% true because his mother was half American. The other half Danish.

He went by “Guy Thomas” when he was having fun among people and didn’t want to spoil everything by announcing he was Ari. The fucking prince of Ballenia.

Total mood killer.

“Are you here for business or pleasure?” You joked, “Or visiting your family?”

“Mostly business.” Ari fabricated a lie out of nowhere, “I work as a manager of my family business.” Technically that’s not a lie. He even slipped in some details for credibility.

Family business, the kingdom.

Manager, well sort of, since his dad owned the country.

“And I’m back in Ballenia to secure a deal.”

You lacked interest in business and all that, waving your hand as if dismissal, but allowing the stewardess to come and take away the food and drink in front of you, “hard to do business nowadays, especially when the Minister of Foreign Trade is a jackass.”

“You speak as if you know him.”

“Please, he’s been in that position for fifteen years.” You rolled your eyes.

The minister tried to get you to marry his hideous, lazy, pig-like son who knows nothing more than eating, smoking, and partying. Promising your father to “sweeten the deal” by favoring the company your mother owned but your father controlled.

Your father really would have said yes if it weren’t for the deal years ago, promising you to another man already. A man more powerful than the minister or his son will ever be.

“Of course, he is a jackass. If not now, then somewhere in his 15 years of gripping the foreign trade.” But you were not telling a total stranger about you being promised around like a Ming-Dynasty Vase. “Just look at the new announcement he made with the U.S. What deal did he make? None! Claiming that ‘further efforts are needed’. Further my ass. The Ambassador from the States could barely keep the smile on his face for Christ’s sake.”

Ari took a mental note to look into this “jackass” Minister.

“What about you?” He asked, “Visiting your family? Plan on staying here long?”

You pursed your lips on hearing the question.

Visit your family? How about dead family?

You were here to attend your grandfather, the late Duke’s funeral.

Staying long?

You wouldn’t curse yourself like that.

The longer you stay, the more probable your father and your mother will talk you into marriage.

You loved your mother, but for Christ’s sake, “I hope not.”

Ari didn’t respond to your reply. He simply hummed, making you confused about whether he agreed with you or not.

The plane did not wait for a minute more before departing into the air. A short while of gravity shift brought you 30,000 feet up in the sky. You pulled down the blind as the annoying sunlight burned your eyes, getting up for a bit more leg room and heading to the bathroom.

In the blink of an eye, a violent turbulence threw you off your own feet.

The soft ring of the safety belt sign turned the orange light on, while you slowly came to your senses that you weren’t embraced by the ground, but rather a firm body wrapping around you. One arm on your back, holding your upper body, another hung – rather awkwardly – in the air. You were sitting on his thick thighs sideways. Your ankle hurting. You were pretty much sure you twisted it with your damn heels.

“Miss Y/L/N!” The bodyguard hurried towards you, completely disregarding the tremble of the plane, rushing to your side. “Miss, I need you to try and stand up.” He held out an arm, leaning towards you to help you up.

Seeing him trying to assess how hurt your ankle was, you were very touched that he was concerned and reacted quickly. Maybe a small pay rise for him if you get back to your home?

Your bodyguard sighs, shaking his head with a disapproving look, “If this is your way of trying to escape the deal, his lordship won’t be pleased.”

Oh yes, the deal. The deal that simply packed you like a FedEx item and threw you to the palace door. The deal that promised you to the prince, right after you were born. The deal that you were told by your parents to honor for as long as you can remember. The deal lurking in the corner and bit you in the ass whenever you had done something to displease your father, reminding you over and over again that the only reason that you were alive was the fucking deal.

Apparently, your father had left out a most important piece of detail when instructing this bodyguard to “guard” you from running away.

You hardly ever do as you’re told.

“I think my ankle is broken.” You said dryly, pointing at your feet, not even trying to pretend that you can convince no one with your bland facial expression, “Can’t get up.”

Ari bit his lips so that he wouldn’t laugh.

You were sure as hell an interesting soul.

If he had any doubt or concerns regarding marrying you, a complete stranger in a matter of weeks, he now had none.

He thought you were the kind of girl who was a black sheep in the family, a wild child, with tattoos on your eyeballs or something. But you were nothing like his imagination.

Wild? Sure.

Black sheep? Compared to your father, the to-be-Duke, who seemed more like what the term was describing.

Ari raised his eyebrows, “Although I wouldn’t oppose you sitting on my thighs,” he nodded towards the stewardess who lurked behind the thin veil of curtain, “I’m afraid she would be unable to do her job properly if this continues.”

You clenched your jaw. Ignoring the extended hand from your bodyguard, you stood up, feeling instantly a sharp pain stinging your bones.

Bathroom was long forgotten, not that you have a chance to reach there on your own, you slumped down the seat and made sure you pushed the seat back until you could almost lie down like on a gurney. Lifting the hurting ankle on your other ankle, you closed your eyes.

Fuck his lordship.

The pain throbbing on your ankle. Your body dipped in both the coolness of the AC and the heat from your spine and the back of your head.

The few hours on the plane became more and more unbearable.

The veal roll didn’t lift your spirit in any way when it was brought to you.

The meat itself was fine. Only that it tasted like wax to you. You let out a long exhale as you outstretched your leg to ease the stress. Finishing the meal barely, you pushed the plate away, not even looking at the cider that you were thrilled to piss your father off with, and asked the stewardess for some paper. Empty sheets for writing.

She was clearly dumb-founded by your request, but hurried to carry your idea out.

You thanked her when she brought you some sheets, torn from some notepad as there were jigsaw razor edges on the side of the paper.

If the pain and the fact that every second you were closer to Ballenia was bothering you, you only needed something more bothering to take your mind off.

Ari narrowed his eyes when he cast a glimpse that you pulled out a pen from your bag from the overhead compartment and started writing on the empty sheets of paper.

Call him nosey but he wanted to know what you were writing.

Too inconvenient for him, your letters scribbled too small for his eyes to see. Occasional glimpses couldn’t help him read your writing. Nor that the content on your phone was clear enough for him to read either.

He did know that should be a text of some kind.

What text though? That was the real question.

…not some kind of text that could curse the royal family of the Ballenia, right?

Ari was almost amused by his own thoughts, before a shiver ran down his body and stuck an idea in his mind that this was totally and perfectly possible.

…you wouldn’t, would you?

Hard to tell. You weren’t exactly obeying the orders to marry him. Delaying it a couple of times in the past three years. And now, hearing that you had just called a minister “asshole” … or was it “butt ass” (?), anyway, something about ass, behind his back, and that you could mull a long face over your own bodyguard? Ari couldn’t figure out your temper and your actions all of a sudden.

The adjectives, that your father and his father used when they were talking about you, didn’t even come close to you.

“Kind” “Warm” “Considerate” “Perfect Princess”.

“Exceptional”. Maybe this was the right word.

Definitely different and strong-minded.

He could almost imagine the changes you would bring to his family and the kingdom.

He could discuss politics with you. You had your own thoughts and ideas, which was a good sign. Talk about foreign policies. Speaking of, he should really have someone fetch your dissertation from your university to understand where lies your interests. He’d allow gossip on the table too, if that’s what you like.

Ari hated gossip.

And there he was, imagining the future with you, before you were willing to marry him.

“If you want the book, I can lend it to you.” Your voice snapped him out of his fantasies. You had stopped scribing and rubbing your knuckles with your other hand. Pursing your lips together, you had, obviously, found out that he had his eyes glued to you.

“I’m sorry?”

“The History and Nature of International Relations.” You shrugged, twirling your wrist and your shoulder for writing too long, “I gotta warn you though, it’s pretty boring.”

Ari knew the correct answer to his question, but he asked either way, “You are studying it?”

���No. Yes. Hmpf,” You pouted at your change of words, “I did. I was. I was studying International Relations.” Something blipped in your mind, “Did you know this book?”

Ari smiled, “Took a course in International Relations years ago. I’m surprised they are still using it as an example of a textbook – where did you study?”

“NYU.” That’s a plain fat lie. You had a friend studying at NYU, but you were not planning on giving all your personal information away to a complete stranger, “You?”

Ari cocked his eyebrows. You were studying in Cambridge. He read that from your file.

“University of Ancetol.” Because studying there demonstrated the confidence of the Royal family in their country’s educational system. From there, the lies weaved themselves from his lips, “Got an undergrad degree and started to take over the family business. I visited New York last year,” along with his father, the King, but they travelled as quietly as they could, initiating a state visit without disturbing the press, “I miss school, now that I’m thinking of it.” Ari sighed deeply, “Wanted to get a grad degree but work’s too busy.”

“A manager in your family business?” You teased him light-heartedly, “Surely you can spare the time and study for a grad degree.”

Ari chose to evade this question. Reaching for his suit pocket, he fished out a business card with his name (Guy Thomas) and phone number on it, handing it to you, “Grad school doesn’t exactly tolerate me flying all over the world for … my family business.” He pushed his soft brown hair behind his ears, his eyes sparkling with a hint of joy that he had successfully fooled you, “Jewelry, my specialty. Diamonds, pearls, gemstones … call me if you need anything.”

“Oh, and she got her Master’s degree two months ago.” Ari casually dropped this to his parents in the middle of having dinner, he almost felt proud of his future wife, “Majoring in Political Science and International Relations. With a merit… no, distinction. The top 10% of her class.”

“We want a princess, not a college professor.” His father looked rather disappointed, “We were promised a princess.”

Ari didn’t understand.

If it were to be a marriage without love, he’d rather his spouse would be clever than bimbos who need help spelling “distinction”. Clever would mean he has a handful to deal with, yes, but what’s the fun in talking with someone who only cares about mani-pedi and the latest fashion magazines when he would be running the country?

Why wouldn’t they want someone smart as his wife?

“Your father is right, Ari,” his mother, Queen Olivia, reminded him with a softer tone, “we don’t need someone academically outstanding. We only want her to care for your home, you, and your future children.” She then turned to Ari’s father, King Victor, with blame framing her tone, “Told you should’ve just kept her with us when she was born. I knew Y/L/Ns were incompetent in raising our son’s future wife.”

Ari nearly spat out his food, “HOUSEWIFE?” Earning the “Shhh” from the Queen, he ignored the palace rules and the rules of being a prince altogether, “You want a HOUSEWIFE as the future queen?”

“For the moment.” Olivia waved her hand as if all this was not important, “Only temporal. After you get acquainted with the Upper House, you could divorce her and we’ll find you a proper wife.”

Taglist: @irishhappiness @patzammit

Find the Wild Child Masterlist here 👈

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[sailing-through-hawkins]

inspired by this anon ask given to @steddieas-shegoes because i'm ALWAYS down for lovestruck not-exactly-human-anymore eddie (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ) it's not perfectly written to the prompt with the demon-ness and swaying around the kitchen but it was fun to write!!!

To become more, you must sacrifice that which holds you back.

The things that limit you.

The people.

Henry had become more. He left ashes behind his every footfall and, in turn, became the god that he is, the god he was always meant to be.

Humanity does not share this fate, he is sure. Eleven had proved that even those who have only potential will always bend to the confines of their limitations.

They must have the will to break free of the cage.

The ambition.

Henry walks along, his creatures making way for his path. They shiver and keep their distance, in awe of his control, his power. He almost smiles.

In front of him lies a body, void of life, of purpose.

Perhaps, he thinks as he raises a hand, perhaps he can give it purpose.

Perhaps those who have potential just need his aid to find the will for it.

It takes time, too much time, too much of humanity has tainted this one, but his new creature finally rises.

It stares up at him, loyal and keen. More readable than his other creatures, more cunning, more like him.

Yes, this realm's god has made it in his perfect image.

Stronger, faster, sharper. More powerful than what was, it is perfect.

And even more perfect as he hears the distant shrieks of his creatures. Someone is slaughtering them, attempting to destroy his vision.

Attempting to ruin the world's evolution.

He watches through the eyes of the lone survivor, flying high above the carnage, sees a young, grimy boy, swing a weapon into the neck of his beautiful creatures with a snarl on his face.

The violence of humanity disgusts him.

The boy drops the weapon, running towards another, a girl on the ground. She is weak and will die soon enough, he is sure.

"Robin, Robin, are you - shit, shit, shit, that's blood -"

"Steve, it hurts so fucking bad, I - I'm - oh my god, it hurts -"

"It's okay, c'mere, I got you, it's gonna be okay -"

"Go," he says to his creature, turning his nose when it tilts his head. Still too much humanity. Perhaps not as perfect as himself. "Find the boy. Steve. Ensure he does not get another chance to delay us."

His creature knows what he saw, had seen it with him. It bows its head and begins its flight to the other world.

"Soon," he says, staring up at the thundering skies with an almost-smile. "Soon, it will all burn. Ready...to be reborn."

"No, no, stop, please -"

Steve laughs as Eddie blows raspberries into his neck, long and keen tail wrapped around his wrist.

Eddie sits on the counter, arms wrapped around Steve's neck as he pulls him further into the space between his legs, poking a cold nose into the skin where his neck meets his shoulder.

"Come on, you've proven your point," Steve tries squirming away but the tip of Eddie's tail just swoops in under his shirt to softly tickle his sides, where the bite wounds are still sensitive, and he can't stop the burst of laughter pealing out of him. "Eddie!"

"The demon lord requires more, a much greater sacrifice," Eddie says dramatically into Steve's neck, arms tightening around his neck. Eddie inhales and yells, "It's your pride!"

With a squeal, Steve muffles his laughs into Eddie's shoulders as Eddie tickles him even harder. "Okay, okay, I give, I give," Steve manages to say between his bouts of giggles. "I give, you win, oh Great Demon King."

"That's Mr. Great Demon King to you," Eddie sniffs as he loosens his grip on Steve and hops down the kitchen counter. Brushing off imaginary dust, because Steve and Robin keep this place clean as fuck (mostly Steve since Robin almost got her leg chewed off that one time, but she makes up for it by yelling directions at him), he turns around and pretends to walk away very slowly.

"C'mere," Steve grabs his hand and spins him around, leaning back against the counter with Eddie in his arms. The fake snooty expression on his face melts away when Steve curls a lock of hair behind his pointed ear, cupping Eddie's jawline gently. His thumb strokes his cheek, gliding over the stretched, scarred skin. "Hey."

Eddie's eyes, brown and red and like there's a whole world inside them, soften and he bumps their foreheads together as the purr in his chest starts up. "Hey yourself, handsome."

He's been really cold ever since he came back but he doesn't seem to care much. Steve cares a lot, maybe more than he needs to, and always tries to keep him as warm as possible with sweaters, blankets, whatever works. In this moment though, where Eddie's pressed against him, the kitchen lights making a golden light behind him like some kinda halo (the irony makes him grin), his horns like little upside down vampire teeth. Maybe there was something to the vampire theory, he thinks as he ruffles the curls at the back of Eddie's neck.

"Steve," Eddie sighs, his eyes closing as he smiles goofily, fangs poking into his bottom lip and wings fluttering.

"Yeah?" Steve smiles, pressing a gentle kiss to Eddie's cheek.

"Just wan'ed to say it." Eddie nuzzles into Steve's cheek with the mumble, sighing again when Steve wraps his arms around Eddie's waist, his tail winding up the sleeve of Steve's shirt. "Like sayin' yer name."

Something bubbles up in Steve's chest and he giggles to let it out, the warmth and sweet affection pouring out of him. "Yeah? I like saying yours too."

"Then say it," Eddie's head quickly shoots up and he stares at Steve, the tip of his tail flickering back-and-forth on Steve's forearm the way Tews' does whenever Dustin swings a toy in front of her face. His pupils are massive, way bigger than any human's should be, and it makes his eyes look even bigger. "C'mon, say it."

Steve hums, tilting his head one way, then the other, laughing when Eddie huffs and pouts at him. He leans in closer, pressing a kiss to his nose, and says softly, "Eddie."

The gust of wind that Eddie's wing-flapping causes is so strong it makes the entrance door slam against the wall and makes Steve jump, but he just laughs when Eddie's wings stretch up and around them both awkwardly in apology.

"Think it's time for dinner, angel," Steve whispers into the tiny space between them.

"Call me angel one more time," Eddie whispers back with a glint in his eye. "And I'll show you exactly how unholy I can be."

"Whatever you say," Steve grins and boops Eddie's nose. "Angel."

"That's it!" Eddie hunches down and lifts Steve over his shoulder, bouncing his way around the kitchen. "The Great Demon King has declared no dinner for defiant knights!"

Steve laughs and shoves at the wings crowding over his head, "What if I used true love's kiss to appeal to the judge?"

The bouncing pauses and Steve blinks when he finds himself right in front of Eddie again, his limbs bound by Eddie's tail and hands. Eddie squints at him and sniffs, the snooty expression snobbier than ever. "The Great Demon King rejects your offer and demands five true love's kiss in repentance."

Rolling his eyes, Steve pecks the corner of Eddie's mouth, grinning when the tip of his tail wags back-and-forth again. "Well, when you put it like that, how could I say no?"

[spider-mancan]

tony's been messing around with a new AI dedicated for the suit. FRIDAY is a good girl, but is too prone to engage kill mode, so to speak, so tony has been feeding battle information and data into a new program for a while. and if recently he's been fighting a lot besides one friendly neighborhood spidey, that shouldn't make a difference.

and then tony decided to develop it further, creating a program that will analyze and make decisions based off how it's recognized tony making decisions previously. so Tony throws is a bunch of footage from the lab. and Peter is always in the lab. which, again, shouldn't make a difference.

except that AI isn't bug-free, and tony really wants to fuck Peter.

so when FRIDAY tells him he's needed in the lab, and tony casually strolls down to find Peter pinned down over a workbench, pants around his ankles, getting fucked between two suits, Tony knows it's his fault.

he knows, even though the mug of coffee in his hand falls through his fingers and shatters on the floor, that he fed the AI too much, and it figured out too much. Peter sobs out a Mr. Stark, please before his eyes roll back and he comes for the nth time, a puddle of white on the tile between his legs, and tony knows he'll never forget that, even though he knows hes a monster.

he stutters through his override, a full fifteen seconds of processing later, and Peter sobs when the robots stop holding him down and step away. theres red around his wrists and tear tracks down his cheeks. his hole is gaping open. Tony watches it clench around nothing before he remembers he should be taking care of his mentee like a good mentor instead of wanting to plunge three fingers into his cunt and hear him wail.

"they just keep going," peter mumbles, delirious, as Tony gathers him in his arms. he pressed his face into Tony's neck. "just...ah. no matter what. i tried to, to get away but--"

"shhh, it's okay now. you don't have to think about it anymore."

Peter peels away from Tony's skin and looks at him with wide, teary, empty eyes. "it felt so good, Mr. stark. Even when it was bad." he shivers, goosebumps under Tony's hand. "thank you, sir."

tony doesn't ask if peter is thanking him for the override, or because he knows that tony made those machines hold him down and fuck him until his vital got so out of control it procked FRIDAYs safety protocols.

flight gel and oil smears down Peter's thighs in thick globs, plat plat plat on the tile, on tony's leather dress shoes. "i'm so sorry," tony says, because he can't think of anything else to say, but Peter is already limp and pliant in his arms, knocked out.

later, Tony reviews the footage. 142 minutes -- not all penetrative, lots of foreplay, all of which Peter had desperately tried to get away from until roughly the 45 minute mark. peter came seven times. he started crying after the third.

Tony is a monster.

"FRIDAY, review the footage again."

[anonymous-hopeful]

Lets try something interesting for the ship hcs. Dr Afton x Steven please? 👀

Ooh definitely an interesting one. I've never seen Afton x Steven before, so this'll be fun!

Headcanon below!

Most people know and understand Dr. Afton to be a fairly smart individual- he's a psychologist after all, he's been through years of school, college, the like. He'd like to think he's smarter than most as well...not so much a mark of arrogance as much as it being a factual matter.

Brains are important to him, but he's never said he had anything against brawnier, stronger people. He finds a good, strong personality attractive, actually. Something about an opposites attract magnetism- he could write a theorem about it, but that's for another time.

Enter Mr. Steven Rudboys, both the exception and the rule.

Before the two were neighbors, they met on a military base during a strategy briefing for the pilots. There was an argument about flight pathing- the scientists were saying one thing and the pilots were saying another. It was about to get out of control when Steven spoke up with his own solution that neither side considered.

It took a while for both sides to discuss the idea, but somehow, it made complete sense...which sent Afton's brain into overdrive. He was smart? And strong? Was it possible for such a person to exist? *Obviously yes, but it's the 1950's and Afton is just a little dense*

That's where the attraction started, and every time they crossed paths after that, Afton stopped Steven simply to hear what he had to say. Steven slowly noticed that Afton was really going out of his way to talk to him, but he never minded. It was cute having someone so interested in what he had to say.

[cordonianroyalairlines]

Turbulence

Series: Cordonian Royal Airlines

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings for series: Various

Pairing for this chapter: Riley x Drake

Word Count: 1,534

Rating: MA

Warnings for this chapter: Language, sexual innuendo, and mature humor. Barley lemon scented.

A/N: See the series master list for a description of this series.

Also, this is a submission for @choicesprompts Smutember prompt event: We shouldn't be doing this....

“So, what’s up with you and Riley?”

“What do you mean?”

Captain Liam Rys turned to regard his first officer with a raised eyebrow, “What do you mean what do I mean? You two have been dancing around each other since the day she started working here.”

“Exactly,” Drake shook his head, “She works here. I don’t shit where I eat, Li, you know that.”

“Uh huh…” Liam replied dubiously as he returned his attention to the instrument panel and requested permission to take off.

Out in the cabin, flight attendant Riley Brooks was instructing the passengers of Cordonian Royal Airlines Flight 628 to put their seat backs in the upright position and fasten their seatbelts.

Maxwell shuffled up and down the aisle helping people stow their carry-ons in the overhead compartments.

As they buckled themselves into the jump seats, Maxwell lowered his voice so the passengers wouldn’t overhear, “So has he asked you out yet or what?”

“Who?”

“Come on, Ri. You know who. First Officer McSteamy!”

“Please,” she huffed, “That uptight, pig-headed, annoying asshole?”

“That’s the one,” he smirked, “I saw him checking you out when we boarded.”

“Really?” She perked up.

“Really,” Max supplied, “Not that you’re interested….”

“Of course not,” she slid her eyes sidewise at him, “But like how was he checking me out? Like oh, she’s cute or like, you know…”

“Oh, definitely you know!”

“Hm,” Riley leaned back in her seat, her eyes scanning the cabin for any signs of issues she needed to attend to as a slight smile played across her lips.

An hour into the flight, Max was dealing with an overbearing guest.

Riley scooted over to help, recognizing him, “Be nice,” she whispered to Max, “He’s a regular.”

“Yeah, a regular pain in the ass!” Max grunted a little too loudly.

“How dare you!” The man turned beet red, “I demand to speak to the captain!”

“I’m sorry, sir, but that won’t be possible, we don’t-“

“Actually,” Riley interrupted him, “For you, Mr. Lambros, I think we can make an exception!”

“We can?” Max turned to her in astonishment.

“Thank you, my dear,” the annoying passenger gloated, “and you can call me Tariq.” He shot a withering look at Max, “You can’t.”

“Whatever,” Max huffed under his breath as Riley pulled him down the aisle.

Once out of Tariq’s hearing, she hissed in his ear, “I’m going to send Liam out here and you’re going to make sure he stays out here for like, five minutes, okay?”

“Why, Riley? Why would-“ his eyes widened, “Oh! You want a minute alone with Drake! Wait, only five?”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, I’m not fucking him in the cockpit! I just want a few minutes alone for a…conversation.”

“Yeah, right,” Max laughed as he shooed her toward the cockpit door, “Go on then, have your conversation…”

She shook her head as she made her way to the cockpit, pausing outside the door to adjust her clothing and run her fingers through her hair. She pushed the door open, “Captain?”

Liam looked over his shoulder, “I told you, call me Liam. What is it, Riley?”

“We have a disgruntled passenger who’s demanding to speak to you.”

“You know we don’t normally-“

“I know, but it’s Mr. Lambros and you know how he gets…”

Liam heaved a deep sigh. Tariq and his company spent an ungodly amount of money on flights, and they couldn’t afford to lose his business, “Okay, fine.” He flipped a few switches quickly and then stood.

He paused to officially pass control of the flight deck over, “You have the flight controls.”

“I have the flight controls,” Drake answered.

Liam nodded at Riley on his way out the door. She smiled at him but didn’t move.

Dake glanced up at her, “Can I help you with something else?”

“Yes,” she took Liam’s seat, “You can tell me why you run so hot and cold.”

“Excuse me?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Listen, Riley, I like you but-“

“Oh, you like me? Like a friend?”

“Yes, I’m on friendly terms with the entire crew-“

She snorted, “You’re not friendly with anyone, Drake!”

“I…what?” He wanted to be annoyed but inexplicably, it bothered him that she thought he wasn’t friendly.

“I mean it’s pretty common knowledge that you can be a dick.”

He turned in his chair to face her incredulously, “I am not a dick!”

“Actions speak louder than words.”

“That’s…I’m not….since when-“

“It’s okay. I was just curious why you are sometimes uncharacteristically friendly with me, specifically, but if you don’t like me-“

“I never said I didn’t like you!” He snapped.

“And I told you…actions speak louder than-“

Her words were cut off as she found herself suddenly and firmly yanked across the divide between the two seats and into his arms. His lips crashed into hers with an intensity that took her breath away.

She leaned into him, returning the kiss for all she was worth. Her hands landed on his chest, his hands grasped her at the small of her back and tugged her closer.

“We shouldn’t be doing this…” he panted even as he drew her into his lap, his lips trailing down her neck, finding their way into the cleavage that peeked enticingly out from the form-fitting uniform that hugged her curves, setting them off to quite remarkable effect.

“You’re right,” she pulled away and stood up, “We shouldn’t be doing this. Wouldn’t want to ruin a perfectly good working relationship, now would we?”

“What?” his hands reached out for her, but she was already out of reach, “Riley, wait!”

“No, that’s okay, you’ve made your position quite clear.”

“That’s not what I-“

She paused at the door, throwing a smoldering look over her shoulder, “See you tonight at the hotel?”

“Yes…” he watched as she left, head spinning. What had she meant by ‘see you at the hotel’? Had she meant that in a general sense as in see you around? Or was it an invitation for something? And if so, what?

He only knew two things for sure. One, he didn’t date coworkers. It was a bad idea. Two, he was absolutely going to find her at the hotel tonight.

“Gah!” Why was she so goddamned frustrating? He slammed his head forward into the instrument panel. The plane immediately dropped altitude, diving toward the ground as the oxygen masks deployed in the cabin. “Oh, shit!” He frantically worked to right the plane as passengers screamed.

Out in the cabin, Liam had just gotten Tariq settled down and happy again. Max was on his way to serve the now mollified guest a bottle of their best wine when the plane jolted down and to the right with a loud thud. People slammed into walls, luggage poured from overhead compartments and Max tripped forward, grappling with the already-opened bottle as he tried to regain control. It was to no avail. He watched with horror as the bottle flew, in seeming slow motion, out of his hands and directly toward their most difficult customer.

Tariq’s eyes widened as the liquid sloshed out of the top of the bottle in midair, spewing wildly and covering him in outrageously expensive, vintage red wine. “You did that on purpose!” He screeched as he jumped out of his seat.

“Please remain seated and fasten your seatbelts!” Riley called from the front of the plane as she caught herself on the wall, “Just a little turbulence!”

Liam frantically tried to make his way back to the cockpit, but Tariq was blocking the aisle, demanding Max be fired while Max ineffectively wiped at the spreading stain with a cocktail napkin.

Tariq’s face had gone a deep shade of crimson, “Captain Liam, I demand that he be reprimanded!”

“Move you jackass!” Liam yelled as he shoved the man aside in desperation to make it back to the flight deck.

By the time Liam crashed through the cockpit door, the plane was righted, and Drake was on the intercom doing damage control, “Just a little unexpected turbulence. We apologize for the momentary roughness, but it should be clear skies and smooth sailing from here on out.”

“What the fuck was that?” Liam demanded as he retook his seat and started double-checking everything on the instrument panel, just to be sure.

“Turbulence,” Drake answered but he didn’t make eye contact and his face was red.

The door creaked open, and Riley stuck her head in, “Is everything okay in here? Drake was that because-“

“Everything is fine,” he yelled, “It was turbulence! Please return to your duty station crew member!”

Liam’s eyes flicked from Drake to Riley and back again. A broad smile spread across his face as Riley backed out of the cockpit, “Oh, I see. Turbulence….” Liam relaxed back into his seat; all his panic washed away as understanding settled over him.

“Shut up,” Drake still wasn’t looking at him.

“Turbulence never looked so good,” Liam chuckled as he updated the flight log and triple-checked the instrument panel.

Drake shifted uncomfortably in his seat and then glanced at his watch with a sigh. It was going to be a very long flight.

[mirasmirages]

Fall In Line - Eight - Team

First Previous

Contains: Mind control, whipping

Henry woke up in his bed as if nothing had happened. The medical equipment made their usual whirring and beeping noises. The doctors took their usual samples. Henry was a bit sore, but that was all.

He wasn't sure if he should ask someone what happened last night. How he got back. They probably wouldn't answer him anyway. They never did.

It felt like a dream.

He could still hear the fire alarm ringing in his ears, feel the heat of the explosion on his skin.

Someone threw his costume on the bed. Skin tight and purple, with yellow patches of reinforcement. "Mr. Duncan wants to see you in his office."

Henry had been in Mr. Duncan's office a few times before. It was where he had been given his mission last night. A security guard led him through the maze of hallways and up several flights of stairs until they were outside the white doors.

Whatever Henry had been expecting when he entered that door, it was not this.

Five costumed heroes stood in a half circle in front of Mr. Duncan's desk. The red and blue heroes from yesterday. A man in blue and dark grey, a woman dressed almost entirely in black. His stomach lurched. A woman in a silver costume with blue details, her long black hair in a ponytail.

"Finally," Mr. Duncan said. "You're here. Come."

The heroes all watched him as Henry went to stand with them in the half circle.

"We're here to debrief your mission last night," Mr. Duncan said. "But first, let me introduce you to your team."

He started with the hero closest to the desk on Henry's right.

"Red Rapid, team leader and martial arts expert, with superhuman reflexes." The man in a red costume

"Silent Spark, with electric powers." The woman in blue and white.

"Wild Rage, our shapeshifter." A woman dressed almost entirely in black, with some dark green shimmering patches.

"Silver Sharp," the first hero on Henry's left. A young woman with long, dark hair in a ponytail. Her costume was blue and pale silver, similar to Silent Spark. "Can use her force field powers to attack."

And at the end on Henry's left in a grey and blue costume, "Phantom Storm," who could fly.

Henry didn't know what to make of all this. A team of heroes? Why had he never heard anything about this before? 

(Probably because no one told him anything.)

"Now," Mr. Duncan said. "Red Rapid. Walk us through what happened last night."

"Yes, sir. Henry arrived at the scene at 0:23am. The doors were unlocked, so he had no issues getting in. A few minutes later, the fire alarm went off. Henry stayed on the first floor, punching through walls to weaken the structure before placing the explosives. There were civilians in the building, and he let them leave unharmed before coming outside to blow up the building. When Silent Spark and I arrived, he took a defensive approach, easily letting himself be pushed into a corner. Thanks to the fire alarm, the fire department arrived early and we had to get out of there fast, so Silent Spark knocked him out with no problem. As far as I know, no one saw us leave."

Mr. Duncan nodded, not looking too pleased. "Silent Spark. Your thoughts?"

"I would be interested to know how the fire alarm went off. If that hadn't happened we would have had plenty of time to finish before the fire department showed up. I can't think of any reason that happened other than if Henry himself setting it off."

Mr. Duncan turned to Henry. "Henry?"

"I did. There were people in there. I didn't want them to get hurt in the explosion."

To his left, Silver Spark scoffed.

"Did I tell you to let people out of the building?" Mr. Duncan asked.

"No, but-"

"No. And you did it anyway."

"You didn't tell me not to! And there were kids there! If they hadn't gotten out they could've been killed!"

"Henry, be quiet. Red Rapid, will you take care of this?"

"Of course, sir."

The heroes all spread out to stand along the walls of he room. Only Henry and Red Rapid stayed.

"Henry," Mr. Duncan said. "Kneel."

His knees hit the floor before he could even think about it.

Red Rapid walked behind him. "Keep your hands on the floor," he said and started undoing Henry's costume, leaving it hanging off him with his back bare.

Henry put his hands on the floor in front of his knees. They were shaking. The air was cold on his back.

"How many?" Red Rapid's voice was familiar behind him. Henry didn't want to think about it.

Mr. Duncan hummed. "Ten for the pathetic display of fighting. Fifteen for pulling the fire alarm. Fifteen for letting people out."

Forty. There was silence. Henry looked at his hands.

Behind him came a swooshing noise, and the first lash landed across his upper back. Henry's scream stuck in his throat. Mr. Duncan had told him to be quiet.

Red Rapid waited for Henry to compose himself between each lash.

No one came to Henry's defense.

Henry struggled to hold hold himself up. He lasted for twenty five lashes before his elbows gave out and he collapsed forward, his head against the soft, beige carpet on the floor.

"Henry," Mr. Duncan said. "Look at me."

Henry looked at him. He could barely see Mr. Duncan over the edge of the desk.

"Get back in position. Hands on the floor. Arms straight."

Henry did. His back was screaming with every movement.

"You will stay in this exact position until we are done." Mr. Duncan looked over Henry's shoulder. "Continue."

The last fifteen lashes came faster. There was no longer enough time for Henry to remember how to breathe between each one.

Mr. Duncan sat behind his desk and looked Henry in the eyes the whole time. There was no sympathy on his face.

Henry wasn't counting. He barely noticed when it stopped, until Mr. Duncan told him they were done and he collapsed in a heap like someone had cut his strings. His back was wet with sweat or blood. Both.

Someone knelt next to him. Henry could see the dark grey and blue of his costume.

"Let's get you back to bed," Jordan said.

[dinkflocculent]

Old Prey: Chapter Two - Anguish

Beau

Everyone immediately falls silent, the piercing eyes stabbed at the back of my neck. Mr. Santifelon, being the size of a giant, wasn’t fazed by it. But I struggle to keep my body still, a mere flee compared to him.

Suddenly, his face softens to a fatherly, soothing look. Did he realize my father is the school’s principal, and needed to stay docile? Or did he see how my body looked and pitied me like everyone else does?

He bowed before me like a prince. I was a princess that he needed to delicately handle in his eyes. Holding in a rude remark, I open my mouth to speak. Hoping that my voice doesn’t come out as a shaken mess.

“Nice to meet you,” he said with a deep but soft voice. He lets out his hand for a handshake but decides to pull it back. “Would you be ever so kind to join me in the hallway to talk?”

He is treating me like a princess.

“I- Of course!” I mentally wince. I broke my promise of talking flawlessly I knew I wouldn’t keep.

The class gets into a gossiping frenzy when the door closes. I’m now the center of attention and it’s exactly how I’ve imagined.

Terrifying.

A deep pit forms in my stomach. I know that beasts are going to t talk about me for the rest of the day. And it’s all because of this frightening lion that my mind can’t help but be curious about.

As I walk beside him, I look up at his massive figure. His face isn’t as menacing as before His thrilled smile and faint purr make me forget how big he is. How sharp his fangs and claws are. Big cats are just like domestic ones, aren’t they?

He cleared his throat to catch my attention. My ears shoot up automatically, alert and ready as if I’m in flight or fight. My body isn’t ashamed of showing what emotions it’s feeling. It wants to be as clear as possible.

“What did you want to talk to me about, Mr. Santifelon?” I asked with a shaky voice, praying he didn’t notice.

“Beau, you are an interesting beast,” he looked me up and down. “I’ve never seen a beast like you, tell me, how difficult is your life?”

I couldn’t stop my ears from lowering. All in a mix of embarrassment, discomfort, and anger. I know I’m different just by how other beasts look at me. Like I’m deformed. But for him to ask such a question… It makes me want to shut his pompous snout.

“Oh, it’s…” I inhale, treading away from his heeding gaze to hide a glare. “…hard.”

I look up at him, my mind screaming to insult him as if he isn’t the superintendent. Fortunately, I know how to control my temper. His concerned gaze. That curious expression. I can’t get it out of my head. That question pissed me off, but I can feel my anger slowly fading.

“Any beast I ask to make friends with agrees out of pity, Mr. Santifelon,” I sigh. “It isn’t a real friendship. I can’t go out alone; I’m terrified.”

“How interesting. A beast like myself can’t relate to someone like you,” he gives me a gentle smile. “And, please, call me Leo.”

I look at him with a blank stare. Call him by his first name. Something incredibly disrespectful, and he offers me to do it? A feeling in my gut rises the fur on my neck. I can’t place my paw on it, yet I should consider it.

“Okay, Leo,” I obeyed, his name feeling weird in my mouth.

He nodded and smiled. Everywhere I’ve heard what other beasts call him. He doesn’t take any disrespect. Expects every student to be perfect in behavior. If that were true, he’d probably yell at me so much for stuttering and breaking eye contact. But he doesn’t. Maybe beasts exaggerated the rumors?

Something is telling me not to let this go. If only that something told me why.

“Let me share about myself. I’m Leo Santifelon, I live alone…”

I hear him ramble on about his life. His father wanted him to be an army sergeant. He wasn’t a good beast, so he cut ties with him completely. His dark, sad childhood makes me connect with him somehow.

The world shunned him. He fears the outside world. He longs for a different life. Away from a strong masculinity and into a simple life. This giant, vicious beast is a delicate flower.

“Beau,” he takes a deep breath. “You look identical to my dearest. We regrettably drifted apart.”

Figuring out what ‘dearest’ meant, that gut feeling came back again even stronger. It was such a weird question for someone like him to say to someone like me. I push it away, putting it deep inside my head. I’m not letting my paranoia bother me this time.

“Oh, is that so? How… coincidental.”

“Yes… but let us push the sadness away,” his eyes constrict. “I need to know things that are very important.”

“…Important?”

“Beau, do you know how to defend yourself?”

My heart gets caught in my throat.

“Are you and your father the only beasts in your house?”

My heart races.

“Are your doors locked?”

I need to get away from him.

I feel like I’m going to suffocate if I stay any longer. With this insane beast. My eyes dart around the hallway. The gray, tiled floors—painted white walls— My classroom door.

“Mr. Santifelon—”

“Leo, please.”

“Sorry, Leo, I really need to go back to class. I wouldn’t like to miss any work…”

He looks at me with a curious expression. I pray that he takes my obvious excuse.

“Alright, then,” he says with a disappointed tone.

After giving an insincere wave, I walk to class in a haste. What was that? How could he ask me such a thing? Changing so quickly. My father’s words echo in my head, mocking me. No matter how kind they seem, any beast can change in a moment.

But that pity feeling comes back up again. He doesn’t know how to communicate so well. He lives alone, lovesick, and lonely. Maybe asking such questions is normal for felidae?

I shake the thoughts away, trying to bring up the courage to walk into class. The thought of the whole class turning their heads to look at me makes me sick. I closed my eyes so tight like my life depended on it, and walked inside. The overwhelming silence hit my ears, making me quickly go to my seat and put my head down.

I’m going to meet Mr. Santifelon again. The thought lingers in my mind. It will be soon.

***

♧ 14 : 47 ♧

My ears flatten as a group of idiots yell and hauler. It’s always chaotic on the way home on the bus, but it being the last day makes it a bullfight.

“What did you guys do?” Duko’s voice sounded beside me, making me remember he was there. “They didn’t make us do much, so we just fetched with a ball; best period of my life.”

“Nothing.”

“…Alright.”

Even though I wasn’t looking at him, I could tell he was looking at me with a suspicious gaze. I know how he’s feeling just by looking at him. He’s starting to figure that out with me. He’s unfortunately getting good at it.

I didn’t usually numbly lay my head on the vibrating window. I was watching the scenery with such a depressive expression and tone.

“So… have you thought about hanging out?”

My eyes widen as my terrors come back to haunt me. It escaped my mind ever since my encounter with Mr. Santifelon, and I wish I didn’t. I could’ve spent all day brainstorming my response.

I can’t seem to form a coherent sentence, let alone a word. It feels like I’m in a court, pressured to admit a disgusting, appalling crime I committed. My crime is being a paranoid cub and a bad friend.

I can’t run from this forever.

“I’m sorry, Duko, but I can’t,” I look down, not having the courage to look him in the eyes. “It’s just too dangerous for someone like me to be around—”

“My family? Me?”

“Why would I be afraid of you?” I accidentally retort in a rude tone.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” his ears flatten. “I’m not going to force you to do anything. I just want to know why.”

“Why what?”

“I understand about my family, you’ve never met them, but me? I’ve known you for years. You know me. I don’t understand why you’re so wary around me.”

I hesitate. It feels like something is stuck in my throat that isn’t allowing me to speak. I avert his gaze, not wanting to look at him.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be asking you to answer something that makes you uncomfortable—”

“I’m becoming paranoid around you,” I confess. “Worried that something or me will cause you to snap. And…”

“…I’ll devour you?”

“Yes.”

We both sit in silence. My head hung low and gazed to the floor. No matter how hard I try, I can’t convince myself that he won’t do such a thing. I know he wouldn’t, but the thought nags at me. My quickened heartbeat and breathing convince me that he will.

“I understand. It’s not like there isn’t a slight chance. We canidae can get a little too hyper and not realize we’re ripping someone apart. Something similar happened to my—”

“I know you wouldn’t do that!” I try to reassure him, clawing at my stupid thoughts.

“Yeah. But if not coming will keep you at peace, don’t come. I don’t want to make you do something you’re afraid of.”

“…Thank you.”

I’m a horrible beast.

We get to my stop and I step off. I wave goodbye to Duko, a bright smile on my face. Of course, he waves back.

I arrive at my house, the familiar scenery hitting me with a wave of tiredness. I’ve been wanting to go home all day and and let my drowsiness drown me in a comforting, warm pool.

“Oh, teddy bear!” My father’s call of my embarrassing nickname makes me flinch. “I have to run some errands; gotta stock up on snacks, eh?”

“…You’re leaving me alone?”

“Oh, just for a little while,” he holds my hand to reassure me. “Don’t open the door for anyone, alright?”

I nod, a bit worried there will be a possibility of a break-in. My father’s giant figure doesn’t give anyone the thought to mess with us.

I wave goodbye as he drives off, walking inside my house. The second I get into my bed, I fall and close my eyes. The darkness takes me into its comforting hold.

***

I wake up in a haze, the light from the moonlight shining against my floor. The sound of the snow falling hit my ears. A soft snowstorm may come soon, and I pray my father comes before it starts.

Hit with hunger, I drag myself down the stairs and into the darkness of my kitchen. It is eerie, but I remind myself that I am in no danger.

The cabinet has fruits that we rarely eat.

The fridge has sodas and a single bottle of water. Not nearly enough to clench my thirst. But it will have to do.

Opening it to take a sip, my nose twitches.

Something isn’t right here.

A new smell has filled my nostrils. It isn’t food. It is familiar but distant in memory. And it’s becoming easier to track because of how closer it is getting.

Traces of fur tracks on the floor. It’s a sandy hue. It smells nothing like a bear. It couldn’t have come from my father.

Someone is in here.

I hurry to the phone, going to call for help. But shock makes me drop everything and fall to my knees in terror.

A tall, broad figure stands in the hallway. Tracks of melted snow scatter across the floor. It stares at me. It wants me. It’s going to get me.

I wish I listened to that something.

[ohc-and-the-music-tapes-archive]

Recording of the Music Tapes live performance, 1999 (possibly 7 May), Echo Lounge, Atlanta, GA.

set list:

0:00 “Freeing Song by Reindeer” performed with Mechanized Organ Playing Tower

3:23 “The Television Tells Us” performed by Static

7:59 “Song of Nomad Lost” 

10:30 “Nomad Tell Us” performed with Clapping Hands and The 7-Foot-Tall Metronome

15:25 “ Please Hear Mr. Flight Control” performed with Clapping Hands

20:10 “Song for Oceans Falling” 

26:50 “Aliens” performed with Clapping Hands and The 7-Foot-Tall Metronome

29:20 “Tornado Longing for Freedom” 

33:58 Talking about laser mics and House Capsule Tour 

34:57 “An Orchestration Overture” performed with Static and The 7-Foot-Tall Metronome

36:40 “Song for the Death of Parents”

[chansaw]

wait omg i am so so interested in the superpowers au. would love to hear more about any of their powers, how they feel about them, any big moments in the au.... really anything you feel like sharing i am SO interested

(got another anon asking the same thing so!! 2x response combob)

anyways sorry i didnt answer this yesterday but as you may be able to guess my personal life is kind of a shitshow right now. but nevertheless. silly persisted.

anyways: here's some info on the characters! this might get long and im not sorry.

natalie: the three-year anniversary of her trigger event rolls around a few days before the team wins states. not that anyone else knows that, of course. nobody knows the full story behind mr. scatorccio's death, and that suits nat just fine. kevyn's the only one who knows about her powers: she can shoot balls of fire from her hands. they can be as small as a golf ball or as large as a soccer ball, depending on how much effort she puts in. if she really focuses on precision, she can fire them like bullets. not that she really has much use for them in her everyday life beyond lighting cigarettes... but once they're stranded in the wilderness, it's a whole other story.

lottie: as she stumbles from the flaming wreckage, lottie only has one thought: i should have seen this coming, i should have known, i should have done something, and something in her mind suddenly clicks into place. unsurprisingly, she's a precog. she has to actively work to make sense of her flashes and glimpses of the future, and she can't answer every question accurately. for example, she knows they'll eventually be rescued - but she doesn't know how long it'll take or who makes it out alive. more reliably, she also has the ability to instinctively sense danger before it happens, like a spidey-sense.

taissa: after they escape the plane, nobody recognizes tai at first. she looks.... different. radiant like an olympian; her varsity jacket looks a size too small on her toned frame. and oh, yes, she's at least twenty years older.

"tai?" jackie says in disbelief when she sees her carrying an unconscious van in her arms.

and taissa's about to respond when she's engulfed by a puff of bright light, and suddenly she's her normal teenage self again, and she and van both crumple to the ground.

tai's basically like shazam, except she has no control over when she switches (and even once she gets the hang of that, there's no telling how long the switch may last). additionally, she doesn't retain much of her memory of what she does while she's transformed (and what she does remember is hazy). but in that state, she has the classic superman power package: flight, invulnerability, and super strength. she's faster, too, but importantly not a speedster; her top speed is a few hundred miles an hour. she's only able to fly/run far enough to confirm that they're absolutely surrounded by mountains and trees, with no other signs of civilization for thousands and thousands of miles.

misty: her powers trigger as she tightens the improvised belt-tourniquet around ben's leg and tries to stem his gushing blood. when she places her hand on his thigh, information suddenly flows into her mind: she's amputated right where the femur meets the tibia, smashing his patella and the surrounding tendons and ligaments, but she can rejoin the cells of his muscular tissue if she reaches just so.... and she watches as the skin around the wound knits itself back together and the blood stops pouring out. misty's powers are basically the same as amy dallon/panacea's from worm: an innate understanding of and complete control over the biology of anything she touches. like amy, she uses them primarily as healing powers at first... but one night, while she turns over to sleep, she brushes another girl's head by accident, and she sees. she can see all of the neurons and mental pathways and synapses in her brain, all hers to bend and shape if she pleases. and that's when shit gets weird.

van: van's powers don't trigger until the agonizing pain of the wolves' teeth rending her flesh, exposing muscle and bones, and she blacks out, and when she comes to again it's not just her face on fire, it's her whole body and it burns it burns it burns - and that's when the powers decide to finally make themselves known. van gains regenerative healing powers akin to deadpool's - her body can knit itself back together, but the process is slow, and it's not perfect. the wounds from the wolf attack take over 12 hours to close up entirely, and when they do, lines of scar tissue still permanently mark her face and arms. once she's recovered, van also discovers she can generate a strong forcefield that protects her from the front only, like a knight's shield.

jackie: she watches her pathetic excuse for a fire flicker out. flakes of snow have started to coat the earth around her, but she's too weak to even shiver. the realization that this is it, this is how she's going to die washes over her. she just wants it to be over. she's ready to flicker out like the kindling in front of her and escape.

jackie blinks.

a second later, there's an awful smack as her back makes contact with the hardwood floor of the attic, and she sees shauna bolt upright out of the corner of her eye, and, hold on, she's inside?! shauna's voice is the last thing she hears before she passes out.

misty's able to warm her up on a cellular level and bring her back from the brink of her hypothermia, but she's still cold. the cold's a part of her now, she thinks. the cold is what gave jackie her powers and her life back. she can generate a glassy, eggshell-thin layer of icy armor, and she can fucking teleport. there's obviously limits - one of the first things she tried was to will herself back to wiskayok, with no success. but she can teleport (or blink, as she likes to call it) to any point within a general range of 350 feet (around the size of a football field), and after a bit of practice, she can take other people with her. jackie's ice powers also give her an immunity to the freezing cold, so nat recruits her as a hunting partner, and an assistant on her mission to map out the wilderness and maybe find a way back home.

shauna: she's the only main yellowjacket whose powers i still havent figured out yet. she's a tricky lady to figure out!

i still havent decided whether or not laura lee and the other redshirts (mari, akilah, gen, melissa, etc) will have powers yet lol

side note: while generating powersets, i wanted to make sure i kept in mind that none of the superpowers veered into deus ex machina territory. i really loved the DnD movie's vocal acknowledgment that although magic/powers are badass as fuck, there are limitations, and that powers can't solve every problem. so, in other words, the powers definitely give the girls an edge when it comes to surviving the canadian wilderness, but they still can't release themselves from Its clutches. if that makes sense.

if you have any other burning questions, feel free to fire away!

[aajjks]

😞💔

TPOL!JK

two gunshot wounds. one to the abdomen and the other through your chest.

"Y/NNNNNN!!!" cries yerin who immediately runs back to you and calls the ambulance hotline while local licensed nurses try their best to keep you from bleeding out in the street. "it is done," says the man on the phone before jaekuk hangs up after hearing the happy news. he's sure the two gunshot wounds will have done permanent damage and even if you somehow manage to survive this turmoil of events he's sure you'll never want to be within an inch near jungkook ever again.

"hey, hey, keep your eyes on me, y/n. please. no. don't close your eyes, look at me. LOOK AT ME, PLEASE" says yerin who tries to keep you from going in and out of consciousness. "i...wan...m'mom" you manage to get out before tears fall from your eyes. "i'm so sorry, y/n" whispers yerin who is covered in your blood but she doesn't care because she doesn't want to leave your side. a few minutes later, in comes both an ambulance and the man of the hour, the one to blame in yerin's eyes. "THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!!" she screams at jungkook who is frantically trying to see you.

"HER LIFE WAS FINE BEFORE YOU RUINED IT!! AND NOW LOOK AT HER!! she-she might...her mom was still on the phone" yerin whispers the last part while crying even jungkook is crying. the medical professionals lift your body and put it on the stretcher before taking you in the pick-up truck and jungkook and yerin are right on their tails as they take you to the emergency room to perform surgery on you.

"I NEED TO BE THERE WITH HER! I NEED TO SEE HER, PLEASE!!" yells yerin but the nurses insist that both yerin and jungkook cannot join the surgeons and be there for you like they want to. in a panic, yerin is pacing back and forth, trying to keep her cool by not lashing out at your fiance again. in her eyes, it was all his fault. how could he be selfish and bring you back to his crazy family when you were better off in switzerland with your mother. speaking of your mother, yerin dials her number and calls her to tell her the unfortunate news which sends her in a panic as well.

"oh my God!!" she cries "please, not my little girl. not my only baby. wh-where is jungkook? wasn't he with her?" cries your mother, and yerin glares at jungkook who is trying his best to remain calm. "better yet, why do you insist on ruining her life? you're such a selfish, controlling, and manipulative asshole. you probably planned this with your crazy ass father, huh? SHE HAS A LIFE, JUNGKOOK and now...now she might not have one" cries yerin.

"is that true, jungkook?" asks your mother and yerin shoves jungkook her phone so he could explain himself to your heartbroken mother. "jungkook, if she doesn't recover from this i..." your mother takes a deep breath. "lola and i just booked a flight to korea, so i'll be there soon. i know you probably feel horrible but just stay strong, okay? both of you. be strong for y/n. i'll be there soon"

Jungkook feels his heart will explode when he hears yerin’s words and especially when she shoves the phone in his chest and he hears your mother’s voice.

“I-I…” he is crying uncontrollably, he feels like he will throw up. “I-It’s all b-because of me… Mrs l/n..” he cannot get the image of you on the hospital bed all bloodied out of his mind.

It’s all his fault. “I-I’m so… I-I’m so sorry..” there’s no one to comfort him… you’re not here… you’re on the verge of dying all because of him. Jungkook gives the phone back to yerin and walks away from the hospital hallway.

He is running, he’s crying.

“Y-Yn!” He screams out your name as he’s outside of the hospital, he falls on the ground, sobbing. All he can see is your beautiful smile, and your pretty face.

And then his crying turns into agonizing screams. He knows who’s responsible for what’s happened to you. Jungkook lets his tears fall, as he stares on his bloodied coat.

“IM GOING TO KILL YOU JEON JAEKUK.” He screams out, people are staring at him but he doesn’t care, he won’t calm down until he feels the blood drops of his father’s blood splash on his face.

He’s not Junghyun, he’s not going to kill himself until he kills his bastard father. And with that, the long haired man stands up, and takes out his car keys.

He’s got his phone on his hands and he dials a phone number. “W-When is his flight going to land???” He growls into the phone as he sits in his car.

“Good.” That’s all he says before driving off to his penthouse to pick up his gun.

Jungkook is absolutely murderous right now and this time you’re not here to stop him.

Jeon Jaekuk will die.

[patrickcharlton-oshea-author]

Waging War: An Age of Steam and Sorcery Novel. Chapter Seven.

The process for Warren’s implant went off without a hitch. He was transferred to a different bed by a pair of strong but gentle nurses, which flipped him onto his front and supported him comfortably. His face rested in a hole in the pillow, which combined with the drugs left him feeling like he was nestled in cotton wool.

A cold spray on the nape of his neck surprised him, Warren had been used to feeling nothing from the rest of his body. The sensation faded quickly as the numbing agent in the antiseptic got to work. Warren felt a weight press on the back of his neck and a pins and needles-like sensation spread through the area.

“Ok, the next part goes into your brain, so we’re going to need to monitor you closely for this bit,” the anesthesiologist explained. “The implant will be connecting to your neurons directly and people have reported a stinging in their limbs as it does. You can’t feel your extremities with the severed spine, but these pain signals will be coming from inside your brain. Sorry, I’d let you sleep through it if I could. I will be watching your pain levels though, and  can up the dose if it starts to hurt.”

“If it means I get to feel something, I’ll take it,” Warren mumbled from his face hole. “Please get started.” Even behind the drugs he could feel the irritation beginning to bubble up.

“We did, five minutes ago,” the surgeon leaned under the bed to look Warren in the eyes. “We’re well past the point of no return. Your implant has bonded nicely with your spine and you should feel the first phantom pains about… now.”

The surgeon was true to his word, the pins and needles spread into the base of Warren’s skull and then swept through his brain. It felt like someone had jabbed an acupuncture needle into each and every nerve end in rapid succession, but only for a tiny fraction of a second. It was as though Warren had streaked through a poison ivy patch then dove into a pool of aloe. He felt his heart race as his fight or flight instinct kicked in but he could neither fight nor flee. All that was left was a seething rage and the unrequitable desire to crash tackle the surgeon.

“God. Damn. OW!” he spat. Whatever else he was going to say was lost as ALL his senses packed it in. No touch, taste, smell or hearing. Proprioception was right out. Balance went on holiday as well, leaving Warren with no sense of up or down. Slowly, everything faded back in, like someone was turning to volume knob on reality back up from zero. 

As his sight came back, Warren found there were a couple of extra features in his vision. A row of icons floated in front of his face demanding his attention. As he was deciding what to do about them the surgeon spoke up again.

“All done. Nurse, he can be released back to the ward. Warren, you should be seeing an instruction manual for the implant,” the business-like tone came from somewhere behind Warren’s back. “Strike that, I know you can see it, because I can see what you see.”

“Doesn’t that violate the anti-sequestration laws?” Warren’s father asked, having arrived some time during his micro-blackout.

“No, this is medical equipment and can only read the output of the implant,” the surgeon explained. “We can’t inject impulses to control his body. This sort of thing is heavily regulated and anyone even suspected of puppeteering someone will be lucky if they ever see the light of day again.”

“Oh, well that’s fine then,” Mr MacGregor harrumphed. “When will my boy be able to get back to studying?”

Warren didn’t hear the response, the back and forth between the adults and his rising pain levels combined with his already heightened frustration to hide the rest of the conversation behind a red curtain. Amplifying this already agonising situation, he’d found he couldn’t move his face yet either so he couldn’t let anyone know how much pain he was in. He mentally shoved the icons in his vision to the side where they hovered like gnats in the corner of his vision and willed the one app he had available to open.

The Age Of Steam and Sorcery. 

Warren’s world went white, the pain shut off and he found himself floating in a warm pearlescent void. The void wafted and swirled, giving the impression of clouds lit from an unknown source. Warren revelled in the comfort. For the first time in months he was completely pain free. He lifted his hand to his face, fascinated by his ability to do so, and found it to be stark white and featureless, glossy though not reflecting anything specific. He tried walking, but there was no ground to set his feet on. That didn’t stop him flailing his legs about from the sheer joy of being able to feel his legs.

With his anger supplanted by happiness at having a functional body, even if it wasn’t the one he was born in, Warren spun and twirled mid-void, poking himself and waving every limb he could. Eventually though, this began to become boring and he looked around for more stimulation. 

“How do I play this game?” he wondered out loud. “Start? Open game? Begin? Alexa, play The Age of Steam and Sorcery on my implant?”

A gigantic billboard with a Steampunk motif emerged from the mists. It dwarfed Warren’s new body and the glow of the gas lamps that illuminate the words outshone the glow of the void. 

Countdown to Launch: was written in massive gothic font and below it was a series of nixie tubes the size of Andre the Giant. The first four were dark, the remaining showed the numerals 22:12:05.

Tomorrow morning at… ten? Warren did the mental math. I can’t play until then. Fine, I’ll see what’s happening in the real world.

Real life returned in what cinematographers call an iris wipe. Beginning in the centre of his vision, rippling out to the edge in a perfect circle, the glowing void was replaced by a hospital scene filled with angry faces. Warren’s irritation returned in a heartbeat. What’ve they got to be mad about? I’m the one trapped in this body.

“You know we can see what you see, boy,” Warren’s father growled. “Why were you messing about with that game rather than reading the instruction manual like you were told?”

“Because you lot were arguing and not paying any attention to the one person in the room with a broken spine.” Warren raged. “You know, the person in constant agony who’s stuck immobile in a bed, never to play football ever again? Me, in other words?”

Warren’s mother looked stricken and whispered to the anaesthetist. “Can we increase his dose now? Let him sleep for a bit?”

The anaesthetist didn’t bother whispering. “Now that the implant has fully bonded with your nervous system, we don’t need drugs anymore Mrs MacGregor. Not for this, anyway.” He fiddled with a small tablet on his arm and Warren’s pain abated instantly. “With medical authorisation we can now turn off pain signals to the brain. It’s a lot more effective and has fewer side-effects.”

“Fine, not in pain anymore,” Warren grumbled loudly. “I still can’t move, I’m still covered in bandages and I’m sure have several internal injuries you’re not telling me about.”

The surgeon’s eyes widened briefly before his stoic expression returned. “How do you know about…? Never mind. Yes. You will be our guest for a bit longer, Warren. Until we are sure that you will not experience another internal bleed and that your other injuries are healed enough for you to go home.”

“Can I at least get some sleep?” Warren whined. “I’m tired.”

“Sleep boy,” his father huffed. “We will be expecting big things from you tomorrow though.” He turned to the anaesthetist. “You can do that, right?’

The anaesthetist nodded and Warren’s world faded to black.

The black wasn’t complete, however. The icons from his implant persisted and now there was a timer counting down over the one for The Age. Blinking in the corner of Warren’s pseudo-sight was the icon for a document, the instruction manual he’d ignored earlier. He perused the manual briefly, but most of it boiled down to “think about it and it will happen, if it doesn’t happen it’s because you don’t have the app or you don’t have signal”. Since he was in the hospital and in a VIP wing, there was little chance he’d ever be out of signal range and his family’s funds meant it was unlikely he’d be unable to access an app if he wanted to. One thing he couldn’t do, no matter how hard he thought about it, was speed up the timer though.

Even though the pain was gone, Warren didn’t have anything resembling a physical form as things stood. Rather than wait in the formless void with nothing to do but read like a nerd, he returned to the waiting screen of The Age Of Steam and Sorcery. At least there he had a body, of sorts. He found, after a while, that through concentration he could put his feet on something resembling a floor. He sat on that floor for a bit, then stood and paced for a while. He tried running, but the not-body avatar he was in just stumbled and he returned to floating when it fell. It was incredible having something akin to a body, but in the end it wasn’t HIS body and it was ultimately disappointing.

As the last seconds ticked down, Warren felt a flutter in his virtual stomach. He knew intellectually he couldn’t feel his real stomach, but the butterflies he felt didn’t seem to care. The moment the clock hit zero he was plunged into a pool of amber liquid, bubbles swirling around his body. He briefly imagined diving into a glass of beer before it crystalised into an icosahedron with every face showing a different race of fantasy creature. They were all variants of himself, but none interested him. Warren wanted nothing more than to be himself.

As though responding to his deepest wishes, the icosahedron spun to show him a man with his face, encased in shining full plate armour that somewhat resembled his football armour. Warren and the figure reached out and clasped each other by the forearm and nodded to each other in respect.

Frothy amber liquid swirled around Warren and the armoured figure as they merged into one, then Warren sat up in a fountain inside what looked like a cave.

[smokeybrandcompositions]

The Shield

The Tyre Nichols situation is an absolute clown-show to me, for a myriad of reasons, but, specifically, how fast these cops were arrested and indicted for straight up murder charges. Don’t misunderstand my blase reaction to another police assassination as me dismissing the fact that Tyre lost his life. I would never do that and, please believe, i am violently incensed that we keep coming back here. However, it's not lost on me that these cops were swiftly thrown under the bus when every other case that makes the news, gets diminished or outright dismissed. I wonder why? You know EXACTLY why. I’ve seen outlets framing this as black-on-black crime and i don’t even understand how that is relevant to this case. So what if the cops were black, they were COPS. Police Officers did this. Individuals charged to protect and serve, brutalized a young black man to death, over a goddamn traffic stop. This is deadly abuse of police power, violent cop egos out of control, who just happen to be black because, in this circumstance, they are very much blue. Until they’re not.

Police brutality is rampant in Tennessee. Cops overreach all of the time, be it intimidation at a routine traffic stop because you don’t have the Jesus license plate or outright murder in more cases than you’d think, and it's kind of gotten worse. You don’t hear about a lot of these situations because Tennessee is experiencing a bit of a “Conservative Renaissance”. There is substantial White Flight from the Coasts to places like the Middle and Southern US because, you know, the white people. Tennessee happens to be one of the most prominent. That and Idaho for some reason. I don’t understand it, I'm black as f*ck, so it’s whatever to me. But so is Tennessee. There are A LOT of black folks in the sate and most of them are severely impoverished. Most people there, are. That’s why everything is so cheap and so ripe for the whitewash. Race relations in Tennessee were already dog sh*t but, with the influx of new white people comes new white money and, more to the point, new white fears. When Ben Shapiro moves his entire Daily Wire hate machine to Tennessee, you gotta protect that investment aggressively, even if Ben’s wife’s puss is as dry as Death Valley. Or, at least, keep up appearances that you’re “policing” and you do that by beating the sh*t out of the blacks.

The death of Tyre Nichols isn’t a bug, it’s a feature. Policing in Tennessee has been this violent and cruel among the black communities for years. Those cops really adhere to their runaway slave catching roots in that sense. The fact that these cops were black, doesn’t matter. There is a distinct delineation between those with a badge and those without, in Tennessee. The Blue Wall of Silence is one of the hardiest in the Volunteer State. That’s why it’s macabrely hilarious that these five cops were snatched up, fired, and locked up so quickly. That fact, alone, proves the racial divide so goddamn clearly, you’d have to willfully look away from reality in order to disingenuously frame this situation any other way. These black cops thought they would get the white cop treatment for killing a young black kid, but found out that they are still just n*ggas in a coupe. We all know if white cops did this, they’d be out on administrative leave, the police fraternity would close ranks and “investigate” themselves, only for the offending officers to either be cleared of all charges or quietly dismissed with their full benefits, just to resurface as an active duty officer in some other state. Probably Florida. That’s where the rest of the country apparently jettisons their trash lately. The cops who committed this horror were black, yes, but now that they traded in their Dress Blues for Felony Orange, they’re just more examples of why Ben Shapiro needs such a strong police presence in his newfound hometown. Gotta protect Mrs. Sahara Shapiro from all the n*gga boogie men with the most excessive force possible, even if they were once protected by that ever present Blue Shield.

[smokeybrand]

The Shield

The Tyre Nichols situation is an absolute clown-show to me, for a myriad of reasons, but, specifically, how fast these cops were arrested and indicted for straight up murder charges. Don’t misunderstand my blase reaction to another police assassination as me dismissing the fact that Tyre lost his life. I would never do that and, please believe, i am violently incensed that we keep coming back here. However, it's not lost on me that these cops were swiftly thrown under the bus when every other case that makes the news, gets diminished or outright dismissed. I wonder why? You know EXACTLY why. I’ve seen outlets framing this as black-on-black crime and i don’t even understand how that is relevant to this case. So what if the cops were black, they were COPS. Police Officers did this. Individuals charged to protect and serve, brutalized a young black man to death, over a goddamn traffic stop. This is deadly abuse of police power, violent cop egos out of control, who just happen to be black because, in this circumstance, they are very much blue. Until they’re not.

Police brutality is rampant in Tennessee. Cops overreach all of the time, be it intimidation at a routine traffic stop because you don’t have the Jesus license plate or outright murder in more cases than you’d think, and it's kind of gotten worse. You don’t hear about a lot of these situations because Tennessee is experiencing a bit of a “Conservative Renaissance”. There is substantial White Flight from the Coasts to places like the Middle and Southern US because, you know, the white people. Tennessee happens to be one of the most prominent. That and Idaho for some reason. I don’t understand it, I'm black as f*ck, so it’s whatever to me. But so is Tennessee. There are A LOT of black folks in the sate and most of them are severely impoverished. Most people there, are. That’s why everything is so cheap and so ripe for the whitewash. Race relations in Tennessee were already dog sh*t but, with the influx of new white people comes new white money and, more to the point, new white fears. When Ben Shapiro moves his entire Daily Wire hate machine to Tennessee, you gotta protect that investment aggressively, even if Ben’s wife’s puss is as dry as Death Valley. Or, at least, keep up appearances that you’re “policing” and you do that by beating the sh*t out of the blacks.

The death of Tyre Nichols isn’t a bug, it’s a feature. Policing in Tennessee has been this violent and cruel among the black communities for years. Those cops really adhere to their runaway slave catching roots in that sense. The fact that these cops were black, doesn’t matter. There is a distinct delineation between those with a badge and those without, in Tennessee. The Blue Wall of Silence is one of the hardiest in the Volunteer State. That’s why it’s macabrely hilarious that these five cops were snatched up, fired, and locked up so quickly. That fact, alone, proves the racial divide so goddamn clearly, you’d have to willfully look away from reality in order to disingenuously frame this situation any other way. These black cops thought they would get the white cop treatment for killing a young black kid, but found out that they are still just n*ggas in a coupe. We all know if white cops did this, they’d be out on administrative leave, the police fraternity would close ranks and “investigate” themselves, only for the offending officers to either be cleared of all charges or quietly dismissed with their full benefits, just to resurface as an active duty officer in some other state. Probably Florida. That’s where the rest of the country apparently jettisons their trash lately. The cops who committed this horror were black, yes, but now that they traded in their Dress Blues for Felony Orange, they’re just more examples of why Ben Shapiro needs such a strong police presence in his newfound hometown. Gotta protect Mrs. Sahara Shapiro from all the n*gga boogie men with the most excessive force possible, even if they were once protected by that ever present Blue Shield.

[ohc-and-the-music-tapes-archive]

The Music Tapes at St. Mary's College, 18 May 2000.

Set list:

0:02:01 Freeing Song by Reindeer

0:05:48 Song by Rodan of Tokyo

0:12:09 Song for Oceans Falling

0:19:09 The Minister of Longitude

0:24:43 Aliens

0:30:08  fixing keyboard + talk about dream about David Hasselhoff

0:34:44 something instrumental, introduced as Nimbus Stratus Cirrus

0:40:35 Enlightenment

0:45:47 story

0:49:53 The Television Tells Us

0:54:40 Nomad Tell Us

1:00:41 Song Of The Nomad Lost

1:03:20 Please Hear Mr. Flight Control

1:09:16 An Orchistrations Overture

1:10:57 Song for the Death of Parents

1:14:38 What The Single Made The Needle Sing

This is SUCH a cool recording it’s over a decade old and you get to hear some music tapes classics