#Star-Studded Static

[rebellovesrobots]

[btsmosphere]

Supercharged | JJK

Epilogue: Sweet Taste

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🗲summary: It starts with a blow to the chest that changes your life. When your city’s most celebrated hero pays a visit, it turns out the noble Bolt has no trouble tossing lives aside. Lives that won't be missed. Lives like yours. Seven mysterious and powerful men give you another chance – one that starts to feel more like a curse the moment you meet golden boy Jungkook. The boy who wants you as far from his brothers as he can get you. Is it you he hates, or the blue lightning that now runs through your veins? And could it be his golden light that illuminates your heart when darkness threatens? 🗲this chapter: How it all boiled down.

🗲pairing: jungkook x female reader 🗲word count: 1k 🗲genre: angst, action, eventual fluff, enemies to lovers, slow burn, superheroes/villains au, found family 🗲rating: pg15 🗲warnings: mentioned death, violence, weapons

a/n: and with this, we've reached the end of supercharged!! that is surreal to me🤯here's a reminder to those of you who may have already reblogged the masterlist to keep on your blog for reference (I'm honoured!), you may want to reblog it again now it's completed so all the links are there! since reblogged posts aren't updated on this wonderful site lol🤡 I also want to give a sincere thank you to everyone who had read, especially those who left even a single comment, reblog, tag or ask. this story was a lot of work but also a lot of fun and I'm so happy now I finally shared it! to hear anyone enjoyed it makes it all worth it😊you guys are the absolute best! I hope you enjoyed the ride, though there's still the epilogue to go👀 let me know what your favourite moment of this series has been!💜💜

“More information has emerged after celebrated hero, Bolt, was found murdered in his home yesterday. Another beloved hero, Monsoon, also fell in the same battle.

“The anonymous attackers, who many theorists have already connected with the lair attacked by a monster earlier the same day, have sent several records to our studio, apparently taken from Bolt’s home. They have… requested that we display these on air.”

The screen cut away from the reporter’s face to a series of photographs. Weapons laid out, one by one, labelled in Namjoon’s handwriting with the locations they were stolen from, and the purpose each one served.

Next, a map with several red crosses marked on it; the places Bolt had attacked, and several more he planned to. Your home was one of them.

There were other files on the drive Jin had mailed to them. Detailing Bolt’s plans, his building of weapons and allowing them to be used to justify his ‘confiscation’. Jin had been careful not to record too much, but it painted a grim picture nonetheless. Had Bolt been preparing to rule the city?

You knew there would be people out there who would never shake their star-studded image of Bolt. But there would be others ready to see him for the monster he was. All that mattered was that you had all shaken up the grip he held over this city.

The last clip that jumped on screen was from only the night before. Of course, Bolt had cameras. And, in the end, it had turned out to be most useful to you.

“Flush out the rats and they’ll have nowhere left to run.”

The dark, fuzzy image shifted into static. The next voice was your own.

“You did this to me.”

Another cut.

“You were nothing before I gave them to you…”

It faded to black again. Good. It was past time for the people to start questioning the man they had idolised for too long. The man who would have thrown their lives away, too, the moment they happened to be in his way.

The reporter’s face returned, looking grave.

“This has left citizens wondering: who was Bolt really? Was he truly as heroic as he seemed?

“But it remains to be seen how we can stay safe in the wake of his demise.

“Next up, we report from the scene of a spate of attacks in the early hours since the hero’s death was announced. And stay tuned to hear from the families who say their loved ones died needlessly when working for Bolt-”

The screen flashed off and you turned to find Hope lowering the remote, hand on hip.

“Good to know the tv still works!” he beamed.

Snorting, you followed him over to the kitchen. The table had been set upright again. All in all, the scene was only partially being lit by the hole in the roof, most of which Jimin had already pieced back together.

An intimidating amount of dust and debris remained to be cleared, but you were sure Yoongi would just hide it by making the space look extra bright and fresh until someone could be bothered to pick up a vacuum cleaner (which may well be buried itself).

Oh yes – Yoongi. You were sure he would be playing his usual lighting tricks again… once he was strong enough. After seeing to Bolt’s fate, he was the first place you had all run to. Hobi and V had already been at his side. You remembered the crushing dread in your chest at seeing their faces, the tightness with which you squeezed Jungkook’s hand.

All you had to do to quell the memory of that feeling was cast your eyes over your white-haired friend. He sat at the table, sagging a little wearily onto his elbows, but grinning begrudgingly up at a giggling Jin and Jimin.

He was alright.

Jungkook sat across from the injured Yoongi, staring just as intently. You knew the protective fire that burned in him for his team, because the same one lived in you. And you had walked through that fire enough times, finally ending up on the right side of it.

Sliding into the seat beside him, you wordlessly put your hand on his back. Let it drift to circle his waist.

Jungkook’s fingers loosened their death grip on his mug, gaze shifting to you. You felt his sigh more than heard it, his back relaxing where you held it. Together you shared a smile.

Although perhaps it wasn’t quite as private as you first thought, because a second later Jin was thumping another mug loudly onto the tabletop. Jumping, you sheepishly turned away from Jungkook and accepted the drink Jin pushed towards you.

“Right!” The eldest clapped his hands to gather attention now that you were all here. “Y/N and I have made some good progress checking inventory. The ceiling seems to be… looking up!” (you all groaned as he erupted into his squeaky laugh) “We’ll be settled back in in no time – with no one to bother us.”

“Quite,” Namjoon agreed. For perhaps the first time, when he turned to face you, you were certain you read pride there. “With Bolt and Monsoon out of the picture, we’ll let Pheonix take their place.”

“So, nothing much to worry about at all!” Jimin chimed in, to a round of chuckles. Even Namjoon gave him an indulgent smile.

A grin of your own on your face, you sipped your drink, welcoming its flavour which nestled beside the sweet taste of revenge curled in your gut. Even with a gap letting fresh air in through the roof, you felt warm all over. Mostly from the heat of the arm pressed against yours.

You couldn’t imagine keeping your distance from Jungkook ever again. Having been victim of his fierce fight so many times, you knew you could always rely on it now he stood by your side.

Thank you for coming with me on this journey💜What was your favourite moment?

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@oddinary4bts @svnbangtansworld @ktownshizzle @minisugakoobies @jksusawife

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[deancaspinefest]

all that we intend

Author: dothraki_shieldmaiden | Artist: NeverSleepUntilFive

Posting on Tuesday March 26

When Dean Winchester met Castiel Novak in college they were both headed for amazing things: Dean was a rising star in the art world while Cas was a promising medical student. Now, thirteen years and one marriage later, none of those dreams have come true. Cas works twelve hour shifts as a nurse while Dean works as a mechanic, his art supplies wasting away in a dusty room. With his marriage to Cas on rocky ground, Dean starts to feel like he made a mistake all those years ago. A chance encounter and a hasty wish land Dean in another world -- one where his art career is skyrocketing him to fame and fortune... And one where he never married Cas. Now Dean has to make a decision -- whether to go back to Cas and his mundane life, or whether to stay... and lose Cas forever.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

Just to the side, off hospital property, a street vendor has set a table up. A very familiar street vendor.

“You,” Dean snarls, almost jogging in his haste to get to the man. The vendor looks up from his phone, a smirk spreading across his face when he sees Dean. Not even Dean’s hand shooting out and grabbing the front of his shirt can dim his superior expression.

Aware of the eyes on him, Dean avoids slamming that smug face into the table, but it’s a struggle. “You,” he repeats, giving the vendor a little shake. “You did this.”

“Afraid you’re going to have to be more specific bucko,” the vendor drawls. “If it was your wife or your sister I knocked up, then honestly, they should be grateful. And even though you are a stud, you’re not really my type, so…”

The last word is elongated into a monstrosity of syllables. Dean’s resolve to not punch the vendor is growing thinner and thinner by the second. His knuckles crack with the strain of holding himself back.

“This,” he finally spits, dragging out the pendant from underneath his shirt. “You gave me this and told me some bullshit story about how it could grant wishes.”

“Hm,” the vendor says, making a big show of pondering. He even taps his chin with the tip of his index finger, the absolute fuckwit. “Doesn’t seem so much like it was bullshit, now does it?”

For just one moment, Dean’s brain is wiped blissfully blank. He doesn’t even have the background noise of static to distract him. There’s just… nothing, but then reality intrudes in the form of someone laying on the horn when the person in front of them lingers for a split-second too long at a green light.

“You’re insane,” he finally says, bringing his brain back online. “There’s no such thing as�� As…”

The vendor raises one supremely smug eyebrow. “No? Then explain why your husband just treated you like the annoying kid at a high school reunion.”

Furious, Dean clenches his jaw. He starts and immediately slaughters at least half a dozen sentences. The truth... The awful truth that he can't admit to himself is that there is no rational explanation. Not even his most far-fetched notions explain the phone call, Cas and Meg’s behavior, and the disappearance of his wedding ring.

Nothing except the impossible, that is.

(continue reading on Ao3 on Tuesday March 26)

[cha0s-boyy]

1-800-CASH-NOW and loverboy refs!

[ID: two digital reference sheets of animal characters. the first is labeled, "1-800-CASH-NOW" and features a long, yellow, six-legged, catlike creature with spiky sunshine-shaped fur on its cheeks, chest, and tail tip. it has green eyes and a wide grin with straight teeth. its ears have a gold gradient on them and end in star shapes, and its tail has a green gradient. the ref has one large image of it, one small anthro version of it in the lower corner, and four extra drawings of its face. annotations on the page give the further information: "It/its. TV Demon??? can use mouth like a speaker or talk normally. mouth can move somewhat, not too much. proportions and size can change. also color. and can be anthro. floats!" it also points out that its extra pair of limbs are forelegs, and the colors on its tail can be clear steps or can be gradient. the background is very busy, covered in tiny green money symbols. the second ref is labeled "loverboy" and features a purple anthro wolf reminiscent of old cartoons. his ears and tail have squared off ends, he has triangular cheek fur, and has a heart-shaped white mask around his face. there are a fullbody profile and front view, as well as several annotated close-ups on different body parts. the annotations give the further information: "He/him. Wolf. Full name Sweet Lover Boy. stud earrings (stylized as floating). ears and tail have flat ends. snout triangular from front (not flat at end). human-like hands (fingers, no paw pads). heart face functions as eyebrows. often has eye bags. eyes can be old toon style or your style; black or blue. wearing clothes (still purple underneath)". the background is busy, with purple static and many tiny translucent hearts. /end ID]

[seedofjoseph]

but you choose death and company

Fandom: Far Cry 5

Pairing: John Seed x F!Deputy

Raiting: E (explicit)

Words: 3700

Warning: dub-con, intoxication, bondage, blood & injury, guilt-tripping, gaslighting, love-bombing & other indoctrination tactics

John Seed hasn't been seen on his ranch since the snow slid off of the rooftops this spring. Since the day began to grow and the night all but withered away, he has been sowing fear and reaping rewards.

The moon looks on in silence as he unloads an armory's worth of bullets into your sanctuary: Spread Eagle Bar.

"If you want your drink," Mary May Fairgrave coughs, emerging from the smoke. "John's serving it at Seed Ranch," she hisses as you hold her, skin still sizzling from the Molotov cocktail that burned down her life. "Son of a bitch reaped my entire supply."

Not a single star hears your death wish over the angry roar of your engine.

"I know you're parched," John Seed slurs over the static. "I know there's nothing like a cold drink after a hot summer's day of sinning," he breathes down your neck, out the radio receiver on your shoulder, as any suicide co-pilot would. "You want seconds? Thirds? I've got enough to last you the Collapse, so won't you share one with me, Deputy?"

Just as rumoured, the Reaper is nowhere to be seen on Seed Ranch. There is no trace of humans welcoming the trespasser either. There is nobody but the cold moon to spot you sneaking across, up, and onto a balcony. And there he is, in the warm light of the master bedroom, the beacon in the night.

"Deputy?"

Or, rather, a pale reflection of the Baptist who had you hooked with piercing blue eyes from star-studded waters all those nights ago. Tonight, he looks to you like a faded photograph, like a man drowning in shallow waters. Even his eyes shine like the moon, like a mere mirror of the sun.

"Welcome," he throws his heavy hands towards the ceiling. "To your atonement," he dropped them to his hips, but they slipped on the silky robe falling in blue waves on his sides. "You're here," his voice is small, like he is on his last breath. "You're really here."

Tonight, he looks like Death.

Drawing your handgun, you step out of the night and into the light. "You invited me."

"And you RSVPed," he blinks, his wax face melting before your solid apparition. Slowly raising his hands from where they hung like weights at his sides, he points to the silver tray floating on a sea of blue sheets. "Thirsty? You must be thirsty."

Drawing closer, you take note of the lack of a holster under his robe, and you don't jot down the absence of undergarments. But you can't help taking in the black ink on the white canvass of his calves that are being revealed to you as he turns on his heels. Or the sway in his step on the short walk to the bed.

"And you must be drunk."

"Nine years," he snarls, snatching two full glasses and swiveling around. With his face now reddening at the edges, he starts spitting fire and almost pours out the alcohol onto the sheets. "Nine years of sobriety down the fucking drain," he empties one glass and stretches his arm out towards you with the other. "Because of you. You've done this. All of this," he narrows his eyes, struggling to stare you down. "You've lit a fire inside me, Wrath. Which lit a bigger fire in Fall's End, which-"

You cock the gun. "You steal businesses, you ruin homes, and you take lives," you raised your voice with a vengeance. "You're the one sowing wrath, Seed, and it's about fucking time you reap it." But, before the barrel can rise between his clouded blue eyes, two rifles are pointed at either side of your temple. "What the-"

"Didn't see it coming, did you, Wrath? Hah! You've been blinded by your sin," John Seed raises both hands, one for each sentinel stationed on either side of his balcony. "But I can heal you. I can open up this festering wound, I can fill it up, up, up," he brings the glass back between the two of you. "And I can put this fire out once and for all," he splashes the spirit between your eyes.

"Fuck," you fire off the gun in the darkness behind your burning eyes.

"Fuck," he echoes.

"Brother John," one voice rings in your right ear.

"Your face," a second voice sounds off in your left ear. "Your face is bleeding."

"Fuck my fucking face," John hisses. "Get that fucking gun away from her before she fires off another shot into the equipment."

There are footsteps stampeding all around you and both of your eardrums follow the rhythm. There is also a dark shape blocking the light burning your eyes as you open them.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you hear John hyperventilate. "The FM transmitter is fucking fucked."

"We can still record it."

The shape splits into two: one secures you gun and the other binds your arms behind your back.

"Yes," John's voice gets louder and louder. "Yes, brothers, the camera is still rolling."

Your blood boils hotter and hotter the closer and closer you're being dragged. "Camera?"

"Your atonement is a matter of public safety, Wrath," he sounds suffocatingly close now, like he's breathing down your neck unfiltered by the transmitter. "And of public interest. The fire you've started, your little resistance, needs to be extinguished county-wide and it needs to be done tonight."

Once he gives you back your space, his speech is distant and cold again, like the moon. They are both watching you wrestle the hands pulling yours above your head and pushing them into the matress: "This is the will of the Father."

"Make it a public execution then," you scream to the ceiling, or the skies, or the stars. "Because I won't confess, I won't beg for forgiveness, and I'll die before I say yes," you scream to whoever might be looking down, to whoever your blind eyes can't see.

"And I will die before I martyr you," he sounds questionably sober and definitely wrathful, like the bullet you misfired had brought him back to life.

"I bet you would, Seed," you sound like Wrath herself. "I bet you sent security home and brought along your little camera crew for it," you snarl left and right and all around you at the feeling of your wrists being fastened to the bedpost.

"And I bet you came here with no plan, no backup, and no hope that you'll make it out alive," his words fall heavy on your ears. "But you can beg, and plead and pray all night. I will not damn your soul to hell," his thighs are weights on your torso as he sits astride. "I will descend into the deep dark depths. I will flood you with pain and drown every demon in my wake," he roars over the ripping of your cotton shirt and your spandex sports bra. "I will cleanse you."

"No," you bellow, bucking your hips up into his which rut back into yours. "No," you wail, wiggling your wrists in the rope. "No," you choke, curving your spine and pouring your chest into the cups of his hands.

"Yes," he screams, squeezing your supple flesh. "Yes," he persists, pinching the peaks, pulling them up along with your pitch. "Say yes," he insists, inducing a fever inside of you.

"No," you burn - eyes, body, soul and all.

"Say you want me dead more than you want your barmaid to live," he rages, your fire spreading through him. "Say you want to die taking me down more than you want to live by her side," he releases your breasts only to bring back his hands on them with a slap. "Say it." And another.

"Yes," you cough, your throat tightening. "Yes, bastard, yes," you sob. "Yes, I want to burn with you more than I want to drink with her tonight," you cry, putting out the fire in your eyes.

"Ah," John Seed exhales, cooling off your hot tears. "There she is," he inhales, taking your breath away. "There's my Wrath," he whispers, confesing his own sin in the confines of your open mouth, his thick beard raking up against the sore skin of your chin. "She's really here," he pulls away his face and his hand from yours.

After his withdrawl, your sight returns everything comes into focus: the zoom of the camera lense on your face, the blood red graze of your bullet against his, and the heavenly blue of his eyes. No longer is he reflecting the yellow light hanging from the ceiling. Now it's shimmering with unshed tears and a glow all their own, as the sun itself would.

"You won't regret this," he speaks to you, but his eyes turns to his side. "I promise," he nods, summoning the other santinel along with the silver tray.

"You're not here to surrender your life," he takes a swing of the bottle before bringing to your mouth. "You're here to receive a new one," he wets his lips as yours wrap around the rim. "A life free of sin," he smiles as you suckle. "For I will scrub you clean of every one of them," he pulls away the drink and pours the rest all over your chest. Licking up the liquor with his eyes as it runs between the valley of your breasts, he replaces the empty bottle with a loaded tattoo gun. "Starting with the one you already confessed: wrath. After, we'll go with gluttony since I already indulged you. Then, we see where the night takes us. So, my dear, what do you say?"

With a cleared vision, you watch him. Yet, it isn't what your eyes see that clears your mind, but what you don't see: wrath. There is no wrath lighting the fire in John Seed's sweat-slick chest, or his blow-out eyes, or even the heat of his velvet cock under his silk robe, atop the pit of your burning belly.

With a cleared voice, you speak.

"Yes."

*

John Seed hasn't been sleeping in his own king-sized bed since winter came to an end. Since the sun started rising earlier, so has he. And, at night, he sets alongside it, over the horizon and down into his bunker.

The sun catches you sleeping in the Seed Ranch master bedroom the morning after your atonement. The morning after, the master himself is also spotted in there.

He grumbles, gathering your bandaged body into his arms. "How's the hangover?"

You snort, seeking out his heat through the thin sheet separating your skins. "Believe it or not, I've had worse."

"Oh, but I believe it," he runs one hand across your thrumming temple. "I've also had worse," he grabs a glass with the other. "Only water for you from now on," he offers.

You accept.

The sun catches you drinking in the sight of his Adam's apple bobbing. And your tongue tasting your own lips while his press up against the impression of them on the rim. And it couldn't have missed the buck of his bare hips into your covered crotch. You had just squeezed your thighs around him, your own body betraying your truth as it did throughout the night.

"My dear," he grits his teeth, gripping the glass tight. "What was that about you being a good girl?"

"Oh, John," you suck your bottom lip and squeeze your eyes shut. "I thought you washed away the bad."

Before the sun caught you in bed together, John Seed had carved out of you a confession of carnal desire for Mary May Fairgrave. And for him.

It was the last of the seven sins he exorcised out of you, the sin he exposed between your hipbones, into your womb, and onto a digital camera's memory card. It was the sin he shared with you, just out of frame, as he exorcised it out of himself, exposing his big burning erection to you and erupting between your blood-stained thighs. After your Atonement, he washed away his sin as well as yours with a cold sponge, but not before burning Lust with the salt of the two of them combined.

And now, after the sun caught you, he traces it with trembling fingers through the white sheet and the bloody bandage coming between your bodies.

"I did, didn't I?" He hisses, just as thirsty, hungry, and touch-starved as you. "Yes, I did. This can't be Lust. This can't be sin."

"How is this not sin?"

Because you bled it out all over your scarred stomach and trembling thighs. He scrubbed it clean with his hot seed and a cold sponge. Your body throbbed like you'd been training until your muscles burned, like you were energized by the endorphins flooding your bloodstream. Because the old you died under the moon last night, and a new you was born in the sunlight this morning.

"Because I choked it out," he presses his open palm to your pelvis and his forehead against your own. "And I breathed life into you."

He has to believe that. And you? You also have to believe that. After you gave up your life to be born again, to bleed out on his mattress and wake up in his bed, you have to believe that. You have to believe him.

"Your urges," he sniffs, the smell of you seeping through the sheet. "My urges," he swallows, the taste of you soaking up his tongue. "They are from God."

He has to believe in Him. And you? You have to believe in Him, too. As sure as the sun watches over you this morning, He is your witness. And you have to believe in Him.

"My dear," he brushes his nose up against yours. "As God is my witness, I gave you life," he presses his lips against yours. "I gave you my life," he pushes each word into your mouth. "As God is my witness, you were reborn in my bed last night," he growls, gripping the sheet and the bandage with one hand and ripping them off of your torso.

"Yes," you now share his breath as you've been sharing his bed. "Yes," you now share his breath as his fingers force your windpipe close. "Yes, John, yes," you now choke as he constrains your airwaves.

This can't be sin. You have to believe it. You have to believe him.

You have to believe he'll revive you after strangling the life out of you. You have to believe his deadly hands are scrubbing you clean of sin. And you have to believe his seed is disinfecting your sin as his cock spills it all over your stomach.

"My dear girl," he marvels at you. "You're all clean now," he runs his fingers over the sore spot he just squeezed. "You're pure," he rubs his come into each letter he carved and then mixes it with yours as it pours out of your pussy. "Immaculate."

"Brother John?"

"Yes?"

The door stays closed, but the voice bursts through it all the same. "The Father is requesting permission to land."

"Joseph is here?"

"The Father is here."

*

They can't remember the last time Joseph Seed stepped foot on the ranch. Though they do remember he didn't approve of any alcoholic beverages being stocked in the kitchen pantry or served on silver trays. And John Seed does remember swearing out his sin when he first arrived in Hope County.

"Shh," he smoothes back your shower-soaked hair. "I washed it all away," he towels off your torso, careful not to cause any of your scars to spill. Though he does take his time with Gluttony, the sin he disinfected using the last bottle of your favorite beverage when he spilled it all over the letters on your lower back, turning the liquor into holy water. "Joseph will see that."

And Joseph Seed can't wait to see it.

The voice returns and brings along knuckles rapping at the master bedroom door. "Brother John?"

"Yes?"

"The Father is downstairs."

Slicking back his wet hair, John looks down on you and sees that you are still damp. "If you hadn't shot the FM transmitter, he wouldn't have to be here," he says, eyes burning with a fire that cannot be Wrath, even if the angry scar on his cheek stings of that very sin. It stings of your sin. "He will see that," he repeats himself, retracing the word he carved into your chest and reigniting the pain he used to purify you.

He will see it, just like John said. And he will see it, but not through a thin bedsheet or a bloody bandage. Joseph Seed will see it through a white cotton dress.

"I won't ask if you have a bra laying around," you caress the Eden's Gate cross that is splayed out onto your chest. It doesn't cover your breasts or the nipples which poke at it like needles, and you won't ask who'd worn it before you, even as you trace your Envy tattoo. "But what about-"

"You won't be needing any," he smirks, stuffing himself into a pair of underwear that seems too small for him and too large for you. He smirks because he caught you staring at his bare body, shimmering in the sunlight.

"And you won't be needing shoes either," he answers before you ask, pulling his pants over his boots.

The rapping at the door comes back for an encore.

"Coming," he calls towards the door, his biceps bulging under the blue shirt sleeves he's rolling up. "Come," he calls to you, offering you his arm.

When you stretch out both of yours to meet him, you feel the fastenings you fought against last night and watch your rope-burnt wrists as you wrap them around his forearm.

"Look at you." And when you look up at the man who had you bound to his, you see none of the wrath that he had to wrestle into submission last night. Instead, you see another fire you've ignited within him. "You're perfect."

The morning after your Atonement, you see nothing but clear blue skies and the sun catching in his eyes. And, on the same morning, you see Joseph Seed in daylight for the very first time.

"Good morning," John Seed declares, descending the stairs with you on his arm. But the man on the first level remains reclined in his chair and as silent as the animal trophies on the mantel. "And what a good morning it is. Sorry for keeping you waiting, brother," he hurries to the bottom step and only halts to help you off of it. "There is no rest for the wicked," he holds his breath, holds your hands in the crook of his elbow, and your bare, sore feet on the hard, wood floor. "And this one kept me up all night."

You look up to him, searching for something to cool your nerves inside of his eyes, but failed to find it. The moon wasn't there, nor was the sun, but there was a fire. And they were watching the Father, burning holes into the back of his head as he stood up.

"I see," he speaks but doesn't look back. His eyes are captivated by the camera display, the details of your delay up on the small screen, and under his scrutiny. "You've been working yourself into an early grave, John," he slams the screen shut, the sound of which startles you both. "The last I heard from you was a gunshot," he sets the camera down on the coffee table, right next to a handgun and a badge. "Then, static."

"It was the deputy," John jumps to defend himself, making you jerk. "She was one step away from falling off the edge," he braces himself, bracing his hands where they're gripping him by the bicep. "I pulled her soul away from the precipice of hell itself," he looks at you, at where your fingers are intertwined and where his own joined them. He looks at you and his muscles, along with his nerves, unknot. "I saved her, Joseph. The deputy is dead."

"I see," Joseph speaks. And, following John's line of sight, you arrive at the aviator sunglasses and the light catching in them. "Bring her to me."

This morning, you see Joseph Seed in daylight for the very first time. On the same morning, he sees you, the real you. While you have your white dress to hide behind, there is nothing but yellow glass standing between your body and his naked stare. And while you walk to him with John Seed's warm hands on your shoulders, a chill climbs up your spine in time with his eyes reaching yours from all the way down your bare toes.

"God is watching," he stares you down, lifting your face up with both of his hands. "He saw you opening your heart, shedding your skin, and baring your soul," he descends onto you, his forehead falling atop yours. "He saw you have embraced His gift and He has graced you with a new life," he smothers your nose with his. "Will you trust me with it? Remember God is watching us."

"Yes," John soothes you by spinning circles into your wing bones. "Say yes," he thumbs the Pride tattoo through the thin thin cotton.

"Yes," you whimper into his mouth, which is only a word away. "Yes, Father, yes" you exhale, all the air in your lungs now lost between his lips.

"My child," he inhales and moves his mouth before it can meld with yours. And you're breathless as it presses against your furrowed brow. "The Gates of Eden are now open to you," he exhales over the wet outline of his kiss. "Your Brother John will march you right through."

"Yes, Joseph," John joins in, kissing the crown of your head and compressing your tenderized body between their two hardened ones. "I'll keep her safe," he joins his and the Father's foreheads, sighing in relief and ruffling your hair. "I'll protect our Family."

The sun catches you under the Father's chin, your nose in his shirt collar, and his scent on your tongue. And it couldn't have missed Brother John's hand on your stomach, over the knee-length skirt of your dress, and the still-sore Lust scar. And God sees everything.

The junior deputy was last been seen alive driving over the speed limit in the dead of night. Only the sun and God Himself watch over her now. And every eye in a Hope County household with a plugged-in TV set.

[socialjetlags]

╰ ☆ ◞ avan jogia / nonbinary / he/they ——— no way, is that KAVI DESAI? you know, they’re 32 years old and they’ve been in los angeles for 12 YEARS. they’re chillin’ as a MUSICIAN & MANAGER at ALT CULT RECORDS. oh and they’re notoriously known for being PRETENTIOUS but there are some people who have seen them be ENTHUSIASTIC. i heard they’re a part of a BAND called STATIC MIDNIGHT, yeah, they’re a DRUMMER. to be honest they sound a lot like BASEMENT & CITIZEN. they’re actually A RISING STAR.

I. BASICS.

FULL NAME: kavi desai.

NICKNAME(S): avi (a shortened version of their name, also happening to hold the meaning of "sheep"), shepherd (see: explanation for avi. sheep doesn't seem to flow too well as a nickname, & here comes a moniker he'll never shake), pepsi.

AGE: 32.

DATE OF BIRTH: february 9, 1992.

PLACE OF BIRTH: maywood, california, usa.

GENDER: nonbinary.

PRONOUNS: he/they.

ORIENTATION: bisexual.

LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN: english, gujurati.

NEIGHBOURHOOD: west paradise.

LIVING ARRANGEMENTS: lives in a one-bedroom unit at the aster apartments.

II. FAMILY TIES.

MOTHER: mindy desai, distantly supportive relationship. there's nothing stronger than a mother's love, they say, but kavi could name a few things. mindy is a good mom, mostly, and she makes sure to check in every now and then. sometimes she'll even refer to recent news of static midnight, if there is anything to speak of. if kavi could complain of one thing, it would be that she always has to slide "your father loves you, you know" into conversation.

FATHER: jevan desai, hostile relationship. to put it simply, jevan disagrees with the life that kavi is living, and kavi often fans the flames—if he's going to piss his dad off regardless, he might as well do a good job at it.

SIBLINGS: palomi desai, younger sister. palomi thought the world of kavi when they were kids, and well... she still kind of does. she is their motivation to do good & be good. if they have one only fan, it's palomi.

PETS: a tuxedo cat (unoriginally) named socks. if you ask kavi, she's "a sweet little thing." everyone who's met her so far would have to disagree.

III. OCCUPATIONAL INFO.

OCCUPATION: musician, manager of alt cult records.

NAME OF THEIR ACT: static midnight.

DO THEY PLAY INSTRUMENTS? IF SO WHAT?: drums.

HOW LONG HAVE THEY BEEN A PART OF THE ACT?: 4 years.

ARTIST INFLUENCES: karnivool, soul blind, superheaven; he takes a lot of musical inspiration from heavy shoegaze artists.

CURRENT MONTHLY SPOTIFY/APPLE MUSIC LISTENS ON AVERAGE: 14k.

IV. APPEARANCE.

FACE CLAIM: avan jogia.

HAIR COLOR: naturally dark brown, but currently bleached to a near-platinum tone. looks a bit like half-assed frosted tips with the dark roots starting to come back in.

EYE COLOR: dark brown.

HEIGHT: 177cm, 5ft10.

BUILD: slim, defined muscles.

TATTOOS: a decent amount on his torso, arms & legs. details tbd.

PIERCINGS: double lobe piercings, left nostril stud.

CLOTHING STYLE: experimental. mixes all kinds of fabrics & patterns, mostly dresses in a muted color palette. wears a lot of loose, flowing pants paired with tighter tops.

DISTINGUISHING CHARACTERISTICS: thick eyebrows, long eyelashes.

V. PERSONALITY.

MBTI: esfp-t, the entertainer.

ELEMENT: water.

WESTERN ZODIAC: aquarius.

CHINESE ZODIAC: monkey.

POSITIVE TRAITS: enthusiastic, adventurous, accepting, humorous, forward, decisive, open.

NEGATIVE TRAITS: pretentious, argumentative, (too) open and also somehow not open enough, self-sabotaging, unreliable.

HOBBIES: doom-scrolling, generating ai pictures of himself in different styles, denying any and all wrongdoing that they’ve ever done, irritating their cat and then giving her treats to reel her back in, working out, bitching about working out, fishing for people to tell him that his workouts are paying off, trying new diners, hanging out at bars, window-shopping, rearranging their living room and then ultimately ending up on the same layout, arguing with his neighbors over the noisiness of him moving his furniture every other day, spreading misinformation, pondering the possibility that it’s time for him to grow up and then deciding that he’s still got time.

VI. WANTED CONNECTIONS.

LONG-TERM EX: “the one”, almost. kavi was a flight risk from the get, but this person gave him an honest chance—and fell so in love that they stayed long after it had become obvious that he wasn’t willing to give them what they needed. up and down relationship, passionate one day & dull the next; a routine that established itself and persisted for two or three years. they were living with kavi up until the breakup, which was around christmas 2023. they still have an immense amount of love for each other, but understand that they lack romantic capability. staying friends through it all, for better or for worse. the vibes: the 1 by taylor swift, i know the end by phoebe bridgers, cellophane by fka twigs, two slow dancers by mitski, renegade by big red machine & taylor swift, new perspective by noah kahan, etc etc…

THE BEST FRIEND: they’ve been through hell & back together, even if most of this so-called “hell” was self-created. there’s not much kavi wouldn’t do for them, so long as they keep cat-sitting when he’s out of town.

CUSTOMERS: people who shop at alt cult records somewhat regularly and are often subject to kavi’s pretentiousness, as music is where it tends to come out. the person who thinks he’s so cool, the person who’s sick of him acting like they give a shit about anything he’s got to say, the person who thinks he’s a sleazebag but he’s Hawt so they’ll pretend to be interested in what he’s saying all day every day, etc etc!

QUESTIONNAIRE. 

start at the beginning, who are you and why are you important?

“i’m kavi desai,” he says, as if it that’s all he has to say; there’s something suffocatingly smug in it, telling of who he is. a conglomeration of false confidence and one-liners. “i was just an indian kid with a dream, and now i’m managing a record store and playing in a band that people actually give a shit about; no matter what angle you look at it from, i’ve got something to be proud of, right? and, believe me, it gets better from here.”

how long have you been making music?

“as long as i can remember, really. i asked for a guitar for christmas one year. i can’t remember how old i was, maybe nine or ten, and santa provided. i learned fast and i wrote a lot of songs as a teenager, most which were complete dog shit. i ended up picking up drums ‘cause a good friend of mine was selling their set, and i guess there was somethin’ in me that knew where i needed to be. hey, here i am.”

how would you describe the kind of music you make?

“honest rock music. in a band, you have to work together to make something worth listening to—but if you understand who i am and what i do, you’ll understand there’s a lot of self-revelation in it. i like to try new things, and i like to believe that it all comes from my heart.”

who are some of your biggest musical influences?

“when i was growing up, the main one was the smashing pumpkins. i could probably play every song from pisces iscariot on a guitar to this day—but hey, don’t hold me to that, alright?… nowadays, i really like superheaven. their drummer’s style really stands out to me. they don’t make music anymore, but their discography never gets old.”

what is the first record you ever bought?

“the all-american rejects’ move along. not a single skip on it.”

what has working in the music industry meant to you thus far in your career?

“excitement. if i’m honest, not much else to speak of yet, but i think we’re getting close to something.”

what are some stand out moments from your career so far?

“it’s always nice to be told that i inspired someone to start drumming… or to see a pretty girl lose her shit from catching a setlist. hey, let me tell ya, moments like that will make you feel like a real rockstar!”

what are you still hoping to achieve in your career?

“well,” they start, grinning ear-to-ear—their bashfulness now evens out the vanity from earlier. “i want a sure sign that i’ve made it. this might look different for other musicians, but for me… it’d be nice to hold an arena tour, right?”

what’s next for you?

“keep your eyes on me and you’ll find out soon enough.”

[autisticempathydaemon]

in a sky full of stars (I think I see you)

Chapter three: Le Poisson

tags: Lasko/OC, nb!empathy daemon OC who uses they/them pronouns, background Freelancer/Gavin, mentions of disordered eating and unhealthy relationship dynamics in later chapters

It’s the classic story of boy meets girl… except “girl” is more of a genderless being of pure empathy magic and “boy” is the sweet air elemental professor who literally doesn’t know they exist.

Also available to read on AO3

<- Previous chapter | Next chapter ->

“Gavin, I’ve told you, b-begged you even to warn me before you do that…!” Lasko whines, his voice trembling with a shocked fright Bee can taste from behind his chair, unpleasant and brackish on the tongue like saltwater and seafoam. Gavin laughs, his genuine laugh, not pitched low and smooth but loud and studded with unattractive snorts, and the feeling dissipates like water vapor. 

“In my defense, Lasko, we had plans to walk together after my classes,” the incubus says, and Bee is endlessly charmed as they listen to the airhead elemental rifle through the papers on his desk to dig for the little clock he always forgets he has. 

“Oh god, is it time for dinner already!? ” Lasko swivels in his chair to look through the window behind him, and the empathy daemon crouched on the floor basks in the gorgeous view of Lasko’s face bathed in radiant sunsetting light. They’d lose themself in the sight if not for Gavin grinning in knowing mischief at them behind Lasko’s back. 

“Afraid so. Finish up here soon and then we’ll go?” Caught red-handed and redder-cheeked, Bee takes their seat on the windowsill and tries to avoid eye contact with Gavin who keeps that Cheshire cat smile on his handsome face. Lasko flusters as he gathers his things, sure that look is meant for him and emanating rose-flavored shyness under the scrutiny, and both magical creatures savor it until he sets his briefcase by the door. 

“I’m probably the last one in, so I’ve got to make sure everything’s locked and shut off for the night. Can you wait here for a bit?” The demon waves the professor off with a cool, lazy flick of the wrist and noncommittal hum. Lasko squints suspiciously but closes the door behind him, and the incubus is up and sitting on the desk in front of the empathy daemon as soon as it clicks shut. 

“Fancy seeing you here. Come here often?” Gavin says with a sly smirk and quirk of the brow, and Bee rolls their eyes affectionately before tackling their friend in a hug. The daemon may be shorter than their demon counterpart, but the green-horned creature nearly knocks him off his ass with their abundant Moore-fed energy. 

“What are you doing back in Dahlia so soon?” they say with a wide, beaming grin. “I just saw you here five years ago; I thought you would have moved along by now!” Gavin wraps his arms around them and squeezes, and they both laugh as their auras fizzle and hum like static upon contact. 

“I’ve got something keeping me here,” he says with a warm, fond smile, playfully flicking the apple-shaped baubles hanging off their horns. “What about you, busybee? Rare to see you sitting still without a protostar or something tasty nearby… or is that what Lasko is for?” Gavin’s smile widens into a grin, and a flush rises up the daemon’s cheeks as their feet rise off the ground in embarrassment. He coos mockingly until Bee swats his hand away with a playful attempt at venom. “Baby daemon’s first favored charge, I’ll tattle to Delphinus.”

“I am nearly twice your age, Gavin-” they say, repeating a decades old argument and glaring daggers with narrowed, electric green eyes. His own, a vibrant, stunning pink, are smug as he looks down at them. “-and there’s nothing to tattle about!”

“Mm, just wait till I tell him you’ve been buzzing around my charge, he’ll have words.” Bee loses their flush and color, hovering even higher off the ground in nervous trepidation under Gavin’s scrutiny. “I don’t see you for a few years, and you become a gods damned thief. Is this what you’re teaching our youth?”

“I am so sorry,” they begin to babble in such a Lasko Moore-ish fashion that Gavin has to bite his lip to stifle his laughter. “Del will have my horns for this and the Chorus will have my wings and Minara will have my tail- I thought I checked- Oh gods, is he your…?” Bee stops fidgeting and spinning midair to throw a nervous, scandalized glance his way, and Gavin finally shows mercy, chuckling and taking them by the elbow to put their feet back on the ground.

“I’m messing with you, honeybee. He’s not a charge, just a close friend.” he says sweetly, leaning in to pet down their hair that had gotten mussed in flight. “Intimately close,” he adds less sweetly, cackling when Bee gasps like a god-fearing Sunday school teacher.

“If you make me taste sex emotions, I swear to E’laetum-” Bee hisses, wrinkling their nose at the memory of cinnamon spice and fresh, rich game intermingled with ripe, liquored fruit. Somehow, though feelings had no scent, those sensations always seemed to be accompanied by an odor of salt, hops, and flesh that Bee never got used to. Even if they cannot taste it, the empathy daemon could sense Gavin’s impish glee from a mile away, can practically see his glamoured-invisible tail curl and sway. “I’m rifting home if that’s the kind of dinner you’re having.” 

“Don’t get into a tizzy, I’m just playing.” That same tail jabs them in the stomach, and Gavin laughs, poking their warm cheeks with purple-painted nails. “It’s going to be a normal, Elegian dinner with friends, pizza, and video games. You should come by.” They start to bounce on the ball of their feet at the sound of pizza, something Gavin knows they consider to be one of the human’s greatest inventions, but that pursed, suspicious expression stays on Bee’s face as they squint at him. 

“Will that one fire elemental be there?” they ask, and Gavin raises an eyebrow at them, leaning back to appraise the tense empathy daemon before him. 

“What, Damien ? Have you finally found a human you didn’t immediately take to? What did he do, waste food? Crush a spider? Murder anyone I should know about?” 

“He always tastes angry,” Bee grumbles, twisting their mouth unpleasantly at the sense memory. “Belligerent and combative and sour everytime we see him… and he scares Lasko when he comes in for his meetings.” The incubus coos at Bee’s sullen, protective pouting before wrapping an arm around them and squeezing with a playful jostle. 

“No need for the stinger; Lasko and Damien are thick as thieves now.” Gavin holds his tail aloft and only has to wait a moment for Bee to curl their own around it in the Aria equivalent of a pinky promise. “Why don’t you come on over and see? No one will mind a fly on the wall… or bee, as it were.” The empathy daemon rolls their eyes at the all-too-familiar pun before shaking their head. 

“I wouldn’t want to intrude on your fun,” they start to protest, untangling their tail and beginning to pull away from under Gavin’s grasp when he tugs them back in with a cheshire grin. 

“Caelum will be there,” the incubus coaxes, watching as his friend noticeably brightens in excitement at the mention of their favorite starchild. “He’s unveiled to the Freelancer we co-steward, but he’d probably love another empathy daemon to keep him company.” Before he says anymore, Bee is off the ground, vibrating with energy, and ready to rift. 

“Are you sure?” they ask, using delighted, stimming fingers to reach for and twist with his. “You won’t mind?” 

“Go on and buzz off, Spica,” Gavin says with a fond tone and a shove. “I know you want to hone in on the little guy’s aura, so I’ll see you in a bit.” Bee rifts off with nary another word, just a beaming smile and a wave, and Gavin is left alone in the office with the lingering smell of ozone and magic. When Lasko returns, the air elemental wonders for a moment why the incubus looks so uncharacteristically solemn and disquieted but writes it off as a trick of the sunset light when Gavin throws a familiar, flirtatious arm around his waist to usher him out the door.

[batmannotes]

ALL-STAR SUPERMAN 

BRUCE TIMM & DWAYNE MCDUFFIE’S DC ANIMATED MASTERPIECE COMES TO 4K ULTRA HDTM 

FOR THE FIRST TIME ON APRIL 18, 2023

BURBANK, CA (February 15, 2023) – One of the Man of Steel’s most personal tales in DC history – from the mind of comics icon Grant Morrison, and produced under the expert oversight of animation legends Bruce Timm and Dwayne McDuffie – All-Star Superman will be available to own on 4K Ultra HD for the very first time on April 18, 2023 from Warner Bros. Discovery Home Entertainment.

Grant Morrison's beloved, Eisner Award-winning vision of Superman's heroic final days on Earth is brought to exquisite, animated life in All-Star Superman. The film begins as the Man of Steel rescues an ill-fated mission to the Sun (sabotaged by Lex Luthor) but, in the process, is oversaturated by radiation - which accelerates his cell degeneration. Sensing even he will be unable to cheat death, Superman ventures into new realms - finally revealing his secret to Lois, confronting Lex Luthor's perspective of humanity, and attempting to ensure Earth's safety before his own impending end with one final, selfless act.

Twelve years after its initial release, All-Star Superman holds a “Fresh” rating on Rotten Tomatoes.  The film was the 10th in the ongoing series of DC Universe Movies and DC Animated Movies that now number more than 50 films across 17 years.

The star-studded voice cast is headed by James Denton (Good Witch, Desperate Housewives), Christina Hendricks (Mad Men, Good Girls) and Anthony LaPaglia (Without A Trace) as Superman, Lois Lane and Lex Luthor, respectively. Other noteworthy cast members are seven-time Emmy Award winner Ed Asner (Up, Elf, The Mary Tyler Moore Show) as Perry White, Golden Globe winner Frances Conroy (American Horror Story, Joker, Six Feet Under) as Ma Kent, Matthew Gray Gubler (Criminal Minds, Alvin and the Chipmunks franchise) as Jimmy Olsen and Linda Cardellini (Avengers: Endgame, Dead to Me, ER) as Nasty. 

Rounding out the impressive cast are Arnold Vosloo (The Mummy), Steve Blum (Star Wars: Rebels, Cowboy Bebop, Naruto), Catherine Cavadini (Elvis, Soul, The Powerpuff Girls), Finola Hughes (General Hospital, Staying Alive), Alexis Denisof (Guardians of the Galaxy, Angel), Obba Babatunde (S.W.A.T., That Thing You Do!), John DiMaggio (Futurama, Interview with the Vampire), Chris Cox (Family Guy), Robin Atkin Downes (The Strain, Batman: The Long Halloween), Kevin Michael Richardson (Mortal Kombat, The Simpsons), Fred Tatasciore (Star Trek: Lower Decks, American Dad!) and Michael Gough (Overwatch, Batman: Arkham Origins).

All-Star Superman is executive produced by animation guru Bruce Timm (Batman: The Animated Series) and directed by Sam Liu (Batman: The Killing Joke, The Death and Return of Superman) from a script by acclaimed animation/comics writer Dwayne McDuffie (Static Shock, Justice League/Justice League Unlimited).

McDuffie, an incomparable force in the comics and animation realm, was a co-founder of Milestone Media, the industry’s most successful minority-owned-and-operated comic company. His creations are headlined by Static Shock, for which he won a Humanitas Prize in 2003, and he served as producer in helping guide the beloved Justice League/Justice League Unlimited animated series. McDuffie passed away in 2011 at the age of 49.

All-Star Superman will be available to purchase April 18, 2023 on 4K Ultra HD both online and in-store at major retailers.

SPECIAL FEATURES INCLUDE:

The Art of the All-star Adaptation (New Featurette) – Go behind the scenes and inside the process of screenwriting, character designing and scoring the animated adaptation of the quintessential Superman comic series, All-Star Superman. This fascinating featurette includes insight from executive producer Bruce Timm, director Sam Liu, character designer Dusty Abell and composer Christopher Drake.

An All-Star Salute to the Silver Age Superman (New Featurette) – Explore DC’s historical inspirations in Grant Morrison’s love letter to the wildly fantastic Silver Age of Superman in comics.

Superman Now (Featurette) – In a moment of inspiration, Grant Morrison was provided an opportunity to revamp the Man of Steel into something modern, something more relevant for today's audience. This is the story of All-Star Superman - where it all started, and what it came to be.

The Creative Flow: Incubating the Idea with Grant Morrison (Featurette) – A detailed look at Grant Morrison’s original sketches and ideas.

Audio Commentary – Featuring the thoughts of Bruce Timm and Grant Morrison.

Digital Comic Book – All-Star Superman

Languages: English, French, and Spanish

Running Time: 76 minutes

Rated PG for some violence

Preorder at Amazon. Direct link here.

Running Time: 76 minutes

Rated PG for some violence

[landofspaceandrainbows]

Thanks to @flashfictionfridayofficial for the prompt!

(this time, minor nsfw and kink present below. )

~

Backstage, the two figures packed up quickly. Moving with the tandem movements of close friends, the woman settling away what looked like an electric gutar and leving with a ug, while the other slid the vinyl off the turntable. A new form appeared in the doorway, black clothes and a studded choker beneath a tangled shock of dark hair, a starred and pointed hat in his hands. "Guess it wasn't magician's night?"

"Nope, not rapping either, the fliers were bullshit, it was supposed to be 'open mic comedy' tonight."

"Well we're here together, wanna buy me a drink and have a bit of fun anyway 'Big D' ?"

The musician smiled and held out his wrists.

He looped up a section of rope around one wrist and hooked it up on a coat hook on the wall. Then pulled, and pulled out a bright fabric chain, and pressed the fabric up against the strange boy's eye, cinching it tight. D felt the press of lips hot and soft, against his palm. Static rushed in his ears. Like the rushing of the breeze against his skin, he felt hands under his jacket, skin on skin. His hips moved, "What's happening?" he gasped. The dark boy let out a little giggle, high and breathy, "How about the so - called rapper describes what is happening, rhyme optional? "

[mastermegatron]

Half-numb and chest heavy with a sickening ache, Megatron emerges from a dimension gate, stepping out onto one of Cybertron’s moons. In nearly 17 years, the gold-gray dust has scarcely changed, scars of battle still petrified into its uneven surface, forgotten by time and chased out by hope.

Standing in silence, Megatron takes in the moonscape, venting shakily. He can see the grooves where his knees hit the ground, where Rhisling pierced the rock behind him after he fell. This is my grave. This is where I should have been buried. But there are no tombstones; his epitaph unwritten.

At his sides, Megatron clenches and unclenches his fists, fighting to keep the daggers of grief from piercing over and over relentlessly into his spark. Insides trembling, he opens a communication line. « I don’t know if you kept this open. I don’t know where you are anymore. » Broken, teal optics turn upwards, and Megatron searches the vast blanket of stars above him. « You wanted to save me - to give this universe peace with me - and all I ever did was force the worst out you. I’m sorry. I deserved to die; I only wish that it had worked. Heh. Wherever you are, I hope you found that peace you always wanted for us - for yourself. I hope you’re happy. I... »

Grimacing, he shutters his optics and his voice nearly breaks. « I didn’t get to say farewell, Optimus. I never believed it would be over. But it is now, isn’t it? » Megatron listens to the static, his own words reverberating in his psyche. But it is now. It is now. It’s over. Hollowing anguish flares and bleeds from his spark, and he chokes bitterly. « Farewell, Optimus. »

Cutting off the call abruptly, he howls his suffering into the star-studded darkness so loudly, so harshly, his own vocoder shorts. Shoulders buckling beneath the gutting weight of a wound he cannot close, Megatron falls to his knees. He doesn’t feel it as he reaches up and drags his blunt digits down his face, inadvertently tearing the metal from his cheek and exposing the proto-mesh beneath. 

Torn open by one Prime and wanting nothing more than to crawl beneath the dirt, to rust away into nothingness, Megatron cries out as he rips the armor from his chest, feeling the metal split from his protoform in a white-hot burning sting that nearly shorts his HUD. Relentless in his torment, he claws open his own spark chamber, pausing only to reach up and tear off one of his shoulder spines. 

Clenching his jaw, Megatron presses the spine into his spark chamber. His vision flickers as he carves into the vulnerable metal, caring little if he hits a vital energon line. “This...is how it should have been,” he snarls through the pain, ignoring the smell of blood as it rises to what remains of his olfactory sensors, ignoring the diagnostic reports and warnings of his injuries. “This...is what I...will always be.”

The spine falls from his hand when he finishes, and at last - for now - this pain is enough to numb the emotional wounds. With a broken smile, he collapses face first into the dust, sparks falling from the frayed mess of his chassis as his optics flicker out. 

FAILURE, the tombstone of his chamber reads, a self-engraved epitaph.

[rebellovesrobots]

Some sketches/a design refresh for Zeke since I’m in the mood

in the main AU Zeke’s character was built as a security guard. during the day he’s closed in behind the curtains of his own personal stage, tho that doesn’t stop some nosy/brave children from peeking at the massive boy. he speaks through the speaker on his badge and never opens his mouth unless he detects a threat.

[musicarenagh]

Kiesza's 'Heaven Ain't Calling': A Cosmic Dance Rebellion In the electrifying single "Heaven Ain't Calling," Kiesza stages a cosmic rebellion against the beige walls of normality, propelling listeners onto an interstellar dance floor of unapologetic self-expression. With house grooves that could awaken a comet from its celestial slumber, this track is more than just pop—it's an anthemic surge against conformity. https://open.spotify.com/album/2ljTtssMM05i6E3zg6jgw3?si=j1FUztpSSuKWGsIhVZmWkA To those who've ridden shotgun with Kiesza since her 'Hideaway' days or vibed to her star-studded collabs—from Diplo's beats to Duran Duran's timeless allure—this tune will feel like a renegade homecoming. And for new fans? Imagine catching lightning in your favorite pair of dancing shoes—that’s "Heaven Ain't Calling." Kiesza voyages through each verse and hook with vocals pristine enough to cut through radio static, delivering super catchy melodies that prove she hasn’t lost an ounce of her magnetic charm. The song swings open saloon doors into unknown realms—a tease of what she promises in her upcoming album touted as a futuristic film noir. [caption id="attachment_54336" align="alignnone" width="768"] Kiesza's 'Heaven Ain't Calling': A Cosmic Dance Rebellion[/caption] In essence, “Heaven Ain't Calling” is where euphoria crashes into existence; it’s liberation set ablaze by synthesizers and sweat: A place not traditionally considered heaven because here—with beat drops sharp as spaghetti western showdowns—you make your own paradise. Casual listeners might trip over comparisons with contemporary chart-toppers whilst the musically devout can sense echoes from vintage dance halls meshing seamlessly into modern soundscapes. Either way, on Ellen or online feeds where Kiesza commands attention—this track heralds buzz worthy anticipation for what audio-visual escapades await us next on her musical frontier. Get ready to let loose and defy gravity, folks — because if Heaven isn't calling after all this revelry... who even wanted a quiet night in? Follow Kiesza on Website, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and YouTube.

[aparticularbandit]

On Tea and Ghosties: Chapter One

Summary: Many, many years ago, Agatha Harkness fell in love with Cian Masters. Some years later, Cian accepted her advances. For a time, they were happy.

Three years ago, that ended.

And Agatha is going to fix that.

AU of The Valentines Collection.

Chapter Rating: T. Fic Rating: T.

AO3

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She runs a finger around the lip of her wine glass, pulling out an incessant, eerie whine, and smiles drearily at the sound while her Umbreon, Ebony, the sole partner she lets roam about outside of her ball, curls up near to purring at her bare feet.  Outside, the sky is studded with stars; when she was younger, she thought they were holes in the black expanse like holes in a lampshade, but she knows better now.  She still likes to imagine them as holes, however, still likes to think if she soared up into the sky with a large enough needle and long enough thread she could sew them all up and leave the sky ebony black.  The very idea makes her smile with self-amusement.

A smile that drops as soon as the door behind her creaks open, as soon as she hears the scuttling of insectoid feet along the floor.

Ebony sits up all at once, her purring silenced, bright blue rings along her fur lighting up in trepidation.  She searches the room, ruby red eyes scanning here there and everywhere.  Then she catches sight of it, the fuzzy yellow and purple, and her fur stands on end.  She’s not a cat, so she doesn’t hiss, but she jumps into an attack position, protective of her partner.

“Hush, Ebony.”  Agatha brushes a hand along Ebony’s back, threading her fingers through her partner’s fur.  “She’s not an enemy.”

Not this time.

A smaller, yellow-green fuzzball of a spider jumps onto the back of the couch, just next to Agatha, and when she reaches up her free hand to brush her fingers along its back, it zaps her with the static built between its strands of fur.  She leaves her hand outstretched for it; it nibbles on her fingertips.

“If Liv ever gets tired of you—”

“I won’t.”  Liv speaks amidst the chattering of spiders, the shadow she casts eclipsed by her bodyguard, a Grappleoct she’s never named who hovers behind her with its four long arm-like limbs crossed.  Her husky voice carries even more weariness than normal, possibly due to the late hour.  “What do you want, Agatha?”

Agatha stares at Liv’s reflection in the window across from her.  She’s tired, dark bags under her eyes, but another Joltik rests atop her shoulder, nuzzles her neck, shocks her with the same subtle static the other gave Agatha.  It takes another moment before Agatha’s gaze drops.  “C’mon, Ebony.”  She pats the couch cushion next to her, and Ebony jumps up, turns about in a circle, and then curls up.  Unlike before, though, Ebony does not begin to purr; everything under her skin lies tense, taut, ready for whatever Agatha needs.

“Agatha.”  Now Liv sounds frustrated.  Snappish.  “What do you want?”

She wets her finger and runs it along the lip of her wine glass again, pulling that same sharp whine out, one that causes the spiders – the Grappleoct – to flinch, a reaction that brings a smile to Agatha’s lips.  “Not much, hon,” she murmurs.  “What you did for my sister…I want you to do that for me.”

~

Many, many years ago, Agatha Harkness fell in love with Cian Masters.

Some years later, Cian accepted her advances.

For a time, they were happy.

Three years ago, that ended.

~

“This isn’t like Eve.”  Liv states upright from the beginning.  “I can’t fix Cian’s body.  And I don’t want you dragging a corpse into my lab and dumping it on me with the sort of expectations—”

“Of course not, hon.”

Agatha cuts Liv off before she can continue, in part because the irritation already evident in Liv’s tone is causing the Joltik on the back of Agatha’s couch to grow more and more staticky, sending small jolts into Agatha’s skin.  She doesn’t mind.  She’s had worse.  Years ago, when she’d still been running the trainer circuit, when she and Cian were both employed in the Elite Four, an errant thunderbolt hit her instead of her partner.  The trainer was removed from the program immediately, and Agatha spent months in a hospital, healing, undergoing rehab, until she was finally allowed to go home.  She would never be able to dance again, not like she had before.

In the end, that was fine.  It meant she got more time with Cian when they got sick.  And the pay….  Well, that wasn’t too bad either.  Sure, she agreed to the risks when she joined the Elite Four, but the loss of an entire form of income – they covered that.  Mostly.

Agatha took a deep breath in, considering her words before she said them, until Ebony butted her head against her thigh.  “I propose,” she says, finally, “that we create them a new one.”

Liv remains silent for a few moments.  In her reflection in the window, Agatha can see her jaw working, but she can’t tell if that’s her teeth gritting together in frustration or chewing on her cheek in thoughtful consideration.  Whatever it is, Liv stops just in time to ask, “Have you found them, then?  Do you have a mon in mind?”

A chuckle breaks through Agatha’s lips.  In the earlier days, it might have sounded merry or dark, but now it just sounds maniacal.  More a cackle than a chuckle.  “You really think,” she says between bursts of laughter, “that I would ask if I didn’t already know?”

~

Three years ago, Cian lost their life to a sudden, unexpected heart attack.

On that day, Agatha was meant to meet them for their morning tea.  It was one of the best parts of both their days, a good way to center and meditate and discuss with each other before parting.  Even when Agatha wasn’t there, off on one of her tours, Cian maintained the practice.  They were, in fact, the one who started it, roping Agatha into it with them when she first began to live with them.

But Agatha was awake far too late on this particular day, not getting to sleep until nearly four in the morning.  If asked later, she couldn’t say just why.  Something didn’t sit well with her.  Her brain wouldn’t shut down.  At one point, she remembered kissing Cian on their forehead before getting up on bare feet and cleaning.  A bit here.  A bit there.  Something she thought would exhaust her, but didn’t.

Agatha slept through their morning tea, and Cian died because she was not there, and the little teacup they always used for their tea went missing.

That doesn’t mean that Agatha hasn’t seen the cup again.

~

Here’s the thing about ghost pokemon.

A good chunk of them are either lost souls fused together with some form of item or they absorb the life force of those around them, whether intentionally to make their flames shine brighter or unintentionally by stealing away small children and simply existing around people.

Now, only a few short months ago, Liv was able to successfully pull a stolen soul from the pokemon who nabbed it and settle it back into the body it once inhabited.  Her studies into ghost pokemon and their interactions and abilities allowed her to reverse what had been done, not just to that soul but also to drain life force back from them or from other living creatures around her – pokemon, human, whatever she could find – and bring back what had been lost.

Eve was the first successful use of Liv’s research.

(Eve was the first human use of Liv’s research.  Liv said it wasn’t time.  Claire pushed her to do it anyway.  They were all very excited when she succeeded.)

((They think she succeeded.  It’s equally as possible she simply created a new form of ghost pokemon, one that fused with human bodies instead of with inanimate objects and was a much better mimic than a Mimikyu, seeing as it had its predecessor’s brain and memories to draw on.  But Claire won’t let Liv run all of the tests on Eve that she wants, so there’s no way of truly knowing for sure.))

It is precisely that research Agatha intends to draw on.

It is precisely that research Agatha intends to use to bring Cian back.

~

The problem is that Liv hasn’t created a fully functional human body from scratch before.

But given everything else she’s done, how hard could it be?

~

After Liv leaves, the little teacup hovers into place.  It smiles at Agatha as much as it can, even though she doesn’t look at it, even though she only sees its reflection in the window, hovering just above Ebony, who glances up at it, gives it a soft scuff of a sniff, and then lays her head back down atop her paws.

“Good to see you again, my love.”

Agatha crooks a finger, and the teacup hovers down to her lap but takes care not to touch her.  She smiles, hums, and then wets her finger before running it around the cup’s lip.  A high-pitched whine, similar to that from her wine glass, comes forth, mixed with another, subtler humming made in harmony with the sound.  It’s like singing.  Just not quite.  It’s too inhuman for that.

Still, it brings a deeper smile to Agatha’s lips, one that slips away as she says, “Not much longer, angel.  I’ll get you out of there soon.”

[rams-nebulous]

Starlight- Vessel of the Flame Maddox x Reader drabble

CW: NSFW, Overstimulation, Afab Reader, original male character --- His muscles rolled above you, the scars on his body glittering with sweat. The purple ink that stained them looked like it was studded with stars. His eyes looked down at you, and though your vision was blurring from the searing pleasure where his cock ploughed into you, you could somehow see him so clearly. It was as if he was a shining light through the darkness that threatened to consume you, not that you minded. The darkness felt so good, so sinful.

A scream pulled itself from your throat, causing a painful itch from the strength of it. Even though he was panting desperately, his chest heaving with each thrust of his hips, his smirk was so arrogant. If you had the state of mind to be angry, you probably would have. 

But the head of his cock was hitting that spot that made your eyes roll back into your skull so wonderfully, your toes curling from the static filling your body as your pelvis desperately tried to meet his. Even as he pushed your knees even closer to your chest and made it so deliriously hard to breathe. So good, so good. God, this man could kill you like this, and you wouldn’t even care. 

“That’s righ’, angel, sing for me,” his words were harsh, and his accent more pronounced. The roll of his body took on a specific hitch at the end that jammed him harder against you and you were cursing, babbling, moaning, possibly crying now; and he was chuckling as he nipped at the soft flesh of your thigh, watching you with those swirling hazel eyes. “You feel- fuck,” his words dropped off as you clamped down and came around him when his teeth nipped at the inside of your knee. “You feel so fuckin’ good, love.” 

You were cumming and couldn’t stop because Maddox had brought his thumb up, changing to shallow and slow thrusts, strumming your clit. If you weren’t crying before, you sure as hell were now. 

“Please, Dox,” you whimpered, your walls desperately fluttering around him. 

He groaned, “Fuck. Yeah? What do you need?” 

He was still going slow, but his thumb had stopped, and his arm now curled around your thigh, holding it in place as his thrusts shifted to deeper and stronger. 

“Nnn, too much,” you thrashed beneath him.

His answering grin and scoff made the whine that left you feel that much more pathetic, “C’mon, love, you can take so much more. You are the Vessel after all. You were meant t’ carry a god.” 

And with that grin growing wider at your desperate please for mercy he pressed your knees back into your chest and fucked into you faster than before, harder than before, because he was going to show you, just how much you could take. 

[violetvalentine]

~The Library of Stars~

Outfit:

Dress: AURICA - Florence Outfit

Boa: {Aii & Ego} - Monster Pelt Collection

Accessories:

Necklace & Earrings: .random.Matter. - Saevas Set

Arm Cap: [Pirocious] - Spiked Limb Caps

Ears (color and small studs): Static - Sleepytime Earrings

Moon: STOIC - SEMI LUNA - WHITE

Head Gem: .random.Matter. - Behemoth - Head Jewel - Silver

Body:

Hair: WINGS-HAIR - ES0901 - Grays & Browns- (FaMESHed - Event - September 2023)

Neck Tattoo: Lilithe’ - Pandora Tattoos - Fresh [ALT NO CHIN]- (The Warehouse Sale - Event - Aug/Sept 2023)

Lipstick: . Nar Mattaru . - Velvetine HD Lipsticks

Head: Lelutka - Avalon

Body: eBody

[ghostofbambifanfiction]

Anyway I just fixed up the first two scenes so here they are under the cut.

Bonnie hugged her tightly in arrivals and didn't let go for a very long time.

"You're home," she kept on repeating, murmuring the words in her ear like a most precious secret, her voice thick with muffled sobs as they held one another, clasped together like two halves of a locket, the only two people in a jostling, ceaseless crowd. "You're home, you're home, you're home."

"I'm really home."

"Don't you dare leave us again."

"I won't," Lily promised.

It was a reunion that was worthy of a soundtrack of its own, but they made do with the footsteps of passers-by static loudspeaker announcements about unattended baggage. There was time for a soundtrack later. Lots of time. So much time. A long and blissful stretch of time, and a thousand songs to fill it.

That was their thing, soundtracks. Hers and Bonnie's and Beatrice's. They'd survived their teens by way of imagination, pretending that life was one big movie and selecting the music to match it as they went. The Lily of years back starred in hundreds of performances in messy bedrooms, twirling in front of mirrors, singing into brushes, creating costumes from jumbled pools of clothes until no one could remember who owned what, linking arms and shaking their hips and tossing their hair like models. She had been a dozen different girls with a dozen different plots, some beautiful, some misguided, and some that changed her in ways she hadn't anticipated.

When it all turned so predictably tragic (a dramatic, heightened, teenage kind of tragic) Lily's naïve belief in the innate, glowing, Hollywood-polished magic of living had collapsed in on itself, but that was fine. Everybody had to grow up one day, even if it happened when they weren't at all prepared.

Soundtracks, though. They were a very different thing.

"I'm locking you up in the bathroom when we get back," said Bonnie in the car, accompanied by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros. The soundtrack for their journey was a collection of songs that told of homecomings and triumph, all of which she had chosen to fit the occasion. "I'll let you take a shower first, but then the cuffs are going on."

Lily smiled at her from the passenger seat, counting the studs and rings that ran the length of Bonnie's ear, noting the swirl of colours in the freshly-healed tattoo on her arm, drinking in the welcome sight of her favourite cousin. "You know I'm really not going to leave again, right?"

"I do, and I'll believe you once I've gotten accustomed to the fact that you’re actually here, but I'm locking you up until then. Who else is gonna know?"

"My parents know. Petunia knows."

"Oh, fuck Petunia," Bonnie spat, then with a violent, impassioned burst of joy, "seriously, fuck her!"

"Fuck her!" Lily seconded, laughing.

Bonnie rolled down the window of her ancient silver Corsa, her arm working furiously, stuck her head out into the rain and screamed, "Fuck Petunia!"

"Fuck Petunia!"

The car flew down the M11 like it had wings, and when they tired of screaming obscenities, they sang along with their soundtrack, because they were still young enough, and they were living, and Lily felt like happiness was easy.

Even if her life was not a movie.

Reality had a charm all of its own, when it was in the mood for it.

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

The window was floor to ceiling glass, and all of it battered with rain.

July should have been brighter, he thought, perched on the edge of his bed, his feet buried in a luxuriously thick white rug that he would need to have professionally cleaned after last night's red wine fiasco.

Or maybe he'd forget, so his mum would make him do it, or he'd chuck the whole thing out and buy another.

He didn't even like red wine.

The hot summer sun should have been spilling into every corner of the room with a vibrant disregard for his desire to sleep, burning his hungover eyes awake, but all James Potter could see outside were smoky wisps of grey and a restless, shimmering downpour.

The flat was a posh penthouse in Canary Wharf and James had bought it—slapping a big, pretty bow on a year that had gutted him clean—for the fucking views in the first place, expecting sunshine and a bright blue sky. Towering above the Thames, it might have felt good to survey the city at his feet on the right kind of day, seeing all while remaining unseen, but he never seemed to find the inclination to do it. There was rain to be found at the top; more rain than he'd noticed before he moved in.

Up on high, there was no need for blinds or curtains, but after six months James still struggled to feel like he wasn't exposed to prying eyes that weren't really there. He still couldn't walk around naked, even when he was in the flat alone.

His girlfriend had no such trouble with her own bare skin. Ali walked around the place like she had never heard of clothes, tossing her hair artfully over her shoulder, shooting him coy looks as she slipped from one room to another, often taking personal offence if the sight of her body didn't provoke immediate arousal.

It mostly did, because she was gorgeous. Sometimes it didn't, because he was only human, and a body wasn't always capable of reacting on demand, but she never looked as if she liked that explanation.

She did like the penthouse, however. Loved it. She loved it so much that it had been months since James had seen the inside of her flat, and that was fine. At least one of them liked it here.

Luckily for him, Ali was at some sort of spa retreat for the morning, and he wouldn't see her until the party, where he'd hopefully resemble something close to human or risk exacerbating her anxiety.

That was his fault. The anxiety.

His head was swimming with a foggy kind of pain, not to mention his shoulder, which throbbed angrily and demanded immediate attention. No doubt it was the result of some drunken injury that he couldn't at that moment recall. He shouldn't have let Sirius talk him into wine again. The taste was foul, and his body always paid for it the next day.

Sirius, the prick, was probably still asleep. James decided that he should go and find him, or a greasy fry-up, or perhaps a cold, tiled floor to lie down on. He feared he might have been dangerously close to vomiting at any minute.

"Alexa," he said aloud, threading winding pathways through his hair with one hand while the other reached for his glasses. "Shuffle my hangover playlist."

Like the gentle, sympathetic mother that his own had never been, Alexa complied, and the room was filled with the dulcet tones of Leon Bridges, who sang about coming home to a woman who made him feel the way James didn't.

The music fit the rain, it occurred to him, once his glasses were on, and he was rubbing hard circles into his bare shoulder with the base of his hand. Muted and beautiful and soft, smoky grey, and unlikely to make him feel any better in the long run.

A snapshot of this sparse, stylish, twenty-first-century room would have made him look like a character in a movie.

That was patently fucking ridiculous.

Is boomerang a one shot??????? Multi chapter????????? Tell us more I am so excited

It's a multi-chapter. I want to make some changes to the story now that a few years have passed, like I want age them up to their early thirties instead of their early twenties, and change a couple of other circumstances. Maybe once I've edited the first chapter to reflect what I guess is a more mature idea of what I want the story to be, I'll post it on Tumblr.