#The World We're Gonna Make Verse

[gctchell]

I just got pinged by the similarity omfg.

[edcnfell]

Shhhh you see nothing.

Tags dump ahoy

[worthyheir]

@winterreigned / grey's verse starter

"Are you alright?" It had been a long night, and the accident had come out of nowhere - several cars, several fatalities, few survivors. It never really got easier, even if coping with it became a more simple matter. There was a disconnect one had to make, he had learned during his intern year, in order to effectively save lives. The disconnect ended when the surgery did, or when the patient was discharged, or when the time of death was called. Never before. "It's been a rough night. I think a few of the others are going for drinks, if you want to go."

[spring-lxcked]

mild spoilers in tags but i'm just mad i don't write any actual security bre.ach muses now and i think i need to change that fuck

[luveline]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

the tension between you and miguel rises to an all-time high —a ficlet featuring a grumpy miguel and a flirty, distracted spider-girl. pre across the spider-verse but contains spoilers. fem!reader, 1k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Miguel has asked you multiple times to leave him alone while he's working. The strike force can't run itself (or so he claims —Margo and Lyla seem plenty capable, in your eyes) and he needs time and solitude to organise the protection of canon events, and—

"Blah, blah, blah," you say, dropping your voice to a soft, teasing melody as you skirt around his frankly audaciously jacked chest. 

"Don't blah, blah, blah me," Miguel says. You'd be intimidated if you weren't so happy to mess with him. "I'm not kidding around." 

Okay, maybe you are intimidated. That just makes messing with him more fun. 

The room he operates from, as you've so fondly monikered The Office, is in organised chaos, and much too dark. You drag a lone chair toward his control panel and set yourself down in front of all his screens and computers. 

"Ooh," you hum, reaching for an unlabelled switch with a purposeful slowness. 

Predictably, Miguel slams his hand over yours, yanking your chair back with an annoyed, "No." 

"Come on, Miguel. What harm could I possibly do?"

"You could–" 

"Topple the multiverse?" you suggest. "I've heard." 

"You could turn off every member of the Society's DMW. That's what that does. Potentially endangering each of their lives by stranding them in unfamiliar dimensions, and preventing them from correcting canon events." 

You feel bad for teasing him when you see the look on his face, anger and exhaustion and the slimmest allowance of defeat. It must be tough to lead the Spider-Society. Tougher to micromanage more than half of its members. 

Pulling your hand from under his, you cross your arms over your stomach and give him an apologetic frown. "Sorry, Miguel."

Evidence of his sweet spot for you lines his expression, softening his sharp jaw and the stoic set of his brow. It's gone as quick as it came, and his mask falls back into place. He turns away from you as though pretending you aren't there and scans one of his holographic screens, his face glowing with a yellow-orange haze. 

Miguel has to tolerate you, because you're a Spider-Girl. Though you've never called yourself that aloud, and you're not sure anyone else has, either, it's an undeniable truth. You were bitten by a radioactive spider that gave you super mutant abilities, though yours aren't as potent as others. You're not especially strong, you probably couldn't stop a bus with your bare hands, but you're smart. You haven't saved the world or anything, but you lost your Uncle Ben. You paid the toll. 

Every spider person has lost someone. Miguel seems to have lost more than that. 

"You know," you mumble, kicking the ground lightly to make your chair spin on its axle, "I've been thinking…" 

"That's never good." 

"Why do we wear our suits here?" you ask, spinning for a second time, the room moving past your eyes in flashes. "It seems performative." 

"Ah, I can answer that. Some of us work when we're here." 

You wrinkle your nose at his deadpan and kick the floor again, spinning so fast it makes you laugh. "What did you say? I can't hear you from your high horse– woah!" 

Miguel grabs the back of your chair, bringing you to a sudden and firm stop. You blink hoping it'll assuage the dizziness between your eyes, and when it doesn't work you keel forward, muttering, "Woah, I'm gonna die." 

"You won't die." 

"How do you know?" you ask. 

"You're under my watch, aren't you?" 

"I knew you liked me," you say. "Oh, I don't feel well." 

"You brought it on yourself." 

You catch your breath. When you feel okay enough to stand you almost trip, and Miguel doesn't bother pretending that he had any intention of stopping you from landing flat on your face. The you before the spider bite would've wiped out. This you giggles and holds Miguel's elbow for a second while you plant your feet. 

"Okay, boss-man," you ask, looking up at the unnaturally high screen he's investigating. "What are we doing today?" 

"I'm supervising a task force operation on Earth-31913. You're going home." 

"Miguel," you say, not sure if you want to flirt with him or piss him off. He looks incredibly pissed off already, so you choose flirtation. "Have I told you how handsome you look this evening?" 

He doesn't react. His hands don't so much as shift where they're akimbo on his hips. 

"You really have the most handsome eyes," you continue, weaving around his arm to stand in front of him. You have to crane your neck to see them. "Sulky. Do I really have to go home? I'd rather stay here with you." 

He looks down his nose at you. "Yeah?" he asks quietly, his voice rough as hewn stone.

"Yeah," you say, taking a small step back. 

"And do what?" 

You mirror his stance, hands on your hips. Your suit isn't form fitting like his, doesn't showcase nearly so much lean muscle, but you like it. You'd chosen a simple black ensemble to match the spider who bit you with a pinky purple heart over your stomach. Miguel had asked about it once, just once, when you'd first met and he had no idea how much of a problem for him you were going to become. 

Why there? 

Why do you think? you'd asked, giving him a sticky-sweet smile. 

Forget I asked. 

He lifts a hand to your chin, pinching it between two deft fingers. You're lucky he isn't wearing his gloves; his claws would pierce your jaw. 

"What do you want to do?" he asks, again so quietly. "If you stay?" 

"I could help with the task force." 

"That's what you want to do?" 

You flush with heat but refuse to let him know how you're feeling. Your heart bumps against your ribs, breath caught in your throat as he tilts your head up, as he leans down. 

"No," he says near your lips, "that's not it." 

"I could help you?" you offer. 

Something flashes in his eyes. You hesitate to call it lust. It reminds you of a cat with a mouse in it’s clutches, only his pupils are blown, black and inky and wide as dimes. 

"You want to help me?" he asks, his lips an inch, half of that from yours. 

You nod minutely. "Yes," you say under your breath. 

His hand moves to your cheek. He leans in closer and closer, until there's a hair's width of air between his mouth and yours, the tips of your noses bent together. His breath fans over your bottom lip and it's hot. You swear you can feel his heart as his chest presses to yours. He lingers there for an endless handful of seconds, silently egging you on.

You call his bluff and refuse to close the distance. 

Miguel pushes you away from him, far from cruel but certainly not sweet. "I have a tower of paperwork you can file," he says. 

"Here I thought you were finally going to bite my head off," you hum. "You're a sore loser, Miguel." 

"And you're my pest," he says, holding your gaze for a half-second too long. He turns away. "Lyla? Arrange the recounts from the last canon event for Spider-Girl's perusal, please." 

"So you've remembered I'm here?" Lyla asks wryly.

You don't mind the paperwork. You sign each one with a winky face and a pink gel pen heart, knowing Miguel will go over them all again, and knowing he'll grow angrier and angrier with each heart.

He'll kiss you and mean it one day. You just have to play the waiting game.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thanks so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed!

[tomicscomics]

11/22/2024

Governor? More like gover-NERD!

___

JOKE-OGRAPHY: 1. In this Bible story, Jesus is arrested by Jewish priests who've become jealous of Him. The priests aren't allowed to kill Him since they're technically living under Roman rule and Roman laws, so they hand Him over to the local governor, Pontius Pilate, and tell him that Jesus claimed to be the king of the Jews. This, they hope, will make Pilate think Jesus is trying to start a rebellion against the Romans. Pilate questions Jesus in a pretty simple but dramatic interrogation, beginning by asking Him if He's really a king, to which Jesus replies that His kingdom is not of this world; if it were, His servants would be fighting to free Him. 2. In this cartoon, the first part of the comic sticks to the Bible story, but when Jesus mentions His servants fighting for Him, Pilate tries to clarify by asking, "So you have no servants to fight for you?" But Jesus wasn't saying He doesn't have servants; He was saying they aren't going to fight a physical war to free Him because His kingdom is not a physical one, nor can any physical kingdom hope to threaten it. As Jesus implies this, His actual servants -- the angels -- pester Him to let them beat up Pontius Pilate for Him, but He tells them to calm down since that's not part of the plan. 3. Gabriel (the angel with the blue cape) says, "Pontius Pilate? More like, 'I'm gonna PUNCH THIS Pilate!" PONTIUS is often pronounced PUNCHIS (at least where I'm from), which sounds a little like PUNCH THIS, so Gabriel is just making a play on Pilate's name and saying he's about to clock him if Jesus gives the go-ahead. 4. Michael (the militant soldier angel in the red cape) gives a declaration that sounds a lot like Matthew 8:8. In that verse, a Roman centurion begs for Jesus's help, saying, "Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word, and my daughter shall be healed." In Mass, we mirror this quote before receiving the Eucharist, except that "roof" refers to the roof of our mouths, since we're about to consume the Eucharist, and instead of "my daughter," we say "my soul." In this cartoon, Michael mirrors the Mass version of the quote, but ends it with "and his soul shall be BROUGHT TO HEEL (i.e. forced to submit)."

[ochako-daily]

Could u draw togachko cuddles,,,for comfort perhaps,,,

haiiii im so sorry i saw this req and the art was gonna be normal togachako at first but i started thinking of this au midway through.. hope you enjoy tho!!! :3

togachako cuddling in a no powers verse and toga's wearing an uraraka sweater because mha exists in that world except everything is spelled off and like minor color differences so it's not like "wow uraraka we're literally togachako!!" and it's 100% true.

this is them. to me

togachako headcanons for this au below. im just gonna call it meta au

toga is a representation of those "cringe" people that get made fun of on tiktok with thinly veiled homophobia and ableism. she struggles with hygeine and takes a lot of comfort in fiction, surrounding her life in it. she's the type of person to run a blog like this

uraraka is mha critical, irl she's a sweety pie and online she kinda lets loose and gets to be a bit of an ass about the things she likes. she hated the ending of mha and has a secret side blog for her togachako posting

they go to the same high school and have an enemy to lovers type of thing. at first uraraka makes the same assumption many ppl make about kids that act like her. that she's strange for attention, that she's some sort of pick me, that she's gross.

as they're forced to work together maybe for a project or club, uraraka finds that she might have been wrong since toga's really accepting and sweet, never attempting to be snide or rude to uraraka like other girls tend to do since this is, yaknow, high school. they start to be friends but uraraka is still a bit confused as to how to characterize toga in her head. is she weird and gross or super nice? because one moment she's being sweet and helping her and the next she's laughing louder than necessary and talking way too much about fandom in public.

they get closer yada yada uraraka helps toga take care of herself more by making hygeine a fun and self care thing rather than something that she dreads and finds boring. toga shows uraraka she can be herself wholy and truly and that people will still love her. i love happy healthy yuri

[reallychaoticwoo]

👋 Since Halloween is coming, I wanted to request an ateez reaction to the reader saying that they are a vampire.

⛓️ Its spooky season, the season of ateez, thick thighs and spooky vibes, and of course kinktober! Im definitely not well versed enough to participate in kinktober but i LOVE this request so thank you!!⛓️

✨️ Vampy ✨️

❤️Pairing: Ateez x reader

⚠️Warnings: cussing, angst, suggestive, smutish, blood, lmk if i missed anything please!

‼️This is purely for entertainment purposes and does not represent the idols in any way‼️

🖤Hope you enjoy!🖤

YOU: "I think I should probably let you know this before things continue.. I'm a vampire."

HONGJOONG:

"Ha. You think I didn't already know this darling? But since you've finally admitted it to me, I suppose I should let you know I'm a demon." "Let's see how bloody things can get tonight, I'm rather intrigued now."

SEONGHWA:

"Oh my beautiful doll. I am too. I'm quite surprised you hadn't figured it out yet. Good thing though, we'll have all the time in the world to conquer each other in every way and every place possible."

YUNHO:

"I don't think that should make you even sexier to me but it does. Use me as you please baby. But do know, once we enter that bedroom, I'm in charge."

YEOSANG:

"That would explain your irreverent beauty, the way your eyes sparkled when I mentioned you clawing my back until it bled. Can you make me a vampire too?" *insert cute oblivious Yeosang face here *

SAN:

"Well that will definitely make things more interesting in the bedroom. As long as you're fine with it I am!"

MINGI:

"Not even gonna lie, that's a fantasy of mine so when can we start? Also we're officially dating now so you can't leave me until I die, okay??"

WOOYOUNG:

"I mean I figured you'd be good at sucking I just thought it'd be something else but I'm down either way" *classic Woo smirk*

JONGHO:

"Teach me everything you know and I'll be yours until you no longer want me."

[lilacevans]

meet some of the pete's place regulars!

˚ ♡ ✧.* : ̗̀➛ requests by: two anons, @welight-theway, @crokitheloki, @hansensgirl, @buggy14, @leaderofthebadbitchbrigade.

✧.*ೃ⁀➷ pete's place | the intro | opening night | the playlist ༊*·˚

this is a dark au/verse. minors need not interact. happy endings don't happen here.

𝐀𝐧𝐝𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐞𝐫 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐋𝐚𝐰𝐲𝐞𝐫

41 years old.

6’2’’.

Suburban dad with a dark side. 

Likes flashing the cash for a look as he doesn’t get much attention back home.

Never misses stopping by when he’s in town.

Has a type and it just so happens to be you.

Brings you gifts; new outfits, new shoes, gold chains, etc, every single time he visits the club.

Will spend the whole night promising you the world– and his wallet, if you just go home with him.

Top Three: Daddy Kink, Overstimulation, Praise Kink. 

𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐫 𝐕𝐞𝐭

45 years old.

6’4’’.

Oh, what a nice man–

Warning sirens sound in the distance.

Danger! Danger! 

The man will make you beg, make you cry, rearrange your insides, make you fall in love and break you down all within a night.

The man is all kinds of fucked up. But knows how to hide it well.

Under Lloyds employement so like, you can guess the kinds of fucked up. 

Did awful things while serving in the army, brought some of that back home with him.

Protect you? More like slaughter anyone who gives you a momentary glance. 

Top Three: Rough (Violent) Sex, Service Kink, Corruption Kink.

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐛𝐨𝐲

28 years old.

6’1’’.

Cocky motherfucker, hot and he knows it.

The embodiment of a hyper puppy. 

Acts like he’s always got the zoomies whenever he’s in the club.

Annoys the absolute shit out of all the girls but he’s hot, so they deal with it.

Secretly a sweetheart but never shuts his mouth.

Gets a little too handsy when he’s had a drink– or five. 

Always asking Pete to loan him one of his girls for the night.

Don’t get him twisted, the guy FUCKS. and he's NASTY about it

Top Three: Dirty Talk, Deepthroating, Body Worship (receiving). 

𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐟

43 years old.

6’0’’.

Corrupt little wank, like’s to make Pete nervous when he comes around, but he’d never spill on the shady things as he likes the club’s views. 

Talks big shit but you’ll find him in the VIP rooms on a Saturday night. 

A little wrong in the head, but treat him right and he’ll make you scream. 

Can get a little rough with the girls when he's had a few.

Tight with money so always tries it on for a discount for not opening his mouth.

Has a big cock and is smug about it.

Likes 'em on their knees with an wide open mouth.

Top Three: Daddy Kink, Corruption Kink, Choking. 

𝐌𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐢𝐬𝐬 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐲𝐬𝐟𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐋𝐚𝐰𝐲𝐞𝐫

32 years old

6’0’’.

Troubled addict that’s in the club; Every. Single. Night.

Likes just to watch, girls kinda hate him in the club because he won’t even throw a dollar bill but will spend a paycheck on drinks and other things.

Spends money he doesn’t have, does the odd job for Pete when he’s in a little legal trouble which gets him the odd night in the VIP rooms.

Don’t underestimate him though.

Will have you crawling back for seconds.

While not the roughest by any means, get him high enough and annoyed enough, he’ll make sure you’re not walking for the next two weeks.

Top Three: High Sex, Overstimulation, Throat-Fucking. 

𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐊𝐞𝐦𝐩 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞

35 years old

6’1’’.

Idk, fam, somethings off about this one but we're gonna ignore it, okay?

Stares a little too long, kinda like he’s hunting.

Makes your heart race a little being around him– fuck or fight i guess. I know which I’m doing. 

Tips nicely but never wants a private dance, likes to watch and drop cash at your feet after.

Weirdo tbh. It’s not like he ain’t got the money. 

Sucks to be you if you decide to go home with him.

You ain't coming back, honey.

Top Three: Blood Play, Knife Play, Bondage/Rope.

*** if by chance, i have missed your req and you know you sent it before reqs were closed, please let me know asap so i can add it to this list!! thank u all sm for u patience. i love u all<33

[lostlegendaerie]

So last night, a little after nine, my mom texted me a message that starts with "did you know that your dad wrote something called Stanford Prison Experiment: the Musical?" This was not the full message, but this was enough to stop me cold so we're gonna go line-by-line accordingly.

Here's a little context as to the kind of person my dad is; a prepper libertarian with a history of (child/spouse/animal) abuse, cheating on my mom with a teenager, and a absolute inability to take any sort of criticism for anything he's ever done in his life. Not really the demographic that I would trust to make a musical about one of the most infamous cases of scientifically enabled human rights violations and take the right conclusion away from it.

I looked up his blog out of curiosity (because, again, what the fuck?) and basically he rewrote some of the lyrics to music from the era to construct a narrative around the two real people who were instrumental in running the experiment (both described BY LEGAL NAME) and with only one original character that he described as, and I quote, "the “John Wayne” guard, an everyman antihero whose rise, fall, and remorse could befall anyone." Unfortunately, any information as to the plot is buried under a staggering amount of description of "systems thinking" - his wholistic solution to everything wrong with the world, emphasizing on cooperation, identifying the 'root' or a problem, and eliminating 'us verses them' thinking. This is the same man who got in a fight with me this Christmas that we shouldn't raise the minimum wage and everyone should just work harder, and who continues to insist the gender wage gap doesn't exist.

So we've confirmed that not only is the musical bad and bereft of plot, serving as a little more than a spoon with what she plans to feed his ideology two more people, but it is a staggering time bomb of legal issues regarding licensing of music not in the public domain and the use of likenesses of real fucking people who are still alive.

But it gets worse.

The next line of the text message informs me that he has asked my mother, who works at a place that will be hosting an A list celebrity known for their charity work (I'm trying not to dox my family here, be nice), to ask her bosses boss to forward his play to said actor and try to help him meet up with them.

This man is trying to cold pitch a work titled "Stanford Prison Experiment: the Musical" that has never been performed by anyone on any stage, nor has it obtained the licensing needed for two thirds of the primary cast or any of the music featured, directly to an A list actor.

Her current plan is to send it to her boss with a follow up email apologizing that she had to send it to him or he would pitch the worlds biggest fit like the baby that he is, and ask her not to forward it onto the celebrity because my mother is at least aware of the incredible social faux pas that would be involved in this. (Because if she just says no, he will scream at her for literal genuine hours about how horrible she is. You know. Like a 60+ year old toddler.)

The one positive thing I am choosing to take away from this is; at least I am not that obnoxious about my OWN creative writing endeavors, damn.

[howlingday]

Irish jaune au

Jaune is the same, except he's Irish, so he's barely eligible. And when a usra bites him, it dies of alcohol possession. Beacon discover his tolerance for alcohol when he chalinges the school to a drinking game for 10$ each. Back to back, he wins. Even beating qrow.

On the one hand, this could be seen as offensive. On the other hand, I know just the Irish character to use...

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

"I'm sure one day you'll learn to love it..."

Jaune: But he was wrong. I dinnae like it. Winchester, yer drunk. Piss-faced drunk. On power, authority, and influence. OZMA is supposed tae be an arm of violence, an ah'm just a man-killing meat cleaver. It's ma only power by which tae serve the people.

Jaune: Winchester, noo, ye've quit serving people. A' ye're serving is HER power. Eh? Isnae that right?

Jaune: ARCHKING CARDINAL?

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

Jaune: Now what can I do for ya, Father Qrow O'm'ly'O'C'nel'O'C'rol'O'Rily'O'Bri'n'O'Sul'van.. Ah-who is also Italian.

Qrow: Tell-a me, Arc, what is your favorite thing to do?

Jaune: Spreading the word and eternal love of The Brothers at the many people of the world. Teaching peace and love for all.

Qrow: And-a killing-a Grimm?

Jaune: Oh, just try tae fuckin' stop me~!

Qrow: And what about... Oumists?

Jaune: Second verse, same as the first! Now put me on ae plane so Ah can put 'em in ae hearse~!

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

Jaune: (In Glynda's face) HAHAHAHAHAHA! DID YE HEAR, NORA?! DID YE HEAR, REN?! With ae bleeding nose and ae veritable freak force 'afore her?!

Jaune: "Come and get me"? "Ah will fight ye"?

Jaune: GYEHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Nae mistaking it. She, this woman and a' with her...

Jaune: ...ARE OOR SWORNEST ENEMIES! OOR ARCHENEMIES!

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

Goodwitch: (Via scroll) JUMP UP YOUR OWN ASS AND DIE!. (Hangs up)

Ruby: (Sighs, Slumps) Beacon... We have no~ problems!

Jaune: (Kicks in the door) RRGH!

Ruby: Okay, dude, I need, like, a minute or so before I'm-

Jaune: (Punches Ruby to the floor)

Ruby: NEVERMIND, WE'RE BACK IN BUSINESS!

Weiss: I've got him-!

Jaune: (Shield bashes her over the counter)

Weiss: (Dazed, Shaking)

Ruby: Ugh! Great! You triggered her! Gonna be all day with this...

Jaune: The Brothers have handed down ae blessing to ye filthy heathens as ae sign of good will... A small private Ozian jet. Now, if ye would be so very divinely-like tae ship yer sawry pale ass oot! (Points) And take yer dainty, white hoor with ye! And the cat-boy!

Blake: Donc quai?

Ruby: Man, I don't know what I find funnier: The Church of the Brothers strong-arming you into helping us, or the fact that you obviously haven't seen what I did to the statue of Big Bois~!

Jaune: ...

Jaune: (Screams at the Brother statues now graffiti'd with "INCEST IS WINCEST" and "BROTHERLY LOVE IS REAL LOVE")

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

Ruby: And so, you've broken through the siege and now stand face to face with me. Good... Good... Exactly what I'd expect from Ozma. From Jaune Arc.

Jaune: (Standing with a broken arm)

Ruby: Oh? It seems you didn't make it through unscathed.

Jaune: SO WHAT ABOOT IT, VAMPIRE?! (Biting sleeve, Pulls up) Ma arm's just torn up is a'. Quit yer blasted boastin' and come. COME AT ME. Hurry, HURRY!

[axel-ambassador]

So someone made an hour long video (that I didn't watch) about why Whatever It Takes is the worst song in Hazbin Hotel

So I'm gonna talk about why it's one of the best.

Disclaimer

Again, I haven't watched the video, so I don't know what their points are. But I'm not here to argue with their opinion. I'm here to get my own contrary opinion out there. Whoever they are is entitled to like and dislike whatever song they desire, even if I personally disagree. I have nothing against them and this is not made to antagonize them in any way shape or form.

Alright let's get into it

So let's start with Carmilla since there's a bit less to talk about compared to Vaggie.

The song starts as a soft ballad. As it progresses, we get to see more insight into who she is as a person, and not just as an overlord.

I always thought

That I would keep blood off my face

But when that thing attacked

I had to act

To cross that line and keep them safe

She is not a violent person. She never meant to kill the exorcist that attacked her and her daughters. She never wanted to, but she had to, because family is what's most important to her. Not money, not power, not souls, but family.

To further highlight this we get

But if anyone knew

Then all of Hell would rise to war

And who's to say who'd survive the fray?

I might lose the ones that I was killing for

As much as she's willing to fight for those that she loves, it scares her. She doesn't want to fight, because any possible gain that could come from it pales in comparison to the mere thought of putting Clara, Odette, and even Zestial in danger.

It's agonizing.

It's a rare moment of vulnerability from her. All the cards are on the table and her heart is on her sleeve. All in front of the people she cares most about. She may be vulnerable, but she's still secure about herself and is willing to share her deepest fears with them.

She will do whatever it takes to keep them safe, even if it means going to war and fighting until they no longer can. She will make every mistake if it means keeping them free from harm.

This is where we begin to draw the parallel to Vaggie, who we'll get to soon enough. They both make promises to protect their loved ones even if it means putting themselves on the line.

Carmilla is loyal as a fault to the people she cares about. A trait that can be dangerous if you don't have enough self preservation when the time comes to fight tooth and nail for your life.

Which is why she ends up doing something that goes against her morals: Killing.

And this is why Vaggie benefits so much from having her as a mentor, but more on that later.

So from a few verses we clearly understand who Carmilla is as a character. She's fierce, loyal, protective, and not afraid to put her morals aside if it means protecting her loved ones. Her parallel to Vaggie sets up for an interaction later down the line, where their similar yet different mentalities meet.

Speaking of everybody's favorite fallen exorcist...

If you ask me, Vaggie's part in this song hits so much harder for a multitude of reasons.

Let's start with the abundance of wonderful foreshadowing.

When I saw your face

You made me feel like a stranger in a brand new place

And it felt so good to be understood

But there's so much I wished that I could say

On its own, it makes you question what's below the surface. What is she talking about? What is she hiding? There's certainly more context that we're yet to see.

And then once we learn who Vaggie really is and how she met Charlie...

Suddenly it has so much more weight.

Charlie is an understanding person, she said so herself. In that moment, it didn't matter who Vaggie was or where she came from. All that mattered was getting her the help she needed.

So I

I'll be your armor

Do whatever it takes

I'll make the mistakes

I'll spend my life being your partner

Vaggie is eternally grateful for this. Because Charlie both literally and metaphorically saved her. Charlie becomes her rock, her world, and she does the only thing she knows how to in order to repay that kindness.

Serve and protect.

And I will try to make your dreams come true

Whatever we go through

Many call Chaggie's dynamic toxic because of this, which is not the case. Their relationship is not toxic. Vaggie has a toxic mentality that the only reason worth living is to be of service, but that does not make their relationship toxic.

Charlie never exploits this trait. She never takes advantage of Vaggie's giving nature, because she is also a giving person and treats Vaggie with the same love and adoration that Vaggie does. Yes, she can be dismissive, yes, she can be lightly oblivious to people's feelings, but never is there any intention of malice behind it. And when Charlie oversteps any boundaries, they talk things out.

Chaggie is not toxic. Vaggie is toxic towards herself.

Vaggie, unlike Carmilla, is insecure. She is alone. She's hiding things.

She can't possibly tell Charlie how she feels, because that would involve explaining everything she had been hiding, and in turn losing everything she had. She's scared.

She, like Carmilla, is willing to put everything on the line if it means keeping Charlie safe. The difference is that Vaggie was made to fight. It's the only thing she knows. She doesn't cast her morals aside, because fighting is her morals.

Carmilla and Vaggie are 2 sides of the same coin. Both are willing to put their life on the line to fight for their loved ones.

Carmilla doesn't want to fight, but is willing to put that aside for the sake of her family.

Vaggie only wants to fight, and thinks that's the only thing she can do for her family.

So when they finally meet, their ideals clash, and they make a compromise.

And this was all established through one incredible song.

Character moments aside, there are some other things that cement this song as a Top 3 Hazbin song for me.

Up until this point in watching the show, I wasn't fully onboard with the musical aspect. My friends and I would groan and complain every time a song came on and disrupted the plot. Up until this one.

This was the first song that really piqued my interest. This was the first song I watched and said "I'm gonna listen to this later."

This was the first song that I listened to for hours on loop on Spotify as I did my homework in my dorm. This was the first song that made me say, "wait a minute, these guys know what they're doing."

This song made me fall in love with Hazbin Hotel.

Maybe I'm biased because I love Vaggie and Stephanie Beatriz but frankly, I don't care.

Whatever it Takes is a wonderfully underrated song and I'm happy to share why I personally love it.

Thanks for reading ^⁠_⁠^

[burntsaltsblog]

tw: drug use, mdni

Chapter Four

"Never gonna give you up. Never gonna let you down. Never run around and desert you."

A steady headache at the base of my skull pulsed in time with the beat, which was courtesy of Rick Astley. But I couldn't even hear Rick singing, thanks to MM, who was belting out the tune like he had written the song himself.

"Never gonna make you cry. Never gonna say goodbye. Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you."

He had claimed this was the only way he could adequately prepare for a mission, and I wasn't one to judge a guy for the way he chose to get in the zone. But, as soon as Rick Astley's voice blared from the mini Bose speaker in the common area of the basement for the 27th time (yes, I had been counting), I was contemplating storming from the confines of my room and hurling the stupid speaker against the wall until it inevitably shattered into a thousand different satisfying pieces.

I assumed I had finally gone deaf when the song cut out midway through the second verse, but then Hughie timidly eased my door open and slipped inside. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Well, I'm alive, aren't I?" I replied dryly, flipping through the latest issue of Vogue that Frenchie had swiped for me from the bookshop down the street.

"Yeah." Hughie said, hesitating before continuing, "Anyways, we're about to head out, and I wanted to say goodbye."

My gaze drifted from pictures of Chanel bags to Hughie's nervous face. "Alright. Well, Godspeed. And if you happen to use Butcher as a human shield, which results in him getting maimed, then please do so. I can promise to compensate you for your efforts."

Hughie perched on the side of my bed, taking an unusually great interest in a loose string in his jeans. "How long do you plan on staying mad at Butcher for?"

"Why?" I questioned as I resumed paging through my magazine.

"Because the tension between you two is making it a bit awkward for the rest of us if I'm being honest."

"I'll stop being mad at Butcher when he stops being a world-class ass. And knowing him, that could take a while. So I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you."

"Why don't you just key his car or something?" Hughie sighed. "You know, perform some dramatic act of revenge so you can get even with him and move on?"

I titled my head in consideration before I found fault in my friend's idea. "One, he'll just get his stupid car fixed, and two, my revenge needs to be something that's going to impose lasting pain. Emotionally and physically. And that's going to take me a long time to figure out."

"You're insane," Hughie muttered as he stood, adjusting his jacket. "Oh, and by the way," he added, heading for the door. "Butcher told me to tell you to be on your best behavior while we're gone. He also told me what he would do to you if you didn't in significant detail, but I do not feel comfortable repeating any of it."

"That kinky, huh?" I smirked, watching Hughie squirm uncomfortably.

"Seriously, Jo," he lamented. "Can you at least try not to be reckless tonight? I know that's asking you to go against every basic instinct of yours, but Butcher is right. You need to stay here and rest so you can get better."

"I make no promises," I replied sarcastically before I took stock of Hughie's desperate face and relented slightly. "But I will try to be good. Is that better?"

Hughie nodded, offering me a small wave before closing the door behind him.

I strained my ears to hear four different pairs of shoes trample up the basement steps before clamoring loudly over my head. Butcher hadn't returned since his anger-induced exit earlier, so I assumed he was somewhere outside waiting for them.

A sting of jealousy flowed through me as I pictured them all embarking on this mission without me. Evading a security system as tricky as the CIA's was right up my alley, and I was exceedingly bitter that I was missing out on all of the fun.

I looked around my room, mindlessly studying the tattered posters I'd hung on the wall to cover the cracked walls. Tom Cruise stared back at me, dawned in his pilot's outfit, and I glared at him. If I lived in the film Top Gun, I wouldn't have to live with Butcher and his infuriating face, which I would confess was quite handsome if I wasn't so pissed at him.

Bored of Dior's spring line and Harry Style's exclusive interview about the highs and lows of fame, I tossed Vogue aside, picked up my phone, and scrolled through my unopened messages. Brandon had texted me under an hour ago, informing me of a party he was throwing at his apartment. Apparently, he was being evicted tomorrow, so he was hosting a rager the night before to trash the place as a big "fuck you" to his landlord.

I had to admit that the party sounded fun. I'd been alone for roughly five minutes, and I was already bored out of my mind. My biggest problem, though, was that I had the matter of my brand-new stitches. After MM sewed me up for the second time this afternoon, he'd made me swear that I wouldn't move a muscle so as not to rip them again. So, I suppose it was a good thing I'd had my fingers crossed behind my back because how could I break a promise that I technically never made?

I took a deep breath as I sat up in bed. Other than a small amount of lightheadedness and some minimal pain, I felt surprisingly good. And I knew after a couple of drinks, any discomfort would be a distant memory.

After rummaging through my small collection of clothes, I pulled on a clean pair of black jeans, a long-sleeved shirt that had the faded Vought logo, and my trusted combat boots. I studied my reflection in the camera of my cracked phone and felt satisfied enough, so I headed out the door and started for Brandon's place.

I was careful to shut off my phone when I was still inside on the off chance that Hughie tried tracking me if the guys returned to the pawn shop before I did and noticed I was gone. However, I figured the odds of that happening were pretty low, considering I only planned on staying at this party for a little while and breaking into the office of the deceased deputy director of the CIA would surely take all night.

Brandon's door was closed, but music and the hollers of guests could be heard loud and clear. I peeked through one of the bullet holes in the wood and saw it was a packed house. But that was no problem. Since becoming a wanted criminal, I haven't socialized much, so it would be good to see everyone.

"Holy shit, I can't believe you came!" exclaimed Brandon as I entered his apartment. He threw an arm around me before instructing me to 'help myself' as he gestured to the powder that covered almost every surface.

But I wasn't in the mood for coke. It was too exhilarating for this time of night, and I was craving something with less evident and lasting effects. I spotted a vape that was being passed around by Heath, one of my old buddies back from my dealing days, and I promptly approached him. I didn't have much trouble nicking the vape off of him, and I settled into the comforting high from the weed as I conversed with everyone.

They were all thrilled to see me walking around free and not locked up. I was ambushed for details on my anit-supe work, but I was dubious with most of my answers, only doling out basic information and keeping most of the details to myself. I considered almost everyone here to be a friend, but paranoia danced around my head, and on this rare occasion, I listened to the internal warnings and kept my mouth shut.

Time flew by, and before I knew it, I had moved from weed to more potent stuff. Molly was my newest friend for the evening, and it caused me to deviate from my original plan of leaving early. One hour turned into two, and pretty soon, it was nearing four am, and I was passing out on Brandon's couch.

༺༻

Light snuck between my swollen lids, piercing my eyes, and I groaned, slapping a hand over my face as I searched for some much-needed darkness. Someone nearby was shuffling around the room, and the noise quickly became too irritating to ignore. I assumed it was Hughie, and I wrenched my eyes open, intent on telling him to shut the fuck up, when I realized that it wasn't my best friend causing the noise, and I wasn't under the pawn shop. I was still in Brandon's apartment from the night before.

I abruptly sat up and watched as the stranger causing the ruckus shuffled out the door, not even bothering to close it behind them. My teeth sank anxiously into my lower lip as I pulled out my phone to check the time. After the device finally powered on, my eyes widened as I saw the numbers flashing before me.

10:29 am

Fuck fuck fuck. I was completely and totally fucked.

The boys were definitely back by now, and I was sure that they had noticed my absence.

Right on cue, notifications of missed calls and texts began flooding in, and my stomach flipped when I saw the ninety-three missed calls from Butcher. Hughie had called a whopping forty-two times, and there were a few messages from MM and Frenchie telling me to get my shit together and come home. I couldn't help but scoff at Frenchie; he and I ran in the same circles, and not a day went by where he wasn't high. Saying that I was miffed at his hypocrisy would be an understatement.

I stood from the couch on weak legs, fought the fatigue that was encompassing my body, and forced myself to focus on the act of getting home somehow. I was too tired for the almost hour walk, but I didn't have money for a cab either.

As if my phone could read my thoughts, it immediately lit up, notifying me that I had an incoming call from Butcher. I guess he thought that the ninety-fourth time was the charm.

I stood in Brandon's apartment, which was lacking the owner himself, amongst other passed-out partygoers who I assumed had stayed overnight unintentionally like myself as I contemplated whether or not to accept Butcher's call.

In the end, as I silently cursed myself, I took the call. I brought the phone up to my ear but quickly drew it back when Butcher's voice bellowed from the other end, not even giving me a chance to say hello.

"Where on God's bleedin' earth are ya'?"

"Uh, Brooklyn," I responded hoarsely as I walked through the open doorway and scanned the empty hall.

"Stay where you are. I’m coming to get ya’."

"Butcher, it's fine. I can get home on my own."

"The hell you can. Send me your location."

I didn't have the opportunity to argue before the line went dead. So, with multiple knots in my stomach, I begrudgingly dropped him a pin of my location. I was already in deep shit, and now I was forced to face a car ride with Butcher, where he'd have ample time to yell at me. And with my blurry vision, chapped lips, and overall feeling of sickness, I was not in the mood.

I stumbled out into the December morning air just as Butcher pulled up in his beat-up Cadilac. He shot out of the driver's seat and stalked towards me like I was prey that he had finally cornered after much anguish. I suppose that wasn't far from the truth.

I barely had time to attempt an escape before Butcher had me slammed up against the car with a firm hand on my chest, keeping me pinned in place while he used his other hand to point a threatening finger inches from my nose.

"Dontcha ever pull some shite like that again. Do ya’ understand me? I was out all night, runnin' around like a fuckin' headless wanker lookin' for you, only to find ya’ here in this bloody crack den."

"This isn't a crack den."

"Well, it makes our little bunker look like Buckingham fuckin' Palace, don’t it? And if I ever catch ya' here again, I swear to God almighty, you won't be able to sit for a fuckin’ year."

Butcher's threat was low and husky as his whisky-tainted breath fanned over my face, and desire pooled in my belly.

"Do you understand me, Josephine?"

"Wow, you're using my full name? I must really be in trouble," I snickered. Any sane person would immediately agree to appease someone like Butcher with his bugged-out eyes and bared teeth. But I had fallen off my rocker years ago.

My breath hitched when Butcher raised his hand to my neck and squeezed in a warning. "I would choose your next words very carefully, princess."

I stared up at Butcher, challenging him as our breaths began to mingle. "You can't tell me what to do."

"Yes, but that won't stop me from throwin' ya' over my knee and spankin' your arse till it’s red and raw. I don't care if we're in the middle of the goddamn street. I bet your other druggie friends around here would like a little show."

My pussy clenched desperately as images of Butcher punishing me out in the open like that swarmed my mind, but I reeled them back in as I did my best to keep myself together. I prayed he didn't notice my quickened heartbeat and sweat that now coated my forehead, telltale signs that my body craved for him to take control of me right here, right now.

With much-needed force, I shoved Butcher off of me and watched in satisfaction as he stumbled back. His shoelaces flew around his feet instead of doing their actual job and keeping his boots laced up.

"Don't make promises you can't keep. It's not attractive on a man your age," I commented passively as I opened the passenger's side door and plopped down in the car.

I kept my eyes staring straight ahead as Butcher rounded the front of the car and gruffly sat down behind the wheel before starting the engine. He navigated the narrow streets of New York City, weaving between cabs and delivery trucks and honking at pedestrians loitering on the curbs. "These fuckin' kids have no place better to be? When I was their age, I had a job to keep and rent to pay. I didn't have time to hang around street corners like a fuckin' muppet until my next wank."

"Yeah, well, when you were their age, electricity was still new, so people liked staying indoors more."

I couldn't resist peaking over at Butcher to see his reaction, and I caught him rolling his eyes before changing lanes. "Good to know all that dust didn't wipe out your charmin' personality."

"Actually, I didn't do any lines last night. I was a good girl and stuck with some nice MDMA. Aren't you proud of me?" I asked, with a mocking smile as I twisted my shoulders to face Butcher head-on.

"I don't think proud is the right word, sweetheart. More like so bloody furious I might handcuff you to your bed so ya’ can't sneak out again."

I raised my brows as my smile turned from mocking to teasing. "Damn, I didn't realize you liked to get so frisky, old man. Exactly how deep into BDSM are you? I mean, for someone with your level of anger issues, I'd guess pretty far."

Butcher growled, illegally parking his car in the alley next to the pawn shop. He slammed on the brakes, throwing me forward, and dug his fingers into the roots of my hair, tugging till my eyes bored into his own. "Get out of my fuckin' car before I make good on my earlier threat. Don't be so naive, darlin', to assume I would pass up the opportunity to teach ya’ a lesson on obedience, you little cunt."

My arousal from earlier returned, more powerful than before, and I was all but panting when Butcher used the hand that wasn't holding my skull captive to throw my door open. "Get," he barked.

After I removed my seatbelt, noting how my hands shook ever so slightly, Butcher shoved me out of the automobile. I had barely landed on the ground, my boots thudding loudly in the process before Butcher was zooming away. His tailpipe blew exhaust all over me, and I coughed and sputtered, throwing my middle finger up in the air, hoping he would see it in the review mirror.

When his Cadillac was around the corner and out of sight, I turned on my heels and headed into the small pawn shop. I avoided making eye contact with the tattooed man behind the counter and quickly descended the basement steps.

I kicked off my boots and tossed aside my jeans and shirt after entering my room and climbed into bed. I curled up into a tight ball as I tried to ignore the intense throbbing between my legs because I refused to give in to the pleasure that I so desperately craved. Even though it wasn't necessarily true, it felt as if touching myself to the memory of Butcher's harsh yet tantalizing threat felt like I would be letting him win. Winning what, I wasn't sure. Nevertheless, I was too sore of a loser to go through with it.

Eventually, I began drifting in and out of sleep, and it was only when I couldn't take anymore that I pulled my underwear to the side and ran a finger through my slick folds.

I shivered, biting my lip as I attempted to suppress a moan that was on the tip of my tongue. Once my restrain was broken, there was no holding back. I pushed two fingers into my dripping hole and wasted no time in finding a fast tempo. The heel of my hand slapped against my swollen clit every time my fingers entered my cunt, and I came embarrassingly quick.

After clearing my head from my intense orgasm, I examined the juices that coated my thighs. This was all Butcher's fault. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't be such a fucking mess right now.

Resigned to the fact that I needed a shower, I tiptoed through the common area, desperate not to be caught in this state, and snuck into the cramped bathroom. I wish I could say that I practiced the art of self-restraint and didn't touch myself again as Butcher's voice echoed in my head, but that would be a lie. It wasn't until the water ran cold and my legs began to weaken that I actually cleaned myself up before darting back to my room and swiftly passing out in bed.

༺༻

I woke up to panic ensuing in the common area. I stumbled out of my room and regarded the scene through my sleep-hazed vision. Everyone was running around tossing things in bags as they threw clipped commands at each other.

Finally, MM spotted me and rushed over, shoving an empty duffel bag into my hands. "Pack fast, kid, we gotta go.”

"Why, what's going on?" I called as he crossed the room and busied himself, placing our spare laptops and other electronics into brown corrugated boxes.

"We've been burned, mon ami," Frenchie informed me as he passed by, with his arms full of different bottled chemicals.

It took me a moment to process what he said before my heart stopped, and I clutched the bag closer to my chest. "What? How in the fuck did that happen?"

“Don't know," Butcher said, loading his handheld. "But, my guess is that someone spotted ya’ at that little swarae you went to last night and followed ya' back here."

"No, there's no way," I insisted. "I knew everyone there, and none of them would ever do that to me-"

Butcher charged forward, abandoning his gun on the coffee table as his eyes darkened in anger. "Don't be such a daft cunt. Of course, one of them turned ya’ in. You're the most wanted criminal in the fuckin' country; turnin' ya’ in is the dream of every junkie in the Tri-State Area who's desperate to get their possession charges wiped from their record. You handed yourself over to them, all wrapped up in a crimson bow."

I opened my mouth to debate Butcher, but MM walked in between us, pausing the dispute. "Butcher, I get that you wanna to rip her a new one, but we gotta leave. We're lucky if Homelander isn't already here.

I glared up at Butcher, conveying that if it weren't for MM, I wouldn't be backing down from this fight.

"Go," MM begged, pushing me back into my room. "Pack only the essentials."

I took a deep breath to steady my racing heart as I threw the ripped duffle on the floor and knelt under my bed, pulling out all of my belongings, which consisted of another pair of black jeans, a couple of t-shirts, some magazines, my hygiene products, and my earbuds.

I dumped everything into the bag, forgoing any form of folding or organizing, and swung the bag over my shoulder before heading back into the common area, surveying the chaos that was still transpiring. I had already pulled my clothes and boots from earlier back on, so I was all set to go. Since that was the case, I offered myself to MM, helping him finish packing the rest of our equipment.

Minutes later, an eery silence fell over the group as we huddled together before Butcher spoke. "I think it's best if we split up. For safety, that is. We'll be harder to track in smaller groups, thus makin' it harder for those twats to find us. We can meet back up in a couple of weeks or so once things have calmed down a tad."

"Butcher's right," MM agreed. "So the question now is who's going with who?"

Kimiko quickly linked her arm with Frenchie as she smiled, signaling to the rest of us that they were paired up.

"Alright, kid. You're with me," MM said, waving a hand to Hughie.

Misery settled in my bones when I realized my fate.

I was stuck with Butcher.

The devil himself flashed a toothy grin at me as he trotted over and slid an arm across my shoulder. "I guess that means you're with me, princess."

"Shoot me," I groaned as I pushed Butcher away and followed the rest of the group up the rickety stairs for the last time. Even though the place was a fucking hole, and I had honestly been in crack dens that were nicer, I was still going to miss it. In the three months that we'd lived here, we'd managed to make it a home, and I had enjoyed the feeling of having one after so long on the run.

I exchanged goodbyes with the rest of the group: a kiss on both cheeks from Frenchie, a pat on the back from MM, a hug from Hughie, and another bone-crushing one from Kimiko. She stepped back and beamed up at me as she moved her hands into different positions, communicating with me. I recognized them from the time she had spent teaching me her sign language. "Bye. Be safe. I love you," she said, and I signed the same sentiment back to her.

"Oi," Butcher yelled, opening the trunk of his Cadillac. "We don’t got all bleein' day, sweetheart, unless ya' wanna die by Homelander laserin' your gams off."

I rolled my eyes before hugging Kimiko one more time and jogged over to Butcher. "No, I'd prefer if my gams were left unscathed."

I dropped my duffle bag into his trunk before rounding the car and settling myself in the passenger seat. I watched everyone peel away in their respective vehicles, and my stomach knotted at the realization that I was now alone with Butcher, and that's how it would be for the next few weeks. Fourteen days might not seem that long to some people, but spending the entire time with someone you simultaneously hated and loved sounded like borderline torture.

"Here," Butcher mumbled, dropping a blanket in my lap before turning the key in the ignition, and the old car roared to life.

My brows creased as I ran my fingers over the soft fabric. "What's this for?"

"S'pposed to be quite chilly tonight, and we've got a long drive ahead of us," he replied, avoiding my eyes and instead focusing on the road ahead.

"Oh." A warmth covered my cheeks, and I kept my head down, pretending to hyperanalyze the blanket.

The conversation ended there as Butcher turned on the radio and cranked up the heat. Don Mclean's voice spilled from the staticky speakers, and I curled up with Butcher's blanket, appreciating the extra warmth. I didn't bother to ask where we were going because I soon learned our destination when Butcher entered the highway and followed a green sign that had New Hampshire printed in bold letters.

My head began lulling to the side before I finally rested it on the window, and my eyes fell shut, letting sleep take over for the second time that day.

༺༻

“Oi, sleepin' beauty, get the hell up. We're here."

"Where?" I asked groggily as I brushed the hair out of my face. I noticed the greased strands at the crown of my head and made a mental note to take a shower the first chance I got.

"Haverhill, New Hampshire." Butcher announced before departing from the car and walking around to the trunk.

I stumbled out of the automobile after him and wrapped the blanket he gave me around my shoulders. As I leaned against the car, I yawned as I waited for him to get the bags. My eyes traveled the expanse of our surroundings that I could see so late in the night: green grass, red brick buildings, and paved streets. When I finally looked at Butcher, I saw him with both our bags in hand, regarding me with an expression I wasn't used to. His features were softer, not forced into hard lines like they usually were.

"What?" I prompted, wrapping the blanket tighter around my frame. The Brit silently shook his head before walking past me and up the stairs of the quaint Bed and Breakfast he had chosen for us to stay at for the time being. I hurried after him and nodded in appreciation as he held the door open for me.

I was immediately greeted with decor that exuded way too many pastels. Floral wallpaper and dried flowers covered the walls. The whole place looked as if it had fallen from a Beatrice Potter book. Butcher rang the bell at the front desk before shoving his hands in his coat pockets and whistling an unintelligible tune under his breath.

After a brief waiting period, an older man with snow-white hair exited the back room, smiling widely at us. "Good evening, travelers. Welcome to Ed and Eva's Inn."

I had to turn away, snorting at the corny name. And even though I tried to be discrete, Butcher pinched my arm, causing me to whine softly. But he ignored the sound as he focused on making introductions with who I assumed to be Ed, one of the owners of the Inn.

"Evenin', Govonor. Fancy givin' us a room?"

"With two beds," I added.

Butcher merely shushed me before turning back to Ed. "Preferably one with a nice view."

"I've got the perfect room for you both!" Ed beamed as he opened a drawer under the counter and produced a shiny brass key. "How long are you folks staying?"

"Don't know. But we'll be here for at least a couple weeks."

"Wonderful." Ed clasped his hands together before adjusting his green cardigan sweater. "It's forty a night."

"I'll cough up five hundred and sixty smackers upfront. Sound good, mate?"

Ed agreed, and Butcher pulled out his wallet and handed him multiple hundred-dollar bills. "I only pay in cash. I don't trust those dodgy banks."

"Fine by me. We don't even have any fancy gadgets you need for credit cards anyway," the elderly owner chuckled.

Upon his words, I took inventory of the front desk, noticing it indeed lacked a computer and anything resembling something from this century.

"So, where are you folks traveling from?" Ed asked as he began counting the cash.

"Boston," Butcher said, wrapping an arm around my waist. "We're actually here on our honeymoon."

"Oh, well, isn't that sweet," Ed smiled as he handed the key over.

"We're not actually married," I cut in. "It's more of a legal agreement if you want to know the truth. He's gay." I pointed to Butcher. "I'm just his pesky beard. You know how that goes." I waved a hand as Butcher tugged me away from Ed and up the flight of stairs. I'd never forget the look of shock Ed had, and I knew it would comfort me in many years to come.

Butcher grumbled profanities as we stopped outside of our room and fumbled with the key. He threw the door open, and we were met with what I could only describe as Cinderella's bedroom.

"Ugh, it looks like a fairy godmother threw up in here."

"I think it's lovely," Butcher proclaimed, dropping our bags and walking over to close the curtains.

"Of course you do. You only like it because I don't."

Butcher made a snarky reply, but I missed it because my eyes had finally landed on the bed in the middle of the room—the one bed, to be exact.

There was one fucking bed.

Fuck me.

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abandoned masterlist

[hehearse]

i see we're sending song suggestions again! i sent a few orv songs a while back, but it was before you'd finished the novel (which i had not realized at the time), so i want to try my hand at it again (plus with some sctir songs since you're into that now). there's gonna be a lot so please don't feel pressured to listen to them all at once (or at all!)

for orv:

everything in the dear hunter's all is as all should be album, but specifically the right wrong for yjh & all is as all should be (the song) for either sp or 51% kdj

reset me & take this lonely heart by nothing but thieves (yjh, arguably also kdj for the latter)

stories by lilli furfaro (The Themes)

icarus & apollo by ripto (yoohankim...)

mephisto by queen bee (this one goes SO hard. yjh)

for sctir:

always gold by radical face (this is The han brothers song to me. i love doomed siblings.)

against the kitchen floor by will wood (this one is primarily focused on the relationship yoohyun & hyunjae have with yoojin, and how that relates to their relationship with their humanity. the first verse/chorus is yoohyun, the second is hyunjae, and the rest of the song is yoojin. This one makes me so ill you have no idea)

honestly i'm still holding back but i don't just want to list out my entire playlists ... i hope you enjoy these ones!

HAPPENS TO THE BEST OF US NO WORRIES!! apparently i blended in well. :D

oh that's gonna be long. breaking it apart for structure purposes and also a read more cause feels appropriate FDSFCVS

-> orv

the right wrong by the dear hunter...

yeah checks out. yjh, always watched by kdj in one way or another. always remembering all his mistakes, letting them cling onto him as he goes through one regression after another. and then going back again and again, attempting to get rid of people who are yet to wrong him. yes yes... /crumbles/

all is as it should be. that's yjh. that's plotter. to me. gah.

is there even a need to elaborate. the cycle of regression, his self moving further and further from the patient zero if you will. the crash of stepping back into the first moments of that loop. watching his own self afterwards, wading through the 3rd turn. dooming himself in the 999th turn. something something biting his own tail and i am weak to it.

Nothing But Thieves - Take This Lonely Heart

this one is also. self explanatory isn't it. the story ended but yjh did not. what else is there to do. his purpose gone, his constellation gone. star-shaped hole in his chest aching, but the world is no longer the one that could fill it. there is comfort in the end of the world, you know what to do at any moment of your life, don't you? prevent it. save the world. but once you're done. what then huh. ehe. <- on the verge of death

Nothing But Thieves - Reset me

i hear you but consider this: yoohankim. first kdj - carrying the end in his pocket (literal) - the edited version of ways of survival, if you will. changing their luck - also literal. you know the drill then yjh - carrying so many ends (pardon the implications). carrying the pocket watch too - why not. carrying his sponsorship that leads him to his end etc etc then hsy of course - carrying wos for years and years, bringing forth the end of the world, the usual ^^ and they all attempt to look after each other, don't they? carrying each other's names and faces to the end of universe and back, bringing each other to life (or back to life). self explanatory i think.

lilli furfaro - stories - that one you are correct. the themes. orv in general. ehe. (<- sobbing)

ripto - icarus & apollo well.

something something. han sooyoung paving the way for yoo joonghyuk. and kim dokja leading him astray (to the epilogue). and him going back still. bangs my head against the wall. yoohankim....

queen bee - mephisto

consider this: yjh talking to kdj. reciting his own words at times. ehe... <- shaking but absolutely. yoo joonghyuk risking his life by making that regression his final one (liar). while kim dokja becomes something else in front of his eyes . ^^ almost leaving his turn for the 1863rd. salvation in form of betrayal. isn't that a love on shape of a lie? very kdj truly. ^^

-> sctir

ALWAYS GOLD ABSOLUTELY i think it cropped up before and you are very correct. that's them, the doomed siblings of all time.

will wood - against the kitchen floor

yeah there is nothing to add. you are correct. yoohyun first, hyunje second, yoojin in the end. and hyh and shj both changed due to love. i had a whole essay somewhere on them attempting to humanize their love for yoojin, but dooming him by doing that. and yet still being loved back. head in hands. and ogh yoojin as quicksand? yeah checks out. with all the s classes drowning in his love mhm. sounds about right. (and of course the overwhelming guilt for existing in others' lives.)

[avatar-anna]

You Make Me Feel

you don't necessarily have to picture it this way, but for me this is a 1970s au!

"Lookin' out on the pourin' rain, I used to feel so uninspired..."

You hummed the words as you folded laundry on your bed, the words coming to you as easily as breath did. They carried you through sorting your delicates and clothes that needed to be hung up, from the clothes that you needed to give back to your boyfriend and the select few you would keep until he asked about it. You hummed as you stood up from your bed, repeating the chorus over and over and circling back to different verses out of order, not a care in the world except for the paired socks you put away and the shirt that still had a pesky stain in it.

"You make me feel, you make me feel, you make me feel like a natural woman..."

So caught up in the little world you'd created while finishing up your chores, you didn't even notice Harry leaning against the door to your room behind you. He'd come up around the second chorus, and even though the floor creaked with his steps, you hadn't so much as looked up or away from your closet.

Harry was half amused, half trying to figure out how to make his presence known without startling you. He'd always found it so cute how you got so invested in such menial tasks—folding laundry, doing the dishes, washing your face, making food. It was like you could never do a single thing without giving it your full attention. The humming didn't always coincide with your laser focus, but it occurred often enough that Harry wasn't phased by it.

Deciding that there wasn't a foolproof plan to keep you from jumping out of your skin, he knocked on the door, trying to hide his laugh behind his hand when you did just that.

The humming and half-singing stopped immediately as you turned around, eyes wide as you took Harry in by the door.

"Jesus, you scared me!"

"I'm sorry, sunshine, I didn't mean to," Harry said, the fact that they had similar conversations regularly. "You knew I was coming over, didn't you?"

"Did I?" You looked at him with furrowed brows. "Oh, did you call? I must've missed it. I'm sorry, peach."

"No sweat," Harry said. "I got a little performance out of it, so we're square."

You narrowed your eyes at your boyfriend, who was no longer trying to hide his grin. He knew you couldn't stay mad at him for long when he gave you his best smile. It was like he had some sort of superpower. You saw his pearly white teeth and dimples and squinty green eyes and you were completely smitten all over again. You felt that smile down to your toes sometimes.

You gave up after a few more seconds, trying to pretend that you were still cross. But when you gave up, you went over to him and pulled him close by the loops of his jeans. "Well, you're here now, might as well help me finish putting all this away."

"Laundry day?"

"Laundry day," you confirmed. Your apartment complex didn't have a washing machine, which meant you had to take your clothes to the nearest laundromat, which also meant you waited until your pile of laundry was a small mountain before lugging it and a bag of quarters down the street.

Harry didn't bat an eye and jumped right in to help, though perhaps you should've known why when he zeroed in on a specific pile.

"You gonna wear this on our next date?" he asked, holding up a bra made of delicate lace, one of the only fancy items in that pile.

Your grin was sly as you continued hanging up clothes in your closet. "Doesn't go with my crochet top."

"Oh? And what does, pray tell."

"Nothing. I usually don't wear anything under my crochet top," you said.

Harry's gulp was audible, as was the soft thud of your bra on the carpeted floor of your bedroom. Your grin widened even further, a blush creeping up your cheeks as well. Harry was a known flirt, but whenever you gave it back to him, he clammed up like a local church boy.

A real stud, your boyfriend was.

"You—You don't?" he said, voice less confident than it had been before.

Turning back around, you went over to him again. "Of course not, you'd be able to see it."

You watched with mild amusement as your boyfriend short-circuited like a faulty computer, his eyes dipping between your face and chest. From anyone else, you would've been pissed, but Harry was harmless, and he admired much more than just your body. Plus, you liked to give him a good once-over too.

"What—What, um, what song was that? The one you were singing?" he finally asked.

You snatched the bra off the floor, along with the rest of your intimate items. "Aretha Franklin. I bought her record the other day and I can't stop listening to it."

"Haven't heard it," he said, but you weren't surprised by that. Harry's tastes laid with the Stones and The Who and the Ramones, and Fleetwood Mac once you knocked some sense into him. But you loved any music that made you feel something. And whatever was cheapest at the record store.

"I'll play it for you," you said.

You finished up putting your clothes away with a little help from Harry, though he really only made comments about the sheer amount of clothes you seemed to have. Perhaps it was excessive, but fashion seemed to always be changing, and you liked to have everything from the latest trends to pieces you knew would be timeless.

When you were done, you joined Harry on your bed, perching yourself on his lap and winding your arms around his neck. You found the soft curls at the nape of his neck and began twirling them around your fingers.

"We goin' out tonight, peach?" you asked him, voice soft.

Harry kissed the top of your cheekbone, mumbling his answer into your skin. "I don't know. Are you gonna wear that shirt with no bra?"

"I might," you said, your grin spreading as he continued to kiss your cheek and jaw.

"We can. There's a show at the Whiskey tonight, but," he paused, pulling back just slightly to look you in the eye. "I think I might just want to stay in and listen to music with you. But I'm cool with whatever you want. Just as long as I get to spend time with you."

Your heart thundered in your chest, but you tried to keep a collected appearance. "You want to spend your time with just little old me?" you asked. "What happened to the guy who chased after beach bunnies?"

Harry had been such a flirt when you first met. So forward and confident. You didn't give him the time of day until he ditched the bravado and told you how he really felt about you earnestly, and now that you were together, he was nothing but a sap.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, playful pout gracing his lips. It made you want to kiss it away. "I've only ever had eyes for you...Now."

Both of you laughed, unable to keep up this little charade of yours. You both knew Harry had...subscribed to what the hippies called "free love," having never been the type to believe in settling down or tying himself to one person for the rest of his life. But that all changed when he met you, and once he realized you weren't all that impressed with his swaggering, he opened up and showed you a more vulnerable side he'd never shared with anyone.

He was still a flirt and indulged in the occasional innuendo when the time called for it, but it was rounded out by nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck or tucking his hand in your back pocket when you walked somewhere, or leaned you up against your front door before he kissed you goodnight. Harry was right, he only had eyes for you now, and there was no doubt in your mind that that would never change. He made you feel like no one else ever had, and you wanted to hold that feeling in your heart until you were both old and wrinkly.

You kissed him on the lips, pulling away faster than Harry would've liked. But you held his chin between your fingers and said, "I would love to have a night in with you, peach."

That grin was back, with a starry gaze to match. "Just you and me then, sunshine."

What else could you possibly need?

[madrone33]

I have been CHILLING this week post-Vengeance saga release! I managed to avoid debilitating stress and anxiety from the onslaught of fan stuff by simply avoiding all social media for the first two days, so it's been good!

However, I am now BACK, dumping my immediate reaction of the saga from a week ago. I thought I was ready. I was not ready. 600 Strike blew my mind. I was left staring blankly at my ceiling. Jorge please rest sometime, I'm begging you. The amount of talent beaming through my screen is exhausting even me.

Also, to every cast member and collaborator and behind the scenes person: y'all are amazing. Like seriously. I hope you all get a yummy drink and a cozy blanket and just. Bask in the satisfaction of a job well done. Hats off to y'all fr.

Anyways! I keysmashed the following at around midnight, 14 hours before the livestream ('cause australia is the superior timezone /j). Be warned there's LOTS of swearing 'cause sleep deprivation + incoherent excitement lol

AHHH IT'S GO TIME

Ok it's starting the same as the Goodspeed festival showed. Tho, the first lead in sound thing reminds me of Lucids.

Gorgeous vocals. Hate Calypso, love Wangui fr

"Let me speak!" She really doesn't care about his feelings huh. I noticed in LIP as well, she always makes it about her, which is absolutely in character.

Those ensemble harmonies tho!!

"... You do?" Girl you literally told him to lie smh

"Why in the world won't you love me too?" 'Cause he has a WIFE

IT'S HERMES TIME

FSA melody? YO??

"Cause I had one goal in mind..." the silence where the crew's chorus would come in is PAINFUL

BAG?? HERMES!!

"Hello old friend!" Grinning so hard rn

"Well it's a little bit ✨dangerous✨" AHHH IT'S HAPPENING

Fingertapping and headbopping to this chorus

"Put your whole braiin in it!" I love how he says that sm

"And lastly the wind bag" NEW STUFF

WINIONS

Wow ok I did not expect the wind bag to show up again. Tho it makes sense; this is probs the storm that Ody told Sirenelope kept blocking the way home

ODY SINGING THE CHORUS!!!!

RUTHLESSNESS MENTION

"Hermes! Thank you" AHHH THE CALLBACK! He sounds so tired and like down to his bones grateful this time 🥺

"I'm not the one who fought for you!" MY EYES WIDENED SO FAR. WE ALMOST GOT AN ATHENA NAMEDROP. I'll settle for the reference to her

Okeee. Charybdis!!

Oooh it's just like in the reference vid. No lyrics for this start part!

The 5/4 is amazing. And the electric guitar!!

God this song is SO BADASS

LETS GOOOO ODY!!!

ahhh I KNEW there'd be some sort of soft KYFC esque "I can't wait to make some new memories" type verse AND I WAS RIGHT

he sees ithaca!! Oh god poseidon's gonna show up isn't he

my heart's beating so fast i'm scared

PENELOPEEE

the ELECTRONIC DISTORTION OH NO IT'S HIM

RIGHT INTO GET IN THE WATER AHHH

"Coward" AHHHH I CAN'T BELIEVE WE'RE FINALY HEARING THIS FOR REAL

"That's when our paths collide!" THE RASP

"Now get in the water" Oh shiiiit here we go

the choir is so eerie

"GET IN THE WATER" THE GROWL

"aren't you tired poseidon" ooh it's this part!!

ha he changed it to ten years instead of eight like the demo had XD

"maybe you can learn to forgive" the line from that one snippet!

"No" oop

"DIE" DAMN that deep echo!!

*underwater sounds* oh shit ody's fucking dying

NO! FUCKING POLITES

EURY

ANTICLEA

FUCK YOU JORGE

THE CREW

WAITING??? EXCUSE ME WTF

AHHHHHH WHY TF DOES JAY LOVE HURTING US SO

HUH? HUH??? WHAT WAS THAT! AND THERE'S A FUCKING AD. Probs good, I need the break but WAHT. I KNEW he'd do another fucking polites reference gods damnit jorge WHEN I CATCH YOU

Ok time to hear 600 strike. Holy shit we're here

ELECTRIC GUITAR LETS GOOO

Aeolus theme. IS HE GONNA OPEN THE WIND BAG AGAIN??

600 MEN MOTIF HOLY SHIT

ANIME SCREAM

HOly shit there's magic sounds happening. I'm really curious about whatever Jorge's cooking up for the animatic in the livestream, 'cause I have no clue what's happening rn 👀

"For every comrade!" FSA melody!

"all those _ who were slaughtered by your hand" hmm I can't quite hear what he's saying there?

wait wait wait he's ACTUALLY using the power of his 600 men!!

"You idiot" damn lol

DIFFERENT BEAST ODY HOLY SHIT

is that a blade sound effect?

WAIT DID HE JUST STAB HIM WITH HIS OWN TRIDENT

HOLY SHIT ODY

HOLY FUCK

POP OFF ODY

OMG "MONSTER" AND THEN "RUTHLESSNESS"

BRO HE'S BEGGING??

*trident drops* hot damn ody

"Next to my wife." OHHHHHHH MIC DROP

Holy FUCK that was crazy

I'm gonna listen to it again.

Ok but holy shit Odysseus literally just tortured a god until he gave in?? Daym ody

Tho I like how he tries using open arms first, and then ruthlessness. He's kinda found a balance? I say kinda, 'cause he went hard on the ruthlessness, but since he sincerely tried to ask Poseidon to just drop the whole thing already, his later actions in 600 Strike feel more warranted.

I honestly don't know how Jorge keeps doing it. He just keeps topping himself! Like! Thunder Bringer? And then God Games?? And now Six Hundred Strike??? They just keep getting better! Banger after banger, like!! How.

Wait I just wanna. Sit with it. Imma lie down and stare at the ceiling for a bit, aight?

... I am shooketh.

But BRO THAT WAS INSANE! ODY FUCKED HIM UPPP

AMAZING BRAVO EXTRODINARY INCREDIBLE SHOWSTOPPING GORGEOUS WONDERFUL HOW DARE YOU