#and the fact that they played like death/slam/black metal in the clothing store

[serialbxwl]

i finished nmh2 last night.

[youryanderedaddy]

War prize

Summary: You get taken as a war prize once the barbarians take over your homeland.

Tw: nsfw, non - con, mentions of blood, slight corruption kink, size difference, slavery, deregatory language, degradation, possessive behavior, minor character death, spanking, mention of war

There is now part 2

Yoo guys, don’t worry if you voted for the other two options, I will write for them too soon enough. Anyways, enjoy.  

You weren’t supposed to be here right now with your legs covered in heavy metal chains and a dirty cloth shoved up in your mouth. Your friends weren’t supposed to be either captured or dead. Your side wasn’t supposed to lose against the barbaric tribe. So many things weren’t supposed to happen tonight and you were slowly getting used to the fact that your supreme leaders had failed, the army had raised the white flag high and you were currently in the enemy territory with slim chances of escape, with absolutely no memories of how you got there in the first place.

You could hear his heavy prolonged footsteps, the way the sharp heel of his boot dug into the rich soil and stomped all over the daisies and weeds just like he had done with your own people hours ago. He was getting closer to the tent by the minute and his shadow was growing bigger and bigger until the soldier finally pulled back the curtain-like fabric to the side and entered the tiny space you were forced into.

He was very tall, unnaturally so, nothing like the men in your tribe who, despite being strong and capable, were born on the shorter side. His face was rough and raw, his features symmetrical and fierce in their cold perfection, deep charcoal eyes, dark lips and a straight nose. The knight fancied his long black hair free and wild, letting it fall against his muscular shoulders softly, shiny, silky and healthy. In these territories the warriors wore very little clothing, finding anything covering their chest or ankles to be too distracting and suffocating during a battle. You tried to look away from his half – naked form but his upper body was sweaty and smooth, caramel in color, making it hard to look at anything else. In return the male simply stared at you for a few moments, grinning in amusement or maybe even satisfaction, and kneeled down next to the mat you laid on.  

“Hello, my little captive.” His voice was throaty and deep when he finally called out to you, a cunning smirk adorning his lips, giving him a sly foxy expression. The man reached out to cup your cheek and wipe away a tear slowly falling down, causing you to squirm away from his touch as if he held a hot iron against your face.

“Don’t touch me, you brute!” You shouted out before you had the chance to reconsider your poor choice of wording. The knight simply chuckled in respond and grabbed your hips roughly, making sure to dig his nails deep into the clothed skin before pulling you closer to his naked chest. You couldn’t help but turn red when forced to take in the warmth and firmness of his body – you had never been so close with a man before, much less your commune’s arch enemy.

“I will do so much more than that, sweet girl.” Raven whispered against your ear and kissed your neck softly, pulling your hair down so you would arch your back and whine miserably. “I won you fair and square, little slave.” He growled against your collarbone and bit down hard on the soft part of your throat. You couldn’t stand the hot wet sensations and you desperately wanted to get away from the warrior’s cruel grip, but you were helpless in your struggles, and even if you weren’t thoroughly tied up, you were still too scared to put up a fight against the barbaric male twice your size.

“You are so small and fragile, so vulnerable underneath me. I’ve always wanted something soft and pretty to warm my bed at night.” Raven admitted huskily as he tore apart your white satin robe, revealing your chest to the lingering glittering light coming from the gaslight above. Your pitiful whimpers were muffled by his lips slamming on yours and his wet slippery tongue forcing his way deep down your throat. The warrior was caressing your bosom, squeezing and fondling at it shamelessly, pinching and licking your nipples until they stood at attention red and swollen like cherries. “Such a pretty little slut, tied down at my mercy.” The knight moaned and slapped your breast lightly, enjoying the sheer look of horror on your beautiful face, twisted in panic. “I’m gonna make your tits bounce while I take you like a bitch in heat.” The man mumbled sadistically and slapped your other breast, this time using more force. “ I’m gonna make you my whore.” He cursed under his breath and lowered his head to suck on your neck once again.

Soon Raven got bored of playing with your tits and moved on to spread your legs wide open, pulling your panties down to your ankles. The sight of your sweet tight pussy exposed and displayed so wantonly was mouth-watering to the barbarian, and he could already feel his member harden painfully against your slit. You pleaded silently with your eyes to be spared, muttering quiet pleas, “no’s”, sobbing and clutching to the last bit of hope for mercy. Unfortunately, the warrior couldn’t hear a word, too fascinated by your luscious body and his own wild hunger.

“My beautiful little prize, all mine.” The man whispered almost affectionately, kissing you nice and slow this time, with his throbbing erection pressed on your entrance, inches away from your untouched virgin hole. “I saw you earlier today while you were tending to your parents’ wounds, pet.” He spoke suddenly, his length teasing your folds by slowly sliding in between your soft thighs. “You looked so precious in your desperate attempt to save them during the final fight.” The warrior continued, one hand coming up to stroke your hair in a sick yet comforting manner. “A sweet little thing like you shouldn’t be on the battlefield.” Raven kept going while rubbing slow circles on the palm he had forced you to open when you were clenching your fist tight. “You look so much better by my side, pretty girl.” The soldier placed a small peck on your temple, the lingering gentleness of his actions and the cruelty of his words making you sick to your core. You felt tired and overwhelmed yet the worst was still in store.

“I will tell you a little secret, slave.” The dark-haired male snarled at you and raised your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his cold black eyes. “I killed your father and took you all for myself.” He confessed in a low vicious voice, his scarred fingers tightening around your throat. The wet fury in your heart tangled together with the pain and grief of your loss, but the deadly grip around your neck forced you in place, still and lifeless like a doll. You wished you were dead just like your family so you wouldn’t have to suffer the humiliation of entertaining the enemy and his twisted desired any longer. “Now I am going to steal your innocence and make you mine, little bird.” Your face froze in terror and agony, having realized that, by the end of his words, the man had already pushed his manhood into your tight heat, piercing through your body, unprepared for the shock and the pain. “Sing for me, slave.” The barbarian hissed under his breath and moved roughly in and out of you, each new thrust sharper and deeper than the last one. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you broken down so easily, but you needed a way to cope with the harsh reality, so you cried out for him. You chocked on your pitiful sobs, screamed in pain and whimpered miserably just to survive another second of this meaningless torture.

Raven looked ecstatic, enticed by your lovely moans and whines, your sweet despair delicious on his tongue while he claimed your lips and explored your throat. Your tight pussy squeezed hard on his length, milking every bit of pleasure out of it. His eyes were blacker than the night sky, filled with lust and thirst for blood, unquenched even after hours of slaying the innocent souls determined to protect their land. Laying down on the cold ground, sweaty, violated and stripped of your pride, you wondered whether you were just another conquest to the warrior, perhaps ruining your purity was his way of proving that he and his people were the new rulers of the territory.

“What a sweet little virgin you were, and now you are bleeding on my cock while I take you, pet.” The barbarian cooed at you cruelly, choking you lightly, not tight enough to put your life in danger, but enough to keep you motionless and complacent, just a hole for him to fuck into. “I am going to cum in your cunt now, slave, and you are going to stay there and take it.” The man announced sternly and kept shoving his manhood down your channel roughly, pounding into you relentlessly until he came with a growl and released his seed deep inside you, painting your walls white. Your pussy felt raw and puffy, pulsating in pain around the cock still buried in. He wasn’t pulling out of you.

“Oh, little bird, did you really think that I would be satisfied with having you just once?” Raven taunted you gleefully, a sadistic gleam in his dark eyes as he took in the panic on your face, drinking it like a glass of honey mead. “I fought for you after all, precious.” The warrior muttered slowly, mere inches away from your swollen lips, bruised and red from all the biting and rough kisses. “I am going to savor you little by little.” He paused to catch your gaze and held it for a moment too long before focusing on your mouth again.

“You’re mine now, don’t you ever forget it.”

[boku-no-loveletters]

Hello!! Could I get a match up with the league villains?🥺 I’m 170cm tall, I’m skinny (sadly I’m shaped like the letter I and rll self conscious ab it) I have shoulder length brown hair with two blonde stripes in the front, grey eyes. I’m a mix of a calm and logical person and a childish person with dumb jokes who can’t even sit still. I luv playing video games, reading, drawing. I usually wear dark oversized clothes or baggy pants with small tops. I’m european so my accent is rll thicc.Thank u!

Hey, what’s up? Hope you enjoy your match-up!

I matched you up with…

Shigaraki!

He's feral but I loved him since the beginning

-Now there are actually multiple reasons as to why I matched you up with Shigaraki, one of them being the fact that you are calm and logical but still allowing yourself to be loose and crack a few jokes sometimes. I think Shigaraki would respect that and probably admire your humor.

-Being calm and logical around Shigaraki is important, because he has very heavy mood-swings and being able to keep your composure if he switches dispositions will earn his approval. And while that is important, Shigaraki would probably also enjoy a carefree soul, so if you have the tendency to slip a dirty joke in on a conversation and make him crack a smile then you’re on the right path.

-The chances of you and him running into each other would either be by pure chance or an unintended every day occurrence. He could be a casual looking citizen who you have no idea is walking around in the streets with other people or he could be the one who was responsible for holding you captive. In an accident.

Well shit.

This is how it ends, huh? Being restrained in a villain warehouse where nobody will find you after they strip you of your skin and throw you out the door faster than you could say ‘sorry’?

Not to mention, earlier you kept thinking that nothing bad was going to happen today. That everything was going to be sugar and rainbows, that it was all going to be fine. But you were oh, so wrong.

"You fucking jinxed it, you idiot," you growled to yourself before attempting to slam the large and heavy cuffs on your wrist down on the metal chains dangling from your ankle.

But it didn’t budge, you reeled back the both of your wrists and tried again, still to no avail.

To be honest, you had absolutely no idea as to why you were being held here in this crappy makeshift hideout against your will. One minute, you were simply walking out of your apartment going to get some much-needed groceries from the store, and the next thing you know, you're being stabbed with a needle in your neck before blacking out completely.

Snarling in disappointment, you took a deep breath and then slumped down to your knees with your back facing the wall. After your little endeavor at trying to break free, your body temperature flared up and made you more heated up than normal. You must be getting sick or something because it was either you or the bands on your wrist making you burn up!

But the metal of the room surrounding you was unusually cold and so you used that to your advantage and turned gently, making sure to press as much skin to the wall as you could. The chilled and smooth surface helped immensely as you felt the searing hot sensation fade away.

You sat for a moment, feeling a wave of drowsiness hit your senses as you continued to be still.

How long have you been out? Would it be appropriate if you were to fall asleep again? Well, it's not like you were going anywhere soon and it certainly didn't feel like it was going to harm you if you got any sleep.

So you did. You closed your eyes deliberately before shifting into a more comfortable position and getting some well-earned sleep, hoping to have some sort of good dream before dwelling into your death.

But unfortunately, your time had come sooner than expected. Because as immediately as you tried to gain some repose, a soft click could be heard echoing across the room as the door unlocked to reveal a pale hand lightly opening the large ingot door leading to the entrance.

The pale hand followed up to unveil the shape of a man dressed in a plain black trench coat and tacky dress pants with multiple detached hands on different parts of his clothed limbs. Three were seated on each arm and his shoulders had one individually while his neck and the back of his head had one apiece. The most interesting one, however, was the single hand obscuring his identity from your view.

You could see he was dangerous. Not just because of the limbs, but rather the ominous demeanor he held over his presence and the fact that he seems fully aware of your current situation.

Not long after he had walked in was he followed by two other figures. One was a male with jet-black hair in another simple black jacket and matching pants with various amounts of marks and staples decorating his scarred body and the other was a shorter female. Her ash-blonde hair was loosely wrapped in twin buns, strands of wild stray hairs centering in different angles as two fringes on each side of her face framed her oddly innocent looking appearance as she donned a plain seifuku with a regular Kansai collar.

The greyish-blueish haired male mentioned beforehand was staged in the center of the room and the two other people, which you assumed to be his associates, positioned themselves each on one side of him.

Silence enveloped the room, the heavy steps of their shoes coming to a stop as they gained sight of your poor, slightly hunched figure.

He then clasped his hands behind his back before turning, what you thought to be, his gaze to the other walls. His back faced you as his accomplices kept their eyes fixed on you, watching your every movement so that you didn’t aim to escape.

“So, ” he began, “Do you know why you were brought here for?”

You shook your head no as you tried to keep your cool, already feeling the tension in the room rise by the minute. The burning sensation from a while ago returned and grew from warm to nauseating as it quickly surrounded your senses. Sweat began dripping down your forehead as your stomach did reoccurring backflips.

You could almost feel the other two burn their eyes into your torso, internally gnawing at your emotions despite their placid expressions.

He simply hummed before returning his sight on you, his hands still not leaving their positions as he took a few strides in your direction and stopped a couple of centimeters away from your feet.

You lifted your head to gape directly at the hand covering his face and from the side of your perception, you could make out a pair of piercing blood-red orbs. The wicked glint in his eyes threatening to make you lose your composure, as he then backed away to give you some space. Much to your relief as you released a deep breath you didn’t know you were holding in.

You internally quivered as you let your gaze drop to the floor before hearing a heavy sigh of what appeared to be..frustration?

"There has appeared to have been a mistake made. You are not whom I intended to be after." he finally spoke, the stillness after was deafening.

"The idiots out there must have grabbed the wrong woman," he emphasized, " A woman with brunette hair, just like you."

You raised your head and suddenly put up the largest grin you could muster at the moment. Your whole dampened attitude instantly lighting up at the possibility to live another day and forget all about this encounter.

"But, another problem strikes the current situation at hand. We simply can't let you free and go off telling another hero about our location, " he defined as your smile began to falter.

"So we'll give you three options. We'll let you go scot-free and you keep your mouth shut while my subordinates check in on you from time to time, you join the league free of surveillance and a life free of heroes, or you die at the hands of my comrades?"

"Wait...You're giving me a choice? For real?" you questioned, "You're not just going to kill me?

"No, I am not, " he answered, "Why would I? It'd be a waste and sweeping up the ashes of another dead person and concealing the evidence is enough work already."

You shivered in fear but still hummed in agreement, yet slightly suspicious of this man's intentions but not willing or bold enough to question his motives. So you went with the safest alternative, they let you go and kept an eye on you while you continued to live out your daily life in semi-peace.

"The first choice," you replied confidently. "I don't want to be involved in you guy's problem and I'm sure the other option is self-explanatory, Mr. Handyman."

He simply chuckled dryly in response to your joke before looking at you once more and snapping his fingers, then everything went black.

-You were knocked out, again. Though the next time you woke up, you found yourself in your living room laying on the couch unharmed. You checked you wrists to find that the cuffs of your restraints left a mark deep in your skin as it burned a bright sweltering red. You didn’t notice a bright piece of yellow paper sticking to your chest until you brushed your fingers over your collarbone. A neon lemon sticky note was attached to your shirt, you ripped it off and examined it closely. It said…

-Keep your mouth shut and your eyes open, we’ll be watching you.

-And so you didn’t really sleep that night because of both the LOV and the fact that you had taken more than the usual amounts of naps you were prone to take during your free time. But other than that you continued on with your life and moved on, almost forgetting your previous encounter with the S rank villain.

-The next time you had met him was when he arrived about a month later and by that time you had nearly forgotten all about what happened back there. So when he came to check up on your status and making sure you weren’t attempting to leave the country, he was surprised to find you living comfortably with no sign of your apartment faltering and in poor conditions.

-He knocked and waited patiently, his casual black hood and oddly bright red sneakers helped concealed his identity as he stood still. He had imagined that you thought that you were being left along, that you would trembled beneath his gaze again. But when you opened the door to reveal yourself, you just stared at him.

-You stood there trying to remember who this man was, but he didn’t say anything and instead pushed you aside and made himself at home. He walked to your living room and plopped himself on the couch before removing the hood from his head.

- “Oh, yeah Mr.Handyman”

-You didn’t say anything and instead switched the TV on. You sat down next to him as you felt his eyes burn holes into your back.

-And that’s how it went on for weeks, Shigaraki would always come up to your place to ‘Check and make sure you’re not alerting anyone’ and basically just hang out. The probability of him actually getting comfortable would take somewhere around 2-3 months once he realizes you’re not a threat.

-He won’t even do that much except lounge around and play video games with you, it’s not that villainous except for when he threatens you.

-I think that Shigaraki would enjoy playing video games with you as long as you let him win sometimes. He’s extremely petty so if you won three times in a row and haven't let him get in on a victory , he’ll probably make a fuss about it and not play for awhile. If you’re drawing or reading and not paying attention to him, that’ll probably get on his nerves a little bit too.

-He’s a dick. And yes, that’s something to worry about.

-Love…what is that? Sounds disgusting. Shigaraki is not that emotionally intelligent due to the fact that he had been deprived of tenderness the majority of his childhood so having someone act normal around him and unintentionally be kind to him makes him feel…weird. He doesn’t understand what the warm feeling in his chest is and why it makes him stir.

-You can make him crack a smile. You can make him laugh with your corny jokes and lift up his spirit after a bad day. He doesn’t know what it is, but he likes it and wants all of it.

-So the next time he had come in, he had told you about what kind of odd effect you had on him as he described it in the most surreal way he could say it. When you explained the feelings to him, you had also suggested dating to which he agreed after he had a proper grip on what he had just been told.

-Now Shigaraki has not received a lot of affection from his family during his childhood, only his mother and sister has provided him with physical endearment so that will obviously have an impact on his behavior now that he realizes how touch-starved he’s been.

-He will not however, under no circumstances, put his hands on you unless the situation calls for it or you gave him permission to. He does not want the same incident to happen to his significant other as it did his family. That’s the reason why he starts slightly trembling, which could be indicating a panic attack (as I imagined him to have a handful of episodes already.

-So If that happens, then you’d have to use your rationality and be careful. Get his special gloves and calm him down through the emotional episodes.

-I don't think the rest of LOV would mind you, Dabi wouldn't care about you at all but would still keep an eye on you while Toga and Twice ;-; would make small talk with you.

-So Shigaraki and you are more than a perfect fit, your personality traits don’t exactly clash but instead pick up where another one falls down! Your decisiveness and rationality along with your humor and liveliness helps balance you on the scale whereas Shigaraki’s standoffish and aloof position keep you both on your feet.

So I hope you liked this match-up! Writing the clip for this one was fun!

@idontknowuwu3

[modestlyabsurd]

God of Lies (Loki x Reader)

"Forgive me - I don't mean to pry, but, why were you so adamant about not going out with the rest?" Loki asks.

That wasn't what you expected him to ask at all. Hell, you prepared for some kind of sideways question about your appearance or career choice.

Pleasantly surprised, you shrug your shoulders. "I just don't like the atmosphere in those kinds of places. Being around a bunch of drunk people. I don't really like drinking either."

"Why?" he chirps.

"I dunno. The whole lack of inhibitions, and," you thought for a moment, "the way it changes your personality. I never have liked that feeling. I'd rather be in full control of myself and my actions in places like that."

Loki purses his lips and nods slowly. "Quite a different outlook than that of your peers."

A pit in your stomach forms as you feel self conscious all of a sudden. "Well why didn't you go with them?" you ask defensively - more so than you meant to. Immediately your teeth clench, wishing you could press rewind.

"I prefer let those around me make fools of themselves. That way I don't have to do it for them. And, it's much more fun to watch than to be involved."

"Then you could've just went and didn't drink anything."

"Well, yes, I could've. But I wanted to kill two birds with one stone, as you say. Let earth's mightiest heroes entertain me with their drunken witlessness later, and in the meantime ... spend time with you."

Your steps slow down as Loki gets a few feet ahead of you, hands in his pockets, bright face looking forward. Completely unbelievable.

You laugh a dry laugh. "If you told a jackass that, he'd kick your teeth out."

"Beg your pardon?" he chirps again. He twirled around obnoxiously swinging a leg out.

When you spoke that thought out loud, you didn't think he'd even acknowledge it, let alone question you; and by the time your stunned brain formulates a response and your mouth opens to say it, Loki's chest is nearing yours. He's staring at you, seemingly not knowing or caring about the wall you're backing up to. You lock on him. Watching his every muscle movement. Licking his lips, the ghost of a smirk, a sort of ludic glint in his prodding eyes. You're feeling out his intent but he's fucking unreadable.

Then you remember that you're unarmed.

Every possible ounce of comfort, or confidence, and your ability to verbalize anything all drained away and you slam your mouth shut the instant his forearm rested against the bricks above your head. He's looming over you. It forced you to look downward at your shoes - and the tips of Loki's shoes just centimeters from yours - or else you would've brushed noses.

What're you gonna do? Shove this superhuman strength-wielding alien off you? Risk a bout of combat breaking out here in the middle of a beautiful gray New York evening? It does play out in your mind, but it doesn't get to the ending before a change of air wafts around you. You nearly lift your head - just out of instinct, trying to identify the pleasant smell - but Loki is right there.

...

It's him.

The scents of the streets you've been walking together, the cinnamon from the pastry he'd eaten, and a sort of elemental masculinity on his skin; they wake up something inside you that you did not want awaken right now. You wanted it to sleep. You wanted it to die.

But at the same time, you wanted to surrender to it. His mouth is literally right there, parted slightly, hovering at the tip of your nose. Although you search for an escape, you can't bring yourself to squirm away.

A laugh - more like a breath - puffs from Loki's throat, fanning your face. "A jackass?"

You swallow. "It's just a saying."

"I quite like that, actually."

He's whispering to your nose. Against a brick wall; amongst the New York City passersby. Just a tilt of the chin away.

With hooded, lustful eyes, Loki is scanning for signs of discomfort. While you are indeed shifting from side to side and refusing to look him in the face, he can feel something more than that. Something so vague, but so obvious it's almost physical.

He pushes himself away from the bricks.

"Are there any decent places nearby? Anything of substance? Value? Entertainment or enlightenment?"

Air harshly fills your chest upon regaining breathing room.

For a second, you draw a complete blank. You don't know what he's asking, you don't know what you're feeling, you don't know your own name for a good four seconds.

Then, confidently, you answer, "I know there's a library somewhere around here. I've been wanting to see some of the thrift stores, too. And there's a little walking trail somewhere that I've wanted to see. Any of those along the lines of what you're suggesting?" you prop your foot against the wall behind you. Getting comfortable again.

He sighs dramatically. "I suppose I like the idea of a thrift store. I don't have much apparel that would blend in with your Midgardian ... trends."

"Are you insinuating that you don't like human clothes?"

He raises his brows and looks down at you. "I'm wearing them now, aren't I?"

You start walking side by side, but with enough distance to keep you sane. The noise from honking cars blaring by, the steady electric hum of lights and signs, thousands of feet hitting the pavement and the occasional swearing from angry New Yorkers became sort of a white noise; it was comforting. Distracting.

You're searching for the nearest second-hand store on your phone as you walk. Of course Loki wouldn't question that - eighty percent of the faces he sees is staring down at their screens. So he had no clue that you were purposefully distracting yourself.

At least, you thought he didn't, and that was enough.

Upon glancing up from your directions, you catch Loki's eyes.

Spoke too soon.

You scoff, and can't help but grin at how ridiculous you feel. It frustrated you mentally and sexually - and all he did was look at you.

"You're so complicated," you half-joke.

Loki replies lightheartedly, "Have you ever considered the possibility that it's you that complicates me in your mind? Before you get angry, hear me out. Your people must find answers to everything in an attempt to understand them, and therefore you overthink the simplest things. For instance, I don't dislike all Midgardian apparel. I like what I'm currently wearing, I like what you're currently wearing ... " he trails off.

How? your inner voice says. You understood him liking his elegant three, four - hell, probably five piece suit, but you didn't even dress up today. You threw on whatever was nearest. It pales in comparison to his attire.

Wait a minute ...

This has to be a joke.

"Ah, you see? You're doing it now, questioning and processing everything I've just said instead of merely taking it for what it is. I'm really rather simple. I say what I mean for the most part."

"Is that why they call you the God of lies?"

Loki chuckles.

"Lying is merely enhancing the truth for a benefit. Within all lies, there is at least some truth."

You nod your head slowly beside him, absorbing what he's said. Trying to make sense of it, to somehow see the simplicity.

He's a damn contradiction. Just from your glances at him, the barely noticeable grin across his face and his overall attitude is confusing to say the least. It's like he's in the clouds somewhere, but at the same time he's firmly planted in the conversation.

"Okay, I have two things. First of all, that's bullshit."

He snorts. "And why is that?"

The two of you approach a crosswalk to cross a littered street, and Loki waits patiently beside you as you watch for traffic. Although you can't hardly hear yourself think, what with the cars now honking their horns only a few feet away, you scan around for an example to use.

The cars slow down, the light signals for you to walk, and you see one.

A young man approaches from the opposite side. He is clearly the result of a unicorn breeding with a death metal band. Long, wild pastel dyed hair, a black shirt gutted so much that the words are illegible, piercings, purple glasses. Nothing unusual for New York, really.

As you and Loki walk, you step ahead and take the lead.

"I love your tattoo!" You yell over the cars, pointing to the boy's face. He looks up from his phone.

"Oh, thank you!" the death-unicorn smiles, sweeping a piece of hair behind his ear, and that was it.

Now that your heart is pumping from pure fear, you speed walk across the street to get as far away from the situation as possible. Subsequently making Loki do the same to catch up behind you.

"Did you see that? Did you? I hated that tattoo!" you turn around and whisper-yell. "There was no truth in that statement I just made!"

"Really? I thought it looked nice."

"Yeah, I bet you did," you huff, looking for the thrift store sign.

You could punch him. You would, too, if it weren't for that face. That stupid grin. His eyes holding yours. Your mind wants to punch him but your body wants to touch him. Aren't the mind and body supposed to be in synchrony? What the fuck is happening?

"But, that was for the greater good, was it not? The actual words and thoughts behind the compliment may not have been what you truly feel, however it made him - or her - it made them feel happy. In the end, isn't that what matters?"

You suppose he isn't completely wrong.

Wait, no! What an asshole!

"Which leads me to my next point," you stop and fiercely turn around to face him. "How do I know that everything you've told me so far isn't all lies?"

It sure feels good to burn someone that severely. It looks like you might have even hurt him a little. And it actually feels good.

After a few seconds of you antagonistically waiting for a response, Loki shakes his head. A sad smile appears for an instant before he looks up from the pavement into your eyes.

"Others may call me the God of Lies, but in every word I say to you is nothing but the truth."

The burn was short-lived. In fact, instead of how it should've been, where he's the one who gets burned, now it feels like you're the jerk who finally got what was coming to them.

You too ashamed to move. You know that what he just said wasn't a lie - you watched. You analyzed it. As one who's been deceived a few times ... you could tell. No unnecessary or distracting movements, no overuse of "honest" behaviors. He hasn't used arrogance as a veil like you've seen him do with others. What reason do you have to believe that he's a liar, anyway? Sure, he ate the last chocolate chip cookie one night at two A.M. and casted an illusion of Thor eating it for FRIDAY's surveillance (which he doesn't realize you know, as you saw the fake Thor disappear through Loki's wall) among other similar things, but that really isn't master manipulation. Hell, that's a good sense of humor.

But you've come this far. You can't let him off that easy.

Mustering up a voice, you say, "That still doesn't prove - Loki?"

He's gone.

Frantically you search, hair flipping every which way. Your heart starts to race as you look for the tall Asgardian amongst New York City's population. Faces are all blurs. Just trenchcoats and blue jeans.

He's gone!

You're unconsciously spinning around searching, and your eyes land on the thrift store sign above you. Trying to think the best instead of the worst you push through the crowds of people - some soft and some hard as brick walls - to get to the entrance. You were disheveled before and you're a mess now; New York crowds are like California rip currents.

The first thing you see in the store is rows and rows of racks of clothes. Then you see the shoppers, all leisurely looking the store over. As you enter, and the smell of fabric and the insides of people's homes hits you, you scan around. Old people are weaving through the used furniture, kids are playing with old toys, and their moms are looking at shoes for their growing feet.

You see a huge bookshelf at the back wall and are very, very tempted. But you remember that Loki is missing.

Scanning the tops of aisles for heads, you begin walking through the racks of jeans, khaki pants, shorts, and are reluctant to call his name out. You never know who remembers what when it comes to alien attacks.

Panic starts to set in.

"How does this look?"

A one-eighty degree spin. There he is. In between the racks, wearing an awful yellow 1980's plaid blazer.

You wonder if this is what love feels like.

"Looks great."

"Well, well. You could be the Goddess of Lies."

~

it's been a while :) how you duhhhhn?

~

tag list: @arttasticgreatnessoftheawesome77 @afinedilemma @fire-in-her-veinz @paradisaicsam @drakesfiance @internetgremlin @dragon-chica @triggeredpossum

[jefferoni-quotes]

Wolf In Sheep’s Clothing

A oneshot based off of this animatic - THIS ONE - by @invireso ! Sorry it took so long-

Words: 3,018

TW: For blood, death and general sad times. I like angst oops-

- - -

Beware... beware Be skeptical

John, Alex and Thomas were always close friends. Well "friends." They were more like business partners. Perhaps like a trio of bandits galloping around the Wild West, taking out those in their way. They may not have been particularly fond of each other, but no matter what they had their groups back. Nothing got in the way of their jobs.

Their jobs being essential assassins. The group of vagabonds would be set a wealthy upper class target, and they were to dispose of them.

Of their smiles, their smiles Of plated gold

Alexander was definitely the groups leader. He ensured everyone had a job, a position and that's they stuck to their assignment like Elmer's glue. He was the brains behind the project. He was like the choreographer of their deadly dance.

John was act two. If the brawn didn't work, he would launch to attack, as if he were a rabid hound crouching in the dark shadows of an alleyway, just waiting for his prey to scamper past. He was ruthless and merciless. Heartless no doubt.

And Thomas? Well Thomas was the brawn. They strongest of the three by an overwhelming amount. His height was also good for intimidating possible witnesses into leaving the premise.

They were the perfect deadly salad.

Deceit, so natural But a wolf in sheep's clothing is more than a warning!

Then came that day.

The men had been given a rich woman to take out. Her name was Martha Wayles, a 24 year old female from Virginia who'd recently moved to New York.

Alex, John and Thomas were hidden in a tucked away alley, watching the woman move down the street, her phone in hand. Alexander clicked his tongue, signifying that she was coming their way. Hamilton and Laurens had pulled up their neckerchiefs up to cover their mouths and noses, but Jefferson concluded it would look more sketchy if a man in a mask lunged out of the darkness towards you. So he played it casual.

Baa, baa Black sheep Have you any soul?

Thomas saw the cool metal of a knife glint in the shimmering sunlight and took it by the handle from John, peaking out the wall. He chewed nervously on his lip, fingers hovering over the material tied loosely around his neck,

No, sir By the way What the hell are morals?

He ducked his head back in and turned to watch Alexander carefully swing a baseball bat over his shoulder and it brushed last his pony tail.

John clutched the cold steel of a pistol and narrowed his eyes, ready in case anything went wrong.

Jack, be nimble Jack, be quick Jill's a little whore

Martha scrolled aimlessly through her Facebook feed, chucking lightly at some sort of dead meme. She tapped a happy birthday message out to her good friend Dolley on Facebook.

And her alibis are turning tricks! So could you tell me how you're sleeping easy?

Thomas waiting for the brief signal from Alex. When the smaller man nodded he sprung into action, keeping the dagger behind his back and beginning to pull up his neckerchief.

Martha spun around when she heard faint footsteps behind her. She made eye contact with a man. He was tall with dark skin and curly hair. She felt a small flush run to her cheeks. Thomas went pink and coughed awkwardly before allowing the knife to slip from between his fingers and clang to the floor.

How you're only thinking of yourself?

"Uh, I'm, um..." Thomas bumbled stupidly. "I'm Tho-Thomas Jefferson."

"Martha."

Show me how you justify Telling all your lies like second nature?

Alexander grit his teeth and whistled, a sign for Thomas to leave. Jefferson heard the calling card and chewed the bottom of his lip. "I'm sorry, I have to go. It was nice to meet you!" And he scampered off, sighing into his hands. Hamilton was going to kill him.

"What the hell was that?!" Alexander gesticulated in anger.

Thomas shrugged.

"You're so dumb." John added.

Listen, mark my words one day You will pay You will pay!

That night at John and Alex's shared home an argument broke out. But no normal yelling. There was rage bubbling in their veins and if you were there, you would be able to smell the fury in the air. "What the fuck was that today?!" John started.

"I dunno, man!" Thomas answered calmly.

"'I dunno, man' isn't a respectable reply, Jefferson! You were supposed to kill her, yet you actually friended her on Facebook!?" Alexander shot back furiously.

"To be fair, she added me first."

"I can't believe you! What's gotten into you? We used to be the perfect team. Like the reverse Musketeers!" John yelled, sticking a pointed finger at Thomas' face.

"Get out of my face!" Thomas slapped his hand away. "Maybe I don't wanna be a part of this stupid group anymore! I wanna settle down!"

"Thomas, we're like a clan, you can't leave!" Alexander pressed.

"I can and I will! Damn you all to hell!"

Karma's gonna come collect your debt!

Thomas stormed the home, slamming the door closed so hard it shook the hinges.

Over the next months, he and Martha Wayles formed a close romantic relationship. He took her out. Just... not with a weapon.

He'd never believed in the idea of soulmates yet... here he was. His mind had been flipped because Martha was the half he was missing, and man it felt good.

In fact. It didn't take long for him to propose. To with Martha accepted, tears gathering in her eyes.

Aware aware You stalk your prey

Alexander grit his teeth and scrubbed his hands together. John stood on his left, and he dug his nails into his palms. They watched through the large - if not slightly dirty - pet shop window at their old buddy and his fiance. Thomas held up a black kitten, and watched Martha's face break into a glittering grin.

The cars zoomed past them, yet both Hamilton and Laurens seemed to forget, or many ignore, the metropolis around them. They gazed on with a deadly stare as the owner of the store placed the cat in a carrier and filled a bag with all the things the couples needed to raise their cat. And then, the two walked out, but Alex and John were no where to be found.

With criminal mentality You sink your teeth into the people you depend on

The photos that were pinned on the cork-board in the two' shared bedroom were slowly disappearing, but Thomas nor Martha noticed. John spread them across his table. He couldn't help but smile at some of them where Thomas looked especially happy, quickly changing his expression to stern when Alex waltzed in.

Alexander stared over John' shoulder at the pictures and shifted them around. He paused on the one of Thomas asleep with the cat lying on his chest, and Martha hushing with a smile. The two can almost hear the woman's dazzling laughter and kind of softened. Kind of.

There was another of the couple on the day Thomas proposed. They were close, beaming with glee and love. The shining engagement ring may not have been the centre of the photo, but John's eyes were still drawn to it.

The last one they focused on was what appeared to be a nice selfie of Martha and Thomas, but they were being photo-bombed by their cat, that they had named 'Sabrina.'

Infecting everyone You're quite the problem

Alexander finally snapped from his nostalgic trance and snatched a red Sharpie from the pot on top of the desk. He scratched big, crimson exes over Martha's face in the pictures with a serpent like hiss. John looked up at him, hurt surging through his eyes which he quickly masked as satisfaction. Alex tossed the pen across the room, capless, meaning it would dry out quickly. John wanted to go pick it up but sat stoic still instead.

The two had skipped the wedding, finding it unnecessary to attend. They were past the point of caring about Jefferson's feelings, already knowing how they were going to break him. Martha had to go.

Fee, fi, fo, fum Better run and hide

But now, it was the after party. Alexander and John had invited themselves, and were fully prepared.

They scanned the room, searching for their target. And there she was. Standing by her new husband, holding his arm lovingly and gazing up at him in admiration. John looked at Alex, and the greasy haired male nodded discreetly. John strode off towards Thomas, tapping him on the back. Alexander snickered at their old partners shock and watched notedly as Laurens led Thomas off.

I smell the blood of a petty little coward!

Once Thomas was out of the picture, Alexander sauntered over with his phone in hand. He glanced at John, who caught his eye with a knowing smirk. "Hey, Martha!"

She turned around and smiled sweetly, crinkles showing up by her eyes as she did. "Hello, do I know you?" She sipped from the champagne flute in her hand.

"I'm... an old friend of Thomas'..." Alexander beamed dashingly before holding up his phone happily.

"Oh! You must be... Alexander Hamilton?" Martha held out a finger as she asked.

Alex nodded and gestured to his phone again. "Can I have a photo...?"

Martha giggled. "Yes! Of course!" She took one last sip of her champagne before swinging an arm around Alex as he held up his phone in selfie mode.

Alexander coughed loudly. "Oh, sorry, Martha."

Jack be lethal Jack be slick

John took the signal and walked away from Thomas mid-sentence. Thomas looked around in confusion and chugged some alcohol.

Laurens dug into his pockets, and pulled out three little pale, pink pills. John quickly scattered behind Alex and the new bride just as his partner took the photo. He dropped the drugs into the remainder of her drink with a smirk. Now, all they had to do was wait.

Jill will leave you lonely Dying in a filthy ditch!

Martha walked away from Alexander with a wave, starting up towards Thomas. She drank down the rest of her champagne as she skipped up to him.

Then, she stopped. She coughed. And then she dropped her glass.

"Patsy? Sunshine, are you alright!" Thomas rushed forward, avoiding the shattered glass like the plague.

Still retching her lungs up, she reached forward and clenched the front of Thomas' suit. "Tommy..." Martha managed to spit out.

Thomas widened his eyes. "Someone call for help, goddamn it!" He yelled, watching people scrabble left and right, calling ambulances and policemen. Everyone except from two people. Two that stood solemnly in the corner with their heads down.

So could you Tell me how you're sleeping easy? How you're only thinking of yourself?

Everyone was whisked away from the scene.

"Martha!"

"Martha! Let me see her!"

"You killed my wife, you bastards!"

Show me how you justify Telling all your lies Like second nature!

Thomas placed the white lilies on the vibrant grass by his late wife's grave, tears streaking down his cheeks. Shadows loomed over the gravestone and Thomas turned to his left where Alexander placed a tender hand on Jefferson' shoulder. "Hey, buddy..."

"A-Alex?" He shuddered, tears continuing to fall like crashing waterfalls down his cheeks. "Wh-What are you doing h-here...?"

John cleared his throat to announce his presence.

"J-John? You t-too?"

"Come on, let's get you home." John nodded, almost smiling as Alexander smirked knowingly at him.

Listen! Mark my words someday You will pay, you will pay!

Alexander helped Thomas into the back of their 4x4, and John climbed in the passenger side. "I'm so sorry about your wife, buddy."

Thomas just hung his head, gathering his spinning thoughts. "They think I did it." He finally came out with. "The cops had suspicions it was me, but I would never-"

"We know, Tommy... it's alright. You'll be fine." Alexander stared straight ahead and turned the key, the engine starting with a low grumble.

Karma's gonna come collect your debt!

Alexander sat out in the car as John lead Thomas into his home. "You sure you'll be okay on your own?"

"I just need some time to myself." The taller insisted, leaving Laurens at his doorstep. "Bye, Jackie."

"See ya, Thomas."

Maybe you'll change Abandon all your wicked ways Make amends and start anew again

That next evening, Thomas was crouched over his office desk in his home, photo album open. He traced over the image of Martha in one, where she looked so happy... He flipped the page, and where several photos that were originally on his cork board should've been, there was instead the white paper. He narrowed his eyes and flipped again. He smiled sadly as his gaze fell to a selfie of Alexander and his wife.

Maybe you'll see All the wrongs you did to me And start all over, start all over!

There it was. Small but there. The obvious puff of his friends ponytail. Of Johns hair. Thomas blinked, unsure he was seeing it correctly. And then. It clicked, something in him snapped. Martha's beautiful laugh rung through his head, her beaming smile filling his mind. It went silent, before the image of her crying and gripping his suit as she choked suffocated him. Thomas cracked.

Who am I kidding? Now let's not get over zealous here!

The thundering rain beat off Alex and John's house windows, the lightning flashing across the sky lit up the rooms with bright white light. They lay, reclined on the sofa, self righteously sipping a cold beer each.

You've always been a huge piece of shit! If I could kill you, I would! But it's frowned upon in all fifty states

With a clap of dark thunder and a blast of lightning, Thomas was there. He paused for a millisecond, looking up at the red brick home. The grey curtains that clouded the living room were drawn shut. Thomas kept his hand wrapped around the handle of his blade, stepping forward. He knocked gently on the door, listening for the shuffling inside.

Having said that Burn in hell!

The handle was tugged down and Jefferson kicked the door fully open, glazed eyes landing on John who was sat on the couch. Alexander stumbled back and fell onto his back, as Laurens leapt up in horrified shock. He was seeing scarlet, clouding his vision as he charged up to John. The man ran, he sprinted up the stairs and could feel Thomas hot on his heels.

Alexander fumbled for his phone, shivering as he pressed the numbers to call.

John tripped up over the stair, and tried to shuffle backwards as Jefferson stood over him. His lips twisted into a sinister smirk, all the rage blocking out the rapidly approaching police sirens.

So tell me How you're sleeping easy? How you're only thinking of yourself?

Red. It's a horrifically tranquil colour.

Roses...

Or blood. And blood is the substance that was coating the pristine walls of the home. The door busted open again, but this time it wasn't a murderer. It was someone from the NYPD.

Show me How you justify Spreading all your lies like second nature?

The policeman rushed in and helped Alexander to his feet. "Are you alright?"

Alexander nodded. "Y-yes, I'm fine... B-but, J-John-!"

The man patted his shoulder and looked up the stairs, where Thomas was creeping down. He let Alexander go and calmly started forward. "Drop the weapon." Thomas just looked at him through his hair. "I said drop the weapon!" Jefferson kept his hand firmly wrapped around the blade. "Come down the stairs, keep your hands in the air."

"They killed her." Thomas whispered.

"Pardon?" The policeman watched as Thomas stumbled down the stairs.

Jefferson looked up. "They killed her!" He yelled.

"Sir, drop the knife and kindly put your hands behind your back."

Thomas ran forward and he stumbled back. "Sir, stop." He reached for the gun that was rested by his side. Jefferson hit the front of his helmet.

He ran back, still being targeted by the killer. The officer, who's name tag read, J. Madison, threw his helmet away as the cracks were starting to cloud his vision.

Listen Mark my words one day You will pay, you will pay

James leaned against the alleyways wall, fear filling his eyes. He looked up at Thomas who was looming over him and held out his hands. "N-now... lets not b-be to rash." He attempted to keep the waver from his voice.

Thomas stopped. He didn't even notice the knife falling from his hand and hitting the concrete floor with a clang. When he looked at the police officer, all he could see was the terrified look of his late wife. He stumbled back, hands cupping his face as his hardened facade crumbled.

Karma's gonna come collect your debt!

Madison took Jefferson's moment of weakness as it flittered by. He grabbed it and ran forward, hitting the man in the face, He caught him by enough surprise to easily drag him to the police car.

Thomas looked down at his hands. There may not have been anything there, but there was metaphorical blood all over them. He looked up front into the mirror, looking over the police-mans face. When James looked back at him, Thomas immediately gazed back down.

He should've been destroyed that he was going to jail, yet he found himself numb. At least he'd rid the world of a murderer.

Karma's gonna come collect your debt!

He was escorted to a cell, and all his belongings were stripped of him. He was handed a stereotypical orange jumpsuit which he was commanded to change into. And he did. From there, he sat himself on the lumpy bed.

His face slowly contorted into a sickly sweet smile as he clasped and unclasped his hands on his lap. Thomas pushed his hair behind his ear and didn't stop smiling.

Karma's gonna come collect your debt!

- - -

I’ll be writing more oneshots, so I’ma open up requests! Thanks for reading!

[heyilovefandoms]

behind the masks

Summary: You were the superhero known as El, controller of the elements. You fight crime with the one and only Spider-man. One day, Tony Stark recruits you to help the avengers, and you unknowingly learn who the spider boy truly is.

Genre: Fluff!

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader (gender neutral!)

Warnings: swearing! death! (kinda)

A/N: Gah i really like this one, i’m so sorry if the format is weird, i had to upload this on my phone since tumblr is being a lil bitch. anyways, hope you enjoy!!

~

Reader’s POV

“Thanks for another fun night El!” the teenage boy’s voice rung out into the late New York night. “My pleasure Spidey boy!” I called back, waving goodbye as he swung back to wherever he called home.

I gave a soft sigh, I loved getting to fight crime with him every night. And I always wondering who he was behind that mask. But we made a deal when we first started fighting together: don’t reveal your identity unless absolutely necessary. I’m still quite curious, but I always put it behind me and enjoy my moments with the web slinger. With that, I turned around and carefully floated down to the fire escape outside my bedroom. I pulled off my charcoal colored spy suit and matching face mask. Not too much damage done tonight, just a couple bruises, nothing new.

I walked over to my dresser and pulled out my favorite pair of sweatpants and a Midtown High school sweatshirt, definitely doesn’t belong to me. I must have stolen it from Peter a while ago.

Speak of the devil, a knock on my window tapped me out of my thought process. My best friend and crush, Peter Parker, smiled at me as I opened up the window so he could climb in. “Coming in a little late tonight are we? I thought we were studying at 7, not 11?” I asked, crossing my arms as I looked at him. He frowned, “I’m sorry, I know I keep doing this to you but,” “Stark internship, I know. Let’s just study, okay? I really don’t want to fail chemistry.” He hesitated, before nodding and sitting on the floor with me.

I really didn’t understand this “Stark Internship” thing, he always shut down whenever I asked about it. I don’t like him keeping secrets from me, but who am I kidding, I hide stuff from him too. Such as the fact that I go by El and fight crime in Queens. Somethings we just keep to ourselves.

Time appeared to pass by faster then I remembered, and soon enough, “It’s 1 in the morning, I think it’s about time I head out.” Peter spoke up, breaking the concentrated silence. I looked at my phone and noticed the time. “Oh geez! Yea you better get out of here, don’t want to give May a heart attack.” He stood up and grabbed his backpack, putting all his books back in. We walked to the window and Peter climbed out, turning around to say his goodbye.

“Oh! I almost forgot, do you want this back?” I asked, pointing down to his sweatshirt I was currently wearing. He paused for a moment, seeming to take in my words. “Nah,” he said, looking down at his hands, beforing looking back at me. “you look cute in it.” My face heated up and I felt a smile grow on my face. “Night (Y/n)!” Peter called out, before climbing up the staircase to his apartment. “Night..” I managed to stutter out, still relishing in his words. He called me cute! In his clothes! Wow!

With that, I snuck back into my room and turned out the lights, then flopped onto my bed. “Jesus Peter Parker, you just have go and make my heart flutter all gross like don’t you.” I said to myself, fully aware he couldn’t hear me. I sighed and closed my eyes, drifting off to a peaceful slumber.

~~~~~~~~~~

I woke to a loud banging on my door, causing me to roll out of bed and slam on the floor. “Jesus fuck what do you want it’s like 5 in the morning!” I moaned out, pulling myself up into a seated position. The door opened, revealing the “genius billionaire playboy philanthropist” that was Tony Stark. I stood up quickly and managed to stutter out a “Uh-I..hi.”

He raised his eyebrow at me and said, “This is the kid arachnid boy talks about? Alright then, I’m Tony Stark but you already know that, and I need you to come with me.” Then left my room. I stood in shock for a minute, before coming to it and getting dressed. I threw on a pair of black pants before putting Peter’s sweatshirt back on. It was warm and I wanted the comfort.

I slipped on my converse and ran down the stairs, to see Tony waiting for me by the door. “Ready kid? Cause your life is about to get turned upside down.”

Avengers towers was huge. No, massive. It appears big on the outside, and it’s fucking gigantic on the inside, the underground levels being triple the size of the exterior. I stood still for a moment, before continuing to follow Tony to wherever he was leading me.

“I’ve been keeping an eye on you for a while, since spider kid never shuts up about his crime fighting duo adventures, anyways. We’re hoping you can join the team for a while, or permanently, depending on how this mission goes.” He paused, bringing up a hologram of my suit, but better. “ We’ve made you a new suit as well, kept the same design, just a couple of upgrades: bulletproof, vibranium metal of course, sourcers to help your power flow faster and keep your energy, and it’s all stored in a necklace. Took inspiration from that Shuri gal. Quite the genius you know.” A silver necklace popped up, with a pearl charm on the end.

He handed it to me, and I attached it around my neck. “So, whaddya say kid? Willing to help out the avengers?” I took a breath and looked up at Tony, a role model of mine since he first came forwards and said he was iron man, he was asking for my help. “Um, I’m confused.” I stated, “Why me? I’m just a teenager from New York, why do you need my help?”

Tony looked a bit taken back, before answering, “Because the avengers are falling apart, and frankly, the world will be too. We need help, I need help, and more importantly, Spider-man is gonna need his partner.” I thought about his words for a bit, this is my chance to make a real change for the world. Save the people who need it.

“I’m in.” A smirk grew on Tony’s face. “Perfect, then suit up. We start now.” With that, he clicked a button and his suit came flying towards him. “Oh you weren’t kidding, um okay.” I looked down at the necklace, unsure of how to make it work. “Tap it with some fire, should pop right out!” Tony called from above. I nodded and put a flicker of fire on my finger. I tapped the charm, and my new and improved suit grew onto my body.

“Okay that’s kinda badass!” I yelled, excitement filling my voice. “Hurry up kid! We don’t have time to play with the new settings!” “I’m coming!” I swirled my hands and made air appear, pushing me into the sky with Iron Man.

“Spider boy is making his way over, get over to the west end of the air carrier. I’ll give you both instructions once you meet up.” I nodded as he flew away. I soared into the air, pushing my way to the location Tony gave me, spotting a familiar red and blue blur coming towards me. “ON YOUR LEFT!” His voice rang out. I pushed a ball of air to him to catch him, and both of us landed on the edge of the air carrier.

“Hey webs, missed ya!” I said, happiness overtaking me. “Missed you too El!” He was about to say something else, before Tony’s voice came ringing in my ears. He must have put an intercom in my new suit. “Alright underoos no flirting on the job. I’m sending you both downtown, we’re getting signs of two quinjets coming down and we need you to find out who or what is in them. Understand me?”

“You got it Mr. Stark!” Spider-man’s upbeat tone responded, I chimed in with my own enthusiastic yes, and we both took off.

~~~~~~~~~~

So turns out, the who was a whole army. The what? Still no idea. “Backup is on the way kids, try and get to the rendezvous point!” Tony yelled out to us, as I took a slam to the stomach, before hurling a fireball at my attacker.

I looked over to search for Spider-man, but couldn’t see his bright suit anywhere. “Spidey?” I called out to the coms, before causing an earthquake and knocking out a circle of alien things. Still no idea what they are. I backhanded another and took off into the sky. I sent a strike of electricity down, giving me enough time to hijack one of the quinjets and take off to the rendezvous spot. I hooked the system up to my coms. “Spidey? Tony? Someone please come in!”

I sat in the pilot seat and put in the location, letting it go into autopilot. I don’t know how to fly a fucking airplane man that’s terrifying.

“El? You there?” Tony’s voice called out. “TONY! Yes I’m here! I lost Spidey, I..I don’t know where he is..I don’t know if he’s even alive.” I let my own words sink in. I’d grown attached to my crime fighting partner, and I just left him for dead out there. “Tony I need to go back he could still be down there getting attacked!” I started freaking out, trying to change the location, when Tony’s voice cut me off. “EL! You will get to the rendezvous point. We know where Spidey is, just..get here soon.”

Ages later, I made it to our spot, and flew into the building. “WHERE IS HE?” I called out. Tony looked up from his computer and saw the angry look in my eyes. “Tony where is he. Please I need to know that he’s safe.” I knew I was friends with Spidey, but I didn’t realize I felt this much about him. I have my precious Peter outside of the superhero world, but Webs was giving him a run for his money.

“He got onto the other quinjet and flew up to their loader, he’s on it right now.” Tony looked distressed. This was his kid, he was in mortal danger, and it was Tony’s fault. “We managed to get into their camera system, but his coms are down. We can’t get a hold of him.” A flash of color appeared on Tony’s screen, and both of us pulled our attention to it.

Spidey was on the side of the wall, trying to break something off. He was struggling to breathe, ripping off his mask, revealing his face.

“PETER!” The realization hit me. How the fuck did I not notice before? The voice, the mannerisms, the science jokes, THE DAMN STARK INTERNSHIP! Peter, THE spider-man, started choking, not getting any air into his system. “TONY HELP HIM! HE CAN’T BREATHE!” Panic was setting over me, as I started having an anxiety attack.

Peter Parker, was not only Spider-man, but he was stuck in space with no way to breathe. There was no way we could send anything up there fast enough to help him. He was going to die up there, my best friend was going to die. There are too many things I have to tell him; I’m El, his crime fighting best friend, I’m in love with him, despite being his best friend.

I looked back at the camera and got one last glance at Peter’s struggling face, before his gripped released and he fell through space.

The next moments were a blur. I remember screams ripping through me, falling to the floor with a slam, an earthquake waving around me. Sobs crashing in my ears, and a sense of rage. I remember Tony picking me up, and carrying me into one of the med bay rooms. I must have been sedated, because I woke up and saw a new face looking down at me.

“I’d be careful sitting up if I were you, you drained a lot of energy earlier, and the sedatives were pretty heavy, slowed down your body’s quick healing.” The man’s voice was calming, as I eased my way to rest my back against the wall. “I’m Doctor Strange, and you are?” “(Y/n), or El. Doctor Strange what happened to Peter? Please tell me he’s okay, I can’t lose him.” I felt another panic attack rising up, but Strange put his hand on my shoulder and I felt myself relax.

“Just relax, he’s fine. I’m a sorcerer, I reversed the time frame and we sent Peter up with a better suit. He’s sleeping right now, but I’m sure he’d be happy to see you.” I let out a sigh of relief. “He knows that time got fucked with right? And that he pretty much died right?” The doctor nodded. “He was in shock for a bit, but was very grateful to know we saved him. Tony wouldn’t have it any other way.”

A small smile graced my lips, I knew Tony cared about Peter, more than he would ever admit. I felt a chill over take my body, noticing I was still in my El suit. “Natasha brought you some clothes to change into. Get dressed and we can make our way to the boy.” He handed me a small stack of clothes, which consisted of my black jeans and Peter’s sweatshirt. I got dressed, and with the help of Strange, I made my way to the room Peter was sleeping in, and snuck in.

“Peter?” I whispered, not wanting to disturb him. I saw his head move around and a small moan of pain come out. I rushed over to his bed and looked at him, concern filling my eyes. “Hey spidey, pretty big secret you hid from me huh?”

His eyes opened fully at the sound of my voice, a wave of shock rolling over his face. He sat up, “(Y/n)? How’d you get here?” I smiled and pulled over the glass from his bedside, refilling it with water from my finger.

“Surprise, you’re not the only one hiding things.” Peter’s mouth fell open before laying back down, “My head hurts too much to handle this right now. You’re El, I’m Spider-man, we’ve been fighting crime together. That’s pretty cool.” His raspy voice said, a tiny smile appearing on his tired face. “Pretty wild indeed.” I agreed. “Well uh..I should um..probably go, you need rest after that.” I started to stand up, when I felt Peter’s soft hand grab mine.

“Stay, please?” He called out, a look of neediness in his eyes. I could never say no to him, with a face like that, how could I? I simply nodded and laid down next to him. Almost immediately, Peter pulled me to him, wrapping his arms around me. I tucked my head under his chin and reveled in the warmth of him.

“You scared the hell out of me Peter. Like actually, I caused an earthquake, I think I almost lit Tony on fire, I was a mess. Don’t you dare do something stupid like that again!” I said, trying to keep myself level. I felt tears building in my eyes though. I couldn’t picture my life without Peter, and for once I had to really experience losing him.

I felt him laugh, and I smiled, glad to have Peter with me. I fiddled with the strings of my hoodie and looked up at him. “I’m serious! I would have to fight crime without you, and I’d never pass a chem test ever again, I would have to find a new crush and god knows that would take forever cause you’ve had my heart for far too long and oh my god I just said that out loud.”

I cut myself off, a look of terror coming over my face. I looked down at my hands, and then at the band-aid on Peter’s shoulder, basically anywhere except Peter’s face.

“Oh wait a second there.” Peter started saying, before sitting up carefully, I slowly followed suit, still avoiding eye contact. “Last part. Say it again.” I mumbled out the sentence, Peter’s eyes scanning my face while I spoke.

I looked up at Peter’s face, getting ready to do the typical ‘it’s fine ignore my feelings’ speech, when his hands grabbed my face softly and pulled me into a kiss. It was gentle and full of passion, making up for every kiss we could have had but were too scared to do, on the off chance that we messed anything up.

We pulled away, keeping our foreheads together, Peter’s hands still on my face. I smiled, locking eyes with Peter. “I..oh my god that really happened!” I whisper-screamed. Peter laughed and pulled me onto his lap, hugging me as close as he could. “I can’t imagine life without you, I really can’t. So please for the love of god say you’ll be mine because this is driving me nuts.” I giggled and pulled back to look at his face. “I’d be honored to be yours.”

We laid down again, talking about everything and anything, just at peace with being together, and official being together.

Glad I finally learned who was behind the mask.

[theeurekaproject]

Alienigena

“You know,” Athena said, “I never would have pegged us as the type who’d be good at politics.” She fidgeted with the sleeve of her white dress, which didn't look like something she would ever willingly wear. Acidalia had suggested it and Carina had forced Athena into it; she didn’t seem particularly happy about the garment, and it was bound to end up in a crumpled ball of fabric on the floor by the end of the meeting.

“Well, we are astrophysicists,” Carina said, trying to hide the fact that her voice was shaking. She was also dressed in a gown that seemed to expensive for someone of her stature, and she felt just as awkward in it as she probably looked. It was a gorgeous dress that most likely cost more than her rent, but that didn’t make her feel any more comfortable in it—it was so clearly made for Acidalia that it felt like every seam and piece of fabric was in the wrong place. The skirt was too long, the waist was too small, and the chest and hips were too large. Carina felt like a knockoff Imperatrix, like an off-brand version of Acidalia that one might find in the bargain bin of a big box store. Her very un-Imperial short, straight hair didn’t help matters—no matter how much she wrestled with it, it seemed to settle back into strict bob, and it was too light for Acidalia’s black bobby pins to blend in. She was a stranger in a world she never thought she’d have a place in—all of this was Aleskynn’s territory much more than it was Carina’s.

Then again, Athena looked even worse, so maybe Carina was just overreacting. At least she hadn’t managed to destroy the sleeves of her dress.

“Stop playing with that, you’re ruining it,” she said. “Look, now there are loose threads.” “Well, if they didn’t want me to ruin it, they should have made it sturdier.” Athena pulled on another thread, which created a rippling, cinched effect from the top of the sleeve to the bottom. “This thing is probably more expensive than the Hope Diamond, but it feels like it’s made of paper.” “I mean, it’s made for noblewomen, isn’t it? They don’t do a whole lot of heavy lifting, or any work at all.” Carina couldn’t even remember the last time she’d seen Aleskynn do much of anything, really. Mostly she just sat around and complained, neither of which were the types of activities that would strain clothing.

“Noblewomen or not, if I can’t kick someone’s ass in all my finery, that finery isn’t worth the price,” Athena retorted, frowning down at the glitter that fell from her bodice every time she moved.

Behind them, someone laughed in a way that was instantly recognizable as the stilted chortle of a rich lady—a rehearsed sound somewhere in-between the o~hohoho of an anime ojou and the polite chuckle a parent might do when their child presented them with a crayon drawing. Carina turned around to see Acidalia, leaning against a bulkhead and looking amused. “I quite agree,” she said, smiling slightly. “If you can’t fight in a dress, why wear the dress at all?”

“Then why are you wearing that?” Athena asked, and, for once, Carina had to agree that she was right. Acidalia’s outfit was the epitome of impracticality—it was a cross between a Greco-Roman toga and a very large ballgown, which had been dipped in enough glitter that it could probably blind anyone who looked at it too hard. She was absolutely dripping with jewelry and regalia, which looked like it would hinder more than help her, and she was about five inches taller than she’d been before, meaning she must have been wearing even higher, fancier heels. From the way her skirts swept against the floorboards, Carina could tell she was wearing a crinoline, and several more skirts on top of that. Plus, her waist was cinched so tight that there was no explanation for it other than a very tight corset, which didn’t seem comfortable at all.

“Ballgowns are actually easier to fight in than you might expect,” Acidalia said. “There’s plenty of room for footwork under the skirt, and crinolines are very flexible, or it’d look like you’re walking around with a cage under your dress. And at a certain point, the bigger the skirt, the better—it protects your legs from scratches and hits, and sometimes even laser fire. I have multiple armored skirts.”

“But wouldn’t you trip on the hem?” “Not if you’re graceful about it. It’s usually fine, as long as you don’t try to run backwards.” Athena looked curious. “Hmmm. I’m going to have to test that.” “Don’t. You’ll get a concussion,” Carina warned. “So? I’ve had two concussions and my brain is fi-iiineee.” She slurred the last word for comedic effect, but nobody laughed (though Acidalia did look mildly amused.) “But what about the rest of it? High heels, corsets? Do you just break the heels off?” “You can’t make flats by breaking the heels off of stilettos,” Acidalia said, “but you can always kick them off. And the corsets are usually fine, too. If they’re laced up so you can breathe—which mine always are; Terra’s atmosphere makes it difficult enough for humans to breathe when their lungs aren’t being compressed, and I don’t need to suffocate in the middle of a speech—they aren’t that restrictive. I suppose it would be a problem if someone got you down onto the ground, because they do make it harder—though not impossible—to get up from that position. The worst part about dresses is usually the sleeves.”

“Then I guess it’s good that I completely destroyed mine,” Athena said, completely unashamed. Carina cringed.

Acidalia shook her head. “Not that type of sleeve. It’s the off-shoulder sleeves that are aggravating, because they make it impossible to raise your your arms fully, and if you rip them off, the bodice will slide down your front.” “At least flashing the enemy might distract them,” Athena remarked, and Acidalia laughed the same way a little girl would laugh after hearing something scandalous at a slumber party. How weird was that? Carina thought. This woman had admitted to smashing someone’s skull in—smashing multiple people’s skulls in—and the thought of anything remotely sexual was somehow stranger than that to her. Most people Carina knew had had sexual interactions with other people, but she didn’t know too many perpetrators of homicide.

But was Acidalia really a perpetrator of homicide? That made her sound like a criminal, and she was most definitely not a criminal—at least, not in the traditional sense. Most of her killings could probably be written off as justifiable self-defense; she didn’t seem like the type to take some sort of sadistic pleasure in stabbing people to death. Then again, you never really knew anyone, did you? Acidalia didn’t seem like the type of person who would willingly hang out with Andromeda, either.

Carina didn’t know how she felt about Andromeda. She seemed smart enough, and certainly powerful—her presence was just as imposing as Acidalia’s, if not more so. But there was a roughness, an edge to her, that gave Carina pause. The way she’d spoken about T’s death was so unnecessarily rude and dehumanizing, and the brash way she’d acted about dropping nuclear bombs on people who hadn’t even committed a crime was incredibly concerning. Even though they had only met once and never spoken, Carina got the feeling that Andromeda was the sort of person who thrived on violence—she didn’t exactly seem like a peace-seeker. But maybe peace-seeking wasn’t what warriors were supposed to do, anyway.

***

The journey to the landing site was only a few hours—it would have been much shorter if they weren’t actively trying to avoid detection—but thirty minutes in, Carina already felt like she was suffocating. The Revelation was just as huge as it had been on the way to Mars, but with this many angry, scared people packed inside, it felt so much smaller. Only Acidalia seemed calm, but even then it was difficult to tell if she was really as unaffected as she seemed; she was always so stoic that her emotions were completely unreadable.

As they flew over the starscrapers of Appalachia City, barely far away enough to avoid being seen from the ground, a wave of nausea hit Carina like a hovertrain. She swallowed hard, pushing it down into her chest where it seemed to curl up into a tight little ball of festering worry. For some strange reason, she almost wanted to tell Acidalia about it—Acidalia would know what to do. Acidalia knew everything. But Acidalia was busy studying some very official-looking books in the corner, the kind with gilded edges and embossed covers and paper made from real trees, and even if she wasn’t in a position where interrupting her felt unwise, she was still the Imperatrix Ceasarina. She was not the type of person Carina, or anyone, could really befriend.

Meanwhile, as Acidalia calmly flipped pages and wrote notes in the margins of elaborate books, the others argued and paced and stewed in a sea of barely-concealed, furious anxiety. Across the ship, David Seren and his daughter were engrossed in a screaming match, both insulting each other in Martian Anglicus Carina couldn’t even understand conversationally, while Athena looked on, entertained. Andromeda paced, dragging her one metal leg on the white floor with the strength of an ox, leaving scratches in the marble and looking angry—angry at the circumstances? Angry at herself? The expression on her face didn’t make Carina particularly eager to find out. Then there was Ace—poor Ace, who had lost a brother just as much as the Imperatrix had—who had disappeared with Lyra into a closet and slammed the door shut, barricading anyone from entering. Athena had cracked a joke about the implications, but Carina knew what they were doing in there—crying, mostly. Crying harder than Acidalia ever had or would, or slowly driving themselves mad with regret for what they’d lost.

Look at us, Carina thought. We sure make one hell of a team. A dethroned empress with the world’s worst mother, a Praetor with anger issues, two clueless Martians, two inexperienced Scientias, a Cantator who had stumbled into importance by accident, and a traumatized, depressed super-soldier whose only friend in the world had just died. They could barely even exist on the same starship together; how were they supposed to serve as a delegation? She understood why she and Athena were here—politicians or not, they were astrophysicists, and they had an innate knowledge of both the stars and the organisms that made their homes among them. The presence of the Martians and the Praetor could be justified, too, because they specialized in this type of thing—it wasn’t out of the question for appointed bureaucrats  and wartime leaders to meet with foreign ambassadors. But there was no reason to drag Lyra and Ace into this, especially not when they were so clearly upset. Did they even want to be here? Carina wondered. Some people chased danger like their lives depended on it, but most weren’t willing to throw themselves headfirst into war for the sake of an adrenaline high.  And now that T was dead, they couldn’t have been thinking rationally—they hadn’t been given any time to even process what had happened.

Nobody’s in a good mental state right now, Carina realized. She was terrified, and Athena probably was, too; she was just better at hiding it. The Serens had just effectively lost their home and all their “social points,” whatever those were. Acidalia and Ace and Lyra were all mourning, even if they didn’t show it. Andromeda was likely the most emotionally stable person on the whole Revelation, and she was a complete war hawk. How would they ever talk to the Mira? Acidalia would say something eloquent and political, then Andromeda would follow that up with something crass, and maybe the others would pop into the conversation to offer snippets of expertise, but half of them would be crying the whole time, and Cressida would still be on her phone, and David would stare awkwardly like a politician who didn’t know how to be a politician. And then the Mira would look at them and think really? This is who they sent? and that would be that and they’d be dead, and the war would be lost before it had even begun, and—

“You alright?” Athena asked, appearing behind Carina and making her jump about six feet.

“No,” she said truthfully, “I’m not. I’m scared to death, Athena.” “About what?” “About the nightmare aliens from outer space that have been at war with us for hundreds of years?! How are you not worried about this?” Her hands were shaky, her palms clammy, her voice higher than it normally was. She felt like she was breathing in helium, replacing all of the air in her lungs with squeaky-voiced nerves.

“We’re not dead yet,” Athena shrugged. “Besides, do you really think their ships are that scary looking?” “Well, I wouldn’t know; I’ve never seen one before.” When they were younger, before they were able to do calculus and telemetry, she and Athena had been responsible for tracking Miran starships, but that job mostly involved pressing the tab key on a computer when the numbers on the spreadsheet changed a little too much. It was the most primitive form of tracking—they were just looking at stars and the things that obscured them, and if their light dipped too low when it wasn’t supposed to, the Scientias would mark it for review. It was boring work that never paid off; nearly every foreign body was a planet or a satellite or something else of that nature, and all the other changes in the light were sent off to more experienced people before Athena or Carina got to understand what it was.

“Well,” Athena said, “don’t look now, but I think there’s one behind us.”

“What?”

“Look.” Athena gripped her shoulders and spun her around, sending a cascade of sequins and glitter careening towards the floor and leaving a puddle of pure sparkle. How did Acidalia live like this? Carina thought briefly, before turning to the window. She couldn’t see anything other than a blinding white glow and the rays of light that reflected off the Appalachia City starscrapers.

“What am I supposed to be looking at?” “Watch.” Athena fixed her steel-gray eyes on some invisible object before them, and Carina tried to do the same.

“I don’t see—“ she began, but then she did see, and something in her voice died. She stared up at the ship, a luminescent wall of blue that seemed more like a hovering water droplet than a spacecraft, and tried her hardest to conceptualize the fact that it was real. Fading in and out of her vision like a ghost, the ship didn’t appear very corporeal, but that was just the cloaking—underneath all that, it was as grounded in reality as the Revelation itself, despite its strangeness.

“It’s not what I expected,” Athena admitted, looking at the flickering wall of watery cerulean. “But I guess they’re aliens, so…?” “Yeah,” Carina said. “Aliens.” But, shockingly enough, she wasn’t as afraid as she thought she’d be; the ship looked more like a children’s toy than a military craft, and she couldn’t see any weapons anywhere. They were probably hidden—the Mira were anything but harmless, if they were strong enough to battle Eleutherians for hundreds of years—but they weren’t visible, and that was enough to reassure Carina that she probably wouldn’t be killed just for standing here. If they really meant business, they would have shown up in something more clearly dangerous… right? Acidalia looked up from the watercolored pages of one of her ancient books. “I suppose it’s time, then,” she said, with a deliberately final-sounding sort of calmness. In a massive movement of skirts and fabric, she stood, somehow elegantly staggering under the weight of her own swirling petticoats.

“Already?” Carina just barely squeaked out. “I guess it makes sense, but—“ “Scared?” Athena laughed. “Relax. They’re just, like, mermaids on crack or something.”

“Well, those ‘mermaids on crack’ managed to match us in war for centuries, so, yes, I’m a little nervous,” Carina snapped, flushing. Mermaids on crack was a hell of a way to describe a dangerous enemy, even if they were sparkly and blue. Acidalia looked at her sympathetically. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” she said, clearly trying her hardest to be gentle and nice.

Carina bit her lip. She didn’t want to do this—this place was not her territory. She had no business being here to begin with, and she knew she’d never be able to add anything valuable to the conversation—at least, nothing as valuable as Acidalia would add. But she was also a relatively normal-looking girl who could maybe pass as a rich girl to an uninformed observer, and it’d be simple to masquerade as a noblewoman or a lady-in-waiting as long as she kept her mouth shut and didn’t say anything stupid. The alien ambassadors would doubtlessly be suspicious if Acidalia arrived without an entourage, and that would be bad—the Revolution couldn’t afford to make their leader seem illegitimate in the eyes of the enemy, even if she was a technically illegitimate royal. With a Martian companion, two soldiers, and a battery of ladies-in-in-waiting, Acidalia looked like an empress. Without all of that, she’d look like a fleeing princess ousted from her empire. And sure, Athena and Cressida and Lyra could probably make Acidalia look more legit, but would they really? Athena couldn’t even give a research presentation without cursing, and there was no way Cressida could get through a boring political meeting without checking something on her metadit.

“I’m coming,” Carina decided, trying not to look too afraid. If she was one of the first Eleutherians to peacefully speak to the Mira, she’d make history. And if she died… well, she hoped it was quick.

[tinymixtapes]

Live Blog: Riot Fest 2017

Riot Fest 2017 Douglas Park; Chicago, IL [September 15-17] by Joe Hemmerling on 09-27-2017 Looking back a year on from my Riot Fest 2016 coverage, I can marvel at my own naivety. Languishing in the jaws of the presidential election cycle, I (and many like me) thought this was as bad as it could get. Trump’s ascent to the top of his party — fueled by a complex cocktail of white nationalism, working-class rage, misogyny, and partisan inertia — had exposed some hard truths about this country that many of us didn’t want to face, but we were coming up on the finish line. November wasn’t too far around the corner, and when the dust settled, we were confident that we’d have a president who, while not universally beloved (even among her own constituents), would at least restore a semblance of sanity to federal politics. But we all know how that turned out. This year’s festival roster responded to the direness of our present political situation in a variety of ways. Ministry’s Al Jourgensen answered with fury and exhortations to violent resistance, Gogol Bordello’s Eugene Hutz and Pedro Erazo with calls for unity among people of good will — hell, even the happy-go-lucky Tim Kinsella of Cap’n Jazz let slip the nihilistic observation that his privileges are paid for by the murders of people all over the world. The enormity of Trump’s presidency threatens to make punk rock’s defiant posturing look hollow and inconsequential. Yet it was a challenge many of the performers were willing to meet head on, even if some of the boldest, most transgressive, and genuinely punk performances of the Fest came from outside the white male-dominated sphere of punk rock. But before we get too far into that, let’s take care of some administrative items: * Despite last year being the biggest yet for the festival, Riot Fest scaled back for 2017, cutting out its Denver fest and paring back its lineup to 91 acts. This may, in part, be due to recent death of fest founder, Sean McKeough (May he riot in peace). * While I feel for Denver missing out, the smaller lineup was a boon. Bands got longer sets, and it made it easier and more worthwhile to cut out in the middle of a set if there were overlapping acts you wanted to watch. * This being our third year attending the festival (“our” being my wife and I), we tried to take in a little more of the nonmusical aspects, getting some yummy street tacos from Tica’s and witnessing the death-defying high wire acrobatics of Circus Una. * Security was friendly, but, like, maybe too friendly. The guards felt around my wife’s bust for that switchblade and set of brass knuckles she stores in her bra (lucky for us she stowed them back in the glove compartment). But, honestly, they could have strip-searched me and put three fingers up my asshole because (most importantly)… * FREE BEER WAS BACK IN THE PRESS TENT. The courteous festival staff kept the wheels of journalism thoroughly lubricated with all the Dos Equis and Heineken we could get down our gullets. --- The Essentials Saul Williams (Photo: Amanda Athon) Genre-bending rapper and father of slam poetry, Saul Williams began his set Friday with an improvised spoken word rendition of “Coded Language,” all those lengthy clauses beginning with and punctuated by the legalistic conjunction “whereas,” culminating in a litany of radicals, artists, and martyrs. But while the framework of his jeremiad was familiar, its contents were targeted specifically at us. “A riot is not a festival,” he chided. “A riot is a violent disturbance of the peace by a crowd.” And to drive his point home further: “Your punk rock isn’t that punk rock if it doesn’t make fascists explode.” It took a moment for me to realize that the stage behind him was bare of equipment and that no band would be joining him. This drew hostility from some in the crowd, at least one member of which repeatedly shouted, “We came to hear music!” as he trudged off in the direction of the main stages. Williams was undaunted, taking aim at targets as large as the Catholic Church and Silicon Valley and as small as the Trump-supporting members of his audience. He attacked the gender binary, the digital revolution, and the sharing economy using the “Hack into…” lyrical framework of “Colton as Cotton,” before launching into an a capella rendition of “Black Stacey.” It was probably the gutsiest performance I’ve seen in my life, standing on that stage all alone and putting to lie the late capitalist notion that we can spend our way to a revolution, to call each member of the audience to account for their part in the oppressive structures that weigh us all down (albeit not equally). Unlike the Prophets Of Rage, who on Sunday asked their audience if they were ready to have a good time, Williams was there to educate, not to entertain. Next to him, even the most radical declarations of resistance seemed like kids’ stuff. Cute Riot Fest audience members (Photo: Amanda Athon) Friday’s other highlight was industrial metal pioneers Ministry. Uncle Al was eager to tell his audience how happy he was to be home, joking, “You all know I’m from here. Some of you have probably ripped me off on cab fare.” They played a relentless, career-spanning set, including a brand new song from their forthcoming album, “Antifa,” celebrating the anarchist resistance network. Watching masked dancers parade around the stage waving red and black flags filled me with a curious sense of unease. The uncritical acceptance of vigilante justice that I see coming from certain corners of the left is alarming for a variety of reasons that I don’t have the space for here, but suffice to say that I personally regard Antifa’s rise to prominence as, at best, a risky development for political discourse in America. Jourgenson’s embrace of the controversial group is hardly surprising, given his outspoken leftwing politics and heavy metal’s enshrinement of ideological, as well as sonic, extremity. In fact, a Ministry show seems like exactly the place where buttoned-up lefties can crow over fascists chowing down on a knuckle sandwich. I guess I just never thought we’d reach a point where the kinds of things that get shouted out at a heavy metal concert were being considered as a blueprint for political strategy. My political hand-wringing aside, Ministry was on fire. Jorgenson’s voice is as caustic as ever, and his band remains a finely honed engine of destruction. In lieu of footage from the stage, the band fed surreal psychedelic imagery into the screens: distorted pictures of nude women bleeding into news coverage, music video footage, and internet memes. They ripped through mid- and late-career highlights like “Senor Peligro” and “Bad Blood,” but aside from opening their set with “Psalm 69,” they saved most of their classics for a whirlwind four-song finale of “N.W.O.,” “Just One Fix,” “Thieves,” and “So What.” Peaches (Photo: Amanda Athon) If Saul and Al had to split ownership of Friday between them, Saturday belonged entirely to Peaches. The Canadian provocateur delivered a riotous and confrontational set of explicit sexuality and gender-fuckery. She opened with her ode to female ejaculation, “Rub,” wearing an absurdly bulky pink fur-suit and anatomically detailed vagina hat. During her second song “Vaginaplasty,” her backup dancers sauntered out in enormous vaginal headgear, while the artist herself stripped down to a flesh-colored leotard to which giant purple nipples and a fuzzy pink merkin had been affixed. By her third song, she was over the photo-pit rail and into the audience, and by the end of the fourth, her leotard was down around her waist. There were no fucks given. When Peaches needed to switch costumes, she turned her back and stepped out of whatever she was wearing right in front of the audience. Her dancers shed more and more clothing as the show went on, until by the end they were topless in a latticework of fetish-gear and undulating against the singer in simulated sex acts. Peaches performed a good chunk of the time in nothing but her skivvies and flesh-colored nipple-covers. It was, by turns, hilarious, titillating, and unnerving (like, should we be seeing this? Is this LEGAL?). Despite the lack of explicit political commentary, Peaches’ defiant ribaldry felt like an act of resistance, an expression of female power and self-determination. And it was some of the most fun I had the whole weekend. High-Wire acrobats (Photo: Amanda Athon) Still, despite the stiff competition, my absolute favorite set of the fest belongs to Chicago’s own Cap’n Jazz. This marks the seminal Midwestern emo group’s second reunion since their dissolution in 1995. Reunions as a whole tend to reek of cash-grabbery, and usually they don’t improve in quality upon repetition, but Sunday’s performance was as pure and unique a concert-going experience as I’ve ever been part of. Frontman Tim Kinsella may have crossed the threshold into his forties, but he remains a childlike presence, hurling his body across the stage, turning sloppy backwards somersaults, and generally jackassing around with the audience. His ebullience was infectious and his seeming disregard for his own safety and the integrity of the performance created an electric tension. Kinsella made a game between songs of requesting the return of a tambourine that he’d tossed out into the audience, and then throwing it immediately back into the crowd. During their cover of “Take on Me,” he hurled his mic over the photopit rail, but somehow managed to recover it just in time for the big final chorus, just like he miraculously recovered his sunglasses, lost early on in a crowd-surfing excursion. His bandmates played the grownups, with drummer Mike occasionally bristling over his brother’s showboating. They kept the grooves going when Tim’s shenanigans came between him and his singing duties, like during closer “Que Suerte!” when Tim stuffed the mic down his pants, threaded it through the bottom of his jeans, only to stick it back down once more and thread it down the other leg (he needed help from the security team to get it out his second pant leg). But if all of this sounds like the music took a backseat to the antics, you can put that right out of your head. The band was in peak form, hitting all the lurching starts and stops, tempo and signature shifts like clockwork, and all the while, they looked like they were having the time of their lives. Third Kinsella brother and American Football alum Nate stood in for Davey von Bohlen on guitar and brought a fan’s enthusiasm to the proceedings. Their set covered almost everything from their sole album Burritos, Inspiration Point… aside from “Bluegrassish,” “Flashpoint: Catheter,” and “Precious,” and they filled the rest of the set out with favorites like “Ooh I Do Love You” and “Forget Who Are.” --- Let-downs Bad Brains (Photo: Amanda Athon) This is uncomfortable for me to say, so I’m just going to blurt it out. X and Bad Brains were pretty boring live. I know. I KNOW. These guys are legends. They’ve been doing this for four decades now. They have nothing to prove. They’re up there in the years, and at least in H.R.’s case have health concerns. Not everyone can be Iggy Pop, who’s pushing a thousand and still writhing around on the floor like a teenager. They still sounded great, but there wasn’t a lot of energy in their sets. Saturday night’s penultimate act At the Drive-In had the opposite problem. Cedric Bixler-Zavala still tosses the mic around and launches himself off the drumkit with no apparent care about whether he’ll come down on his feet, but the volume they were playing at really muddied their sound and overwhelmed Omar Rodriguez-Lopez’s precise guitarwork. It was still enjoyable to hear my favorite cuts off Relationship of Command, from which their set drew heavily, but years of being baited by ATDI’s reputation as a live band set my expectations at a level they couldn’t quite reach. Plus, no “Transatlantic Foe”? Come on, guys… --- Honorable Mentions Liars (Photo: Amanda Athon) I’ve drifted away from Liars’ recorded output over the years, but there’s no question these guys can still bring it live. Angus Andrew stalked onto the stage in a white wedding dress, his long lace veil billowing in the wind. Standing before a small podium, he fiddled with dials that hellishly distorted his vocals during the bouncier electronic numbers like “Mess on a Mission” and “House Clouds,” as well as on more harrowing fare like “Scarecrow on a Killer Slant.” The Buzzcocks made a good showing for old-head punk rock. Their hit-laden set (anyone with a copy of Singles Going Steady could do a reasonable job keeping score at home) was brisk and tuneful, and their chemistry forty-plus years in the making shined through at every turn, particularly on spacier numbers like “Why Can’t I Touch It?” Finally Nine Inch Nails brought Friday to a close with a riveting headlining performance. The fog-machines were going into overdrive throughout the set, such that the stage was constantly cloaked in billowing smoke like the steaming maw of hell. Reznor was intense, if a little aloof as he careened throughout his discography, lightly dusting his set with hits like “The Hand that Feeds,” “Closer,” and “Head Like a Hole.” Buzzcocks (Photo: Amanda Athon) Gogol Bordello (Photo: Amanda Athon) Gogol Bordello brought their brand of feel-good bedlam to the fest on Saturday and convinced me that I need to revisit Transcontinental Hustle. I was left pretty cold by the album when it came out back in 2010, but goddamn if every cut they played off it didn’t bring the house down, particularly “We Comin’ Rougher (Immigraniada),” which has taken on a pointed significance in the era of Trump. Following Dinosaur Jr.’s sublime album playthrough of You’re Living All Over Me, I crashed the angry party that Prophets Of Rage were throwing on Sunday night long enough to hear them drop a pair of RATM covers (“Testify” and “Take the Power Back”) amid some original songs from their hot-off-the-presses eponymous debut. But it was the siren song of M.I.A. that ultimately seduced me. The British emcee was in fine form, if surprisingly mute on politics. She knocked out hit after hit for her eager crowd, while a mesmerizing light show engulfed the stage. At the risk of losing all my punk cred, after that kind of spectacle, Jawbreaker just couldn’t hold my interest. Beyond one or two songs of Dear You, I’d never quite managed to find my way into them, but the die-hards in the front row seemed to be getting everything they wanted out of them, so that’s all that matters, right? --- And that, in a nutshell, was Riot Fest 2017. There’s a ton I missed out on, including Shabazz Palaces, Wu Tang Clan performing 36 Chambers, Built to Spill’s play-through of Keep It Like a Secret, and festival mainstays Gwar and Andrew W.K., but some of the sets I was able to take in this year numbered among the most powerful and exhilarating festival experiences I’ve ever witnessed. As the situation in the outside world grows more dire, we continue to look to art for solace, and there was plenty of that to be found. But the bravest artists offered something we needed more: a kick in the ass to get back out there and try to change something, however small and however futile that might appear. http://j.mp/2fSiPUP