#ax: *turns on the radio*

[pinketine]

RTSoot's love language is (sometimes attempted) murder send tweet

[keepthedelta]

scenes that should be included in the brad pitt f1 film

(for legal purposes this is a joke, no one should support this film)

60 year old  brad pitt has to do the mandatory driver fitness test and almost collapses at the cardio. 28 year old carlos sainz does it next to him without hesitation or struggle two weeks after an appendectomy whilst wearing a mesh shirt

alex albon’s radio message calling brad pitt an ancient fuck after cutting the corner to smash the williams out of the way

leo leclerc and/or roscoe shitting next to brad pitt’s feet

damson idris’s character saying fernando’s “I knew he would brake because he has a wife and two children at home” quote. the wife and children will never be mentioned again or seen on screen. the romance will be exclusively between 60 year old brad pitt and the engineer woman half his age

damson idris’s character tweeting ocon’s my teammate tried to kill me but I survived tweet before getting drunk with a billionaire’s son

brad pitt attends a team principal’s meeting that goes oddly silent the moment that he walks in and three of the other team bosses immediately begin speaking to each other in italian. zak brown gives a sympathetic look but turns away, andreas seidl sniggers in german

four drivers call out brad and damson idris for their bullshit driving during the drivers’ briefing romain grosjean head of the gpda style. george russell ends the meeting with a powerpoint explaining to them why they are assholes

brad and damson idris have an emotional bonding moment where 60 year old brad reminds 32 year old damson idris that he is still young, still a rookie, and he has plenty of time to develop as, I assume, the lewis hamilton character insert despite lewis actually being in the film??? in the background kimi antonelli scooters past on his way to get a bath and bottle because it’s nearly his bedtime

k-mag hands over his stewards room loyalty card to brad pitt who gets a race ban

triumphant moment where the team finally scores a podium but the post-race inspection reveals that their car is wildly illegal and they are disqualified

stefano domenicali enthusiastically welcomes the american audience that brad pitt’s team brings, ross brawn is sat next to him listing off the many ways that their car does not comply with the fia’s safety standards

brad pitt and damson idris are battling for their lives at the back of the grid, max verstappen laps them

the engineer woman describes speed in kilometres. brad pitt tells her to explain it in “english”

a hilariously corrupt Italian businessman who bears absolutely no resemblance to flavio briatore none at all says something hilariously corrupt at a sponsor meeting. brad pitt nobly rises above it

fernando alonso sniffing plants in the background of every other scene

a blonde reporter/presenter has sexual tension with damson idris. when brad pitt asks who she is, he simply says “a girl I used to know” and looks longingly in the distance

michael and/or mario andretti with an axe demanding to know why it’s okay for brad pitt to have an 11th f1 team but not him, even though the andretti name is incredibly well respected in the motorsports world

[erineverly]

“eating glass might hurt less than therapy, too,” erin muses with a faint chuckle, running her fingers through his greasy strands with affection. she feels proud of them for not choosing the easy way out, for deciding to get help even though it would probably feel so good to just fall into their old routine of empty promises, hugs and kisses and… after all, they’ve been here before, countless times, holding each other after a vicious storm and swearing to do better next time. “it’s our last chance.” her smile fading as her pale blue eyes grow serious, she gently touches his chin and urges him to look at her. there’s something different about what’s happening tonight, something that makes her want to believe they’re finally getting it right and there will be no more fighting and leaving. “but i’m so happy that we have this one last chance. i couldn’t live without you, axl. and you know, if we survive this, we’ll survive anything.” there’s a statistic floating around, erin stumbled upon it while paging through one of her mother’s newspapers at breakfast the other day, that up to 80% of marriages end in divorce after the death of a child. she’s convinced that if they only manage to get through this, nothing will ever tear them apart. “you’re very welcome, honey,” she coos softly, puckering her own lips and meeting him halfway. the kiss is so quick and soft, but it speaks louder than any promises they’ve made. it fills her heart with hope.

“yeah, okay, that’s true. you’re no james dean,” she admits with a sigh, pursing her lips as she tries to stifle a laugh. there’s a glimmer of playfulness in her eye, enough to let the other know that she’s only messing with him. “and that’s because you’re way, way more handsome than james dean.” nothing but sincerity in her voice this time, she curls her arms around his neck and steals one more chaste kiss from his lips. she lingers in his orbit like a lost comet, just marveling at him. he really is so beautiful. “well, i wouldn’t trade my scrawny redhead for no arnold. actually, i wouldn’t trade him for the world.” there’s love in her eyes again, mixed with a certain kind of devotion. she’ll never understand why he can’t just look at himself and see what an amazing man he really is, so beautiful inside and out, but figures it’s her job to remind him of it as often as possible. “of course… how could i not? i mean, show me one actor that could compete with you. there’s no one.” she’s reluctant to let go of him, but does so anyway because there’s a few more things that she wants to prepare for his bath and doesn’t want the tub to accidentally overflow. “aww, that’s so sweet of you, honey. but — did you just describe my mom as having beautiful old hollywood starlet looks? do you have a secret crush on my mom, axl? huh?” she jokingly teases, squinting her eyes in feigned suspicion, trying to avert his attention from her flushed cheeks. she doesn’t know how to accept compliments like this.

“no, don’t even bother checking, we don’t have any decorations left at the condo. i actually ended up donating most of them back in september. i only left like one wreath, a few garlands and some lights so it might not be enough for our house,” she admits with a shake of her head, averting her gaze in embarrassment. it clearly wasn’t the smartest decision to just give everything up, but at the time, while she was packing their whole life into boxes so that they could u-haul them to malibu, she labeled old christmas decor as clutter and decided it ought to be replaced anyway. “yes! oh, my gosh, yes!” her features light up at the mere sound of his next suggestion, a dazzling grin tugging at her lips. she doesn’t remember the last time she actually had the strength to go shopping so the idea of heading to kmart or sears tomorrow really makes her day. it gives her a sense of normalcy, of their old life when they did simple things together and enjoyed them. “both! let���s check out both. sears has some real cute outdoor decorations. i saw in their catalog.” she’s going around picking up every towel in sight and putting them all in the hamper so that she can replace them with fresh ones, and has to pause just to kiss him on the cheek. all out of sheer excitement. “and we can finally buy a big christmas tree! do you think a 15-foot-tall one would fit into our living room? we’d have to buy a ladder, too.” she’s watching her husband with happiness and affection, wondering how it’s possible that he’s so sweet and eager to take her on a shopping spree. most people would just call her crazy and refuse to spend thousands of dollars on christmas decorations, especially on christmas eve. what’s the point now? they’ll have to take everything down in a week or so anyway. “i have to buy you something, too,” she admits shyly, feeling silly because she somehow forgot about the entire holiday and hasn’t bought any presents yet. “i mean, you should probably write a letter to santa if you haven’t already.” maybe they can do that later, once they get downstairs and she begins to fix them some food. after all, it’s santa who brings gifts on christmas day. it’s more magical to pretend. “hey, are you buying a gift for me or yourself, huh?” she giggles, blushing furiously at his suggestion. not that it would be an entirely bad idea. after all, she hasn’t felt attractive in weeks. “forget about teeny tiny panties for a moment and hear me out. we could get matching grinch pajamas and slippers!” she suggests, swaying her hips and shimmying her shoulders to the sounds of an old classic — santa claus is coming to town. she  suddenly feels so giddy that she can’t help but do a silly little dance, losing one of her sneakers in the process and toeing the other one off on purpose, fingers drumming occasionally on the counter. “can we agree that a hand promise is better than a pinky promise?” she asks, giggling and grabbing his toothbrush. it quickly turns into a microphone, her dance becomes a full blown performance meant to cheer him up. “you better watch out, you better not cry, better not pout, i’m telling you why — ladies and gentlemen, mr rose!” she points the toothbrush in his direction, a mere inch away from his cigarette, and expects him to pick up where she’s left off.

“thank you so much for describing that accident in vivid details. i almost managed to forget about it.” rolling her eyes playfully, she still can’t believe that it was actually one of the first times that she saw him naked. she had to put cooling ointment on his privates, too, and was actually considering taking him to a doctor. it was traumatic, but now that she looks back on it, also kind of hilarious. “you only got a rash ‘cause you mixed a bunch of stuff together, and it was cheap stuff, too. i mean, real cheap.” decent dish soap costs more than those bath bombs she bought back then. they looked and smelled amazing, but were made of artificial ingredients that quickly irritated his sensitive skin. “i’ve got some nice stuff now. look.” she takes out a basket where she keeps all of her fancy bath supplies and sets it on the counter beside his cigarettes so that she can go through it and present everything to him. “for my favorite baby with sensitive skin.” she shows him a set of organic fizzy bombs that are meant for toddlers. they’re made of natural ingredients such as coconut oil, olive oil, and natural essential oils. there’s no glitter or artificial coloring in them so they don’t look quite as fun as their cheaper equivalents but they surely won’t give him a nasty rash. there’s a lavender teddy bear, a cute daisy that smells like vanilla, a pale pink rose, a peach, a star that smells like oranges. “yeah, bath balls, axl,” she giggles, refusing to correct him because it sounds so funny. “i mean, you already got two of your own so just pick a third that you’d like to play with in the tub.”

it’s a big risk, one he knows could end up flip flopping like it usually does when he decides to forgive and forget. he doesn’t want this relationship and marriage to make him feel like he’s drowning any longer…it’s almost worrisome that she’s rerouted the direction she wants to go in with herself and her treatment towards him. but he can’t bring himself to shut her out and feel like he wants to lose her forever, so he takes this big fucking risk and hopes he doesn’t fuck himself. “you’re welcome.” saying humbly, hoping he doesn’t regret it and they really can make it work and function together as two people connected as one. listening to her testimony, his stomach muscles flinch when her fingers tickle his skin at the cold touch stunning him and the way her fingers brushing over his skin tickles to the point his stomach jolts. “i agree to work on it too, otherwise eating glass is our only option left.” he says a little amusingly, rubbing tiredly at his eyes, “but really, i’m more than over the moon about this. so thank you too, baby.” he leans down to peck her lips, hands gently squeezing her upper arms over the cloth of her sweat shirt.

“yeah, i know,” nodding in agreement, he can feel his heart pang if he replays all the things she’s said but he doesn’t want to elaborate on that out loud to erin and make her feel bad for it. he just doesn’t understand why she’s like two different people. “you must’ve just missed me too much or something…i’m no james dean.” he responds in his usual down to earth but also insecure way, chuckling. never believed he’s ever been some hunky guy with all the looks and charisma. “i know, i couldn’t be arnold even i gain pounds. i’m just some scrawny redhead.” he snorts. it’s foreign for him to even say it out loud, admit he’s a redhead. he’s always tried to not think about the color of his hair or deny its red. “i’m happy you think i’m some moviestar though.” axl’s deep voice fills with happiness once he thinks about that, small smile playing on his lips. “i always have thought you were one. your mama definitely gave you those beautiful old hollywood starlet looks.” he tells her while eyes trail over her beautiful features. “mhm, exactly.” one loses their will to live, let alone to eat and keep going. he does wonder what she’s been doing all of this time without him.

“yeah it is. and yeah, we definitely need a tree up. it’s not goin’ to feel like christmas without it. do we have any christmas decorations left at the condo? i haven’t been back there in awhile but i still decided to keep it. if not, we can go crazy in kmart or sears tomorrow.” he adds to the plan, smiling softly she’s getting into her usual erin fashion of getting all excited about plans. they can head there after the grocery store. “santa for granny panties…oh yeah, i gotta buy you something for christmas while we’re out tomorrow. maybe i’ll get you some teeny tiny panties.” he chuckles as he jokes, turning the knob on the built in radio in the bathroom wall to turn the stations until he comes upon one with christmas tunes playing. letting them softly play once he turns back around. “yeah it was a hand promise.” axl amusingly adds, grabbing the cigarettes off the bathroom sink and pulling one out of his box of marlboro reds as he sits down on the toilet lid. “thanks, sugar.” he takes the lighter from her, looking over at the ashtray up on the counter then flicking his lighter to ignite the flame to make the cigarette burn. he takes that first draw and loves the soothing flavor of it as he gets back up and turns the fan on so the smoke smell well at least absorb into it after he places the box of cigarettes down and the lighter next to the ashtray. “oh, i won’t. i’ll be reeeal careful and i’m also very lucky and feelin’ special that i’m erin’s favorite.” he smiles cutely at her as he watches her work on his bath tub water, exhaling his smoke up in the air. “you can put whatever into it, just as long as it doesn’t put a rash up my ass or on my dick like one time those bath balls or bath bombs— whatever they are— did. that shit burned my ass up, from the crack to the surroundings of my balls.”

[jyoongim]

This isn't exactly a request but a thought that had been so heavy on my brain. Hellborn royalty reader x Alastor who's stronger than he is. I just can't stop thinking about it. Maybe even Goetia reader whew they are stronger and protect him from something and I just go FERAL at the thought.

Some background context:

The Ars Goetia are a royal dynasty of noble hellborn demons who serve as prophets, messengers, and observers of the mortal plane for the King of Hell. They are responsible for maintaining stability within the seven rings. They are highly knowledgeable in the heavens, society, and prophecies of all domains.

—————————————————————————————

The hotel was a wreck.

The Angels had made it their personal mission to eliminate those who resided in the hotel.

The Princess of Hell had acquired your assistance if things got shaky for them.

And OH things were shaking.

Alastor had took it upon himself to fight Adam, when you suggested you could of great help he turned you down. Stating that he would be able to handle the Angel himself.

But things were not looking good for the Radio Demon.

You admired the confidence he had, but the demon was in a sticky situation and you would be damned if anyone hurt YOUR demon.

You were fuming and it was showing.

You calmly walked through the fighting, every attack thrown your way didn’t even touch you as you quickly dispatched your attackers. 

You appeared in front of the injured deer in a cloud of smoke. 

“Hehe who the fuck are you?” Adam asked, but you ignored him as you checked on Alastor.

He was bleeding and weak, you placed your hands on his face, scowling softly “Oh Alastor my sweet. You did good my love but Ill take over from here” he tried to object, but with a wave of your hand, you dissolved him in mist to keep him safe.

You turned to Adam, who was smirking “Tch! You think you can take me? Ha! If your best couldn’t scratch me what thinks you can?”

You smiled, your body morphed into mist “who said he was our best?”

He attacked, swinging his axe and trying to bring it down on you. Your eyes glowed white and with a flick of the wrist he was frozen to the spot. You curled your fingers and watched as the Angel contorted in pain. You hissed “I am the judge and executioner and you, you arrogant pig have no authority here. Divine violence is my right for power belongs to those who take it.” At your words, the sky formed dark clouds and the realm shook.

Adam let out a scream as your magic crackled along his skin, searing pain riddling his body as you burned his wings and corrupted his every soul.

“YOU CANT DO THIS! I AM ADAM! THE FIRST MAN! YOU BITCH! NO NO NO NO!” Your mist enveloped his body and he slowly morphed to black as you took his life. You watched as his soul screeched and struggle. 

You pulled him towards him and smirked, sneering at him with sharp teeth

“Vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord” 

And with a soft blow from your lips, he dispersed. His soul crying as you sent him to Limbo.

Hell shook as your magic rocked the cosmos.

The remaining Angels let out a cry as they were struck with pain, felt in their soul.

You were sucking their power and in an attempt to save themselves they retreated back to Heaven.

You morphed back to normal and your misty shadows revealed Alastor to you.

You picked up the red demon and nudged him with your nose, he grumbled ”Y-You didn’t have to intervene. I had it under control”

You hummed, a soft smile on your face a his stubbornness “completely but I wasn’t going to stand around when you clearly needed my help.”

Your face dropped to a pout “don’t tell me that me being stronger hurts your pride? You should be honored. A woman willing to protect her love is a powerful thing to behold”

Alastor sighed, relaxing against you, feeling the exhaustion of the battle overtake him.

You cooed at him, pressing a kiss to his forehead, “Don’t worry I don’t think anything less of you. I think you’re the strongest man I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting”

The Radio Demon might have been a prideful soul, but it was you who was the strongest.

And really…he was ok with that fact.

[haunted-headset-alt]

romantic hcs with s/o lucifer ⋆𐙚 ₊ ° ⊹ ♡

summary: the title lol

warnings: swearing, light angst, mentions of alcohol, tooth-rotting fluff

a/n: ik this wasn't requested, but I'm upset w/ myself due to the lack of Lucifer content on my blog!

tags: (as always, just tagging a few people i think would be interested in this, please let me know if you would like to be on or off of the taglist!) @o-kye @zuuriell @strangleetomz @xxtalulahlovesyouxx@ax-y10 @stars-around-scars-collective@blu3-lemonad3@myheartticks@mochamuff1n@unbeleevable@danvstheworld @radio-to-trenchcoat-demons @average-vibe @back-totheoldhouse

dates w/ lucifer ⋆𐙚 ₊ ° ⊹ ♡

dates with this man are THE BESTTTT

you think of somewhere, he'll take you. the aquarium? done. clothes shopping? of course. fanciest restaurant in town? you don't need to ask, he's already booked a reservation for 6:30.

he's OBSESSED with spoiling you in general, and this gets bumped up x10 on dates

you ask for wine or champagne at dinner? he's ordering the finest, most expensive bottle for his love. don't like what they have? he's bringing his own just for you.

^^ "No, no, sweetheart, I insist. My darling deserves to indulge in the finest!"

he doesn't mind you asking for more simple dates without all of the spoiling, though. he'd plead for a bit to spoil you juuuust a little though!

he's bought LOADS of fancy clothes for you to wear on dates, and sometimes he'll match with you! he wants everyone to know that the king of Hell's partner is living in luxury.

domestic life w/ lucifer ⋆𐙚 ₊ ° ⊹ ♡

he's big on cuddles. cuddles when you wake up, cuddles when you eat or cook, cuddles while watching something, cuddles while getting ready for bed, cuddles while sleeping, etc.

my personal headcanon is that Lucifer knows how to bake super well (he can make the best sweet treats and pastries), but he's terrible at cooking actual meals (COOKING AND BAKING ARE TWO SEPARATE THINGS AND I WILL DIE ON THAT HILL), so you usually end up doing most of the cooking for the two of you. still, he'll help as much as he can!

going back to the baking thing, he loves baking dates with you! wrapping his arms around your waist while you try to figure out his recipe for mini apple pies with ducks on them (he'll step in to help you), teasingly throwing flour at you (which turns into a flour fight), letting you lick the batter off of the spoon, etc.

he really likes learning about and watching the films and shows you like from your era. since he's been in Hell all of his life, he doesn't know everything about the human realm, so you talking about your favorite things from the era you were alive in is a joy for him!

you living with him motivates him to do his chores around the house. talking about your days while doing the laundry, humming along to music while washing dishes, laughing with each other while cleaning. he lives for it.

how you two started dating ⋆𐙚 ₊ ° ⊹ ♡

you heard about Charlie Morningstar's plan through a friend who was talking about how odd it sounded, and you thought you'd pay a visit. you didn't think it was odd at all! if your help wasn't needed/wanted, it might be nice to stay.

turns out, Charlie loved having you help out, and so did everyone else! you pointed out how there wasn't a receptionist or front desk person and offered to take up the job, which Charlie happily let you do.

when Lucifer came to visit for the first time, it truly was love at first sight. something just...clicked.

he kept asking Charlie about who you were, what your name was, etc., until Charlie told him to just go talk to you!

the first 'hello's were a bit awkward, but you two quickly became friends! it went from him not being brave enough to even look you in the eye to him following you around the hotel, laughing while listening to the stories you told him about the hotel.

he started visiting a lot after that, which led to him asking you to be his one and only on Valentine's Day!

he was a little insecure and nervous about dating because of Lilith, and it bothered you for a while that he still wasn't able to take his ring off, but after some arguments and long talking sessions, you two worked everything out :)

[musouie]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃-𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐀𝐖𝐍 ⋮ 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐒

broadcasting announcement ⋮ the annual purge begins

DDDNE ⋮ toji fushiguro x fem!reader, explicit violence, gore, fear, purge au, reader in her 20s ﾉ toji in his 30s, attempted murder, bondage, referenced cannibalism, sadism wc: 8.5k

anthology masterlist . . . 𓅨 . . . ao3 version

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 was a smothering hush that only ever came before the Purge. That brought with it something primaeval — perverse and cunning — that slithered through the acrid air of the city.

You could almost taste it — hidden in the metallic twang on your tongue — the bloodlust, the horror...the desire. It came to you in flashes — caused your flesh to prickle and pull itself taut as you pictured an axe through your boss’ head, the bit lodged clean between his eyes as his body crumpled like a ragdoll, brain matter fanning out by your feet. Clinging to your shoes. Staining your trousers.

It was grotesque and inhumane and bestial (and oh-so-relieving), but that was what it always did. Corrupted then soothed. Infected then lingered. In the back of your skull, the spaces between your fingers, the tip of your tongue —

— until you thickly swallowed. Tried to force it down; render it inert. Store it where all the other ugly things hid. (By now they’ve coalesced with each other. Formed a monstrous fusion of rotten flesh, weeping boils, black tar.) 

But this… this was much more potent. More restless. With jagged edges and serrated claws and a syrupy scent that quickly turned sour as you tried to force it down the velvety walls of your throat, phlegm bubbling from the roof of your mouth. It needed to be known, known, known — like an ill-tempered child that hadn’t gotten its way, pulling and tugging, beating its fists against your insides until you bled.

So, you swallowed again. And again and again, until you could feel it begin to burn, burn, burn — like flames from a dragon’s maw — down your throat, warming your belly, and scorching up your oesophagus as it howled with its brethren. Subdued, for the moment, but eager and clawing. (Scratching at flesh, peeling skin back. Where all the other ugly things hid.)

When your lips parted in a sigh, your tongue passed over the backs of your teeth to swipe at the residue — ensure none was left behind.

And none was left, thankfully. No savoury remains lodged between canines and molars. No tinge of metal nor sharp sting of tang. 

...Nothing. 

Now, the only things to fear were those who could not so easily resist. That revelled in the taste — the sourness of it, the relief of it, the depravity of it — shamelessly. That drank in the screams and the terror as though they were the finest of wine, rich and deep, so rare they chose to exploit it:

…The weaker of man —

the purgers.

In the corner of your dim apartment, your dingy radio sputtered to life, broadcasting a morose, wailing tune before a scratchy voice began speaking through the crackling:

“In 5 minutes time,” it warbled, excitement evident even through the fissures in the signal. The buzzing, the low rumble, like the hum of bees swarming close and waiting to pierce skin and tear into muscle.

“I repeat, in 5 minutes time, the nation’s citizens will begin their annual purge, commencing the release of all tensions, frustrations, and violent urges deemed socially and criminally taboo. Caution: once the purge begins, all services — including police, fire, and emergency-medical — will be unavailable. All emergency services will re-operate when the purge ends.

May the odds be ever in your favour.

Happy purging to one and all.”

Happy Purging, happy purging, happy purging.

Happy… purging?

A scowl marred your face as the static petered out, silence trickling back in with the lack of audio to fill the absence. There was nothing happy about the Purge. Couldn’t be…no matter how prettily they tried to wrap it. (Red ribbon and all — bruised, foetid flesh at the centre, straining against its garnish as it was bound tight.)  

To dress it up and water it down — turn the carnage, the destruction, the sheer, animalistic violence into something that didn’t crawl along the underside of the tongue (up the spine, through the marrow), into a time for unwinding, a time of excitement, celebration — was despicable. Made you sick. Turned your stomach into writhing maggots and your throat to dried clay.

Your teeth grinded together as you checked the barrel of your pistol, slamming the magazine in with more force than what was probably necessary, on the verge of grating your teeth to dust. The metal whinged quietly, a high-pitched sound that soon gave way to a muffled groan when you holstered it at your hip, shrugging on a faded grey hoodie that was a size too large, frayed and bunched awkwardly about your wrists.

You then padded across the scuffed floor, heavy soles of your combat boots thudding mutedly across the wood as you made your way to your bed, snatching up a hunting knife you kept underneath your mattress. Carefully, you slipped it into your boot, nestled between leather and your lamb’s wool socks. Safe. Warm. Hidden . Like a babe in the womb.

And just like a babe in the womb, the blade would eventually be drawn forth, umbilical cord severed, and would be set loose. From one darkness to another of a different kind.

(Where all the ugly things hid.)

With a final cursory glance around your small apartment, you flicked off the light switch, plunging the room into darkness as the siren sounded.

As if summoned, shadows seeped and formed. Intruded and flocked to each other as they always did, like greedy crows fed one too many times.

They crept forward, licking at the shabby, moth-eaten rug, and the rusted, bent, broken pipes that snaked across the ceiling, and the cracked, peeling paint on the walls. And then they moved to you, as if compelled. As though they’d just sniffed you out and couldn’t resist a bite.

They writhed and twisted and contorted, stretching their long, bony wisps-for-fingers out towards you. Beckoning, calling, crooning :

Come. Come. Come.

A poorly veiled request, but you saw it for what it was. A demand.

Long, inky fingers crawled across the room, dragged themselves down the walls, grabbed for you and quivered with anticipation.

Come. Come. Come.

But the lone source of light from beyond your window, seeping through the yellowed blinds, seemed to stop them short. Caused them to screech and fizzle and sear as they ghosted near where you were. Repulsed.

Outside, the sky had split open into nothing but the reds, oranges, and violets of hellish flames as the sun began to sink. As its rays trickled in one by one, the shadows shrank away, slinking back into the corners and the crevices and the cracks and the fissures and the holes and the tears.

(And the spaces between your fingers, and the tip of your tongue, and the back of your skull.)

And then finally…you heard the screams. The dreaded, dreaded screams.

The Purge had finally begun, and the beast had stirred.

You were now a mix of the most peculiar kind.

Half woman, half chair. Meshed and moulded and sewn with the worn wood of the seat, the armrests, the legs. Your spine curved in a similar manner to the back of the chair, and your arms were fused by sweat to the rests. Your elbows were locked and your wrists limp, clothed legs weaved into the wooden ones of your perch, right down to the toes.

Perhaps that was why you couldn’t feel a thing below your waist. No creeping tingles in your calves, nor a dull throb in your toes from the nippy autumn air, or even the lancing ache of having sat in one spot for a good couple of hours now.

Just… nothingness …

To stay like this was no good. You knew . You’d have to move eventually — whether by force or mere survival. (Like how birds flocked south, or deer bolted when a twig snapped, or mice scurried to corners, or frogs fled to ponds. Anything to get out of the chair, and out of the chair, and out of the chair.)

But you couldn’t move.

Refused to.

Somehow, you convinced yourself that the moment you rose, if only an inch, the monsters would come. They would smell the fresh blood pumping through your veins, the adrenaline, the fear, the fight . And they would descend upon you, ripping you limb from limb, tearing the meat from your bones, feasting on the innards, and leaving you a hollowed husk.

A shell of what once was.

A blood-curdling scream pierced the air, and you flinched . Torso violently jerking to the side as your head moved with it, legs still tethered, arms rigid. The cries grew in their intensity the farther along they drifted, until they were shrieking. Raw and untamed and enraged , and the only thing louder was the boom-crack of a gun firing. 

Yes ...you were much safer here. In the chair, in the chair, in the chair. Where even Rationality could not touch you. (After so long, it hardly ever tried.)

So in the chair you took root, like a stubborn mutt clinging to its master, unwilling to part. And in the chair your fingernails dug, leaving jagged crescent moons which left your flesh raw and stinging and throbbing . And in the chair you remained, situated between the window and your door, (between certain death) and waited. Listened.

And waited.

And listened.

And waited.

And listened.

Ignoring the slight pressure building in your bladder.

Your ears strained, trying to pick up any sound: the scrape of a shoe, the rustle of clothing, the click of a gun. It’d be comical, in almost any other situation, how desperate you were to hear a sound. Anything . How desperate you were for the presence of another. 

But there was nothing . Only the steady drip, drip, drip of the leaky tap in your kitchen, and the rustling of leaves as their shadows swam across your walls.

You pressed your thighs together.

It was tantalisingly slow, the water, how it seeped from the pipe, hung precariously — for seconds, hours — before eventually relinquishing its hold. A single bead trickling down, down, down the smooth mouth of your sink. Another then following. A second. A third. Each one stacking themselves atop the last like ants until the stream began in earnest.

The stream. Yes, the stream. You couldn’t help but notice it. Hone into it.

Its trickle became a gentle swell, and the gentle swell a rushing torrent — as if taunting, rubbing salt into a festering wound as the pressure against your bladder worsened. Begging you to rise, rise, rise and quell it, make it disappear.

It was a battle that lasted but a matter of moments, and one which you lost with ease, the discomfort and desperation finally outweighing the fear of discovery. (And the madness and the hysteria and the terror.)

You stumbled forward on shaky legs, aching limbs trembling at every step, a dull ringing filling your ears, drowning out any and all sound.

Except for the dripping.

The dripping, the dripping, the dripping.

You gripped onto anything you could as you dragged your anchors for legs across the floor, a tingling sensation peppering itself throughout your toes — your calves, your knees, your hips. A tickle at first, but soon enough, a sharp ache. A pain so excruciating, you were certain you would have screamed.

Drip, drip, drip.

With each step the drops grew harsher, sharper. No longer water but pellets of lead, bludgeoning against the drain as they tore down the steel. An avalanche; a horde. One after the other until they drowned the leaky faucet whole.

Drip, drip, drip.

It strung you along, fish to bait through the murky water, hooked itself straight through your bottom lip, past the molars, and back through the cartilage of your jaw. But even with the hooks and barbs, it wasn’t forceful. It didn’t need to drag you to it, but only led, waiting, trusting — its stream ever-widening into a sea, the staccato thrum turning into a symphony of rolling, crashing waves as you reached the sink.

You were so close. So, so close, you nearly trembled, nearly sobbed. 

And—

A light push was all it took for the sea to cease. For it to go silent. It did not trickle, no. Its end was instantaneous. (A brush of fingers against steel. And then a squeak. A squeal. A screech. Dwindling to a creak as it fell silent.)

—Then,

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Your brows furrowed as you heard the drops sound once more. Hand still on the head of the faucet, you pressed down. Once, twice. The faucet was shut tight … so just what was that sound?

It changed the next time you heard it. One hesitant drip and two loud ones, bordering on that of a bang. You padded around your apartment, making sure to listen keenly. Hoping the monster didn’t follow the sounds of your footfalls, nor the pound of your heart, and instead, focused on the drips. On that incessant drip, drip, dripping —

You turned a corner.

— or the bang, bang, banging —

The sounds seemed stronger towards the front of your apartment. Past the guest bathroom, down the hallway, and…to the door?

— or the knock, knock, knocking.

...Knocking.

So close now, you finally realised what the sound was. And all that it wasn’t. Three quick knocks sounded again — more aggressive this time. Panicked. And after gnawing on the inside of your cheek, scraping at gum and flesh and veins, you relented — moving closer and craning your neck to peer through the peephole.

There were no eyes (white or dead or hollow) that greeted you; no sharp canines or silver claws or black tendrils; no miasmic smoke or smoky musk or any form or any colour at all.

It was just a woman .

A red woman — no . A woman drenched in red. The difference was palpable, almost to a ludicrous degree. While her clothing could very well have been a deep scarlet, or even brown, you knew — felt — the way it clung to her body: her skin, the gory bits. Knew the deep scarlet was as she would remain for all time, the bright and the red, because they were hers . Not the clotted, smeary crimson on your door, not the viscid red that slopped against wood with a wet schluck — but the viscid red which smeared her hands.

All her burden to bear.

“P-Please help!” she cried, as though she knew your eyes roamed over her. Curiously, warily. “My son…” She trailed off; opened her mouth a few times before closing it and frowning.

You watched as she attempted to compose herself, tucking her trembling lip behind her teeth and clenching a fist that no doubt smeared her wound an even deeper shade of crimson.

She was shaking. Trembling like a newborn foal. And through her fingers, and the gushing and gore, her lips peeled back, revealing white, jagged teeth, her breaths haggard as tears carved rivulets through the mess of it all.

As they trailed down her cheek, down her chin, down her neck.

Smearing, smearing.

(Staining.)

“T-They hurt my son…my —” Her voice cracked, a porcelain bowl to tile. “— my Johnny.” She pounded her fist against your door once more, and you briefly wondered how they weren’t bloodied. Down to a pulp. The bone. “I know you can hear me!” She tiptoed between hysteria. “P-please. He’s so young — doesn’t have much more time left. I-I can’t see my baby die. God , I don’t wanna see my baby die.”

Her head hit the wood of your door with an ungracious thump, as did her arm; a solid, decisive, finalisation to her words. One which almost forced you to respond, to crack your door a tad and peer through, if only to check whether her forehead remained intact. If only to assuage yourself with a pat on the back when it was.

“Please…” She croaked. “Please.”

Her hands slunk to the handle sluggishly, as though she did it in a state of near unconsciousness. When she tried turning it and felt the lack of give, she simply didn’t seem fazed. Instead, she whimpered, her forehead sliding down until her face was pressed against the cool, unforgiving metal — eyes squeezed tightly, brow screwed in concentration.

“My boy. My little Johnny. Please, my Johnny. I’m begging you…”

“It’s…the Purge, ” you finally whispered, albeit harshly, scolding her in what you thought was a subtle way.

She seemed shocked at first, that someone truly stood on the other side of the door, that she hadn’t been talking futilely to herself. But so quickly, as she registered your words, her expression melted into one of anguish, the tremor in her lip quickening.

“I kn-know it is,” she rasped. “B-but he’s dy—!”

“— It’s the Purge.”

She begun to wail. “Do you have no heart? My only son is –” there was a gurgle, like she was choking on the blood and phlegm that’d gathered in her mouth. “– dying! Have some humanity… s-some mercy! That’s all I ask.”

You scowled. She’d asked for so much more and didn’t even realise it, or perhaps didn’t care for it, for what you’d sacrifice if you opened the door. Something so irreplaceable, that you were content with playing the monster she so desperately tried to make you out to be. The monster she couldn’t recognise in herself.

“Where is your son?” 

Her face shot up, eyes dancing. There was a twitch in the muscle beneath them; a jolt, a quiver, and soon they widened. “He’s just down the corridor, i-in our apartment a few doors down. I couldn’t touch him, couldn’t bring him, h-he was bleeding so much, I-”

“You left him there, unguarded and alone?”

“N-No! I’m protecting him.” Her eyes were wild now. Desperate. “A-Always, from the minute he was born. I’ve been a good mother. I ha- I have. I-I’d do anything to protect my Johnny, my sweet boy, that’s why you need to come, have to come help. Please, God, just open the door — open the goddamned door! S-So we can save him, so he won’t fucking die!”

There was silence then. Deafening, save for her choked, wet whimpers as she sagged against the door, holding onto the handle as though her life depended on it, on you. “Please…” she softly begged, for the umpteenth time, her voice a rasp and strained, scratchy from exertion.

From the angle of the peephole, you couldn’t see her any longer, but you knew she was still there by the faint sniffling that’d begun —crawled inward. That , and you could practically taste the desperation that oozed from her heap, in great, quivering waves. 

“My son…”

And, foolishly, with that and an easy lick, a sort of silent surrender — an indulgence — you swallowed it whole.

“...Where is he…your son?”

Her breath hitched. “I-In his room. They’d snuck in and... afterwards I told him to stay put.” 

“They left?”

She nodded. “Took some jewellery and money before stomping out the door like they owned the place. Fucking pigs.”

You nodded, a gesture unseen, as alarms sounded in your head, blaring even louder as your hand wrapped around your door handle, and her own slowly rotated it too, in return. How you two synched like a pair, almost in tandem, was a wonder (or a fright). (Her, now the mime, and you, the willing puppet, pulled along by another string of your making, and obliged to dance to the tune of another’s.) 

Nothing good could come from this, would come from this, you didn’t even know if she truly had a��son — if it was truly blood that clung to her body. But just the thought of him bleeding out alone, paralysed with fear, squandered all doubts. You saw a piece of yourself in him — a piece that you’d long buried, that’d burrowed beneath dry soil as your father’s blood followed closely behind — perhaps to your detriment.

(The worst thing was your empathy. The worst thing was your empathy. The worst thing was your empathy.)

Like an ouroboros, you began. Biting your tail, you began. An endless cycle of giving when you had no room to, until you were wrung out of all and everything. (You were a fool, a fool, a fool.) With a shaky breath, you slid the deadbolt and unlatched the chain.

And so easily, as though waiting on you, the door swung open.

Immediately, a rush of cold, rank, stifling air greeted you with a soured welcome, its rancid scent strong enough that you were almost tempted to shut the door once more (better safe than sorry, than dead and sorry, better safe and sorry). The red, all the red, slathered across the walls and floor, the grime and guts that trailed and decorated the corridor, was enough to send a foot backwards, inching towards your apartment — towards safety.

But the woman, the mother, with her motherly instinct and motherly resolve and motherly desperation, grabbed your arm, nails digging into the flesh and nearly tearing, the redness from her skin staining your own as she dragged you with an animalistic grip — with no grace, no hesitance, or awareness of her forcefulness. Only pulling — yanking.

Her clipped, gasping breaths rushed hot past your ear, urging you to hurry, to move — and move you did. To the rhythm of her desperation, and the thrumming of your heartbeat as the cold permeated deep to your core, to the muscle, until it turned rigid in a stiffened panic. Past the red, the grime and guts.

“This way,” she rushed, and you nearly tripped over your heavy feet, her fingers pulling and curling around your own before her other hand grasped your elbow, like she was guiding you through a throng of people as you moved onward.

She didn’t seem fazed at all. Or to even notice. Instead, she walked with long, striding steps, pulling you behind her until you finally righted yourself and followed in her bloodied wake. She only stopped when she reached a door with ‘901’ on its front, a trio of numbers that were rusted and dull. 

The door was ajar a crack, just wide enough for a small, narrow sliver of darkness to slip through. A glimpse of the horrors within. But when you stared forward, for longer than you should have, you could hear the faint, lilting shushing sound, barely perceptible — like a rush of wind in the quiet, a rush of wings past ears. Until her panicked breaths filled your eardrums once more; a bird call of her own.

“His room is to the right,” she murmured, pushing on the door until it was wide enough for you both to fit past its threshold. You followed her finger to a closed door, the quiet darkness peeking past the crack inviting you. Comforting. She said something else, but you were beyond listening at that point. And far beyond listening, as a string was tugged and pulled, and you entered the hallway without a second glance.

Once you stepped inside, the air was oppressive. Stifling. Dense. Musty.

In the distance there was a long, deep cry; guttural, and forced. Caught somewhere between a shudder, a cough, a wail — a gasp. The further you stepped into the moon-lit room, you realised the sound was coming from beneath a bundle of sheets and blankets, where they pulsed and shook, as the wheezing grew softer, more hesitant. Almost on the cusp of ceasing.

You quickened your steps, coming to a stop by the foot of the bed — of a green dinosaur — placing a hand atop the mass of fabric. “Johnny?” you cooed, sang in some sort of way. You knew that he’d need coaxing to reveal himself, that, no doubt, he was more frightened than you. So, as he quivered and convulsed, you pulled up the corner of the sheet, and, very slowly, began to tug. 

But as the sheet began to slip away, an arm jerked out — or a leg — and swept it right back into place.

You frowned. “Johnny, I won’t hurt you. I’m a friend of your mommy, I just want to see if you’re alright.”

Silence.

Then a groan, low and wretched and throaty, was stifled beneath the fabric. The mass spasmed in turn.

Your shoulders tightened at his refusal to speak, and so your words came faster, tinged with a neediness which should’ve been absent in your voice. And so was the subtle command: “If you can just show me, it’ll be over in an instant, and I’ll leave.” Your lips quirked. “Pinky promise.”

And, when he made no effort to reply, you persisted. Pulling down the sheets slowly, carefully, inch by inch, a sort of sick amusement in it all. A curiosity, which was eclipsed only by your underlying urge to run.

But as the sheets began to fall, your heart thumped with some sort of triumph. A light lock of hair revealed itself, before another, and then another and another until a patch of skin and a forehead became visible. 

“Good,” you cooed again, breathing heavily through your nose as your heart fluttered like a hummingbird’s wings. “Just a little bit more and I’ll leave you. Okay?”

A jaw came into view, then the curve of a cheekbone. As more and more were revealed, a pang of nausea coiled and wound itself up your chest like barbed wire. Tightly. Despite yourself, you leaned in closer, brows tightening as you gripped the edge of the blanket, preparing yourself to tear the fabric away completely. To tear and yank and see all and everything that you wished to and—

“Johnny…”

(The worst thing was your empathy, the worst thing was your empathy, the worst thing was your empathy.)

Something in you froze as a beady eye peeked up at you, regarding you coldly with a lash-coated glare, crow’s feet prominent and pulled taut in a derisive look that had you frozen on the spot.

“J-Johnny?”

(The worst thing was your empathy, the worst thing was your empathy, the worst thing was your empathy.)

Teeth revealed themselves next, pearlescent yet decayed, rotting and black in places, yellowed in others, canines pointed like the stab of daggers. Rows and rows and rows.

As you gasped and jerked away, he leaped, soaring right towards you, giggling all the while.

“Gotcha!” 

The man ensnared you in his arms, cradling you to him, clutching so tightly that your breath hitched at the sheer force of his embrace. 

“Mama’s boy!” He shrieked. And again: “Mama’s Boy!” And, as though that was the cue, two more men jumped out from the corners, leaping towards you with crooked grins.

You scrambled backwards, yelping in turn. But instead of escaping, you fell. Like a ball. Fast. Freely. Hurtling with no direction, no guide, no reason, into the depths of nothing, nothing, nothing, dragging the man with you, and—

Down below, a red rug laid. Plush. Thick. Quivering. It stretched infinitely, an impossible length, unnatural.

Even more so, as it curled and warped into a creature: a thing of myth and fantasy, as your head slammed against its leathery skin. You lurched forward with the impact, catching yourself as you dived face first onto the rippling crimson scales, and scrambled to right yourself and escape.

“Nuh uh, not so fast sweetheart.” The one with the emetic grin leered at you, smile still plastered across his face as he tightened his grip around your leg and pinned you to the ground. “We worked hard to get ya’. Waited so long for one of yous.” He brought his face close to your hair and inhaled deeply, sniffed like a hound – a beast. “A beaut. ”

From your left, one with a rotted face, mottled and grey like a half-eaten maggot-ridden fruit, grabbed your shoulders and wrenched them down, forcing you flat against the rug. They both hovered above you now, two pairs of eyes trained on you as you squirmed about atop your fleshy cushion,

(which rippled and thrived with your every movement)

as the third — with his ashen skin and long nose, like a snout or a hook — perched himself between them with a cheshire-like smile, thin-lipped and crudely forced. It curled into his eyes, crinkling them until it became nearly too wide — too inhuman. 

It went on like that for a terrifying minute: the staring, the breathing, the thumping of your heart and the trembling of your limbs (The horror, the horror.) It was only when you gasped at the hands on your shoulders, that began to move in a circular motion — as if to soothe — that the quietness severed.

“We’d never let ya’ go so quickly.” It was the rotten one that spoke, that rubbed. “Yer our lil’ prize after all. Can ya’ believe tha’ good fortune? That we get a taste a’one of yer kind? Pretty little things, damn near perfect . Nothin’ like the ones out in th’ country… a sour lot, all of ‘em.”

The hooked-nose man snickered at that. Cackled really, like a hyena. Like a madman. Clutching his ribs as though he’d never heard anything funnier — and soon enough, everyone had joined in on the chuckling. Everyone but you.

(The scales beneath you bunched and juddered and squirmed, moved along with their jerking motions as they shook with mirth.)

“Bonnie!” Mama’s Boy called out, amusement still rippling through him. “C’mere.”

You heard a faint shuffling, shoes against the hardwood floor, and before long, the red woman appeared in the doorway. Her eyes widened as they flitted from Mama’s Boy to you, and her face screwed with a mixture of distaste and sorrow, like she’d just bitten into a fruit long past its ripeness, the rot souring her tongue. “I’m so sorry—” she began, before Mama’s Boy cut her off.

“��Fuck a’ ya’ sorry for, Bonnie? You done good. Got us a real treat, didn’t ‘spect that from ya’.”

“H-he threatened to kill my Johnny if I didn’t bring someone to him!”  She wildly gestured to her side, and it was then that you noticed the little boy clinging to her leg. He couldn’t have been more than seven, face pudgy and round, a tell-tale sign of youth — of innocence . And yet, your lip curled at them both, twisting into an ugly thing as you noticed he hid further behind his mother when your gaze settled on him. His red, red mother. “I couldn’t let him do that — couldn’t let anyone hurt my Johnny. I’m a good mother, I told you that. A good , good mother. I…”

“So it’s okay if I’m hurt?” You nearly growled, and the men that restricted your limbs began to whoop. 

“Feisty one too, ain’ she?”

“Love the ones that have a lil’ spunk to ‘em.” 

You ignored them, despite their nearness. Their intrusion.

“It doesn’t bother you that I’ll die in order for your son to live? That you dragged me out my home, to save your son that is perfectly fucking fine?!” By now you were shouting. Shouting and trembling and livid.

“Hey hey hey now,” the one on the right — Maggot Face — growled, slapping a dirty, bony hand across your cheek. You flinched. The sting had you seething. Teeth baring in a display you were sure looked pathetic. “She did what she had ta’ in order ta’ protect ‘er offspring. Yous a smart girlie, got no right gettin’ upset ‘bout somethin’ like this.”

“No — no right ?!” you sputtered, disbelief forcing a mirthless laugh from you. “I— You...I never agreed to being a fucking kill!”

In response to your outrage, he placed a dirty knuckle beneath your chin and lifted, forcing your face near his rotten one. “Aye, I got it. She’s all feisty ‘cause she don’ know what’s gonna’ happen to ‘er. Guess I’d be mad too, if I were a mere sow like ‘erself. Innit right, boys? Clueless bitch wouldn’t get it any other way.”

Hooknose nodded as Mama’s Boy stroked a hand through his oily hair, murmuring a “They never do I ‘spose. S’only their nature.”

Maggot Face leaned in closer to you, and this close, you could practically see insects crawling. Smell the decay — the death — and all the sourness it brought with it. “I’ll tell ya’ then, yer fate, since yous so damn upset over it.” He grinned, and it’s then you realised the difference between him and the others:

He truly was a rotten thing, no semblance of life in him. When he smiled, you saw that all his teeth were brown and had been sawed down to nubs. As if they too, had endured his wrath. 

“Ya’ ain’t just a kill to us, girly. Yous a…” He turned his head, looked to the others. “What’s the word again?”

Hooknose simply shrugged his shoulders, but Mama’s Boy chuckled. “Release.” 

Maggot Face digested the word. Chewed it between what little teeth he had in that big, burly maw of his, one of a beast, and nodded. “Aye, a release. Yous a release to us. Much more important than just some kill…kills we don’ care for. S’all ‘bout the fun, then. With you,” his knuckle moved up up up, pressing against the fat of your lip. “S’all about… savouring your taste. The perfect meal takes time don’ it? Even the Last Supper was built upon anticipation an’ longing. And I want to make sure all o’ ya’ has ta’ be ingested thoroughly and with relish.”

Your lip quivered as you wrangled to move out of his grasp, but oh-so-quickly — so terrifyingly — like a switch in him had been wrenched upwards, his grip grew harsh, fingers biting your skin enough to bruise. 

“So don’ be difficult , you spoilt lil’ city bitch. Yer special…ain’ that whatchya ’ want? To die a meanin’ful death?” 

You understood all that he left unsaid, it translated itself through the hunger in his gaze — the greed : Tonight, you were dying regardless. 

And so, you screamed. Screamed and screamed until a greasy hand moved to cover your mouth, muffle your wails, and you shook and sobbed.

“I’m sorry. I-I’m so, so sorry.” Your eyes shot up to the red woman, chin lifting just a little. You’d nearly forgotten her, presence closely akin to a coat rack; in your remembrance you screamed louder. Her trembling reached a near violent degree. “J-Johnny let’s go. Let’s go. Mama’s tired, let’s go.” 

You watched as she ushered the little boy out the room in a tight grip, prying his curious, wide eyes from your form with the twist of his head. Her apologies continued, reverberating throughout the apartment long after she’d exited. 

“Oh, don’ fuckin’ scream now. Shut yer fuckin’ trap or I’ll do it for ya’,” Mama’s Boy snarled, grip so cruel that he forced your skin to fold and lift, pushed your features together like you were nothing more than something for him to break.

But you only screamed louder, blood rushing to your ears. It sounded warped — distorted and deep. Nothing like your voice, but more a macabre mix between a deep gargle and an elongated squawk. You looked like an animal — were being treated as one, so why not behave as such? You’d scream. Yelp and hiss and bite and lash out if it meant giving them something other than a docile and obedient kill. You wanted to be the last meal they ate, the one that ruined the fun.

“Get the rope.” Mama’s Boy ordered over his shoulder, before turning back to you, teeth razor sharp and glinting in the moonlight. “You enjoy bein’ a stupid, bad girl, dontcha?  Fuckin’ city cunt wants to behave like a bitch, well she’ll get treated like one. Won’t ya’? Now gon’ look what you done.”

Your head lolled to the side as you watched Hooknose trek to the corner where he’d hid. There was a faint rustling, of fabric against fabric and a zipper being yanked before he shuffled back over, rope coiled in one hand and —

Your eyes bulged from your skull as a whimper escaped your lips, muffled by the palm of his hand, still pressed so tightly to your mouth. 

— a ball gag in the other.

“See, this is what ya’ made us do. This is what bein’ bad gets ya’,” Mama’s Boy cooed, but even with his gentler tone his grasp grew tighter. It had you whimpering more, body convulsing. The corners of your vision grew spotty and blackened — frothing darkness encroaching inwards and outwards at an alarming rate until it was nearly all you could see. Until nearly all of you had turned black and bruised. “Open wide now, pretty. ‘Fore I really gotta hurt ya’.”

You shook your head violently, defiantly, from side to side — to which his face morphed into something even more grotesque (if even possible), lips peeled back, expression almost savage, near rabid.  You were so focused on the vulgarity of it, ensnared by the sheer ugliness, that you didn’t register his hand drawing back, so far behind his head, until it connected with the tender flesh of your cheek and you let out a muffled screech, pain blossoming and leaving a dull throb in its wake. A pulse. Punctured by a “stupid girl.”

Your head snapped to the side, copper filling your mouth and causing it to part around a gasp. He took advantage of that, fingers crawling towards your jaw and tugging its hinges wide, stretching and straining and ripping without remorse until you were sore. Aching. Sourness welling inside your mouth — upon your tongue. 

“Go on. Shove it in der.” Hooknose moved closer to you at the command, eyes watery and quivering and eager and fixed on your mouth, gaze roaming as if just now he saw for the first time.

He offered you a pitying smile. Or perhaps, he intended it to be. But it was stiff — as though something in him found it difficult to contradict his nature, and fought against his feeble attempt at benevolence. 

He held your gaze as his fat, stubby fingers pressed against the seam of your lips, ghosting your tongue as he wedged the plastic ball into your mouth. He rubbed it gently across the wet muscle, and it grew firmer the wider he stretched your cheeks to make room for the intrusion; until eventually, he clicked the device into place and brought his thumb to wipe along your tears, soiling the salty fluid with grease. 

At the sound of the click, Mama’s Boy grunted with contentment. “Good. Good, she knows now. Learned . Learned we can make it all hurt, all nasty an’ painful, so she’ll do wha’ she’s ‘spose ta’, right?”

You blinked owlishly. He chortled.

“Get ‘er feet, boy. Don’t bind ‘em too tight, don’t wanna ruin tha’ soft skin of ‘er’s...then ya’d miss out on the finer parts, eh?”

Hooknose grunted. Moved around to grasp your legs, held onto them like prongs of a ladder as he uncoiled the rope in his hand, once, twice, three times. Three full rotations.

You noticed that his hands, coated in grime and black dirt, shook and trembled, and if the trembling weren’t so apparent and grossly prominent — so entirely aberrant and incongruous — you would have said that the hands on you were almost delicate.

Before you could think about it further, Mama’s Boy sighed. Almost wistfully. “M’boys ‘nd I… we ‘aven’t eaten in months. ‘Aven’t had a proper, satisfying fill in a real long while either. Course, none a’ the meat down at tha’ slaughterhouse tastes nothin’ like yer kind does, it won’t ever hold a candle to it neither. City pigs taste different, breed better than the ones we get out there. Small and lean and nice an’ tender. Just like you are right now. So fresh…so damned fresh.” 

“Aye,” Maggot Face chimed in, tone equally drenched that you tensed , bile flooding into your mouth as your limbs went rigid.“Ah’m nearly giddy. Haven’t tasted yer kind for so long. Missed it, missed it a lot. Ah bet yer meat ain’t hard t’eat none.”

“Bet it slides right off th’ bone.”

Maggot Face hummed. “An’d pair real nice with sum’ whiskey. Ain’t that right?”

Hooknose said nothing, just began to twine the rope about your ankles. Slowly, too slow, as though the languorous motion would cause his fingers not to tremble or waver, would make the shame dissipate from him and prevent his neck from reddening with his guilt.

(It would never do. It never did.)

As the other men busied themselves with fantasies of all you had to offer, all the pleasure your tender corpse would soon give, he shakily bound your ankles, began to crawl his hands up your calves and squeezed, encased.

(Did he see how your flesh bunched beneath his fingertips? The swell, the way the tendon protruded beneath his touch — because of his touch — like a mountain range, birthed?) 

You squeezed out a whimper, one filled with all the helplessness and agony you could muster,

(A storm, a deluge.)

and slowly — agonisingly so — he peered up at you with drooping eyes, eyelashes fanning his sockets like paper fans.

His mouth parted, grip slackened, and you knew you had a sliver of a second to act quickly. You drew your feet back, poised taut like a bowstring, before ramming the pointed edges of your heels right into his soft, fleshy abdomen. The impact drew a choked yelp from him, spit flying to land on your thighs, and he fell to the ground with a loud crash, gurgling wails ripping from him as he cried out the first word you’d heard from him all night:

“Fuck!”

All attention then shifted towards you, gazes accusing.

Angry.

From then on, it was all a whirlwind.

Screams atop of screams and filthy curses spat with their drool,

(Lips forming around the vulgar words — city bitch — again and again and again,

until the syllables lost their meaning and their sound turned to that of a skipping record)

and bony hands scuffling your hair, turning you onto your stomach

slamming your skull against the floorboards,

nails scraping your scalp as you fought their every attempt at restraining your arms.

If anything, the struggle spurred them on, snowballed their ever-growing lust for violence — and the thought frightened you to the point where you were nearly deaf to the scathing words whispered in your ear:

“Yous just prolonging yer inevitable end. No more ai’ght?  We gonna be gentle no more.” You heard a click. It was only when a cool metal pressed against your forehead that you registered just exactly what it was. “Thought a city bitch like ya’ would have a bit more manners. Coulda’ been a smooth, nice night for ya, really coulda’.”

(He was wrong; a lie that slipped from his tongue so easily he nearly fooled himself. You knew they meant every bit of the torture, were planning it in the seedy, gutters of their minds with relish.)

With a snarl, Mama’s boy clicked off the safety of the revolver. “Guess the only thing gonna get through yer thick fuckin’ skull is a bullet.”

You closed your eyes. He shook you.

“But don’t go an’ take yerself off to dreamland, girl. Ther’s a slow death comin’ to ya, no mercy for sows like yerself. Yer gonna feel everythin’. Every. Fucking. Thing. An yer gonna scream, scream real good, scream fer us. Ya hear me? Hear me, cunt? Open yer eyes an listen, goddamnit , or I swea r— I fuckin’ swear, I’ll put a bullet right between yer pretty lil’ eyes right now, an’ leave yer body to the maggots. I’ll let ‘em feast on yer rotten flesh, eat their way through yer bones ‘till yer nothin’.”

You wanted to laugh — hysterically, manically, deliriously, and tell him you wished he would. Wished he were to finish you off already, if only to put a stop to the gnawing emptiness swelling in the pits of your chest, the festering soreness in your jaw.

But you only kept your eyes closed.

There was a low growl, a series of them, a harmony. And then —

(Your heart beat and beat, wild and untamed and ferocious.)

— gunshots. Three. In quick succession.

Bang, bang, bang!

(Your ears began to ring.)

Before you could even draw a breath, gasp around the gag or bring your palms to clutch the scarlet drops above your lashes, a choked gurgle met your ears. It sounded of something gutted, eviscerated; or something drained of all life and then filled with water. And then so suddenly, without warning, a heavy weight slammed into your back, knocking the wind from your chest and causing your eyes to bulge.

Warmth spread through your hoodie, seeped and clung as something viscous splattered against your forehead, thick, almost clumped, in the shape of droplets. They rolled down your forehead and curved over your brow, down your cheek and tickled your chin,

(a trail of kisses — odious and slow and inching and —) 

and they hung from the precipice before severing their tether and dropping to the scales beneath you, undoubtedly marring the rug with red blotches, blossoming before you in uneven spatters.

(Petals unfurling at their own leisure, gory and fresh.)

You lifted a trembling hand to your forehead, intercepting a few drops that clung to your flesh, warm and syrupy like molasses, yet so different in nature, not nearly as enticing. The tremor in your hand caused them to smear beneath your touch — spread, fan out — and bile rose in your throat as you caught a whiff of their coppery stench. Pungent and stifling and intruding and not yours, not yours, not yours.

You gagged, dry-heaved, retched until your throat was just as sore as your jaw, your head just as strained as your legs, your sense gone, gone, gone — as you didn’t register just how this had happened. How , why, Mama’s Boy ended atop you, stiff and losing warmth, coating you in blood, limbs splayed and a hole probably the size of your finger in his skull.

Your hysteria didn’t cease until you heard heavy footsteps, boots clomping through a red sea, and then a gravelly voice. Coarse and abrasive, rock against rock.

“You okay? Can ya’ move?”

(Thousands of palms were on you. Or two. You couldn’t tell as they began to peel away the darkness — the death.)

Your lungs seized, an odd choking, croaking sound — not of death, not of the gunshot —  as the ball gag was swiftly unclipped and fell from your skull.

The only sounds after were heavy panting, grunts, and groans — of the human kind, and they were nearly indecipherable to you, enveloped within the throbbing pulses that spread throughout your body. A stuttering of breath. Pain finally swept you away.

You fought against the encroaching darkness.

— you saw a scarred lip, torn flesh like crinkled linen.

And to the darkness you lost.

No longer did your façade of sleep work on the man.

“How much longer are ya’ gonna lay there? S’been hours.”

You ignored him. Kept your eyes shut as you tried to regulate your breaths, slow and deep. In and out.

“Fuck, don’t ya’ gotta piss or somethin’?”

In and out.

“Never met someone s’eager to be around a bunch o’ bodies before.” He tried again, and you could imagine his lips pulling into a smirk. “Must be a real fucked up fetish.”

At the mention of bodies, your breath hitched; you heard a scoff.

“Knew you were awake.” He stomped from wherever he was, around the corpses and meaty chunks of flesh and brain matter, to make his way to your side. A leather boot gently nudged at your shoulder. “Ain’t gonna hurt you none, if that’s why your tail’s between your legs. They ain’t gonna hurt you none either.”

You peered up at him with a narrowed eye, and it strained against the swollen bruise around it, pulsated and quivered and fought to close. The mammoth of a man motioned a hand outwards, and your gaze followed his lazy gesture around the room, over the corpses that littered it, the gore that wasn’t there before (The teeth, the hair, the innards. Everything that belonged inside, outside.), and then back to him. The broadness, the solidity, of him.

His lip twitched. The linen ruffled.

“This…” you croaked, voice hoarse and throat dry, so you swallowed. Tried again. “This was all…you?”

He nodded.

“Why?”

His dark brows knitted together. “Why?”

“Why’d you help me?”

The man shrugged, broad shoulders rising just briefly before falling. “You were screamin’ like a banshee. It was loud and it was pissin’ me off a bit. Didn’ expect to see a group of men tryna kill a girl, though. Thought it was some kinky shit or somethin’. A bit disappointed, really.”

You blinked. Slowly, as not to bring too much pain upon yourself.

And then, you laughed.

It was a raspy, broken sound, and it sounded more like a wheeze than anything else. But it was laughter, and it was genuine, and it was the first time in a long while you had felt something so human. So real.

You smiled, and the skin on your cheek pulled and stung. “You’re an asshole.”

He smirked. “So I’ve heard.”

You pushed yourself upright, and the man took a step back, allowed you the space. Your hands shook, trembled, and your fingers were numb, and you brought them up to the sides of your face, covered your eyes and pressed hard, until white spots danced across the backs of your eyelids.

The man eyed you carefully, and then he turned his attention to the bodies.

They were strewn about the room, some in pieces, some still intact, and they were all dead. Their blood pooled and stained the floors, and their innards had spilled out, and their faces had been blown apart, and their limbs were bent and twisted and—

You dropped your hands, and you looked up at him.

He was watching you.

And then, he offered a gloved hand.

You stared at it.

It was large, and the leather was worn and torn and stained, and it was a nice contrast against the muted, olive brown of his skin. Skin littered with cuts and scars and bruises yet so inviting.

You stared at his hand, and you wondered what kind of person could kill three men, gut them and tear them apart without flinching, yet offer a hand so gently.

So kindly.

You stared at his hand, and slowly, you reached for it.

His fingers were warm when they wrapped around yours, despite the fabric that covered them, and he helped you stand, careful not to touch your bruises, brush against the cuts. 

“You live on this floor?”

You nodded.

He hummed and gripped your hand a little tighter. “You gonna show me where it is?”

Your brow furrowed and you winced, heart picking up if only slightly. “What?”

“You need help. You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“But I can manage.”

“You can’t.”

“I’ve managed for this long.”

He snorted. “Not well.”

You frowned, the cut on your lip stung.

“C’mon.”

“I-I don’t even know your name.”

He paused, and the corners of his lips tugged upwards. The linen ruffled again. “Toji.”

𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐢𝐞 © 2024 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐑𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. it is prohibited to reproduce, distribute, or transmit my works in any form or by any means! ﾉ masterlist

@madaqueue (●'◡'●)

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

@bucktommypositivityweek Day 1, season 8 opening disaster. 2,610 words, read on AO3

🐝“We're doomed.”🐝

“Millions of bees?” Chimney asked unbelieving, still clutching the radio. Dispatch had just reported it; in fact, it had been his own wife, and she was definitely not joking on the job. “Killer bees,” Buck corrected, squinting up at the cloudless sky as if they were already pouncing down on the 118. “African honeybees, actually. Nasty, aggressive critters. The whole hive attacks when threatened, and they chase their victims. Saw it on a documentary once.” “Nobody wants to know, Buckley.” Gerrard was just leaving the fire engine and putting on his helmet. ”There's a huge traffic jam ahead of us, and a few miles at the end of it is the truck that caused it. Whether there were millions of bees in it or not, which I personally think is nonsense and an exaggeration, we’re the ones picking up the pieces, so let's get to work.” Buck shouldered his axe, though a noise overhead distracted him. A small plane, a nimble propeller-driven aircraft, was flying pretty low above them. Was he imagining it, or did the pilot briefly wobble its wings? “That's one of ours,” said Eddie, who was now walking beside him, toward the next crashed car. “There are at least two people trapped inside.” "Oh yeah? How do you know?”

“I looked through the windshield, Buck,“ Eddie replied with a bemused look. ”No,” Buck shot back, looking up again, ”that it’s one of our machines?”

“Pry open the door here… yeah, that's it. Get a grip, Buck. I know this because Tommy explained how to recognize the machines. I'm surprised you haven't started spouting off trivia about airplanes and helicopters yet." Hen came running up, tossing Eddie an IV bag which he deftly caught. “We're doing a proper triage," she said. “Oh wait…" She bent over past Eddie, who was busy calming the occupants of the car, two women, appearing frightened, confused and clearly injured. ”Ma'am? We got you. Eddie, hand me a skin clamp, please.” Buck, standing behind her, was already looking for the next car from which someone needed to be freed. He recognized from her tone of voice that she had discovered something bad in that car, but that the person concerned should not notice under any circumstances. Eddie rummaged in the emergency bag, and Hen asked in a conversational tone, “What do you think they need a plane for? It's not exactly a forest fire.” “It's a crop-dusting plane, I think,“ Eddie replied. ‘It's probably supposed to spray chemicals against the bees.’ ”Against millions of bees?” “Well, how else are they going to get rid of them? Buck, I think I heard Gerrard call you!" Buck turned around and saw the captain pointing at two cars wedged into each other, a scowl on his face that furrowed his forehead. I better hurry, he thought, and he was right about that.

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Of all the things Tommy had ever done with an airplane, this was probably the craziest.

The mission had been anything but normal from the start. Millions of bees had escaped from the truck in an accident on the highway, dispatch reported. Killer bees, goaded and stressed, now following an instinct. Whatever bees do, maybe they want to pollinate something. Tommy took a look at the controls – everything was fine – and thought of Evan.

Of course, it was the worst possible time to think about the man who’d turned his head, but then again, it wasn't. Evan would probably have a lot of exciting prattle about bees. Tommy briefly pondered what he knew about them… well, wasn’t much. Right now, what mattered was his job; the only idea Animal Control had come up with, He was supposed to fly as close as possible to the swarm and spray biocides. First, the smoke would irritate the insects and disorient them, then kill them in no time. He already felt sorry for those who would have to sweep millions of dead bees off the streets at the end of the day.

Tommy kept to the west of the highway; according to his information, the bees had set off directly towards the city. He steered the machine low, the bees didn't reach that high of an altitude. A few red spots below him told Tommy that the emergency services had already reached the scene, and Evan would be among them, no doubt. The people down there were safe. However, that didn't apply to a large part of L.A., if those bees were to cause trouble there. With such a large number of aggressive animals, you didn't even have to be allergic to die from their stings.

“FLX-126, this is Air Control,” croaked his radio. “Kinard, the population has been warned to close windows and doors, you have clearance. Catch the beasts before they reach the city.“

”Copy that. I’ll take up the chase against the bees.“

Evan would find that funny.

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”Hurry up, Buckley, there's an oil slick up ahead that needs to be secured. You want half the pileup to blow up? One spark is all it takes!”

“I'm nearly there, Captain,” Buck shouted, helping a shivering elderly gentleman out of the car. He had almost torn the door off its hinges trying to free him, but after a quick check, it seemed that the man was all right, except for an ugly gash on his forehead. Not the first miracle today. ”The ambulances are over there, please go to them, they will take care of you.”

“Buckley!"

Buck liked to imagine Gerrard as a nagging little man who would tear himself apart in the forest in a rage, but reality was no fairy tale. Reality was an operation on a chaotic road smeared with oil and blood, where a hazardous materials truck full of bees had left a trail of devastation. A mission with dozens of trapped people who had to be freed using heavy equipment and muscle power, and Buck was already dripping with sweat. But there was no time to catch a breath, not when Gerrard was in this mood.

“Get the binder!” Gerrard snapped, while simultaneously impelling Chimney, ‘There are still people trapped up ahead, so get your ass in gear!’

Gerrard's arms were gesturing in both directions. Now Buck knew a better comparison than a vicious fairy-tale creature — Gerrard reminded him of General Grievous, who could lash out with four arms at once. He jogged over to the captain, giving the oil slick a skeptical glance. It was big, yes, but a simple barrier should suffice to start with; there were more important things to do right now.

“The binder is in the truck, and it's almost half a mile down the highway,“ he said.

”So?“ Gerrard's Adam's apple jumped up and down angrily. Buck stared at it, fascinated.

”I should help Chimney, there seems to be a problem up ahead.”

Buck pointed to his brother-in-law, who was trying with great effort to break open a wedged car door.

“The 126 is further ahead, they’ll be fine. The oil slick is here.” Gerrard said with narrowed eyes. The guy needs glasses, Buck thought.

Now he knew why Gerrard wanted to keep him here. He was probably afraid that Tommy was on duty up ahead and they would meet. Moreover, the captain of the 126 was not very fond of Gerrard, and Gerrard would have to stop his annoying harassment for a while. At least Buck would then have been able to work in peace as he saw fit... the way Bobby had taught him, not that stupid old geezer with his old-fashioned rules. However, he was convinced that Tommy was on the plane that had just made a loop above them and then turned west. For a second, he pondered whether it was worth rebelling against Gerrard, but then he thought of all the people who were still trapped and hurt, looking for help. Buck took a deep breath.

“All right,” he growled and jogged across the highway to the fire engine.

At least Tommy is having an exciting time.

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When Tommy spotted the swarm of bees, his mouth went dry.

He didn't know what he had actually expected, but the sight was... sobering. Not to mention scary, even from up here. Millions of bees formed a dense cluster that only frayed a little at the edges. It was an enormous cloud of insects that almost looked like a single animal; a huge, billowing monster moving towards the city.

Evan would have a better comparison for it, he thought briefly. But even his brave, extremely adorable boyfriend would probably freak out if he could see this. Tommy, in any case, sensed that only an adrenaline rush was keeping him from simply turning the plane around and leaving as quickly as possible. That, and his sense of duty. Damn it.

The swarm was now already close to one of the city's outskirts, a peaceful suburbia with neat terraced houses and cute gardens. Gardens that would soon be invaded by so many bees that every living being down there would be buried beneath them. He couldn’t allow that to happen. Tommy gripped the stick more firmly, lowering the machine a couple of feet.

These critters were already much too close to L.A. There had been warnings through the usual apps, but people were people. He knew there would be enough who hadn't noticed or were just too ignorant. Some of them would be hit by the chemicals, no doubt. And Tommy knew that theoretically that shouldn't bother him; he had a job to do. But only people like Gerrard would consider the consequences to be collateral damage. If Tommy released the biocide now, it would not only destroy the bees, but also cause a lot of damage in the pretty little gardens below him – and in the groundwater. A crazy idea formed in his head. There wasn't much time to make up his mind.

He pushed the controls down, added a little thrust and flew straight into the swarm.

It was a strange feeling, a bit like floating through cotton wool. The bees were briefly startled, but kept their pace. It wouldn't be enough to make them change course, and Tommy had to hurry – the longer he flew through the middle of the swarm, the more likely it was that they would sit on his windshields until he couldn't see anything. Or that too many of them would fly into the propellers until they clogged them and he would lose control. Tommy gritted his teeth. All or nothing, he thought, and waggled the wings to stir them up. Then he yanked the plane sharply to the left, flew a small loop, and glanced behind. The bees followed him; the cloud of insects, which had only briefly scattered, had reformed into a dense, angry mass, and they were on his tail.

Next target: Kinard, he thought. Off to the desert with you.

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That evening, as Buck unlocked the door to the loft, dirty and tired, he was greeted by an extremely pleasant scent. It smelled like... lasagna? He had barely closed the door when his stomach growled.

“Interesting greeting, Evan,” Tommy called to him from the kitchen counter.

Tommy, to whom he had given a copy of the keys to his apartment only two weeks ago. Buck's heart gave a happy little jump. He was also a little jealous, though, because Tommy was obviously freshly showered, and he felt like he had just come out of the garbage disposal. However... the sight of his boyfriend, with his hair still damp and slightly wavy at the ends, and apparently wearing one of Buck's T-shirts that stretched in all the right places... His throat tightened and he cleared it.

“My stomach's as happy to see you as the rest of me,“ he replied, and with two quick steps he was at Tommy, kissing him fondly while he glanced at the stove. Lasagna, definitely.

”Mmm,” Tommy purred appreciatively, ”ten more minutes. Maybe you want to change quickly? You kinda reek of oil.”

Buck groaned. “Gerrard had me do all the dirty work,” he complained, as he dropped onto a chair at the kitchen table. “That truck with the killer bees? It skidded because the driver – who, by the way, was very lucky to survive – was frightened by a spider in the cab. Can you imagine? The guy had millions of bees on board, and he freaked out because of a spider that had come right down on his nose.“

”You call me if you find a spider in the shower,” Tommy remarked as he stirred salad in a bowl.

“Because I find touching them gross. And because it's not right to just flush them down the drain. Did you know that spiders are very important to the ecosystem?“

”Hm. But I guess you would have been scared, too.”

“Maybe,“ Buck admitted. ‘Anyway, the guy swerved so hard that he caused a huge accident on the highway. Dozens were injured, it's a miracle that no one died. The trail of devastation stretched for a few miles across the roadway.’

”Including an oil slick, it seems to me,” Tommy teased him.

Buck raised an arm and smelled his armpits.

“Yuck. Yeah. Gerrard had me mopping up oil, securing the roadway, extinguishing tiny fires on the shoulder... I was lucky I could free four or five people from their cars before he sent me off to do some useless crap again.”

"The guy really has it in for you.”

“It's the medal,” Buck said, while he pushed a few of the carrot pieces, that Tommy had already cut but not yet added to the salad, into his mouth, ”He can't stand that I was decorated and he's been stumbling on the career ladder for forty years.”

“Hmmm,” Tommy went and quickly threw the rest of the vegetables into the bowl before Buck could contaminate them even more. ”That, or it's just because he's got a stick up his ass.”

Buck laughed briefly, then sighed. “It was a crazy operation, and I could have helped a lot more people. Tommy, I saw your plane for a second today. I bet you had a much more exciting day. A huge swarm of bees right under your plane, and you destroyed them all before they could wreak havoc on the city!”

The look he shot Tommy was admiring, and Tommy grinned. He thought about how he had almost peed his pants flying his plane in front of a giant swarm of aggressive bees, and that flying right into them had been a pretty crazy move. About the maneuver he had flown over the desert, that had almost cost him an engine because he had to try to get above the swarm again to release the biocide. He thought of the moment when a few of the killer bees had broken away from the collective and actually, as he had feared, settled on his cockpit windshield to narrow his view. And he thought about how the flap had jammed when he was directly over the swarm, how the sweat had run down his back and he could hardly breathe. How he had thought of the thousands of people who would be in danger if he didn't finish this; among them Evan.

“It wasn't that exciting,” he said modestly. ‘To be honest, dropping a few chemicals is a simple job, nothing to write home about. You should really take a shower, babe. After that, you can tell me more about Gerrard's exploits, okay?’

He leaned over to breathe a kiss just above Evan’s birthmark, and his smile was worth the little lie.

[saphushia]

YOU. CITIZEN. tell me more about that zombie apocalypse au where etho is called ladders. is your intention romantic ethubs or are they bros. does bdubs have any important skills or is he just sorta sad and pathetic. do they travel together? I'm aware you probably don't intend to develop this au but this is a formal invitation to do so

ok so you're right i have absolutely no plan to develop it really or turn it into an actual thing BUT. if i were to.

no one knows what etho and bdubs have going on. neither of them care to work out what it is either. it just is. everyone IS placing bets on it though

bdubs is GREAT at fortifying buildings and setting up base camps. everyone is awed by how he can make a shoddy little hovel feel like home. great at making the most of meager supplies

bdubs also is the master of camouflage. bro is covered in leaves n whatever stuff he picked up off the ground. etho says this is stupid ("we're in a city, what are you blending in with") but bdubs insists his camouflage mastery is an undefeated survival tactic

they stay in the city (at least mostly) bc etho refuses to leave the safety of his ladders and bdubs refuses to go out at night

they don't spend all their time together but they keep in touch with radios. they have separate base camps but both of them are welcome to crash at eachother's places

and bonus info u didn't ask for but i'm adding anyways

bdubs uses a machete, and whatever he can grab to either throw or whack with

bdubs learned how to improvise small explosives from tango. he is not as good at it as tango.

etho uses an axe

etho was previously sleeping on the floor till bdubs got offended at his state of living and dragged etho along on a mission to locate a mattress and haul it up to his place (etho still sleeps on the floor sometimes. for fun.)

etho got his eye poked out n wears one of those white medical eye patches bc having an open hole in his face is not good for avoiding contamination

doc is partially infected. he's called doc bc he's the go to guy for cutting off limbs. he learned by amputating his own arm 👍

doc is also constantly preaching the dangers of scurvy. everyone teases him for having the medical knowledge of a 1600s sailor but they still some crawling back to him begging for some of the tomatoes from his roof garden so who's the real winner here

[nvoirs]

i had an idea and I was wondering if I could request you write it! <33

So the reader is a rookie agent working with Leon to save Ashley in re4, but Leon's salty about it because he prefers to work alone, but after getting to know her better and having an extreme attraction to her.. they hide out somewhere while taking shelter from an attack by salazar and they share an intimate moment? 😏

could Leon be dom and the reader is nervous and sub... but Leon's still respectful while still fucking her dumb?

ty!!!

Disclaimers: Thongs are not practical for missions but whatever! Cowgirl + missionary position, Leon dom but he's a respectful man, female reader sub, cussing, fingering, hand job, spanking, marking, biting, hickeys, creampied.

--

There he goes off again, walking ahead of you yet again. If you were ambushed he probably wouldn't even bat an eye at you probably saying “you can handle it on your own.” Leon Kennedy was the epitome of an arrogant bastard, he made your blood pump angrily around your body fists clenched ready to punch him squarely in his perfect nose.

You didn’t hate Leon. it’s just that he got on your nerves sometimes, he preferred to ‘work alone’ as he put it. He was acting as if you had chosen to come along with him like some dumb puppy of a rookie. You actually did look up to Leon, copying his hand movements with his gun and shielding yourself the same way he did. He wasn’t a brilliant partner to you but he sure knew how to take care of himself.

“Leon, look! There’s the church, hunnigan mentioned.”

 He mentally rolled his eyes at you ignoring your little buzzing voice as he trudged to the church shotgun in hand with you scurrying behind his tall form.

“Hey you know Leon, you don’t have to be such a rude bitch ya know? Lighten up a little.” You looked at his stoic expression that slowly changed into a mixture of arrogance and disgust.

“Watch your mouth rookie, I’m your superior. You follow my orders and speak when I tell you to.”

 You scoffed as you tagged along, pistol in hand as you glared at him. He was so fucking handsome you couldn’t lie. His golden hair wet with rain water made him look so sexy and you were biting your lip but quickly turned away when he caught you staring.

Leon was about to open his mouth when you heard a distant cry in the distance. A bunch of axe wielding cultists came scrambling your way ready to stake you both. You both turned a corner the opposite way from the church, when Leon shockingly grabbed your arm flinging you into the side of a cabin door.

“Quick in here!”

 You thought you saw an apologetic gaze for quite literally smacking you into the door but it was gone as quickly as it was revealed. You silently followed his orders walking through the door of the small home. The air smelt musty and dust particles swarmed everything you touched, a faint smell of rotting meat lingered making you curl your lips and scrunch your nose in disgust.

“Get down!” Leon hissed. “Alright, alright.” you replied, hands surrendered in the air, getting down on your knees, your back hitting the wall below the window just as a mumbling villager swept past.

 Your heartbeat thumped in your chest, and you could hear blood rushing in your ears scared of being caught. Leon however was poking his head out just so he could see out of the window.

“Fuck, they're setting up a camp goddamnit.” His frustrated words made your mind hazy, and you swallowed the lump in your dry throat.

“Looks like we're going to be here for a while, unless I can get in contact with Luis or Hunnigan.” He smacked the radio in his palm, but all that could be heard was a faint crackling sound. Not a good sign.

“So.. what now?” You trembled, wait to go to make it obvious you were shitting yourself right now.

“Don't tell me you're a scared rookie.” He chuckled a cheshire grin etching itself upon his pinkish lips.

“I mean I might be sawn in half if they find us here, in this tight little hut with barely any ammo left so yeah Leon I am a bit scared.”

For the first time ever, Leon's face seemed to soften at your curt words. “Don't worry rookie, I'll keep you safe, I promise.” He stuck his pinkie out, and you looked at it as if he was mocking you.

“Seriously, What am I five?”

 He pouted. “No but we're never too old for pinky promises.” You laughed, slapping his pinky playfully away.

It had been around an hour since you and Leon had been stuck, waiting for the right time to bolt through that door and make your escape. That time had yet to come as the villagers looked like they weren't budging at all. You'd gotten to know Leon slightly more than you had known sixty minutes ago. He was actually a pretty cool dude, and your crush on him just intensified at all the things he spoke to you about.

You eventually both stopped speaking, sighing, your eyes drooping with sleep. You couldn't help but just close your eyes..

“Wake up!” Leon whispered to you. Your eyelids shot open, “W-what can we leave now?” Your head moved from something soft beneath you, and you realised it was Leon's thigh.

You moved swiftly, coughing to mask the embarrassment bubbling inside of you. “Sorry Leon, didn't mean to fall asleep on you.” You awkwardly laughed scratching your head before stretching.

“No we can't leave just yet, but you sleeping on me was kinda cute.”

“W-what?” Your eyes widened, like a deer stuck in headlights you didn't know what to say.

“Need me to repeat that?” He whispered into your ear, smooth like honey, warm like the sun.

“No? But thanks I guess.” His deep chuckles had butterflies fluttering violently inside of you as you swallowed.

“So cute.. do you maybe want to do something else to pass the time, rookie?”

You weren't entirely sure what he meant, but then it hit you like a truck.

Sex? Here? Out of all places!

“Leon, I'd love to but not here..”

His eyes glistened, the pupil of his eyes dilating in excitement.

“But wouldn't it be fun here baby? What other place will we have this much privacy?”

He had a point. You and him would eventually meet back up with Luis and Ashley and you wouldn't have another chance of trying this new side of Leon you hadn't seen before.

“There isn't that much privacy.” You mumbled, looking up at the window, the ragged curtains fluttering in the cool breeze.

“Enough privacy then.” His hand was clutching your thigh lightly and you hadn't even realised. You wiggled your thigh slightly, and Leon gripped tighter. He was still waiting for an answer.

“O-okay.”

 He grinned when you nodded, showing his pearly rows of teeth.

He cupped your face gently, moving in for a sweet passionate but desperate kiss. His blonde stray hairs tickling your face, as his kisses slowly got more sloppy, more needy. He bit your lip, and you whined at the sudden intrusion but you liked it. Your hands slid around the nape of his neck, trying to pull him impossibly closer. At this point you were sitting on his lap, grinding down for any sort of friction.

“Aren't you just the sweetest when you make those sounds for me?” Leon gently pushed you off of him, pinning you down to the dusty, wooden floor. His hands trailing up your torso, before hovering over your chest.

You watched him, locking eye contact while the wetness grew inside your underwear. You nodded, giving him permission to undress you at your will, he started ripping off your tactical gear. It was dangerous, he knew that because the crazed villagers were only a few feet away but he couldn't help but want to see you completely naked on your knees for him.

Managing to shimmy of your pants, he squeezed his eyes shut from the view. Your underwear was so skimpy, it was barely covering you and he raised an eyebrow at the choice of underwear you'd gone with. A thong.

“What? I find them practical for missions” You pouted.

You watched his eyes darken with a brewing lust for you. Rolling you over so your tits were squished and your ass exposed he slapped a cheek. Not loud enough to alert the cultists, but loud enough that you got the message. You were driving him to the very edge, knowing what choice of clothing you had on underneath this whole time. If he had known, you would have been fucked and full of his cum long before. The stinging sensation made your pussy clench, groping the other cheek Leon left another searing slap making your eyes water.

“You okay down there?”

You nodded, “Want more please.”

He chuckled, tutting at you, “Always so eager, even at a time like this.”

Leon unclasped your bra, the straps falling down your quivering shoulders as his calloused hands ran over the skin of them. Leon pulled you up so your bra slipped from your body completely, leaving you exposed. He hummed as he dragged you onto his lap, grabbing each breast in the palm of his hand and kneading them causing you to throw your head back from the burst of pleasure.

“Oh yeah, just like that Leon.”

Your moans of encouragement spurred him on to pursuit, taking a finger before wetting it and bringing it back to your erect nipple. He rubbed his saliva around, tight little circles making you jerk up. Your pussy was leaking like crazy as you whimpered into his ear, rutting like a pup against his clad thigh. The thin of your underwear made it easier for you to grind against him, hot and sweaty you could feel yourself getting closer-

Coming to an abrupt stop because of the strong pair of hands glueing your hips into place you mewled at the loss of contact.

“No! was so close.” Tears filling your eyes.

“Aw baby, don't you want to cum on my fingers instead? don't cry shh now.” He twisted you around so you were facing him, clasping your face in his rough hands.

“Y-yes please.” Pulling your panties to the side, and with a satisfied hum Leon slipped two of his fingers into your throbbing hole.

“Oh!” You were surprised at your own noises, but maybe that's because your senior had his fingers buried deep inside of you.

“You like that?” The smug look annoyed you a bit, but you couldn't open your mouth because if you did you weren't going to form a coherent sentence for him to understand.

A low whine slipped its way from under your breath, making you slap a hand to your filthy mouth. Leon saw this, grabbing your hand that was plastered across your face and pinning it to the ground.

You were panting, the curdling feeling in your stomach increasing second by second.

 “I want to hear you, want to hear how good I'm making you feel.”  Leon mumbled inside your ear, sending straight up shivers rolling down your slumped form pressed tightly against his broad chest.

“Leon I'm gonna- I can't hold it I'm gonna be too loud-!” He already knew this with the way you were tightening your walls around his fingers like you never wanted them to leave.

 Leon hushed you and you panicked as the coil in your abdomen snapped making you scream but Leon was quicker pressing a large hand swiftly to your loud mouth.

You rode out your high by grinding against his lap, until finally you were back down to earth again.

“Baby if you're that loud with just my fingers, how are you gonna take my actual dick?”

You flushed an incredibly red colour, “You want to do that?”

His eyes glinted, “Of course I do, we've gone too far to start anew.”

The corruption was real, and Leon had you in the palm of his hand.

He dropped his pants, clutching his throbbing cock in one hand stroking it as you watched him. Your eyes fluttering hidden beneath your long lashes making Leon's cock twitch.

“Do you want to help me out angel?” His grin widened, as he watched you move from your sprawled out position on the ground.

“Yes please, I want to.” You sprung up at the opportunity, making him chuckle at your eagerness to please him. To please your senior.

You were naked completely, vulnerable to the touch and Leon watched you move your unblemished, smooth skin unmarked. He'll have to fix that later.

Holding his cock, you felt the warmth of his skin blossoming beneath your fingers. Your up and down movements made Leon grit his teeth, head leaning against the cracked wall as you rubbed him increasingly.

“Oh fuck yes, go faster.”

His command worked wonders on you, as you sped up your movements. Leon opened his eyes and took in the view right in front of him. Plump lips swollen covered in something he believed to be his own saliva, hair messily strewn on your head, and the sparkly red nail polish looked good holding him like that. He didn't really think your nail polish was professional at first but he just found it really cute now.

He was coming before he knew it. Spurts of cum covered himself, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd been this intimate with somebody.

“That's a lot.” Your widened eyes caught his attention and he chuckled.

“That's the way you make me feel, now why don't you clean up the mess you made?”

Your mouth was honest to god heavenly. Heavenly could really only be the one that could describe you finally on your knees gracing your presence for Leon to admire.

“Oh yeah, get that tongue working c'mon.” He was huffing and puffing by the time you were done, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“C'mere, come and ride me before we have to get going.” You gulped as you shifted your body weight over to Leon.

Slowly sinking yourself down onto him you felt his dick press against your inner side.

“Did you miss the entrance because you're still a little out of it baby?” He lifted you off of his lap, stroking your clit making you bite your tongue hard.

“You should try again, maybe you'll land a bullseye.” His glistening eyes didn’t seem blue anymore, but something darker entirely like he was enjoying embarrassing you.

You sunk down again, the burning sensation of Leon's cock filling your walls made tears prick your eyes.

“Need help moving?” He muttered softly in your ear.

“N-no I don’t” Your head lolled into the crook of his neck, smelling the sweat and dirt accumulated from the job. It was surprisingly comforting and you stayed like that till you heard Leon chuckle grabbing a fistful of your tied up hair yanking your head back not too hard but it definitely wasn’t soft either.

“You're so stubborn, just ask for help, you know?”

Grabbing a hold of your hips, he began to grind you against his cock and you made your way towards the snug spot in his chest once again.

“Mmph Leon- so big!”

“Or maybe you're just too small.”

Your bottom lips trembled at his words, a shudder passing over you as you gripped onto his shoulder practically glueing your hand to his skin. Making out the top of the ganandos heads you gasped when you saw one of their heads slowly turning to observe the surroundings.

Without thinking you pushed Leon to the ground, his damp hair tickling your face as you held your breath. He looked at you confused, but you just enveloped your lips in his to stop your high pitched moans. His cock was impossibly deep inside of you at this angle, slick dripping down your leg as you felt yourself reaching that orgasmic bliss.

“Any reason why you did that?”

“They were fuck- gonna see us.”

“Well they would have seen me fucking you stupid that’s all.” Grabbing your ass cheeks, Leon bounced you harder on his cock. You couldn’t even warn him as you cummed hard, creaming his cock trickling down your thighs.

Muscles tensing as a hard wave of overstimulation washed over your whole body, Leon had rolled you over pounding into you as hard as he could. Grunting and fallen curses leaving his blessed lips as he came hard inside of you. You're already warm insides, warmed even more by his creamy load.

“So glad I got to feel that pussy, hope you're on birth control baby.”

“What if I’m not?”

 You were, but wanted to tease him a bit, get his heart pumping.

“Well there’s no morning after pills around here, I mean I could ask the merchant but I don’t think he’d have those in stock so- Ouch!”

A sharp pain to the ribs welcomed Leon, as he clutched his now sore side baby blue eyes blinking up at you as he watched you pull your pants up grimacing.

“Hey what was that for?”

“For being a dick, superiors can still be dicks, you know.”

He huffed, crossing his arms, eyes narrowing at your appearance.

“Well if you want a mini Kennedy running around your legs for the next twenty years, be my guest but he’d be tough just like his papa.”

Leon had finished pulling his pants up, and buckling his belt before running a hand through his matte blonde strands.

“I was joking, Leon.” You clicked your tongue.

“Oh right, I knew that.”

“Sure ya did, now how am I going to wear this?” You brandished the torn underwear you held between your thumb and index finger.

“Well, that’s pretty unwearable rookie I’d go look for another pair.”

“We fucked and your still calling me rookie?” You hissed. “Where exactly do you want me to look for another pair of underwear in this shithole?”

His eyes were travelling to the stairs that led to the top of the house,you caught that following his lead.

“No way Leon! I am not wearing someone else's underwear, gross!” You scowled at the thought.

“Underwear really wasn’t covering you anyways, but hey It’d be nice to feel my cum drip down your legs, show you who took you right here.”

He placed a swift kiss on the corner of your mouth, leaving you to indulge in your new feelings for your sarky but extremely attractive superior.

[haunted-headset]

💜 Oh, Distant You. 💜

Summary: Tommy asked what happened between you two.

a/n: hello! i was in the mood to make a short angsty fic, so i present this to all of you! this was (obviously) based on "Oh Distant You"

contains: angst, a break-up with you & Wilbur, crying, flashbacks, cursing, a cliffhanger ending, mentions of presumed death, the reader is said to have had mental health issues in the past, & mentions of suicide.

words: 651

tags:@zuuriell @somebody-v @vibestillaxxx @ax-y10 @joviepog@themonsterunderurmom @ogelizasoot @wilburstan@smolsleepykitten@funnyreally2009@crows-death@dykepunz@aresriiots@0miamor0@defonotval@chipch0p@mazzistar16@unmellowyellowfellow@thosecolorfulsheets@vopix@aine-lasagna@merianakross@veeislost@urfav-sapphic-siren@shazbaz58-blog @wifiatthetrainstation@mcr-pr-fob@shd454@rqvii@idioticion@m0thza@artistphantom @lexx-the-gay-rubber-ducky @finleyforevermore @poraphia @radio-to-trenchcoat-demons @mysticalsoot @21-cats-in-a-trenchcoat @strangleetomz (let me know if u don't or do wanna be tagged)

[Wilbur's {3rd person} POV]

Tommy had invited Wilbur to his house for an "intervention". He'd been locking himself in his apartment for days without messaging or calling anybody, streaming, or going to the studio. The Lovejoy members called him & messaged him uncountable times, but he never responded. Some of his friends thought he had killed himself. Nobody had heard from Y/N, either; they were an active streamer, usually streaming twice or thrice a week, but they hadn't streamed for two weeks. Y/N wasn't on tour with their band, either, & hadn't announced a break, so it worried Y/N's followers & fans.

"What's going on with you?" Tommy asked him. "Nobody's heard from you or Y/N in a few weeks. Did you two have a secret wedding & a honeymoon without telling anybody?" While the light-hearted joke was obviously intended to make Wilbur feel better, it just made him feel worse.

"We broke up, Tommy," he murmured, covering his eyes with his hand.

"You what?" Tommy raised his brow, not hearing Wilbur correctly.

"We broke up, Tommy," Wilbur repeated, louder this time.

Tommy was shocked. "I thought everything was good between you two! Why did they dump you?"

"I dumped them, Tommy," Wilbur said shakily, holding back tears.

"Why the fuck did you do that?" Tommy asked.

"Because I'm an idiot, Tommy, that's why!" Wilbur shouted, removing his hand away from his now red & glossy eyes. "Because I'm an idiot who thought prioritizing my music & my career over them was the better option! & they could be dead right now, for all I know! Their mental state was terrible when I broke up with them, so for all I know, they could be hanging from a noose right now, dead as a motherfucking doorknob."

"Woah, woah, woah, Wil, take a breath," Tommy said, his eyes wide from how Wilbur reacted. "Tell me what happened."

"I just--I got in over my head & started panicking & being an anxious idiot like how I was when I was a kid & I thought that my career & my band needed to be prioritized over them," Wilbur explained shakily.

"Why did you think that?" Tommy asked.

"Because I thought my career was better than them," he said softly.

"Is your career better than being with them?" Tommy asked, his eyebrows raised slightly.

"God, no, Tommy," Wilbur said with a catch in his throat. "I hate the way I talk when I'm trying to compliment or praise them because it'll never give off the praised esteem they have. They're two stars from grace & I'm convinced that this world turns for them & nobody else." He paused. "No offense, Tommy."

"Were you looking for somebody better or--" Tommy started.

"If the Lord or the universe or whoever fucking controls everything were to whip up a clone of them," said Wilbur, "I wouldn't even glance at it, so, no, Tommy. & if I did date that clone, I'd have to take a month off work & everything to sit down in the kitchen, & explain all our in-jokes, & cry with them to Wall-E, & still, I'd fuckin' miss Y/N."

"So you regret it all?" Tommy asked.

"Of course I do!" he exclaimed. "I thought I was creating the solution to their problems, that I was being the fix-all, but I was just the villain. & every single modicum of energy that I gave to all the little things compounded all my placidity, & I drove out all the good things & made life so fuckin' heavy, & now I can't wake up & talk to them." He was crying at this point, having to pause a few times to calm himself down.

Tommy held his phone up & pointed at the screen. He was on a call. He was on call with Y/N. He had been this whole time.

"Hi, Wilbur."

reblogs > likes

[sadlilghostt]

DEAR SISTER.

Vaggie x sibling reader

๑ | synopsis : after vaggie didn't return home from the extermination, vaggies little sister whom waiting for her had her heart broken after hearing the false reason of why her older sister didn't return home. Instead of looking for her, she joined Adam with a burning heart and desire to end her sister.

๑ | tw: mentions of death, gore, blood, strong languages, grammatical errors.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Today was the extermination day. I gripped at my axe, glaring at my poor weapon. Hatred was bubbling within me, today was extermination day.. Where we will be slaughtering demons. Todays the day.. That means.. I'll be seeing her again.

I gritted my teeth as my grip on my weapon tightened till my knuckles gone white.

Adam was still spouting shit to the other angels. Lute was beside him.. As always, someday I just question their relationship. But whatever. I shook my head as I ignored their ruckus.

Suddenly I felt a tingling sensation on my abdomen. 𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬- 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘭𝘺?! 𝘙𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸? -

I stiffly went behind Adam as I tuf his dress.. Robe... Or whatever that is-

Adam turned to me as he smirk.

" sup squirt? Ready to face your bitch of a sister again? "Adam fully turned his body to me as he crossed his arm with a cunning smirk on his mask.

" Mhm, yeah, superv, ecstatic. But- can- i like- be excuse for a moment? -my shit boutta- leak- " I stuttered as I held my lower abdomen trying to hold it in.

Lute and Adam gave me the most "bitch-you-serious-rn? " face. I groaned asi nodded my head.

" yes im fucking serious- NOW CAN I BE PLEASE BE EXCUSE? " I groaned through my gritted teeth.

"I promise I won't take awhile. " Adam sighed and motioned his hand.

" yeah sure, whatever. Just get your shit done and immediately went down there, we don't want your shit leaking through the sky now do we? " Adam cackled as I gave him a disgusted look as I scurried away.

" can't wait to see that bitch reaction seeing you HAHA. "

Once I got my relief, I got out of the comfort room when my eyes caught my reflection. I slowly walked towards the mirror, staring at myself. I look just like her.. The only difference is that, I had more height and the bums- my hair was pure H/C and flowy. My eyes were bright E/C. My wings were bigger than hers.. Well it was huge to be honest. Well- bigger then anyone.

I sigher before grabbing my mask on my side as I wore it. I stared at my reflection for a moment before sighing once again.

" time to get this shit done. "

Battle cries, explosions, gun shut was the only thing can be heard in hell.

Angels were facing off the other demons, while Adam was facing off the radio demon.

" well you're-.. Fuck-.. What the fuck-.. Fuck you you red-.. Too much red- fuck- you fuck- SHUT UP! " suddenly tentacles wrapped around Adam and threw him to the "hazbin hotel" sign.

" ha ha! Poetry! " the radio demon grinned.

Adam growled at him suddenly he heard a flap of wings.. That was louder than the other angels.

Adam looked behind him to see a huge pair of wings.

" took her long enough. " Adam scoffed before turning back at the radio demon who was looking curiously at the angel who had a huge pair of wings.

Adam smirked " I'm gonna take that eat shitting grin off of your face. " he smirked as he flew up and created a bigger weapon.

Y/N stared down at the battle below as she did a few swings of her axe before flying down, swinging her axe to every direction, immediately chopping off the demons limbs.

Y/N went side to side, zigzag. In every direction possible. And there was no miss of her attacks.

She was breathing heavily as she gripped at her axe, her body was already covered in crimson blood.

Sudden she heard a familiar voice.. There she saw.. Her dear older sister. Who had her now longer hair tied into a ponytail, she had a large X sign in her eyes. She was wearing her old uniform.

Y/N felt her heart stopped for a moment as her breath hitched.. For after 8 years, she finally saw her again.

Her eyes widened once she saw her sister gazed at the princess of hell in such.. A loving look. She held her hand and gave the princess of smile a smile.

Her blood boiled at the sight. Her teeth gritted in rage as she positioned herself spread wide open as her eyes locked to 𝘩𝘦𝘳.

" focus sweetie. " she smiled as she gazed at her lover who gazed back down at her lovingly. Suddenly she felt a huge gust of wings and a loud flap erupted behind her.

Her breath hitch as she turned around holding her spear behind her shielding her and charlie. A loud 'clank' greeted her ears as her eyes were greeted with a mask. Eyes burning with rage.

Huge wings, the height, axe. She know damn well who this angel is.

Y/N pulled back her sword as she swiftly kicked her off from her feet and kicking her up strong enough to send her up in the sky.

A groan escaped her lips as she heard the cry of her lover.

" VAGGIE! " Charlie cried as she watched the angel with huge wings send powerful attacks to her lover.

" LEAVE HER ALONE! STOP IT! " Charlie cried as she tried to reach out for her lover. Y/N send her another kick before kicking her to the wall, sending her crashing to couple of debris.

" ooooooh.. Sheesh.. Angry sister alert. That gotta hurt. " Adam cackled on the sidelines.

Vaggie coughed a few golden blood, holding her side as she weakly looked up at the angel towering her.

It was silent for the both of them for a few moments before a growl escaped the angels lips.

" so you've been gone for. Eight. Fucking. Years just to hook up and play dolls with the hell's princess? " Y/N growled, her voice laced with venom.

" n-no.. N/N- t-thats not!- " Y/N slammed her axe near her head making vaggie flinched.

" 𝘋𝘖𝘕'𝘛. Call me that. " Y/N growled.

" you don't get to call me that, not anymore. " Y/N eyes glared down to her older sister. Her heart was filled overwhelming with rage and sadness.

Vaggie coughed for a moment as she took a shaky breath before forming another words.

" Y-Y/N..i swear i-. "

" you left me.. " Y/N cut her off.

" Y/N I swear that's not- "

" YOU FUCKING LEFT ME WITH THOSE DOUCHEBAGS FOR WHAT? EIGHT YEARS, I'VE WAITED FOR YOUR SHIT ASS TO COME BACK HOME AND GUESS WHAT? MY BITCH OF AN OLDER SISTER NEVER CAME HOME AND THEN I FOUND HER AFTER EIGHT. FUCKING. YEARS. PLAYING DOLLS WITH THE FUCKING PRINCESS. HOW WONDERFUL IS THAT?! " Y/N snapped at her older sister who flinched at her outburst.

Vaggie stared at her younger sister in shock, pain ached her heart seeing her once.. Pure bundle of joy sister like this.

" eight years.. Eight.. Fucking years.. Vaggatha.. " the angel whimpered as a broken sobbed escaped her lips.

" Y/N...I'm sorry.. Really.. I never ment- to leave you. I never did, they're the one who kicked me out.. Because.. Because I hesitated. " vaggie weakly explained.

Y/N looked at her in a troubled look before shaking her head.

" that's..not what they told me. " she muttered.

" that's the whole point Y/N!.. Heaven never listens..i tried to explain but-.. They never did. I never got the chance to say goodbye or- tell you my well-beings " vaggie weakly stand up, wincing here and there as she weakly walked towards her younger sister. Who grew a few inches on her height.

" but.. Why didn't you atleast- come see me after? " Y/N sobbed as she stumbled back.

" I did N/N, I tried but.. They never let me.. Not until we actually pulled strings to get us to meet the angels a week ago.. " vaggie weakly chuckled as she was now in front of her Shakened sister.

" a week ago?.. They didn't.. Told me.. " Y/N muttered, more realization flooded her mind, her head started to ache a bit.

" why.. "

Vaggie smiled at her younger sister sadly before gently holding Y/N shoulder. Y/N flinched but she didn't pushed her away.

" I'm really sorry N/N..i really am.. " vaggie muttered as she slowly embraced her shaking figure.

It took a moment Y/N to process her older sisters embrace before finally breaking down to her sisters arm.

She cried like a baby that time, clutching her older sisters suit as vaggie comfortedly stroked her hair.

After some time, Y/N calmed down as vaggie held the both of her cheeks.

" now let's kill some birds, ey? " vaggie smirked as Y/N chuckled.

" vags.. Im still an angel.. " Y/N softly laughed which vaggie soon joins after.

" well you're different. Now let's? "

" Mhm. "

Adam had his jaw dropped, eyes widen as he saw the most strongest angel he had slaughtering her fellow angels along side with her older sister.

He watched her figure appear and disappear through the air due to her incredible speed as the golden blood of the angels showered everywhere.

" FUCK YEAH! N/N!! " vaggie screamed, cheering for her sister who mercilessly Slaughters half of the angels.

" VAGGIE! ARE YOU ALRIGHT?! " Charlie ran to her lover as she embraced her tightly.

Charlie looked at Y/N in shock and dumbfounded, just a minute ago she was eager to kill vaggie now she was fighting along side with them. Not that she was complaining.

" what.. Happened.. " Charlie muttered.

" I'll tell you later sweetie, right now, we gotta focus with our main goal. "Vaggie smirked as they got into a fighting stance.

More angels were slaughtered until it was left with Adam and lute.

" Y/N. WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?? "Adam screeched as he watched the now dead angels as lute growled behind him.

Y/N glared at them with fire hatred as she held her axe tightly.

" you fucking lied. " she growled.

" YOU PEACE OF SHIT OF A DOUCHEBAG YOU MADE ME THINK SHE LEFT ME. " she threw her axe to their direction which landed on lute slicing off her arm. Lute screamed in pain as she fell down on her knees.

" you crazy bitch- " Adam growled as he step back.

" I'm gonna fucking kill you. " Adam growled, he was about to send a powerful attack when a knife went through his stomach. Everyone stared in shock as vaggie looked estatic.

" uh.. You got.. Some.. Thing "Lucifer awkwardly muttered as Adams body fell limp to the ground revealing the cultrip who stabbed her.

It was.. A child? Or just a small lady-

" nifty! " Charlie muttered in shock. The girl named nifty smiled menacingly before repeatedly stabbing Adam as she giggled maniacally. Lute screamed in horror as she limped towards Adam.

Nifty got off of Adam as she ran towards Charlie.

Lute turned Adams body around as she screamed his name.

" No! Sir! Stay with me! " lute screamed in horror as she watched his eyes slowly lost its life. Adam held a small smile as his eyes went completely lifeless.

" ADAM!.. " lute cried, she stared at Adams lifeless body before standing up stumbling to her step as she glared at Y/N who glared back.

" you... I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU. "

" fucking DARE TAKE ANOTHER STEP HERE AND I'LL FUCKING MAKE YOU REUNITE WITH THAT DOUCHEBAG. " Y/N growled as she stepped infront of them protectively.

" YOU TRAITOR. "

" YOU LIARS. "

lute growled as she breathed heavily as she took another step, Y/N scowl deepens as she spread her wings open, covering the others protectively as she went into a stance.

" I. Fucking. Dare. You. "

Lute took a deep breath as she held her spear in front of her as she screamed in rage.

Y/N glared at lute in pure hatred as she watched lute took Adams halo and left the scene.

Y/N watched her retreating figure as she finally calmsed down, relaxing her wings behind her as she turned around to face the others.

Vaggie smiled at her as she ran to her hugging her tightly. Y/N slowly wrapped her arms around her older sisters figure as she burried her face to her shoulder.

Vaggie let go of her as she held her cheeks pressing their foreheads together.

" I'm sorry proud of you. " vaggie smiled.

Though Charlie was not having this.

" uhh.. Ok.. So care to explain now? "

" ah right.. " vaggie went beside Y/N as she pointed at her then at Charlie".

" ok uhm.. Charlie, meet Y/N..my little sister, Y/N meet Charlie.. My.. Girlfriend. " vaggie smiled lovingly at Charlie.

Charlie beamed at the mentions of 'little sister' as she held out her hand excitedly.

" woooah! ~ it's my first time meeting vaggies family- i-im Charlie, Charlie morningstar! " Charlie held out her hand as she smiled excitedly.

Y/N was still hesitant with siding with the demons, she only joined here to be with her sister. But her sister trust them so.. I guess she can too.

Y/N stared at her outstretched hand before bowing politely.

Vaggie watched the awkward tension towards the two before coughing awkwardly.

" this.. Is a good start I guess... "

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

[joviepog]

Oh god this might become an issue. I’m in my hunger games phase and I’ve reread all the books and rewatched like, all the movies. So now I’m head over heels for young!coriolanus. Lmao enjoy my first BOSAS fic!

-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-

Weakness

Warnings: Mention of killing, cursing, suggestive if you squint really hard, kissing (if I missed anything let me know!)

Who: Young! Coriolanus x reader

Pronouns: She / her

Word count: 1,122 words

Tag list: @phxntomsdusk @haunted-headset @ax-y10 @radio-to-trenchcoat-demons (ask to be added)

Main plot: Corio realizes he finally has a weakness after so long, you.

This story is NOT proofread!

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3

-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-ᰔ-

Snow is used to being the most powerful in the room. He’s used to having control. He likes having control. In all his years he had never had power until now. So when he finds out he finally has a weakness after so many years, he almost panics. Almost.

Corio would only have one weakness. Your smile. And at first, he didnt pay it any mind.

He didnt pay it any mind when you were just an option. He didnt care at all when all he cared about was if you were dutiful enough to be the first lady of Panem.

But now?

God he hated himself for not paying it any mind beforehand. Because now that you sit here, next to him in a counsel meeting, he regrets ever picking you to be his wife. The way you smile sends his heart aflame. The way your eyes close and your head tilts when you smile makes his breath hitch ever so slightly. You were like the sun in a room filled with cold hearted people. Your dress only brought out your smile more and he hated the people that let you wear such a beautiful outfit.

For so long he tried to avoid seeing you. It was more because he saw no point in seeing you. The only reason he married you was for the money and for the eyes of the people. Not for love, not for romance, and definitely not for his own selfish desires. And at first it stayed that way. He feared that the more he saw your beautiful smile, the more in danger he would become. He only saw you during important counsel meetings that you had to attend to.

At first, he was going to “get rid of you” because of his new found weakness. He was going to blame it on “natural causes” and hope he could find another wife. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He told himself that it was “just in the meantime” so that he could have time to find a new wife. But suddenly he started looking forward to those counsel meetings. And suddenly he started to see you in the hallways, or the library, or even the garden.

Totally not because he had memorized your entire schedule.

He hated how fucking weak you made him feel. He wanted to figure out why. Why had you made his heart skip a beat ever time you spoke? Why had you made him choke on his own drink when you would simply look at him with a warmhearted smile? Why was it that you had him following you like a lovesick puppy around the mansion?

Why. Why. Why

To find his answers, he started to speak to you. Only to find answers of course. When he would see you in the library he would make smalltalk. He started to dine with you instead of eating in his office. He started to walk you to your chambers to make sure you got there safe. He even walked with you in the garden on a daily just to see y- to get answers.

He wrote all his feelings down one day. Just like a child would write in a diary. And he hated it. So he burned it and made sure there was o evidence of his lovesick words. He would toss and turn every night, thinking about you, wondering why the hell he felt the way he did. He would daydream everyday at work when you weren’t there, imagining you smiling in front of him. And when you were there he couldn’t take his eyes off you.

Why were you so kind? Why did you smile at him every day? Why did you bring him his favorite food twice a week to his office?Why did he feel so helpless around you?

Why. Why. Why.

He asked himself this for a whole year. He soon began to get eye bags from not sleeping enough at night due to his tossing and turning. (He had to cover them up with makeup for public appearances) He soon became fond of your walks in the garden. (Sometimes holding your hand and adding more of the flowers you liked) He soon bought you new bookmarks with different colored roses for your books. (One almost every week) He soon began to pop into your office with your favorite food twice a week just to see your smile. (Just like you had done)

He was completely clueless to his own feeling. His thought process was that it was “For you not to feel uncomfortable.” It wasn’t until one day he overheard of the maids talking about how happy he had seemed since you came that something had clicked. Every time he was with you a slime crawled on his face. Every time he looked at you his gaze softened. Hell, every time he heard your name he would instantly cheer up!

“Shit.” He grumbled as he turned around and went to find you.

‘One last test.’ He thought. ‘One last test to see if i really do love her.’

So, he barged into the library. He saw you sitting by a large window, face hidden in a book and the sunlight hitting you softly. You looked like a goddess. You perked up when you saw him, a smile appearing on your face. That damn smile was going to be the end of him. “Coriolanus! I thought you had just left for a meeting-“ You were quickly stopped when he moved the book from your hands and kissed you.

It was an angry kiss -sure- but a passionate one at that. It took you a second to process what was happening before you kissed back. He put his hand on your cheeks as he bent down to kiss you on your chair. You could only put your hands on his chest to steady yourself. After a few moments, he pulled away and put his head on yours. You both gasped for air softly and his lips were only a few centimeters away. He looked down to your lips and you blushed. “Coriolanus? What was that fo-“

“It’s Corio for you. Corio.” He interrupts. You smile, that damn smile that captivated him a year ago. “Okay then Corio. What was that for?” He pulls away and smiles at you before turning away, “Just double checking something.” He then walks away and leaves you dumbfounded on the chair. And as he walks through the long hallway of his mansion, he tastes the strawberry chapstick that you had on his lips. He smiles as he walks to his meeting. What was he going to do with you? His only weakness.

If you do want to be added on my tag list pls let me know! If you want to be taken off, private message me :)

[txtmetonight]

Revelation ✆

call summary ⋆ ★ When a date gone wrong...goes right!

pairing *. * Yang Jeongin x Fem! Reader (ft. Hwang Hyunjin)

genre⋆ ★ Fluff

warnings *. Mentions of blood and violence, crude language

call duration⋆ ★ 1.9k

a/n*. * I feel bad for not working on my other works but then again I realize I'm doing this for free out of my own enjoyment so... I hope you enjoy it!! Also, look out for the little surprise at the end ><

taglist ⋆ ★ @kflixnet

Dating apps suck, everyone knows that.

Jeongin knows that too, but you find it ironic that you both found each other on a matchmaking platform but as best friends. You two had too much in common to continue anything further than friendship.

But as of right now as you stare out of the window of your car (parked in a five-star restaurant for your date) you think of it as a mistake. You know it’s a mistake.

Yet you still proceed with hiding your feelings and push past the negative overtone with dating apps (due to the whimsical horror stories that each app gains) to find your next person.

The new one that would bring feelings of elation. And usually, when you find a decent human being, they do give you sweet joy! But only for a short while until you’re back on the hunt again.

“I can’t believe you found another person that quick,” Jeongin sighs. He sits in the driver’s seat and fiddles with the radio until he finds something that he likes.

You give him a quick queasy grin and settle into your seat. Your date said that he was going to be there at six. The clock currently reads five fifty-seven.

“Well…I like to keep my options open.” He rolls his eyes at your words and places something in your pocket. When you pull it out, you notice that it is your favorite candy, the one that you keep with you on every date to help calm you down. He must've noticed that you were running out.

"I love you what the fuck"

“Yeah yeah, I know, I love you too." You give him a crinkled smile. "But be careful because one of those ‘options’ could actually an axe murderer and the next thing I know is that you’re found in a ditch. Dead. And you’re suddenly on a true crime podcast.”

You snort at his words, heart in your throat when he gives you a cheesy smile and unlocks the door so you can get out. You wish to stay, though.

“You’re being dramatic, Jeongin. Plus, this Hyunjin guy seems nice. What guy with a dog named Kkami sounds like he would kill someone?”

“You would never know.” He shrugs his shoulders and suddenly leans a little forward to wipe away at the corner of your lips and you feel your cheeks tremendously heat up.

You’re lucky that it’s getting dark to see the way that your eyes dart to his lips. When he pulls back, you try not to scamper over to his warmth; missing the touch it left on you.

“But anyways, you know the drill. Call me if he gets weird or if you’re done. I have to go pick something up, so I’ll be in the place,” Jeongin drawls as you get out of the car. He slowly rolls down the windows when you wave at him.

“Sure thing. Don’t miss me.”

He chuckles and pulls out of the parking lot, leaving you alone with a huff of your breath. And then you turn towards the towering restaurant with thoughts of regret.

You’re tired of pretending and you’re tired of going on meaningless dates. And with all honesty, deep down in your heart, you do this to make him potentially jealous. Does it work? You don’t know.

You just want to be with the one you want and get what you crave, differently

You’re right. And Jeongin is…probably, ninety-five percent wrong. Maybe your date is a killer, and you don’t know yet. But Hyunjin is a nice guy and he’s sweet as honey.

He’s sickeningly handsome too, right up your alley but he doesn’t bring that same spark that Jeongin does, so you feel bad as he pours you another drink. You still let yourself indulge in some of his flirty gestures though; they’re kind of cute–really.

“Do you have any hobbies?” He asks, cutting up his (your) lamb chops. You two are playing a classic game of twenty questions but with a twist. If you two have anything remotely similar, you both switch meals.

It’s quite fun and you’ve taken two bites of Hyunjin’s chicken piccata, not counting the one that you shovel into your mouth as his eyes glint at you.

It churns your stomach when you realize that you only see Jeongin’s twinkle in your mind. You’ve fallen bad. Horribly bad.

“Uhh,” You think, “Art. I do a lot of visual art–all kinds I suppose.”

He seems to light up at your words. “Really! Me too!” He takes a small pause. “Maybe you can show me one day.”

“For sure.” You laugh at his excitement finding it endearing. You then gesture to take back your plate. It goes slowly dwindles down; the eagerness and it becomes a little suffocating as you try to think of a question to ask the man in front of you.

Hyunjin who you see doesn’t really mind, picks up the atmosphere immediately and excuses himself to go to the bathroom. A waiter comes by in the meanwhile and fills up his drink, placing a lemon on the top.

Staring at the fruit, dazed and in thought that’s when you recognize that even though Hyunjin was a great man, maybe you should put the date to a stop and apologize.

You felt bad that it was going to be another failed date and that you were going to go home without your feelings sorted and a semi-broken heart.

Your heart aches in a familiar sense as you pull out your phone to text him to pick you up soon.

[You] heyy can you come pick me up???

[Partner in crime] sure, i’m already here. did he do something weird?

[You] nah, he’s sweet. he’s just not my type ig

[Partner in crime] mmmmm ok. does he look as good as he does in his pfp?

[You] why?? are you jealous?

[Partner in crime] …

[Partner in crime] maybe

You’re about to respond to his cryptic texts, your thumbs ready to get sore but Hyunjin suddenly sits down in his seat, and you’re forced to put down your phone.

He takes another bite of his food, finishing it off with a sip of his drink, which he quickly cringes. He quietly tells you that the lemon was too sour for his taste. Meanwhile, you try to open your mouth to say something, but he quickly beats you to it.

“This isn’t working, is it?”

Your eyes widen and your apologetically twist your lips to the side, nodding nervously. Yet he just smiles at your assent and calls for a check.

“I’m sorry. I just…I currently have someone else that I have in mind. You didn’t do anything.”

He just shakes his head. “It’s fine–really. I kind of knew from the start, it’s sort of obvious.” Hyunjin takes a winding sigh as he pays for your meals (you try to refuse but you find him stupidly stubborn).

“Who ‘s the lucky guy though?” He questions, taking your hand so he can help you up before he places a chaste, friendly kiss on the back. You flush a little at his gesture. God, you wish that you didn’t meet him. You feel terrible.

“My friend.”

“I see. How about this? If I walk you to your car right now, you’ll ask him out on a date.” He boasts and you giggle. You accept his preposition, gaining courage from Jeongin’s texts from earlier and let him open the door for you.

You spot Jeongin’s car in the deserted parking lot and point your finger at the black sedan.

On the walk there, you learn a little more about your date and his horrible pick-up confession advice. It’s so stupid that he stumbles around a little because of both of your laughter.

He pushes you when he trips over a well-seen rock like it was your fault that you placed it there and you giggle. He was probably the best date you've had from this app before (excluding Jeongin).

When you get to a respectable distance, you notice that Jeongin isn’t in the car. You suppose that it was so Hyunjin didn’t think you were going home with another man. And even if your date already knew the truth you were grateful that you could have your last words with the man.

Turning around to face him, you smile.

“I’m so sorry Hyunjin.”

His eyebrows furrow and he wobbles a little in his spot, swaying with the wind.

“You…you’ve already apologized. Why are you doing it again?”

You take a step back. “I’m sorry.”

You suppose that you half-heartedly are remorseful because Hyunjin’s an amazing person and you gave him up.

But really aren’t when Jeongin smashes into his face with a wooden bat, splashing blood onto your clothes. Hyunjin falls to the ground, and you grin back at your lover before you both drag the body into the backseat of the car. A bottle of pills in your pocket sears into your skin as you pass the sour drug back to Jeongin.

You two had too much in common; you both met with each other with the same plans unknowingly. You both shared the art of jubilation and the fascination of the dead. Too alike.

But as you stare at him you realize how much you two aren’t. He likes fried chicken. You like it spicy. Jeongin loves the cold, you like it warm.

Yet what makes your heart thrum more is that he takes care of you so charmingly it makes you sick.

He wipes the bodily fluids off you when they splatter, runs you a hot bath after your escapades, and makes sure you eat when you can’t make yourself to. You love him, you really do.

‘Another dead body discovered found off a highway just now…more reports coming to you soon’

The radio buzzes lowly in the background but you don’t pay attention. You only regard Jeongin. The lingering smell of metal wafts through the vehicle even though you already disposed of the body just moments before in a ditch.

You did it together and now you find the bravery that Hyunjin gave you earlier once again.

“Did you make sure to delete the footage?” You start off saying and he gives you a playful glare as if he was offended.

“Of course I did. I was able to get rid of a whole week of film and I even parked in a blind spot when you got him out. Just to make sure.”

You sigh and pull out your phone. It glints off the blood on your face.

“You’re really fucking amazing.”

“I know.” He speaks. You tap him on the shoulder, and he slows down the car a little to face you. Jeongin grins when you pull up your texts with each other.

“What did you mean when you said that you were jealous?”

“Exactly what you think I meant.”

Clicking your tongue, you softly push him. You try to think of what to say because the words of your confession are in your throat and they burn as you try to express your feelings coolly, but Jeongin all of a sudden stops the car and turns off the headlights.

He grabs your hand and interlocks it with his, fingers pressing into your skin, sending goosebumps up your arm.

“What the hell Yang Jeongi–”

He kisses you. And you immediately reciprocate with your bloody hands on his cheeks, staining his skin with the ruby smears. This only pulls him closer towards you as you pull apart for air, just for him to close the gap again.

This time the kiss is sweeter, and you feel the love coursing between your veins. The rush of energy you look for is right here in your arms.

“I love you,” He whispers. Your lover nuzzles into your hands.

“Yeah? Me too.” You kiss his cheek. “But why so suddenly?”

“I didn’t like you with Hyunjin. I actually don’t like you going on dates anymore–I never have. You might leave me if you find someone better.”

You scoff, “Like I would. Don’t worry, you have all of me, Innie.” He stares at you in silence, and you can see the admiration swirling in his eyes.

“All of you?” He squeezes your arm three times and rubs at your lips, where some of the blood collects.

“Always have.”

He kisses you again.

[octuscle]

Hey mate can you make me a scally mate?

The day at the office was a disaster. Grumbling customers, bad-tempered bosses, resentful colleagues. Hell. And the prospect of an hour's drive home on a congested arterial road in the pouring rain isn't so promising either. The radio is playing unbearable rap music. A band called "The Blackout Crew". And your car radio's going crazy, you can't change the station. Damn, the music is pure brainwashing. After a few minutes, you turn it up. And nod to the beat. You actually wanted to cook a vegetable stir-fry tonight. But now you drive to the supermarket parking lot, pick up a few beers, a frozen pizza and a carton of cigarettes. Damn it, you quit smoking years ago. But now you need a fag so badly. You light the first one right in the car. By the time you get home, you have half a pack empty.

The pizza is in the oven, the first beer is on, fag in your mouth, you're glued to the TV. You flick wildly through the channels. And at some point you end up on a music channel. The Blackout Crew again. Shit, this is music for young rednecks. Why are you so into it? You eat your pizza with one hand. You knead your boner with the other. The fabric of your pants is getting shinier and shinier. You put your feet, which are in dirty white socks, on the tiled coffee table that you got from welfare. Like all the furnishings in your council apartment. The tabletop is barely visible under the beer cans, pizza boxes and ashtrays. You turn up the music. And take a deep drag from your bong.

Your mother yells so loudly for you to get your ass out of bed that the neighbors bang on the thin walls and yell "quiet". Damn vocational school. Why does it always have to start so early. With a cigarette in your mouth, you go to the bathroom and take a piss. Then you put some Axe under your arms and take a critical look in the mirror.

That's enough, that's all you need for your morning toilet. Send a quick pic to your mate. Does anyone have any cigarettes? And meet at the bus stop in ten minutes. You grab your rucksack, shout "Shut the fuck up, bitch" at your mother and leave the apartment. The corridors reek of urine and cigarette smoke. Don't complain. You wanted this!

Pic found @toughukladz 

[haunted-headset-alt]

"𝕰𝖛𝖊𝖓 𝕸𝖔𝖗𝖊 𝕲𝖔𝖗𝖌𝖊𝖔𝖚𝖘!"

summary: hcs about Angel Dust doing your makeup!

warnings: swearing, tooth-rotting fluff, can be viewed as either platonic or romantic, gn!reader

a/n: first Hazbin Hotel fic! woohoo! (credits to @cafekitsune for the divider) i'm sorry that this is so short :)

tags: (just tagging a few people i think would be interested in this, please let me know if you would like to be on the taglist!) @o-kye (came up with the idea) @lil-stormcloud @zuuriell @joviepog @radio-to-trenchcoat-demons @strangleetomz @xxtalulahlovesyouxx @vibestillax @zoexia @ax-y10

We all know this spider is SKILLED with makeup. Just look at him!

I feel like he wouldn't be the type to say "no, you don't need makeup, you're already gorgeous"

^ that doesn't mean he doesn't think you're stunning

he just thinks makeup would make you even more gorgeous!

doesn't matter where you're going or what you're doing, he is giving you incredibly bold makeup

^ we're talking hot pink, neon colors, all the works!

if you were going to an event or a party, the makeup just gets bolder!

things he would say when doing your makeup:

"Toots, you're movin' too much! Your eyeliner's gonna look like a fuckin' zigzag if you don't sit still."

"Natural is not a word to me. We need to be bold! Dramatic! Turn some fuckin' heads!"

"Look at yourself! You're show-stopping! Somebody would be lyin' if they said they didn't think you were hot."

makeup looks he would give you:

[bowieandqueen11]

Luis Sera Having A Crush On You Would Include...

Request: I don't have anything specific to request but I totally 100% would die for some spicy Luis headcanons!!!

Ngl I would climb this man like a tree so I kind of expanded this into some cute and spicy ones as well, I hope you enjoy as much as I enjoyed writing these! ;)

This takes quite a long time to write, so if you enjoy, please leave a comment/ reblog, it really helps me!!

Warning: some spicy headcanons, some sexual allusions, mentions of guns, mentions of injury and blood, mentions of smoking, some light swearing!

(I do not own Resident Evil or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @stdismas.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

When you radioed Hunnigan to let her know you may drop off the map because you had been tied up, you had no idea that the words would become so literal.

Groggily waking up to a firm back pressed against your own and rapid unintelligible Spanish babbling in your ear wasn't what you first expected when you and Leon had touched down in Valdelobos for the mission, but after the morning you've had you're little surprised. As you feel around your wrists to try and find out if you've been bound or chained to the ceiling of this quaint little sub-room, you're pleasantly surprised that said annoyed person behind you hasn't thrown an axe at you yet. It was only when you pulled at steel chain and the man suddenly stopped talking with a 'woAH' to come flying into your face that events started to become a little more unusual.

'Good morning sleeping beauty, ha!' You finally have full view of the man whose swinging before you, the toes of his dusty boots barely touching the ground and the firm chest held behind his tight leather jacket swaying uneasily against your own. Whiskey coloured curls hide inquisitive eyes, and as soon as he realises you're conscious he abandons whatever futile attempts he was trying in tugging off his cuffs to instead grin fully at you. 'Can I give you a kiss now, and you'll turn me into a prince?' He wiggles his eyebrows at you, wetting his bottom lip with the edge of his tongue as his body bounces against you again.

You yank at the chain, doing your best to keep your face professional as the wheels bounce over the beam and the man comes knocking into your face, held up only by your upper arm strength and a leg you wrap courteously around his quads to keep him balanced. 'You're mixing up your fairy tales. You telling me you're a frog?' You let him drop to the ground with an unceremonious thud as you break free, and Luis has to pretend, with his ass handed to him on the cobbled floor, that as you walk past him he didn't enjoy every single second of that.

When you finally find Leon desperately sifting through your stolen belongings in the next room over, the relief immediately floods his eyes as he pulls you into a tight hug. When he sees Luis following you like a puppy from over your shoulder, though, you can hear him sigh against your shoulder. Said shoulder which soon had Luis' hand firmly pressed against it.

'He won't stop touching my shoulder', you groan to Leon.

'I know. He does that', he replies with a tighter squeeze.

Luis was incredibly good at making your next meeting seem like just happenstance.

It wasn't as if he had scoped you out for miles down the rocky tracks, his heart hammering in times to the bells that rang out from his old church. It wasn't as if he had 'borrowed' a pair of binoculars from his new found friend Ada, and had watched you bring down Del Lago with an embarrassingly loud cheer and punch of the air. It wasn't as if he had been sitting leisurely behind this boat house playing with his lighter for half an hour, brain torn between getting back to his lab, and his heart's plea to see you again.

You're less than astonished when the man jumps out at you with his arms out at his sight, immediately cocky when he spots your magnum raised up towards his face. 'Now now, my princess. If you shoot me now, then how will we ever transform this magical kingdom, ey?' You're even less surprised when he wraps an arm around your shoulder, murmuring into your ear about how he's going to be like some knight in shining armour as you holster your gun and let him lead you further off into the wilderness of the village.

He's constantly asking you questions, though, when the two of you brave a stop to take stock of your ammo reserves and to charter the maps Hunnigan sent over to you. Luis just perches next to you on a free boulder, gently rubbing his pointer finger and thumb over his jawline, and watching you with something akin to enthrallment rising through his weary face. Although he tries to make them sound flirty, you can see the seriousness in his usual light-hearted expressions, beginning to become aware of his subtleties: in the way his eyes crinkle for a moment when the words leave his lip, or the give away of his leather shifting as his fingers clench where they're crossed underneath his armpits.

You shake it off as you answer him honestly, not realising that this is the first time since he was a child that anyone had ever talked to him as him. Not as a runaway. Not as a profit. Not as a monster. Not as a threat. Not as a joke. Just as... Luis. Something tight clenched in his heart, and as he nodded along to your answer, he found himself beginning to flush at how nice it felt.

It becomes a running joke between the two of you that whenever a villager tries to hit you with a lit torch, he asks if you 'have a light?'

Speaking of, when the two of you end up by one of the rundown boathouses littering the lake side, he leans his leg back against one of the boards to light a smoke. With a confused tilt of his head, his eyes suddenly widen when you stop his hand from playing with his lighter, stealing the cigarette out of his mouth. Instead, you cup your hands around the knuckles of his larger ones and lower your head down to light the end of the cigarette.

He fidgets, a knowing look on his face as he tries to hide how turned on he's become, how incredibly tight his jeans suddenly seem to feel when you let go and take a drag. Before he can reach for your lips to steal it back, though, you throw the cigarette into the lake with a wink, leaving him feeling only all the more turned on.

But Luis is also incredibly protective of you!! When you're being surrounded by hordes of angry plagas villagers in a derelict cabin, the man is constantly jumping in your way with all guns ablazing. It starts to frustrate you how, without any formal training or without any bloody protective gear he keeps shielding you from pitchforks with only his pecs to protect him. He just laughs, pulling you behind him and throwing off your aim as he holds a shard of broken bookcase out in front of him like a lance. Whenever you climb the stairs to kick down some of the ladders on the second floor, Luis is hot on your heels like your own personal talkative shadow. Thankfully though, while you were busy trying to lift the bed and shove it back against the shards of a newly broken window, Luis was there to notice a villager's head splat open and tentacles sprout out of it right behind your back. With a cry, he pounces himself at them, narrowly avoiding you getting a lash to the face as he uses his weight to knock them off the balcony.

You repay him by sliding your leg forward and managing, just in time, to stop his arms waving and his staggering legs from falling over the edge as well by grabbing the collar of his jacket and hauling him back onto you.

'See senorita?', he asks between pants, the two of you collapsed down onto the floor with Luis lying between your legs. He lets his head leisurely loll down onto the joint at the top of your thigh, letting his open palm fall over your knee. 'Nothing to it!' You roll your eyes, but even he notices the relief flood through your uneasy body when he uses his free hand to reach up and touch your face. At first you jump, not expecting the warm buzzing feeling of his fingertips holding your chin, but you slowly relax as he tilts your head back and forth. There's an intensity in his eyes that you haven't seem from him before, as he swipes a bead of blood away from the cut on your lower lip without a second thought. A kind of fury, but also... a hint of guilt racking through his head as he makes sure you're alright.

You can bet your ass though that as soon as you heft him back up onto his feet, he refuses to go out the door. Instead, he hops up on top an antique wine barrel, and pouts his lips at you. He whines like a kicked puppy until you agree to fix up his wounds now, and to kiss them all better.

'Absolutely not', you say through a smile, coming to stand in between his legs. He goes uncharacteristically still when you reach up to cradle his face, an almost imperceptible huff of air hitching through his nostrils when you tilt his cheek further into your palm. He rests his head heavily, the corner of his lips twitching up as he rubs his stubble against your skin and tickles you. 'Cut it out or I'll be sewing your eyelid to your ass', you warn him, pointing a needle you managed to worm out of your side pack at his nose. He just smiles, watching you work as if you were made of pure starlight itself. As you finish off by crushing up some green herb, you can feel his thick thighs begin to move tighter against your legs, effectively trapping you against his hip.

'I-I'm going to need you to open your mouth', you state, trying your damn best to not give Luis the satisfaction of hearing your voice go hoarse.

'If that's what you've wanted me to do, mi amorcito, all you had to do was ask.' Although he cocks his head at you, he can't help but drop his eyes, desire burning through every electric inch of his body as he drops his bottom lip open. It feels like an eternity as you gingerly press the stalks of herb down onto the point of his tongue, not helped by the way Luis' irises are trained solely onto your own for every second. You don't mean to, but your pointer finger brushes against the plumpness of his lip as you pull away, and you turn your head away with a furious blush when Luis swipes at the spot, leaving a wet trail against it.

You turn to pack up and leave, but he suddenly stands up and grabs onto your arm tightly. He leans sideways until he's almost over you, his brow furrowed as he searches your eyes for an answer he's terrified to find. 'Hey, I won't leave you here, you know? I promise, I'm not going to leave again.'

'Why are you doing this?', you ask tensely. 'Why are you following me?'

He swallows thickly, weighing up whether to confess his truth to you or not. After a moment, he sighs, too afraid at what you might do. 'You are a guest! It would be rude not to take you on a tour of all the hotspots in the village.' Although you roll your eyes, you can't help the way you start to smile at his cheesiness. He begins chuckling too, but you don't notice the way the tips of his ears burn with a crimson flush as he spins his pistol and places it back into his holster, looking up at the ceiling uncertainly.

When it starts raining, he immediately offers you his jacket, quick to unzip it and place it over your head. That is, until you elbow him in the ribs once he asks for 'some of your clothing in return, of course ;)'.

Since you've grown to warily trust the man, you believe him when he leads you into a dank smelling cavern underneath some of the huts, telling you that he miraculously knows of a way to move underneath the monsters undetected. Which is how you found yourself climbing up a well in a densely shrouded area by an incredibly sticking looking altar, running away from a man wielding a chainsaw, and sitting on a very content looking Luis shoulders as you clambered into the musty attic of what used to be the village chief's manor. Flicking your torch through the gloom, you were surprised to step on a cracked frame. Picking it up, you were even more surprised when you ran your thumb over the grime to clear the image of a young boy sitting next to his grandfather. A young boy, who even at that age had such strikingly distinctive... familiar characteristics. A young boy who, as you placed the photo down on a cabinet and began to flick through the pages of a withered journal lying next to it, had been through such grief and horror that you were amazed he was so nonchalantly peering through the rafters next to it.

No, no. That wasn't it. He was good, you had to give him that. He must have spent a long time projecting this image. Perfecting this façade. Wrapping himself up so tightly in his fairy tales of knights and princesses and magical lands, that he almost believed it himself. Almost. But it seemed almost innate with you: the ability to notice his giveaways. To notice the real him. The way his shoulders were slightly hunched, as if guarding himself from bad memories: the way his eyes flitted just ever so minutely around the room, as if a cold grip of fear was squeezing at his lungs: the way, that in all the time you had been standing there watching him, he had noticed the photograph and now refused to look your way.

'You-', you start, not entirely sure what to say. 'This is you? You're from this village? You, you-'

He looks so desolate, so horrifyingly sad as he deflates onto the edge of a desk that you can't even finish the sentence, let alone get to the accusations of his work with Umbrella. Instead, your eyes sweep over the last page of the diary, feeling your heart breaking at the loneliness and confusion this poor man must have felt for so long.

'You were trying to help', you finally murmur out through clenched teeth. 'You are trying to help', you soften, turning your body to face him with furrowed eyebrows. 'That's why you're following me.'

'I might have been', he shrugs, but even that motion seems to take all the energy out of him. He feels different now, more clear, more truthful as he folds his hands out in front of his lap. 'Maybe, at the start. But it's not just that. I'm a selfish man, senorita. Look!'

He throws an arm out towards the window with a faux smile, pointing an accusatory finger at the lingering hoards of torch wielding villagers that are stumbling through the fallen cast iron gates. 'See how well I did at saving them! No, no.' He rubs the bridge of his nose, before glancing crestfallen at the picture frame behind your arm. 'I'm no hero. I'm selfish. I decided a long while ago, mi amor, that I enjoyed your company far too much. If I can't save my village, I'm going to be selfish enough to save you.'

His eyes drop, and his nose sniffs, and you do the only thing your mind can piece together at that moment. You walk forward, and with a tentative face you wrap your arms around his torso and hug him. It takes him a moment to realise that you're not rightfully furious with him, before he lets his head droop down into the curve of your shoulder. You don't say a word when you feel his arms shake, sliding around your ribcage until his hands are clenched fists in the back of your shirt. He's so tall he's almost smothering you, but you don't care a jot. Instead, you just stay a moment in your perfect isolation, allowing the man in front of you the comfort and vulnerability to break.

You thought that was as bad as you would ever see him, but this man gets SERIOUSLY worried when he realises that you've been infected with las plagas too?? He curses himself with an incredibly frantic and incredibly rude string of Spanish curse words, realising it must have been around the same time Leon was infected, and you've been struggling with the pain of it alone this whole time. He goes into Serious Scientist Mode and does his best not to freak out when, in a flash, you've gone from idle chatting to flashing a boot knife at his throat. His adams apple bobs against the serrated edge of the blade as he slowly reaches his hand out to reassuringly squeeze your shoulder once again.

'It's alright, you do what you have to do. I told you, I'm not leaving you again, si?'

Your face crumbles in agonising pain as the black tendrils begin to flood away from your eyes to be replaced by blinking tears, mustering the strength to fling the knife until it sticks firmly into frame of a painting. You fall to the floor, writhing in pain, and it takes all of Luis' strength not to cry out as he falls down beside you like there are firecrackers nipping at his heels. He legit carries you bridle style out the door and onto one of those velvet cushioned chairs in the castle's corridor. He stoops down next to you, and you finally come around to his warm thumb rubbing just under your bottom lash line as he checks the white of your eyes for any lingering signs of infection.

His fingers are incredibly gentle as he unfurls your other intertwined hand to check the pulse on your wrist. The wrinkles on his forehead are so shoved together that he almost looks like he's folded in on himself, and you can barely make out the slight shake of his fingertips as he steadily counts with bated breath. He lets out a whistle of relief through his front teeth once he's reassured, falling backwards onto the gilded frame of the staircase's banister and stretching his legs out in front of him in blissful solace.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when you whisper a pained 'hey handsome', gripping your side and stretching out your neck as you sit up fully. He doesn't even speak, his eyes wide and terrified as he flies forward and pulls you into a desperate hug, so tight against his chest you feel like you might pop if his biceps pulse any more. He seems almost sheepish when he pulls back, until you pull him down by the lapel of his jacket to kiss his cheek and whisper a 'thanks for not leaving me' into the shell of his ear. Like a lightning strike, like life breathed back into his lungs, he's grinning like his old self. The lovestruck dope. You really have wrapped around your pinkie finger.

Him screaming WHEEE and climbing onto your head the whole time you're in the cart mine lmao.

When you guys reach the garden maze, he just can't keep his feelings in any longer. He doesn't quite know if it was you nearly being mauled by the dogs that reminded him of his grandfather, and all he's lost, or if it's just the thought of him not getting you to his lab in time that makes all the frustration and love and pure adrenaline fear slam against his ribs. Before you can even wipe the blood off your forehead, peering around the next corner to see if you can catch sight of an end to these stupid ass hedges, Luis struts forward and cages you in his arms. He's kissing you so fervently, effectively pinning you between his groin, lower legs, and the bristles of the bush behind you that you nearly fall through with the intensity of it.

This man is definitely the type to nearly knock you on your ass though tbf because he's thrusting up against you, so desperate for you.

Smug bastard is smirking the whole time, until he feels your nails scratch lightly against the stubble by the pulse point on his neck. He winces, closing his eyes and turning his head towards the empty air at your side that you think you've hurt him, until the bastard starts groaning.

Without even realising it, Luis has shoved you down onto the grass, breaking your fall by landing you on top of his arm. He crawls between you like a ravenous tiger until he's hovering over your face. He bites at the side of your neck, leaving a few wet marks as his tongue eagerly glides across your skin as your hand desperately reaches up onto the stone side of the fountain. Your chest rises and falls in quick succession as the man leaning his weight eagerly on your stomach ravishes you, only for your grasping hand to be met with his own heavily landing on top of it, interlinking quickly with your fingers. He growls as he pulls at the bottom of your thighs, raising your lower body further up towards him whilst also pulling your raised legs around the bottom of his back.

His other hand is aflame as it holds tight against the side of your pelvis, effectively holding you in place as he grinds against you, teeth nipping at your top lip as he kisses you like the world might end around him at any moment. His breath pants against your tongue, hand wandering like smooth butter down the sides of your hip, making sure you experience every inch of pleasure that's been pent up over the last few days. Making sure, with each swirl of his tongue against your own, that you finally realise how much he adores every inch of you. Ensuring, as he pulls you down by the hips to rest against the belt buckle of his jeans, that you're safe in the knowledge that he's never felt this in love: this safe, this devoted, so like himself again with anyone else.

Thankfully you're there to look out for each through thick and thin, and even more thankfully you're there to stop him being attacked and grievously wounded by Krauser. He swears, as the two of you finally come running hand in hand into his lab, and he holds onto your fingers with a grip tight and sweaty enough to bend metal, that he's going to make the most of this chance at redemption he's been given. He's going to be your knight in shining armour, for as long as he may live.