#for fucks sake he killed vega.

[secretagentsloveblogs]

personal hc that hush can change his form at will, so each time he visits doc, he looks just slightly Off. but they cant really tell why. maybe its the lighting? well hush has definitely grown an inch or two since they met him, but maybe thats not concerning enough for them to notice. however, the two differing eye colors are new- could just be contacts tho, right?

they couldnt really tell you (or care that much, doc is tired) why hush is different now. all they know is something seems... Strange.

[braceletofteeth]

let’s say vegas and moonjo are acquaintances in someway.

maybe vegas studied in korea for a while and noticed some people in his uni going missing, maybe moonjo was involved with the korean mafia and vegas had to secure a partnership, maybe moonjo and jongwoo relocated to thailand to start a new life.

either way, they meet, they hit off, they exchange dental torture tips. vegas looks at moonjo being an absolute simp for jongwoo and thinks ‘rip to him but i’m different.’

then pete happens.

I go a little insane every time I think about what you sent here, honestly. It opens room to so many questions... Where, when and how Vegas and Moonjo could have met; their impressions of each other and the influence their partners have over them; Pete and Jongwoo’s own impressions of Vegas’s and Moonjo’s relationship… I mean, can you imagine the four of them in the same room, having a friendly chat? It has the potential to be really entertaining, and also to go so, so wrong.

But let’s stay focused (I'm trying! I'm really trying!).

First of all, I think the idea of Vegas getting exposed to the Very Normal Relationship™ of Moonjo and Jongwoo and his inner response to it being “that could never be me” is SO funny. Especially if it's not because they're weird, but because they're cringe. Count me in on the maiming and the torture, the manipulation and the emotional instability, but finding religion in a lover? Yikes. That’s the real crazy.

Bonus points in that scenario if Vegas and Moonjo were acquaintances before Moonjo found Jongwoo. It would totally go against Vegas’s expectations. Which is to say, no fucking expectations, have you met that guy? Moonjo cares about no one. At least Vegas has Macau, and his father (that doesn’t care about him in return, but one day he will, of course). Moonjo is completely alone. By choice. He can’t stand anyone. Not even the woman who raised him. Even the people he entertains himself playing mind games with, are eventually disposed of and forgotten. Vegas might find himself in a position where the two of them are able to (almost) see eye to eye, and socialize, but he would know better than to let his guard down around him. That’s not a man you can trust your life with. Or your head. Definitely not your head.

Which probably makes Vegas wonder, as of meeting Jongwoo, just who would be stupid enough to trust their heart with him?

And here comes the shocker, for Vegas, and maybe for everyone who has ever crossed paths with those two: that’s not what happened. Jongwoo isn’t some naive darling that fell madly in love with Moonjo without knowing what he was in for; he’s not a pet Moonjo is keeping around until he finds a more amusing one (that would be Kihyuk). Jongwoo actually did something extraordinary, when he didn’t even have the intention to: he made Moonjo vulnerable. He’s the one that got Moonjo’s heart in his hands. And for Vegas, who met Moonjo pre-Jongwoo, that is… bizarre. Surreal. Unbelievable. It makes no sense, because Moonjo is supposed to be like Vegas, and people like them never show weakness in front of anyone, because they know, they learned, that when you do that, you get hurt. You lose. You die.

But Jongwoo changed something in him. Moonjo could die by his hands, and he’d still feel like he won. There’s no bad nor wrong between them, therefore, he’d take anything Jongwoo gave him. There is no one else besides him, and no one after. Jongwoo changed him.

And yet, he didn’t change. For the rest of the world, Moonjo is still the same. He still lies, he still kills, and he still regards everyone with the same indifference he always did—only he has Jongwoo by his side now, and to him it makes all the difference.

Vegas wouldn’t know what that feels like. He doesn’t even want to. Rip to Moonjo, but he’s different. He’d never let someone have so much power over him. Maybe Moonjo can afford that, because, after all, he has nothing but himself and his art, but Vegas is a businessman, who has a legacy to carry on. One day, he’s going to rule an empire, and it’s going to be all his. He doesn’t need, doesn’t want to be helped or understood by anybody that’s not family. He’s different from Moonjo, and he’s different from Kinn. They are fools. They’re going to be betrayed, or killed, or left. They are going to suffer, they are going to lose, and it’s going to be their own fault. Vegas is better than that. He does the betrayal, the killing, and the leaving, before it’s done to him.

And for some time, that's all he believes in.

… Then Pete happens. Vegas happens to Pete, Pete happens to Vegas, and Vegas finally gets it.

When he loses, but Pete stays by his side, that makes all the difference.

[theemporium]

[3k] too many shots and a bet leads to a very interesting night out. it's just a shame neither of them can remember it and the whole world is discovering the details alongside with them.

series masterlist

.

RING! RING!

The first thing you were painfully aware of was the annoying shrill of your phone echoing from some distant corner of the room. 

RING! RING!

The second thing was the fact you had forgotten to close the blinds last night, meaning the blinding rays of the Nevada sun were doing their best job in dragging you out of your comforting slumber like irritating parasites. 

RING! RING!

And the third thing was that whoever was trying to call you was seemingly very insistent to get in contact with you, if the three calls in a row (that you were so far aware of) were anything to go by.

RING! RING!

“Oh my god,” you groaned as you pulled the edges of the pillow over your ears, hoping it would muffle the ringing shrills. But when the phone continued to ring and the noise only seemed to get louder, you were forced to throw your hand out and blindly try to grasp the cursed device in hopes of making the noise stop. 

Your fingers wrapped around the buzzing phone, your eyes still firmly kept shut as you kept tapping the screen until the ringing stopped before you brought it to your ear. “You better have a good fucking reason for calling me.”

“I hope you are doing something you enjoy.”

You frowned, your brain taking a few moments to process the voice coming through. “Arthur?” 

“Like, I hope you are fulfilling your lifelong wish right now.” 

“What the fuck are you on about?” You grumbled, exhaustion hitting your body just as badly as the rays of sunlight shining through the open blinds were. “It’s too early for your riddles.”

“I am just saying that I think you should be doing something you love before Charles kills you.” 

You let out a non-committing hum. “And why would he kill me?” 

“Many reasons but I think getting married in Vegas last night is easily the top of the list right now.”

Your eyes shot open when you heard the words leave Arthur’s mouth. It felt like ice had doused your entire body as you quickly sat up in the hotel bed, now painfully aware of the pounding headache that only tequila could give you. 

“WHAT?”

“Congrats, by the way. I do pity the poor guy you locked up though.” 

Now painfully aware of the situation, your eyes grabbing onto any detail that would hopefully prove your brother wrong. Unfortunately, all you seemed to find was evidence that he was telling the truth if the white dress, the horribly large costume jewelry ring on your finger and the abandoned veil with ‘NEW BRIDE’ on the floor were anything to go by. 

“Oh my fucking god,” you breathed out, feeling though as you were going to empty your stomach’s contents any moment now. “How do you know? Why didn’t you stop me?!” 

“I wasn’t with you! I just opened Twitter and found pictures of my sister outside a wedding chapel and all over some random guy!”

“I married a stranger,” you hissed out, your lips parting in shock. Tequila made you do many questionable things, but even this was bad for you. 

“He’s your husband, it’s a bit offensive to call him a stranger.”

“Arthur, I swear to god—” You cut yourself off as your eyes fell on the large lump in the bed next to you. It took you an embarrassingly long time to realise it was another human. It took you even longer to tear your eyes away from the cheap suit he was wearing before you looked up at his face. “Oh my fucking god.”

“What?”

“Charles is going to kill me,” you breathed out, your heart pounding like it was lodged in your throat. 

“Yes, we established that when I called you—”

“Charles is going to kill me when he finds out I married Max,” you continued, lost in your own daze that you barely acknowledge your spluttering brother on the other side of the phone.

“YOU MARRIED MAX VERSTAPPEN?!” 

Unfortunately for Arthur’s sake, you quickly hung up the phone. You could barely process the fact the Dutch driver was currently passed out on the bed next to you, let alone doing so with your brother screeching in your ear the whole time. The phone was abandoned on the bed as you stared at the Dutchman, your brain working on overdrive as you tried to work out what to do next. 

So, you did what any reasonable person would do and shoved him off the bed. 

“OW!” 

You froze for a moment before you crawled over to the other side of the bed, peaking over the edge and down at Max who was currently groaning on the floor from his impromptu wake up call. 

“What the fuck was that about?” He grumbled, blinking a few times before he realised who was hovering over him. “What the fuck are you doing in my hotel room?” 

“This is actually my hotel room,” you replied. 

“Oh,” he muttered. “Then, what the fuck am I doing in your hotel room?”

“Well, it’s what a married couple do,” you commented. 

Max’s brows furrowed together. “What?”

You lifted your left hand, the ring now on display and you could practically see the cogs turning in his head before the realisation hit him. “Do you think this counts as our honeymoon?” 

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” 

...

...

“How did this happen?” 

“Tequila,” you muttered with your nose scrunched in disgust as you watched the Dutchman begin to pace the hotel room. If you cared enough, you would be concerned about him wearing down the carpet. Though as of the current moment, your priorities were currently elsewhere. 

Max turned to look down at the certificate he had found stranded beside your veil on the floor, your names and signatures clearly printed on the piece of paper—which took out the small piece of hope that this was just some elaborate prank set up by Arthur.

“How did we get that drunk though?” Max questioned, his brows furrowed together. If he wasn’t so confused, he would be more embarrassed at the fact he clearly couldn’t handle his alcohol as well as he once could. 

“Well, it’s your fault,” you commented casually, which had the boy whirling around to face you. 

“How is this my fault?” Max scoffed.

“You made the bet!” 

Max’s frown deepened. “What bet?”

“At the hotel bar,” you stated like it was a basic fact he should have remembered. “When I bumped into you—”

“We bumped into each other,” Max chided. 

“—you were the one to suggest shots,” you pointed out.

Max gave you a look. “How is that a bet?” 

“Because you said I couldn’t outdrink you. I said you would be a sore loser. And then you bought us ten shots each.” 

He blinked. “Huh.” 

“I’m pretty sure it was also your idea to go to another bar afterwards when we got kicked out the hotel bar,” you said in a sing-song voice.

Max scoffed. “Absolutely not. You were the one that said only losers go to bed after one bar.” 

You shrugged. “I stand by it.”

Max let out a laugh, a little breathless like he was trying to hide it. He shook his head, glancing down at the certificate one more time before shrugging. “It’s not really that bad, to be honest. A bit embarrassing, but what people don’t know won’t hurt them.”

Your expression turned sheepish. “About that…”

“Who knows?” He asked in a blunt voice. 

“Well, Arthur knows,” you started. 

“That’s not that bad,” Max scoffed, his shoulders relaxing. “Wait. Charles doesn’t know, does he?”

“Not yet,” you said before quickly continuing. “But he probably will because the paparazzi caught us last night and now the pictures are all over the internet.” 

Max blinked. “AND YOU DIDN’T THINK TO START WITH THAT?” 

“You’re grumpy when you wake up!” You defended, watching as the boy rolled his eyes at you.

“The whole world thinks we are married!” Max countered before sputtering out a laugh. “Well, we are married. Or we aren’t. I’m still not totally sure but I don’t need your brother chopping off my balls over it!”

“He wouldn’t!”

Max shot you a look.

“Okay, he would,” you grimaced before giving him a shaky smile. “But he doesn’t know yet so we should be in the clear—”

BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ!

...

...

“Okay, I have good news and bad news.” 

Max looked at you expectantly. “And?” 

“Bad news: Charles now knows,” you said with a shaky smile. “Good news: he doesn’t know it’s you!” 

Max pressed his fingers into his temples, trying to rub soothing circles. “Fucking hell.” 

“But also bad news: he is coming here right now as we speak so we should probably—” You started, fully set on grabbing what you needed and hiding out somewhere else in the hotel until Charles calmed down. However, your plans were put on hold when you heard a groan from the bathroom. 

“CAN YOU BOTH PLEASE SHUT UP?”

Your gaze caught Max’s as you stared at each other, both with expressions mixed between confusion and surprise. A few seconds passed before you were both clambering off the bed, heading towards the bathroom where you threw the door open and scrambled to turn on the light before you both froze in the doorway at the sight in front of you.

“Now that was unnecessary.” 

You gaped at the sight of Yuki curled up in the bathtub, dressed in a similar looking suit to the one Max was wearing along with what you were certain was the shower curtain placed over him like a blanket. He had a pillow behind his head and sunglasses over his eyes, and for all intents and purposes, he looked fairly comfortable. 

“Oh my god,” you breathed out. “I married two drivers last night?!”

“I hope you at least married me before Yuki,” Max grumbled, only to let out a small wince when you elbowed him. “God, you’re a difficult wife.” 

“Kinda going through something,” you snapped back before your eyes moved back to the Japanese driver. “I can’t believe I married you and Yuki.”

The driver in the tub let out a scoff mixed with a laugh. “Please, you didn’t marry me. You’re not my type.”

You blinked, unsure whether or not you should have been offended by his comment. 

“The ring on your finger says otherwise, mate,” Max commented, the ring a matching one with the one that was currently on your left hand.

“I married someone but not you,” Yuki said as he waved you off, nuzzling his face back into the pillow. “And our wedding was much classier than yours.”

“I—” You frowned. “You remember?” 

“Yeah, you said you wanted witnesses,” Yuki grumbled, bringing the shower curtain up until it was tucked under his chin. “You also dragged Lando out so he would take your photos.” 

Max gaped. “Lando was there? Lando knows?!” 

“Yes, now can you please go bother him?” Yuki muttered under his breath. “And turn the lights off as you leave. Only wake me up when you order food.” 

...

...

“Don’t make me an accomplice in your crimes.” 

“Shut up and let us in.” 

You weren’t surprised to find that Lando and Logan were already in the room, both with looks of amusement on their faces as they watched you and Max wander in—still dressed in your wedding clothes from the night before. 

You wanted to slap the smug looks off their face. 

“Is it really a good idea to hide here?” Max asked as he took a seat on the edge of the bed, feeling as though the headache pounding through his head had nothing to do with the alcohol he consumed last night and more to do with the mess you both had created.

“It buys us time,” you insisted. 

“On the chance that Arthur doesn’t rat you out,” Logan added. 

“You told Arthur where I was?” Your eyes widened before you turned to look at Oscar. “Do you want me dead?” 

“You know, something about the way you’re wording that makes me feel like it’s a trick question,” Oscar commented with a suspicious look on his face.

“Oh my god, I’m going to die today,” you muttered under your breath, shaking your head. 

“It’s kinda romantic that you guys will die together,” Lando chimed in as he grinned between you and Max. 

“If I survive today, I’m going to run you over,” Max threatened with a strained smile on his lips.

Lando snorted, shrugging. “Yeah but the chances of that happening are low so…”

“Your brother doesn’t even know my room number,” Oscar pointed out. “It will take him ages to convince the desk to give it to him or even hunt—” 

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

“This is what English teachers meant when they taught us poetic irony,” Lando laughed, all giddy and happy.

“Like you paid attention,” you grumbled, eyes narrowing on the boy before you turned back to the door. “Don’t answer it.” 

Oscar’s eyes widened. “I can’t not answer it.” 

“Yes, you can,” you said bluntly. “Just don't open the door.”

“He knows we are in here,” he hissed. 

“We don’t know that for sure.” 

“OPEN UP! I CAN HEAR YOU! SOMEONE OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW OR I SWEAR TO GOD—” 

“Even more reason not to open the door,” you said, pressing your lips together to hide the wince that you wanted to let out as Charles thumped on the door again. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Max grumbled as he quickly stood up, ignoring your pleas to just pretend your brother didn’t exist. He reached the door, yanked it open and braced himself for the wrath of an angry Charles Leclerc.

Much to his surprise, the Monegasque barged straight past him and headed straight for Oscar instead. 

“You!” Charles gritted out through clenched teeth as he reached to grab Oscar’s collar, firsting the material in his hands. “What do you have to say to yourself?” 

Oscar’s eyes widened as Charles backed him into a wall. “What?!” 

“Marrying my sister in Vegas? What the fuck is wrong with you?” Charles continued. 

It didn’t take long for Lando to descend into a fit of giggles, practically on the floor if it weren’t for the fact Logan was keeping him on the bed. Somewhere still standing by the door, Arthur stood with an amused look on his face that only grew wider when he saw your confused and shocked expression too. 

“I didn’t marry your sister!” Oscar said to him, trying to push the boy away but he was latched on tightly. “I was literally in bed by nine!”

“Loser,” Logan grumbled under his breath.

Charles faltered, his eyebrows furrowing together. “What?”

“I wasn’t the guy to marry your sister,” Oscar repeated, finally managing to pull Charles’ hands off him. “I don’t think there is enough alcohol in the world for me to do that.”

“First Yuki and now him,” you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest.

“If you didn’t marry her, then who did?” Charles questioned. 

It was almost comical how quickly everyone turned to look at Max, who was still standing by the door and looked like he was contemplating just dashing out the room.

“You,” Charles muttered out, his eyes narrowing on the Dutchman. 

“In my defence,” Max started as he gave the boy a smile, though it didn’t seem as confident as he was hoping it would be. “I didn’t know I married her either.”

“I am right here,” you huffed. “Jesus Christ.” 

“I am going to—” 

“Nothing. You’re going to do nothing,” you jumped in, taking a step so you were blocking his line of vision of Max. “It’s just a…phoney, fake marriage. It’s not that big of a deal, Charles. People will forget by next weekend anyways.”

“Uh,” Logan cleared his throat. “It’s actually very legal all over the US and in some other places—”

“Shut up, Logan.”

“Yes, ma���am.” 

Charles narrowed his eyes on you. “You’re not allowed to marry him.”

“I already did,” you pointed out with a sheepish expression. 

“I don’t care.” 

“Charles,” you stepped towards him, though the boy still looked like he was contemplating parading into the paddock with Max’s head on a stick. “Charlie, please. Don’t do something stupid because you’re annoyed.” 

“I want to cut his dick off,” Charles told you.

“I know.”

“And you can no longer have alcohol unsupervised.”

“That’s a tad dramatic.” 

“And no consummating the marriage.”

“That would be difficult to do if you cut off his dick anyways.”

“Can we stop talking about my dick?” Max chimed in with his hands locked in front of him, almost protectively.

Charles sighed. “But I promise I won’t kill either of you. Today.” 

You grinned as you reached towards your brother, wrapping your arms around his neck as you pulled him into a hug. “Thank you.”

“You should tell Maman before she finds out through the internet,” he murmured, pausing for a moment before continuing. “Maybe shower first. You stink of tequila.”

“That would be kinda hard to do considering Yuki is currently asleep in my bathtub,” you commented. 

Charles opened his mouth to reply but just shook his head. “I’m not even gonna ask.”

“Good, because I don’t have answers,” you murmured with your lips turned down. “And he’s really snappy when you try to get them from him.” 

Charles snorted. 

“So, that’s it?” Lando suddenly spoke up from behind you both. “God, that was not worth getting out of bed for. I expected more drama.”

“I’m still pissed at you,” you told the Brit, who just grinned. 

“I’ll send you the photos later, don’t you worry,” he said like he didn’t just hear the words that left your mouth. “Maybe one of them will inspire angry Charles again.”

“Please don’t,” Max grumbled. 

“It won’t be necessary because we are finding a divorce lawyer,” Charles stated simply, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your head before he began making his way to the door, nodding for Arthur to follow him. “Both of you get dressed. We are leaving in an hour.”

Both you and Max gaped at the boy, but he didn’t notice. 

“And someone take one for the team and wake up Yuki. I vote Lando.” 

Lando frowned. “Woah, wait a second–”

“ONE HOUR PEOPLE!!”

...

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri and 133,728 others

yourusername call me mrs verstappen

view all 12,892 comments

oscarpiastri sometimes i wonder if you just enjoy pushing charles over the edge

yourusername yes

user WHAT

user it was real?????

user oh my god IT WAS MAX?

user someone sedate me

user this is some wattpad level stuff wtf the book tropes????

user i need to know how charles reacted when he found out

arthur_leclerc badly

maxverstappen1 i mean it was an accidental name but i guess it suits you

yourusername you like meeeee, admit it :)

maxverstappen1 i think i legally have to agree because you're my wife

yourusername damn don't sound too enthusiastic about it

user i just know charles lost years of his life over this

landonorris uh photo creds?

yourusername no

landonorris rude

charles_leclerc take this down

yourusername no

charles_leclerc you are a leclerc, not a verstappen

yourusername the marriage certificate says otherwise

charles_leclerc please stop reminding me

pascaleleclerc welcome to the family maxverstappen1

charles_leclerc MAMAN?????

maxverstappen1 thank you? i think?

pascaleleclerc dinner will be at 6 when you are back in monaco

maxverstappen1 yes ma'am

charles_leclerc MAMAN WHOSE SIDE ARE YOU ON????

.

[hiemaldesirae]

The Hazbin Graduate’s Guide to Homicide (3)

HAZBIN'S MIDSEMESTER STUDENT REPORT Student: Vox Vanhal Supervising Staff: Professor Enoch Leviathan Sponsor: Not Applicable To the Board: Vox Vanhal may be one of the most brilliant students this school has seen in decades. In all my years of teaching at Hazbin, I have never met a student more insanely ready to learn and apply their skills- due in part, of course, to said student's own possible insanity. I mean this in a jovial way, of course, but I will admit that when young Vanhal's true identity was revealed to me that my first thought was along the lines of 'is this student insane?' Whether or not my student's reason should be called into question is something myself and my fellow professor Asmodeus have discussed in length, but there is one thing that we can definitively agree on: If there is any one student in this school who I would choose to place my bets on, it would be Vox Vanhal. There is nothing more to say at this time of report evaluation. Sincerely, Professor Leviathan.

May God's blessings be with you now and at the hour of our deaths, Amen.

[ 1 ] / [ 2 ] (<- read these first for context and more murder academy radiostatic content!)

Though Alastor may have thought that Vox was much more knowledgable in how Hazbin's Institution for Homicide worked, the truth was, Vox was still fully flying on the seat of his own coattails.

He had no damn clue what he was doing still, and although it'd been two weeks since he'd arrived, part of him still felt like how he did when he'd first arrived: hesitant, scared, not knowing where to go or what to do besides the want to make his boss suffer as he killed him.

That level of animosity might sound strange to anyone not a Hazbin student or alumnus, but it was perfectly normal for any student enrolled in the academy to have such feelings. After all, there was quite a rigorous process involved in the application, and for Vox, this application process (and what led to it) was perhaps more intense than most.

There had once been a time where Vox had dreamed of becoming a Hollywood starlet, one who lit up the silver screen and was blessed by hundreds of thousands of cheering, dedicated fans who would fawn over his every move and action. He'd wanted to follow in his mother's footsteps, at one point. But after taking on his first roles in Carmine Studios, the glamour of Hollywood had shattered like fine glass.

"Miss Vesper! Would you please look over here for a second?"

"Miss Vesper, when is your next movie coming out?!"

"Miss Vesper, is it true that you and your co-star on Anna Karenina, Valentino Vega had an affair-?"

"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck! That- fucking bastard!" Vox rushed into the privacy of his and Val's shared apartment, slamming the door behind him as he collapsed into the couch, head cradled in his hands. He couldn't even begin to start detailing the number of ways he'd wanted to fucking butcher and rip apart his boss.

Andrealphus Goetia was no stranger to the spotlight, naturally. One of Hollywood's top directors, the man had been an influential cornerstone in the history of movie-making, a real legend to light the days. But behind that picturesque platinum reputation laid a monstrous piece of shit.

It had been a complete accident that Andrealphus had found out about Vox's identity.

Vox himself hadn't even really planned out what to do about himself at that point, only that he'd known that the dresses he wore on screen were far more suited to his best friend than they were for him. Knew that the copious amounts of makeup flattened on him everyday made him feel more like a clown than a princess, that it was the most uncomfortable feeling to have to sit and play the pretty face for the audience's sake.

But he persisted, telling himself, one more year, one more year til my savings account has enough to supply Val and I with a comfortable life and we can leave.

But of course- of course Andrealphus had to ruin it for him.

The man had found out and immediately proceeded to blackmailing Vox with the information, holding things such as promotions, media gossip and rumors over his head. And now... now... Vox stared down at the script he held clutched in his hand, his knuckles turning white as he grasped it with an iron grip.

"Dieser verdammte bastard," Vox muttered under his breath.

Though he'd never loved the spotlight that came with his first taste of fame, he had loved acting. Had loved being adored for his skill, applauded for the emotions that he could evoke in crowds of people and the way he could twist people's hearts. He had wanted to be one of the best, a household name.

And now, he stared down at the script for a movie that Andrealphus knew would tank his reputation. It was absolute bullshit. The plot was held together by thin strings and a bit of glue, despite being an adaptation of one of the past decade's best selling books. Not only that, but the moment he left the safety of the apartment once more, he would also have to contend with the rumors that were steadily piling against him and dragging his loved ones and friends into it too.

All this, because Vox had refused to sleep with his shitty boss.

He could still hear the fucker's voice- come on, don't you wanna say that you got a piece of me? I'll even leave out the part about you being a transvestite, darling, just the fact that I got a piece of you is enough.

God. If only.... if only he could see that bastard's face when he crushed his fucking skull in between his hands. He wanted to see Andrealphus' stupid face contort in revulsion and terror when Vox finally did the deed, wanted to bathe in the the fotze's inbred blood. He'd do anything for the chance to just kill that piece of shit-

"Amorcito?"

Val's voice makes Vox jump on the spot, quickly shifting to hide the script from view. His friend comes around the corner, eyebrows furrowed with concern, and it's this that makes Vox break his composure, a single tear falling down his face as Val frowns, taking a seat next to him on the couch. "Voxxy, amor... tell me what's wrong."

And because he can never keep his mouth shut when it comes to his best friend, Vox tells him everything. Val nods along, pauses at the right moments, all of that stuff that friends do when they're trying to let you know that they'd rip apart your shitty boss if not for the law.

But- and perhaps this is something that Vox knew deep down to be true anyway- Val was a bit different in that aspect. He'd met the man under... less than legal circumstances, after all, and he knew that Val was the heir to quite the illustrous cartel career.

So when Valentino stops him with a firm hand on the shoulder and hands him an application paper for Hazbin, telling him to think it through, Vox barely takes even a second glance at it before filling it out.

Now, two months later and sitting in the auditorium of Hazbin's famed Music Hall, Vox doesn't find himself regretting the decision. Sure, it's a bit lonely without Val's supporting presence by his side, but the students he's met so far have proved to be some of the friendliest people he's had the pleasure of knowing: ironic, considering the kind of school they're studying at. And he's even managed to make a friend! Not that bad a start, altogether.

Vox absentmindedly doodles on the edge of his notes as Professor Leviathan's soothing voice lectures them on the importance of a proper alibi. "If it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, looks like a duck, but it has an airtight alibi, it is...?"

"Not a duck," the auditorium echoes back to the professor, who nods, looking satisfied with the class's response. "So, then! The first step to alibi making is...? Miss Velvette, perhaps you'd like to answer this one for us?"

The girl sitting beside Vox shoots up in her seat, looking as if she'd just fallen asleep and was awoken by the professor's question. "Uh... the..."

After a moment of silence and stuttering, Vox takes pity on the girl, sliding Velvette over a slide of paper that she squints at before reading. "Make sure you're in a different place from the crime?"

"And how would I do that?"

"I... uh. Use an accomplice...?" Velvette stutters.

Professor Leviathan shakes his head, looking disappointed. "Not quite. One thing you will have to learn at Hazbin's is that you should never rely on any other person to carry your deed out for you. No hiring accomplices- after all, paid personnel's loyalty is shaky and they have no honor code preventing them from taking you to the police- and absolutely no committing crimes as lovers, unless you can guarantee that neither of you will be snitching. Would anyone else like to take a try?"

Vox raises his hand hesitantly. "Move the crime scene or otherwise obscure the culprit?"

Professor Leviathan snaps his fingers, "Yes! Absolutely. One of the best ways to make yourself an iron clad alibi is, if the pope is shot in the church at midnight, make sure that you are seen halfway across town in the bar at midnight; so drunk that you cannot even leave until your wife comes to pick you up at two- and no one will suspect you, even if he was actually killed right outside the pub and moved to the church instead. By moving the crime scene, you can make yourself an ironclad alibi. Obscuring the identity of the perpetrator and making it someone who couldn't possibly be you also works splendidly. After all, if the police believe the murderer to be a six foot tall adult man, then the actual perpetrator, a four foot tall young woman, would be able to pass by completely unnoticed. Thank you for that input, Vox. Now, onto the actual creation of such an alibi..."

When class ends, Vox is the first to leave his seat and head for the door, intending on leaving and getting to Track with Professor Satan as quick as possible when someone stops him in his tracks with a firm grip on his shoulder.

"Hey. Vox Vanhal, right?"

"That would be me, yes," Vox turns to face the person he's talking to, only to be met with the young woman that Professor Leviathan had called out in class earlier. "You were... Velvette?"

"Yep, that's me," the chipper young woman responds. "Listen, I know you don't know me at all, but I really need to get through this school year. Like- look, okay, I'm in a little bit over my head right now. I still want to go here and do what everyone here does, of course, I'd love to just go and plunge a damn butcher's knife into my cunt of an ex-friend's neck, but... well, you saw how I did back in class- look, what I'm trying to get at is I need someone to help me. And you're like, Leviathan's star student. So- I don't care what I have to do, I'll-"

Vox holds up a hand to stop her.

"I don't need you to do anything for me, unless you've got any tips on how to kill my boss and make him suffer during it. But I'll help you with whatever you need to study during your courses. Just..." He pauses, taking a moment to think out what he's about to ask. "Could you teach me how you did your makeup on your own?"

Velvette blinks, clearly not expecting that response. She laughs, a shrill, sharp bark and grabs his hand to shake it firmly. "Yeah, 'course I can. So, do we have a deal?"

"We do," Vox smiles. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

[messenger-of-stupidity]

EVERYONE SHUT UP(actually keep talking. Yall are fucking hilarious)

IM GONNA WRITE A VEGA REUNITE FIC BECAUSE IM TOO IMPATIENT TO WAIT.

( @t4llhum4n because i know u miss him too)

Warden shut the door behind them, their hands trembling. Their apartment - Department regulated - once was a safe haven for them. A place for them to let go of their self-placed restrictions. To not be so fully ashamed of themself. Now, it was like willingly returning to a crushing hell.

Truthfully, they were surprised that the apartment was still theirs. They hadn't been in contact with the Department ever since Vega has saved them. Saved them. Not took them.

Because he had saved them. He saves them from a repulsive spiral that would have kept going and going until they were left a husk, incapable of autonomous thought.

They sat down on the edge of their couch. It was stiff and uncomfortable, just like everything else in this cramped one bedroom apartment. Bur demons didn't need sleep, or food. So why should the Delta team have comfortable luxuries? Warden wanted to scream. To throw something. To do something other than run.

They should have stayed and done something after that... thing killed Vega. Their head dropped into their hands, their breath shaking. Vega was dead. Something so large as him... dead in an instant. Their prisoner, their patient, their doctor, their savior, their... so much more. He had been all of these things.

They stayed on that couch for hours. Vega would tell them to stop moping. To pick up the pieces of themself and move forward. To devise a plan of how to continue. That's what they should do. But their body wasn't cooperating. This was grief.

They had tasted grief before. Bitter and harsh and heavy. It tasted like love but soured. They were grieving Vega.

The pull of magic snapped them from their thoughts. A rift. And... something else. Not a rift. But close to it. Their head lifted, eyes narrowing. The apartments were warded against rifts, so the arrival stood on the other side of their front door. Well... partially. A human stared at them - freelancer - alongside the thing that had killed Vega. They stood up, backing away quickly.

"This is the demon I was talking about, Doc." The thing - Hush - said, pointing towards Warden. The freelancer - Doc - reached out and gently lowered Hush's hand.

"Hush, I've met so many demons these past few weeks, it's hard to keep everyone straight." Doc replied tiredly. Warden could taste their exhaustion. Their door opened and another figure stepped inside. Tall proud horns, piercing eyes, lips pressed in a firm line.

"Vega?" His brow furrowed at their voice and he stared back at them. They could hardly breath. Not that they needed to, and he had broken them of the habit of breathing for the comfort's sake of humans. He had broken them of so many habits unnatural to their body, but existed simply for the sake of unappreciative humans.

"This is the inchoate you mentioned?" Vega asked, looking over at Hush and the freelancer human that had accompanied him. What was Vega doing with his murderer? And who was the human. Warden glared at Hush. He had something to do with this. He had to.

"Yes. That's the inchoate." Hush replied. His gaze slid from the human to look at Warden. They nearly shivered at the expression. There's wasn't anything inherently wrong with it. It was just the uncanny valley associated with something that was neither human nor demon. Or daemon. "Vega lost most of his memories when I brought him back. You can help, right?"

Warden felt the three pairs of eyes turn on them. Vega lost his memories? How far back? And how had Hush brought Vega back? They had seen him kill Vega, felt the rush of his magic leaving his body. They stumbled back a step, looking over at Vega. He was supposed to have the answers, not the other way around.

"Can you be of help, congruent of Rak'Xit? Hush has claimed that you were a friend or subordinate of mine. This human has vouched for Hush's... value." Vega said, stepping towards Warden. They stared at him, lips parted in a silent gasp. It was Vega. Except he was different. Rougher. More blunt. And trusting the word of a human.

"Hush killed you." Warden said harshly and Vega nodded.

"I'm not exactly pleased by that either. Now answer the question." Warden looked over at the freelancer. How did they play into this? Hush stepped between the two, his expression tightening. Ah. That's how.

"I... I don't know how much help I can be. I've only known you for a few months. You've told me stuff, but it may not be enough. How much do you not remember?" Warden asked, looking back to Vega. His lips twisted into a frown.

"Too much. Start with what you know."

[myths-tournaments]

Awful Characters Round 2 Part 2 (5/8)

Propaganda under the cut!

NANAMI

Literally killed a kitten and yet is so iconic you can’t not love her

VEGAS THEERAPANYAKUL

he's such a polarizing character because there's the group of us who are like Vegas <3!!! and then there's the people that point out his many crimes against humanity and lack of redeemable qualities or actions. he brutally tortures his love interest. he commits lots of crimes against the protagonist including drugging him. he's literally the villain. I love him so much though he's the poorest little meow meow of all time

As the oldest son in the minor mafia family in Thailand, Vegas seeks every opportunity to outdo his cousin from the main family. He hires an assassin to go after him. On another occasion he drugs, kidnaps, and assaults a guy to get at his cousin. He secretly schemes with the Yakuza, plots to frame that same guy as a mole working for the main family, fakes being in love with his cousins ex-boyfriend to the point of getting engaged (and then ditches him), and allegedly has done the same thing with the actual mole working for the main family. The definition of manipulate, manwhore, manslaughter. Vegas has a whole ass Patrick Bateman-style murder coat for torture. Methods of torture used: extracting a man's Cochlear, electrocuting a man's balls, forcefeeding by shoving said man's head into slop, whipping him with his own leather belt, setting a fake escape trap only to chase the hostage down and tase him. Whenever he makes deals he'll slip his hand into the other person's with a firm grip before they've consciously expressed a choice (so it always goes in his favor). He shields himself with other's bodies during shootouts, letting several people die for his sake. He's into BDSM (this isn't one of the bad things, but hoo boy people will act like it is). Listen, he's a piece of work. He cries because his pet hedgehog dies. He falls for his hostage, fucks him, and then continues to be shitty so the guy knocks him out to escape. He gets pathetic about it. He confesses his love and kisses him in a parking garage full of dead bodies in the middle of a mafia coup that he is leading. He's absolutely reprehensible and is treated as the main villain of the show for several reasons. Except I love him and his insanity. He gets a lot of shit that he doesn't deserve (both in canon and in the fandom). Not that I wanna fix him, that wouldn't be fun! Vegas and his partner deserve to serve cunt, be disgustingly in love, and murder to their hearts desires because I said so.

[bacony-cakes]

East German spy trying to tap the phone line but his numbers station radio won't turn off: Nein! NEIN! Schalte es aus! Den Mund halten! [fumbles the dial on the radio to maximum volume] NEIN! Scheiße! Scheiße verdammt! Schalten Sie es sofort aus! Es ist zu laut! Die Amerikaner werden mich finden! [the dial on his shitty soviet radio breaks off] NEEEIIIIIN! [his giant spy hat falls off in anguish]

The president of the United States of America: Hello is this the Pentagon? So i've been thinking... after i finish irreversably fucking over the economy, what do you think i should do next? Turn ketchup into a vegetable? Oh, i like that idea! Devilish as always. I've also been thinking that we should attach a laser that causes AIDS to a jumbo jet, maybe? I think it'd go well with that nuke-what-makes-you-gay project. ...Yes, i know the English are breaking new ground with their chicken-powered frozen wood plane, but trust me on this, AIDS Force One is the future of warfare. No, no, the laser gives who it's POINTED at AIDS, not the people operating it. Listen here, you son of an expletive, even if my brain is turning into a cauliflower, i am STILL the smartest man in the world, and I COMMAND you to build a machine that preserves me indefinitely like Mister House from Fallout New Vegas. ...Also, are you having an Oktoberfest party without me? I hear yodel music.

Guy who works at the Pentagon: No, mister president, we are not having an Oktoberfest party. From what i'm hearing, it's you who is having the Oktoberfest party. No, i'm not lying- I'm NOT a communist- DON'T put me on the no-fly list. Mister president, if you would- If you would listen for just one second, not only is a plane flying around and giving people horrible diseases cartoonishly evil, we cannot build a giant laser of any kind, because we've just used up our giant laser budget for faking the moon landings. Yes, but Neil Armstrong- Turn down your music, i can't hear you. No, Neil Armstrong- His name is not- He and those other guys got angry and went there for real. I don't know? Lock them in an airstream or something. No, the moon does not give you AIDS, for fuck's sake. There are not gay communist aliens on the moon that- We are- We are NOT building a "Hexagon" right next door to here that contains only people who listen to you. Also- God-emperor of the dominion of the United States of- Shut up, mister president. Fallout New Vegas doesn't release for what, thirty years? Mister pre- No, i am not going to wiretap the- Yeah, we could probably do that instead- And kill his wife too? That's kind of- Could YOU please turn down the music, mister president? For the last time, you're the one- Plan B? Ok, let's hear it. Hit me. Fly two planes into the- Mister president- What is this supposed to achieve- The good guys from Rambo 3? Mister president, what in the hell- And a third one into- A FOURTH one? Jesus Christ, what's wrong with- Can't you just use explosives or something? What do you even have against- Of course it's fucking about oil. It's all you think of. Every day it's "oil, oil, oil"- Pizza Hut is not communist- Mister president- Listen- No, don't you dare-

It will be done, my lord.

[simplegenius042]

Fallout Casting for Ryomen Sukuna Matata for Jujutsu Kaisen Abridged react fic

"Fuck school! Be crime! Do gay!" - Ryomen Sukuna, Episode 2 JJK Abridged (by the Schmuck Squad).

Reasons To Why I Believe These Characters Should Be Casted listed below the cut:

Richard Grey/The Master (the leader of the Super Mutant Army and the main antagonist of Fallout (1997), seeking to evolve humanity into super mutants with the Forced Evolutionary Virus (FEV), however, is stopped by the Vault Dweller, Elrand Brandt, and his companions via the power of persuasion) -> Mostly the grotesque way his body is morphed and stuff, but you can imagine his mouth opening on Ryder's body like Sukuna does on Itadori's body.

Sulik (a tribal looking to save his sister in Fallout 2, was saved by the Chosen One, Finidy Mona, and joined her as a companion to find the GECK, while she also helps him save his sister from slavers) -> It's mostly his tattoos that got me to choose him as a potential candidate.

Stanislaus Braun (the Overseer of Vault 112 in Fallout 3, Braun is a sadistic old man who regularly tortures his captives in a world of virtual reality, but had known the location and use of the GECK, which lead James Dolen to seek him out (only to be transformed into a dog), but was later outwitted by Alph inside the VR world and Amata from within Vault 112) -> Evil for the sake of being evil? Hates a kid for no reason? Would definitely take over somebody's body if given the chance? Sukuna candidate.

Yes Man (a securitron Benny had tampered with to help him overthrow House, is key to the Independent Vegas ending of Fallout New Vegas. Courier Six, aka Ryder, finds him in Benny's penthouse, and teams up with the securitron to save Benny from Caesar and overthrow House together) -> Listen he's too cheery for his own good. And sarcastic too. Like Abridged Sukuna.

DiMA (the synth co-leader of Acadia in Fallout 4 Far Harbor DLC. He is also the "brother" of Nick Valentine, the person who gets the Sole Survivor, Nate, to admit that he's likely a synth himself and has been involved in the sketchy shit around Far Harbor) -> Though the least potent candidate, what cannot be denied is that DiMA disregards everything about morality when it comes to doing what he thinks is the ways things should be.

The Scorchbeast Queen (the motherfucking progenitor of the Scorched disease and the final boss of Fallout 76 (if players nuke her nest at Fissure Site Prime). The Resident, Vega, only survives her encounter with the Scorchbeast Queen because of the FEV that had partly transformed her) -> She looks as ugly as Sukuna's fingers.

John Henry Eden (the President who runs the Enclave in Fallout 3, has all the personalities of the past presidents copied and downloaded into his A.I. He intended to use the water purifier to release a modified FEV into the water to kill anyone with a trace of radiation in them. He attempted to get Amata onboard with this plan, but since it would technically kill Alph, Amata convinced the president to give her the virus to "use" and tricked Eden into self-destructing and run like hell while Raven Rock fell down around her, towards Alph and his companions who were fighting outside trying to get to her inside) -> Eden and Sukuna are all aboard the murder express.

Dean Domino (one of Ryder's temporary companions in Fallout New Vegas Dead Money DLC. He was friends with Frederick Sinclair and had used Vera Keyes to get him one step closer to the Sierra Madre vault, however America being nuked interrupted this heist and lead him to being ghoulified, and while trying to get into the Sierra Madre, had been forced by Father Elijah to help him get into the resort. Dean eventually betrays Ryder inside the Sierra Madre, having been unable to comprehend someone could be as smart as him, which leads to him getting filled with lead) -> Dean Domino is a selfish bastard, Ryomen Sukuna is a selfish bastard.

Dr Klein (a brain apart of the Think Tank in Fallout New Vegas Old World Blues DLC, he was the director of the Big MT. His speakers are set on a loud volume and he is quite an arrogant punk. Klein and the rest of the Think Tank had vivisected Ryder, taking her heart and spine (and losing her brain to Dr. Mobius) and would only allow her to leave if she dealt with Mobius and gave them the resources to explore the Mojave from the safety of Big MT) -> As loud as Abridged Sukuna is.

Ishmael Ashur (the leader of the Pitt in Fallout 3 The Pitt DLC, though he is the big boss of slavers and raiders, Ashur is trying to humanely find a cure for the Trog which his daughter Marie seems to be immune to. However, the Lone Wanderer, Alph's appearance in the Pitt shakes things up) -> If Ashur just lost his benevolent intentions behind his actions and was doing things for the evils, he could be a lot like Sukuna.

God (the alter who acts as the "conscience" to a nightkin called Dog in Fallout New Vegas Dead Money DLC, he looks out for Dog and wants to kill Father Elijah so badly. Ryder helps both Dog and God make peace with each other and merge them both into a new personality) -> God is the voice in Dog's head, and his voice is quite menacing. Like Sukuna, though Sukuna is more malevolent than God.

Remember, for the alternative option, REBLOG and put in the tags WHO else from the Fallout franchise should be Abridged!Megumi and WHY you think they'd better suit the role. Also if there is a tie, then a repost will be made with only the tied candidates, and you'd have to pick from them.

I've also created and will continue to update (until the polling is done) a Master List for the poll results of the casted winners. You can find it right here.

You can find my Fallout OC profiles Master List right here, which also includes a link to the original post where I pitched my react fic idea. Anyway, hope you enjoyed, chow!

[goddesspharo]

Winter Olympics au?!?!? Roommates?!?!??!??? Mob?!??!?? I don’t even know where to start!

Can you give us a lil type snippet of whichever one you’re most excited about?

[ask me about my WIPs!]

I talked about the Winter Olympics AU here (I foresee that becoming a behemoth like the Vegas AU if I don't lose the bug for it by the winter) so I'll talk about the mob AU instead. Sometimes you just fuck around in Canva and then make a moodboard and then feel like you have to write a fic to accompany it because now it has consumed you. Unfortunately, I have never needed much coaxing to want something to be a mob AU. An excerpt:

"I called Hondo." His eyes snap open and the single prevailing thought in his head is that if Neil Vikander is dead, Jake will bring him back to life just to kill him again if he has hurt her. His eyes immediately sweep across her body to look for blood, bruises, bullets – even the slightest hint that she's not okay. Natasha rolls her eyes and clarifies, "For you, Rambo." "Doctor-patient confidentiality doesn't apply to my line of work." "We're not going to the hospital. I called in a favor. He's making a house call." They should be leaving this town in the rear view mirror, not returning to where she has roots. They should be cutting ties, not inviting more connections. They should have gone their separate ways, not doing whatever this is. Jake slams his open palm against the wall in frustration. The sound reverberates throughout the office, but Natasha doesn't even flinch as she declares that she'll drive since her car is the one without the bullet holes in it. His only victory is that she did pack while he was gone.

I still have to work out the connections, but the broad strokes idea is that Maverick's a mob boss (figurehead, really - Penny is the real Don a la Animal Kingdom), a conflicted Bradley is being groomed to inherit the throne (alas, at times, he is more Sonny Corleone than Michael), and Jake is a combination of enforcer and consigliere for the family. Nat grew up in this world even if she's not completely in it and left because of a death that I'm going to be super vague about for the sake of not giving too much away. After getting an MBA from Wharton and trying to live a life removed from this violence, she finds that she still can't let go and that the things that pushed her away are the same things that pull her back in. She returns to the fold under the guise of selling the legitimate face of their illegitimate business (so maybe she is Michael Corleone) with Hangman tasked to watch over her, which annoys them both - he's not a babysitter and doesn't trust her motives; she blames him for tipping over the domino that started everything. But, of course, nothing is ever that black and white.

[acatinstarktower]

The Avengers: Earth's mightiest heroes

S1:Ep3 Hulk VS the World

My thoughts on the episode!

Very pretty background shots + I like the lizard, very cute, thankful the guy did not step on it.

Oh is that Bruce Banner? That is the most stray cat looking Bruce I've ever seen. Boo cops pulling over shady guys at random, let the man and his hoodie in the las Vegas hear live.

Actually though how did they know that was him?? Does shield/the government actually have every single official briefed on what Bruce looks like/being told to be on specific alert for him? Cause that's like scary levels of oh they want this man arrested. (Also were those "tanks" just there already cause like area 51 is nearby orrrrrr was it just a very big convenience the exact groups looking for Bruce are like 5 min away from him?)

Shoutout gama radiation scientist nerd!! (And another infodump moment for the audiences sake LMAO) Very interesting 👀 moment throwing shade on Shield.

Okay if this guy broke out of prison why is he trying to start a fight with a very well known other mutant too? Seems like that might draw a lot of attention to both of them.

If only metal guy had plot awareness and knew antagonizing main characters in this show only makes them unlock stronger attacks o7.

Omg first like graphic(kinda) injury moment?? He's just a head made out of rock now. I think I like it more when this show goes yeah they're killing people and also suffering injuries from these fights rather than woahhh everyone was miraculously okay after being thrown around like a toy and knocked unconscious.

BLACK WIDOW HI 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰 (Also Hawkeye)

Also daaaamn you tell him Hulk. Kill that bitch!!! Bro also just stood there with arrows in him lmao

General Ros /neg

The power dynamics/political aspects of this do intrigue me a lot ngl. Shield vs the government's vs the individual superheros is looking like a very fun background for all this plot to happen in.

HULK <3 <3 <3 HE JUST WANTS TO HELP PEOPLE

Also fucking ouch my god. Wait plz tell me they also have the head of the guy that would be so funny. Or maybe he got destroyed during the many many bombs that got set off during that fight.

This doesn't seem seem very humane ngl. Bruce also needs like,,,, some proper food I think. I am such a sucker for soldier realizes origination they've dedicated themselves to is lying to them.

Oooooo did she steal the Hulk dna? Pfffffft Hawkeye trying the most basic passwords at first. OH ITS HYDRA OH DAMN. Pitting spy vs spy against each other?

WOAH THAT DID NOT GO HOW I EXCPECTED HOLY SHIT. Duuuuuuude this series is fucking good.

[catsandgoodbooks]

Rating: Mature

Archive Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category: M/M

Fandom: Dream SMP

Relationships: Alexis | Quackity/Clay | Dream, Alexis | Quackity & Clay | Dream

Characters: Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Alexis | Quackity

Oh wow I actually managed to write something. I came up with the Vegas Wedding AU how many months ago?

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

TW/CWs: Forced marriage, implied/referenced torture, fear

Dream sat still and tried not to breathe. (Maybe if he didn’t make any sound, didn’t even breathe, then Quackity might not notice him, might not pay him attention, and maybe he might not get hurt) Quackity was doing his hair up and he wanted to make it as easy as possible for his soon-to-be-husband. (He didn’t want to get hurt or yelled at or anything else, because he knew Quackity wouldn't fucking hesitate) He didn’t want to have to do this again. (He just wanted to get this over with)

Dream kept his eyes on the mirror in front of him, watching the pale reflection staring back at him. Delicate white lace cocooned his thin frame and covered every inch of bare skin (hiding scars and bony wrists and skeletal arms). His once-golden hair, a crown of pale roses woven into the pale locks, had faded almost to the same white as the lace and the gown he wore. The only splash of color was the bright, vibrant green of his eyes and the occasional freckle dotted across his ashen face.

Well, that was stupid. Dream had no right to complain about his current circumstances because he’d chosen these. It was the better option, and he’d jumped at the chance. And why shouldn’t he? He’d taken the deal and now he wasn’t getting tortured anymore. It was fine. He was better. He was out, for Prime’s sake! (So why was he still so scared, flinching away from every movement, sudden or not, panicking constantly and always losing control? Why was he still so afraid?)

Dream was out and, even if it wasn’t due to the best circumstances, he still didn’t have to pay too high of a price for it. It was fine. Marriage was just another contract, and not a very binding one at that.

(He’d thought about marriage before, even considered it a couple times [even tried once, even got up there on the altar once], but it had never been a high priority for him. He’d always thought he could deal with that sort of stuff after this was all over and everything was taken care of. Well, apparently not. Apparently, it was just a way to make sure he made it long enough to take care of it all, to resolve everything. Keep your eyes on the prize, Dream reminded himself. Remember what [who] you’re fighting for, you’re living [surviving] for)

Dream didn’t realize he was being spoken to until his hair was pulled back in one sharp jab and set all his nerves on fire. His heart raced as he was forcefully deposited back into reality. (At least it wasn't any worse) Fuck fuck fuck. He couldn’t do that (not right now).

“Do I have your attention now?” Quackity hissed, his face contorted into an expression of annoyance (well, at least it wasn’t rage this time). Dream nodded jerkily - he didn’t trust himself to speak right now. (He didn’t trust himself to not get hurt) “Good. I just want to let you know that if you do a single thing wrong tonight, step out of line even the littlest, you are completely fucked. I’m the only reason you’re alive right now and you better act like it.”

Dream bit back the instinctive, reflexive response rising within him. Sam would never let you kill me. It wasn’t a good idea to get Quackity upset right now (it was never a good idea to bring up the Warden). Even if he wasn’t the only reason Dream was alive, he was the only reason Dream was out here enjoying the fresh air rather than being trapped in a tiny bloodstained cell. Now more than ever, Dream was only getting by Quackity’s twisted amusement (not mercy; he would choke on his own blood before ever calling Quackity merciful) and the desire to use him as a tool, a weapon, a trophy, a symbol of Quackity's power and influence and what he could do to people. Whatever. This wasn’t anything new. Just show them what they want to see.

(When the server wanted him to be the villain, the tyrant, the puppeteer, he played that role. When they wanted him to be a defeated supervillain, he gave them what they wanted. When they wanted him to be a scared, desperate prisoner, he played that up. He could play the role of the nervous bride, the quiet wife. It wasn’t any different. Just another way to survive. He could handle it)

“Got that?” Quackity's mouth was a hair's breadth away from Dream's ear; his voice echoed within the other man's mind. Quackity still hadn't let go of his hair.

Dream nodded again. Just keep your mouth shut and you won’t get hurt, he repeated over and over again in his mind, his own personal mantra. (That hadn’t been true in the past but it might be here)

“Then you better act like it tonight,” Quackity snapped. “I’m not letting you mess this up.”

“Got it,” Dream muttered. He had to say something sometime (to show that he was still there, still under the other man’s thumb, still conscious and paying attention and able to suffer), and this wasn’t a bad time to get rid of that obligation. (He’d never liked obligations very much, and he absolutely could not risk them now)

“Good. I have a couple things to take care of, so I’m going to trust you to stay here and not try anything. You and I both know there’s no way for you to get out of here in one piece.” Of course Dream remembered. The snug ring of dark metal around his neck, concealed by the lacy high-necked collar of his wedding dress, wouldn’t let him ever forget. “So don’t even try. It’d just be a giant waste of time for both of us.”

This wasn’t news to Dream. Apparently, some of that irritation managed to creep its way onto his face, because Quackity laughed and finally let go of Dream's hair, one hand shifting downward to rest forcefully on his shoulder. “Oh, you already know that one. Good. Hopefully, you won’t have to make me repeat it. Because, while that might be a bit fun for me, I like my pets to follow my rules without constantly having to be reminded.”

Dream stomped down the quick flash of anger (rage, really; rage and disgust and soft animal fear) and bit back a scoff. Shut the fuck up. (He wasn’t sure if he was talking to Quackity or himself) Do you want to get hurt? No? Then sit there and take it. Don’t say anything about it. (Don’t prove him right) Quackity was watching him, Dream knew, looking for any trace of a reaction. Dream wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction. He smoothed his face into an indifferent porcelain mask, not so different from his signature mask (that had been stolen from him; he wasn't sure if Quackity had destroyed it [or at least tried to] or if he had just taken it and hidden it somewhere Dream couldn't reach or if he put it on display up as a trophy in Las Nevadas).

"Of course." He could be nice, he could be polite, if it would keep him safe. (And it would; it had to) He kept his eyes on the mirror (on the ghost of who he once was).

"Then we're on the same page." Dream watched Quackity's eyes narrow in the mirror. "Oh, and don't push yourself too much, darling." The word was a curse and a threat and a promise and a reminder of what was to come, salt rubbed in an open wound, sickeningly sweet and just as ugly, because he knew. "I don't need you bleeding all over the place."

Dream would also like to avoid that as well, even if just because he didn't want to tear his old wounds open again and deal with the pain (and because it wouldn't just be old injuries it would be new ones too because Quackity wouldn't appreciate it if that happened), so he nodded. "I'll try," he conceded.

"You better do good fucking job of it," Quackity muttered. "But that's enough, Dream. I have things to do, people to meet...I can't waste all of my time here with you, y'know. You understand, right." His hand released Dream's shoulder just to wrap around a lock of pale hair and pull it tight. It didn't hurt, not yet. Dream didn't even think Quackity was aware of it, but the threat was still there, even unconsciously. Nothing that Quackity ever did to him was accidental, of course, but he knew how easily Quackity could get carried away. That was never a good thing for anyone involved, especially not Dream.

"Yes, sir." The words slipped out of his mouth without him even noticing; the phrase was old (promising an escape from pain, if only for a moment, intermixed with desperate, animalistic fear and burning humiliation that he had learned to ignore), instinctive (drilled into him through pain and fear and threats and even more pain), and it took Dream a moment to realize that he had even spoken.

A gold tooth flashed in the light as Quackity laughed. He let go of Dream's hair, though. "Oh, so you do remember! I was worried you had forgotten, pet. But keep that to a minimum tonight, will you? Might not be the greatest look out in public. After we're out of the public eye though..." Quackity traced Dream's jawline with one finger and Dream tried not to flinch. He didn't dare to move (at least it wasn't the knife yet). "Go straight ahead."

Suddenly, Quackity let go of Dream and clapped his hands. "But that's enough of that. It's time for me to get going, and for you to be a good dog and stay put. Don't fucking touch anything, or I'll have your hide, wedding or no."

Quackity stood up and walked to the door, Dream's eyes following his reflection in the mirror. At the last second, he turned back towards Dream. "Just stay in this room and don't break anything. It won't get you anywhere, so why even try? I'll come get you later."

Quackity opened the door and stepped through, closing the door behind him. Dream heard the click of the door locking.

And, just like that, Dream was alone.

[lastoneout]

sorry but how could you ever hate loki ? He was always a better character than thor and way more interesting. Anyway it least you finally have some taste now that you love loki cause he is hot and sexy and amazing. Also thanks to Tom hiddleston

This is the funniest ask I've ever received. I just didn't like whiny little bitch villains back then idk, I only started my conversion to a Bad Guy Simp after I saw Hans in Frozen. But yeah idk I just didn't find him interesting?? In Thor 1 he had like negative personality, and even less in Avengers. But after Thor 2 I was like "oh he's funny? oh he has feelings??" and after he looked at Valkyrie like a Fucking Slut when she kicked his ass in Ragnarok I was sold. And actually one of my biggest complaints about Infinity War was killing him off so early, that was fucked.

I still haven't seen the Loki show tho, probably should get around to watching it at some point. I'm just hella burnt out on Marvel properties, plus I fell hard for Valkyrie/Loki and it's been a little rough letting go :( I'm glad he had a dilf bf now tho, good for him!

Also, excuse you, I have terrible taste to this day! I just admitted to liking Hans from Frozen, I love Benny from Fallout New Vegas for god's sake, I have garbage taste in men, thank you very much <3

[sadaveniren]

I'm the same anon as before and you're so right!!! I don't have a normal 9-5 so my hours are whatever I want so 🤷‍♀️ and just because of that my weeks looks incredible different to the ones of my friends, I will be doing the most random things at the most random times and I Can't imagine what my life would look like if in addition to the time I had access to the same kind of money they have.

I also think some fans don't want to seem crazy and want to feel superior so they shut down headcanons like this one just for the sake of it

Sooooo many fans try to kill fun headcanons just because they don’t want to “give antis ammo” or whatever. It’s like they forget two key things: 1. Fandom is fun 2. Antis are gonna fucking hate us anyway

Like we aren’t going to convince a hateful anti to leave us alone. We sure aren’t going to convince them Harry and Louis are together. We might barely be able to convince them either of them are allies much less part of the LGBT community. So why put any effort into policing ourselves in that manner? Just let us have fun!

I’ve been in this fandom since 2014 and I still have fun every single day. I also have made sure to cultivate an overall positive fandom experience. I have a large group of friends who are all as positive as me and we just share fun headcanons and try to puzzle stuff out in the most low key and low risk to our mental health way possible. I block hate anon pretty liberally. I don’t go looking for anyone who is doing anything I don’t care to engage with. If I see people getting sucked into discourse or spiraling into unhealthy behaviors when it comes to doomsdaying away I go in the OPPOSITE direction of it.

I watched “rad Louies” become a thing because fans were convinced Louis was being sabotaged in 2017 and rolled my eyes and continued on in my lane, writing fic and figuring that everything would be okay and now 5 years out I can pretty confidently say I believe there’s a lot of evidence Louis cut the promo himself on Back to You and his Epic contract because he didn’t like the musical direction he was going in.

I watched fandom tie themselves into knots over and over again with Harry’s stunts and have just shrugged and carried on because it’s not my life and not my job to worry about what Harry is choosing to do with his life.

I learned in May 2015 when fandom tried to “change the narrative about party boy Louis” that we as fans don’t actually have control at all. 1DHQ worked really hard to give us that illusion that we were all powerful and we had control on the marketing decisions etc but guess what? No one TALKED about Briana openly when Louis got papped with her in May. No one shared pap pics on tumblr. And yet we STILL GOT BG. We bitched and moaned and debunked left right and center and yet they CONTINUED ON.

As a fan my only job is to have fun. I have fun by trying to work out timelines and make up cute headcanons. My headcanons aren’t hurting anyone and despite what antis think I really don’t care if I’m right or wrong lol hell I’ll be the first to admit that I get shit wrong a lot. *gestures towards my guess that Louis was doing something May 25th when it turned out to be an error on his poster (which is a whole other issue but whatever) and that Steve Aoki might make an appearance at Louis’ Vegas show (which turned out to be that Louis showed up at HIS show)*

I’m having a blast. If my headcanons get debunked oh well I move on. Fandom is supposed to be fun! Be in it because you enjoy it and you HAVE FUN! If you aren’t having fun maybe… find something else to do?

[read-time-fanfic]

Just Come Back (I’m Still Hungry)

Creator: Arvari

Summary:

Vegas hears Pete’s tiny sob, feels gentle fingers in his hair.

“I can give him mine. I have O negative. Please.”

“We cannot take nearly enough–”

“Please. Take all you can take without killing me.”

“The consequences–”

“He’s literally losing more and more blood while you’re arguing with me, for fuck’s sake! If you take all you have and all you can take from me, will it be enough?!”

“It’s unlikely, and besides–”

Oh, for fuck’s sake, Pete, just let it go. Let me go. Just let me die…

***

Basically what's missing from EP14 after Vegas gets shot. And then some more. Guys, the angst tag is no joke on this one... (But don't worry, everything will be fine in the end. I promise.)

[thoumpingground]

The Tenant of Wildfell Hall Thoughts: Chapters 38-42

Helen is plotting her escape, let's gooo!! But first, drama. I knew Lowborough would end up suicidal. The way Helen describes him struggling not to kill himself in the room the night after he discovers the adultery is bone-chilling. He's pretty serene all things considered, though. Forgives Helen fairly quickly for keeping him in the dark, turns out Hattersley's plot to "take care" of Huntington (lol), by the looks of it gives Annabella a generous alimony if she's able to keep partying in London. It made me sad that he's happy to keep his son but not his daughter (because she looks like her mother, I guess? idr what Annabella looks like) but the story is bleak enough as it is and unless I'm contradicted later I'm choosing to believe he gets over it for both of their sakes.

Hargrave... vindictive little scumbag. I'm so mad at myself for feeling bad for you. In a book full of hateable men it's impressive how quickly he made top of the list. I wanted to scream when Helen told him about her escape plans. For a second I thought he might help her... but of course not. I have to go back to the Gilbert parts and see if he calls Helen "his angel" because that's clearly a red flag (Huntington did it too, that much I remember). I hope he goes back to Paris and some french opera girl drains him of all his money.

Hattersley is all over the place in these chapters. Such a chaotic redemption arc. Offering Lowborough to be his fucking hitman (again, lol), defending Helen from Huntingdon when they think she's cheating with Hargrave (so many bloody H's in this book), encouraging Huntingdon to turn a new leaf while they ply his son with alcohol... I know he had that conversation with Helen about Millie not feeling anything a few chapters back, so it doesn't exactly come out of nowhere, and he loves his kids, and he's still a dick through his good moments (plying toddler Arthur with alcohol, calling Helen names even while defending her...), but it still feels sudden. And when did he start loving Millie to the point the idea of making her happy pushes him over the edge into reform? He only married her because she was a doormat, and he's been deluding himself into thinking she was dead inside (that or she has a poker face that would put Vegas out of business), and I know he's been strugggling with that, but still. I'm glad Millie gets a reformed husband by the end of this section, but wow. What a trip.

Huntingdon commitment to get worse is impressive. I was surprised he pawned Helen off to his friends. Again, I'd read Arthur wasn't phisically abusive, and it appears he never rapes her, but this sounds an awful lot like he's giving his friends leave to. I have a half-formed thought about how Huntingdon keeps making masculinity and power about viciousness. He's making a show out of corrupting little Arthur to hurt Helen, but I think he sincerely beleives it's making a man out of him, and if they were on better terms he'd be doing it covertly. "A Misadventure"... Hooly shit, if there was ever understatement. And a reason to title the following chapter "Hope Springs Eternal in the Human Breast"! If the book hadn't started after Helen made her escape it might have made me cry. The bitter, sinister delight Huntingdon takes in stripping Helen of every mean of escape, and how casually he's able to do it, how ties his masculinity to it... I don't understand how this book isn't better known. This should be taught at schools.

I hate the way nobody's allowed to talk about the abuse. I swear, this is 1984 with petticoats. Helen and Millie urging Esther to be careful who she chooses while insisting that they're happy themselves... It reframes all Helen's and Aunt Margaret's interactions from early in the diary, though Esther seems more receptive than Helen (thank god...). Helen trying (usuccesfully) to hide her unhappiness from Aunt Margaret is so sad. So is her guilt over giving her aunt grief in her old age. On brighter news, Frederick to the rescue! I knew something good would come of Huntingdon fucking off to London for half the year! I knew Lawrence was Helen's brother! It's gonna be fun when she finds out that Gilbert struck him in the face. It's gonna be fun when Gilbert realizes who he struck in the face!

[knightfire]

Hell fucking sucked.

He'd never had any delusion about going anywhere else if the place existed, but that didn't change the fact it fucking sucked. The fact that it looked like a shittier bloodstained Vegas stuffed full of nightmare freaks was just the shit icing on top of the garbage cake.

It was just his Luck. There was "life" after death, and it was just a worse damned version of the one he'd finally shrugged off like a worn-out old sock. He'd been a husk of a man before he'd woke up dead. Now he was a mockery of one. Maybe a husk was all he'd ever be? It was the only thing he knew how to be now.

Have it your way, universe (you cruel as fuck bitch). So be it. He was a Husk.

He'd officially lost everything: his Luck, his life, his human form, and what passed for his dignity. Shit, he couldn't even keep a cloak around his misshapen new monster-body. The fur covering him prickled at his skin, overwhelming his body with an unyielding staticky torment that refused to give him peace.

If this was how he was spending eternity, then господи it was going to be torture. For now, he'd keep his head down and (hopefully most of) his freakish new limbs close until he got a better feel for things. Fuck’s sakes, if he could just stop feeling like his shoulders were being dragged off his back and his skin was made of billions of needle-like teeth for five goddamned minutes…!

His new tail chose this moment to make a wild, spastic flail that sent it slapping the ground with emphatic fury. As he grabbed for it, the heavy limbs on his back swept up in anxious reply.

Naturally, a guy like him wouldn't get fitted for a halo and a harp, but getting wings was a shock. What the fuck was he supposed to do with the damned confusing limbs, fly? As a stand-in for his long-ago magician's cape, they were a lousy substitute. The stupid things were heavy and made his back ache, to boot. His posture, which had always been bad, had become even more slumped in an attempt to balance the damned extra weight out.

For now, he did his best to stay small and unnoticed. He'd found a small alcove adjacent to a long, twisting alleyway full of run-down gin joints and seedy pool halls. The space was narrow and filthy, but shit so was he. It was perfect camouflage to just sit here and drink.

Husk raised his bottle again and sipped hesitantly at the wine inside. It was disgustingly old, soured, and cheap (again, just like him), but at least it was alcohol. Fuck knew he needed the stuff more than ever now. What was it going to do, anyway? Kill him? That was a laugh and a half.

He'd blundered into the business of mugging dumbasses by pure accident. He'd manifested in this sphere newly fitted with murderous-looking claws instead of fingers and helpless, terrified confusion in his brain. His feral, near-berserk state had been the perfect storm for convincing the startled imps who’d happened to be close to him to throw their wallets at his face and run.

When Husk managed to calm down and take in the world around him, he'd realized how fucked he was. He was in Hell. Actual Hell! And for fuck’s sakes, the place was a capitalist shithole to boot! You needed goddamned money just to exist, even here! When he took stock of himself he found there had been a decent wad of strange paper bills in one of the pair of billfolds now in his possession.

Well… Easy money was the best when you needed cash. All it took was knowing how to find the right mark and having the balls to take what you wanted. It wasn’t like Husk had ever been shy about stealing from those he could fleece. He just used to do it with a little more style and panache.

Maybe he would again, eventually. Maybe he’d find himself a deck of cards and put on a little show to give the rubes some dazzle with their upcoming destitution! For now, he’d take what was easy to get. So long as you were smart about picking your target you were golden. During his wretched excuse for a life Husk had gotten very good at the skill of finding the right patsy to bilk. It was a more important skill now than ever before.

This new world was full of demonic beasts that called themselves people. Even with his hideous fangs and claws, Husk was not an especially impressive specimen to anything with more gumption than a nervous imp. He wasn’t even an attractive monstrosity. The disappointments of Life seemed to have a twisted, malicious glee in manifesting in death’s realm, too.

On that let-down of a note, there was magic here. Real magic- Power beyond anything Husk had ever dared dream could be real. It should have been the best news he’d ever had. His childhood self would have thought the idea of a magical world was magnificent! In the short time he had been here, however, the dream had turned to nightmare.

So long as your soul’s anchor was intact, any damage to the physical shell that was your body would heal or re-manifest around it eventually. Your soul would return to it from wherever spilled souls went. Anchors could be erased, though. Something called Holy Gilt could do it. Souls could be severed, never to manifest in Hell again.

Whatever happened to severed souls could surely not be worse than some of the non-eternally lethal things that Husk had witnessed. He’d seen both Hellborn natives and mortal-born sinful with abilities that made his guts riot in horror. He’d seen things. Heard things. Smelled things, for fuck’s sake!

Magic? Power? It was capable of shit he’d never wanted to consider before!

The notion of potentially having some of that real magic had filled Husk with utter dread. If he had any of that shit, he wasn’t ready to know about it just yet. He’d stuck with concealing himself, hiding to keep watch and learn the ins and outs of this nightmare world. If he needed cash, he had the bank of Some Damned Chump to hit up for a withdrawal. Why not?

Ya gotta eat, after all. Or drink, at least. If he was already in Hell, there was no reason to get worked up over what was “right” or “wrong”.

A bottle of something not completely unlike Ripple was clutched, over-tight, between his marked palms. It sloshed as he carefully tipped it back and drank. His claw-fingers had no grip on glass and the multiple new limbs sometimes wanted to try doing things he told the old ones to do. It made any careless motion or mental gesture dangerous.

At least there was alcohol in Hell. The place wasn't all bad. A man could get used to just about anything as long as there was enough booze.

A man…? Huh. Did that still apply to him? He wasn't a man anymore; he was a furry monster. His new body could, charitably, lend itself to being compared to a bat or a cat. What kind of cat had wings? Bats didn't have feathers! How did this TAIL even work? What kind of ANYTHING felt like it was made of pins and needles just because it fucking existed? Whatever the shit he was, it felt like an inside-out porcupine!

He curled his shoulders forward, draping himself in the dark shadows beneath his brightly-fledged wings. Oh, what he wouldn't give for the simple dignity of a damned cape right now. The bottle slipped from his clumsy paw-hands with a crash, decorating the ground in cheap wine, broken glass, and all the bitterness in Husk’s heart. Fuck. So much for the one bright spot of THIS day in his eternal punishment.

A mechanical monstrosity of a sinner who looked like the result of a drunken one-night stand between a Ferris wheel and a steam locomotive trundled past Husk's alcove on the busy street. The guy was somehow wearing an elaborate, smartly tailored suit. He looked like he was a big shot or something.

How the shit did he even fit into the get-up, Husk asked himself. It wasn't just an eyesore, it was baffling. It was like an optical illusion made of fuck-you energy, impossible to not feel slighted by. To add insult to injury, the guy even had a cape! He had a gleaming black cape made of shining satin instead of disjointedly twitching pincushion wings!

Fuck that guy, Husk thought to himself in a jealous fury. Fuck that metal son of a bitch and the carousel horse he spun in on.

As if the universe had heard his thought, a large shipping container suddenly fell from the garnet-hued sky. The heavy metal box landed on the unfortunate sinner and crushed his metal body flat with a crash and a lingering noise like a dying calliope.

Huh, Husk thought to himself in dull surprise. He'd never called down the wrath of Gravity on some hapless schlub before. Did he just discover he had some kind of crazy magic ability to summon death from above?

Nah, he’d been earnestly wishing doom on more assholes than that one since he’d gotten here. Either it was just a coincidence or… maybe his Luck was finally changing? The idea buzzed in his nerves, dancing down his spine to make his palms tingle warmly. If he just had some cards, he could test this theory.

If what just happened was proof that he’d hit on a Lucky streak. Finally things were looking up. Husk stood, peering intently at the carnage as half a dozen sinners leaped on the broken container and the broken body beneath it, already fighting over the spoils pouring from the sides of the split container. He had no chance at getting a piece of that. Feverish need cycled between his burning brain and his mutated hands. Cards. He needed cards. Dice. Something!

If fortune had decided to favor him, it was high goddamned time- and time was a-wasting.

He stood, wavering in uncertainty for a moment as a new swarm of looters joined the first set warring in the street. With a deep breath, Husk stepped over the broken glass and spilled wine. A few strides later and he was pushing his way into the tide of not-quite humanity moving past on the dirty sidewalk. He let the unsteady pace of the demons surrounding him guide his steps.

He relaxed enough to let his new wings waver, half-raised, as he followed the meandering crowd. No one seemed to give a shit about his state of dress (or lack thereof), but the unsteady reflexive movement of the wings did keep most of the other sinners pushed away from him.

"Small blessings," his ma would say.

Ma… Where had she found herself when she left him? If Hell was real, what about the other place? Ma’d been a saint of a woman in life. She didn’t end up in this pit of despair, right?

Right? Please…!

Husk swallowed back the sentiment that rose in his throat and kept his ears and eyes alert. If Luck had decided to grace him, he'd see where it deigned take him. He still had a little cache of stolen money to his name and nowhere in particular to be. Why not roll the dice (literally, figuratively, or both) and see what happened?

He was already in Hell. What was the worst that could happen to him?