#hellacious twist

[ahb-writes]

Comics Review: 'Shadow Service' TPB #3

Shadow Service Vol. 3: Death to Spies by Cavan Scott, Corn Howell, Triona Farrell

adventure

fantasy

occult

science fiction

spy stuff

My Rating: 4 of 5 stars

Well, now, that's not good.

The supernatural intelligence community has witnessed a string of targeted attacks from all manner of simulants — tricky, powerful creatures that absorb the form of local folklore and rip apart local agents. Perfect timing. Gina has convinced herself that she's getting the hang of this secret agent stuff. This occult agent stuff. This being-a-witch thing. But shapeshifters are nasty business. And they're a global problem. Also, Section 26 is next on the hit list.

SHADOW SERVICE v3 is a riot of twists and turns. The first volume in this wickedly beautiful occult action comic produced exquisitely flawed (and entertaining) characters all too confident in themselves (and their flaws). The second volume was about scale, and about how the ego and petulance that clouds the judgment of humans so commonly clouds the judgment of the denizens of other realms as well. SHADOW SERVICE v3 is about one thing: betrayal. And if not full-on betrayal, then certainly the hindrances and dissatisfactions that manifest in their place when the institutions one trusts (or has no choice but to trust), contort themselves against one's favor.

Every chapter of this volume holds a hellacious twist. An otherwise well-plotted mission to recruit a member of The Department, Russia's supernatural secret service, goes to crap. A well-regarded teammate is fatally wounded. A well-trained agent from the Ministry of Esoteric Defense, China's occult secret service agency, makes her way into the West End and requests asylum. But whose fault is the botched mission? Must a dead teammate always be avenged? And is agent Hui Shoi-Ming, as buff and attractive as she is, telling the truth when she says her life is in danger?

Readers cannot be faulted if, upon finishing this volume, they are interminably fatigued by all of the sneaking around, the flashbacks, the speechifying, and the betrayals.

SHADOW SERVICE v3 is another solid book. However, the creative team leaves readers with zero time to rest. This is definitely the type of volume in which something remarkable happens on nearly every page. Gina and the delightfully snarky ghost version of her old pall Gideon Quill go house hunting, eventually stumbling upon the maternity hospital of the young witch's birth. Meanwhile Hex makes a mess of an interrogation when a doozy of a mythical creature crashes the party. Also meanwhile, Agent Hui learns an uncomfortable, blood-stained truth when the crisscrossed, unkept lines of command finally unravel ("What use is a scapegoat if you don't leave them behind?").

As with previous volumes, SHADOW SERVICE v3 is gorgeous. One highlight is the appearance of a flea demon, Bàolì: a wonderfully hideous, massive, eight-limbed terror of puss and teleportation skill. The demon's transparent torso seethes; it's face-shape is that of a skinless, three-quarters human skull; and the beast is colored with iridescent purples and blues that span the smoky to the cerulean. Gina is a great character, and Hui the flirty shapeshifter is a fun addition to the cast, but this volume's unquestionable highlight is the arrogant flea demon who teases and torments its prey.

Section 26 is in a bad spot. Fortunately, Gina is slowly unearthing the secrets and misgivings involving a deeper-underground coven of bootlickers eager to turn the world over to the darkness. Just what the heck is this "seventh scion" anyways? And why in the hell is it Gina?

❯ ❯ Comics Reviews || ahb writes on Good Reads

[kagu-une]

Your Majesty // P.SH

The cessation of war in your kingdom relies on you. What everyone failed to tell you: it is at the cost of your freedom.

pairing. king!park seonghwa x fem!princess!reader

genre. royal fantasy? pls don't read this if you're looking for historical accuracy :/ mature themes ahead, minors do not interact.

content warnings. non-idol!au. mean dom!seonghwa. sub!reader. maybe a little bit of dubcon if you squint. oral (m. receiving). no penetration. shoe humping. degradation. use of the terms 'my pet', 'good girl', 'my property', mentions of being a slave, 'your majesty', uhhh? spitting, very briefly. sadism for sure. he's a mean ass so ? i think that's about it. use of restraints but not in the sexy way ;(. i wrote this in proper caps this time but usually i use intentional lowercase :p

a/n. can you imagine seonghwa as a cruel king it gets my jimmies in a twist .... sorry to keep pushing the mean hwa agenda..... this is an old drabble that i had sitting, so i hope you enjoy! also ty to my liege @hhoneylix for proof reading for me (so if anything is awry blame them fr /j) ♡ if you enjoyed, please like, comment and reblog!

smut beneath the drop down!

Park Seonghwa — a noble captain in battle, but a tyrant King. Stingy, was he, arms outstretched in demand for his filthy palms to be filled with what he desired. His gluttony was utterly insatiable, and notoriously so. Though his greed was enough to cause the purest of souls to turn a cold shoulder, it was difficult to say no to someone with devilishly handsome looks and equipped with a silver tongue that'd put Lucifer himself to shame.

War raged in his kingdom, enemy nations bombarding Seonghwa's empire in aims and high hopes to retrieve stolen loot and goods from his avaricious grasp. It was undeniable that such conflict took a tremendous toll, economically. After a long debate amongst those of the Higher Tables, they came to a unanimous decision: a barter, of course. One couldn't expect the King to cease his feast upon divinity. The King would return whatever loot that his soldiers obtained while ransacking villages and pillaging towns in exchange for one thing: the opposing realm's Princess. This trade would be a simple one and the poor soul would remain in a royal bloodline; the deal was flawless and Seonghwa's foes accepted the plea with no beat of hesitation. Three days is the window of time it took for rival troops to retreat from his territory, leaving behind their wake of destruction just as Park's militia did to them; though, providing relief and aid to the inhabitants of his kingdom were the last of his worries.

Now, he occupied his throne, his dark gaze focusing lazily on the marble floor that stretched out before him. Mirroring his eyes and their lethargy and intolerance, his shoulders slouched as his tall frame spilled across the chair, knees splayed as his chin rest in his left hand. Jack Frost was great friends with the King based on the ice that he harbored within his honeyed stare. Regardless, he sat like a pouting child awaiting the arrival of his... servant.

The princess discussed in the meeting that disbanded the hellacious battles on his turf and leveled the playing field? Y/N. You looked like a deer, willowy and shy. Your head was hung to look at the floor beneath you, hiding the turmoil in your gaze. You were a pretty thing; long, healthy hair tumbled down your back. Kind eyes framed with long, thick eyelashes. A natural beauty that caused a surge of heat to rush through the King's core. Slowly, the ice inside of him began to melt away. Everyone failed to mention that you had an attitude that could give Seonghwa a run for his money. He remained silent as his eyes drank you in... The first time you'd ever laid eyes on one other.

The rattle of chains caught Seonghwa's attention. In his seat, he corrected his posture, immediately looking more presentable and respectable in the presence of company. Amongst the small fleet of handlers, you stood in the middle, wrists bound in iron with your ankles encircled in matching restraints. Seonghwa dare not move, even as your handlers pushed you forward and stood at attention before their king. Clearly, you put up a fight. the tattered dress that hung haphazardly from your frame reeked of foul play. This deal between kingdoms was clearly one-sided. Luckily, there wasn't a bruise to mar your flawless complexion — wise on his staff's behalf.

"She is no slave. Remove those chains at once." Spoke Seonghwa, once he had his fill of scrutinizing you, noting how you looked equally pissed off and frightened. The guards responded, and with the clatter of iron striking the hard flooring, you now stood free, just before the King himself.

Another demand, "Leave us."

Seonghwa fell silent once more as he awaited the room to clear, and the burly mahogany doors leading into the throne hall to shut, thus leaving them in seclusion. Lithe fingers journeyed across his chin in thought as he crossed an ankle over his bent knee.

"Kneel."

Your mouth responded by hanging open. Your eyebrows knitted together in protest. An inhale to digest such an incredulous demand, then, "Pardon me?"

"I didn't stumble over my words, girl." Retorted Hwa as he rose from his chair, approaching you at an agonizing pace. Stalking you like prey. Seonghwa circled you once, your cautious eyes remaining on the King as he did such. "I told you to kneel."

The steely tone in the King's voice indicated to you that it was no blague. You finally gave in and sank to your knees, a quiver in your actions from weariness. Seonghwa smirked as he watched you comply, petting the top of your head. Whether it was in encouragement or to assert his dominance over you, you couldn't tell. It was apparent that you weren't used to being forced into submission like this... And by God, Seonghwa was going to use that fact and run it straight into the ground.

"As I said, you're no slave. Such a shame that you aren't." Grumbled the King, squatting down so that your faces were even, calloused fingertips lingering upon your dainty jaw.

"I'd rather die than serve you."

An exasperated sigh tumbled from Seonghwa's plush lips, and a hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Then, he chuckled.

"So be it."

Rising from his position in front of you, he placed his hands on his hips as his eyes oscillated around the deliciously decorated throne room. He did this to create time and revise his next course of actions. Then, a firm foot planted itself into your chest, sending you reeling backward until your back was flush to the expensive marble. The King wasted no time as he straddled your torso, pressing your arms apart and pinning them to the floor using his knees. Seonghwa's hair fell into his face from such sudden actions and obscured his view, but posed no threat to the Crown's navigation as fingers enveloped your neck.

"You can wish me dead and hate your life, expecting me to do something about it. The simple fact is, my pet, you are my property. I own you. Every organic thought that riddles that head of yours is because I will it to be so." Seonghwa spits in your face. Usually, he wasn't the one to show all of his cards, but he refused to be disrespected inside his own castle. "You can spend your days in a cell, if you'd rather."

You flinched as saliva landed on your face, hatred, and disgust filling your stare, but no words of defense on your own behalf rolled off your sharp tongue — despite the turmoil raging within you being incredibly apparent (or, maybe, you were pathetically transparent). Recalling the chilly iron that bound your limbs earlier, a shiver crept up your spine. You had no quarrel with the bottom of the King's boot. Your wide eyes watched every move that the King made.

Despite the hatred that burned for the sadistic ruler, from below him, Seonghwa could see how your nipples had hardened — even through the tattered apparel you wore. And, fuck, did this inflate the King's ego. A wicked grin spread across the bottom half of Seonghwa's visage as a fire bloomed from his otherwise icy gaze. Once you realized that Seonghwa took notice of your blooming arousal, a deep blush seeped into your face and radiated to the tips of your ears. You parted your lips, and attempted to flounder for some sort of explanation, but instead, lie beneath Hwa with your mouth opening and closing as if you were a fish out of water.

"Do you genuinely think you are worthy of me, girl?" Asked Seonghwa through a smirk as his eyes scanned your blush riddled visage. His booming voice filled the room, instilling humiliation into your bones. This only added fuel to the heat that pooled between your legs. Could the entire palace hear of your sexual appetite?

"I–..."

"You what? Spit it out, now." The sinister expression on his face deepened further when you answered with silence, your eyes wide as you met his gaze. Coltish, curious, afraid. "That's what I thought. Next time, I'll have to cut that pathetic tongue out of your mouth."

The King removed himself from the rumple the two of you were in and returned to his throne to sit. Again, his knees parted as his feet were planted on the floor before him. He pointed to this space, waiting for you to comply with the unspoken orders given. Knock-kneed and cautious, you peeled yourself off the floor and closed the space between yourself and Seonghwa. Placing your hands on his thighs in order to brace yourself, you sank to the ground just as the King expected of you. Suddenly, and humorously to the King, submission began to settle into your bones as need clawed at your groin. It was evident in your eyes.

With his right hand, Seonghwa reached forward and slipped a few fingers beneath your chin, tilting your head back and forcing eye contact. "What is your purpose?"

Your eyebrows came together at the obscurity of the inquiry, but you still stammered out a response, "To become Queen...?" And there was honesty in your meek answer. All of your God given life consisted of how to be a good ruler, and what it meant to be a Queen. So, your answer was genuine, though confusion lilted your words. A smirk toyed at Seonghwa's lips, and he nodded as your response processed in his mind.

The King leaned forward until his lips were flush with your ear; hot breath fanned your face. His serpent tongue slithered from between his lips to lick the shell of your ear before he brought himself to speak.

A husky whisper, "When I'm through with you... I will be your purpose."

The fire of acrid hate dwindled to simmering coals within you. Instead of fueling your abhorrence, the warmth fed into the pool of feverishness that gathered in the pit of your stomach. The overwhelming feeling of ignominy and hedonism caused tears to well in your eyes, though you were quick to blink them away. Never had you been subjected to something like this — and never did you think that you would yearn for a man in such ways like you did now. This was especially conflicting to you because you didn't even know what Seonghwa looked like until you entered the same room as him.

Admittedly, you were floored when you first took in Seonghwa's appearance. From the talk amongst soldiers and townspeople when he frequented the market just outside of the castle, or stalked the long corridors that lie within the royal walls, their conversations of the King hovering over him lead him to believe that — perhaps — this King was a sea hag, or worse... Tales of his iron fist and cold eyes frightened you, thus leading you to never pursue any additional information regarding King Park Seonghwa and his tyrannical reign. Now that you taking in the King with your own eyes, he was, in fact, not the sea hag you had once imagined.

Instead, you were met with a man with a strong physique, obviously a warrior, and scars riddling his skin as proof. His raven locks hung in messy waves, framing his face beautifully. He had an angular face with dragon-like eyes that could pierce right through you. There was no denying that he was a stunning man. And his lips — . . .

Now, you sat positioned between the thighs of this devilishly handsome King, face burning with the heat of desire and embarrassment. Your eyes fell to the King's lap, your tongue growing thick in your mouth as you ached to reach out and remove the article of clothing, to reveal what lie beneath. From what you could gather in the few fleeting moments that his eyes were focused, the King was eager to give in to your carnality before a demanding grip drew your eyes back up to meet Seonghwa's.

Why do I feel this way? You questioned yourself, as you instinctively nuzzle your chin into Seonghwa's grasp. Deciding not to question it any longer and cave into your lewd cravings, you let out a soft whine to voice the need that was already addressed silently; after all, this is why Seonghwa wore that cocky smirk that drove you headfirst into compliance.

Of course the King noticed the lingering eyes on his crotch as he sat back from his position at your ear. The want that reflected in your stare made the King want to press his thighs together, but he couldn't do that since you sat between them. Instead, he released your jaw and shifted in his seat in order to fulfill your wish for your mouth to be invaded. His jewel-adorned hand rested lightly against the armrest as he gathered his thoughts.

"It seems we both have needs that demand they be sated." The King began, licking his lips to moisten them. Excitement gnawed at you and this eagerness was mirrored in your glassy eyes — the kind of look that Seonghwa wished to ruin. His smirk transitioned into a salacious grin, "You look ravishing this way, pet. What is your purpose?" He questioned again, an eyebrow raising expectantly.

"You."

Seonghwa drew his hand from its perch on the armrest so he could pull back and land a sharp, open-palmed slap across your face. The same decorated fingers leveled your head before pulling away and returning to the position he was in prior. "Who am I?"

Silence. Then, realization. "My King."

"Good girl," was the response. "what is your purpose?"

"You are."

"Worship me as so."

You took this as a clearance to act upon your cravings, and you sprung into action. Cold fingers slipped beneath the waistband of the fabric that caged the King's demanding sex. You tugged the front down to release his hardened erection, wanting to keep the King's modesty as he sat upon his royal chair... despite the want to be splayed out by him right on the floor. You halted as Seonghwa's cock was presented to you, your warm breath ghosting against the King's sensitive skin.

Just as Seonghwa was about to intervene, you dipped your head as you took the tip of Hwa's length into your mouth. Your mouth was warm, and tantalizingly wet as his hardened cock disappeared between plump lips. Electricity traveled across the King's skin, down his muscled thighs, and into his stomach. This time, an ornate hand carded its way into your hair. He pushed your head down to swallow more of his cock, impatience getting the best of him. You didn't mind though, and only braced yourself for more.

You knew what you were doing. You played him like a fiddle as your head bobbed along the King's cock, tongue flattened and molded to the underside of Seonghwa's excited shaft.

Hwa's head fell to the side, clear ecstasy written across his features. That didn't prevent the King from keeping his eyes on you, to watch your performance. The hand in your hair moved to cup the back of your head. His hips lifted from the throne on their own accord, assaulting the back of your throat with sloppy thrusts.

"You make your King feel so good, pet," muttered Seonghwa just before his teeth sank into his lower lip. "look at me as you please me."

You drew back to give attention to the head of his cock, tongue running along Seonghwa's slit and lapping up the pre-cum that dribbled out. At the King's demand, your eyes raised and leveled with Seonghwa's. Before he could realize, Hwa was teetering on the edge of his climax — so, he breathed out a warning, "Shit, I'm gonna —. . ."

You doubled down, arms slithering up into Seonghwa's lap until nimble fingers gripped at the King's waist, nose nestled into the cloth of Seonghwa's trousers as you took all the King's cock into your mouth. A rumbling moan emanated from Hwa as he released, your mouth milking him for what he was worth.

You pulled yourself off of the King with a delicious and all-too-intentional 'pop' and wiped your pleased smirk on your sleeve. Expectant eyes met Seonghwa's darkened ones, his eyebrows lowering as he read your expression.

"I suppose you're expecting me to do something to provide you relief?" Asked the King, his head falling back to rest on the back of the chair for a few moments. He readjusted his trousers as he came down from his climax.

"Yes, please, Your Majesty." You replied. Excitement lit up your gaze, and you shifted in place.

Seonghwa shot up in his seat, shoulders squared and clearly defensive. Such a change in demeanor would surely give someone whiplash. Now, you understood what everyone meant.

"Why should I give you anything? You're property. You think your Godly tongue will buy you anything, mewling quim?" The tip of Seonghwa's boot trailed up the inside of your thigh and dug the toe of his shoe into your clothed crotch. Not expecting such friction, especially because of the outburst that exploded from Seonghwa a moment ago, a whimpering moan bellowed from you, hips immediately jerking forward to seek out the contact. "As I said: you are undeserving of me."

You nodded in agreement whilst grating your hips aggressively against the tip of the King's shoe — anything to flood your body with the ecstasy that you were experiencing now. It was almost embarrassing at how fast you fell apart, writhing in the floor and uttering gentle curses as you were edged towards your own orgasm. Your fingers latched onto Seonghwa's pant leg as the radiating heat seeped down your thighs and caused your toes to curl.

Your body pulsated as you came, muscles clenching and eyes screwing shut. Seonghwa placed a majority of his weight on your clothed cunt now, wanting to enhance your orgasm as you came. Removing his foot from your clothed pussy, the dark place on the fabric displayed your pleasure. The hint of a grin tugged at the corners of Seonghwa's lips, but he stood and pulled you to your feet — earning a soft cry in protest from you.

"Go have the maids clean you up. I expect to see you at dinner." He pulled you to his chest, his hand pressing into the small of your back. "Whatever happens remains in this room, understood?"

"Mm." You hum in agreement, clinging to the King as your knees were too unreliable due to your orgasm.

"Good, now leave my presence."

Stumbling over your feet, you made your way to the heavy doors that previously closed the two of you off to the rest of the castle. Your sex-pinked skin revealed the activities that took place behind the closed doors. If not your complexion, the stain on your tattered clothes, or the languid grin and half-lidded gaze would be telling enough.

Pausing with a hand on the door, you threw a shy glance at Seonghwa from over your shoulder, just before slipping through. "Your Majesty."

[nekohooch]

I promised I would provide some detail costume breakdown of my Azem summoning circle. It took me about 85 hours total over 19 days. The skirt is overlayed over a red petticoat (because it’s the only one I had long enough) I made the skirt about 7 in longer than floor length for me because I’m wearing platform shoes!

The skirt is two layers of black chiffon. The bottom layer is a normal circle skirt, top layer is a seven panel circle skirt. Figuring out the math for this part was hellacious I do not recommend it. The top was gold lamé with black chiffon overlay. The waistband circles are gold upholstery bolts that I used bolt cutters to remove the stabby bits of and the beams from the waistband are from a fringey door cover that I dissected. I then twisted the beams (fringe) and fastened them to the skirt.

The Ps and the filigree things are from bathroom wall decals that I cut into pieces. Then I added rhinestones, these triangle book decorations, and sequins for the designs and the giant summoning circles.

The rest of the designs are various additional pieces of fringe, rhinestones, and hand painted designs with gold calligraphy ink. I almost added my statics job symbols into the summoning circles but I didn’t have time.

There’s still more I want to add to this but I’m ecstatic how it turned out and felt like an absolute goddess.

[cevansbrat0007]

Hey so the teaser of the upcoming story made me think of something what would happen if Andy came home and caught you using BOB without waiting for him?

Summary: Andy catches you breaking a very important rule during a punishment...

Warnings: Smut, Overstimulation, Ass Play, Butt Plugs, Cockwarming (mentioned), Daddy Kink, Bratty Reader, Pussy Spanking, Cursing, Public Sex (mentioned), Punishments, Minors DNI

A/N: Requested by the ever-incorrigible @writer84. Also dedicated to just a few of my fellow brats: @suckthatskittlebiiitch, @lexivass, @sarahdonald87. Part of my ongoing Growing Pains Series. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are sincerely appreciated!

___

Holding your breath, you crack open the door to your husband’s home office. Of course you knew it would be empty, just like you knew better than to do, well…whatever it was you were about to do. 

You slowly creep inside before taking a seat at the formidable-looking mahogany desk, taking a moment to brush your fingers across the smooth, polished surface. And then you pull a small, silver key out of your pocket and insert it into the lock on the top drawer. You twist it to the left, wiggling just a tad until you hear the soft snick of victory. 

You then proceed to pull out the neatly organized compartment, smiling when you finally lay eyes on your prize. On the one thing that had you breaking all of the rules.

Now, to be fair, these weren’t your rules. In fact, this rather unpopular edict that you were about to defy had been issued by none other than the love of your life. 

Andrew Barber.

It was because of him that you’d spent the last several days enduring a rather hellacious punishment. The kind of punishment that almost any other sane person would deem both cruel and unusual.

Your crime? Enjoying a little too much wine during your man’s last work function. Yep. That was it. That was all that happened. 

Oh. 

And there was also the slight possibility that your fingers had done a little wandering. Mostly under the table stuff – and only to show your appreciation for the gorgeous man on your arm who also happened to be one of several honorees that evening as well.

He’d looked sexy. You’d been horny. And therefore, you’d gotten a little handsy. Who would’ve guessed that the District Attorney for the City of Boston would be so against receiving an impromptu handjob in a room full of state officials and colleagues? 

Certainly not you. 

And eventually – after a number of very tense repeated denials, threats of punishment, and attempts at a distraction – you’d given up. Or so he’d thought. 

But in all reality, you’d simply allowed yourself another generous glass of wine, or two, while planning your next move. Which involved pouting, followed by the bright idea to make him jealous by innocently flirting with several unsuspecting event attendees. Only for you to remember too little, too late that you were married to one of the most jealous and possessive men to have ever walked planet earth.

Yeah, you’d landed yourself in a heap of trouble that night. But what was funny was you’d been so damned tipsy by the end of it all that Andy hadn’t been able to deal with you beyond making sure you drank plenty of water and dosing you with Tylenol before bed.

After that, you were out like a light. But not Andrew – not your Big Man. He’d been left alone to stew. Which meant that when you’d awoken the next morning feeling bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, you’d had to contend with a very grumpy husband. 

As for your punishment, well…

He’d informed you over breakfast that you were being placed on restriction for the next week. You’d initially balked at that, thinking that he meant you weren’t allowed to watch television or something equally ridiculous. Only to realize that he was talking about something much, much worse.

Namely, your orgasms.

Andrew Barber was restricting your ability to cum for the next seven days. Which might as well have been a fucking lifetime!

Stunned, you’d continued to sit there in silence, mouth agape, as he'd went about enjoying his biscuits and gravy. Of course you’d tried to argue, and when that hadn’t worked you resorted to begging. And then back to pouting. 

And to add insult to injury, your man had also taken away your toys. Every single one of them. Your Andy Bear hadn’t even batted an eyelash as he’d gathered them up so that he could lock them away until you’d finished with your punishment.

But the thing about it is that he never intended to make this easy for you. Every night you were unfairly subjected to hours of hedonistic torture at his large, powerful hands. Your man had relished in teasing you -- loving every moment of the sensual torture.

Driving you towards the brink again and again before pulling back. Reveling in your pain and sexual frustration – taking pleasure in every sweet moan and cry that spilled its way past your lips. But if you’d thought, even for a moment, that the man you loved more than anything in this world was going to suffer at your side, you’d been sorely mistaken. Oh, how naive you’d been. 

Because your being placed on so-called "restriction" hadn’t stopped your man from fucking you senseless. If he wasn’t wrecking your throat, then he was balls deep in your ass. But he never took you in the one way that you desired most.

Your poor, neglected pussy. 

That was the one part of you he’d been content to leave empty and wanting. Every night when Andy was finished with you, the bastard had parted your thighs to bestow a kiss on your weeping cunt. Always whispering a litany of filthy words against your most intimate flesh, promising to take good care of her and you as soon as you learned your lesson. Although it did little to quell the ever-present ache between your legs. 

God, he was an asshole.

But in spite of it all, you’d somehow managed to last five days. Five long fucking days of being in nothing but a constant, all consuming state of arousal. And you knew without a shadow of a doubt that there was no way you were going to last two more.

At least not without some kind of relief. At this point you were fucking desperate for it, which is why you decided to take matters into your own hands and do a little snooping. And once you’d located the key to Andy’s desk there’d been no turning back. 

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you rifle through your selection of vibrators, most of which you never really used unless Andy was with you. The only exception was if one of you happened to be away on business or something, but even then, your man always made sure he was available to witness your pleasure via FaceTime. 

That man was so goddamned greedy for you all of the time that you were at least partially convinced that he needed to seek professional help. However, the last time you’d hinted at something like that, all you’d gotten in return was a chuckle before he’d lowered you down on his thick cock and made you ride him on the back patio.

Good times.

You let out a soft squeal of delight when you come across your current favorite toy – the Satisfyer Pro 2. Andy loved playing with that in the bath since it was waterproof. He, and it, always left you a boneless, quivering mess by the time you were finished. And then he would pluck your limp body from the water before gently drying you with a towel so that he could ravage you again from the comfort of your bed. 

Yes, you’d make yourself feel better by relieving some of this pent up tension with the help of your trusty Satisfyer Pro. That would hit the spot – literally. 

Excitement courses through your veins as you remove your leggings, letting them fall to the ground in a forgotten heap. You were about to show your Big Man that he didn’t run shit in around this house, including you. It was high time that you reminded him that this was your pussy, not his. And furthermore, he was lucky that you let him sample your charms as often as you did anyway. 

“Fuck you, Andrew Barber.” You power-on the vibrator and lean back in the chair before propping your feet up on the desk and splaying your legs wide. A low, guttural moan escapes the moment the toy makes contact with your impossibly sensitive clit. “You’re not the boss of me.” Your head tips back in bliss as you increase the intensity of the suction by several notches. 

“You sure about that, baby girl?” A deep voice calls from somewhere just outside the door.

You immediately freeze in place as the massager slips from your grasp. It hits the floor with a dull thud, all the while continuing to buzz. 

Holy fucking shit!

“Uhh…” You stammer as your head swings around to meet your husband’s dark gaze. “H-hi…”

“Looks like I caught you at a bad time, huh?” Andy shoves his hands in the pockets of his dark gray slacks before crossing his legs at the ankle and resting his hip against the doorframe. “Apparently my naughty little wife has been quite the busy bee.”

“An–Andy…honey…” You can hear the sound of your pulse crashing in your ears, temporarily drowning out your ability to think clearly. Because whether it was said or not, you both knew that you’d just fucked up. 

Big time.

“Hush.” Without missing a beat, you watch as he pulls his phone out of his pocket to quickly scroll through his contacts before pressing it to his ear. “Hey, Samantha, I’m afraid I’m going to need you to push back my twelve-o’clock with Duke Higsby.” He chuckles into the receiver as you squirm in your seat, silently wishing that you had the stones to simply throw on your leggings and bolt. 

As if he wouldn’t catch you. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Do me a favor and give him a call to see if he’s open to meeting me tonight for drinks. Tell him to bring the Missus too.” Andy winks at you, his perfect teeth gnawing at his lip. “Alright. I will definitely be back at the office in time for my three-o’clock. Yep. Thank you. Appreciate it.” He ends the call, tucking the device safely away before returning his full attention back to you.

“Okay –” You begin again, finally finding your voice. “It’s not – this is all so not what you think. I mean, I know what it looks like, but if you’ll just let me explain –” Andy is quick to cut you off with a dismissive wave of his hand. 

“I’ve seen all I need to see, thank you very much.” You let out a shaky breath as your husband begins to roll up the sleeves of his white dress shirt. “But frankly, I can’t say I’m all that surprised.” His eyes are filled with disappointment.

“But I –”

“Quiet!” He barks, making you jump. And then he strides towards you, reaching down to pick up your still pulsing vibrator. He takes a moment to examine it before calmly switching it off. “I almost didn’t come home this morning, but I’m glad I did.” You feel your cheeks heat when you realize that the object is so covered in your slick that it’s damn near impossible to miss. “Because if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have caught my baby breaking such a big rule. Isn’t that right?”

You head bobs in agreement.

“And did Daddy give you permission to play with his pussy when he was fucking your sweet mouth this morning before he left work?”

You wordlessly shake your head “no”. Seemed like the best policy right about now.

“Hm. Didn’t think so.” Andy tosses your toy across the room so that it lands on his small couch. “Stand up, little brat. I need to survey the damage you’ve done to my cunt. I don’t think you had enough time to make yourself cum, but I want to make sure.” His eyes stray to your core, paying close attention to the swollen nub threatening to peek out from between your slippery folds. 

“Good girl.” He praises when you eagerly do as he bids. And then he opens his arms, beckoning you forward. A slightly mocking smirk graces his lips when he sees you openly hesitate instead of obeying this time around. “Aww, c’mon, sweetheart. Just let Daddy check you out so he can be sure of how to proceed.”

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, hating how pitiful you sounded even to your own ears. “But if you think about it, this is kind of all your fault, Big Ma–I mean, Daddy.” Your face scrunches up at the slight flare of his nostrils.

“Oh, is it?” Andy grunts, clearly running out of patience. He swoops you up in his brawny arms, giving you an affectionate squeeze before depositing you on his desk. “And how do you figure that one?”

“Be-because you’ve been so mean to me lately. You left me no choice but to do something to take the edge off.” You huff, poking out your bottom lip even as your much larger husband looms over you.

A lesser woman would be intimidated, but deep down you knew that he wouldn’t really hurt you, at least not without adding a little dose of pleasure to go right along with it. 

Andy leans in for a kiss, drawing your bottom between his teeth and sucking it into his mouth – eliciting a soft whimper from you. “I can’t believe that I have to remind my baby of this particular fact, but Daddy could’ve sworn that he made it very clear that you were on restriction until this coming Sunday.” He murmurs as he glides his lips over yours once more.

“But it’s not fair to make me suffer the way I have, especially not for this long.” You whine, attempting to weave your arms around his neck long enough to hold him in place for more kisses. But at the same time you also knew that he would not allow himself to be so easily swayed.  

He slowly untangles himself from you and places your arms at your side. “Well, little girl, perhaps you should’ve thought about that before you tried to give me a handjob under the goddamned table -- three fucking times!” Your husband rakes a frustrated hand through his hair. 

“I said I was sorry!” 

“And when the fuck was that, exactly?” Andy snarls before gripping your knees with his big hands and yanking your thighs apart. “Before or after I was finally forced to drag your fine ass into one of the private bathrooms to make you behave?” His heavy palm comes down hard on your vulnerable cunt, the wet slap echoing throughout his office. 

“Ow!” You hiss, clenching your knees together in an attempt to shield yourself from the next blow. 

“Oh, baby.” Your man tuts as he smacks at your damp flesh twice more. in succession “You were in rare form that night, letting this disrespectful little pussy right here run the whole goddamned show. Being so fucking greedy and unreasonable.”

“But you spanked me!” You cry when he strikes again, sending pleasure-filled shockwaves through your already spasming core.

“Only after you made it clear that stuffing you full of my cock wasn’t enough! What else was Daddy supposed to do with you, little love?” His fingers roughly pinch your clit before resuming your punishment. “You left me with no choice.”

So, there might’ve been a small grain of truth to that. You weren’t sure what had you so revved up. Maybe it was the fact that you’d both spent a good chunk of the past month away from each other on business. Perhaps you hated being without him a little bit more than you necessarily cared to admit.

Well, fuck!

“I know we’ve spent a lot of time apart recently, sweetness. I do.” Andy delivers one last sharp smack to your throbbing center before flipping you onto your belly. “But there are so many other, better ways to get my attention, sweetheart. And I just bet that you could do it without throwing a fucking tantrum. What do you think?” You bite your fist as a fresh wave of pain suddenly blossoms across your upturned bottom.

He briefly steps away from you to make his way around to the other side of his desk to retrieve something from another compartment. “Asked you a question, brat. And I sure would like to hear your answer.” Andy holds up what appears to be a glittering, jeweled butt plug up to the light. It's bigger than any of the ones you've ever, erm, played with before.

“I – I should’ve tried to…” You taper off as your husband’s free hand then fishes out a bottle of lube from that same drawer. “I’m sorry for simply reacting instead of telling you how I was feeling.”

There we go. Progress. Now maybe he could put those weapons of mass destruction away.

“S’alright.” Once he’s behind you again, you hear him pop the cap on the vial. And then you feel a handful of cool drops trail their way down the exposed crack of your ass, followed by the sensation of something thick and invasive prodding its way against your puckered back hole. “Daddy’s awfully proud of you, princess. And you wanna know something else?”

You exhale out another series of strained breaths as Andy begins working the toy in and out of your tiny ring of muscles. “Ooh, Daddy – I! Shit!” He never once lets up – even as you inadvertently rise on your toes to meet his thrusts. 

“I hear you, sweet girl.” The plug finally slips its way past your defenses, stretching you so completely that you temporarily see double. “But right now, Daddy’s gotta finish getting this new punishment plug settled deep in your naughty little ass." Andy spreads your cheeks so that he can openly admire his delicate handiwork. "And then I’m gonna let you sit on my cock and keep me warm while I respond to all of the emails I’ve missed while taking care of you.”

He smooths a gentle hand through your curls, loving the soft feel of them as he gathers his composure. “You’re also gonna keep that plug in the rest of the fucking day, understand me?” You let out a small shriek when his hand connects with your left cheek before giving it a harsh squeeze. “If you prove to be a good girl who’s capable of following instructions, perhaps I’ll consider removing it tonight in-between cocktails with the Higsbys.”

“O-okay, Daddy.” You bite back a moan as you feel yourself getting lost in the sensations. You felt so goddamned full like this, completely stuffed to the brim.

“However, if you disobey me, little one – if I catch even so much as a hint of it from you – Daddy’s gonna haul your sweet ass off to the nearest bathroom and rail you so hard that you won’t be able to sit properly for the rest of the night.” He presses a tender kiss to your brow before standing up to unzip his pants.

“And I can tell you right now that I won't give a damn about who sees me. Or who hears you.” Andy hisses, fisting a hand in your hair and tugging as he leads you towards the couch. “Now, c’mon and have a seat, beautiful." He eagerly pats his lap as he removes his impressive erection from its confines. "Before Daddy forgets that you’re supposed to be keeping him warm and decides he's better off fucking you senseless right here…”

He grips his shaft, stroking himself from base to tip as you prepare to lower yourself onto him.

“Right now.”

END

[sgtjamesrogers]

Been Too Unkind

Rated: T | roy x jamie | post episode: 0308: We'll Never Have Paris [also on ao3]

Roy’s alarm goes off at 3:40 am the Monday after their Sunday match right on schedule, and when he rolls over to his nightstand and switches it off, the next notification is a reminder from his calendar. 

After his eyes adjust he sees ‘PHOEBE DAY’ in all caps, with three swords emojis and a snake emoji after it. Roy had let her pick out the emojis. 

“Fuck.” He sits up out of bed in the dark, fiddling thick-fingered through his phone to press Jamie Tartt’s contact and then ‘call’. It occurs to him, his brain slowly waking up as he listens to the line ring, that he could have sent a text. Jamie is always awake and ready to go now when Roy shows up for training, these days. 

Too late, Jamie’s already picking up before Roy can think too hard about it. 

“...Coach?” He yawns into the phone from the other end. “You’re like, forty minutes early. And calling me. You don’t call me. Did you get hit by a car on your way? Nah, no you didn’t. You’d still show up, wouldn’t you, holding someone’s bumper and saying summat like ‘Move your ass Tartt, I have some new weight training for you to do’.” 

He sounds sleep-raspy but still manages to tip some more gravel into his voice for his Roy impression. Tragically, it’s not half bad. 

“Was that supposed to be me?”, is what Roy says out loud. “You made me sound like Eeyore.” 

“Ain’t that you?” Jamie responds breezily, the sound of a tap running water into a glass somewhere in the background. “Anyway, what’s going on? I haven’t even mixed my pre-workout yet.” 

“Oh, right,” Roy says, and then continues gruffly, “I’ve got my niece today, she’s off school. We’ll have to cut training short.” 

“Can’t you just strap her into a baby bjorn and we’ll take her with?” Jamie asks, the clatter of his blender bottle like a cup full of Yahtzee dice. “She’s like, two, isn’t she? How much could a toddler weigh? Two stone at max, I bet.” 

“No?” Roy says, making a face. “Add five years to that. She’d hate it, and her legs are too long.” He shoves his sheets off, his free hand automatically feeling out the muscles above his knee like he’s making sure he has enough gas in the tank of his car. They feel loose enough, so he hefts himself out of bed.  

There’s a long pause before Jamie smacks his lips into the phone receiver, the prick. Roy can almost smell the neon green sour whatever of his pre-workout. “Hold on, I might have something else.” 

---

Fair is fair: the pedicab driver is easier to bribe than Roy expected. 

Or perhaps ‘easy’ isn’t exactly the correct term, seeing as Jamie’s pocket ended up roughly five hundred pounds lighter by the time the driver seemed satisfied enough to hand over the cab to them, followed by a warning that he had a GPS marker tacked on, so ‘no funny business!’ 

“What funny business would we do with a cycle rickshaw anyway?” Jamie asks, turning to put his words over one shoulder.

The little shit’s not even out of breath yet; pedaling with his elbows propped lazily on the handlebars as he prepares to make a righthand turn at the next intersection. 

“Oh, I dunno, scamming tourists hundreds of pounds for fucking taxi rides while playing whatever this is—” The inlaid speakers on the passenger wagon are vibrating faintly as they play a hellacious club remix of Karma Cameleon. “—at top volume with stupid flashing lights and feather boa trim, that sounds like funny business to me, fucking HELL!” 

The wagon of the pedicab lists dangerously to the left side as Jamie takes the corner too quickly, the shiny silver Jaguar behind them honking repeatedly and at length. As soon as Roy feels like he’s not going to slide right out of the cab and go rolling across the pavement like he’s an extra in John Wick, he twists around to give the Jag’s driver the finger. 

“If you get me killed, I’m killing you next,” Roy says shortly, checking his phone. A quarter to nine. “Take a left up here.” 

Unfortunately for Roy, Phoebe is just as ecstatic as he thought she might be when they pulled up. 

“Uncle Roy! I always wanted to ride in one of these, Mum always says they’re not for us, they’re for fleecing tourists.” She hops up into the wagon of the pedicab next to Roy, bouncing a little with excitement on the seat. 

“That’s exactly what they’re for,” Roy says. “Tartt’s gonna pedal us around as part of his training, then we’ll get late breakfast at McDonald’s. Sound good?” 

Turning around on his bicycle seat, Jamie gives her a jaunty little salute and a grin. “I’ll be your driver for today, miss. Any musical requests or sights you wanna see, you just let me know.” 

Phoebe looks from Roy to Jamie skeptically and back again. Roy helplessly remembers every time he’s complained about Jamie Fucking Tartt while utilizing every curse under the sun, as well as making up some of his own curse words. Like a deranged Looney Tune. He gives her a wincing sort of smile in return. 

Roy’s niece turns primly back toward Jamie. 

“Do y’have any Little Mix or Jorja Smith?” 

---

They make it through the DNA album and get partway into Salute before Roy takes pity on Jamie and has him stop in front of the McDonald’s on Eden. It’s not quite mid-morning and there’s a shambling group of uni students already queued up inside, looking so violently hungover for a Monday at 10 am that even Roy feels a little nauseously sympathetic. 

Roy sends Jamie inside and attempts to send his card with him, but Jamie waves him off with a roll of his eyes. 

“Put that away old man, I’m good for three McMuffins,” he laughs before heading inside to join the crowd. Roy doesn’t realize until after Jamie’s walked off that he didn’t even try to fight him on it. There’s something a little discomfiting about that, but Roy can’t exactly put his finger on why. 

“Is he your new Keeley?” 

Roy whips around to look at Phoebe so quickly that he feels a crick in his neck. She’s looking up at him with a squinting expression, not quite unimpressed so much as mystified. 

“No one could replace Keeley,” he says quickly, something like a little minnow of panic swimming through his guts while he looks at her. 

Even the fucking abstract concept of Keeley brought up unexpected is calling to mind standing in the Nelson Road car park and feeling words rolling out of his mouth like vomit while he asked for details he did not need, because he’d let himself think that assuaging his own culpability was more important than her privacy. If he hadn’t deserved her before, he certainly didn’t now.  

Roy takes as deep a breath as he can, and rights himself. He looks at Phoebe sideways. She deserves to have a Keeley, even if he doesn’t. “Is that what you think I’m doing?” Just like Jamie, she rolls her eyes at him. 

“That’s not what I mean. Mum says old people don’t really use ‘boyfriend’ or ‘girlfriend’.” Her expression goes a little disapproving. “Boys can like boys, Uncle Roy. Don’t be silly on purpose.” 

Roy puts his hands up in exasperated surrender. “I know that boys can like boys. Girls can like girls, for that matter.” 

Phoebe crosses her arms. “Obviously. Keeley and Jack took me to the Science Museum last weekend. Her new Uncle Roy,” she adds, confidentially. 

Closing his eyes, Roy counts to ten. Considers praying. “You didn’t call her that, did you?” 

Worryingly, Phoebe doesn’t address that question. Instead, she looks inside the McDonald’s, and Roy follows her gaze. Jamie’s waiting for their food, and while Roy and Phoebe look on he visibly checks their order number on the ticket in his hand and compares it with the orders on the overhead screen. They watch him do it three more times in the next minute, as if he’s concerned he might have forgotten their number. 

“See! You’re smiling!” Phoebe accuses him before he can look away. He looks down at her and resists the urge to clap a hand over his own mouth. 

“I’m allowed to fucking smile,” Roy grumbles. 

She crosses her arms, her earlier prim expression returning. It reminds him of Keeley when she knows she’s one hundred percent correct and is being horribly polite about it while she waits for Roy to figure it out. 

“He’s different than you said,” she hedges. “He hasn’t been a selfish moronic cunt or a shallow fucking idiot this entire time.” She pauses. “There was one more you used to call him a lot, but I can’t remember it. It was really good, too.” 

“You should probably forget the first two as well,” Roy says ruefully with a sigh. “...alright, he is different than he used to be. I’ll give you that.” It’s something that Roy knows in an abstract sort of way, but having his niece call it to his attention brings back that discomfited feeling from earlier. 

Before he can get any more words out, Jamie’s back and distributing wrapped sandwiches. He pauses when he hands one off to Roy, tilting his head. 

“Why’re you looking at me like I just shot your dog?” He shoots a horrified look at Phoebe as soon as the words are out of his mouth. “I mean—” Jamie attempts a smile as he reaches back into the bag and offers her a bottle of Tropicana. “Orange juice?” 

“I like this one,” Phoebe says decisively to Roy, nodding at Jamie as she accepts it. 

After breakfast, they head to the park and give the pedicab a rest. Phoebe sprawls on the grass reading The Phantom Tollbooth while Roy has Jamie run drills in the springtime overcast sunlight, and Roy feels prickly with awareness in a way he hadn’t before. 

It’s as if his eyes are independent of his brain, and they just keep noticing. The bunch of Jamie’s shoulders. The tendons that leap out at the back of his hands as they flex. The wrinkle of his nose as he uses his shirt sleeve to wipe his face. 

Roy’s not quite angry that he’s noticing all of this, but perhaps it’s frustration that it’s happening now. He’s had all the time in the world—from their shared locker room to now—to see these things and now his brain is treating them like an I Spy sort of puzzle book. 

“Show me that one again,” Roy says after he’s sat next to Phoebe to check in on her reading, “It needs to be quicker.” 

“And I thought you weren’t even paying attention, Coach,” Jamie tosses out with a grin, but dutifully runs through it as directed. 

Roy wishes he wasn’t paying attention. 

---

“Alright, what do you say to Tartt, then?” Roy prompts as she exits the pedicab and starts hopping up Roy’s front steps. The midday sun is high overhead as the clouds part for a few minutes, and Roy figures he ought to make her lunch from home after having fast food breakfast. 

“Thank you Jamie for pedaling us around and also for the McDonald’s,” she sing songs. Her clear plastic backpack clunks against her back as she waits for him at the door, hopping on the balls of her feet. 

Jamie grins as he gives her the same cheeky salute from this morning. Roy tries not to look at him too hard where he’s sprawled across the handlebars again. “You are very welcome, a girl with good music taste is always welcome in my cab.” 

“You don’t have a cab,” Roy grouses as he follows after her. “You half-borrowed, half-stole this one.” He’s halfway up the steps and expecting a joke, a retort, even a goodbye—anything but a hand on his elbow, halting his movement. 

Roy looks back at Jamie. Down at the hand on him like it’s a wet tentacle wrapping around his arm. Back up at Jamie. 

He’s not even bothered, the fucker. He just points down at Roy’s shoes. 

“Laces are undone. You can’t afford a fall, grandad. That’s when they all start going, you know. Real dark ‘beginning of the end’ business.” Jamie lets him go, and Roy relaxes. He’s in the clear. 

Jamie takes a knee at Roy’s feet. Bending forward, he grasps Roy’s dirty shoelaces and makes them into bunny ears before he ties them neatly and double knots them. 

While he’s bent over, Roy can’t stop staring at the tiny short hairs at the back of Jamie’s neck, at the barely there tan line from a necklace, at the faded roots of his highlights where they’re grown out from the crown of his head. 

Roy’s hands flex at his sides. 

After neatly and unnecessarily retying Roy’s other shoe, he looks up at Roy with a grin that crinkles his eyes. Roy feels like only weeks ago (months ago?), the sight of it made his blood boil and made him assign Jamie adjectives like ‘conceited’ or ‘arrogant wanker’.

Now he sees it spreading over Jamie’s lips and feels like he’s missed a step walking down the stairs. 

“There, all safe now.” 

Roy has never felt less safe, somehow. 

[umbralundertaker]

Because I havent stopped thinking about it ever since I saw it. I want to talk about a detail at the end of Mad Dogs campfire cutscene

Brads statuses make enough sense. But Mad Dog... why is he blind? From my understanding, the whole point of his character is that he is very, very aware.

Mad Dog is distinguished by the fact that he is fully cognizant and understanding of the abuse he is causing and the abuse that his father did unto him.

Marty, Mr Angoneli, Brad's grandfather, Brad himself... Out of all these abusive fathers, Mad Dog is the most fully and completely awake. He knows the full effects of child abuse and trauma and the vicious hellacious cycle of hate; knows how deeply they affect someone and how fully they ruin their lives and families.

Brad's grandfather knows as well, but he sought to cause that pain and expected it to become something positive. Something that could be constructive, that builds character, that teaches you how to defend yourself, that tells you to be greatful, that prepares you for the harsh life ahead. To people like him, it's a lesson to be learned.

Yes, some men either dont care or are unaware of the effects of their abuse. But some fathers value their offspring, their progeny, their blood, so much so that they wish to mold these children into their own image. Brad's grandfather and some of the others believed that, despite how awful this abuse was, there was some positives to be made out of it. Strong men create good times, right?

Mad Dog knows that's not true. He knows it just causes hate and selfishness to broil and stew and magnify in new and increasingly twisted ways each generation.

His conversation shows that he's not blind to the effects of abuse and toxic masculinity. He looks it right in the eye. He's not ignorant or uncaring of how horrific what he's doing is. In fact, he is the only one that can fully see.

Its so odd!!! Why is he blind!!! I know its such a small detail but it nags at me every time i read the transcript (which is often).

[aftermoved]

— ❝ THE PAST HAS CONSEQUENCES ( OPEN )

SQUELCH.

THE SOUND IS STILL RINGING in her ears, like a metronome over and over in a sadistic reminder. HAUNTING. Her hands are shaking, eyes glazed over as her heart races, breath shakes. There was so much BLOOD, it was everywhere, all over her, on her clothes, in her hair, underneath her FINGERTIPS. She vomited it into the streets, it was hellacious, all-consuming.

❝ TAKE HIM OUT. ❞

What choice did she have? If she couldn't have him - if TOMAS... then no one could, right ? Where was her trust now? And why was it wavering? With his face still etched into her mind as he clung onto her, his hands holding her face as he told her he'd love her still as she dug her dagger straight into his chest?

Haden.

Her own blood and bones.

She's stumbling down the street into an alleyway, feet twisting, the dagger still CLUTCHED in one fist as though it will save her now. Gasping for breath, finding nothing but swallowing thickness, suffocating, all stars and blurred vision and why couldn't she BREATHE ? This wasn't her FIRST, and now she knows with a certainty that it will not be her LAST.

Tears start to fall and she wipes them away, smearing crimson across pale cheeks. Legs give, and she falls to her knees, body shaking. ❝ I-I need help. ❞ Her voice is weak, and she knows now, too, that Tomas will not be there to pick her up. Not this time.

— ❝ I-I can't- I can't do this. I need- I c-can't — p-please! ❞

[writer59january13]

Natural soporific narcotic

Recurrent suicidal thoughts

vaingloriously wend along winding road within windmills of my mind

(o'er a death cab for cutie weeknd) yakking, yanking, and yawking zeal

becalming this crash test dummy rolling

stone temple pilot inxs

of maroon 5 plus decades long

perdition hellaciously slogging

slow as adam and the ants,

thru fifty shades of gray's

anatomy common weal

masterly baiting this motley crue (cutting),

beatles browed, beastie boy, foo fighters kickstart new edition

quickening reo speedwagon treadwheel

outre gee (bee) us, grateful dead,

mailer daemons inhabit

cavernous fist size vastness steel

via herbie hancock (hermans hermits)

cheesy munster trap doors that steal,

deep purple swiftly tailored

culture club members squeal

hosted by megadeath

pack rat boston for real

venue at tokyo hotel,

via en grave invitation

signed by alice in chains poison huss kiss

sing, which will spellbind

once contents unveiled,

an instant jane's addiction peal

immediately choking off air supply

then alice cooper egging bad company

to hypnotize the guess who sacrificial meal supplanting raw

primal scream from spinal tap

acquiescing self to abandon all hope,

especially if black sabbath joins

creedance clearwater revival

dark shadows would demand one

(to take a knee) and kneel

before sacrificing oneself

at the beck and call

of evanescent nirvana

experiencing permanent relief,

sans soul (twisted) sister riding a hansom

off phish hull heart shaped coffin

ample room enough for blind

melon collie 10,000 maniacs, their healing powers profusely emanating

via m&m shaped talking heads

methinks averring obeisance

to judas priest and hooters

with metallica linkedin with mötley crüe

coldplay feeling of eternal sleep,

where quiet pussy riot

joins carpenters, whose underground bunker with golden arches resembles empyreal

heavenly vault wreathed soundgarden

with electric light orchestra

sepulchral crowded house indicative

cynthesis iz done on a green day,

whereat dizzy gillespie afterlife deal

and you bet your sweet bippy meme,

an extra bonus for orthodox believers

(absent myself - a skeptic), whose karma credit Suisse

with long deceased meatloaf

with soul asylum and heart to anele!

[the-other-slytherin]

I posted 434 times in 2022

That's 36 more posts than 2021!

10 posts created (2%)

424 posts reblogged (98%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@wheredidhiseyebrowsgo

@rockboci

@a-cumberbatch-of-cookies

@avelera

@therulerofallpotatos

I tagged 12 of my posts in 2022

#fan life - 4 posts

#ao3 - 4 posts

#fan fiction is cathartic - 3 posts

#the umbrella academy - 2 posts

#teen wolf - 2 posts

#a03 fanfic - 2 posts

#fangirl - 2 posts

#ao3fic - 2 posts

#our flags mean death - 2 posts

#chris rock - 2 posts

Longest Tag: 131 characters

#everyone always talks about respecting the source material but the writers said nah were going to improve it and respect our actors

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Opens Tumblr app settling into bed: All right let’s see what new fictional characters my mutuals are hyper fixated on today…..hmmm Sandman and a manga series from the 1997-1999 run of Shojen Jump and ooh! an essay about hyper masculinity in the Top Gun franchise vs healthy relationships in the Cornetto Trilogy. Well who needs sleep?

5 notes - Posted August 28, 2022

#4

TUA SEASON FOUR PREDICTIONS

Nothing, this was a hell scape going in and it will be one going out. I’ve got till it comes out to emotionally fortify myself before I mainline this and honestly: hands sweaty moms spaghetti

Banging Soundtrack

6 notes - Posted September 6, 2022

#3

I Dammed Well Called It!

Since the hellaciously baffling thing know as live action Riverdale has come into being and it’s “we know we’re camp so let’s turn into it” counterpart Sabrina has come into play, I’ve come to the horrific realization that no comic is safe

So, it’s been brewing in my little fangirl head about what over the top supernatural twist that they’d throw out there for fans to mainline and it it me, it hit me hard:: Casper the Friendly Ghost

Hear me out:

They’d set it before Casper was born and focus on his dad and his uncles in the late Victorian/early Edwardian times ( based on the 95 movie )

Since around that time period there was a huge following about occultism, that’s a total factor on Casper’s parents living in that huge Victorian while Casper’s dad is inventing a was to bring spirits to life again

The Uncles are all kind of bastards but they stick around in ghost form around home so it’s probably penance and we get to see what that was

Cause you know there is going to be drama and with the last name of McFadden it’s Irish brogue’s and Catholic guilt for everyone!

Since it in America they can totally show the horrible attitudes taken against the Irish back then.

I kinda think the uncles are like boot leggers, or some sort of shady enterprisers that just interrupt Dad McFaddens occult inventing party and set the towns tongues a wagging

Lots of spooky and period costumes and 25-35 year old actually playing there age so it doesn’t feel creepy watching them flirt

And if Harvey comics agrees to this then they’ll totally cross over Wendy the Good Witch, Hot Stuff (( an adorable demon)), and possibly the Rich Family ((Richies family tree coming into play))

Possibly spin-offs who would want to see a drama about how the Riches got theirs fortune and how they fought to keep it ((very Dynasty))

So why am I typing out into the void? Why am I predicting plot points and possible spin offs, and my hope for actors who get smooch to be playing as adults and not teenagers?Why am I praying it’s more like Are You Afraid of theDark and less like Euphoria?

Peacock announced a live action with a “darker look” and its in the works now.

6 notes - Posted August 28, 2022

#2

I binged watched Our Flags Mean Death last night

Currently the Stede/Blackbeard tag on A03 has 102 pages. I start from the date published (( pg 102-1))

I’m on 96. I will only stop for minimal sleep and tea.

11 notes - Posted April 13, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

I love how they use music in OFMD. Which is why in season two I want an Izzy-centric episode (like how they did with Mary) and towards the end when they’ve twisted our hearts with backstory and longing looks, I want to see Ed and Stede’s reunion from Izzy’s point of view with No Doubts “Don’t Speak” playing as we go to credits. Because that angry first mate is have some 90’s teenage angst because he’s breaking up with Ed ((and Ed doesn’t even realize it))and I am so fucking here for it.

40 notes - Posted April 26, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[godlesshorrors]

𝗖𝗛𝗨𝗖𝗞 𝗘. 𝗖𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗦𝗛𝗢𝗪𝗕𝗜𝗭. 𝗪𝗔𝗧𝗖𝗛𝗢𝗨𝗧! Frank Elder and D&T bring us something incredibly special today. And it's more than just an incredibly wacky and long book title. Presenting: Reg E. Rat's Birthday Fun Center and Same Day Outpatient Care Facility! You all know Edler is going to bring the insanity. You know this because all of his titles are hilarious, dark, and twisted AF. Reg E. Rat is the animatronic horror ICON we've all been waiting for. And, it's an early release and a buck cheaper on Godless! So. What are you waiting for? 𝗚𝗘𝗧 𝗥𝗘𝗚 𝗘. 𝗥𝗔𝗧’𝗦 𝗕𝗜𝗥𝗧𝗛𝗗𝗔𝗬 𝗙𝗨𝗡 𝗖𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗦𝗔𝗠𝗘 𝗗𝗔𝗬 𝗢𝗨𝗧𝗣𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗘𝗡𝗧 𝗖𝗔𝗥𝗘 𝗙𝗔𝗖𝗜𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬 𝗡𝗢𝗪! https://godless.com/products/reg-e-rat-s-birthday-fun-center-and-same-day-outpatient-care-facility-by-frank-edler _______________ Reg E. Rat's Birthday Fun Center and Same Day Outpatient Care Facility by Frank Edler For Mortimer, there are only two things in life to fear: kidney stones and children's birthday parties. For his son, Ichabod, the two things to be afraid of are bullies and lame birthday presents. The father and son duo are about to spend an afternoon facing their worst fears at the quirkiest place on this Earth. Reg E. Rat's is full of maniac animatronics, questionable food and the zaniest medical staff imaginable. Spend a hellacious afternoon. 𝗚𝗘𝗧 𝗥𝗘𝗚 𝗘. 𝗥𝗔𝗧’𝗦 𝗕𝗜𝗥𝗧𝗛𝗗𝗔𝗬 𝗙𝗨𝗡 𝗖𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗦𝗔𝗠𝗘 𝗗𝗔𝗬 𝗢𝗨𝗧𝗣𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗘𝗡𝗧 𝗖𝗔𝗥𝗘 𝗙𝗔𝗖𝗜𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬 𝗡𝗢𝗪! https://godless.com/products/reg-e-rat-s-birthday-fun-center-and-same-day-outpatient-care-facility-by-frank-edler _______________ #godless #godlessapp #godlesshorror #godlesshorrrors #horror #horrorbooks #horrorbookstagram #indiehorror #indiebooks #indiebookstagram #supportindie (at Los Angeles, California) https://www.instagram.com/p/Ckiv7XoJLM2/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[black-licorice-lingerie]

A Look Into Billy Lenz’s Personality (from the book)

Okay so this is going to be my own interpretation of what we learn in the Black Christmas novelization. Specifically, I’m going to be going over the things Billy says. If you’re a huge fan of Black Christmas, or just Billy Lenz and you wish to learn more about him or the whole story, I highly suggest you go check it out right here: (https://100vampirenovels.net/pdf-novels/black-christmas-by-lee-hays-free).

That being said, let’s take a peak at Billy’s personality:

Based on what my 2 am notes describe, Billy is very much socially awkward as the story makes it clear that Billy really wants to communicate with the sorority house beyond using the telephone. Billy actually HATES using the telephone (shocker I know), but is SO shy at talking with others that he can’t help but hide away and establish a distanced method of speaking. This pretty much tells us that Billy can’t help but be afraid of interacting with other people. Billy’s social ineptitude is even shown near the part where he viciously stabs Barb to death. Upon seeing Jess and Barb talk to each other about nightmares and Peter, Billy is depicted as really longing for the kind of communication Jess and Barb are showing.

Another, but small note on Billy’s personality is that he comes across as a bit judgmental. When Barb picks up the phone and talks to her mom about life and such, she gets a bit sassy in attitude. Billy, of course listening to this, begins to judge Barb for daring to speak to her own mother that way. He’s bewildered from Barb having the courage to speak to her mother, an authority figure, in such a snappy tone. Interestingly enough, this points that Billy knows social standards (how and how not to talk to people), but can’t bring himself to properly talk with people to display his mannerism knowledge.

A BIG aspect of Billy’s personality is, without a doubt, insecurity. When Clare is packing her belongings to leave the sorority house, she suspects that Claude is in the room. She calls out to Claude, calling him names for being a silly pet. Billy, who was hiding in the fucking closet for whatever reason, hears this and actually thinks she’s talking about him. After feeling insulted, Billy lost it and murdered Clare with a plastic bag. The thoughts in his head say that he didn’t mean, or want to murder Clare, but that she “left him no choice” for “bullying” him. Clare’s death is an example of how anxious Billy is about himself, showing how he thought a casual conversation towards a cat was about him. He does NOT like being insulted to the point where he reacts violently. Billy has the urge to drastically “defend” himself when he feels insulted in any way.

Possessiveness also seems to be a personality trait of Billy. After having murdered the shit out of Clare and stashing her body up in the attic, he recognizes her father visiting the sorority house. Obviously, Clare’s father is trying to figure out what the fuck happened to her, but Billy’s annoyed at this. Billy describes Clare (at least her corpse) in a way you’d describe an item. Billy’s irritated at Clare’s father coming about and looking for her, because in Billy’s sick mind (the story in his POV), Clare belongs to him now. So not only is Billy hyper-aggressive when he feels insulted, but he has the sick urge to add insult to injury by “claiming” the body of his victims as his toy-like belongings. Clare “insulted” him, and she “paid” for it. To make himself feel better, Billy takes Clare’s body up into where he’s staying, a twisted mimicry of a child getting a toy, or obtaining a friend. That way, Clare surely won’t “mock” Billy anymore, as he now “owns” her.

However, Billy also has self awareness. The story later begins to show that Billy doesn’t like what his mind forces him to believe, and how he behaves. When Mrs. MacHenry is searching the house for Claude, Billy hopes that she doesn’t reach the attic because once she does, he won’t be able to stop himself. Billy hates this about himself.

In conclusion…Billy is clearly mentally ill. Very, very mentally ill. It’s shown that Billy is aware of how to behave towards others, and does (in fact) have a sense of right and wrong since his murderous actions come back to disgust him. However, he’s also very incapable of properly establishing communication between himself and other people. He’s also violently insecure about himself, along with being possessive towards others. He sees that what he does is awful, and even knows the ins and outs of how one should treat authority figures. 

Billy’s personality is under an attack of cognitive dissonance, leading him to even more stress. Deep down inside, despite the sociopathic behaviors, Billy hates that this is an uncontrollable aspect of his brain. Billy wants to be a normal person, Billy wants to be liked, and he doesn’t want to rely on the telephone just to get issues off of his chest. However, something, or some things happened in Billy’s past if he can’t help but behave so hellacious. Billy was so abused and traumatized by events in his childhood, that despite his morality (self sufficient or taught), he can’t help but put on a fight in the name of defending himself. Whatever ridicule, beating, and verbal abuse Billy encountered has cemented into his brain, establishing a psychological illness that leaves him incapable of navigating unfavorable situations other than “attack, attack, attack”.

Billy not being able to control his horrendous actions points to an error in his mind. However, there are many mental illnesses that create a warped view of reality, and a hindered ability to control oneself. So while Billy definitely suffers from a psychological disorder, it’s impossible to get an idea of what exactly he may have...until we use his phone calls to analyze his history and how his mind interprets it, but we’ll have to save that for later in the day.

Anyways, this was my particular analysis of (1974) Billy Lenz’s personality! I wish you all a good ass week, at least better than how I’m reacting to my online class assignments. Remember, stay a simp for slashers.

[thechrissycunningham]

@therebekahmikaelson��� :

“Well, it’s an issue for me, so…” Bekah shrugged, craning her neck as Chrissy gazed into the abyss of the bleachers. She thought about cracking a clock joke (“Seeing any clocks under there?”) but thought it best to be nice. Her confession had sent the cheerleader into a state of shock as expected. “I can compel you to forget what I’ve said if you like. Just go back to normal and forget about you saw. But only if you want.”

Lips twisting uncomfortably, the blonde averted her eyes to an ugly off-white wall of the gymnasium. “Also, in case this needs to be said, I’m not going to hurt you or anything. This isn’t exactly something I share with schoolmates normally.”

She was grateful that Chrissy obliged her question. Too much vulnerable conversation about her own woes made Rebekah Mikaelson’s skin crawl. "As for Jason…” said the girl, returning to a seat, “I get not knowing how he’ll react, but you did trust others enough to say something. If he loves you, wouldn’t he give you the benefit of the doubt? I still say your drug dealer husband is half in love with you but what do I know… I am merely a very old, very wise, very pretty lady with decades of life experience.”

♡ *:･ 𝒞.𝒞. *:･♡         “What? No-” Chrissy shook her head, her mind still reeling. “You don’t have to... um... compel me.” Was that the proper wording? Regardless of the semantics, she didn’t feel like the concept of washing away learned realities felt right. Especially when it involved on of her friends. Sure, being ignorant to it would be more mentally peaceful, but wasn’t that the harsh case for anything in life? She would rather be shaken and informed than blind and oblivious. 

Truthfully, she wasn’t terribly worried about her own safety around Bekah. She’d already had more than ample opportunity to hurt her if she wanted, so she didn’t think that likely. She did have many questions, though! It took all her willpower not to blurt them out and concentrate on the topic being handed to her. 

“Loves me?” She cast Bekah a look, hugging her backpack to her chest. Oh, this was a sensitive topic, for certain. “I mean, I’m sure Jason thinks he loves me, but...” A pause and a wry twist to her lips as her gaze lowered. “I don’t think Jason knows what love really is.”

It was a bitter fact that Chrissy had always known. Nothing about her relationship with Jason was organic. The truth was that they were a romantic item because that was what had always been expected of them; she was the Cheer Captain and he was the Tigers’ Team Captain. It was a social hierarchy that they had been corralled into and she’d been in no place to object. Besides, her mother liked Jason, so breaking up with him would only make her home life even more hellacious. “I think it’s best that he doesn’t know about any of it. Please don’t say anything to him.”     

[crinkle-eyed-boo]

Monday Snippet

I was tagged by @kingsofeverything @haztobegood @jacaranda-bloom and @mercurial-madhouse to share a snippet. I was knocked out for most of last week with a hellacious sinus infection, but I am officially off work for the next two weeks and I’m carving out time every day to write. Here’s a snip from the opening of chapter two of my Reverse Bang before I disappear into my cave to work. 

“What do you think he’s like?” 

“He’s probably an egotistical asshole.” 

“I’ve heard he’s nice!”

“I’ve heard he’s slept with half the corps of the Royal Ballet.” 

“I thought he was dating the artistic director though?” 

Harry rolls his eyes, sitting tall on the floor in a straddle split, his legs forming a perfectly straight line. He takes a deep breath and rolls forward, flattening his chest on the floor like a pancake as he exhales slowly, feeling his body sink into the stretch as he extends his arms in front of him. 

Louis Tomlinson is harshing his first rehearsal buzz, and he’s not even in the room yet. 

And god, Harry loves first rehearsals. It doesn’t matter how many productions he’s been in over the course of the past eighteen years, the thrill of the first day of rehearsals has never faded for him. It’s like the first day of school, full of anticipation and nothing but pure possibility ahead of him. He loves the company-wide class that starts every morning, the principals all the way down to the last member of the corps participating, creating a sense of community. He loves when they break into smaller groups to work on individual scenes. Harry just loves the work. He always has. He woke up this morning fully resolved to not let Louis Tomlinson’s imminent arrival cast a shadow over today and ruin it for him, and he’s doing his best to stick to it. 

“I bet they broke up and that’s why he’s come crawling back to New York after five years.” 

“Maybe he’s sleeping with Liam Payne now–” 

But these gossiping members of the corps just might push him over the edge though. 

“Or maybe he was just offered a great opportunity and you don’t know shit.” 

Harry slowly presses back up from the floor, twisting his torso to the right and biting back a laugh when he sees Zayn Malik glowering at the cluster of dancers, disdain written all over his intimidatingly handsome face.

Tagging you all back plus @disgruntledkittenface @uhoh-but-yeah-alright @louandhazaf @absoloutenonsense @indiaalphawhiskey @myfineline

[cullxtheherd]

Jacob Seed Sings - A Series Of Nonsense (Part 3/?)

“𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐘𝐨𝐮” 𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘: 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐧™ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 𝟖𝟒𝟎 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘯𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘚𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘳 𝘎𝘳𝘶𝘧𝘧, "𝘪’𝘭𝘭-𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭-𝘺𝘰𝘶-𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯-𝘵𝘰-𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦-𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦", 𝘑𝘢𝘤𝘰𝘣 𝘚𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦: 𝘗𝘙𝘖𝘉𝘈𝘉𝘓𝘠 𝘕𝘖𝘛. 𝘉𝘶𝘵, 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯 (𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘣𝘦 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘥, 𝘯𝘱𝘤 𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘶𝘦) 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴/𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦/𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘪𝘳 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘤 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘗𝘌𝘎 𝘢𝘯𝘥?? 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘓𝘋 𝘋𝘌𝘈𝘋 𝘏𝘈𝘕𝘥𝘴... 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘦𝘦 [🆇] 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘢 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘣𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥 - 𝘪 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘱 𝘢𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥!

𝘮𝘺 𝘨𝘖𝘋 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘋𝘦𝘱𝘶𝘵𝘺™ 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴- 𝘯𝘰 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴; 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘹 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦. 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦? 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘬 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘦𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘶𝘮𝘣 𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘻𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘳𝘺𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘬𝘺? 𝘴𝘢𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘺, 𝘵𝘰𝘰.

Being the kind of people Drubman and Boshaw are the first establishment you manage to see the inside of is a well stocked, crowded and rowdy bar promising ‘Open Mic Night’ but for now the jukebox remains a constant in the background, letting loose unfortunately catchy new-age country music.

Despite their promises of taking it ‘easy on ya’ Dep’ the team aptly self-named Shurky orders up a round of the cheapest, stiffest rack whiskey: no chaser. Next up is a pitcher of Pabst a piece which they challenge each other to drink as quickly as they can. Mostly? They make a mess but it’s harmless, boisterous fun and, overall, it makes you laugh- really laugh for the first time in weeks.

Two pitchers each and three rounds deep the jukebox is interrupted by the hum-squeak of a microphone turned on to an already buzzing and too-loud overhead speaker system. The ‘emcee’ for the night is some guy that looks like he operates out of his van in his sister’s lawn and does kids parties on the side; balding, overweight, greasy and unenthusiastic to boot.

Lamely and unimpressed you return to your table and your drinks and when the generic munchie food you ordered arrives the lot of you are all too glad to forget the stage and it’s first few acts careening along in the background.

It’s nearly midnight before Hercules declares he’s gonna stop drinking so he can drive straight but, then, without warning or notice, the tequila arrives and the three of you start making friends with nearby patrons. You aren’t sure when, exactly, but the din of the crowd breaks and, like the majority of them, your attention is finally drawn to the stage and you are genuinely horrified by what you see.

The long, large and lunking form of one of your mortal enemies. All six foot whatever of him, hunched to meet the microphone. Boots are casually notched on the rungs of a much-too-small stool cursed with bearing the brunt of him, but his eyes, thankfully, are closed and in combination with the shitty overhead lights and highly under qualified ‘technician’ you can relax. You are, seemingly, safely hidden away in the blinding congregation.

[🆇]

Jacob Seed produces a noise more pleasant than you’d have imagined in a lifetime and for all of his hacking and coughing and raspiness over the radio? He is capable of producing a clarity that is startling. For a time - however brief, however fleeting - you allow yourself to daydream around this glorified, crooning image. Fantasy takes you places you are much too comfortable with for your own liking: fireside in an abandoned cabin, calmly under a billowing breeze beside the river- anywhere but here and, more unsettlingly, a l o n e. With:

HIM!

“Are you seein’ what in the fuckitty fuck fuuuck I am Sharkules?”

“Yeah in the,” He hiccups, grips tight on the neck of his Miller High Life, “Hellacious fuckin' humdinger I am Hurky- auh? H u r? Yeah. Hurky?!”

Although you are definitely keen on absorbing every spare moment of their carefree, childlike banter you are intensely focused and the half annoyed half amazed conversation fizzles out in favor of rhythm and soul instead. Before you can get too comfortable floating in whimsy here he leans in, lips against the mic and responding to the crowd, “Thank you.”

For the moment you are? Disappointed at the small, humble taste. But when the crowd quiets enough he begins picking out another pleasant rhythm.

[🆇]

“I’m startin’ to hate this Hercules.”

“Shit I got the damn willies,” He sounds as ashamed as you feel, “I need a bigger, better drink for this.”

“Count me in,” You respond without really thinking, eyes still hopelessly fixated on the warbling ginger.

In your infinitesimal, imaginary universe he sings for you- about you; what if he does?

Oh, what if he does?

He has been very nearly romancing you as it is; however violent and brutal he has been about it in following his twisted, sadistic plans- you’ve even heard his song in the wilderness of the Henbane River region. Had he been following you this entire time, taking notes and making plans? For you - the two of you...?

Is this about you? Does he know you are here- had he followed the three of you? You can tell from his plight thus far that he is serious in his madness, but how could this all- all of this unending shit you find yourself knee deep it really be about you?

Only. You. Sinner.

Before you can get any further he’s announcing his final song. The declaration is tumultuous- are you upset? Happy? Conflicted, you decide is the only word near to whatever this emotion really is. The final chords begin and all at once he is answering every question you haven’t asked this evening: he does, he is- he has been.

[🆇]

This is, without a single shred of doubt as his eyes single yours out in the crowd, about you.

[the-other-slytherin]

I Dammed Well Called It!

Since the hellaciously baffling thing know as live action Riverdale has come into being and it’s “we know we’re camp so let’s turn into it” counterpart Sabrina has come into play, I’ve come to the horrific realization that no comic is safe

So, it’s been brewing in my little fangirl head about what over the top supernatural twist that they’d throw out there for fans to mainline and it it me, it hit me hard:: Casper the Friendly Ghost

Hear me out:

They’d set it before Casper was born and focus on his dad and his uncles in the late Victorian/early Edwardian times ( based on the 95 movie )

Since around that time period there was a huge following about occultism, that’s a total factor on Casper’s parents living in that huge Victorian while Casper’s dad is inventing a was to bring spirits to life again

The Uncles are all kind of bastards but they stick around in ghost form around home so it’s probably penance and we get to see what that was

Cause you know there is going to be drama and with the last name of McFadden it’s Irish brogue’s and Catholic guilt for everyone!

Since it in America they can totally show the horrible attitudes taken against the Irish back then.

I kinda think the uncles are like boot leggers, or some sort of shady enterprisers that just interrupt Dad McFaddens occult inventing party and set the towns tongues a wagging

Lots of spooky and period costumes and 25-35 year old actually playing there age so it doesn’t feel creepy watching them flirt

And if Harvey comics agrees to this then they’ll totally cross over Wendy the Good Witch, Hot Stuff (( an adorable demon)), and possibly the Rich Family ((Richies family tree coming into play))

Possibly spin-offs who would want to see a drama about how the Riches got theirs fortune and how they fought to keep it ((very Dynasty))

So why am I typing out into the void? Why am I predicting plot points and possible spin offs, and my hope for actors who get smooch to be playing as adults and not teenagers?Why am I praying it’s more like Are You Afraid of theDark and less like Euphoria?

Peacock announced a live action with a “darker look” and its in the works now.

[jackalgirl]

Stubbornness

Me, yesterday: Today, I am going to get all caught up with my correspondence.  And I’m going to experiment with the sewing machine so I can finish the Hellvet Bag.  And I might even fell down some of the hems of the linen tunic I actually sewed, with only a single drop of blood to appease the demon sewing machine, and which actually fits the Next Generation (the tunic, not the sewing machine).  But first, I will knit the one part of Nikki Van De Car’s “Maile Sweater” that is actually hellaciously difficult for me, so that it is out of the way.

Me:  There!  Done with the sweater part and ready to move on!  Why do I feel exhausted?

Me, looking at the clock, seeing that it is eight-thirty in the evening, and having accomplished absolutely nothing else: Time for bed!

TL;DR: there’s an error in the pattern plus I made some mistakes, and it took me all day to figure it out, because dammit I’m not going to let a pattern beat me like that.

I have placed the fix to the pattern, followed by the full story*, under the cut, if you like gory knitting stories.

* I’ve Suffered For My Art and Now You Will, Too...but only if you wanna.  Because I absolutely hate the “shaggy dog” style of recipe or crafting instruction, where you have to endure a story before you get to the actual instruction.  So I put the correction first.

First, the pattern: https://beacon.by/nikki-van-de-car/maile - it is free and adorable and is one of my two go-to patterns when I’m making jackets for friends’ freshly-sprouted or soon-to-be-sprouting sprogs. 

In the Yoke section, the first part should read:

K yoke to 8 sts before marker, ssk, pm, k6, remove m.  K7 from the 1st sleeve, pm, k2tog. K to 3 sts before end of sleeve, ssk, pm, k to end of sleeve.  K1 stitch from back, k2tog, k to 3 sts before marker, ssk, k1, remove m, k1 st from second sleeve, pm, k2tog, k to 9 sts before end of sleeve, ssk, pm, k to end of sleeve.  K6 sts from left front, pm, k2tog, k to end.

The bolded part is what’s different from Nikki’s original pattern. 

When you are done with this row, you should have 203 stitches on your needles, separated into seven (7) sections:

The middle section (”center back”): 59 stitches. 

The two sections on either side of this (”shoulders”): 36 stitches each. 

Continuing outwards, the next two sections (”lace sections”): 13 stitches each. 

Finally, the last two sections (”jacket fronts”): 23 stitches each.

The pattern’s error is that is has you place the fourth marker two stitches too early, and you end up with 57 stitches in the center back and 38 stitches in the second shoulder section.

Note: from this point onward, you will be decreasing by 8 stitches in every odd-numbered row.  You will repeat lace pattern #2 a total of three times, losing 120 total stitches overall.  This means when you finish the lace pattern’s row 9 for the third time, you’ll have 83 stitches on your needle (8, 13, 6, and 29 sts in the jacket front, lace, shoulder, and center back sections respectively).

The pattern tells you to stop when you have 83 stitches, but go ahead and knit a “wrong-side” button hole row, so that your jacket ends up with four (4) button holes.  Then continue on as per the pattern until you are done.

The pattern doesn’t tell you you have to seam up the sleeves on the undersides, but you do.  Take care to close up the hole in the armpit that is a consequence of inserting all those sleeve stitches between two adjacent jacket stitches.

Oh, look!  A shaggy dog!  (Abandon all hope, etc.)

The original pattern has you knit the sleeves in the flat (from the cuffs upward).  Then, after you’ve knitted up the bottom part of the jacket, this first part of the Yoke section has you knit the sleeves directly into the jacket: after having knitted up the bottom part of the jacket, you knit some stitches, then knit across the first sleeves’ stitches (with some decreases thrown in), then return to the jacket stitches (so you’ve just inserted all those sleeve stitches between two adjacent stitches of the jacket, which is tough), knit across the back, add the second sleeve in the same manner, then the rest of the jacket. 

You’re adding stitch markers along the way -- those sections are to allow you both to knit a section of lace on either side of the jacket’s front, but also to shape the jacket around the shoulders and neck.  So the sections -- and the markers -- are really really important. 

But the pattern does not have any indication of how many stitches should end up in each section.  Nor does it give you an overall stitch count when you are done with that row.  You finish the first part of the jacket with 119 stitches, and then you do this (IMO) technically difficult** step of knitting the sleeves directly into the jacket, with some decreases thrown in for good measure, and end up with...???

** I make it more difficult, of course, by not knitting the sleeves in the flat, so I am attaching tubes (much tension -- many strain) to the jacket instead of relatively flexible flat pieces.  More on that later, if you have not given up on me by then.

I feel like this is one of those patterns by a very accomplished and exceptionally skilled knitter, who is perhaps not taking into account that lesser knitters (like myself) are bound to make mistakes, and for me (ymmv), having stitch counts are really important for keeping track of whether or not I’ve made a mistake.  The lack of stitch counts isn’t a big deal, as long as you don’t make any mistakes.  And this also assumes that the pattern doesn’t contain any mistakes in the first place.

The two previous times I’ve knitted this jacket, not knowing about that error in the pattern and not having a stitch count to compare, I ended up with a not-symmetrical number of stitches in the shoulders of the jacket after attaching the sleeves.  I had chalked it up to a) making mistakes, as I do, and b) always getting excited to continue The Next Part and forgetting to double-check before I do so.  I in each of my previous two jackets, I ended up hiding a decrease in the second shoulder section and forging onward.

This time was no different and, naturally, I only noticed this until about five rows after, because I didn’t remember to double-check until then.  Also, I’d made some mistakes, because the shaping -- although absolutely lovely when it’s done -- is arranged in such a way as to form a pattern that is not sticky for the way my brain is wired to see patterns.  But this time, I remembered that this had happened the previous two times.  Though I was willing to admit that I’d made mistakes again, I began to suspect that there was a problem with the pattern itself.  And I was going to figure it out, by George!

I ended up breaking out the iPad and doing some drawing/counting illustrations in order to figure out what you’re supposed to have after that row of attaching the sleeves.  That’s what helped me recognize the error in the pattern, and why I was ending up with unequal shoulders (in addition to my mistakes).

Rather than frog all the way back to the sleeve attachment (I did not want to go through that again), I simply frogged that little bit of the jacket between the back and the incorrectly-numbered shoulder back to the row where I attached the sleeves, and (I used double-pointed needles for this) knitted the dropped stitches back up with everything shifted over so that the dividing line ended up where it needed to be.  I did the same thing to the other parts where I’d made mistakes (by forgetting to decrease where I was supposed to).   That finally got me to the correct stitch count for the row I was on, with the correct number of stitches in each section. 

This was much more difficult than I’m making it sound, and figuring it out took me all day (and made me cranky, for which I profusely apologized to the Better Half who, to give him credit, demonstrated the “Better” part of that moniker, for which I am very grateful).

Aunt Lorenza’s Modifications - or - Oh look! Another shaggy dog!  (if you’re still with me, blessings be upon you)

As mentioned, I didn’t knit the sleeves in the flat.  I knitted them using the magic loop method, on a circular needle, two-at-a-time.  I did cut the yarn (Nikki recommends you not do this) after they were done, but left a decently long tail (3-4 inches, or 7-10 cm) to take care of the underarm hole.

If you want to do the sleeves this way, you will need extra equipment: five (5) US x double-pointed knitting needles, and an additional set of US x circular needles with a decently long cable (the longer, the better, but no fewer than 24″/61 cm).

Note: I say “x” because what size needle you use depends on your yarn and what size you’re shooting for.  I used fingering-weight yarn and US 4 (3.5mm) needles, but you might end up using something else.  Just make sure they’re all the same size.

First, knit the sleeves, using the magic loop method for circular knitting.  I modified the pattern by casting on using the Chinese Waitress cast-on for the sleeves, so that the cuff would be extra stretchy.

When you are done: transfer the first sleeve to DPNs as so:

from the start of the sleeve’s round, 11 sts on the first needle, 12 sts each on the second and third needles, 11 sts on the fourth needle. 

Note: This is going to help split up the strain on the tube as you’re knitting it into the jacket.  It’ll be easier on your hands, your needles, and also the fabric.

Leave the second sleeve on your original needles and set aside.

Take up your second set of cable needles and knit the jacket.  I used the crochet cast-on so that I would have a braided edge, taking the extra step of deliberately twisting the stitches so that it would be a twisted braid.  I also added a stitch to either side (I cast on 133 sts vice 133) and slipped the first stitch of each row purlwise, knitting it on the return, so that the edges would also have a twisted braid.

In the Yoke section, when you get to the first sleeve (on its DPNs), use the fifth DPN to knit the sleeves’ stitches off of the first DPN, when then becomes your right-hand needle.  Continue in this manner, knitting around the sleeve stitches, as per the pattern.

When you reach the end of the sleeve, pick up the next jacket stitch with your original (circular) needle.  This part takes patience, because all these needles want to be in the way of each other and the yarn, and of course the DPNs want to slide out of the loops.  So go slow for this part.

Follow the pattern until you have gotten 10 or so stitches across the back -- or until it feels relatively secure to you.

You’re now going to need to get the sleeve stitches onto your cable needle (pulling up a loop in the middle of the sleeve so that it lays flat) and free up the DPNs for the next sleeve.  As soon as you get two DPNs free, stop and get the second sleeve off of the other end of the holding cable (half of the sts on one needle, half on the other).  When all of the DPNs are free, set up the second sleeve as you did the first.

Continue with the yoke, adding the second sleeve as the pattern directs.  Leave these DPNs in the second sleeve stitches after you have finished attaching the sleeve so that they can take up the strain.

When you are done with this row and the sleeves are on, knit your wrong-side return -- the DPNs will help you manage the strain on the fabric when you reach the sleeves.  Eventually, as you keep adding rows, you’ll get far enough past the sleeves that you’ll be able to remove the DPNs and the extra cable needle.  And then you can just knit as the pattern is written and you should be fine.

Enjoy!