#i need to break his bones and string him up oh my God

[urjover]

me: i love you peter nureyev i love you hugs you kisses you loves you

me getting out of bio (we talked abt the skeletal system), bees buzzing under my skin: i need to break him PHYSICALLY.

[pastlivesxpastlie]

Wonderful!

I have an nsfw thought about sub!ivy (or sub!vessel) x reader that I can’t get out of my head. Slow, deep, sensual, torturous (but the good kind) blowjob. Dom!reader doesn’t let them use their hands, they just have to take it or beg for more. Gender neutral reader preferred, but whatever you’re comfy with.

I need to bathe in holy water now. Enjoy ☺��

Hiiiii thank u for the request. I also need that holy water bath. maybe even an injection.

NSFW sub!iv x gn softdom!reader under the cut.

established relationship, cock warming, hand/blow job, pet names include "pet," "love," and "good boy," no reader genitals mentioned.

IV is being good. No really, he is! He’s minding his business, scrolling on his phone while you’re still asleep. Nothing can distract him from his quiet moment this rainy morning…except for his morning wood. Just because he was hard didn’t mean he needed to press against you and whine in your neck. You were sleeping! He’d be ok. But when you roll over and he gets a glimpse of your bare chest…he’s done for. Last night you were too sleepy to even put on pjs after your shower. That he could handle! Falling asleep next to your gorgeous body, nude or otherwise, was easy; what was damn-near mind melting was the surge of early morning hormones and blood that clouded his mind.

You look so peaceful. He thinks it would be rude to prod you awake…but god it would feel so amazing to grind against you…to make you writhe and moan as he finally gets played with. He shakes his head and sighs. His hand would have to do. As he pads across the cold hardwood floor to the bathroom, you stir.

“Ivvvyyyy,” you call out in your soft, sleepy voice.

He turns to see you stretching and beams back at you. “Good morning, sunshine.” For a second he thinks he won’t mind taking care of himself even if you’re awake, but then he sees you sit up. God…the way the blankets fall off you. It’s gloomy outside but the light seeping in hits you just right.

“Come back to bed, pet.”

Oh he’s in trouble. When you call him “pet” he knows he needs to be soft for you. Pliable. Submissive. He sits on the bed next to you and gently bumps your shoulder with his, but you turn and immediately start kissing his neck. He can’t think. He doesn’t need to think. 

“Were you actually going to take care of that yourself,” you coo. “I’m right here…”

IV gulps and leans into the kisses you’re placing on his cheek. “I’m…I’m sorry. You just looked too peaceful and…”

You hum contentedly. “That’s sweet, pet. But you know I’ll do anything for you…just…lay back down for me….there we go.” 

He rests on his pillow and watches as you slide off his underwear. The cool air of the bedroom is a welcome reprieve from the hot, aching need he experienced since he woke up. When you spread his thighs and settle down between them, his cock twitches. The muscle memory of you taking care of him working hard. 

“So eager in the morning for me…I can’t believe you didn’t want to wake me up for this… I should remind you what you can have if you’re a…”

His eyes are dreamy and hazy. He wants you to say it. PLEASE say it… He nods dumbly. “Go on.” 

“Hmm I don’t think I will.”

“Love, please say it,” he whines as you slowly trace lazy patterns over his hip bones. 

“Show me you deserve it. Put your hands behind your back….”

IV begrudgingly lays on his arms. He whines just from doing it because he wants to touch you so badly. Why does he have to suffer just to hear his favorite pet name? 

“Ivy. Look at me, pet.”

And he does. You two don’t break eye contact as you let a string of spit wet his cock. He shivers as the wetness mixes with the air but soon the room is filled with the sounds of his whines. His pleas. The long, languid strokes of your hand spreading the wetness indeed feels so much better than if he had done it himself. As he relaxes into your touch, he doesn’t feel the urge to use his hands. He doesn’t need to guide your head. His eyes roll back and close as you slowly stroke him, adding more spit and sweet-talking him. You praise him as his cock twitches from your soft grip going up and over the head of his cock; his sweet whimpers only make you go slower.

“Love…I need more. Please…” he begs.

“Tell me what you need, pet. ‘More’ doesn’t help me very much…” you tease lovingly. You rest your elbow on his waist and smile up at him. “Come on…”

Your grip loosens, which elicits a whine from IV and desperate hip bucking. He bites his lip when he sees you smile proudly. Maybe you’ll say it…he just has to find the words…the brain power to… “fffffuck. Please just suck it. I need your mouth…please… I’ll wake you up the next time I need to get off, I promise…love…PLEASE.” Your hand feels so good but he feels just the slightest bit neglected. He needs to feel your full attention. Your affection.

Without a word, you rub your lips on the underside of his cock. Your wet lips are a welcome sensation even though he desperately wants to use your mouth and hold your head in place. Instead he slips even further into his fuzzy warm headspace as you take him all the way in your mouth. He can feel the flutters of your breath tickle his body hair as you reach your limit. It’s ok that it isn’t all the way to the back…he’s just happy to be here. As you cockwarm him, your hand trails up his soft body, gently caressing him…kneading him where he’s soft and squishy like cookie dough. His cock twitches every time you let out a content laugh–one part because he likes to make you happy, the other part because the vibration is heavenly. Your fingertips trace his nipples delicately, which causes his hips to buck up, pushing him in deeper.

“Sorry…sorry love…”

You slowly pull him from your mouth. “If it feels good I want you to let me know…don’t apologize. You're being good, Ivy. You can move your arms now. No touching except my hand, ok?”

IV nods as he moves his sore arms from under his back. He places his hands on his chest and feels butterflies in his soft tummy when you gently touch his fingers.

“Hold my hand there, pet. I want to feel how excited you get…”

And when he moves his warm hands over yours on his chest, he might as well have purred. 

“And that’s why I call you ‘pet,’ my little animal. Do you know what else they call good pets, Ivy?”

He takes a sharp inhale. Oh my god. Oh my god. You might say it. “I think I might…but I…I need you to tell me, love.”

“Hmm,” you say thoughtfully as you cup his balls close to him, “well, I can only speak for myself…and what I have…is a good. boy.”

He can’t help my arch his back and choke back a moan–you finally said what he needed and he finally had some relief. Your slick mouth expertly moved up and down his shaft, taking special care to hollow your cheeks the closer you got to his head. His hands mashed your free hand into his chest. You could feel his heart pounding, his chest contracting from his ragged breath…moans bubbling from deep within him before they left his pretty lips. The way you gently tugged at his balls made his eyes cross but that was quickly forgotten as you’d let your lips glide all the way to the top of his cock’s head and then slowly…tenderly lowering yourself down. He gripped your arm to try and center himself, but he was losing all composure. He was so close and drunk on the sensation that he couldn’t even control his mouth. He begged, just whimpering “please please please please,” over and over. He whined out your name.  “Fuuck…just like that, just like that, please don’t stop.” He was pathetic. His eyes water as you keep him right on the edge. He is so desperate that he cries out like a trapped animal. “Please tell me I'm a good boy again. Please. PLEASE.”

He’s writhing. And has suffered long enough. You take his cock out of your mouth and stroke it quickly… just the way he likes it. “You’re my good boy. Aren’t you? Such a good boy…with such a pretty cock..”

Oh he can’t handle that sweet talk. Not for a second. All the while you’re praising him, he’s shooting his ropes over your hand…but that doesn’t stop you. You coo at him and kiss his stomach as you continue to rub him, using his cum as lube. When you move up to lay beside him, he’s a sniffling, whimpery mess. He pulls you close and kisses you deeply but so gently. “Thank you, love….god…thank you. You are going to get yours tonight…just you wait.”

[whaleofatjme1920]

Unrequited Love and Other Angst Minis

[Creepypasta, Marble Hornets X GN!Reader]

[Warnings: Emotional manipulation, angst, bunch of sad thoughts MINORS DNI]

[AN: returning to my roots of breaking hearts. Did you see the Bones and All reference? LOVE Bones and All.]

Reblogs are appreciated!

Slenderman

How entirely foolish of you, to think you could ever earn and even think you deserve the special, specific love of a god.

He doesn't even need you to actually say it. He can smell it. It makes him feel an overwhelming disgust for you.

Humans and their pathetic emotions of love, how despicable. He actually takes a moment or so to think about how he wants to handle this. He can't really get rid of you. I mean, he can, but you're still useful to him even though you're so blinded by him and your feelings for him.

If you were a favored proxy of his, consider your emotions now heavily exploited! He will string you along due to your affection and desire for him that crosses far over the 'love' he usually gives his proxies.

He will destroy you from the inside out knowing that you love him and want him like a lover does. Will bring you to the highest peak only to send you plummeting down when he takes his warmth away. It's a vicious cycle, his hatred of you for feeling actual love for him, and his glee in knowing he can exploit you.

Jeff the Killer

Oh isn't this rich? One of Slender's pets is feeling the desire for something other than heavy obedience? He too desires to exploit this kind of love.

You tell him and he cackles at you, damn near berates you for feeling this way towards him. And then, when he realizes you're being entirely serious, it makes him pause. That's something he can use.

Similar to Slender, he will string you along too. But it's not... always bad. He will play around with you like he loves you, but his touch is always empty. His gaze is always cold. He doesn't actually care about you the way you care about him.

But how you feel doesn't really concern him. As long as you do as he asks, the things he doesn't want to do, the tasks he wants to half bake, the things that were meant as punishments for him, he doesn't care as long as you're functional.

In that same light, he won't let you do similar for anyone else. He will keep you trapped under his thumb, his hold suffocating, but all you can think of is how at least he's still in your life.

Eyeless Jack

He too laughs. You're joking, you gotta be. There's no way you're actually serious. He sees you as an ally, not necessarily a friend. He doesn't think he's actually done anything special to earn that attention from you.

It does give him an ego boost, but he doesn't like you back. Straight up tells you that the two of you will never happen. Jack is capable of a romantic relationship, but it wouldn't be with you for whatever reason he's listed off to you right then and there.

The notion of closure from him is far too uncomfortable. He's precise and cutting in the way he explains WHY he doesn't like you or doesn't think the two of you would work out. Still, he'd like to keep your company as a friend.

That's where it hurts the most. That ego boost he felt from knowing that you like him makes him act a bit differently whenever you're out with him. EJ is, at least the way I usually write him, an asshole. It's kind of an experiment for him: how much can he prod until you lash out at him?

And when you do lash out, he only laughs. He's never really taken you as seriously as you do him. Though, a part of him does feel bad seeing you like this. The Slenderman calls you one of his most beloved because you're efficient, powerful, and tactically minded. Gods, it's fascinating how love messes with the human mind.

Masky (Written more like Tim)

One of those rare scenarios where Tim actually DOES love you back. God, does he love you back. He knows how dangerous it is to have an actual relationship, but the more human part of him wants to say 'screw it' and let himself be happy for once.

You watch the light in his eyes die when he realizes what this means after you confess. If the Slenderman finds out, he'll exploit the hell out of the two of you and one of you might end up dying to the other's hand. Usually, proxies being romantically involved together wouldn't be an issue, but you and Tim are so specifically on The Operator's radar.

For one night, the two of you love each other. It's a pure kind of love, the kind two souls who were lost found home in each other kind of love.

But when the morning comes, he's gone, and you're transferring groups. Masky and Tim unanimously agreed to keep you safe that you can no longer keep in contact with one another, and that means switching groups and moving as far away from each other as you can. In that same breath, the two agreed to relinquish and deny all feelings for you.

You find Masky a few years later, just a stupid joint mission your boss wants you to complete and for your team to act as extra muscle. Your heart swells seeing Masky. He barely looks you in the eye, and in that moment, you realize the man who'd loved you died before the Slenderman could get to him first.

Hoodie

How tragic. Hoodie feels at odds with himself, both the human and proxy part of him. They're warring with each other, but both of them unanimously agree that they don't love you back, at least, not like that.

Brian himself is especially in a lot of turmoil over this confession. As his group's right hand and you as a runt, he's not quite sure HOW to process something like this. It's so human to love, so human to speak in tones like this, and so human to touch with just a single glance.

Brian doesn't want to be human anymore, not like this. He allows Hoodie to take full control, and that means icing you out as much as he can to defend himself from any further pain. It's not like Brian OR Hoodie want to, but it's to keep you safe. To keep himself safe.

It doesn't really matter in the end. The Slenderman finds out about your 'much too human' emotions, and decides to punish the right hand for not acting with authority sooner. It breaks his heart to know the Slenderman's plan, and he becomes a shell of himself when he sees it enacted. The Slenderman set you 'free', and after you'd just let your guard down, he sent Hoodie to finish the job. Your heart, the trophy and proof.

Your boss, ever the romantic, wanted it still beating.

Toby

Toby feels a lot of different things when you confess to him on accident. His heart beats just a little faster but an old wound feels like it's been ripped wide open after what the Slenderman did to him and Clockwork for daring to be in love. It honestly makes him panic.

He really considers it. He loves you too. Well, romantic love might not be the right notion. He definitely loves you, but it's a newfound overwhelming desire to take care of you and take you far away from this world. So, that's exactly what he does. He runs away with you.

"You want to be people? Let's be people." "Yeah, let's be them for a while." For a few months, you and Toby are quite happy. Wide open space, the stars, a modest little home to call your own. He knows he shouldn't be doing this, and it's bound to not last. There's no way the two of you won't be tracked down, but Toby only hopes that it's himself being punished, not you.

Of course, it all comes crashing down. Toby tries his hardest to keep you safe, to keep the promise he made to himself kept. But it doesn't really matter. He got his wish: he was being punished. The Slenderman, in all his paternal love and glory, forced Toby's hand.

As he held you while you took your final breaths, dying from wounds his hands had inflicted on you, he sobbed, cursing the day he allowed himself to feel love rather than denying and burying it. He hates that he's the reason people he cares about keep getting hurt.

[mintmatcha]

cw: fem reader with she/her pronouns, zbaby and child talk.

"What if they don't like me?"

Osamu turns so suddenly that you're afraid he's going to swerve the car, humor drained from his face.

"They like 'tsumu." He stares at you a bit too long before looking back at the road. Luckily, out here in farm land, in between acres of crops, there's no one else driving.

You glance over your shoulder, expecting his twin to defend himself, but the instead the blonde is slumped in his chair, neck cocked oddly to the side. Despite your attempt to fight it, a smile creeps up on the corners of your lips. Even with drool on his cheek and a bit of a snore, he's beautiful.

"If our friends like him, they'll like anyone," Osamu clarifies.

Osamu is beautiful too, of course. They are twins; it would be strange for you not to find them both attractive, but Osamu doesn't glow like Atsumu does. Not to you, anyway.

You've spent a lot of time looking at their faces. Both men have round cheek bones and low nose bridges, with the same copper skin all year round, but Osamu's nose doesn't crinkle when he laughs, Osamu doesnt hum when he's thinking, and Osamu certainly doesn't look at you with a smile so bright it's as if he's staring into the sun.

You turn back around and stare at the road, flustered by your own romantic waxing.

"Can I talk to you about something?"

Osamu's hands squeak against the pleather steering wheel. "Sure. Why not?"

"I like your brother a lot, but-"

"Oh, fucking shit, fuck," Osamu's eyes are wide, cursing low as to not waking up the man in question, "You're breaking up with him?"

"No! No, I'm so in lo-" you stop yourself for admitting to that, "Things are good. We are good."

"Thank fucking god," Osamu sighs. "He's having a lot of fun with you."

That sentence does nothing to calm the sick feeling in your stomach. You pick at the edge of your dress, pulling away loose strings and nonexistent pieces of lint.

"That's my worry." The road continues straight, almost disappearing into the distance, but a house ha come into view, perched upon all this land, "Osamu, I'm really serious about your brother. I think I wanna marry him one day."

Osamu was your friend before you even knew his brother. At first, he seemed to dislike your relationship, but lately, he's warmed up to it. His hand pats your knee with the platonic warmth, "And that's bad because...?"

"I'm worried he's just having fun with me," you admit, "I don't know if he ever wants to settle down and get married or have kids or-"

Osamu cuts you off with a thunderous, booming bark of a laugh.

"'samu!" Atsumu pokes his head between the front seats with a whine. "You scared me."

"Oh, cram it." Osamu's wiping a tear from his cheek, "Blame your girlfriend for being so funny."

Atsumu squeezes your shoulder with a hum, still drowsy. "She's fucking hilarious."

You watch Osamu, hoping for an explanation, but he just raises his eyebrows and bites his lip, shoulders bouncing with silent laughter. Is he laughing at you? Is this why he didn't want you dating his brother?

The two of them talk a little as the house gets closer and closer, but you can't bring yourself to say anything until the tires start to crunch on the pebbled driveway.

"It's Kiba, right?"

"Kita," Atsumu corrects, "And Aran and his wife and Suna and his Komori are coming too,"

"Can't believe I'm the last single one," Osamu laments.

"You're practically fucking your restaurant,"

"You're married to the store."

You and Atsumu quip at the same time. He laughs, reaching to grab your hand, but you don't connect with him. Osamu's laughter is still ringing in your ears.

Is it that stupid to want to be with Atsumu? Maybe you do need to break up.

When Osamu parks the car, a man is already waiting on the porch. His hair is a salt and pepper splattering, stark against his deeply tanned skin. He has the calm presence that you were told about; you can feel it the second you step out of the car.

"Kita!" Osamu greets.

"Welcome. It's so nice to-"

The slam of the bar door and Atsumu's voice cuts him off. "Where's my girl?"

A puff of curly grey hair streaks from the front door and barrels its way down the dirt driveway, barefoot and dress akimbo. You barely have time to realize it's a child before she's launched herself into Atsumu's awaiting arms. He catches her with ease, twirling her around in a circle as they both dissolve into laughter.

"Stormy girl!"

"Uncle Atsumu!" she giggles,"Throw me! Throw me!"

He squats down a bit and then launches up, tossing the little girl into the air and immediately catching her again. He does that a couple times, laughing all the way.

"Again! Again!"

"Later," he nestles her into his side easily, despite her much too be to be carried, "Me and your aunt over there will play with you all you want, okay?"

You melt a bit. Aunt- as if you're already family.

Kita, who's clearly her father the more you look at the both of them, just sighs, amused. "Please remember that you cannot throw the baby like that."

"Kita-san! I'm not gonna throw the baby!" Atsumu says with mock offense, "I'm just gonna sniff her little head."

"What?' Osamu gawks, turning ro you in horror.

"Don'tcha know babies smell good?" Atsumu turns to you too, "He's hopeless, huh?"

The glimmer in his eye makes your stomach flip flop. He looks so good like this, hair tussled and a baby on his hip.

"Hopeless," you agree.

The other other men start chatting, heading in towards the house, but Atsumu heads to you.

"Baby, this one right here is my favorite girl in the world," he gestures to Kita's daughter, "Stormy girl, this is my girlfriend. Say hi."

"Hi, Miss Girlfriend," she says, "Nice to meet you."

"Aww, you have such nice manners," you say, "It's nice to meet you too, Stormy."

"That's not really my name. Uncle Atsumu is just silly." She wriggles until he lets her down, "Wanna see my baby sister? She's too tiny to walk, so we gotta go to her."

"Please say yes-" Atsumu whispers not so quietly, "I've been dying to hold this stupid baby."

A warmth overtakes your earlier worries. "I'd love that."

-

Hours later, after everyone has arrived and dinner is long finished, the whole group is gathered in the living room. Aran, Suna, Kiba- you almost have their names down - are all reminiscing about high school as their partners mingle to themselves. Atsumu is on the couch, pinned in place by a sleeping six year old across his lap and a fussy baby in his arms. Somehow, he still looks peaceful and content.

"I hate to admit it," Osamu saddles up beside you, qine glass in hand, "Baby head does have a good smell."

"Yeah," you agree.

"About your concern earlier... He'd marry you today if he could," Osamu continues quietly, "He's been telling Ma about how much he loves you."

An elbow bumps against your side. "He's not afraid to say it like you are."

You titter a bit over that, embarrassed but glowing at the thought of being loved back, "I'll say it soon."

"Just be careful," Osamu takes a long drink, "He's gonna have baby fever for the next month, so you better set an alarm for birth control or whatever."

You look at your boyfriend as he stares down at blissed out smile.

"Maybe I want a baby too."

[mind-empty-just-fictional-people]

I love how you write soldier boy…would you be able to write how he reacts with a spider-woman reader…she’s just swinging webs all around him and his old man brain cannot handle it. She’s a fit as a fiddle and she’s stressing him out because she will not just…sit down! (Preferably they’ve been dating for ages) 💖

More Than a Spider Can

masterlist

pairing: soldier boy x female reader

rating: R for language

word count: 1.4k

warnings: language, talk of sex, the boys spoilers

timeline: set in an au shortly after the events of season 3

author’s note: another request!? i’m genuinely flattered! sending you so much love anon, thank you! this was so fun to write, and something i never would’ve thought of! thank you so so much!

gif source

You’d have to thank Butcher one day for introducing you to the Supe you now lived with. He had needed a place to “hide” Soldier Boy shortly after the Supe incapacitated Homelander. You were hesitant at first, but Soldier Boy had just de-powered the most dangerous person on the planet, you had to help him out!

Butcher claimed it wouldn’t be for very long, but Soldier Boy never ended up leaving. Not that you minded, he was surprisingly sweet. You expected him to be a complete asshole but he wasn’t as bad as the stories you’d heard.

After about a month you took him up on the offer he’d made the first second he saw you. You spent a night together. Then another. And another. And a few more. And before you could overthink it, you said those three words that he then repeated.

With Mallory’s help, Butcher managed to clear Soldier Boy’s name, and even get the two of you a job at Supe Affairs (which was now run by Hughie since Neuman was running for Vice President).

So now, here you were; asking Hughie for clearance to go after a Supe who’d been stalking their ex.

“Y/n, there’s no actual proof this guy is doing anything you���re saying he’s done!” Hughie said.

“Hughie, the witness is a friend of mine. She’s not fucking lying about this!”

“I believe you, but I need proof before I let Soldier Boy kick his ass!”

“Soldier Boy won’t lay a hand on him, you have my word.”

“Oh, so you suddenly have control over Soldier Boy?”

“No, but I am faster than him! I’ll have this guy webbed up before Ben even gets there.”

“Ben,” He laughed a little. “Still can’t believe you’re dating the guy. Figured you’d hate Butcher for dumping him on you, but turns out you fell in love.”

“Okay,” You rolled your eyes at his teasing. “Just shut up and sign the damn form so I can get this asshole.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. But you better be sure Ben doesn’t break any fuckin’ bones. I’m tired of cleaning up your boyfriend’s messes.”

**

“What the absolute fuck…” Ben furrowed his brows, walking into the kitchen. “Y/n!?”

“Yes?” You asked, clinging to the roof.

“God-fucking-damnit woman!” He exclaimed, putting a hand to his chest. “Why does our kitchen look like a spider puked in here?”

“I’m just making dinner, Ben, calm down! I’ll clean this all up when I’m done.” You hopped down from the roof.

“You…” He tried opening the fridge but it was stuck. “Y/n, I’m trying to stay calm here but why the fuck can’t I open the fridge?”

“Sorry,” You smiled with cringe-clenched teeth. You opened the door for him.

“So why are you on the roof?” He asked when you jumped back up.

“I cook better when things are upside down,” You shrugged with a smile.

“I sure do wish your mouth was close enough to kiss, though,” He sighed dramatically, you rolled your eyes a little. You let yourself down a few feet, hanging on a string of web.

“I think kisses are better upside down too,” You smiled. He kissed you, smiling against your lips.

**

“Dinner is served,” You smiled, holding two plates as you walked into the living room.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Ben smiled when he took a plate. He furrowed his brows a little when you didn’t sit down right away. “Aren’t you gonna eat?”

“Yeah, of course,” You replied. Before Ben could say anything, you jumped up onto the roof before letting yourself hang upside down on a string of web. “What’re we watching?”

“Uh…Smallville,” He nodded slightly. “It’s…what was on…” He trailed off a little as you began eating upside down. “Honey, wha…what’re you doing?”

“Eating dinner?” You furrowed your brows. “Why? Is something wrong?”

“No it’s…all good,” He replied.

“So, you think Homelander ever watched this show?” You asked, half-heartedly.

“No clue,” Ben mumbled.

“Oh, by the way! Hughie gave me the thumbs up for going after Cara’s ex.”

“Cara?”

“Yeah, my old neighbor, you met her. Her ex is that creepy Supe who’s only power is x-ray vision and all he does is hang around outside dressing rooms and Victoria’s Secret stores.”

“Uh huh?”

“Anyway, Hughie gave me his location, I’m going after him tomorrow night. It’s no biggie if you don’t wanna come with me, it’s not gonna be much of a fight.”

“No, yeah…I’ll get the next one…have fun.”

There was about thirty seconds of silence before you put your plate down and swung your way over to the kitchen. You came back a moment later with two cold beers.

“Okay, would you stop!” He suddenly snapped.

“Ben?”

“You- Just- Goddamnit Y/n, I wanted to just fucking sit with you and watch this show but you’re on the fucking roof! Are you mad at me or something? Why don’t you want to relax with me?” What started off as an angry expression turned to one of hurt, which broke your heart a little.

“Ben, I’m not mad at you!” You exclaimed, hurrying down from the roof and sitting next to him. “I’m sorry, I just- I dunno, I don’t think much of it. I just like being off the floor.”

“It does look pretty fun,” He mumbled. He pulled you onto his lap, keeping your back pressed against his chest. “But sometimes I just want you here on the floor with us non-spider-people.”

“Okay, I’ll try and walk around like a normal person,” You huffed. “But only cause I love you so much.” You turned and kissed him quickly before focusing on the TV.

**

“Ben, what are you doing here?” You asked him the following night. “This is my case, I’m supposed to bring this guy in.”

“Oh, c’mon, don’t pretend you aren’t thrilled to see me,” He smirked.

“Of course I’m happy to see you,” You smiled, putting a hand on his cheek. “Just let me take the lead on this one, okay?”

“Fine,” He sighed.

“Are you two gonna eye-fuck all night or can we fight like regular freaks and get this over with?” The man at the other end of the street shouted.

“Think I’m gonna eye-fuck her a little longer if you don’t mind!” Ben called back. “I take it back, I’m bringing this asshole down!” He smirked then took off down the street.

“Fuck,” You mumbled to yourself. You knew full well you were faster than Ben but you didn’t like showing him up all the time. “Oh well.”

You thwiped a thick piece of web to a billboard above the street and hurled yourself up and onto it. You then ran down the side of a building and landed on top of the Supe before he could see where you were. You had him webbed up like a fly before Ben even made it down the street.

“Seriously? You take all the fun out of this!” Ben grumbled. “You can’t just web the guy up! I was in the mood for some ass kicking!”

“I think the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you so much my beautiful girlfriend, Y/n! Because of you I still have a job at the bureau and now we can go relax in our apartment because you managed to take down this Supe in record time!’ Then I would have said, ‘of course Soldier Boy! I love you so much and you’re very welcome’.”

“I love you too,” He mumbled.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you?” You asked, walking up to him. You wrapped your hands behind his head, running your fingers through his hair.

“I love you too,” He rolled his eyes a little.

“Come on, just kill me, I’d rather that, then watch this!” The webbed-up Supe groaned. “Y/n, I thought your type was guys your age, not-” He was cut off by you webbing his mouth closed.

“What does Campbell want us to do with this asshole?” Ben asked, not letting his green eyes break contact with your love-filled ones. You tilted your head a little and smirked. “What?”

“You just called Hughie by his real name,” You giggled. Ben thought about it for a second and sighed with annoyance when he realized you were right.

[babydollmarauders]

Okay, I am here with Frat!Jack thoughts

1.) Baby doll likes hickeys but doesn't like having to bundle up when the weather starts getting warmer coz lil sensory issues with sweating (girl same) so jack comprises with leaving them in her thighs just BARELY covered by her skirt.

2.) Frat!Jack finally pulling his head out his ass and coming back for his girl coz Luke said she was going on a date (she wasn't) to a coffee shop (it was the first time she'd left the house semi presentable in days) with a guy on the basketball team (god fucking forbid) and Jack's brain was just *car crash noises* and he came storming in like "YOU'RE MY WOMAN BE GONE THIEF." except no thief. Just baby doll like 😧

3.) Hockey Frat House is a big party house for the girlies coz the guys drink their respect women juice coz Queen Ellen is feared and beloved

4.) everyone on the devil's (once jack gets head out his ass) expecting the rookie to be a little fratboy shithead chasing puck bunnies except first game Baby doll comes too he's all 😍😍 wife guy but in the not weird way and the team is like. Okay.... Sure.

5.) That icebreaker scene that blew up on Tiktok of the main dude coming to get his girl to come back to bed with him in the middle of a party in just his boxers to cuddle? That. Twice.

6.) Jack being given a Taylor swift style friendship bracelet that's bright pink that says Babydoll on it as a joke but he wears it ALL THE TIME.

7.) Trevor being absolutely scandalised whenever they so much as look at each other. Because obviously.

....I have other au thoughts....

addressing these one by one!!

1. babydoll loves hickeys but no one loves them more than jack! his absolute favorite thing is to mark her up! they definitely compromise by letting him give them to her only in spaces that can be covered by her skirts. jack goes a bit overboard sometimes,, i’m talking upper thighs, hip bones, lower stomach, ass, ALL OVER THAT AREA and babydoll gives him a look like “really?”.

2. i’m a firm believer that babydoll and luke become besties when he gets to umich and jack hates it but loves it at the same time. but it definitely comes in handy during times like that when jack and babydoll are on a break and luke pulls some matchmaking strings to get get them back together.

3. oh for sure! i mean, the guys might be fuckboys, but they’re respectful! most certainly because they know Mrs. Hughes wouldn’t hesitate to yell at them if she heard they were anything but respectful!

4. the devils guys definitely expect some cocky fuckboy frat boy, so when jack arrives and won’t stop mentioning his beautiful girlfriend and talks about how he misses her because she’s still in Michigan for another year? the team is shocked and just like “oh?? okay then…”. there’s definitely still a few teammates that expect him to be sleeping with puck bunnies the first chance he gets, but then at their first team outing at the bar after a winning game, jack is just incredibly drunk and moaning about how he just wants his girl and turning down any other girl who comes up to him.

5. that happens at least twice! just a sleepy and still a bit tipsy jack, wandering down the stairs of the frat in nothing but his boxers, earning quite a few whistles and shouts as he walks straight to babydoll— boy will not take no for an answer, he doesn’t even give her the time to say anything, he just lifts her into his arms and turns back around and straight back to his room. babydoll is just looking at him stunned and goes “jacky, what are you doing?” and he’s all pouty, replying with “you left. i need cuddles.”

6. he definitely receives the bracelet at a sorority party that one of babydoll’s friends put together. all the other guys that got bracelets with their girls names on them threw the bracelets away, but not jack. that bracelet becomes a staple in his wardrobe, only coming off to shower.

7. oh god, babydoll and jack even breathe in the same vicinity and trevor is giving them the most disgusted look, telling them to “get a room.” and “not everyone wants your love disease, some of us don’t wanna see that.” and jack and babydoll are just “?????”

[pavlovianfuckery]

lets be mean to dream 2:electric boogaloo

A/N: Re-uploading all my fics after having a slight mental breakdown and deleting everything so this is kind of old, but bone apple tea and all that anyway

AO3

The Master-masterlist

Fandom Masterlist

Summary: I can't be the only one who has wanted to hook Dream up to an e-stim unit and zap him until his galaxy-brain turns to mush, right? Or maybe I am, I don't fucking know

Pairing: Dream/F!Reader

Notes: e-stim, edging, some light bondage, no use of y/n

Length: 3300~ words

The way he trusted you would probably never cease to amaze you. Not blindly or without the occasional teasing remark but he did, even if you sometimes treated him a little bit like a science project, especially in the bedroom. Lately one of your favorite pastimes had been introducing him to what one might call the many wonders of modern living. Morpheus himself however seemed to prefer calling it "your inexplicable fondness for lewd objects". But since he was in turn fond of you, it usually worked itself out.

At the end of the day you were just glad for the moments he'd spend with you, both in and out of the bedroom. Here in this little bubble you share, he doesn't have to carry all the weight of who he is. All he needs to be is yours, nothing more or less than that. And if for those small snippets of time he could relax a bit and just feel, all the better. Gods knew that if anyone needed a break, it was him.

You weren't sure how he'd react this time, but you were equal parts eager and nervous to find out.

⁂

It takes a few days until you see him again, so by the time he visits you in the Waking you've half forgotten about the unassuming black bag on your nightstand. You'd been debating with yourself how to bring it up, or if you even should. While he'd yet to refuse you, what you had in mind this time would push him, perhaps a bit too much. The decision is soon out of your hands because he notices it the minute he enters your bedroom. He doesn't ask what's inside though, simply giving it an apprehensive look.

"You are in a gaming mood tonight, I see."

There's not much point denying it, so you wrap your arms around his waist and give him a quick kiss.

"Maybe." You grin at him, though inwardly you're still not quite sure about this. Maybe going out and buying those extras was putting the cart in front of the horse? "I wanted to try something a bit different tonight."

"You know that I would deny you nothing, my sweet."

That nearly makes you wince, because he clearly has no idea what he's in for.

"Maybe don't make me any promises just yet," you laugh, taking his hand. "Come to bed?"

He follows you so eagerly, it almost makes you feel a bit bad. Only almost though, because this could potentially be fun. Not wanting to get ahead of yourself you sit down and pat the covers next to you.

"Well?" He looks at you expectantly as he joins you there, lips twitching into a small smile. "It is not quite like you to be this secretive." His eyes are full of mirth as he continues, "Should I perhaps be worried that you have planned something nefarious?"

That's one of the things you love about him, the way he knows exactly how to put you at ease with nothing but a few words. You take a deep breath and let it out through your nose.

"That's not the word I'd use, but maybe it's better if I show you." You scoot back a bit and grab the bag, placing it between you. It's quick work to get it open and lay some of the items out on the covers.

"Is this what you were worried to show me?" He picks up some of the cables and frowns in what for him is very apparent confusion. "Pieces of string and..." He picks up another part and turns it around in his hands, "a box?"

Oh, this will be fun.

"It's not just any box, "you're tempted to waggle your eyebrows at him as you continue, "it's a magical box."

"A magical box."

Between his deadpan delivery and obvious scepticism, you can't quite hold back a snort.

"Ok, it's not magical. It can make you feel really good though." You shift on the bed, already imagining all the things you want to do to him.

"And you wish to use it on me, I assume?" He doesn't sound disinterested so far, which makes your stomach fill with hopeful butterflies.

"Yeah. Kind of a lot. If you want, of course." You inwardly cross your fingers as he considers it.

"Very well." He eyes the items laid out between you again and continues, "Though I am afraid that I am quite at a loss as to how you would use most of these items."

"You don't need to worry about that part, let me handle that." You lean forward and kiss the corner of his mouth, smiling as you hook a finger in the neckline of his shirt and give it a small pull. "The clothes need to go, though."

You don't think you'll ever get bored of watching him undress. Even here in the Waking he could simply magic his clothes away, but he barely ever does, preferring to take his time. Just the sight of the lean muscles of his back flexing as he pulls his t-shirt over his head is enough to make your mouth water. He doesn't usually deliberately put on a show, he doesn't need to. But he must be in a particularly good mood because he really takes his time today. Especially when he bends over to pull his jeans off his legs, making you choke on your own spit. You try to keep your cough discreet, but it doesn't work very well.

"Are you quite alright, my sweet?" His tone is airy and nonchalant, but you know that he knows exactly what he's doing. One of these days he very well could be the death of you.

"I'm fine," you clear your throat, "absolutely fantastic."

Finally, he joins you on the bed, the very picture of leisure as he stretches out on his side next to you. For a moment you almost forget what the plan was, he's that distracting. Right. Less ogling, more setting up. As you rifle through the bag you have a thought.

"Can I tie you up, too?" You hastily add, "Just a little bit?"

"Why would you need to do that?"

You debate how to respond to that but settle on something that's very nearly the truth.

"This is easier if you stay still, so things don't move too much."

He seems to take exception to that and scoffs.

"I am perfectly capable of staying still, I assure you."

"Well..." You tap your lip thoughtfully, "It's not that I don't think you can't, I just don't want you to, I don't know, roll over and make me zap you by mistake or something."

"I see." He watches as you wrangle the cables. "How would you have me then?"

"On your back is fine." You swear under your breath as you hit a knot and start picking it out, careful not to break anything. "There are a few parts to make this work, so I hope you can indulge me for a bit."

"As opposed to my usual uncharitable disposition?" He's clearly teasing you, but he's got a point.

You finally manage to get the cables straightened out and connected to the right channels.

"There we go, that's that done. So now I'm just going to connect these here..." you grab a couple of plain rubber rings from the collection scattered on the bed, "and then..." You rifle through the box until you find what you're looking for. "One of these."

The plug is modestly sized, the only thing setting it apart is the shape, with a sweeping curve and bulbous tip.

"You should be able to handle this one, right?" You're sure he can, but you figure it's only polite to ask. When you show it to him, he looks less than impressed.

"As I am sure you can recall, you have had me with larger before." It's not quite an eye-roll, but it's not not that, either.

"That isn't why I'm asking, but I see your point." You connect it too, then put the box to the side for the moment. Giving the bag another rifling through, you come out with what looks like a small syringe, sans needle. "This next bit can be a bit messy, but bear with me for just a bit longer?"

Thankfully, filling the syringe up with conductive gel is a much quicker process, and in a minute you've got it ready, giving his hip a poke with your finger.

"Turn over a bit for me?" He obeys readily enough, letting you slide the slim instrument into him easily. When you press the plunger down, he gives a little hiss. "Sorry, that's cold, isn't it?"

"By some miracle, I am sure I shall survive," He responds dryly.

That earns him a pinch on the backside as you pull the syringe out.

"The cheek of you! Watch the attitude or you might be sorry in a minute."

That catches his interest.

"Oh, will I now?" He turns over and props himself up on his elbows, eyes gleaming.

Definitely.

"Maybe." You retrieve some padded cuffs from one of the drawers of the nightstand and dangle them in front of him. "Do these meet His Majesty's approval?"

"They do. What is your wish?" He lays back, arms above his head and crossed at the wrist, "Like this, perhaps?"

"Almost. Let me." You attach the cuffs to either side of the headboard and guide his wrists to where you want them, pressing a tender kiss to each one before strapping him in. Making sure that the restraints are tight but not overly so, you stroke his hair. "You good?"

"Yes."

That's good enough, so you start lubing the plug up as he watches you with interest. When you're satisfied with the amount, you tap the side of his knee. "Lift for me."

Sliding the plug into place makes his eyelashes flutter, his breath speeding up by the tiniest fraction as his cock stirs to life. You can't quite resist lapping at him, sucking him into your mouth until he grows fully hard there, throbbing on your tongue.

Sliding the rings on him is a bit fiddlier but eventually you get them in place, one going around both his shaft and balls, the other nestled right behind his tip. It's the first time he's let you do something like this, and the sight of his cock this way is mesmerizing.

"Still good?" Applying more of the gel, you make sure there are no dry spots under the rings. When he still doesn't respond you trace your finger around his tip, just barely touching but enough to make him pay attention.

"...Yes."

"Great!" You turn the box on. "How does this feel?" Turning it up to the lowest setting, you watch him carefully.

"Different, but...not unpleasant."

You turn it back down and fiddle with the settings for a few seconds, setting it to a slow wave pattern before turning it back up, a tad higher this time."How about this?"

That gets a reaction, his brow furrowing and his mouth falling open.

"That is...good."

He lets a quiet groan as you turn it up a bit more, his cock starting to ever so slightly throb in time with the pulses, a bead of precum forming at his tip. You settle in next to him, just watching him for a few moments. This might be the most vulnerable you've ever seen him, and you're enjoying every minute of it. Running your hand across his chest you consider turning it up some more, but decide against it for now, instead gently circling one of his nipples with your fingers. Rubbing the pad of your finger across it rewards you with a small moan.

"You like that?" Without waiting for a response you do it again, watching it stiffen under your touch. Every time you rub him he lets out a small gasp, but he seems too focused on the sensations to reply. You flick your tongue over his nipple and blow on it gently, watching the goosebumps erupt all over his pale skin. "Hello? Earth to Dream?"

"Do that again."

"Do what again? This?" This time you do turn the power up and watch as his cock throbs even more, leaking freely now. "Or did you mean this?" You make your tongue broad and flat, dragging it over his nipple before gently sucking the rosy little nub into your mouth.

That makes him grip the sheets, knuckles white. Despite his earlier confidence, he isn't very still at all, hips starting to arch off the bed. Not ready for this to be over too quickly you dial the power back down, but not turning it off. As he eases back down you kiss his shoulder, admiring the blush slowly creeping across his skin, all the way down his chest.

"You should see yourself right now," you sigh, stroking his hair, "you're so beautiful like this, so perfect. You want more?"

Rather than respond he simply leans into your touch, breath heavy.

"I'll take that as a yes, then." This time you turn it up a smidge higher than before, making him arch off the bed again. Watching his cock throb, you count to ten pulses before turning it back down again. You give him a moment to recover, then do it again, this time counting to twenty before turning it back down, leaving him squirming. For a while you simply repeat the process over and over, up, down, ten, twenty. You’re not sure how long it goes on for, but for every cycle he falls apart a bit more, until he’s nearly vibrating off the bed. "Still good, or do you want me to stop?" You eye his dribbling cock with something like pity. “We can take a break, if you want.”

"Don't..." His lips are red and a bit swollen where he's been worrying at them with his teeth, his voice breathless, "Don't stop, not yet."

"Think you can come like this?" You watch as he rolls his hips, his legs opening and closing.

"I think...I..." He swallows and frowns, "Perhaps, I want...I...."

"Want to try?" You're pretty sure you've never seen him struggle for words before. Usually, he's the one picking you apart until you can hardly speak, not the other way around.

"Yes," he nods, almost panting, "yes..."

You turn the machine up again, higher still. Glancing at the display you can see that it's only at 45% power so far, but he's already chasing it, his almost frantic movements leaving the bedding in a crumpled heap at the foot of the bed. This time you get count to thirty, but he can't quite get there, collapsing back against the pillows in a frustrated heap, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.

"I can't," he gasps, "I want, I can't...please..."

"Shhh, relax, let me help you," you kiss his cheek, tasting his tears. "Tell me what you need."

Feeling a bit evil you sneakily keep your fingers on the dials, slowly increasing the strength as he tries to speak, making his words come out in fits and starts.

"Again, your mouth, I..."

The meaning is clear enough, but you watch him struggle for a few moments more just because you can. When you put your hands on him his skin is covered in a thin sheen of sweat and the taste of it floods your mouth as you suck his nipple into your mouth again and swirl your tongue over it. Giving the other one some attention as well, you hear his whispered pleas turning louder, growing more urgent as you give him a little pinch.

It's mostly a litany of please, making it clear that for once he's completely lost in sensation, no other thought in that pretty head of his except for pleasure. It doesn't take long for his breaths to become uneven, the 'please' turning into oh, more drawn out for every pulse until he lets go, scrabbling for purchase in the sheets as he finally comes, his release drawn from him in thick bursts. You regret not being able to see him properly, especially when you feel a few stray droplets hit your cheek, because that’s just plain impressive. When his orgasm finally starts subsiding, you reduce the output down to zero, but not turning it off.

"Still with me?"

"I...yes." It's hesitant and a bit breathless, but that's probably to be expected.

"That's good," You brush away a few stray hairs sticking to his forehead. "Look how well you did, love."

Taking a few moments you kneel between his splayed legs and pat him dry with a soft towel as you check the connections, adding some fresh gel to ensure that there are no hot spots. "By the way," you give the base of the plug a few experimental wiggles, rocking it into him a couple of times, "did I tell you my favourite thing about this machine?" Grinning at him you fiddle with the controls, changing the pattern from a slow wave to an alternating pulse, without turning it up just yet. "It's probably better if I show you I think."

When he catches on to what you're doing, he starts fighting the restraints.

"You..." As you start increasing the output he falls back against the pillows again, eyes a bit unfocused as the current bounces between his prostate and his still sensitive cock. "Oh, you cruel creature..."

"That's not very nice," you tut, stroking his thigh. Craning your neck, you can only just catch a glimpse of the base of the plug moving as he contracts around it.

"Release me," he groans, but there's no real force behind his words. Those aren't even the right words, anyway. He could end this at any time, and you both know it. Instead you slowly turn the power up, watching as his soft cock twitches and leaks all over his pale stomach.

"Too much," he gasps, thrashing and pulling on the cuffs again.

"Does it hurt?" You hover your finger over the controls, ready to cut the power just in case.

"No," he moans, face twisted in pleasure as he all but humps the air. "Keep...more."

That makes no sense, but you get the gist. Checking the settings it's still not turned up terribly high, so you kick it up a few notches more until you've got him writhing like an eel in a hot pan, completely uncaring about the pathetic sounds running from his mouth. He doesn't get hard again but that doesn't matter because he spills for you again anyway, a pitiful sound caught high in his throat. There's barely enough to fill a thimble this time around and when you finally cut the power he sinks into the bed, completely limp.

"You alright?" You quickly get to work cleaning him up, gently removing the plug and sliding the rings off his cock before undoing the cuffs, massaging his wrists as you do so. When he doesn't respond right away you almost start to worry that perhaps you'd taken it a bit too far, but then he blinks slowly up at you.

"I...believe so."

This is probably the most relaxed you've ever seen him, and you can't entirely suppress a giggle as you snuggle in close, one arm thrown across his waist.

"Good. So," you trace the curve of his hip idly, "can I ask you something?"

"If it is in my power to answer, then I shall," he murmurs, taking your hand in his and twining your fingers together.

"Okay. So..." You twirl a lock of his hair around your finger. "Is my 'fondness for lewd objects' still inexplicable to you?" As you wait for him to answer, you trail a line of small kisses from his shoulder and up the side of his neck. When he eventually responds, it's with a deep sigh.

"Perhaps not."

⁂

The Master-masterlist

Fandom Masterlist

If you liked this spicy snack even a little, please consider supporting your local smut-slinger and hitting the reblog button on the way out, perhaps even drop a comment if you're feeling generous, it really helps with the motivation side of things a lot!

[smokingchagga]

Throatslitter is a precious babygirl and here is why...

Some weeks ago I said that once I finished the Crippled God I would write and essay about why Throatslitter is a precious babygirl. Well. Here I am. Now THIS is the serious & interesting Malazan content that Tumblr needs more of. Honestly, this is just me gushing about how much I love this one weird little dude.

This does spoil some things about MBOTF, but not that much at the end of the day since I’m only talking about one very minor character.

So, let’s look at how his story evolves throughout each book he appears in.

House of Chains

Throatslitter does basically nothing in this book. It’s mentioned that he exists and that’s it. There is a little funny scene where Strings and Balm talk about his name though. 

Strings glanced over at another soldier from the 9th squad, a man standing nearby looking as if he wanted to kill something. ‘And what about him? What’s his name again, Throatslitter? Did his ma decide on that for her little one, do you think?’ ‘Can’t say,’ Balm replied. ‘Give a toddler a knife and who knows what’ll happen.’

The Bonehunters

The first time we properly see Throatslitter is in the Bonehunters. My first thought was, “wow, that’s a ridiculous name for a character. What a little freak.” I honestly wasn’t particularly intrigued by him by this point. But it is funny (and appropriate) that the first description we get of Throatslitter is of him laughing.

“Throatslitter hissed - what passed for laughter, Bottle supposed…”

Throatslitter also gets automatic cool points for being one of the soldiers who crawled through the bones of Y’Ghatan. He doesn’t really do many things in this book except be a murderous lil dude. His name appears in this book only 26 times but he’s neat enough for the little he gets to do. 

Reaper’s Gale

Now this is where things get fun! The first thing Throatslitter does in this book is talk about how hot Shurq Elalle is (fair enough) and then think about his freaky laugh. 

The last thing he wanted to do was break into another one of his trilling, uncanny laughs that seemed to freeze everyone within earshot. Never used to have a laugh sounding like that. Damn thing scares even me. Well, he’d taken a throatful of oily flames and it’d done bad things to his voice-reed.

Wow. That’s kinda unfortunate, isn’t it? Now let me present to you the scene that sold me on the character of Throatslitter. It’s a little long but bear with me. (Context: they are talking about Shurq Elalle)

‘Trust me,’ the corporal replied after taking a deep draught. He belched. ‘Sure, she’s hiding it well, but that woman died some time ago.’  Balm was hunched over the table, scratching at the tangles of his hair. Flakes drifted down to land like specks of paint on the dark wood. ‘Gods below,’ he whispered. ‘Maybe somebody should … I don’t know �� maybe … tell her?’  Deadsmell’s mostly hairless brows lifted. ‘Excuse me, ma’am, you have a complexion to die for and I guess that’s what you did.’  Another squawk from Throatslitter.  The corporal continued, ‘Is it true, ma’am, that perfect hair and expensive make-up can hide anything?’  A choked squeal from Throatslitter.  Heads turned.  Deadsmell drank down another mouthful, warming to the subject. ‘Funny, you don’t look dead.’  The high-pitched cackle erupted.  As it died, sudden silence in the main room of the tavern, barring that of a rolling tankard, which then plunged off a tabletop and bounced on the floor.  Balm glared at Deadsmell. ‘You done that. You just kept pushing and pushing. Another word from you, corporal, and you’ll be deader than she is.’  ‘What’s that smell?’ Deadsmell asked. ‘Oh right. Essence of putrescence.’  Balm’s cheeks bulged, his face turning a strange purple shade. His yellowy eyes looked moments from leaping out on their stalks.  Throatslitter tried squeezing his own eyes shut, but the image of his sergeant’s face burst into his mind. He shrieked behind his hands. Looked round in helpless appeal.  All attention was fixed on them now, no-one speaking. Even the beautiful woman who’d shipped in with that maimed oaf and the oaf himself – whose one good eye glittered out from the folds of a severe frown – had paused, standing each to one side of the cask of ale the tavernkeeper had brought out. And the keeper himself, staring at Throatslitter with mouth hanging open. ‘Well,’ Deadsmell observed, ‘there goes our credit as bad boys. Throaty here’s making mating calls – hope there’s no turkeys on this island. And you, sergeant, your head looks ready to explode like a cusser.’

Oh my god. This poor babygirl. Can’t a man laugh without being judged? And Deadsmell called him “Throaty”! Throaty. What a fucking nickname. It perfectly encapsulates his babygirlness. I’m convinced that Deadsmell secretly loves hearing Throaty’s laughter. 

And then we get Throatslitter’s backstory! He recalls his father’s story about the day Kellanved and his Logros T’lan Imass took over Li Heng. His father’s story shows lil baby Throaty just how formidable Kellanved was. All of that and then for Kellanved to die by being stabbed in the back. Throaty realizes that a single person with a knife is enough to change the world.

Command the T’lan Imass didn’t stop the knife in the back, did it? This detail was the defining revelation of Throatslitter’s life. Command thousands, tens of thousands. Command sorcerors and imperial fleets. Hold in your hand the lives of a million citizens. The real power was none of this. The real power was the knife in the hand, the hand at the fool’s back. 

Throatslitter’s father makes and paints pots for a living. He has no respect for his father’s profession because of how fragile pots are. His father will never leave a mark in the world and that’s not the type of life Throatslitter wants for himself.

Eldest son or not, mixing glazes and circling a kiln on firing day was no the future he dreamed about. But you can paint me, Father, and call it ‘The Coming of the Assassin’. My likeness to adorn funeral urns - those who fell to the knife, of course. Too bad you never understood the world well enough to honour me. My chosen profession. My war against inequity in this miserable, evil existence. And striking my name from the family line, well now, really, that was uncalled for.

And then this guy goes out and joins the Talons! I think it’s quite impressive that he manage to evade Surly’s culling of the Talons where his senior Talons didn’t (or most of them anyway).

I also really like the fact that he (unlike many others) is completely down with Tavore’s speech about them being unwitnessed. Most of the soldiers can’t stand the idea that their sacrifice won’t be appreciated but Throatslitter genuinely doesn’t seem to mind. 

Still, the Adjunct has asked for loyalty. For service to an unknown cause. We are to be unwitnessed, she said. That suits me fine. It’s how assassins conduct their trade.

Unwitnessed. Most soldiers don’t like that idea. True, it made them hard - when she told them - but that fierceness can’t last. The iron is too cold. Its taste too bitter.

Throatslitter’s POV in Reaper’s Gale chapter 14 is very neat in my humble Throaty simp opinion. The guy spends the entire time judging the people around him. This POV shows that the guy is not a complete idiot (especially for a minor background character). Gods, I love the fact that Erikson gives us these small bits from the POVs of random, mostly inconsequential characters. I know some people dislike it and think it drags the story down but I disagree. I think it brings a lot of life to the army and its different squads. 

Shurq correctly judges Throatslitter’s character  and comes to the conclusion that he’s a little fucked up bloodthirsty freak. 

Throatslitter, who sat opposite Shurq, now cleared his throat - producing an odd squeak - and smiled across at her. She looked away, pointedly. That man was not a nice man. The way Gerun Eberict hadn’t been a nice man. Took too much pleasure in his job, she suspected. And even for a soldier, that wasn’t sensible. People like that tended to linger when lingering wasn’t good. Tended to put other soldiers at risk. Tended to get carried away. No, she didn’t like Throatslitter. 

And Throatslitter appreciates how much of a snack Masan Gilani is! Just look at this little bit from chapter 24.

Ahead, Masan Gilani did that unthinkable thing again and rose in her stirrups, leaning forward as she urged her horse into a gallop. From behind Balm, Throatslitter moaned like a puppy under a brick.

Same, Throaty, same. 

Dust of Dreams

Throatslitter is a nosy dude. He eavesdrops on the sergeant’s meeting. What a greedy little delinquent. 

He cursed himself for being so damned nosy. He spied to feed his curiosity and - he had to admit - to give himself an advantage on his fellow soldiers, reason for his sly expression and sardonic, knowing smile, and a man like him wasn’t satisfied if it was all just for show. 

Later on in the book he threatens to murder Deadsmell for cheating in a game of toughs which was amusing. That’s legit the only thing that happens in that scene. The boys are playing a nice game of troughs and then Throatslitter starts threatening the shit out of Deadsmell. Oh and then he lunges at Ebron when he finds out that he also magicked the game. The babygirl has gone feral. It’s such a useless scene and I love it. 

‘Deadsmell, might be it’s a  safe thing to be magicking the casts and whatnot, so long as you’re playing nitwits or fellow spooks or both. But, see, I’m Throatslitter, remember? I kill people for a living, in ways no reasonable, sane soldier could hope to imagine. Am I getting through here? You bring your talents to this game, maybe so will I.’

Just look at how bloodthirsty he is! What a babygirl. 

A tiny interaction that made me smile:

‘Never mind Hood,’ snapped Widdershins. ‘Wasn’t him made me wet my trousers.’ Balm stared with huge eyes. ‘Did you really? Gods below.’ Throatslitter burst out a sudden, piping laugh. Then ducked. ‘Sorry. Just… well, never mind.’

And then comes the scene where Throatslitter keeps laughing, making the whole army uncomfortable. I swear, I love these Malazans but holy shit can’t a murderous babygirl laugh in peace?

Another piping laugh from Throatslitter. Cuttle scowled. ‘What’s so fucking funny?’ Corabb had been sleeping, or pretending to sleep, and now he sat up. ‘I’ll go find out, Cuttle. It’s getting on my nerves too.’ ‘If he’s being a bastard, Corabb, punch his face in.’

Throaty and his pals are cackling about these weird brainless greasy magic rats. It’s kinda fucked up actually.

‘So, Throatslitter, they stopped being funny?’ ‘Aye, now go.’ ‘Cos if I hear another laugh, I ain’t coming back to talk.’ ‘It’s just a laugh, Corabb. People got ‘em, right? All kinds-’ ‘But yours makes the skin crawl.’ ‘Good, since it’s how I sound when I slit some bastard’s useless throat.’

Look, I love Corabb as much as the next person, but damn. I will not tolerate this disrespect to my boy Throatslitter. On a side note, I would love to see how a live action adaptation would execute Throaty’s fucked up laugh. I imagine him sounding a bit like that one hyena (Ed) from the Lion King, just more fucked.

The Crippled God

So, Throatslitter’s throat got messed up even further in the battle of the Nah’ruk at the end of DoD. Poor dude. He just can’t catch a break. Anyway, Deadsmell makes a funny joke. In fact, most of Throatslitter’s scenes in this book are just his squad making him laugh. There are so many little scenes where people just make him laugh. It’s quite wholesome actually.

Widdershins crowded up behind Throatslitter, Deadsmell and the sergeant. ‘Did any of you hear Bottle back there? That stuff about our name?’ Throatslitter scowled. ‘What?’ ‘He was asking about how we got our name.’ ‘So?’ ‘So, I just think… well… I think it’s important. I think Bottle knows something, but he’s keeping it quiet-’ ‘Bottled up?’ Deadsmell asked. Throatslitter’s high-pitched laugh triggered curses up and down the line. The assassin hissed under his breath. ‘Sorry, that just came out.’ ‘So give him a shake, Wid,’ pressed Deadsmell, ‘until it all gushes out. He’s got a cork somewhere, go and find it.’ Throatslitter snorted, and then choked as he held down another squeal.

What really gets me is what Badan Gruk says about Throatslitter afterward. I just think it’s amusing that Badan Gruk immediately thinks the worst of Throatslitter when in truth Throaty is just laughing at puns about Bottle’s name. What a dork.

Sinter winced at the cry behind them. ‘Gods, I wish he’d stop doing that.’ ‘Nothing very funny about this,’ Badan Gruk agreed. ‘But then it’s Throatslitter, isn’t it? That man would laugh over his dying sister.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t get people like him. Taking pleasure in misery, in torture, all that. What’s to laugh about? Talk about a messed-up mind.’

God forbid a man have a little fun around here.

Helian is absolutely hilarious.

‘Hear that?’ she aksed. ‘That was a damned hyena.’ ‘That was Throatslitter, Sergeant.’ ‘He killed a hyena? Good for him.’

Throatslitter gets shot in the ass in this book when the army is going through a little bit of a mutiny (thanks Blistig). So that’s unfortunate. And in this scene his squad start calling him “Throat”. Fucking THROAT. Oh my god. It’s so goofy. 

So. Now we come to a scene that actually made me tear up. It’s the bit where the Bonehunters split off and Fiddler leads the marines to their final battle. The plot is finally coming to an end and soon it’s time to say goodbye. Deadsmell has some thoughts about everything and it really got me in the feelz. 

Deadsmell didn’t want to say goodbye, not to anyone. Not even Throatslitter limping one row ahead of him, whom with a choice comment or two he could make yelp that laugh - like squeezing a duck. Always entertaining, seeing people flinch on hearing it. And Deadsmell could do it over and over again. It’d been a while since he’d last heard it, but now was not the time - not with all these regulars on either side. All these men and women saying goodbye to us. The Bonehunters were in their last days. This tortured army could finally see the end of things - and it seemed to have come up on them fast, unexpected, appalling close.

Back home - in the Empire - we’re already lost. Just one more army struck off the ledgers. And this is how things must pass, how things simply go away. We’ve gone and marched ourselves off the edge of the world. I don’t want to say goodbye. And I want to hear Throatslitter’s manic laugh. I want to hear it again and again, and for ever more.

Man, I don’t wanna say goodbye either! We’ve spent the whole book squeezing out cackles from Throaty and now we’re nearing the end of  the road. Goddamit. This scene hit me hard. The scenes where Throatslitter’s buddies made him laugh were some of my favorite moments of levity in this book. And now it’s ending. This book hits like a fucking brick in the face. 

This scene doesn’t directly describe Throatslitter but we know he’s involved. The marines have just halted another charge of the Korerlii. Only 20 or so of them remain to protect the Crippled God. 

Someone coughed nearby, from some huddle of stones, and then spoke. ‘So, who are we fighting for again?’ Fiddler could not place the voice. Nor the one that replied, ‘Everyone.’ A long pause, and then, ‘No wonder we’re losing.’ Six, a dozen heartbeats, before someone snorted. A rumbling laugh followed, and then someone else burst out in a howl of mirth - and all at once, from the dark places among the rocks of this barrow, laughter burgeoned, rolled round, bounced and echoed. 

And so the story of Throatslitter ends in one more burst of laughter. And he’s not laughing alone, making others uncomfortable. No, instead all of the remaining marines laugh together. No wonder those Korerlii got intimidated with Throaty and the rest cackling like maniacs. I don’t know how to put into words just how perfect this moment was. 

Malazan is amazing at making me get attached to minor characters and then using them to emotionally torment me. I get that Throatslitter is minor enough that he doesn’t matter to the plot. He’s not the deepest, most complex character out there but he’s my precious little freak. He’s just a boodthirsty babygirl with a fucked up laugh and I love him for it. 

[sheriffsolidarity]

I like to play with my toys carefully, wouldn't want to break them after all but you are impossible Jimmy. :)

Joel looms over Jimmy grabbing the short man by his shirt and pulling him off his feet into the air. He smiles as if it were all still a game... its not, and he knows its not fun. It's not meant to be anymore. His hands glow as he wraps one around his chest and the other around his middle. Jimmy wouldn't break, well, he wouldn't break irreparably. What can only be compared to thorns digging into his skin. Growing into his skin. Digging into his muscles, his muscles that aren't muscle anymore, that are plush. He can feel as the thorny magic grip pulls, pulls his upper half from his lower. Rips. Blood drips out as the fabric replacing his skin pulling and stretching, the fabric snapping threads as cartoonish plush organs hit the ground with a wet slap. Almost comical. Joel drops him once he's pulled him apart. He's fully alive, fully conscious. He could see Joel staring down at him, split in half like a discarded doll torn apart by a child's dog.

How are you feeling sheriff?

Strong?

Human?

haha :)

-@the-god-ever

Jimmy shouts as he's lifted into the air- not words, just screaming and pleading to put him down, please don't hurt him, please-

It falls on deaf ears, and he screams as he's torn apart.

It's not quick- it takes a minute or two of helpless pleading and screaming for Joel to stop before he's incapacitated from the pain.

He blacks out a few times, flashes of consciousness between agony and bright light obscuring his vision-

(flesh turning to fabric claws sinking in and oh god, it hurts it hurts it hurts he's torn apart the string tendons stretching before they snap his thin fabric skin fraying and bleeding and as his organs fall to the ground, streching between his halved body, live blood staining dead fabric and he wonders, in the haze of pain, if the blood leaving him shows he's living or dying-)

And chokes on his own screams and vomit as the pain increases, nausea caused by a cocktail of fear pain and rage-

(he feels the bile rising as Joel's hands squeeze him tight, but his cloth lungs are held to tightly in joels hands and the vomit is blocking his throat and he cant breath as he pukes his guts up- he stops when the organs needed to vomit are no longer attached to his person, and is too overwhelmed to hate himself for the slight relief of being able to breath again-)

And hits the ground with a thud and a broken sob.

He's hazy- the pain (like thorns of magic growing in and tearing soft fabric and he misses his flesh and bones, he misses it he hates the only warmth this form he refuses to call his own is the quickly cooling blood pooling around him.) overwhelming him.

Eventually, though, he's aware enough to process Joel's words.

"Y-You're a monster," He chokes out, voice hoarse and dry from screaming. He's... not actually sure how he's talking- he doesn't have the functioning lungs to do so.

With Joel's hands now gone, the glowing light no longer obscuring his vision, he looks down.

(If he were still human, he'd sob. But the tears get absorbed by the fabric before he can make a sound.)

His broken body, strewn across the ground, is a horror. Fabric is torn around his mid torso- the ends of it stretched from the force it took to break.

Blood stains the majority of his fabric-flesh, and he can still feel his legs- he can't move them, but he can feel the wetness of the fabric.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath, and discovers he is not able to close his eyes to avoid the horror of his own form. Instead, he looks angrily at Joel.

"Y-You- You're evil." He says again.

[whisperthatruns]

Jail Poems

1

I am sitting in a cell with a view of evil parallels, Waiting thunder to splinter me into a thousand me's. It is not enough to be in one cage with one self; I want to sit opposite every prisoner in every hole. Doors roll and bang, every slam a finality, bang! The junkie disappeared into a red noise, stoning out his hell. The odored wino congratulates himself on not smoking, Fingerprints left lying on black inky gravestones, Noises of pain seeping through steel walls crashing Reach my own hurt. I become part of someone forever. Wild accents of criminals are sweeter to me than hum of cops, Busy battening down hatches of human souls; cargo Destined for ports of accusations, harbors of guilt. What do policemen eat, Socrates, still prisoner, old one?

2

Painter, paint me a crazy jail, mad water-color cells. Poet, how old is suffering? Write it in yellow lead. God, make me a sky on my glass ceiling. I need stars now, To lead through this atmosphere of shrieks and private hells, Entrances and exits, in . . . out . . . up . . . down, the civic seesaw. Here — me — now — always here somehow.

3

In a universe of cells—who is not in jail? Jailers. In a world of hospitals—who is not sick? Doctors. A golden sardine is swimming in my head. Oh we know some things, man, about some things Like jazz and jails and God. Saturday is a good day to go to jail.

4

Now they give a new form, quivering jelly-like, That proves any boy can be president of Muscatel. They are mad at him because he's one of Them. Gray-speckled unplanned nakedness; stinking Fingers grasping toilet bowl. Mr. America wants to bathe. Look! On the floor, lying across America's face— A real movie star featured in a million newsreels. What am I doing—feeling compassion? When he comes out of it, he will help kill me. He probably hates living.

5

Nuts, skin bolts, clanking in his stomach, scrambled. His society's gone to pieces in his belly, bloated. See the great American windmill, tilting at itself, Good solid stock, the kind that made America drunk. Success written all over his street-streaked ass. Successful-type success, forty home runs in one inning. Stop suffering, Jack, you can't fool us. We know. This is the greatest country in the world, ain't it? He didn't make it. Wino in Cell 3.

6

There have been too many years in this short span of mine. My soul demands a cave of its own, like the Jain god; Yet I must make it go on, hard like jazz, glowing In this dark plastic jungle, land of long night, chilled. My navel is a button to push when I want inside out. Am I not more than a mass of entrails and rough tissue? Must I break my bones? Drink my wine-diluted blood? Should I dredge old sadness from my chest? Not again, All those ancient balls of fire, hotly swallowed, let them lie. Let me spit breath mists of introspection, bits of me, So that when I am gone, I shall be in the air.

7

Someone whom I am is no one. Something I have done is nothing. Someplace I have been is nowhere. I am not me. What of the answers I must find questions for? All these strange streets I must find cities for, Thank God for beatniks.

8

All night the stink of rotting people, Fumes rising from pyres of live men, Fill my nose with gassy disgust, Drown my exposed eyes in tears.

9

Traveling God salesmen, bursting my ear drum With the dullest part of a good sexy book, Impatient for Monday and adding machines.

10

Yellow-eyed dogs whistling in evening.

11

The baby came to jail today.

12

One more day to hell, filled with floating glands.

13

The jail, a huge hollow metal cube Hanging from the moon by a silver chain. Someday Johnny Appleseed is going to chop it down.

14

Three long strings of light Braided into a ray.

15

I am apprehensive about my future; My past has turned its back on me.

16

Shadows I see, forming on the wall, Pictures of desires protected from my own eyes.

17

After spending all night constructing a dream, Morning came and blinded me with light. Now I seek among mountains of crushed eggshells For the God damned dream I never wanted.

18

Sitting here writing things on paper, Instead of sticking the pencil into the air.

19

The Battle of Monumental Failures raging, Both hoping for a good clean loss.

20

Now I see the night, silently overwhelming day.

21

Caught in imaginary webs of conscience, I weep over my acts, yet believe.

22

Cities should be built on one side of the street.

23

People who can't cast shadows Never die of freckles.

24

The end always comes last.

25

We sat at a corner table, Devouring each other word by word, Until nothing was left, repulsive skeletons.

26

I sit here writing, not daring to stop, For fear of seeing what's outside my head.

27

There, Jesus, didn't hurt a bit, did it?

28

I am afraid to follow my flesh over those narrow Wide hard soft female beds, but I do.

29

Link by link, we forged the chain. Then, discovering the end around our necks, We bugged out.

30

I have never seen a wild poetic loaf of bread, But if I did, I would eat it, crust and all.

31

From how many years away does a baby come?

32

Universality, duality, totality . . . .one.

33

The defective on the floor, mumbling, Was once a man who shouted across tables.

34

Come, help flatten a raindrop.

Written in San Francisco City Prison Cell 3, 1959

Bob Kaufman (1925--1986), Collected Poems of Bob Kaufman (City Lights Books, 2019)

[geometricalien]

Romance Snippet Game!

I've been tagged by @ultfreakme a long ass time ago but I'm finally getting around to this. I've got 3 current wips to draw from but they are all the same ship so I'll just throw them all here anyways!

rules: share a few lines or a snippet that sums up the main relationship(s) in your wip

Things That Hold Us Together: Steel Bolts and Tender Hearts - (android/technician)

There must be some invisible field that Akashi is able to tap into, something of pure energy that connects to the electricity and internet and- and who knows what else- that makes him the epicenter and able to to control everything with a single synapse in their neural network… Kouki has never heard of such a thing, let alone any theory that alludes to this. It’s… it’s amazing, world altering tech. He feels like a man first encountering fire.

He harshly swallows down the wonder choking him. “Oh.”

Akashi’s eyes stop sparking and the technology returns to normal with the suddenness of gravity being turned back on. The apartment feels much smaller and cramped than before. It’s drab. He hates it.

εὐήλιος - (greek wip act 2)

(theres so many scrapped snippets that fit this, I'll share some of my favorites)

(this is from before I decided to switch povs)

He turns to Kouki, standing on his right as always. His love looked similarly distressed based on his clenched jaw and his fidgeting fingers.

And then there is the other problem with leaving.

He would be discarding his fate. Throwing away the stars and the moon. Abandoning all that he believed in, all that pulled him through life. His name was to be etched into history.

Could he forget what the gods had promised him?

They already blessed him with Kouki. They were entwined in the stars long before either was born. Seijuurou would be spitting on his fate, on the wondrous gift he is.

The man is the best part of his life. -----

“Good.” He purrs, lifting their hands to his mouth and presses light kisses into Kouki’s hand, each a promise of devotion.

Approval from Seijuurou always made him a tad dizzy which only increased when his sly mouth drew in a finger. The enveloping wet heat did nothing to stop the haze his mind easily slipped into. After all, Seijuurou is excellent with his tongue in more ways than one.

“You’ve gotten quite skilled at th-that.” His voice breaks at the sharp suck pulling him deeper into the cavernous warmth.

Seijuurou is unhurried as if they have all the time in the world. Every curl is an act of worship, and he would be worried about the obvious impiety Seijuurou is displaying if it didn’t feel so damn good. He knows what it feels like to have those pink lips wrapped around his length. To have songs of praise bitten into his skin. Seijuurou has loved him softly, roughly, frantically, savoring- in every conceivable way he has been worshiped. -----

He takes hold of Kouki’s hand and draws patterns into his palm. The little soothing action helps ground Kouki when he feels particularly anxious, and a little part of him thinks it helps calm Seijuurou too. As well as being practical it is endlessly endearing to Kouki. When he focuses on the shapes traced he often pieces the phrase “I love you” written over and over. How many times has he borne that phrase into his skin? Has it seeped into the muscle and bone?

trust me, trust me, darling dear - (horror oneshot)

As a child he had a favorite blanket. Blue and the softest material you’d ever feel, made of wishes and dreams. He thinks it was a gift from a relative, maybe his grandmother? He’s not sure. It has been by his side since he can remember. In stormy shadow filled nights and the first thing he stuffed in his backpack for preschool. A comfort object, that’s what they called it.

And he remembers how much he wailed when his mother took the worn, ragged blanket from his thin child arms when it needed to be washed. How he clung to the long spider-like strings digging into his tender skin leaving angry red and white marks.

His mother would scold him as he sat in front of the washer, waiting. “You have to be more careful or soon there will be nothing left of it.”

Listening to the wet slosh of soapy water he never understood why loving something made it break, made it fall apart at the seams. After all, his mother’s love and gentle kiss could heal any pain. What made his so… rotten?

Standing now infront of his mirror, feeling the phantom shadow arms reach for him- around him- pulling him into the inky black mass reflected in the mirror- being grabbed by the force before him, pushed beneath their will and his grasp on reality slips away- Kouki finally understands what she meant.

I got terminal akafuri brainrot but we knew this :3

[starligtgalaxy]

Chapter 15: a bone chilling encounter

The group stands on Sandy's boat by the dock. Seeing the chaos from afar as the huge spider mech storms through the city.

"Let's go, let's go, let's go!" Tang yells.

''What about (Y/n)?" Mei asks, concerned about her friend.

Pigsy pulls up the anchor "She'll be fine as long as she stays inside" he answers.

Sandy activates the launch sequence. Tang leans over the edge of the boat "Trying to get away from the spiders and we're in the middle of the o—"

He cuts himself off as lightning struck, revealing the thousand of spider bots' eyes.

"-cean?"

"Sandy!?"

"Hold on!" Sandy yells, looking through his stuff. Till he finds a remote with a cat on it.

He runs to deck, holding it up "found it!"He presses the button, making a loud meow sound.

From nearby, a drone launches up from the ground and flies towards them.Sandy grabs the three and throw them on it before jumping himself.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

Qi jumps from roof to roof, using his staff. He stops at one where he got a good view of the recked city.

"God, spiders" He shivers, "Where could she..."

He trails off.

A familiar building catches his eyes, contemplating if he would check there.

'It's worth a try checking'

He continues jumping roofs, trying to stay out of sight. He jumps off a nearby building and sneaks up the fire escape. He lifts up the window and slips in.

It wasn't too different. All his Monkie king merch had dissapeared and all his dirty dishes and clothes were cleaned up.

No (Y/n) in sight.

He walks over the six boxes that were put on eachother as a piramid. Opening the top one, he pulls out his old T-shirt.

He frowns at the old memories.

He places the shirt back in the box and closes it. The brunette turns to the bed, there was a yellow rose in a vase.

He looks down to see a ripped up red fabric with some black hair on it. His face turns to confusion as picks it up.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

"It's a shame, really. You being trapped here. No one to protect poor little Princess Iron Fan" Monkey king says, his and other Demon's energy having almost sucked away by the webs.

"My wife doesn't need protecting! She will decimate all in her way!" Demon Bull King yells, fighting against his retrains. Making the webs begin to tear.

"Oh yeah? How about your half-baked son? Spider Queen's gonna eat him alive all because you were too weak" Monkie king continues to taunt.

That seem to do the trick as DBK Burst through the webs, making the caccoons of other Demon's loose.

"Hah! It worked! Excellent!" Wukong exclaims before being grabbed and slammed into wall by the DBK.

"Buddy! I was just getting you angry so you can—" Monkey King tries to explain himself.

"I know what you were doing, simian!" DBK yells, ripping of the monkey's webs. Before storming off.

"Wait. Where are you going?"

"To find my half-baked s..." DBK chokes on his own words "son.."

He goes through the metal wall, leaving a big hole behind.

Monkey King was about to leave himself but remembers about the girl who was stil hanging from the ceiling.

Taking a second to decide if he was gonna go off to defeat Spider first or stopping to help the (h/n)nette.

Making his decision, he turns around. He jumps up and breaks the single string holding her up.

The previous sleeping girl wakes up when she feel herself falling. Wukong lands back on the ground and catches her, putting her back her feet.

"Woah- oh, thanks" she chimes, with an awkward smile.

Monkey King pauses "It's no problem. I need to go, to save the city, you know?"

And with that, he jumps off through the hole.

(Y/n) was about to follow soot when a shiver rides up her spine. When she turns around with a young girl.

"You-"

"Are not a regular girl. You know, you're quite oblivious" she says with her cold voice.

The air feels tense and cold. (Y/n) could almost see her own breath.

"Who...what are you?" (Y/n) questions, growing anxious.

"You should stay out of things you don't belong in"

(Y/n) clutches her head in pain as she feel a stabbing headache along with flashes of a skull flashes in her head.

She falls to her kneels, breathing heavely.

The girl dissapears in a gust of smoke, (Y/n)'s headache dissapears aswell.

[manwalksintobar]

Jail Poems // Bob Kaufman

1

I am sitting in a cell with a view of evil parallels, Waiting thunder to splinter me into a thousand me's. It is not enough to be in one cage with one self; I want to sit opposite every prisoner in every hole. Doors roll and bang, every slam a finality, bang! The junkie disappeared into a red noise, stoning out his hell. The odored wino congratulates himself on not smoking, Fingerprints left lying on black inky gravestones, Noises of pain seeping through steel walls crashing Reach my own hurt. I become part of someone forever. Wild accents of criminals are sweeter to me than hum of cops, Busy battening down hatches of human souls; cargo Destined for ports of accusations, harbors of guilt. What do policemen eat, Socrates, still prisoner, old one?

2

Painter, paint me a crazy jail, mad water-color cells. Poet, how old is suffering? Write it in yellow lead. God, make me a sky on my glass ceiling. I need stars now, To lead through this atmosphere of shrieks and private hells, Entrances and exits, in . . . out . . . up . . . down, the civic seesaw. Here — me — now — always here somehow.

3

In a universe of cells—who is not in jail? Jailers. In a world of hospitals—who is not sick? Doctors. A golden sardine is swimming in my head. Oh we know some things, man, about some things Like jazz and jails and God. Saturday is a good day to go to jail.

4

Now they give a new form, quivering jelly-like, That proves any boy can be president of Muscatel. They are mad at him because he's one of Them. Gray-speckled unplanned nakedness; stinking Fingers grasping toilet bowl. Mr. America wants to bathe. Look! On the floor, lying across America's face— A real movie star featured in a million newsreels. What am I doing—feeling compassion? When he comes out of it, he will help kill me. He probably hates living.

5

Nuts, skin bolts, clanking in his stomach, scrambled. His society's gone to pieces in his belly, bloated. See the great American windmill, tilting at itself, Good solid stock, the kind that made America drunk. Success written all over his street-streaked ass. Successful-type success, forty home runs in one inning. Stop suffering, Jack, you can't fool us. We know. This is the greatest country in the world, ain't it? He didn't make it. Wino in Cell 3.

6

There have been too many years in this short span of mine. My soul demands a cave of its own, like the Jain god; Yet I must make it go on, hard like jazz, glowing In this dark plastic jungle, land of long night, chilled. My navel is a button to push when I want inside out. Am I not more than a mass of entrails and rough tissue? Must I break my bones? Drink my wine-diluted blood? Should I dredge old sadness from my chest? Not again, All those ancient balls of fire, hotly swallowed, let them lie. Let me spit breath mists of introspection, bits of me, So that when I am gone, I shall be in the air.

7

Someone whom I am is no one. Something I have done is nothing. Someplace I have been is nowhere. I am not me. What of the answers I must find questions for? All these strange streets I must find cities for, Thank God for beatniks.

8

All night the stink of rotting people, Fumes rising from pyres of live men, Fill my nose with gassy disgust, Drown my exposed eyes in tears.

9

Traveling God salesmen, bursting my ear drum With the dullest part of a good sexy book, Impatient for Monday and adding machines.

10

Yellow-eyed dogs whistling in evening.

11

The baby came to jail today.

12

One more day to hell, filled with floating glands.

13

The jail, a huge hollow metal cube Hanging from the moon by a silver chain. Someday Johnny Appleseed is going to chop it down.

14

Three long strings of light Braided into a ray.

15

I am apprehensive about my future; My past has turned its back on me.

16

Shadows I see, forming on the wall, Pictures of desires protected from my own eyes.

17

After spending all night constructing a dream, Morning came and blinded me with light. Now I seek among mountains of crushed eggshells For the God damned dream I never wanted.

18

Sitting here writing things on paper, Instead of sticking the pencil into the air.

19

The Battle of Monumental Failures raging, Both hoping for a good clean loss.

20

Now I see the night, silently overwhelming day.

21

Caught in imaginary webs of conscience, I weep over my acts, yet believe.

22

Cities should be built on one side of the street.

23

People who can't cast shadows Never die of freckles.

24

The end always comes last.

25

We sat at a corner table, Devouring each other word by word, Until nothing was left, repulsive skeletons.

26

I sit here writing, not daring to stop, For fear of seeing what's outside my head.

27

There, Jesus, didn't hurt a bit, did it?

28

I am afraid to follow my flesh over those narrow Wide hard soft female beds, but I do.

29

Link by link, we forged the chain. Then, discovering the end around our necks, We bugged out.

30

I have never seen a wild poetic loaf of bread, But if I did, I would eat it, crust and all.

31

From how many years away does a baby come?

32

Universality, duality, totality . . . .one.

33

The defective on the floor, mumbling, Was once a man who shouted across tables.

34

Come, help flatten a raindrop.

Written in San Francisco City Prison Cell 3, 1959

[minkdelovely]

🗣️ EVEN HIS BONES WERE BETTER THAN OTHER PEOPLE’S.

Oh my gosh Hazel… I can feel how close we’re getting to the BIG WORD and I thought I’d be more prepared but I’m really not… This chapter was the sugar we needed after the last one (even though Ephi is… abrasive, to say the least lmao). Which only makes my love for Ruth more fierce! I loved seeing Autumn just gab with a friend 🥹♥️

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

A deep sigh from her, “Still last to be picked by the fellas, sis?” Her hand passed over your dresses hanging in the open closet, “The ugly duckling was always your favorite story.”

damn is EVERYTHING out of this girl’s mouth backhanded?? my older sister dominance is itching to draw the line lmao

Your sister chased dick like most people chased liberty.

this hit me like a fucking train oh my godddd

Slashed furniture is not adoration. Breaking windows is not a love language. Bruises are not affection.

Without thinking, you smiled. Adoration. Love languages. Affection. You had them and the knowledge of their secrets all to yourself. 

OHHH FUCK I’M TEARING UP 🥲♥️

You’d tell him later. No reason to talk to Brenda again.

LMAOOO yeah I’d wanna avoid Brenda if I could, too

A random memory flashed behind your eyes,  washing Alastor’s hair in the tub until the water ran clear. Why now? The only memory shared in your apartment. And it was an awful one. But, it had Alastor. That gave it value. 

HAZEL OH MY GOD 🥲

Ephi was always effortlessly enchanting when her mouth was closed.

THE SCREAM I SCRUMPT. DAAAAMNNN 😂❤️‍🔥

She nodded enthusiastically,’“Yes! Of course. Don’t forget a name like his. Or face.” She whistled like a crude man trying to get a woman’s attention in the most annoying way.

Is Ruth one of us, or are we Ruth? Or the “secret” third option: we’re all the ouroboros of desire for Alastor

An abrupt laugh, “That string bean couldn’t open a heavy window. He didn’t do shit to Tommy. What a stupid thing to say.”

RUTH!! 😂💖 Don’t judge a book by its cover, huh?

The words all tumbled out so quickly. A faucet turned too far to the left.

you need to stop it with this (please don’t stop)

“And he’s terribly kind. He’s always,” how to say it delicately, “going out of his way to help others solve their problems.” That seemed accurate and vague enough. You chuckled to yourself, remembering him at the kitchen table, “His face lights up so bright when he’s talking about his hobbies. Like, I can see his soul shining through his eyes and suddenly I’m just as interested in whatever he’s talking about as he is.” You let your eyes close around the mental image of his surprised face every time you complimented him. But they shot open when she began giggling, “What?”

THIS ENTIRE THING IS JUST PURE, CONCENTRATED DREAMYYY

Was it? Honestly, had she ever considered how much damage came with loving someone? It was putting your heart outside your body. Letting someone else carry it around and just praying they didn’t hurt you, or get hurt, or go off and die and take your heart with them. Why would anyone willingly do such a silly thing?

ONE FEAR! ONE FEAR!! ONE FEAR!!!

“Is that all men are to you? Sex?” She guffawed, taken aback by your comment. Which was odd, given it was Ruth. 

sighhh I love Ruth 😭✨

But — he wasn't a man. He was something different. The exception to the rule. Alastor was different.

ain’t that the fucking truth 😮‍💨

Sometimes it felt like you slid him a penny and he handed you a quarter. You found yourself scrounging up the petty coins of your worth and trying to save them up for him. Practicing your makeup, learning how he liked his coffee, remembering all of the things he said he hated and loved. Attempting to stop smoking. Every act was another shiny offering for him. 

THIS GORGEOUS, HEART-WRENCHING TEE UP

A crow scrounging the park grounds for glittering trash. Not very swan-like, you thought.

AND THE KNOCK OUT OF THE PARK. GOD DAMNNN

You cackled, choking on your spit. Alastor? He was the most worthwhile thing you’d ever encountered. Time with him suddenly had …. Value. That fucking word again. But time with him, it was slow enough to be deep and rich, but so fleeting you already felt a mourning mood for how much closer you were to the end.

I’m trying so hard to hold myself together but you’re making it very difficult my dear 🫠♥️

As your finger nervously came to your mouth, teeth cutting into the nail, you considered how if Alastor complained about laundry and you could argue back with the comfort of knowing neither would leave, that’d be….nice. The safety of being honest without the fear of the other person giving up on you. Was that love? 

WHAT DID I LITERALLY JUST SAY?? 🥲🫠

When you turned to look at him and blurt out a confession, you were stopped by the profile of his face. What a gentle face. A lovely jaw. What were you doing in this man’s car? What little pieces of glittering trash were you about to toss at him on a random Friday night?

TEARS ARE BURNING MY EYES AS I TYPE THIS FUUUCKKKK

You’d have to put a little effort into this. His brows rose as he clocked your staring. Eyes on the road, smirk pulled to the right, his hand came to rest on your thigh.

I AM SO FUCKING WEAK… SOOO FUCKING WEAK FOR THIS MAN

“Kind of funny, you chased me down, didn’t you?” Alastor’s comment pulled you back to him.

“Oh yes. That makes you my doe.” Your arm came to rest against the car door, the trees slowly rolling by in the darkness. “Reminds me of the small freckles across your shoulders.”

“My mighty buck!” He fawned, in jest, pretending to collapse into your lap. You shoved him back up and behind the wheel proper. “Well given the chance, I’d chase you for miles.” His hand flexed on your leg.

…you already know this whole thing is too powerful. I don’t even have to say it. Not a single thing…

“There is no limit. I’d … run right off a cliff, head first, if you were waiting at the bottom.” He took his hand back, needing both to hold the wheel. What he said hit him harder than he had intended. Was it too much? A tad too dramatic? A nervous clearing of his throat, followed by an awkward laugh to put more space between him and the confession. 

Your melodrama matches my melodrama, Alastor 😭♥️ ughh the baby steps toward confession are agonizing, so thank god for my masochistic streak 💅🏻

“Nope! That’d make me a lucky duck. And make you quite smart, if I do say so myself.” A wink. “Why run from such a catch like me?”

THE WAY HE’S NOT WRONG THOOO

You hadn’t made him run after all for you, but instead seemed to just….rest your neck between his canines. And trust. 

you are really tapping into some of my deep-seeded needs, JESUS CHRISTTT

Though, as he thought about the idea of heaven, he considered how happy his mother would be to meet you. To take you from her would be as cruel as heaven taking you from him. 

I REALLY FUCKING CAN’T WITH YOU HAZEL — I AM A MESS

But if the knowledge you were happy and safe was all he had, he’d be a richer man in hell than he’d ever been on earth. It’d be enough. He’d just need to broadcast his radio waves a little further for your listening pleasure.

to quote an icon: I’LL REMEMBER YOU ALL IN THERAPY

A Doe in Fall (Part 9)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵

Part 9 - Shiny Things

Ephi moves in, and Ruth reads you like an open book.

「Warnings/Promises: HumanAlastor x Fem! BurlesqueReader, Reference to domestic abuse of non-reader character, fucks, crows, swans, emotions be emotioning, so many birds, I don’t think reader is Aromantic I think she’s just stubborn, Cliff diving is just a joke do not follow people off cliffs, everyone is kicking reader’s ass in some way, my apologies to parts of Texas but not Texas as a whole」

Long time no see ! My head wasn’t in the right space for this story, and my head was also literally not doing well. But! Reading glasses helped since I’m writing on my phone like 7 inches from my face. the goal is Wednesday updates~ there’s about four parts already written so we’ve got a month of runway 👌🏼 Wednesday mornings are ‘God, That’s Good’ by @macabr3-barbi3 and nights are ADIF!

🎶 last time on A Doe In Fall 🎶 : you came home from your first week staying officially at Alastor’s to find our estranged sister waiting on your stoop.

this isn’t sexy but just like minors come on, MDNI? This blog is a sex shop

It’s not that you hated your sister, it’s that you resented her. You could love someone and not like them an ounce… but unfortunately when she left so did your familial love. Which meant all that held you together now was distrust and an obligation to a dead woman. 

“So things didn’t pan out up north?” You waved her into your apartment, agitation apparent in even the gesture of your arm. 

“It’s peachy! Just need to lay low a bit.” She said it with a chipper voice while looking around your apartment like she paid for it. “Wow you weren’t lying about the no money, huh? Talk about a shoebox.”

Charming. 

“Well, Ephi, you’re welcome to leave.” While you didn’t understand the name it wasn’t your business to question what someone asked to be called. Especially considering your own dual identity. You may have disliked the woman but human decency still hung to the bones of the relationship you called your sisterhood.

An obnoxious chuckle, “Nah it’ll do! Just the one single bed?”

“Why would I have more than one bed?”

A deep sigh from her, “Still last to be picked by the fellas, sis?” Her hand passed over your dresses hanging in the open closet, “The ugly duckling was always your favorite story.”

The fine hairs rose on the back of your neck, a cat’s hackles moving as the anger bristled through your body. You opened your mouth to shout all the ways you were not the ugly one in the room, hand already in the air to direct her attention to the dried, hanging flowers covering the far wall. How many people threw flowers at her feet? How many proposals were shouted to her? Wedding rings slipped off fingers and into pockets for her? 

The air in your lungs went flat as a small fire of embarrassment rose in your gut.

How could she so quickly reduce you to a little girl again? Taking the bait for a fight you couldn’t win, because she wasn’t listening to anything but her own voice. Biting the inside of your cheek, your hand fell back to your side.

“You can take it. I’ll just be by for clothes now and then. Been staying with a friend closer to work.” Flipping through your mind you tried to catalog your valuables. What did you absolutely need to not turn up missing?

Ephi sat on the bed and crossed her legs in her best imitation of a lady. “Staying with Mister Fancy Pants?” A smile that reminded you of your childhood. A smile that said, “I won’t tell mom!” Right before turning and running to your mother’s ear.

“No.” 

A giggle two octaves above her usual tone, “Sure, okay! No skin off my back.”

You took your time to gather the items you had forgotten first, then the items you didn’t want her to have. Unsure how exactly to tell Alastor why a week into sharing his home officially you were already redecorating, you left that for your future self to figure out. The first item was obvious.

An angel statue your mother kept on her nightstand. You wrapped it in some newspaper, trying not to look in her direction. 

Your sister chased dick like most people chased liberty. Something she shared with your mother. Which was her right, but it rubbed you the wrong way how she would always forget everyone else in her life when she had a man to call her own. A fair weather friend, at that. 

“How’s Howard?” The dick that took her away so many years ago.

She abandoned the lady act and rummaged through your cabinets, “Who’s that?”

Right.

A gold coin on a necklace. You slipped it inside a sock. 

“So, then, who is the man of the hour?”

Ephi began opening the dresser drawers, poking here and there. “Whaddya mean! I am an independent woman.”

You weren’t sure that had ever been true. While your mother had drilled it into your skull to never place yourself in the need of a man, she always seemed to throw her heart (and house keys and purse strings…) at the feet of any man willing to love her. 

“Love” her. 

There was no love in any of that. A common problem of confusing love with any and all intense emotions affected your mother and many others.

Slashed furniture is not adoration. Breaking windows is not a love language. Bruises are not affection.

Your hands ran down the bag’s shapeless sides. Without thinking, you smiled. Adoration. Love languages. Affection. You had them and the knowledge of their secrets all to yourself. 

Secrets you didn’t need slipping out. Secrets your sister couldn’t hold to save her life, or yours for that matter. You hurried around the room grabbing knick-knacks and photos and jewelry. Alastor would be at work soon, you wondered if you should call to warn him. This time not about a hot headed flatfoot but a nosey sibling.

You’d tell him later. No reason to talk to Brenda again. Quickly your leather bag got full and heavy. What was supposed to be a casual foray into sharing a home already turning into a full on move. 

Everything you needed and a few things no one ever would, because damn would Ephi pawn them the very second she needed something, were safely zipped away. Any plans to relax at home before work were abandoned and you just marched to the door. 

A random memory flashed behind your eyes,  washing Alastor’s hair in the tub until the water ran clear. Why now? The only memory shared in your apartment. And it was an awful one. But, it had Alastor. That gave it value. 

“Hey, if any men come by looking for me you just don’t answer, okay?” You forced your face to relax, to show the sincerity you worked so hard to keep to yourself, “Please, Ephi.”

Her smile widened past unnaturally white teeth, no money for a room but clearly cash for peroxide tooth gel, “Ooh, why? Little sister make some enemies?”

Why couldn’t she just fucking agree?

“My job sometimes attracts crazies. I don’t tell them where I live but occasionally they figure it out. They’ve gotten violent before so…just don’t answer the buzzer. They’ll say they’re damn near anyone to get you to let them up.” You stopped the nervous twisting of your bag’s handle, “Boyfriend, boss, detective. They've tried it all.”

“Aww, sis. Look at you.” She leaned her full figure against the open door frame, arm raised up like a pin up. Ephi was always effortlessly enchanting when her mouth was closed. “Stalkers? Mama would be so proud. Finally learning how to catch a man’s attention.”

The tears that stung your eyes were inspired partly by anger and partly by pain. They came so suddenly you could only laugh in response. 

“Lovely to see your new name hasn’t changed you, Ephi. I’ll be back occasionally. Don’t steal anything, no strangers over. Spare key is in the bowl by the door.” 

“Oh hey!” 

You turned back.

“I do need some cash. Until I find work.”

The numbness blanketed you with a chill. 

“I’ve got like, three bucks. Is that fine?”

Why did you ask that? You knew she could very well say it wasn’t fine and you’d be obligated to offer to get more. Atleast, that’s what you’d have done when you were younger. How easily you both slipped into old roles. Or perhaps she never grew out of hers. 

She mulled it over, “Yeah that’ll be fine.” Her hand came out and waited for the bills.

An open palm waiting for your money.

You pulled the folded bills from your wallet and set them in her hand without touching her skin. 

“Thanks sis!” She turned and closed the door before you could reply.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The other dancers shot you a look when your bag jingled and clanked as it hit the floor, you wincing as you remembered the ceramic figurine.

“You…. going somewhere, hun? The detective got you on something?”

A quick shake of your head. You hadn’t considered the optics. Luckily it was early enough the room wasn’t very busy. A few select missing women would have pried for more information. Your hands fidgeted, unsure what to do. On the way in you saw some newer talent getting their feet on stage, maybe watch them? Too early for make up. 

A loving voice from Ruth, always a savior, “Cigarette?”

You melted at the offer. Alastor wasn’t a fan of the smell so you were slyly cutting back. 

She popped a sun bleached folding chair open and set it in between you both as a footrest. So many broken and ruined chairs littered the sides of the dingy roof, you were shocked she found a good one on her first try.

“Alright, tell me what happened with that detective. Do I need to go rough up a city employee?” Ruth leaned back and settled into her chair with a creak and a whine of the wood.

You needed a second, eyes flitting around as she handed her cigarette for you to take a drag. What could you say? What did she already know? You’d not spoken about it since she helped shoo him away but the appearance of half your belongings haphazardly stuffed into a bag clearly had her alarms going off. 

“So remember the guy who came by for me? Tall handsome one.”

She nodded enthusiastically, “Yes! Of course. Don’t forget a name like his. Or face.” She whistled like a crude man trying to get a woman’s attention in the most annoying way.

“The detective thinks he did something to Tommy. That he was jealous. Which is ridiculous-,” you felt a nervous energy slip down your arms. 

An abrupt laugh, “That string bean couldn’t open a heavy window. He didn’t do shit to Tommy. What a stupid thing to say.”

Did she notice how much you’d been holding your breath? A deep sigh as you let it go. “Exactly! He doesn’t even know about what happened that night with that guy and Tommy’s arrangement; it’s too mortifying. Anyway, the detective has been hounding me about it. I don’t wanna cause trouble.” You ashed the cigarette and held it out for her, “Stuff is still new with him and me, so I didn’t tell the detective his details or work anything. Why would I? So he can harass him too?” The words all tumbled out so quickly. A faucet turned too far to the left.

“Fair.” A few passes back and forth in what you hoped was a comfortable silence and not an indication she was piecing together things you needed to remain unlinked. Finally, “Didn’t realize you two were still seeing each other. Longest one you’ve kept for awhile now.”

Looking up, you marveled at the view of the open sky. Not a cloud in sight. A smile crept across your face, the heat of the sun warming you from the inside out. The slightest chill to the air warning you of Fall. “Yeah.”

She asked what made him so special and you didn’t know where to start. “The obvious,” you began. “He’s so-,”

“Clever.” “Handsome.”

You’d spoken at the same time, her attempt at soothsaying failing miserably.

“Clever, Ruth. He’s very clever. Handsome men are a dime a dozen. But he’s sharp as a tack.” She rolled her eyes and waved her hand around for you to go on. You let your mind toss out the shiniest examples. “He’s so skilled. He knows how to hunt and take apart animals. He can fish. Cooks like a dream. He knows how to clean clothes well and how to use a washing board.” 

“Useful.” She mused. That isn’t what you meant. You weren’t trying to list off his features like a new appliance. It was just— impressive. He was well rounded.

“And he’s terribly kind. He’s always,” how to say it delicately, “going out of his way to help others solve their problems.” That seemed accurate and vague enough. You chuckled to yourself, remembering him at the kitchen table, “His face lights up so bright when he’s talking about his hobbies. Like, I can see his soul glittering behind his eyes and suddenly I’m just as interested in whatever he’s talking about as he is.” You let your eyes close around the mental image of his surprised face every time you complimented him. But they shot open when she began giggling, “What?”

“You’re in looooove,” her foot kicked yours, “I know that look. Head over heels already. Talking about him like he made the fucking stars.”

Wide eyed and stunned, was it written on your face so plainly? “Oh don’t say that. It makes me so uncomfortable. We’re just enjoying each other's company.” When she moved to give you the cigarette again you didn’t take it. “All I was saying was—,” fuck, what were you saying? That he was special? “He’s a very nice person to spend my limited time with. It’s a finite resource and all.”

With a shrug she took another puff, “What’s to be uncomfortable about? Falling in love is a wonderful thing, hun.”

Was it? Honestly, had she ever considered how much damage came with loving someone? It was putting your heart outside your body. Letting someone else carry it around and just praying they didn’t hurt you, or get hurt, or go off and die and take your heart with them. Why would anyone willingly do such a silly thing?

“Cheesy. And kind of creepy. Falling? How do I get back up if things go south?”

You’d successfully avoided emotional attachment to nearly every lover you’d taken. The way women seemed to get struck down dumb by any old John or Jane just wasn’t appealing. Love was for fools. The weak. The dependent.

Or, so you had whispered to yourself as you pretended to not be home when suitors came knocking, as you avoided ringing phones, as you apologized and slid out of restaurant seats after awkward dinners. 

“If you fall hard enough, you don’t get back up.” She said it like it was a good thing. “You’ll love them forever, even if you hate em.”

That was the problem, too. How could she not hear that as she said it? All loss of control of your own heart and emotions was simply bad. People do irrational things for love.

You shivered, “That sounds absolutely horrid, Ruth.”

“Aah,” she dismissed you with a raspberry blown between her lips, “For the right man, you’ll find yourself enjoying the trip down!” 

“Nah, I’m not fan of heights. No dick is worth that.”

“Is that all men are to you? Sex?” She guffawed, taken aback by your comment. Which was odd, given it was Ruth. 

But, Yes.

Well. No . But — he wasn't a man. He was something different. The exception to the rule. Alastor was different.

Or, fine. 

Yes, he was a man. 

No, you didn’t see them as just sex. It was easier to say people were just pleasure and not stop to think about life any other way. Things got complicated when you added another person. Life became sloppy and uncontainable. If you stopped and considered the lives behind the people you used to lead on and let go before things got too difficult, you’d just wound yourself. It was easier to stop at sex.

When you could. Which you could, before. When sex was a token you traded back and forth with someone. But Alastor didn’t accept that currency. You couldn’t hand him your body and get brief but lovely companionship back. Your value had to lie elsewhere, the things you set before him and the wonders he had to offer were much richer in their worth than what you’d ever had before. 

Sometimes it felt like you slid him a penny and he handed you a quarter. You found yourself scrounging up the petty coins of your worth and trying to save them up for him. Practicing your makeup, learning how he liked his coffee, remembering all of the things he said he hated and loved. Attempting to stop smoking. Every act was another shiny offering for him. 

A crow scrounging the park grounds for glittering trash. Not very swan-like, you thought.

“You really don’t think you’re falling for him?” Ruth put out the cigarette in the coffee can beside her. As you turned to argue with her you saw her face full of amusement and incredulousness. It was rhetorical.

The argument withered and you could only pout, everyone that day seeming to catch your tongue, “I don’t wanna think about it. I’ll get scared and run away. He’ll figure out how little I have to give eventually. If anything more is gonna happen, it’ll happen. I’ll just… let it. Why ruin it with… saying childish things.”

“You’re naive but that’s okay. Enjoy the honeymoon stage while you can.”

Your eyes rolled, “What if he doesn’t feel the same? Why embarrass myself.” When you sighed the weight of just how heavy and true that sentiment was resonated in your stomach. Telling him you were falling in love? Alastor was a killer. His passion was singular. What good was a dame to him? No, worse than worthless. A liability. A witness. A weak point in the walls he so carefully crafted. If he knew you were in love with him he’d just end things sooner than they would have naturally.

“Dontcha wanna know if he’s a waste of that precious time, then?”

You cackled, choking on your spit. Alastor? He was the most worthwhile thing you’d ever encountered. Time with him suddenly had …. Value. That fucking word again. But time with him, it was slow enough to be deep and rich, but so fleeting you already felt a mourning mood for how much closer you were to the end.

You could only shake your head, “Wait, Ruth, didn’t you get divorced?”

“Shhh that doesn’t count!” She rose and stretched her long arms up to the sun and then out to the horizon, “Plus that’s how I know what I’m talking about! After the honeymoon phase? You’ll be arguing about laundry and wishing you were strangers again. Fighting about children and lawncare.”

As your finger nervously came to your mouth, teeth cutting into the nail, you considered how if Alastor complained about laundry and you could argue back with the comfort of knowing neither would simply leave, that’d be….nice. The safety of being honest without the fear of the other person giving up on you. Was that love? 

And did that matter at all? 

You’d thought earlier you knew the answers but now, when someone else said it, you got scared of those words. 

Ruth must have put a spell on you. As you and a bevy of others danced in line on stage, arms over shoulders and legs kicking high enough to show cheek and jiggle the soft skin of your thighs and stomach, you felt butterflies in your gut. Alastor would be picking you up in a matter of hours. 

A few men sent you drinks, which you repaid with a wink and a kiss blown across the bar before downing the liquor. It was the usual routine. You hadn’t felt nerves to see Alastor quite like that since sheepishly picking out “comfortable” shoes.

Alastor’s eyes widened when he took the bag from you, not noticing your attempts to avoid making eye contact. He let out a chuckle, his best attempt at stifling the joking question, “Already moving in?”

He realized quickly enough that wasn’t a good joke. Not when he finally looked up and saw your stare was distant. 

“Everything okay, dear?” He walked to open your door for you, and you nodded a thank you and an affirmative.

Should you rip off the band aid? Should you just say it and see what happens? 

When you turned to look at him and blurt out a confession, you were stopped by the profile of his face. What a gentle face. A lovely jaw. Even his bones were better than other people’s. What were you doing in this man’s car? What little pieces of glittering trash were you about to toss at him on a random Friday night?

No, in the books you read, confessions were always grande affairs. Fireworks and dinner parties and passionate kisses in rain storms.

You’d have to put a little effort into this. His brows rose as he clocked your staring. Eyes on the road, smirk pulled to the right, his hand came to rest on your thigh.

He deserved something much better than whatever you had to offer. Something unlike yourself entirely. 

The drive home, and yes you let yourself linger on the word instead of shoo it away, you watched a deer jump across the dirt road just past the bridge. 

“The bucks chase the does. It’s part of their mating ritual. I guess it’s not unlike the ‘playing hard to get’ some women like. The longer the chase, the prouder the buck to snag his prize.”

You laughed, “Women don’t like it, I don’t think. Well, some do I am sure but… If we don’t do that then people think we’re easy. We need plausible deniability. If people learn we put out we can claim we didn’t really want to and save some face.”

Alastor grimaced, “Gross.”

Unseen, you nodded and turned to watch the buck leap after its doe. 

“Kind of funny, you chased me down, didn’t you?” Alastor’s comment pulled you back to him.

“Oh yes. That makes you my doe.” Your arm came to rest against the car door, the trees slowly rolling by in the darkness. “Reminds me of the small freckles across your shoulders.”

“My mighty buck!” He fawned, in jest, pretending to collapse into your lap. You shoved him back up and behind the wheel proper. “Well given the chance, I’d chase you for miles.” His hand flexed on your leg.

“To Texas?” You asked. Your usual end point.

“Further.”

“How far?”

“There is no limit. I’d … run right off a cliff, head first, if you were waiting at the bottom.” He took his hand back, needing both to hold the wheel. What he said hit him harder than he had intended. Was it too much? A tad too dramatic? A nervous clearing of his throat, followed by an awkward laugh to put more space between him and the confession. 

The idea of you making Alastor chase you was ridiculous. You enjoyed the games you played with others, but you were never meant to be caught. If you wanted that, you’d just…give yourself. As you had done with him. Only him. The first and last person you ever wanted to give yourself over to in any sense. “And if I just… lied down and let you catch me? Would that make me a poorly earned prize?”

“Nope! That’d make me a lucky duck. And make you quite smart, if I do say so myself.” A wink. “Why run from such a catch like me?”

You landed a smack on his arm, light and playful. 

A truly comfortable silence settled in, just the sound of the car trembling over the rough road. The newest model Ford was still as loud as the last, but luckily you were far from others. 

The words had lingered like smoke, and you felt the need to address them.  

“Don’t actually do that though. If I run off a cliff or something stupid, don’t you dare follow me.”

Alastor just laughed, wasn’t that what you were doing for him already? Diving into hell for some inexplicable reason after Alastor. He wasn’t expressing some lack of self preservation, he was merely letting you know he’d reciprocate the fall. You hadn’t made him run after you, but instead seemed to just….rest your neck between his canines. And trust. 

If you were to go to heaven, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. It was too late to redeem his soul now. How far was heaven from hell, anyways? If the devil survived the plummet perhaps he could scale the walls of his enclosure and breach the gates.

Though, as he thought about the idea of heaven, he considered how happy his mother would be to meet you. To take you from her would be as cruel as heaven taking you from him. 

Maybe he could make a plea. To just be able to see you from below. 

But if the knowledge you were happy and safe was all he had, he’d be a richer man in hell than he’d ever been on earth. It’d be enough. 

He’d just need to broadcast his radio waves a little further for your listening pleasure.

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ⋆Masterlist.ೃ࿔*:･

˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

@eris-norwega @reath-solia @catticora , @angelicribbons , @xalygatorx

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @moonmark98

, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog ,

@thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies

@howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @fizzled-phoenix , @star-kujo-platinum

, @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 @watereddownmilk , @bontensbabygirl @smoky000

@hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain

@harley2223-blog , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby

@dontfuckbutimfab @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12

[stoptellinglieslois]

Love fair Act 28

Vampire fanficftion Clark Kent human x Richard Grayson vampire no capes or tights but fangs or might.

Clark pov

We didn't open the door yet the two guards are still holding me as I am playing possum. "Don't open the door yet I have a plan just all of you fall back." I told them I did feel something like lightning inside of me I started to levitate off the floor.

I squeezed my hand into fist and the door was locked up where this magic is coming from my only guess is the Zeus ring. "Holy shit Clark." Richard hazard.

I pulled a Carrie. From the inside of the room as courtesans are being pelted with objects. As I am a few feet off the ground even from behind the door I scanned the souls of the people to find Thalia and I did.

Beside her is Bruce this won't take long as pandemonium is happening inside the room. It's like an invisible string I pulled on it and I knew it was Thalia she fell to the floor like a rag doll she is at my mercy now.

I was in so much pain my back felt like it was on fire I gave that pain to Thalia ten times fold, I threw the invisible string tugging at her whatever force let me bend and break her bones.

I heard a cruel cry of agony from inside the room I have dismantled her strength and that's when I opened the door.

Still levitating I glided towards the couple as people panicked as they saw me. Richard and Thomas are not far behind me. "Thalia look at what you've done now where is Al Ghul." Bruce gasp not understanding what is happening.

"Fine won't talk Thalia you will spend the rest of your days demented in the underworld." The dagger up my sleeve took flight on it's own and slit Thalia throat blood splutter out screams of murder echoed the room.

I was controlling the dagger it was all me the poisonous dagger floated menacingly towards Bruce. "Clark no please don't kill him." Richard grabbed my arm tugging for us to exit.

I ignored him for now but I didn't pull my arm away. "Did you try to kill Joseph Bruce." Shock his eyes went wide icy blue eyes penetrated mine, He looked at me more closely and understanding now who he was looking at something about him but there was no time to study it at this moment.

"No." Bruce answer.

"Don't lie to me." I motion the poison dagger closer to his eyes I could even smell the poison on the wicked steel.

"I never tried to kill you." He answers again he is scared but there is something else in this man I couldn't pin point what it was. "Don't lie to him boy." Thomas interjected at Bruce. "I swear I never tried to kill you." Bruce said walking towards Thalia.

"Step the fuck away from the evil you fool look what you've done to your kids to me. If I could I would kill both you and that bitch" Thomas in his anger clutched his heart shit !

"Grandfather oh god." Thomas slumped to the floor. "You've killed her it's good enough." Thomas says to Richard holding him he is still clutching his heart.

"It's time for you and him to go back and get Raz now she won't be coming back for both of you anymore." Thomas said and looked at me. "This is how I died anyways knowing my good for nothing son turned him and Jason into werewolf. Please watch over yourself your good boys." His eyes closed he was gone.

My anger boiled inside of me the dagger still floating went through the window and shatter the stained glass. "If I ever come here again or in the future for any affair about Al Ghul I will kill you by association." I threaten Bruce his face an expression of sheer ruined.

I started to faze in and out of this time frame as me and Richard started to be pulled in and out of consciousness. As I looked one last time to Bruce who is a mess on the floor clutching his father's dead body tightly.

I woke up feeling stiff and my body felt awkward and disoriented. It needed time to adjust to the feeling of being alive wow ! That means I was about to be truly dead.

I looked around and found the others watching me Richard came closer to my face.

"Good you're up." Tone Stark said it had a bicker in his hand with a blue liquid inside of it. "Zatanna woke up sooner then you guys we were worried that you wouldn't come to. She helped me wake you guys up it looks like something happened to Thalia the spell she cast disintegrated before our eyes." Tony's tone voice sounded a bit suspicious.

"I killed her and threw her soul into the underworld." I explained holding my head I felt dizzy a headache was about to start if I kept talking.

"Great then it's over." Stark sounded relieved looking at Steve.

"I hope her father's dead in a ditch somewhere otherwise it's done." I told them the room felt lighter as I reassured them.

I am here in the present day and I made such a impact in the past I wonder what the future would hold.

The end act 28 next is act 29

Thank you for reading

[queenclaudiabrown]

Shadow of The Jaguar by Steven Savile | THREE

     It was still too early to call Nando Estevez, and would be for some time yet, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t make preparations. There were a thousand things that needed to be put in place for a legitimate scientific expedition, and almost none of them could be done overnight. Still, they had to be done.

     Cutter corralled the team into his office, mentally sorting out the best way to divvy up responsibilities.

     He looked at them looking at him, and wondered what they saw.  Sometimes he had difficulty recognizing the man he saw reflected in their eyes, seeing instead a distorted image in a fun-house mirror.  He recognised the features, the lines and bone structure, that was all intimately familiar to him, but the flesh did not make the man. The sum of his experiences did. Memories shaped a man’s life and gave it purpose and meaning.

     They had their memories, and he had his, and even when they were of each other they were different. Cutter hadn’t lived through many of the experiences they thought they shared between them. It was a peculiar thing to think about: a wrinkle in time.

     He needed to think about something else. Time to throw himself into his work.

     They had resources now, he reminded himself. The ARC was a long way from his disorganised academic haven shunted away on the far corner of the university campus. They had money at their disposal, and they even had access to the strings that needed to be pulled.

     He could probably have left them to their own devices, said something like: “Suit up and be ready for the morning,” and they would have been.

But he preferred to be on top of things, even if it was akin to teaching his grandmother to suck eggs - an expression that had never made that much sense to him.

     “I feel like I just stepped through the looking glass,” Cutter began, peering beyond them at his reflection in the glass door. “Now I’m trying to believe in five impossible things before breakfast, and I think my head is going to explode.”

     “Six,” Connor corrected.

     “What?”

     “It’s six impossible things.”

     “Right. And that’s meant to help prevent my head from exploding?”  Cutter scratched at the stubble on his cheek to hide his slight grin. “Okay, so let’s review the situation from our end.” He turned to Stephen. “Was Nando Estevez in your seminar group?”

     Stephen shook his head. “The name doesn’t ring any bells. Sorry.”

     “Ah, well, Nando is an old student of mine. He contacted me last night to report something potentially very exciting. He’s a ranger in an eco-reserve in Peru. Part of his job is to study the behavioural patterns of the 100-plus endangered species that can be found within the rainforest.  Recently, he’s noticed a lot of strange activity, including tracks he doesn’t recognise, and bones that are out of time. Reading between the lines I think he suspects they are from a supposedly extinct creature. By themselves they prove nothing, though they do raise a lot of questions, and coupled with some peculiar migratory patterns he has observed in the species, I think it means a prehistoric creature has been introduced into the ecosystem. Perhaps more than one. This could be our first solid evidence of an anomaly outside of the British Isles.”

     He paused, and allowed that to sink in for a moment. Connor, of course, was the first to speak up.

     “Do you know what that means?” he said breathlessly, as his mind raced to catch up with all of the possibilities. This was a conspiracy theorist’s dream... and nightmare. “It doesn’t have to be the only one, does it? I mean, there could be anomalies all over the world. Everywhere.”

     The implications of it hung there, just waiting to be voiced. It was Abby who spoke up next.

     “Oh, God,” she said, shaking her head. “What does it mean? If anomalies could begin opening everywhere, the past and the future breaking through, is time itself coming undone? Life’s supposed to be a straight line, from birth to death, not twisting and turning across the millennia.”

     Then her specialty kicked in.

     “How can we survive if bacteria from the Permian are suddenly let loose, and we’re not there to contain it?  We have no vaccines.  No resistance.  Look at bird flu.  What if it’s not natural? What if it appeared just because a bird in Eastern Europe fed on some Jurassic faeces?  Look how it’s spread, what it’s done to livestock.”

     She sat back and muttered, “Oh, God.”

     All of this had occurred to Cutter, and more. The threat to humanity didn’t have to come from the past, either. Seeing Abby’s troubled face, he chose not to voice his fears.

     “You think something has come through, then? Some sort of predator?” Stephen asked, bringing them back, ironically, to the present.

     “I don’t know.” Cutter admitted. “But that would be the logical conclusion. The rainforest ecosystem is a finely balanced mechanism. Sudden changes are uncommon, and when they do occur it’s almost always because something has unsettled the balance. A new predator is the logical extrapolation of the facts.”

     Stephen nodded.

     “It’s hardly new, though, surely?” Connor said. “What about El Chupacabra? South American territories are rife with stories of mysterious predators and mystical devil dogs going back centuries.  Iconographically, even their gods are based upon incredible monsters.  Take Quetzalcoatl, the bird serpent.”

     “True,” Cutter said. “There might still be unidentified species in the region.”

     “Any ideas what we’re looking for?” Jenny asked.

    “Could be anything, literally. We’ve got all of history to contend with. Predators were common on the South American pampas.” He stopped, wary of letting them get carried away with endless supposition.

     “So, this morning I was told in no uncertain terms an investigation was out of the question, and this afternoon we’re packing our bags for Peru. As much as I hate the political ramifications of what Lester is asking us to do, this is a pretty unique chance for us to see what’s out there. Let’s not waste the opportunity.

     “With that in mind, we’re going to need to make some pretty serious preparations in a very short period of time. I’m going to contact Nando and arrange for a welcoming committee, once we reach the reserve.  Connor, I want you to sort out the technical side of things, go to the stores, work out what we’re likely to need to do this properly.

     “Abby can you handle the practicalities: tents, dry bags, first aid supplies, salt pills?

     “Jenny, if this is meant to be a legitimate expedition, we’re going to need transport both to get there and once we’re on the ground - and it has to be of the non-military variety. Let’s distance ourselves as far as possible from anything official. Get onto the airlines, find out the nearest airport, arrange the hire of an All Terrain Vehicle. I’m sure there are a stack of permits we’ll need to have in place before we touch down.”

     “Already onto it,” she said briskly.

     “Great. Stephen, we’re going to need supplies in situ: food, water, dietary supplements. We’re not going to be in a position to wander into the nearest supermarket once we land, and certainly not once we’re in the wild. We’re going to need maps too.  I don’t want to leave anything to chance.”

     “Maps? Maps? We don t need no stinking maps,” Connor said, doing a fairly miserable Bogart impression. “We’ve got the GPS trackers, satellite hook-ups, pin-point accuracy. All the mod cons for us, Prof. None of this splashing around in the mud trying to read soggy paper.”

     “Right, and they’re all well and good, but how exactly do you plan on charging them up on day two?  We’re going to have to do it the old fashioned way, I’m afraid.”

     “I don’t suppose...” Connor paused, looking around the room hopefully.  “You know... What about guns?”

     “What about them? Should we plan on smuggling them across international boundaries? Last time I looked ‘gunrunner’ wasn’t in the job description.”

     “We could use diplomatic pouches,” Connor offered.

     “Do you really think I’m going to let you run around in the jungle with an AK47?” Cutter asked. And his face made it clear that it wasn’t really a question.

     Connor shrugged. “Worth a try.”

     “Who knows, one day I might weaken,” Cutter said. “But I wouldn’t count on it.”

     Alejandro Inatuzi was a simple man. His life consisted of simple things.

The simplest of which was the dream of going home to sleep. The Médico Clinica Cuzco operated on a three-shift system - at least in theory. He had worked eighteen hours straight, with three more to go, and needed a cigarette if he was going to make it through.

     He snuck out, nodding as he passed the ward sister who was hunched over patient charts working out doses of medication for the night shift. Pills of all colours were laid out in white paper drinking cups, waiting to be taken through to the wards. She smiled up at him as he walked by her desk. Her deep brown eyes were manna from heaven.  There was beauty, he mused, the young, pretty kind that was brushed on with makeup, and then there was real beauty, the lines of the face, the curves of the body, ample and rounded, of a proper woman. Sister Maya Vennasque was a proper woman in every sense of the word. She had the kind of beauty that would have made painters weep and plead for the chance to immortalise her.

     Hell, Alejandro wanted to paint her, and there wasn’t an artistic bone in his body.

     He mimed smoking a cigarette and she shook her head. so he shrugged a kind of rueful can’t blame a guy for trying shrug, and pressed the button for the elevator.

     The corridors exuded that ever-present ammonia and antiseptic smell. The floor tiles were scuffed and worn, any kind of lustre long since trodden into submission by countless feet over the course of too many years to remember.

     The elevator arrived, and he went outside for his smoke. Alejandro rolled his own licorice-paper cigarettes, adding a little smoothing extra to the tobacco in order to wake him up during the interminably long shifts.

He savoured the smoke as it filled his lungs, finished cigarette, then wandered back up to finish the chores on his duty roster. He had six rooms left to visit before he could go home.

     Maya smiled her heart-stopping smile as the elevator doors opened up again.

     “No rest for the wicked,” he said, leaning up against the desk, “and no use pretending I’m not the wickedest.”

     “Alejandro Inatuzi, what would your wife say if she knew you spent your nights flirting with another woman?”

     “She’d threaten to cut bits off of me, I am sure,” he replied, grinning.  “So let’s keep it our secret.”

     “You’re incorrigible,” Maya chuckled.

     “I try to be.”

     “Take these in to the Englishman would you?” she said. “He needs to take three on the hour.” She handed him one of the small pill cups.

     He wandered back toward his steel cart, which was still up against the wall where he had left it an hour ago. That was one thing about the night shift, generally it was calm - at least once it was past three a.m., that is.

That was one of the curiosities he’d discovered working in the hospital - more people died at three in the morning than at any other time of day.

They joked about the Death Hour, but they all believed it. ‘El Diablo’s Time’, they called it.

     He checked his watch. It was five minutes to four. Five more minutes, then he was home free. He laughed quietly at himself and started whistling as he walked.

     The Englishman was in the last room off the corridor, sharing, it with Paco, an emphysemic who hadn’t said a word since he lay down in bed, six weeks earlier. Paco had been brought into the hospital to die, left there by a grandson who had no wish to care for the old man.  Sometimes people disappointed Alejandro; there was honour in caring for your elders. It went back to tribal times; the men gave their lives for the tribe, and when they could no longer hunt or fish or fight, they were cared for by the beloved they had spent their lives feeding and protecting.

     This new generation, with their flat-screens and their fast cars, left a lot to be desired when it came to humanity. With that thought, he turned to enter the darkened room.

     There was a man standing over the Englishman’s bed.

     It took Alejandro a moment to realise that he didn’t recognise him.

     “What are you doing?” he asked. A superstitious part of his brain began screaming that he had walked in upon El Diablo, come to claim the Englishman for himself. Inwardly, he cursed himself for a fool.

     The man turned to face him, but said nothing.

     For a moment it seemed as though he had no face. There was no shape to it; no features, no colour. Alarmed, Alejandro reached for the switch and turned on the overhead lights.

     The stranger was wearing a mask, and he held a needle gun, which he had stabbed into the morphine dispenser. Alejandro watched as he depressed the trigger again and again and again, administering dose after dose.

     “Get away from him!” the orderly cried in alarm.

     The stranger let the dispenser drop and stepped away from the window-side bed. The saline drip was shot through with a ribbon of red: blood, Alejandro realised sickly.

     Still the stranger said nothing. He reached behind his back for something as he walked slowly toward the door. His hand came back holding a snub-nosed revolver.

     Alejandro threw up his hands, pleading, “Don’t shoot me. Please. I did not see anything. The Englishman died in his sleep. It happens. Please, do not shoot me. I have a wife and three boys. Please.” The stranger came close enough that the foul stench of his breath was sucked back into Alejandro’s lungs as he swallowed air.

     He didn’t pull the trigger. Instead he raised his hand and hammered the hilt of the gun into the side of Alejandro’s skull with a sickening crunch of bone. The orderly fell, sprawling out across the freshly disinfected floor. He could see his own face reflected in the white tiles, and the blood-red rose that seemed to flower at his temple.

     The stranger stepped over him, his footsteps echoing hollowly in the antiseptic quiet of the ward.

     Alejandro did not dare move until the steps had faded to nothing.  Only then did he struggle back to his feet. He stumbled across to the Englishman’s bed and pulled back the blankets. He wrenched the needle out of the patient’s arm, cutting off the supply of whatever drug the stranger had administered.

     The flesh had already turned bruise-purple around the central line.

Poison? There were a hundred lethal drugs in the supply cabinets, and no way of knowing the toxicology of what was in the Englishman’s blood without testing the bag from the drip itself.

     The rhythmic beep of the heart monitor beside the bed faltered, and stopped.

     Alejandro hit the alarm.

     A minute later the crash team came running.

     The call came in a little before six in the evening.

     “Lester,” he said, answering the phone himself. As the voice spoke on the other end, however, he sat up straight in his chair.

     Cameron Bairstow was talking.

     Sir Charles’ man had made it through the wall of protection ringing the hospital by posing as a hospital orderly.

     “We’ve had word.” Sir Charles’ aristocratic burr was stretched painfully thin by a mix of grief and the muted telephone line. “It is Cameron they found, and Jaime is dead.”

     “I’m sorry for your loss,” Lester replied, surprising himself because he actually managed to sound as though a part of him meant it.

     “I don’t want your sorrow, Lester, I want you to bring my boy home. That is all that matters to me.”

     “I understand, but surely Cameron is safe now, and at the risk of being insensitive, there’s nothing we can do for Jaime. There is no longer the need for our little charade. And I’m sure the Foreign Office can assist with the arrangements...”

     The silence on the line was long and drawn out, the rasp of breathing the only hint that Sir Charles was still there. Finally, he spoke.

     “Cam is far from safe. There was an attempt on his life tonight. He was drugged in his bed, Lester. Someone broke into the hospital and tried to kill him while he slept. God only knows why. I won’t lose him, Lester. I have instructed my man to post armed guards at his bedside twenty-four seven, until your people arrive to collect him. It is only by the grace of God that he is not dead, twice over.” Again there was silence, and then he spoke again.

     “Listen to me, and listen to me well. I have lost one son. I will not lose another, Lester. I do not trust these people.”

     And despite that shocking truth, there was something in the way Sir Charles spoke that hinted there was still more to this than he was telling.

     That rankled.

     “I would very much like to contact your man,” Lester remarked, fastening onto the old man’s evasiveness. He wasn’t about to let this go.  If there was one thing he hated, it was people hiding things from him.  “There are questions I need to ask, for my team, and no disrespect, but it would be best to hear from him, rather than through your filter.”

     “Are you suggesting that I would lie?”

     “Not at all, sir, not at all. You have nothing to hide, I’m certain, so why should I think you are being anything other than 100 per cent truthful? I understand you are concerned that any indiscretion might make your son’s situation worse - loose tongues cost lives, and all that - but I assure you my team will act with the utmost tact. We will bring him home, but we really need to talk to your man to assess the situation properly. We have questions that need answering. Fools blunder in, Sir Charles, and none of us like to think of ourselves as fools, do we?”

     “Very well.” Sir Charles said. “I am trusting you with my boy’s life, Lester.  Don’t let me down.” Then he gave him the com-sat co-ordinates, call signal, a list of contact times, and the frequency that would allow Lester to reach his man on the ground.

     “A simple telephone number would have sufficed,” Lester said dryly.

     This time the silence on the line was absolute. Sir Charles had broken the connection, leaving Lester holding the phone.

     He sat back in his chair as he worried over what hadn’t been said. It was far more telling than what had. Lester cracked the bones of his knuckles, one at a time.

     Sir Charles wanted his son back, there was no denying that, but he wanted it done quietly, with the minimum of fuss, because for whatever reason he didn’t want Cameron’s story splashed across the front pares.

     Was he just protecting his son? There was nothing untoward in that, if he was. No sinister purpose. Cameron had almost certainly witnessed his brother’s killing, and that someone had attempted to murder him before he could talk added a sense of urgency to the situation. That intrigued Lester, he had to admit. But then murder was often fascinating.

     So what was it, an eye for an eye? Had Jaime’s killers come looking for Cam to finish the job? If so, what had he seen that could possibly frighten them into murder in such a public place?

     He had to impress Sir Charles’ urgency onto Jenny. He had given his word. That meant that they would bring him home.

     And not in a box, if it could be helped.

***

     The storerooms were an Aladdin’s Cave of gadgets.  Connor Temple scratched the scruff on the side of his face and tapped through the various menus looking for anything and everything that might be of use.

     Every item he could possibly need or want was represented by a small icon, which led to a description detailing precise dimensions, weight, and function. Despite what Cutter had said, he fully intended to fill up one of the Personal Digital Assistants with every scrap of data he could find on Peru, including flora, fauna, maps, political climate, hot zones, traditions and culture. They could jury-rig extra juice from a spare battery cradle that would give them twenty-four hours continuous use, and considerably more if used sparingly. Sometimes the holes in Cutter’s understanding were frightening. When it came to technology, it was as though he were trapped somewhere back in the eighties with his transistors, eight-track players and LEDs.

     “Practical, think practical,” he muttered to himself, resisting the urge to get carried away and requisition stuff for every eventuality.

     As an afterthought, he patched through to Jenny on the intercom.

     “Stupid question, but what sort of baggage allowance have we got?”

     She laughed at him. It wasn’t cruel laughter, though - far from it.  There was genuine affection in the sound. He could imagine her smiling into the intercom.

     “We aren’t flying British Airways, Connor. And we can’t exactly drop in

on a Hercules, so just this once we’re travelling in style. I’ve chartered a private jet from a government contractor.”

     “Nice.” He was impressed.

     Moments later, Connor was compiling the playlist for his MP3 player in his head, and he had it complete by the time the first of the steel coffins rolled in on the conveyor belt. It was all about the mood, matching the spirit of adventure with the mellowness demanded by fifteen hours cramped up in a tin can hurtling through the sky. Augustana, Aimee Mann, Breaking Benjamin, some Foo Fighters and Everclear to kick-start the journey. He could imagine Dave Grohl singing ‘Next Year’ as the wheels left the ground, followed by something more grungy as they climbed to altitude, The Levellers’ England My Home’ with its discordant fiddles, and Pearl Jam’s ‘Black’ with its melancholic melody. Throw in some Snow Patrol, Billy Corgan, Neil Hannon, and Mike Doughty and some old classics like Black Dog and 2112, and that was the first hour pretty much sorted.

     The second hour, well, that had to be mod classics like Madness’ Must Be Love’, Adam Ant’s ‘Prince Charming and The Specials’ ‘Ghost Town’, then shake it up a bit with ‘It’s A Kind of Magic’, ‘Mirror in the Bathroom’ or Bowie’s ‘Ashes to Ashes’ to follow. With any kind of mix, the success was down to how well the individual tracks flowed - it wasn’t about how great they were individually. There needed to be just the right amount of juxtaposition and continuity between bass lines and vocals to make it interesting, but not jarring.

     He broke the seals on the coffins to make sure everything he had chosen was safely stowed inside. Once he was satisfied all was as it should be, he locked them up again and struggled to drag them through to the loading bay. He muttered the refrain from a Stone Temple Pilots song as he wrestled with the steel boxes, not that anyone would have been able to recognise the words between huffs and puffs.

     It was a huge amount of equipment, but then, he had tried to think of every eventuality.

     Connor went through to the rec room. A re-run of Robot Wars was playing to itself on the flat-screen. He sank down into one of the beanbags across from the sofa and fired up the laptop someone had left on the table. The ARC was on an integrated network. Within a few minutes he was browsing the music files on his own machine and recreating the playlist from scratch. It took him the best part of an hour.

     It was an hour in which his curiosity got the better of him. He went back to the virtual server that linked the various machines up, and tapped in a string of commands. He hit a wall immediately, But, he thought to himself, what are walls for if not climbing?

     He tried another string, hit another wall.

     Then he went back to his own file directory and pulled out a spider program, and set it running as he returned to the wall. In five minutes he was through and looking at the main server, completely free of any filters or barriers.

     “Well, well, well,” he said to himself, cracking his knuckles. Six more keystrokes had him in the personal files. Four more and he was reading the name Abigail Sarah Maitland on his screen. It was all there, everything that was known about her, and he couldn’t stop himself from reading until he heard footstens in the corridor outside.

     Connor slammed the laptop case down and tried to pretend that he was minding his own business. He was whistling a mangled Nirvana tune when Abby’s pixie-like face peered around the doorframe.  Seeing Connor, she stuck her tongue out, grinned, and then hurried away, her heavy boots clattering along the corridor.

     He blushed and, sighing with relief at his narrow escape, fired up the laptop again.  He killed the connection to the personnel database.

     He spent the rest of the day filling three PDAs with everything remotely Peruvian that he could find, and it really was a case of anything and everything restaurant addresses in downtown Cuzco, emergency service numbers, embassy contact details, festivals, ceremonies, custom and costumes, religious practices, poisonous plant life, six-months-worth of newspaper articles. By the end of the day he had compiled an electronic oracle.

     “Ask it a question, anything you like,” he challenged Abby the next time he saw her.

     “Oh, I don’t know, how about the meaning of life, the universe and everything?” Abby said, smiling.

     “That’s too easy,” Connor tapped out a couple of commands, and the number forty-two appeared on the screen. He held it up to show her.

     “You are such a geek.”

     “But a loveable one, right?”

     “Not the first word I would have chosen.”

     “Tread softly,” Lester said, handing Jenny Lewis the contact details for Sir Charles’ man on the ground in Peru. “There was an attempt on young Bairstow’s life last night. He’s still with us, and we need to keep it that way.

     “Needless to say,” he continued, “Sir Charles is most upset by the whole affair. I promised him you would take care of it. There are armed guards assigned to the hospital now. You are to get Bairstow out of there.  Understood?” She nodded.

     “Minimum of fuss. Sir Charles is leaning on me to get his boy home, which is all well and good, but on top of the whole attempted murder thing, we’ve got an actual murder to worry about, of a Peer of the Realm’s son on foreign soil. Like it or not, we’re talking a political minefield.

     “Sooner or later, the press are going to get wind of Jaime Bairstow’s death. They always do. Someone in Births, Deaths and Marriages will sell them a copy of the death certificate, or one of the baggage handlers at the airport will let slip about the coffin he carried off the plane that morning.

We don’t need a diplomatic incident here, Jenny. It’s all about damage limitation. We need to keep our stories straight.”

     Jenny read through the contact information.

     “What am I supposed to do with this?” she asked quizzically.

     “Make the call, ask the right questions. That’s what you’re good at, after all. Make the necessary arrangements to bring the boy home.”

     “There’s something you aren’t telling me, Lester,” Jenny said, laying the paper aside. “What is it?”

     Lester shrugged.

     “I don’t know. Just a feeling. I’m really hoping we’re talking about poachers here. Perhaps the boys stumbled across some of them in flagrante delicto, so to speak. God forbid Cutter’s paranoia rubs off on me, or Connor’s conspiracy theories, but I can’t help thinking there’s something Sir Charles doesn’t want us to know - and my money’s on the fact that that something is tied in with Cameron’s recollection of the attack. First Cutter comes into the office talking about anomalies in Madre de Dios, now this.

I’m not a huge believer in coincidence, if you catch my meaning.”

     “It’s rather hard to miss.”

     “Good. Let’s be blunt here, if it turns out young Bairstow has seen an anomaly, we’re going to need to make sure that part of the story never makes it out for public consumption.”

     When the next contact time arrived, Jenny took the details down to the Communications Centre on the main concourse. She had a technician relay one of the handsets through the com-sat on the right frequency, and retreated into the privacy of an empty lab.

     “Little Gods,” she said into the handset. “Little Gods, are you receiving me?”

     A burst of static answered her.

     She repeated the call sign every twenty seconds for five full minutes before a disembodied voice crackled back.

     “This is Little Gods, over.”

     “Little Gods, this is the ARC calling. Over.”

     “What can I do for you, ARC? Over.”

     “Our mutual friend suggested we contact you before we fly in. We have some questions about the lie of the land. Over.”

     “Ask away. Over.”

     “We’ve been led to believe you have spoken with Cameron? Over.”

     “Yes, I have. Over.”

     “What can you tell us about the attack on his brother? Over.”

     That was met by a grunt of what sounded like laughter.  She hoped it

was a quirk of the broadcast.

     “Nothing that makes any sense, I’m afraid. Over.”

     “Try me, Little Gods. Over.”

     “His recollections are patchy at best, though he does recall being stalked by a big cat. Over.”

     “So it wasn’t poachers? Over.”

     “No. He’s adamant that it was an animal. A jaguar perhaps, but huge.

He kept saying that. The cat was huge. That’s about the only coherent part of his story. Over.”

     “Don’t make me drag it out of you, Little Gods. Over.”

     More laughter greeted that.

     “He talked about diamonds in the air, as well. Diamonds that swallowed his attacker. Over.”

     Jenny paused a beat, and wished she hadn’t heard correctly.

     It was a concise and credible description of an anomaly, but she wasn’t about to let Sir Charles’ man know that his words meant anything to her.

     “I see what you mean,” she said. “It makes no sense. Over.”

     “Trauma plays tricks on the mind. It’s a miracle the lad is alive, after everything he’s been through. His wounds are terrible to see. Over.”

     “Indeed. I am assuming one of them was a head wound? Over.”

     “Multiple blows to the head, resulting in severe concussion, all of which would account for the disturbed vision and so-called floating diamonds. Not very exciting, I’m afraid. Over.”

     This time it was Jenny who laughed. Breaking protocol, Bairstow’s man continued.

     “Our friend tells me I am to meet you at the landing strip. I hope you are as beautiful as your laugh, ARC. Over and out.”

     Jenny sat there for a few moments, letting the implications of what she had heard settle in.  Diamonds in the air.  Cameron Bairstow had described the shimmer of an anomaly. There was nothing else she could think of that could possibly account for what he had seen. Not even a concussion would lead him to that precise a description.

     The revelation posed an entirely new set of problems, but it did not begin to answer why someone would try to kill him.

    She needed to talk to Lester.

     “Well, that is most disturbing,” Lester said.  He had his back to her, and stared at the wall as though gazing out through a window that wasn’t there.  “Are you sure that’s what he said?”

     “Positive,” Jenny confirmed. “At least that’s what Little Gods reported”

     “So what do you suggest we do now?”

     “Cutter should be made aware of the situation, for a start.”

     “I’m not entirely sure he should. The last thing we need is Indiana Cutter thrashing through the jungle with a machete, in search of diamonds in the sky.”

     “But what’s the alternative?”

     “In-and-out, that’s the remit. Keep Cutter away from the Bairstow boy.  Keep the Bairstow boy away from the press. Basically keep everyone away from the anomaly, and bury this non-story dead.”

     “You make it sound simple.”

     “It’s why we pay you the big bucks,” Lester said without the slightest trace of irony in his voice. As he turned, she saw that he was smiling.  Far from being pleasant, it was an almost predatory expression. “Do your job, manage the situation, Jenny. Go there. Get the boy. Bring him home. I don’t want to be reading about any of this in the newspapers. No anomaly lasts forever, we know that much. So we keep it quiet, bide our time, wait it out. It will decay and disappear. It might already have done so, for all we know. The fewer people who know about what’s going on, the better.”

     “Standard governmental operating procedure,” she said, before she could stop herself. Lester didn’t appear to catch the cynicism in her voice; he was far too preoccupied with fighting imaginary PR fires in his head.

     “Quite.  Least said, soonest mended.  It is not as though people are going to stumble upon a temporal rift in the middle of the rainforest.”

     She resisted the temptation to point out that it had already happened once.