#if I’m on the side of the street or my corpse is being fucked by abhorrent humans

[subtlesolitude-tailoredtaste]

The day I saw my mother for real. The day I saw the wizard behind oz. In a theme of heartbreaking ironies the first 10 minutes we stood on her home country ground. At the airport to see all she said she was be proven untrue or proven killed and gone again ironically by other Ethiopians she said I was safe with she said were good people. All diff groups same outcome. And at 26 in my mother’s homeland I saw the shock is somewhat still on me. Maybe when it’s completely off, I’ll get the hell on with my own life whatever is left, however long is left. I can’t live and die here with her on her terms. She had a chance, it breaks my heart and makes me want to have never been born that those chances were missed but I am not her and I am not God.

I pray for strength, grace, wisdom, humanity, endurance, perseverance, respect, love, harmony, peace, progress, joy, safety and freedom, enough time and good health to experience and enjoy a life two ppl who shouldn’t have made life together made anyway.

[torturedtypewritersdept]

proclivity - part one - scott street

✯ pairing:

ex!bff!rafe cameron x diabetic!kook!fem!reader

✯ summary:

at one point in time rafe was your best friend. can summer romance erase all the damage he's done?

✯ warnings:

mature themes, mentions of anxiety, nostalgia, heartbreak, diabetes lingo, injury, ghosting, fluff and fear, domestic violence (not rafe), mean!ex!jj etc.

✯ a/n:

nothing!! please don't engage if you have a hard time with any of these topics <3 this was origianlly posted on my old blog @/illicitfixations, @/lovelornanonymity and i have rewritten + reshared it here :) trying out a new format with this post, hope you like it!

Your feet hit the floor with a loud grunt as you pull yourself from your satin pink sheets, they feel heavenly and quite frankly, the discipline your parents are bestowing upon you as they do their best to make it a point that your pogue ex-boyfriend is an ex for a reason is mind-numbingly stupid. You’re aware of this fact — you are so hyper aware that it causes you physical pain. So much more than your broken wrist, which is also his fault as much as everything else. You groan loudly as you hear your mother call your name again. The “Don’t make me ask again, y/n” voice  she’s using is also mind-numbingly annoying, though you know that she is very serious and that she will probably send your father in to chop you into a million pieces and sell your corpse on the black market if you don’t listen to her. So, you scream back. 

“I’m up!” 

You screech. You are usually perfectly obedient and poised, but the one thing that JJ has taught you is absolute attitude from the pits of hell. Your parents had realized this new attribute early on into your relationship with him and from the way you picked up his habits so quickly, they knew he was bad news. It should’ve been your first sign that something – the relationship, him – it was all wrong. You should’ve known when your parents started talking in Rafe’s language – in pogue versus kook, because they weren’t those kinds of people, the kind to pass judgment on people that they didn’t know and you never had been either. You feel like you’re at a disadvantage because of this now, because really you should’ve listened to Rafe’s warnings in early childhood about pogues being bad news. You never expected them to be true, for your perfect pogue to make you question who you are, to wind you up in jail. Jail – a word so far from being associated with you that it makes you cringe just thinking about it. Just thinking about the way it's dirty, pogue-ridden walls were trying to infect you with its virus, to hold you captive for all the days of your life. When your father had picked you up, he was livid – fuming, ready to murder every person that had touched his precious baby daughter. You’d been without insulin for hours and were on the verge of being too sick to recover when he picked you up. That seemed to be the only real thing on your side as he stormed into the Kildare police station and carted you off to the hospital. Good thing he did, because your arm was broken as well as your diabetes royally fucking you like it always did. He demanded answers and you easily gave him the right one — that Taylor Swift’s Getaway Car hadn’t prepared you for this, for JJ’s abandonment either. You assumed he took pity on you then in the way that only a girl dad knows how to. That doesn’t really matter though, because you’re still getting punished. They are making you take a summer job at The Island Club in order to pay for your transgressions, the price of bail but more importantly worrying them and getting yourself hurt. You get it truly, but that doesn’t make it suck any less. You wish you could call Rafe in times like these, though you know those days have been over for a very long time. 

—

You’re behind the bar when they walk in, getting orientated by none other that a pogue named Summer from your class. She’s nice enough and very pretty, saving for college because without a job, there’s no way she will be able to go. You appreciate her kindness as she shows you how to make a Mai Tai for the fourth time. You notice the three stooges as they walk through the door from a fresh round of golf, still smelling of freshly cut grass and the stench of perspiration. You mentally berate yourself for your brain’s inability to use their real names after all this time. Rafe, Topper, and Kelce approach the bar dripping wet with sweat. You haven’t seen them exert this much physical activity since the beginning of last year’s football season so the sight is a little funny. It’s hot in the obx this year though, more so than years past. So, you’re guessing it hasn’t taken much to make them glisten. Your eyes are locked on your former friends, but Rafe particularly – since he’s really the only one stuck in the former category. The other two still love you very much, despite your very poor taste in men. He’s handsome – you note, more so than the last time you saw him. He’s grown about a foot, everything is bigger about him really and you can’t help but wonder if that part is bigger too – MOVING ON. He’s smiling, talking to Summer and for a moment you find yourself staring, wondering if he’s ever going to smile at you like that again one day. Stupid girl, you think. The answer is no and you know that. 

“Y/n, When did you start working here?” 

Topper asked, puzzledly. You can feel Rafe’s brow etch in confusion as he stares intently at your cheeks that are freckled brown from the summer sun. 

“I got in trouble, remember? This is my punishment.” 

You are doing your best not to have to explain your situation to the entirety of the club. So, you laugh in comradery with your friend, clenching your teeth and sporting a forced smile, though you feel ashamed about it and probably will punish yourself for it later. 

“Three Mai Tai’s, pretty please.” 

Rafe spoke, breaking your attention away from Topper, giving Summer his best puppy dog eyes. You smile softly at his tactics, noting that nothing has changed in that regard.  

“We can’t do that, can we?” 

You whisper in Summer’s ear. She looks at you and smiles. 

“Good girl! You’re picking up fast, just like I said you would.” 

You beam at her praise as she redirects her attention to the boys.

“Come on, boys. You know I can’t serve you alcohol, you’re underage.” 

She said, rolling her eyes. Topper laid his fake ID down on the flat mahogany surface of the bar, sliding it over. 

“This clearly states that I’m 23.” 

He retorted and you rolled your eyes in feigned annoyance. 

“Come on, y/n! Really? What is it? You only give alcohol to Maybank or something?” 

Rafe jokingly questioned with a sneer, his distaste for anything Pogue related always everpresent. Your face fell and your breath caught in your throat, the moment the last name of your ex-boyfriend left his lips. You think only of the Rafe that used to be your best friend and then to the moment that all changed during freshman year. How he left you in the dust of appearances and fancy parties, how he turned into a major dick who made it his newfound purpose in life to cut you down every chance he got. You remembered the embarrassingly drunk voicemail you left him last year, crying into the phone about how he was everything to you and he left you behind after the first time JJ had touched you in a violent way. You never told him that though. You had been civil and joked back and forth, but had no real conversations or interactions since then. That was mostly because you were embarrassed about it, you knew that he probably showed it to Kelce and Topper and laughed about it for ages, making fun of how pathetic you were. Your fears seem to be true now as he cuts you down with his sneer and hate-filled blue eyes. You still don’t know what you did, what you did to put the butterfly effect into motion; how you and Rafe got so far off the beaten path. The tears rimmed your eyes, being reminded of your now ex-boyfriend wasn’t how you planned on spending your afternoon. No one knew how you’d followed his every whim all summer, how it had landed you in jail, gotten you a broken wrist, almost killed you when you hadn’t paid attention to your sugar for hours. He’d left you there and no one knew and you wanted so badly to tell Rafe about all of it. But, you couldn't – not anymore. Because you were right where he left you, like an abandoned toy in the toy box he no longer wanted to play with. As if all of that wasn’t enough to embarrass you and make you want to die, JJ had cheated with one of your close friends, Kiara, too and all the Pogues knew about it – sending you into a spiral of grieving all your friends at once. You had virtually no one. Rafe didn’t know and how could he, you stopped getting to tell him the ins and outs of your life a long time ago. So, while the joke seemed harmless to him, it broke something inside of you. You looked up, meeting his eyes, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry. But, he knew you, he knew that look, he knew those glossed over eyes – he knew he had fucked up. 

“Woah, what’s wrong? I’m just kidding around. Can’t you take a joke, Y/N?” 

The bitterness left his tongue as quick as his feigned concern, almost like he couldn’t turn either off.  

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it. I’ve been wiping my own tears for a long time now.” 

You bit out, not meaning to spill your guts the way you did, but he deserved it. He couldn’t help but feel your words so deeply. He often felt guilty for the way he left you, with no reason why. There was a time when he would’ve talked you out of being with a loser like JJ Maybank, a time when he would dry your tears and hug you tightly, a time when he would’ve protected you. You slowly but surely made the boys their drinks, a tear slipping out of your eye. No one noticed but Topper and he gave you a sad, knowing look. You headed to the kitchen, hoping no one would be in the locker room that was right off to the side of it, so you could cry in peace. 

“What did I say?”

Rafe questioned the boys, confusedly. 

“You’re a fucking idiot. Have you not heard that Maybank cheated on her and all the Pogues knew about it? He got her in trouble, Rafe and she got hurt. She’s lost everybody important to her, and you just have to be an asshole to her, when we all know how you really feel about her. Grow up, man.” 

Kelce spoke up with distaste on his tongue. 

“Shit.”

He whispered out, deciding then, he’d make it his mission to get into your good graces again, if that was even possible. It’d been long enough without you in his life and he had only wanted a break to protect you from his own faults. 

After you had made it to the locker room, you leaned against the lockers, your head falling back in defeat. It’s been two weeks since JJ broke your heart and it felt like the last year with you had meant nothing to him. He didn’t even say he was sorry. You stayed like that for a moment, cringing thinking about the fact that you had to work with him tonight. Summer had warned you in advance as she orientated you and you gave her the smaller version of events. You wished so badly that you could rewind time and not let Rafe drift away from you, all you wanted in this moment was one of his hugs – feeling his strong, muscular arms wrap around you. It had been two years since you’d had a hug like that. You pushed the thoughts down once more, drying your eyes and making your way back out to the bar. The boys were still sitting there. Rafe took in your form, the way the blanched redness of your face stood out. He could tell you had been crying, really hard, and that made his chest tight. It had always made his fucking chest hurt. He wanted to kill JJ Maybank for what he had done to you. You made your way behind the bar and locked eyes with Topper. 

“Can I get you boys anything else?”

You asked – voice shaky. 

“We’re fine, Y/N.”

Topper spoke with a softness and an ease to his voice. Topper and Kelce had stayed friend’s with you even after Rafe decided not to and Topper was the first phone call you made after your dad had brought you home from the hospital; filling him in on all the gorey details. He came over with pizza and wine and made you laugh about how much of an idiot JJ was. That made you feel better for a while, but you cried yourself to sleep that night, mostly sad that you couldn’t call Rafe out of embarrassment or fear of leaving another voicemail he’d never return. You often wondered if you were ever important to him at all. 

“Hey, sweet cheeks!”

You were brought out of your thoughts by JJ’s boisterous yet sinister laugh as he called you by a nickname you no longer welcomed. Rafe watched as your body became completely stiff. It made his skin crawl that you were so uncomfortable and as he saw your eyes gloss over he knew this was about to be bad. 

“What, Y/N, you too good to talk to me now?”

JJ questioned, annoyed that you were ignoring him. You wanted to speak to him, but you couldn’t find the words to say and you definitely didn’t want to do it in front of Rafe. Before you could even muster up a response, Topper and Rafe were behind the bar, standing in front of JJ, blocking him from getting close to you. Summer was thankful because she had never liked JJ and couldn’t do much on her own to protect you. 

“Maybank, I suggest you back up. You have no right to talk to her after what you’ve done!” 

Rafe growled. 

“Oh and you do? You tore her heart out of her chest, hollywood.” 

He laughs in response. 

“What are you even talking about?” 

Rafe questioned confusedly. 

“Oh, you know, when you stopped talking to her out of the blue freshman year. What you thought I didn’t know about that? You don’t think everyone knows about that?” 

JJ’s laugh has become incredulous at this point. Rafe looked in your direction, with apologetic eyes. 

“What would you know about that? You don’t know anything that went on between us.” 

Rafe snarled. 

“I know she cried all the time. I know about that embarrassing voicemail she left you. I know she never got over it. I mean I can’t say I blame you for ghosting her like that, she’s boring and what would the king kook want with her-”

The sound of Rafe’s fist meeting JJ’s jaw was enough to send a chill down your spine. Topper quickly pulled you away from the scene, not wanting you to be caught in the crossfire of an angry Rafe, especially when it involved defending you – he knew he had no self control in that regard. 

“Y/N, look at me. Are you okay?” 

He questioned softly. 

“I-I, no, top. W-why d-did he do this t-to me?” 

You asked through stifled sobs and his soft eyes traced over your figure. Unbeknownst to you and Topper, Rafe had run out to find you after he mopped the floor with JJ, his knuckles bloody for you. But, as he made his way through the club, he heard stifled sobs on the other side of a wooden door and he stopped to listen.

“I don’t know, sweet girl. People cheat and I don’t think there’s ever a reason-”

Topper continued, but was quickly cut off by you as you clarified who exactly you were referring to. 

“No, why did Rafe do this to me? I loved him so much and I-I don’t know maybe JJ’s right. Maybe I just wasn’t good enough to be his friend anymore. Maybe he saw what a piece of shit I was.” 

You mumbled. 

“No, listen, it’s deeper than all that. When Rafe’s ready to tell you what happened, he will. But don’t beat yourself up, Y/N. There’s nothing wrong with you.” 

He replied, stroking your hair. 

Rafe couldn’t believe what he was hearing, he really had broken your heart and you really thought you were the one that wasn't good enough for him. 

as always, if you'd like to be added to the taglist, please let me know <3

taglist:

@maybankslover @inthelibrarybtw @luvrcndy @silkylovey

[nevadancitizen]

-> CH. 7: SHOULD EVERY RABID DOG GET ITS TAIL DOCKED UP TO THE EARS?

synopsis: you, connor, and hank deal with deviants in the eden club. connor spurs on another uncomfortable conversation near the detroit river.

word count: 4.4k

ships: Connor/Reader, Hank Anderson & Reader

notes: sorry for the late update insurance is kicking my ASS about the accident i was just in.. like it's my first one bro why y'all hounding me like that 😭😭

HoFS taglist: @catladyhere (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask!)

HEAD OF FALSE SECURITY MASTERLIST

It’s impossible to ignore the bright pink neon sign advertising the Eden Club and the dull thrum of EDM coming from inside. You slowly pull up to the side of the street and park, looking out the passenger window at the club’s entrance.

“Aw…” Hank mumbles from the passenger seat. “Feels like someone’s playin’ with a drill inside my skull.”

He looks at the entrance. You can tell his head is throbbing doubly just from the bright colors. “You sure this is the place?”

“It’s the address on the report,” Connor answers from the backseat.

You lean over and look at the glove box. “Don’t you have Ibuprofen in there? Or some type of pain medication?”

“Yeah, I think,” Hank grumbles. He pops open the glove box and fishes out a pill bottle. He shakes out two and swallows them dry.

You turn off the ignition and sigh softly. “Let’s get this over with.”

Hank gets out (hitting his head on the roof of the car in the process), and you and Connor follow. He leads the way into the club entrance, where the lights pulse in soft, erotic colors. 

“Sexiest androids in town,” Hank reads off a TV in the entry hall, then glances at Connor. “Now I see why you insisted on coming here!”

“I was not programmed with a sex drive, or any other types of ‘desires,’ Lieutenant,” Connor says. “It could possibly distract me from the investigation if I did.”

You almost say, ‘Aw, really?’ out loud, but bite your tongue at the last second. Instead, you move forward into the club. 

Androids are littered about, moving sensually and palming themselves on poles and inside the tubes that line the walls. It turns your stomach – they’re beings (or, rather, things) created just to drown in the crashing wave that is human sex and desire. They fall and hurt and break and are thrown away to move onto the next. You keep your eyes on the floor and press on.

“Which room is it?” You ask, your eyes flitting to the doors and keeping them off the androids.

“The only one that says ‘Occupied,’” Officer Collins says. “And, uh – be warned. Gavin’s in there, too.”

“Oh, great,” Hank groans. “A dead body and an asshole, just what I needed.”

You follow Hank into the private room, taking it in. A naked corpse lays on the circular bed, made decent by the faux-silk blanket covering it. A deactivated android lays to the side, Thirium staining her otherwise perfect face.

“Lieutenant Anderson, Comrade Commie, and their little plastic pet,” Gavin sneers. “The fuck are you three doin’ here?”

“We’ve been assigned all cases involving androids,” Connor says as he surveys the room.

“Oh, yeah? Well, you’re wasting your time.” Gavin gestures to the corpse. “Just some pervert who, uh, got more action than he could handle.”

He laughs, then looks to Chris as if to confirm what he just said was funny. Chris isn’t laughing, if that’s any indication. 

Hank gives a tight-lipped smile. “We’ll have a look anyway, if you don’t mind.”

“C’mon, let’s go.” Gavin walks past Hank, giving him a dirty look. “It’s, uh… starting to stink of booze, and…” he looks over at you. “The loss of private property.”

He gives Connor a way-too-forceful shoulder-check on the way out. The too-sympathetic part of you is worried Gavin hurt his own shoulder, but you stomp the thought down as soon as you think it.

Chris gives all of you a smile that says ‘I’m so fucking sorry you’re here.’ “Night, Lieutenant. Night, Officer.”

“Goodnight, Chris,” you say. “Please say goodnight to Damian for me.”

“He doesn’t even have object permanence yet,” Chris laughs. “But I will.” The door closes behind him as he leaves. 

You start looking closer at the room as Connor makes a beeline for the deactivated android. You kneel by the corpse.

“You sure you’re good to be that close to it?” Hank says from beside you. 

“I’m getting used to corpses.” You look up at him. “As horrible as that is.”

Hank huffs out a laugh and looks over at Connor. A look of horror crosses his face. “Whoa – hey-hey-hey!”

You look over at Connor. He’s holding up two fingers to his mouth, Thirium dripping down the length of them. 

“Augh, Connor,” Hank groans. “You’re so disgusting… Think I’m gonna puke again.”

“Connor, you told us you would warn us!” You whine.

“I apologize,” Connor says. He then stands and moves over to kneel next to you, his eyes on the corpse. His LED flickers yellow as he observes the bruising on the corpse’s neck. 

“He didn’t die of a heart attack,” Connor says. “He was strangled.”

“Yeah, I saw the bruising on the neck,” Hank says from the other side of the room. “Doesn’t prove anything, though. Could’ve been rough play.”

“I don’t think so,” you say. You lean forward, careful not to get too close. “Kink choking is when you squeeze the sides of someone’s neck to emulate the feeling of being choked. The bruises make it look like his windpipe was crushed deliberately.” 

You pause, then scratch your cheek. “Don’t ask how I know that.”

“I won’t.” Hank shakes his head and smiles. “Don’t want to stunt a homicide detective in the making.”

Connor stands. “We’re missing something here.”

You look over your shoulder at the dead android. Connor follows your eyes and moves over to her, then kneels by her side.

“Think you can read the android’s memory?” Hank asks. “Maybe you can see what happened.”

The skin on Connor’s fingers peel back and he puts his first two fingers on the deactivated android’s wrist. “I don’t know. Some of its inner components are damaged, and I can’t access them.”

You move so you’re kneeling next to Connor. You hold out your left hand then extend your thumb and index finger, and your world again turns into monochrome-blues. Two pieces of information pop up in the corner of your eye as you observe the highlighted parts of the android: Selector #5402 Critically Damaged. Biocomponent #6970 Critically Damaged.

“Let me try something.” You press gently on her stomach and slide the plastic of her abdomen open. You grunt as you force your left hand in and reach into her upper chest, feeling around for what you need. “Ah! I found it. Two seconds…”

You can feel the wires from your glove snake out. They poke and prod and eventually jack into a port.

Information flickers into your view, and you glance over it quickly. “She’s badly damaged. If I can pull this off, she’ll only be alive for a minute. Maybe less.”

“Do it,” Connor says. 

You twitch your fingers and the wires spin the port. It clicks into place, and she rises with an unneeded, artificial gasp of air. She tries to scramble away, but your arm is still lodged in her abdomen. 

“Эй – Эй!” You shout. “Let me get my hand.”

When she stills, you carefully disconnect the wires and extract your hand. She crawls away backwards until her back hits the wall. 

Connor approaches her, ever calm and soothing. He crouches, making sure to stay on her level. “Calm down. Everything’s alright. All we want is to know what happened.”

“Is he…” She looks over at the corpse. “Is he dead?”

“Tell me what happened,” Connor repeats. 

She looks over at Connor, then away. “He started… hitting me. Again, and again.”

“Did you kill him?” Connor asks.

“No!” She responds, almost incredulous. “No, it wasn’t me.”

“Were you alone in the room?” Connor pressures, talking quicker. “Was there anyone else with you?”

“H-he wanted to play with two girls,” she says. “That’s what he said. There were two of us.”

“What model was the other android?” Connor moves closer. “Did it look like you?”

Her mouth opens and her eyes unfocus. Her face relaxes and stills in a perpetual death mask. 

You look down at your hand. It’s stained with her Thirium. You clench your hand into a fist, then wipe it off on your jeans. Connor stands with an exhale of something that sounds like frustration.

“So there was another android,” Hank says. “This happened over an hour ago. It’s probably long gone.”

“No.” Connor gestures to the deactivated android. “It couldn’t go out dressed like that unnoticed. It might still be here.”

You stand and sigh. “There are too many богом забытых androids in this place. How are we going to find the deviant?”

“Shit, you’re right,” Hank sighs. “Maybe an eyewitness? Somebody who saw it leaving the room.”

He moves closer to the door. “I’m gonna go ask the manager a few questions about what he saw. Let me know if either of you think of anything.”

You look down at the deactivated android and hear the door close behind Hank. Her face still holds that expression of ever-lasting fear. 

“Are you okay, Officer?” Connor asks from somewhere behind you. 

“Yeah,” you breathe out. “I… She was… scared. I feel bad for her. She didn’t do anything wrong.” You look over your shoulder at the corpse. “He did.”

“It’ll be okay,” Connor says. “We’ll figure this case out. Its deactivation will serve a purpose.”

You look over at him. He almost looks concerned for you. But you know better. It’s just his social relations program doing the work and his voice and expression expediting it.

You turn your eyes away and walk towards the door. “Let’s go. I don’t want to be here any longer than I have to.”

The door opens automatically and shuts once Connor goes through it behind you. You step to the side and observe the lobby. The androids continue moving in erotic and tempting ways, completely unfazed by the corpse in the next room.

You move over to where Hank’s standing, talking to the manager, who looks more sleazy than words can describe. 

“Nah, I didn’t know him,” the manager says. “He came in maybe two, three times. I mean, these guys, they don’t really talk very much, y’know? They come in, do their business, and then go on their way.”

“You ever had any trouble with androids before?” Hank asks. 

“No way!” Then, the manager thinks for a second. “Well… once. We lost a model two, three months back. Ah, same model. Just vanished – we never found out what happened.”

Your eyes glance over the androids dancing on poles. “What kind of kinks are the androids programmed with? Anything to do with receiving impact play?”

“Yeah, yeah,” the manager says. “Some of them. We have specialized models with higher durability and all that.”

“And the one that…?” You nod your head towards the closed door. 

“Nah.” The manager shakes his head. “It was just a regular model.”

Connor comes over from your left. “Excuse me, Officer. Can you come here a second?”

“Did you find something?” You ask. 

“Maybe.” He turns on his heel and walks away. He comes to a stop beside a tube holding an android. “Can you rent this Traci?”

“Какого хуя?” You turn to look at Connor. “You just said you don’t have a sex drive. If this is a joke, it’s really weird.”

Connor catches your arm as you start to walk away. “Please, Officer! Just trust me.”

There’s a look in his puppy dog eyes that wrenches your heart. He almost looks like he’s begging. 

You roll your eyes and shake free from his grasp. With a few grumbles in Russian, you press a few buttons on the interface. 

“Hello,” a female voice chimes. “A thirty minute session costs $29.99. Please confirm your purchase.”

You glance over at Connor as you press your palm against the interface. “When Fowler inevitably asks why this is on my expense account, you better vouch for me.”

“Purchase confirmed!” The voice chimes again. “Eden Club wishes you a pleasant experience.”

The android steps out of the tube and takes your arm in both hands, her touch feather-light and sensual. Her skin shimmers with glitter, just barely visible in the low light. “Delighted to meet you.”

She looks over at Connor. One of her hands leaves your arm to take his hand. “I’m so glad to be playing with two. Follow me, I’ll show you to our room.”

“Чего?!” You take your arm away. “No, no. This isn’t a threesome! What are you talking about? Connor!”

Connor takes the Traci’s arm, his skin peeling back. Her face tenses as she stares, paralyzed, into Connor’s eyes.

After a second, he disconnects and turns back to you. “It saw something!”

“What are you talking about?” You look over at the Traci. She looks just as confused as you. “Saw what?”

“The deviant leave the room. A blue-haired Traci.” A look of panic crosses Connor’s face. “Club policy is to wipe the android’s memory every two hours. We only have a few minutes if we wanna find another witness!”

And so, you trail after Connor, renting and promptly ignoring sex-bots. Hank follows both of you with an amused look on his face. In your mind, you count up the amount of money you’ll have to beg Fowler to excuse – somewhere above a hundred dollars, all spent within the same five minutes at the same sex club.

“I know where it went!” Connor says as he disconnects from yet another android. “Follow me.”

“Fuckin’ ay,” Hank grumbles. “This is crazy…!”

Connor leads the way into a staff door and through a maintenance hallway. When he reaches the end of the hall, Hank stops him. 

“I’ll take it from here.” He pushes Connor behind him, and Connor subsequently pushes you behind himself.

Hank draws his gun and opens the door, revealing a small back-room warehouse. It’s dimly lit, and littered with androids in standby mode. (It’s honestly really creepy. Like mannequins, but worse, somehow.)

When Hank deems it clear, you step down the stairs after Connor. Something on the wall catches your eye – graffiti, reading rA9. 

You point at it. “rA9. It’s spreading.”

“Huh,” Hank hums. “Maybe it’s something in their programming.”

Suddenly, there’s a crash from somewhere behind you. You turn just in time to see Connor be tackled to the floor by an android. 

Hank is quicker with his reaction time and pulls his gun again, shouting “Don’t move!”

But he’s quickly ambushed by another android. Before you can think, your feet carry you over to defend him. You wrench her off Hank and earn an elbow to your barely-healing nose.

“Блядь!” You stumble back, cradling your nose that’s starting to bleed again. Your eyes water, and you desperately try to blink the tears away. 

When your vision clears, you see Connor and one of the girls barrel out of the open garage door and into the back alley. The blue-haired Traci scrambles after her, grabbing the other girl’s hand and helping her up. 

You run and grab Connor’s arm to help him up, almost slipping on the wet concrete. Hank comes soon after, but is thwarted when both androids knock him down. You can hear the metal sound of a gun scraping against the ground. 

“Quick!” Hank shouts. “They’re getting away!”

Connor shoots after them, pulling one of the girls down from the chain link fence they were both climbing. They immediately fight back, sending Connor into the wall. He grapples against them, but loses his grip as he falls to the concrete.

“Hank’s gun!” You yell. “Get his gun!”

Connor does as he’s told and gets up on one knee, pointing the gun at one of the girls. In a split second, his grip falters and she delivers a stiletto to his face.

He falls back, then stands. He doesn’t make a move for the gun. 

You come to stand next to Connor, putting a hand out to stop him from coming any closer to them. “You killed him, yes? Why did you do it?”

Traci pauses for a moment, choosing her words carefully. “When that man broke the other Traci, I knew I was next.” She looks away, then her gaze steels and returns to yours. “I was so scared… I begged him to stop, but he wouldn’t.”

“So you defended yourself?” You ask.

“I… I didn’t mean to kill him,” she says. “I just wanted to stay alive. To get back to the one I love.”

The other android reaches forward and intertwines her fingers with Traci’s. They share a glance, both of their expressions filled with love and adoration for one another.

“I wanted her to hold me in her arms again,” Traci says. “Make me forget about the humans… their smell of sweat and their dirty words.”

You so desperately want to ask a million questions about their deviation, but bite your tongue. Now isn’t the time for curiosity and interrogations. 

You stay silent as the girls climb the fence and disappear around the corner. Somehow, the rain that’s beating down on your shoulders feels lighter and warmer. It’s a nice summer drizzle instead of an autumn downpour. 

“It’s probably better this way,” Hank says quietly. He turns and starts walking back into the warehouse.

You grab Connor’s arm, causing him to look over at you. “You did the right thing. To try to exterminate every deviant is like… like dragging water through a sieve. Letting two go isn’t failing your mission completely.”

Connor nods, then looks at the corner where the two girls disappeared. His eyes turn to the ground and his eyebrows crease. “I know.”

You shift in the passenger seat, slumping until your knees hit the glove box. The music Hank put on is still raging along, a mess of electric guitars and drums and screamo vocals. At least your nose has stopped bleeding.

“Does he do this frequently?” Connor asks from the backseat. 

“Too frequently,” you mumble. “I’m tempted to put a tracker in his boot, but I know every time I lose him I’ll just find him here.”

And, of course, ‘here’ is a public playground. Hank’s in his favorite spot – on a bench facing the Detroit River. 

“I’m going to check on him.” You sit up and glance back at Connor. “Give me two minutes. He’s… I just need to talk to him. Alone. Okay?”

“Okay,” Connor says. 

You get out of the car, closing the door behind you. You move over to the bench that Hank’s sitting on the back of. Snow crunches under your shoes as you walk.

You sit down on the bench properly and sigh, running your hands along your thighs. “Hank.”

He says your name in response, avoiding your eyes and looking down at his bottle of whiskey.

“You can’t keep doing this,” you say softly. “It… I’m… боже. You’re slowly killing yourself, but you’re slowly killing me, too. Death isn’t something you’re meant to anticipate. We’re supposed to believe that the disease will skip over us, that the bullet will clip our ear instead of finding a home in our head. Old age is a long affair, so we don’t have to think about that. But…”

You look up at him. He’s not looking at you. “I can’t count the number of times I thought you died, Hank – the most recent one being earlier this evening. You play with guns and liquor and your life like… like they’re toys!”

You look out at the river. “You get sad, Hank. And angry. Too sad, too angry. Most people can’t get that sad. It’s impossible to watch because other people get sad, too, but… not like you. You’ve been down and out and on a bender for three years. You’ve gotten violent. Not against me – never against another person. But you’ve started beating yourself. And it’s so fucking gut-wrenching to watch you be… be this.”

There’s the sound of a car door opening and closing behind you. 

“We’ll continue this conversation later,” you say softly. “I won’t forget about this.”

You look to your left and see Connor coming to a stop beside the bench. He’s looking out across the river, at the lights of the buildings on the opposite shore. 

“Nice view, huh?” Hank mumbles. “We used to come here a lot before…”

Your eyes fall to the snow-covered ground as you feel a familiar pang in your chest. You swallow thickly and try to ignore it.

“Before what?” Connor asks.

Hank looks over at him. “Hm?”

“You said ‘I used to come here a lot before.’” Connor looks over at Hank. “Before what?”

“Before…” Hank looks down at you, then out at the river. “Before nothin’.”

Connor crosses his arms, like he’s protecting himself against the cold. “Can I ask you a personal question, Lieutenant?”

“Do all androids ask so many personal questions?” Hank asks. “Or is it just you?”

“I saw a photo of a child on your kitchen table,” Connor says. You tense as he continues. “It was your son, right?”

Hank glances at you. “Yeah… his name was Cole.”

An uncomfortable silence settles over all of you. You listen to the river lazily move along, quiet waves just barely making sounds. Your eyes flit up as Connor walks in front of the bench, facing out towards the water.

“We’re not making any progress on this investigation,” Connor says. “The deviants have nothing in common. They’re all different models, produced at different times, at different places…”

“Well, there must be some link,” Hank says.

“There is,” you say. “All of them have been in the presence of or victim of violent behavior. And all of them have expressed some worship or reverence of rA9.”

“That’s true.” Connor turns to face you and Hank. “It’s almost like some kind of… myth. Or superstition, like you said. Something they invented that wasn’t a part of their original program.”

“Androids believing in God,” Hank mumbles against the lip of his bottle. “Fuck, what’s this world coming to?”

“You seem… preoccupied, Lieutenant.” Connor walks forward a few paces, looking at Hank. “Is it something to do with what happened back at the Eden Club?”

“Those two girls…” Hank looks down at the ground. “They just wanted to be together. They really seemed… in love.”

“You seem troubled, Lieutenant.” 

You look up and see that Connor’s come closer. His hair and blazer are speckled with snow. From this distance, you can see the few freckles that dot his face. He almost looks real like this – like a real man. Not a machine made of plastic and metal.

“It’s ironic,” Connor says. “I didn’t think machines could have such an effect on you.”

Hank exhales sharply and takes a swig of whiskey. “What about you, Connor?”

He gets up and takes a few steps towards Connor. “You look human. You sound human. But what are you, really?”

“I’m whatever you want me to be, Lieutenant.” Connor looks at you, but continues talking to Hank. “Your other partner. Your second buddy to drink with.” His eyes return to Hank. “Or just a machine, designed to accomplish a task.”

“You could’ve shot those two girls, but you didn’t.” Hank shoves Connor, who stumbles back. “Why didn’t you shoot, Connor?”

You stand from the bench. “Hank.” There’s a silent warning in your voice.

“Some scruples suddenly enter into your program?” Hank moves closer to Connor.

Connor’s foot shifts, like he was about to take a step back, but stopped at the last moment. “No! I just… decided not to shoot. That’s all.”

Hank reaches into his waistband and pulls out his revolver. You automatically move forward, reaching a hand out. 

“Hank, think about this,” you say, even and slow. 

He glances over his shoulder, then promptly ignores you in favor of staring down Connor through the sights of his gun. “Are you afraid to die, Connor?”

Connor’s mouth opens, and he hesitates before he actually speaks. “I would certainly find it regrettable to be…” he pauses. “Interrupted before I can finish this investigation.”

“What’ll happen if I pull this trigger? Hm?” Hank tilts his head to the side in a taunting way. “Nothing? Oblivion? Android heaven?”

Connor steps forward, his forehead pressing against the muzzle of the gun. Your heart leaps into your throat. “Connor!”

“You know you’re not going to shoot me, Lieutenant,” Connor says evenly. His eyes never leave Hank’s. “You’re just trying to provoke a reaction. I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint you.”

“You think you’re so fucking smart,” Hank grinds out. “Always one step ahead, huh? Tell me this, smartass: how do I know you’re not a deviant?”

“I self-test regularly,” Connor says. “I know what I am, and what I am not.”

Hank’s lips draw back in a snarl before he yanks the gun away from Connor’s forehead. You let out a shaky breath as Hank storms off, digging his car keys out of his pocket. 

“Where are you going?” Connor calls after him. 

“To get drunker,” Hank says. “I need to think.”

You sit back down on the bench, resting your head in shaking hands. “Господи, блять, боже…”

“Are you okay, Officer?” Connor asks. It seems that’s the most frequent question he asks you as of late. 

“No!” You snap, your fingers digging into your scalp. “What the fuck is happening? I can’t wrap my head around how I was stuck with two of the stupidest detectives on the face of this very Earth!”

You stand and move over to Connor, grabbing his shoulders. “What the hell were you thinking? You know how… how he is! If you had faltered one more time before this, he would’ve shot you! You know that, right?”

“If he shot me, another Connor model would’ve been deployed,” Connor says evenly. 

“I don’t want another Connor model!” You bark. “I want…”

You. I want you. The message rings in the cold air, loud yet unsaid. It’s not an I want you in a sexual or romantic manner: it’s an I want you as in I want you to be safe. I want you out of harm’s way, even if you keep putting yourself in it. I want you to be behind me when the gunshots of revolution sound.

You take a step back and let Connor go. “I need to think.”

“Do you need me to accompany you?” He asks. 

“No,” you say. “I just… I need to be alone right now.”

You turn and start walking away. Snow crunches under your shoes with every footfall. Connor stays perfectly still where you left him, dried Thirium from your left hand staining the right shoulder of his blazer.

[anteroom-of-death]

Teacher's Pet part 17

Synopsis: The Doctor muses on the nature of what he could do, the reader is a willing accomplice to her own life.

A/n: first off, I'd like to thank @queerconfusionthings on the slightly darker tone of this chapter and our long talks about 12, it changed this chapter. You get me in a way precious others do...and to all my readers, yall are best. To my mutuals, I'd die for you. Especially those who don't share my needs here. Love u.

It started to border on experimental. So many untapped valleys and choices he could make now that his pet fawn was solidly by his side, and now bound to leave him, no matter how dire the situation or how many red flags or fears the ghosts of his past could bequeath to her. (Y/N) was firmly in his grasp. Perhaps indefinitely.

There were certain thought experiments that were hypothetical that he was taught at the academy. How to not just bind a weaker species to your mind not just in mind, but in blood. The facets of addiction was the singular universal trait of all sentient life in the cosmos. He admitted that he was becoming as addicted to her as she was to him, and those nasty substances she would take.

He was of half a mind to remove their influence on her body and substitute them for him. As they walked through Kew Gardens, he mused on that. Take the urge that crippled her for drinks and cigarettes to the point of clouding her thoughts at times, bind those starved out brain cells to the idea of him. The swap from nicotine and ethyl alcohol to the Doctor would he fairly easy to do.

Ultimately, after she flashed him a smile and kissed him on the cheek before heading to the loo, he decided against it. For now.

She was getting beyond handsy…almost to the point of him being begged to fuck her in public. Maybe the switch was happening naturally. The addiction to the physical was clearly getting stronger…

Wouldn’t he be so lucky?

He’d have another full-scale rifle in her mind soon to assess the current situation!

Maybe he was more like the Rani than he’d previously assessed…

Wouldn’t that just choke the life from Missy? Her precious parallels dashed in the face if him ending up much more like their estranged friend turned mutual foe.

Whatever the case in this poorly-plotted and infinitely nailed-out love story he was crafting, the Doctor was sure of one thing. His reputation as the universe’s biggest savior, it’s self-inserted martyr needed to stay intact. Missy knew to some extent. Missy could feel and reveled in his own self-corruption at the hands of this mere human.

Missy would, even if she wanted to escape, keep this secret. Their rivalry and comrades and millennia-long bond, despite how fucked up it was, or how many times they’d kill or fight one another was iron-clad.

Honor among thieves or something…

The idea of some sort of vivisection briefly clouded his vision as he saw her exit the toilets. She was beaming. She held her jacket in her hand and her teeth caught in the light.

He decided against that idea.

There were opportunities endlessly flowing out.

“Hey, I’m absolutely starving!” She pulled him by the ties on his hoodie. “Do you want to go to a pub after this? There’s got to be a really good one that does a lovely roast dinner or something.”

Totally clueless, totally obvious to the danger she was in. So fine-tuned to weird shadows and knew when a human man on the street was up to no good. She didn’t know that the real predator was getting the aglets of his hoodie flicked around.

Poor her. Poor little fawn. Fully in the wolf’s maw and her neck was already snapped. Lost in the too-dark woods, separated from her herd. Only the guidance of that would come had made a meal of her. And was toying her corpse out further…

He felt his cock stiffen.

Maybe he would take her tonight. Just until bleeding. See how far her dependence on her would go. Maybe degrade her a bit.

If he could, he would. Wasn’t it his right?

He did own her, after all. Everyone from the team at UNIT to that last scrappy remnant of Torchwood saw her over-the-moon, fully-tethered ache for him…

They all picked up on something far more grasping than mere companion in their relationship. He wasn’t risking her life and breaking her spirit on planets far outside her home solar system. A dark, full-bodied compatriot. An equal lover. Perhaps they would arrive at the conclusion of his idea of settling down on Earth.

Not like their human opinions mattered in the end…

“Yes, of course.” He returned her eager, lavish smile with one of his own.

He slammed these thoughts back in the dark chest that was his mind. For now he’d just play with her hormones and her mind. Just put them at maximum. Continue this charade.

Keep everyone and everyone in the dark…

It was a great rest of the day, a butterfly landed on her arm. She delicately picked it up to rest on her finger and it stayed put as if she was her own form of magic. The little insect crawled around and she led it to rest on his jacket.

“He’s probably picking up the sugar scrub I used last night.” She rationalized.

“Or you’re just preternaturally sweet.” He let out the cheesy line as it flicked itself off his being and flew into the air. She shot him a bemused sideways glance. When she finally got it off her finger and it was firmly on his being she slightly shook her head and rolled her eyes.

Obviously, it didn’t take a liking to him.

It’s instincts were far better tuned.

He took her to the closest pub. It wasn’t doing a roast dinner that night. She was put out, but ordered chips with a gin and tonic and some little sandwich thing.

His Earth girls really loved their chips.

Maybe that was his type? Little, bold Earth girls with loud minds that could devour nothing but chips for all eternity and be perfectly happy doing so.

He could live with that…

She went out for a cigarette and he mentally made contact with Missy.

She ‘picked up’ the mental receiver.

‘How goes London, you filthy old man?’ The words shot into his mind like an icicle from a roof.

‘Fine, just curious, how much attention did you pay to Professor Hedflonhorzthenethar’s lessons on groove-making in lesser species?’

‘Rapt, Doccy. Why?’

‘Send me your memories, I’ll Amazon a tuba to my office.’

Another betrayal of the morals he started this regeneration with…

‘Let me see you do it. I’ll only do it if you do it now and let me look through your eyes!’ It was sharp, it felt like she was beside him shouting it.

He gave her permission to see through his eyes. He sighed and whipped out his phone, ordered a tuba and closed up the connect to his eyes.

The entirety of her memories regarding the lessons pinged into his brain like an email or perhaps a text notification…

His little fawn slid back onto the barstool next to him as Missy closed the line…

‘Don’t break her yet! I want to be her friend! I’m so lonely!’

He could still feel her teasing pout lingering in his brain. Perhaps she left it as a taste of his own medicine.

“The night’s getting cooler.” (Y/N) informed.

“Pity, you’ll need to cover up.”

Her mind was clearly projecting images of her taking him to the toilets and fucking him in the stall. Loudly.

Her mind was wandering, she kept admiring the line of his brow and the way his fingers crossed over as he held the glass of Fanta he was slowly sipping. She needed him in ways that would shock perhaps even Captain Jack Harkness or perhaps that smaller, dark shadow that used to follow him around, John Hart was his name?

A pathetic kicked dog that craved the Captain’s attention…

Just like him and Missy.

He shook his head at that particular parallel.

Probably the advantage of dating someone in her profession. She knew what was avant-garde in sex!

Or at least for a human of her time period that had never been off-planet…

The Doctor let his mind wander into hers. Despite her clear projection, he wanted to see exactly what the damage of the last night was. She was chattering on about a philosophy book she picked up for between clients and for downtime at work. She completed it and wanted to share her critiques of it and her ways she’d probably improve upon the messages. As well as what she liked from it- she wasn’t all kvetching, no appreciation, after all.

In all honesty, he loved the wild tangential spin she loved. He felt some remorse about how deeply he had rummaged in her brain. She still was, in a sense, her own. Just now permanently entangled in his web. Like a rat in a glue trap, but only she didn’t grasp how sticky the glue was…. She was fully mentally tethered. He’d have to be more careful, he didn’t want to lose her, or push these experiences too deep. Losing this spark of ingenuity and tired vivaciousness would be a sin worse than anything else.

He swallowed another sip of his Fanta.

It seemed a bit shaken, but he swept those away. Kept them as salacious afterthought. Bonded the memories from today that were pleasant to her already aching neurotransmitters. Amped up her hormones a tad bit.

Anyone around her, even a stupid human could probably hear her mind now. It was both very intrigued by the subject matter of the book but also so desperately needy for her Doctor. He could feel her aching cunt and body responding from here. Anybody with a pulse could probably get her drift.

He'd probably, if anyone was sensitive enough, have to start beating them off with a stick!

That could be fun, lure her further. Let her know that she was only safe with him…

He ran the possibilities and scanned the bar, seeing if he could play any games.

Sadly not.

He decided against that for the moment.

Especially since something told him that she’d have precious little trouble fighting for herself. Unless he purposefully put her mind in a state of freeze, he doubted that a pub brawl based on her appearance would faze her. She, like most human girls, had been numbed to that sort of violence.

She’d probably have to come in and save him, by the looks of a few of the other patrons here…

He dissolved that idea. He couldn’t risk breaking his promise to her and regenerating on the spot if she was frozen, meant to witness. His superior genetics and all that may come with was no match for a gone-to-seed ex-rugby player nor someone who clearly worked security. As he finished his assessment of the crowd in the pub.

His mind games would have to play out in other ways still…

Just adjust the plans that he had. And take in the information Missy had pinged him.

The illusion of free will still reflected true, right?

His old pal, Plato did some allegory with a cave…sadly he wasn’t paying attention when the man was speaking. Missed the point, invented a self-lubricating spatula for flapjacks.

Oops.

He’d never say he was depriving her of that outright, no too controversial. Too salacious. Guidance, yes. A dual corruption arc? Definitely.

Daddy knows best, rung through his skull. An old line he told Kate about the poison to kill the Zygons…

Paternalistic? Yes.

How could he not be? A human is so young and weak compared to most species out there. Let alone him and his!

After all, he was her teacher. Her educator.

These thoughts, mixed with how strong she was fantasizing about fucking him, and her natural allure…he was shocked that he wasn’t bursting through his trousers, exposing himself to all to see.

He'd fuck her tonight. Not only did she clearly need it, but if he didn’t give in, he would probably act out.

He had fully surrendered himself to current path he was on. Yes.

He’d not destroy her entirely. Take away what enchanted him to her. That would be a sin graver than killing her outright. She had goals and dreams. They had discussed at such at length. He’d let her have those. So long as she’d never stray from his clingy side.

He half-wished he could summon a past version of himself, or perhaps a future without risking too much. Just to confer and pass back ideas.

All he had was Missy.

Or to sneak off and search for the Rani.

And they’d destroy him with zealous help.

No! He was alone in this path. Only solace was Missy and her enjoyment of his fawn and petty need to be good and please reform for her release. He walked his path utterly alone.

The evening wound itself up. The Doctor had to pounce. To claim what little of his fawn lay left unclaimed. Ruin her forever. Claim her indefinitely…

He paid their bill and ventured into the night.

A pep laid in his step, his cock still semi-stiff. He’d destroy her to rebuild her.

Teacher’s Pet.

He’d have his fun next term. Make her into a professor’s aide. Push her servile nature to him into a possibly public place. Show her off, perhaps even.

But for now? He was about ready to explode. His balls ached, and his hearts were full.

All in the name of love, right?

Or obsession…

Either way, still to have someone as alluring with such a firm form like (insert a description of your body, reader…) and a mind as hard in her ideals, but so easy to toy with?

Ecstasy…

[disgustingtwitches]

We'll Gather Lilacs

Johnny only knows how to give, and Simon only knows how to take. Selfish in ways they’ll never admit, always aching for more. Closer than anyone they've known, divided by a distance neither can cross. A silent voice begs, Love me. Another hesitates, How?

WWII!Ghost/Soap

AO3

MACTAVISH

July 1944

It's dark. Pitch black, actually. Someone's calling my name, sounds far, muffled.

“Soap!”

It's LT. Guess being dead ain't so bad after all.

“Soap!”

Jesus, even in death he's angry. I wonder if Ma got my letter in time for her birthday. Ough, my head's killing.

“Johnny! Open your fucking eyes, Johnny!”

Look at that, there he is. Holding my shoulder. No. He's shaking it. I groan, throat dry,

“A’m here.”

He's holding his hand out. I should take it before he tears me a new one.

“C'mon Johnny.”

Fuck me, it's a pain to get up. My head's pounding. It's official, I'm not dead. That's good, Ma would've killed me if I didn't make it to Moira's wedding.

“Get it together, Sergeant.”

He's in a mood today. Check my gun. Then ammo. Then body. Where am I again?

Fwip. Fwip. Fwip.

Right, in the middle of fucking Dijon. Simon tugs at my jacket. My turn to shoot. We switch positions. Peek from the corner and pull the trigger, hide behind the wall while I get showered in brick dust and pebbles.

“Soap!”

My eyes focus on the voice across the street. Gaz and Cap are taking cover behind a crumbling wall.

“Aye!”

"Let's end this, yeah?"

Cap yells, holding onto Kyle's shoulders, waving a finger around in a circle.

"Yes, sir! Ye hear that LT?"

Turn my head, and there he is. Looking right into my eyes, close enough I could smell his sweat. Christ. He nods, giving me a solid smack to my back, taking my place.

"Clean 'em up real good, Johnny."

"Always do, LT."

Run around buildings, or what used to be buildings. This is what London looks like now. And Manchester. And Belfast. And Glasgow. Ash and rubble. Remnants of families and businesses, life. Burnt to a crisp. Books and tables scattered in the rooms I pass. My run comes to a crouched walk, approaching the back of where the stragglers are held up. Gaz is waiting for me, kneeling,

“There's only two left, should just take them out from right here.”

We held our breaths while he opened the door, just enough to aim, hoping the hinges didn't squeal. And they didn't.

Gaz always seemed to have luck on his side. Guess all of us did in some way. We were all still alive, somehow. Although, LT might not be here because of luck. No, I think he's far from lucky. Actually, he might be the unluckiest man I've ever known. But he is stubborn. Each time Saint Peter sent for him, he turned his back, marching right back to where he belonged: in his scarred body, wearing his uniform, holding a gun, boots and pants caked with mud and blood. Searching for something. I haven't figured out what though. One day I'll find out. Maybe.

Gaz straightens out his arm, steadying his hands and aiming. I follow suit.

“Three. Two. One.”

One shot. Two shots. We sat at the door, waiting to see if either one of those bastards was still breathing. They seemed still enough, but for good measure, three then four shots,

“All clear!”

Kyle shouts, scanning the room for traps before walking in, heavy boots kicking rocks out the way,

“Shouldn't waste ammo like that, Soap.”

Dunno why he's complaining, we've dealt with much worse and had far less,

“Ye'r life costs more than a bullet, Gaz.”

He makes a face while patting down the limp corpses, opening letters, and taking whatever seems useful. I kneel next to him when he hands me a knife; it's heavy, the wooden handle carved with the words Gott vergib mir. Not the standard ones they usually carry. I unsheath it and twirl it around my fingers before tucking it into my pocket.

Gaz’s eyes go wide when he looks up, staring at me like I’ve grown a second head,

"Mate..."

I pat myself down, looking for blood or wounds,

“What, I’m shot?”

“Look at your bloody helmet.”

He laughs in disbelief, hands on his knees.

I slide off my helmet, turn it in my hands,

“Feck me...”

There it is, a bullet hole. Clean through the metal, just a breath away from my skull. Less than a bawhair from being a goner. Forget luck- Ma must be paying Saint Michael himself a fortune to keep me alive.

Me and Kyle sit in silence for a while. Wouldn't be the first time something like this happens and sure as hell won't be the last.

Ghost’s voice breaks the spell, drifting from behind us like it’s all a joke.

“Not like it would’ve done much damage. Probably would’ve missed your brain by a mile,” He says, broken glass crunching under his boots. I could see the smile behind his mask.

Cheeky fucker.

No use in thinking too much about it. Seen worse, haven’t I? This is nothing. No point in dwelling. I stand up, shoulders tight, neck stiff, but alive. Always alive, for now.

“Anythin' good?”

Price walks in through whatever's left of the front door, lighting up a cigar.

“Some ammo. Looks like they’ve nabbed some American gear too.”

Gaz hands a rifle to the Captain, who hums, pleased. He peers down the sights,

“Bloody Yanks always get the good kit. Ought to bump into them more often.”

“Liberate a few guns and shirts from em, yeah?”

Gaz chuckles, standing and brushing off his trousers.

“Maybe some fuckin food while we're at it,”

Ghost says, standing directly behind me now. I flinch and turn to him, his dark eyes locked on the hole in my helmet,

“Fat bastards got better rations than the civvies back home.”

Price snorts, shaking his head,

“Spoiled bunch they are, butter on bacon.”

We set up in the only building that was left standing, dragging the bodies out back. Price groans while settling down against a wall,

“Look at us, sleeping in a room with four walls like we're high society.”

I slump down next to Gaz, rolling my neck. A smile creeps across Kyle's face while he's folding up his overcoat,

“A room with a roof, no less. Proper luxury, that.”

He tucks his makeshift pillow behind his head before looking up at me, smirking. Pretty bastart, wonder how many hearts he's broken with that look. The floorboards groan under his weight while he turns over and he falls asleep. I lean my head against the wall, closing my eyes. I hear Ghost shuffling around downstairs before it's dead quiet.

I don’t dream much these days. Don’t think I want to anyway. It’s all blood, bombs, and screaming. All soot-covered faces, eyes glazed over, full of fear.

Last dream I had was coming home—bag slung over my shoulder, walking past the neighbors, their pitying frowns, their clothes in tatters. Not a building in sight, but I kept walking, like nothing had changed.

There’s a bit of fog hanging in the air, barely noticeable at first, curling at the edges of my vision. It’s not until I reach where my house used to be that I feel it—a sinking feeling. Barely there, like the fog that thickens around my feet, but I ignore it. Still, I keep moving, drop my bag, and take off my boots at a front door that’s not there.

“Maw, A’m hame.”

The fog wraps tighter, rising with soot that’s now up to my knees. I turn corners that aren’t there anymore, like the walls are still standing. Like they haven’t been gone for weeks. Months.

“Maw?”

The sinking feeling grows heavier, like the fog that creeps higher, swallowing the ground beneath me. I reach where the kitchen used to be, but all that’s left is the oven. The soot shifts, turning into water, up to my thighs as I wade through the rest of the house.

“Maw? Moira? James?”

I search through the ghost of a door frame, squinting through the mist, hoping they’ll be there-waiting, big smiles, arms open. But I can’t see them. I can’t see anything. The water is blacker than black now, swallowing my legs, thick as peat. My feet sink deeper with each step.

My heart hammers in my chest, hands clammy. I try to call out again but my throat tightens. The fog thickens until it’s suffocating, swirling around me, so dense I can’t see my hand when I hold it out. The water to sludge now, rises higher, up to my chest, thick as tar. My eyes sting. The sinking feeling turns into a pull, dragging me into that dark abyss. My life flashes before me.

It’s all blood, bombs, and screaming. All soot-covered faces, eyes glazed over, full of fear.

It's dark. Pitch black, actually. Someone's calling my name, sounds far, muffled.

“MacTavish.”

Before I get a chance to open my eyes, LT’s boot shoves my legs. I blink to see him standing- no, looming- over me. Does he always have to look so angry all the time?

“Aye.”

“On your feet, Sergeant.”

“Aye.”

He helps me up and leads me to where he was posted, lifting his mask just enough to light up a smoke. I lean on the doorframe across from him,

“Ye'r not goin' to sleep, LT? We got a long day ahead.”

“That desperate for a wank, Johnny?”

“Without ye, LT? Wouldn’t dream o’ it.”

The corner of his lip twitches as takes a long drag, the red ember lighting up his face. Haven't seen the rest of it, but I got a good idea of what he looks like: scars of various sizes scattered here and there, crooked nose, perpetual eye black, the occasional blonde hair peeking through. For a moment it was quiet, save for the sound of crickets and katydids. He exhales, smoke billowing out his nostrils,

“Did good today, Johnny.”

“Same to you sir.”

He hands me his cigarette, watching my every move. His jaw clenches when our eyes lock. The tension in his shoulders eased just a fraction, and I saw a flicker of warmth in his gaze. Suddenly, every racing thought I had came to a screeching halt when he leaned forward, grabbing the smoke from my mouth,

“Johnny,”

His voice is low, raspy. My face burns, his nose nearly touching mine,

“Si- Lieutenant.”

The wood above us screeches, he pulls away faster than I can blink. We freeze, waiting for another sound, but all we can hear is Price’s god-awful snoring. One of them must've shifted around in their sleep.

He clears his throat while he leans against the doorframe, towering over me. He tucks his thumb under his belt loops while I shove my hands in my pockets, running my fingers over whatever I shoved in there earlier. I speak in a whisper that makes him lean in again,

“Got ye somethin nice.”

“That right?”

He says in a voice I've only heard a handful of times before: breathy, almost a sigh, broad accent coming through. He takes a drag when I pull out the knife, holding his hand out,

“Mhm.”

He hums in acknowledgment when I set it in his wide palm. He slides it out and inspects it, holding it under moonlight to see the handle. He snorts when he reads it,

“Yeah, real nice.”

He tucks the knife in his boot and straightens up, flicking his smoke, roughly patting my face,

"Good boy."

He heads upstairs, sleeping with the rest of the crew. Two hours later I am relieved by Garrick.

Wish he left his hand there longer than he did.

[bumlets-appreciation-blog]

Six Years of Newsies Observations

(Post Deletion Repost)

I’ve been a Newsies fan for almost six years now and I have this gigantic list of slightly deranged observations and opinions about the movie that I’ve been curating for that time. Since the list is 16 pages/348 points long, I won’t be posting everything but I will be posting the highlights. Please keep in mind that I started the list when I was 17 and I had a massive crush on most of the characters at the time. Hope y'all enjoy!

1. I did not fucking realize that a lot of those random ass black and white behind the scene pictures of the boys were also in the compilation of pictures during the intro. I feel like such an idiot!

5. Bumlets sleeps in the bunk next to the window on the other side of Mush and just flips to the other side of the bed to go back to sleep when Kloppman comes in to wake them up. It’s very relatable.

10. Jack is just casually flicking shaving cream at Mush for no reason whatsoever.

11. Blink really was about to punch Crutchy. “Equal rights, equal fights” indeed.

13. If I remember correctly, the real Mush Meyers got his name either because of his skin color or because he was really sweet on his girl.

19. I genuinely don’t understand what Kloppman is hoping to accomplish by counting the boys as they come dancing down the stairs.

21. Love that little redhead kid by the way. He’s so aggressive.

33. “How ‘bout a crooked politician?” “Hey stupid, that ain’t news no more!” Some things never change ¯\_(ツ)_/¯!

36. I love the older boys playing with the younger ones. They really are brothers.

42. I first saw this movie when I was seventeen and I still don’t understand the “shrimp” insult. It’s not that it doesn’t make sense, it’s just worded in the most ridiculous way.

45. I love the close-up of Les’s blank face. I genuinely do.

47. Bumlets swings his stick around a lot. How many people got hit while filming?

49. Maybe I’m biased because Weasel’s a dickhead, but I feel like if you’re a dickhead who works primarily with teenage boys and you have a ridiculous name, you should be prepared to be made fun of. They probably wouldn’t even make fun of you as much if you weren’t such a dickhead!!!

52. That poor two-headed baby in Brooklyn.

57. “This is my brother Davey. He’s older,” “Oh, no kiddin’”

59. Bumlets has a higher voice than I expected. It’s not ridiculously high or anything, but I just look at Dominic and expect something deeper. I do love how it sounds, though.

63. Excuse me, that poor three-headed baby in Brooklyn.

64. I feel like if you wanted a good headline, maybe write about the nude corpse instead of the three-week-long trolley strike.

72. “All this for one sip of beer?” Best line hands down.

74. Jack screams like he actually fell off the roof; the little drama queen.

78. Les should be an actor. Medda agrees.

79. Also, can Medda marry me? She’s gorgeous and I love her.

80. The first few times I watched this scene, I thought Medda called the boys her “kids” instead of her “guests.” Sometimes, I like to pretend, though.

85. Les is smoking a piece of licorice! He’s so precious!!!

89. Sarah should’ve had more screen time. She doesn’t have much, but we can see she has such good bones that it breaks my heart that we didn’t see more of her.

96. Dave clearly has no idea what “carrying the banner” actually means.

97. I was a mess at seventeen, but I can’t imagine being that broken and lonely. I will defend movie!Jack with my life.

99. I unironically love the Santa Fe dance break.

101. “Nobody told the horse.”

106. I hate that they turned the “sleeping on the streets” line into a joke in the Broadway show. It’s horrifying that this is something kids have to worry about.

112. David tells Les to shut up after he says strike.

116. I love that one kid with the bowler hat who’s super excited about beating up other kids. His energy is unparalleled.

118. Itey trying to encourage Dave is sweet.

120. Having Les be the only one standing other than Dave during the “and the young stand tall” line is such a great shot.

123. The same number of boys go to Queens and the East Side. Clearly, Jack knew that Pie-Eater, Snoddy, and Snipeshooter were not going to be as effective as Bumlets, Specs, and Skittery in spreading the word about the strike.

131. Yes, Dave is a Walking Mouth and we love him for it.

132. I love that Spot is a tiny fifteen-year-old boy, but he’s clearly the scariest person in the city. He’s running a newsboy mafia, for God’s sake.

134. David should’ve sung more. Like solos and everything.

135. Bumlets has bouncy hair and I love it.

141. I’m lowkey obsessed with the “Solomona and Hart Used Bookstore” behind Denton.

142. When he’s running up the ramp, Bumlets tosses his head to get the hair out of his eyes and it’s so good.

144. Skittery was trying so hard to jump on that kid’s back and it’s just not working out.

147. So many of the younger boys have sticks. Are they trying to copy Bumlets, Skittery, or both?

150. I bet the boys feel awful about Crutchy. I guarantee that Kloppman gave them the worst lecture of their lives when they got home without him.

153. I saw someone say that Movie!Crutchy not wanting to be carried was a sign that he had internalized ableism and I kind of want to scream just thinking about it. Maybe Crutchy just has boundaries.

155. “Seize the Day” (choral version) is so pretty. I’m sure all of these men and teenage boys would be thrilled to hear that I think they sound “pretty.”

157. I’ve got a still of Bumlets in that scene and if I ever make a Newsies blog, that’s what the icon is gonna be. I’m gonna try and find either a GIF or a picture of the newspaper photo for the banner. (AND I DID!!!)

161. Jack looking at David right before yelling, “Let’s soak ‘em for Crutchy!” was an apology because it was literally the exact opposite of what David just told them to do.

162. I just love how all of these grown-ass men are so eager to beat up children. It’s so charming, isn’t it? Fuck all of them.

164. “Never fear, Brooklyn is here!”

168. I think if I had been younger when I’d seen this movie for the first time, I would’ve imprinted on Spot Conlon like a baby duck. Instead, I was seventeen and now Bumlets is stuck with me.

169. Bumlets smiles into the camera and then changes to a surprised look. I think Dominic Lucero forgot he wasn’t supposed to be smiling until the last second.

170. Jack “No Pictures��� Kelly smiling like an angel in a group full of beautiful disasters is my aesthetic.

177. I can wax poetic for hours about Bumlets’s hair, but when Snoddy runs his hands through his hair, it’s just as beautiful.

179. Giving Race’s “Sheepshead” line to a different newsie in the Broadway musical was so stupid. His name is literally Racetrack!

182. The exchange Race had with Itey was adorable.

185. I love Racetrack’s voice.

186. Bumlets’s hair goes flip.

189. Nothing’s better than watching a grown-ass man crawl on the floor to get to his place for the next shot.

190. FAN SPIN!!!!!!

192. Bumlets is the last to get the paper and I guarantee that he gave it to Kloppman as soon as they got back to the Lodging House.

196. “Our man Denton!”

197. “That’s Jack!” “You know this boy?” “No, never heard of him!” Jesus Christ Crutchy.

199. “That’s an unusual name for these parts” is on par with Crutchy’s conversation with Snyder in terms of ridiculousness. Bless you, Specs.

204. Sarah is so pretty like wtf.

208. “It’s the same sun as here.” I need more of Sarah gently calling out the boys on their stupidity. I bet she’d do numbers on Skittery and his misanthropy.

212. Robert Duvall really threw his whole-ass heart and soul into this movie.

215. I saw the theater exterior in pictures from Universal’s back lot. I tried picking out other locations, but since they’re more dressed up in the movie, it was hard to know for sure which locations were which.

218. “High Times, Hard Times” is such a fun song.

222. Blink, Race, and Medda dancing together is cute.

223. Bumlets, Swifty, and Snoddy are dancing behind them.

230. “Gotta kiss Medda goodbye even though I’m about to be arrested!” — Jack Kelly

233. Seeing Medda try to defend Race is heartbreaking.

234. “For God’s sake, he’s just a child, can’t you see that?” Fucking ouch.

241. “On the grounds of Brooklyn, your honor.”

245. Les loves Jack so much.

249. It’s really sweet that Mr. Tibby tried to turn down payment from Denton and even sweeter that Denton paid anyway because Lord knows those boys eat a lot, and giving food away for free like Tibby was gonna (I’m assuming) would be a huge loss for him.

255. “Racetrack, watch him,” and no hesitation on Race’s part to grab Les.

257. Jack lowkey implying that Pulitzer fought for the Confederacy is hysterical.

260. Dave damn near killed a man with the horse trick he pulled.

262. The “Santa Fe” reprise is heartbreaking.

267. Spot was gonna rip Jack’s head off lol.

268. They had to drag him to the back of the group to keep the angry kitten from committing murder.

273. Les is too good for this world and all of the older boys trying to comfort him was heartwarming.

278. I think the little redhead boy is on strike, too! He’s not in the distribution center and it looks like Morris was doing his job.

281. Sweet face? Is that really the best he could come up with?

286. Jack running to David’s rescue in a shaft of sunlight is cinematic poetry.

291. Dave is a snarky little shit.

296. Mush looks so happy to see Jack.

299. Race asking the kids if they know how to read is very considerate and period accurate. Maybe he read the Banner to the kids who couldn’t read.

302. “Disgraceful Denty!”

306. Sweet little Les and his twenty older brothers.

310. I can find Bumlets in the little end shot of “The World Will Know” reprise with all of the other kids. I scared a friend doing that.

312. “It’s like the end of the world! Oh dear, I didn’t say that.”

315. Is Pulitzer aware that the kids probably can’t hear him? Is he aware that they hate him and wouldn’t listen even if they could?

318. Jack tells Les first!!

321. Skittery and Tumbler hugging and then doing the spit shake asdfghjkl!!!

324. “Make friends with the rats. Share what you’ve got in common.”

327. You can kind of see Race and Bumlets talking behind Denton. I think Bumlets is telling Race about Roosevelt.

331. Les is crying! That’s illegal!!

332. Blink’s Chin Tap™

336. Mush and Dave have an underrated friendship.

338. “I got family here.” My heart!

344. I don’t know if I’m jealous of Jack or Sarah. (I wrote this part when I was seventeen and still think it’s funny)

345. Bumlets, Blink, and Snoddy are hanging onto each other!!!

348. The final shot is Tumbler being an adorable bean <3!!

[mraprilfools]

Summary: After Lucifer and Lilith go through a separation, he wanders the streets looking for some sort of company to feel less alone. In the late hours of the night, the perfect man happens to bump into him. He just happens to come with some unfriendly company!

Pairing: Old!Vox(1950's) x Lucifer

Contents: Kissing, Hidden Identity(Lucifer), Sad Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Sexual Themes heavily Implied but not Explicit

Word Count: 11k

A/N: This is the SFW version of my story! If you want the 🌶️ version of this story, I highly recommend reading it on here on AO3! There will still be some spice present in this story but the actual sexual content has been toned down heavily.

One of the first things that Vox learned when he died was that it was never truly pitch black in hell. There were periods when it was lighter or darker but it never became pitch black; a trait of his new home that he came to know quickly thanks to the graveyard shifts he’d pull until the wee hours of the morning working his first job since his death. Unloading trucks carrying liquor wasn’t his favorite, all kinds of desperate souls would often try to trick him or con him out of giving up the prized spirits.

Even in the afterlife, you had to work to stave off the starvation that made you miserable. The desperate would eat the bodies littering the streets with more corpses in the past week alone outnumbering all the corpses Vox ever saw in life. Being thrown into the pits of capitalism wasn’t Vox’s choice but it was better than starving or laying on his back.

Not that he had much confidence in his unique body attracting more than freaks.

Normally there was one other to help him with unloading, a leopard sinner. When he wasn’t trying to get high off some hell drug, that was. Better than nothing. But the man had simply not shown up to his shift, leaving Vox out in the cold moving heavy crates by himself. The glasses rattled each time he hefted up a new box, carrying over a stack to sit inside by the doorway on top of a growing palette.

“There’s no way I’ll get this done before the store opens… better not be MY ass the boss gets on when he comes in.” The words were flung into the uncaring void, Vox was well aware he would get absolutely no slack nor commendation for coming in anyway. But Max would get off scott-free, perks of being the owner’s son!

When he came back around to pick up the next box, he found a group of four men gathering around the truck and peeking inside. A hyena, civet, butterfly, and snail demon by the look of it. Vox let out a heavy sigh, heavily filtered by his poor speakers.

“OI!” He called out to the gang, hoping that might scare them off. The largest of the group, the butterfly spun around and hopped out onto the curb to greet him. Shoulders were hunched with his head cocked to the side, looking the picture-perfect ideal of a delinquent. Just his luck.

“Oh! Looks like the wage dog is around! The… fuck are YOU supposed to be? Is your head a… box?” The insect clicked his tongue, narrowing his glowing red eyes as he attempted to make sense of the bizarre sight. It was a common enough question in his time he was growing exhausted of explaining.

“I’m a television. They’re starting to become commonplace in American homes now, taking over Radio. It’s like a broadcast drama… but you can watch it unfold before your very eyes.” Cyan claws stretched out into a flurry of jazz hands meant to sell a product that he wasn’t even peddling. The entertainer in him couldn’t resist stretching out his leg and putting energy into his voice.

It did not go well.

“You trying to pull my leg? I don’t believe that mystical magic bullshit. Oi, Rands. Get a lot of this guy.”

The civet peeked his head up from a box where he’d wrestled free a bottle of whiskey. Jumping to his feet, he leaped off the truck and came to investigate.

“That’s a television! We should steal his head Pete, we could sell it for a pretty penny!” Rands jabbed his finger excitedly, motioning to Vox’s head. Dread welled in Vox’s chest, his heels clicking as he took several steps back.

“Shit… really? Is he telling the truth? Styles! Eric! Oi, you two come to hold this fuck down, we’re stealing his head!”

“His head? Won’t that… kill him, Pete?” The hyena spoke. The last two were already starting to form a semi-circle that forced Vox to draw toward the building door. Getting mugged in hell wasn’t a rare occurrence. It was hell! But having his head stolen? Kind of on a whole different level.

Vox threw up his hands, drawing back toward the store. “Come on now! I have a rather DIRE need of my head. It’s bad enough you’re going to make me lose my job stealing from the truck. Can’t you at least leave me capable of looking for a new one…?”

One of the things that was hard to nail down with his new face was how to put on a charming smile to best disarm the people around them. A skill that Vox was still struggling to nail even at this point. The group of men stared, sputtered, and shared looks as they broke out into taunting laughter.

“Look at the picture box! It’s smiling like a comic character!”

“Waaah! Creepy.”

The smile fell quickly when he realized it had the opposite of his intended effect. The speed of his back steps increased. When the doorway was within reach, he quickly whipped around in an attempt to escape through the door. He couldn’t even get two steps before the butterfly grabbed the back of his coat and yanked him back. Vox leaned his head forward to prevent it from smacking against the concrete, tucking his hands beneath to further act as a cushion.

The blood-red sky looked beautiful tonight. A shame Vox couldn’t appreciate it with four men towering over him with ill intent. Yet, he’d been so beaten over the past few months he could hardly feel anything but self-pity for himself and apathy for his situation.

If he lost his head, would he eventually regenerate that, too?

How long would that take? A few weeks. The worst of it was how… rough they were when those hands laid themselves on his head. The heel of one hooligan dug into his chest while he was yanked forward. Thick cords making up his neck made it something you couldn’t simply yank off but it DID hurt. When one man couldn’t get it free, a second wrapped an arm around their body and joined in the venture.

The other two parked themselves onto his legs. Vox tried to clamp down on his head while his neck was being stretched out. His jaw, neck, shoulders, everything began to scream like it was on fire, and his hands only uselessly scratched at the air while the men avoided the dangerous arc. Sparks flew as connectors and ports started to come loose.

“Fucking hell! This thing is ATTACHED!” The hyena barked. The butterfly he clung to grit his teeth, the wings on his back smacking against his friend's cheek while they flapped with his resistance.

“YEAH, it’s my fucking head! It’s as attached as your goddamn lim-- FUCK OWOWOW! Can’t you at least KILL me first before you yank my head off?!” Vox snapped back. He was regretting his earlier apathy. The pain and ringing in his head was starting to become unbearable. He summoned up what stores of electricity he had in his body, light blue bolts of electricity danced upon his skin and flesh, arching toward his extremities. The initial pain of thousands of volts in their hands forced the gang to yank their hands away, and that was Vox’s chance. He immediately shot to his feet and shoved the civet aside to make room for his escape. Narrowly escaping a mass of hands trying to latch onto his coat a second time, his long legs carried him down the street.

“OI! Get back here!”

“That’s our fucking meal ticket running off! Fucking get 'em’!”

The early mornings meant that the only people up were the worst ne’er do-wells Hell had to offer. Loan sharks were giving somebody the shakedown, he passed by a shanking in progress, and even a couple who was in the middle of fucking right out in the open. He almost ended up tripping over one man’s arm, initially thought to be detached until he realized the man was simply groggy and coked out of his mind.

The sound of footsteps pounding against the pavement was gaining, the fastest of the lot coming treacherously close even with Vox’s head start. Vox made a quick dip and dive into one of the alleyways, jumped onto a fence, and climbed it. The iron clattered as his weight smacked against it, ringing with each new hand that followed behind him. Only courage and desperation had him taking the fall on the other side. Instead of taking the leap, the butterfly was lifting the smaller men up and over the fence. It was only thanks to the smaller members' hesitation he found his feet again on wobbly footsteps. Vox turned another corner only to bump into a significantly shorter sinner. His whole body fell forward, catching himself by his hands on the concrete with a blond-haired man pinned beneath him.

It was the most beautiful man Vox had seen in his life. Pure white alabaster skin, apple red cheeks, golden hair, and ruby eyes in a pool of yellow. The pure white coat he wore was something Vox was almost certain he could never afford. His first thought was that he might be a noble.

“Who are…?” The man beneath him spoke, swallowed in his throat when Vox was yanked right off him by the large butterfly sinner. The near angelic beauty scooted back and sat up watching as the four gang members circled the stranger who knocked him over.

“Finally! Careful, we don’t want this asshole zapping us again. Maybe we ought to take his advice and kill him first?” The hyena spoke. The snail reached into his circular shell, tossing a jagged knife over to the man who suggested it. A manic smile spread over the muzzle of the canine, first pointing that glittering point directly at Vox’s neck.

“I ought to carve this neck of yours, asshole. If you don’t struggle, we can even make this quick for you alright? So hold still.” Vox could see it in the way the hyena’s pupils dilated. He enjoyed the act of killing. The three other faces with their crescent smiling eager for his death felt… familiar. The old faces of his mother, father, his brother all laughing while he desperately did everything he could to live. He had no allies, but that only made him want to fight even more.

Vox didn’t say a word, refusing the hyena the satisfaction of his fear. When the dog realized he wasn’t getting it, he clicked his tongue and shoved the blade forward. The point pressed against the bright yellow woolen fabric around his neck, inching close to the bobbing Adam’s apple beneath.

“Good night, fucker!” The rank breath of the hyena misted against his screen. That was Vox’s sign to shut his eyes tight, bracing for the no doubt messy cut into his throat.

…

When the flash of pain didn’t assault him, Vox peeked one eye open finding an ashen hand clutching the blade. The shorter man he’d knocked over earlier caught the fisted weapon and twisted the man’s arm until he was brought down low to his knees.

“OW! Fuck Shit! Shit shit! FUCK! Get this fucking… PANSY the fuck off me!” The ruffian attempted to shake the hand off, but the other sinner’s strength was so absolute he could only shake his arm. First muddled confusion, then panic settled in as he smacked the first with his free hand. The snail sinner immediately tried to wrap his arms around the small sinner, but he had simply ducked and knocked him off on his feet. The hyena was tossed right into the butterfly and the Civet was knocked over by something Vox couldn’t even see.

In a span of a couple seconds, the four men that had been harassing him were laid low with the stranger still standing tall. The smile he wore was so wide and friendly, that Vox struggled to believe the man could be in Hell, or even real.

“Heeeeey there! Hope you don’t mind me getting involved. There’s a lot I can tolerate but watching a man getting stabbed five feet in front of me isn’t one of those.” Lucifer removed the large top hat on top of his head, bowing.

“Oh. Not at all...” Vox mumbled, his dark gray pupils scanning to watch the quartet as they rose to their feet. A couple of them rolled their shoulders as they re-circled the smaller individual. Without giving them the time of day, he simply offered his hand to Vox to hold him up. Warily, Vox watched the largest stand directly behind the angelic beauty.

“Watch out!” Vox cried out as he watched the sinner wind his arm back and swing his fist for a heavy slug for his cheek. His ‘savior’ merely canted his head to the side, catching it without flinching. The butterfly was the only one to feel anything, falling over to his knees clenching his fist. At first, Vox had to doubt his eyes. The hyena wavered, still clutching the knife in his hands. With a little whispered encouragement from his other friends, he attempted to jab the knife into Lucifer’s back.

Instead of the dull sound of steel cutting through flesh, the harsh clang of metal shattering assaulted his senses. The hyena’s hands trembled in disbelief, staring at the handle and the broken blade still attached to the hilt. Panic settled in with the group, their bodies twisting to make their grand escape like the devil was on their tails. The useless hilt was left at the scene of the would-be crime, falling into a crack in the sidewalk where a puddle of acid rain collected from the recent deluge.

“Well, come on! We don’t want to stand out in the middle of the road forever do we?” The stranger asked, getting tired of waiting. Vox’s mouth hung open, unable to answer initially. The brilliance of that smile was throwing everything off. He stretched out his hand to carefully take the strangers. He didn’t even hesitate to meet Vox halfway, grasping his hand tightly to tug him back onto his feet.

“Thank… you,” Vox muttered under his breath.

The stranger chuckled, flushing a little. He looked so… cute and darling at that moment Vox found it nearly impossible to see him as the same man who easily took out four thugs in front of him.

“No need to thank me! If I simply walked away while you were getting assaulted in front of me, well… I’d feel like a hypocrite y’know?”

“Well… Hell is the place to find hypocrites but I’m going to be glad I found the one man in hell with some standards for himself,” Vox confessed, including himself in that lot. He would have easily walked away and let this pretty blonde boy get destroyed if it meant saving his ass. “My name is Vox by the way.”

The man jumped in place, rubbing the back of his neck as he started to laugh nervously.

“RIGHT! Names! You do names when you meet people. I have a name! A VERY good name too.” He insisted, holding up a finger like he wanted Vox to wait.

“Which is…?”

“Lucifer! Luci for short! My parents thought it’d be REAL funny to name me after The Morningstar.” The man made a looping motion near his head with his eyes rolling to match the gesture. “Can you believe I was still the favorite? Bet you can guess how I got murdered! Nice to meet you Vox.” Ashen hands brushed back the golden bangs fallen over his face. Vox felt certain that name to be an alias. He had a few reasons for suspecting such a thing. One was that this guy was secretly an Overlord, but Vox quickly dismissed that. The other was that he was worried Vox was a creep or… he was married and looking for a gay fling. The way he was so nervous was making him lean into that guess.

“I should get back to work. I was in the middle of unloading a truck… need to stop anyone from stealing everything before I get fired.” Vox thumbed toward the alleyway, with Lucifer’ standing on his tiptoes to look down the alleyway. The very dark murder alley. Friendly! Lucifer followed the motion of his thumb, then turned his attention back to Vox.

“HEY! Uh-- y’know it looks pretty scary! How about I stick with you a little longer to make sure those guys don’t come back huh?”

Vox’s face glitched for a second, flashing into a blizzard of static. “Uh... Why?”

Lucifer tucked his hands behind his back, rocking back and forth on his feet.

“Beeeecause… I just don’t want to be alone tonight. I’ve had a… hah! Rough day and I don’t feel like going to a bar. I kinda just want somebody to talk to.” With a clearing of his throat, he tapped two fingers together. “But you look like you’re having a similarly awful day, so you seem like the kind of company I’m hoping for.”

“Then yeah, sure. Graveyard shift is boring as hell alone.” Vox agreed before he got too into his rambling. Lucifer blinked owlishly, like he didn’t expect that answer, his pupils growing as wide as saucers.

“REALLY?”

Why was he so cute? Vox coughed to dispel the odd pressure on his chest, tugging on his collar.

“Yes, really. This way Luci.” With a nod of his head to the right, he took the lead. Lucifer trailed right by his side, making it NO secret the way his eyes took in the sight of the man beside him with keen interest.

Vox felt extremely sure that 'Luci' was a married man looking for a gay fling now and was appraising him. It was a good thing he didn't have enough of a conscience to care- the guy was pretty enough that he was halfway considering it. The only problem was...his own body.

“So Luci, what’s been bothering you tonight? Something you want to talk about?” Vox broached the subject, wanting to keep the awkward silence at bay.

Lucifer jumped, breaking out into a nervous laughter. “Oh! That uh…! Well y’see! Some things have been going bad back at home. Sooo I needed to get out of the house for a while. I’m feeling kind of sort of really lost right now. I was originally going to a friend's house, but then I remembered that I hadn’t talked to them in… a long time. So I thought that would be extremely awkward! Like...” Lucifer held out his hands, miming the scene.

“HEY there buddy ol’ PAL! It’s Luci! Yeah, I haven’t returned your calls or… even texted you back in like ten years! Can I crash at your place for a week?” The strain of those pearly whites did admittedly make Vox feel sympathetic. He was just as awful in keeping his relations. He could never be sure who liked him.

“That DOES seem awkward. So you were...” Vox cleared his throat, trying to test the waters with the other man. “Trying to find a place to stay tonight…? And some company?”

It took a moment for Lucifer to process that question, taking so long Vox wondered if he’d perhaps gone too far.

“You’re right. So I’m searching for it in a stranger who I’m hoping might be as lonely as me! What about you Vox? Do you have family or anyone to spend the Holiday with? It’s almost Sinsmas.”

Vox opened his mouth to speak, knit his brows, and shook his head.

“No, not since I died. I’ve only been here for a few months, and I’m pretty convinced my wife went to Heaven so I’m here alone.”

“She died before you?”

“Yeah… she died years ago. Illness.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Lucifer rubbed his sleeve, sucking through his teeth.

“So-- I’m glad I have some company. You saved my life so… least I could do is keep you company yeah?” Vox reassured the smaller man, patting him on the shoulder. The touch initially surprised the angel, making them jump from his touch. Vox quickly yanked his hand away. “Oh! Sorry-- I keep forgetting I have fucking stabby hands now. It’s inconvenient most of the time.”

Lucifer quickly shook his head.

“No! No not at all, it just surprised me!” Lucifer insisted, putting far too much cheer into his voice. He snatched the hand from midair, cupping it between his hands. The act immediately brought a faint white color to Vox’s screen, watching with wide eyes as he handled the hand without fear. He didn’t even flinch while his finger traced one of the blades. “Sinner’s bodies DO take all shapes. You must have done some cruel things with these hands.”

A nervous laughter rang out from Vox, a guilty smile plastered on his screen. It did send a pang of pain to Lucifer’s heart. Free will and this man chose to use his hands to hurt people until that was all he could do with them.

“And I guess you must have been so beautiful you enchanted everyone to their deaths. The ladies must love you.” Vox mused out loud. The bold compliment caused a golden color to rise to Lucifer’s face. He quickly let go of Vox’s hand and laughed nervously.

“Something… like that yeah. They call me a betrayer, and I’ve run off with a man’s wife. Pretty fitting.”

“Hmm… I can see it.” Vox confessed as the two rounded the last corner.

When he returned to the truck, he found everything seemed to still be around. The missing bottle was… something he could pass off as a miscount on their behalf or something. Lucifer hung around outside, watching with wide-eyed curiosity as Vox lifted boxes to carry over to the palette nearby.

“What?” Vox asked him as he passed by the smaller man.

“You unload that WHOLE truck by yourself?”

“Normally no. But my co-worker called out. I’m getting what I can get done before I clock out. I don’t love this place enough to stay past my shift.” Even if his boss would yell his ear off for it. Fuck him. He wasn’t paid enough to work overtime.

“I could help...” Lucifer offered. Vox hung his head, trying to suppress the laughter. He appreciated his help, but he did NOT look capable of lifting boxes that heavy.

“You just wanted somebody to talk to right? I got it. If you got hurt, I’d be in deep shit. Having you around to dissuade those assholes from coming back is more than enough.”

Lucifer pulled back his sleeves, hopping into the truck moments later. With his hands still occupied, Vox was helpless to watch him as he picked up a stack of crates all by himself. Not just one or two, but three that he lifted with extreme ease. Vox’s own digital eyes took up his entire screen, watching in abject shock as he strolled out of the truck. Lucifer knew what he was doing too, the cheesy smile on his face was meant to insult his expectations. With nervous laughter, Vox set his box down and assisted Lucifer with his trio.

“Great things DO come in small packages.” Vox mused with a shake of his head.

Lucifer puffed out his chest, rubbing his knuckles against his chest. “It’s easy to underestimate me, but you’d be surprised by the kinds of things I can do.”

Vox passed by, stepping back into the truck to pick up the next crate. Lucifer trailed behind him, tapping Vox on the shoulder before he lifted the crate.

“Big thought!” Lucifer began. “I can’t pick up more than three because they’ll fall over! What if we combine YOUR height with my amazing strength? I bet we can get way more than three! Let’s try four or five!”

Vox wondered if this man might be insane but he shrugged it off and decided to give it a shot. With Lucifer’s help, the daunting task had become far easier. Most of it of course turned into him helping balance crates while the shorter man lifted them without breaking a sweat. Four or five didn’t even make a difference compared to the initial three. In terms of time, they were still far behind the usual schedule with the near murder earlier that day but Vox found Lucifer to be far more pleasant company than his co-worker.

Prettier too.

“So Luci...” Vox began as he was in the middle of the actual meat of the job: Stocking the shelves! Routine and methodical work that Lucifer assisted in another nearby corner of the store. It was a simple task of lining the bottles neatly on the shelves.

“Yeah?”

“What kind of things do you like to do for fun?”

Lucifer nearly dropped the bottle in his hand, bouncing it between his hands to catch it in the cushion of his thighs. Lucifer jammed the bottle back onto the shelf.

“Oh! Y’know, normal things. I like to make toys, tinker, pretty much anything crafty. That’s what makes me happiest. Usually animals, ducks are my favorite. But I’ve made model kits, dioramas, and even a big project of a model town! It’s my pride and joy!”

“That sounds… adorable,” Vox admitted. “I think I’d like to see them one of these days Luci. If we end up becoming friends that is.”

A golden color rose on Lucifer’s face again, his shoulders turned so his back was facing Vox. Friends? with a Sinner?! It felt implausible. But to have a connection outside of his family? It was tempting.

“What about you Vox?”

“I… didn’t have a lot of time for hobbies, honestly. I was a career-driven man. But when I did have time, I liked movies. I’ve always wanted to direct and act in them myself! But I only managed to become a news anchor. There’s something… appealing about being able to become somebody else for a few hours. Then… the usual pleasures a man enjoys. Alcohol and women.” And men.

Lucifer sat back, taking in the information of the sinner. The box by his side had already grown empty. He picked up the empty crate to swap it for a new one. “Movies? I’ve only seen a couple of those. What do you like about them?”

“Well--” Vox started, sucking through his teeth. “At first it was-- a way to get somebody's attention. My mother was always fond of those radio dramas. If I was one of those figures, I thought it’d mean she’d finally be looking at me too. It-- didn’t work of course. But at least I found my love for them.”

Lucifer stopped in place. When he looked a little closer, he could see how lonely the other man felt. A pang of guilt stabbed Lucifer in the heart. It was much easier to think of Sinners as pure evil, but this one was far too sympathetic. He fucked up, but he was not completely awful. The way Lucifer wanted to see himself.

“Well if you ever make it on the big screen, I’ll be the first in line to see you! We still have theatres here. I don’t see why you couldn’t be an actor here!”

The illumination in the man’s screen shone more brilliantly, his smile unable to meet his eyes as he smiled. The last bottle of the batch was set on the shelf, with an empty box sitting beside him. “We’ll see. I’ll have to get out of this dead-end job first. I also don’t have a… face anymore so it’ll be a lot harder to play a leading role. You can cheer for me when I show up as an extra.”

Lucifer set the crate in his hands down, giving Vox his full attention. It was his turn to speak.

“Your face was handsome enough that those men were trying to steal it earlier! I wouldn’t give up so soon! You haven’t been down here long right?”

Vox raised his shoulders. “Three months about.” He answered.

“You’ll see, the standards of beauty are different down here. We have people taking on the traits of animals, insects, and inanimate objects like you. We have people through more periods than your own who all find different things beautiful. I---” Lucifer cleared his throat, tugging on his collar. “I come… from a time when it’s not weird for a man to find another man handsome. And I think you’re… kind of cute.

Lucifer put on a fragile smile, stretching his hand to lay on top of Vox’s. The sinner swallowed as his gaze danced between the hand resting on top of his and the golden-haired man. There was a long period of silence and hesitation.

“They beat men to death where I’m from. It’s an unspeakable taboo, one that would cause you to lose everything if anyone found out. What’s… it like in hell?” Vox asked, leaning a little closer.

Lucifer took in a deep breath and looked around the store. Checking to see if the two were truly alone. He crawled forward until his hand settled on Vox’s thigh. Vox’s screen immediately fizzled into static, electricity sparkling from his antennae. Like a deer in headlights, he stared at Lucifer who had not moved an inch since.

“In Hell, the powerful make the rules. Is it something that interests you?”

Vox laughed nervously, with another blush flashing across beneath his eyes that spoke of his guilt. He stretched out a claw to brush the back of his hand over the porcelain cheek of the angel. They traced over until it reached his golden coif.

Lucifer crawled forward, setting an ashen hand on Vox’s chest until he fell back and hit the shelves. The bottles all rattled, and Lucifer shot his hand out to stop a whiskey bottle from falling over. Without fear he pressed his face against the glass, laying his lips on top of Vox’s. The world went completely silent, save for the sound of the glass rolling across the floor.

Lucifer sighed against the strange buzzing sensation dancing along his lips as those large wants came around his waist. So much smaller than the sinner, it was so similar but different to the large woman who’d been his wife for millennia. The tickling sensation of those pricks running along his back earned a sigh that Vox swallowed as they pressed their lips tighter together.

Like being pulled under a current, Lucifer felt like he was drowning as his body was held tight against the larger man’s. The hard crash of his hand clutching the back of his head had a passion and fire in it that reignited the coals that he’d thought died in a slowly decaying relationship. Lucifer straddled the hips of the taller man. Only the need for breath could stop them, with the heat of their breath playing against one another while their foreheads pressed together.

“I’ve not been kissed like that in hundreds of years. Your wife must have been incredibly lucky to have you.” Lucifer growled, brushing his fingers against the cherry-wood finish of his head.

“Aha… I hope she thought so at the end there. I’ll never know now. But-- I keep thinking the same thing. No matter what angle I look at you from, you’re more beautiful than a marble statue. You’re a work of art, I can only imagine what you look like with your clothes off.” Vox’s fingers wandered over to his jacket, pushing past to brush his palms over his chest. Lucifer sighed, feeling a burning fire in his groin.

“That could be arranged for a night.”

One night.

With the most beautiful man he’d ever laid eyes on? He’d happily risk getting killed for that. But words weren’t functioning for him right now, he was struggling to keep himself operational when Lucifer was still so close. He could see the beautiful snow-white skin down the collar of his shirt. He was small but feisty. Nothing like the larger delinquents he liked to play with on earth. Vox felt certain it was Luci who had all the power here.

His claws settled around the back of the angel’s head and pulled him closer. Their lips crashed against one another. This time all the pretenses were gone. Lips danced and pressed against one another. Vox wrapped his arm around the smaller man, pulling his smaller frame against his body. Brushing his hand over to feel along his sides, his hips, over his butt where he clenched and squeezed.

In response, Lucifer slammed Vox harder against the shelf, forcing his tongue to slip past his teeth and explore the cavern of his mouth. A bottle fell from the lowest shelf, clanking as it rolled across the hard floor. Vox’s body jolted, shocked by the initiative the other man took. But lust was pulling him under. His claw dug into the angel’s shoulder, who didn’t even flinch. It was only because Lucifer allowed him that Vox could push him off, his face a wild shade of light gray swallowing the space beneath his eyes.

“Wait-- I have a job to do. I’m already behind as it is, can’t we wait until after my shif-- MmhH!”

Lucifer silenced him with another kiss, already pressing his hand over the jacket that covered Vox’s body. He lay his palm over his chest with only the promotional tee shirt underneath to feel the firm muscular chest beneath. A mix between a groan and a sigh escaped Vox’s lips when Lucifer hiked his hips to grind his butt against Vox’s groin.

“I’ll take care of it, I promise. I have a few tricks up my sleeve, all you need to do is...” Lucifer sighed, tracing his fingers underneath the screen. Vox followed the graze of his hand. Electricity shot up, sparkling overhead.

“L-Luci...”

The sound of his own name on another’s lips sent an electric tingle up Lucifer’s spine.The Adam’s apple on Vox’s throat bobbed; a pretty little sight that inspired Lucifer to trace his finger down his throat. His teeth came to clamp down on the side of Vox’s neck shortly after. It wasn’t blood and flesh, but wire and electricity that sparked when he bit down. The crackling in his mouth shocked him so much that he pulled away.

“S-sorry. I wanted to warn you… my body’s a little strange. Besides...” Vox nervously pushed Lucifer away by the shoulders. Keeping him at bay with his hands clutching his shoulders. “You’re just wanting somebody to make you not feel so alone right? Pouncing on a stranger in the middle of a liquor store won’t make you feel any less lonely. All you’re going to do is… make yourself feel more empty than before. We should-- reaaally stop this. After I lost my wife, the first thing I did was try to sleep with as many women as possible. Each one felt like… it only drew me further apart from her. It’ll only make you feel better temporarily.”

It felt patronizing for a man not even a quarter of his age to give him this lesson. But Lucifer had never known a world where his wife wasn’t… his. With a sigh, he hung back brushing his fingers through his hair. Sulking, he confessed.

“I just… want to feel like somebody wants me. That somebody likes me. That I’m not… too much.” The mortifying confession came with a cautious flick of his eyes meeting with Vox’s. How embarrassing to lose himself in front of a sinner. One of the types of people he spent so much time and energy hating. Yet here he was clinging to him for a distraction because the heartbreak was too much. So why was the sympathy in his eyes only making him feel worse about himself?!

“Well… I don’t know you very well Luci. From what little I do know, I do like you. You are also...” Vox cleared his throat, blushing harder. “The most beautiful man I’d ever laid eyes on. I’ll kick myself for this later, I don’t normally get a conscience at these times. The old me would have you bent over the counter fucking you right now.”

Lucifer sputtered, covering his smile beneath his hand. “And what stopped you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I don’t want you to know the same pain I experienced. If I can save you, maybe it might save me too, in some way.” Vox sat up a little straighter, jostling Lucifer in his lap in the process. Lucifer held tight to Vox’s shoulders, sliding close until his face came close to Vox’s screen again. Lucifer could hear him gulp again, his eyes veering away.

Lucifer sighed and lifted himself off of Vox’s body. Lucifer didn’t miss the way Vox breathed a little easier then, or the obvious tent in his pants that he tried to hide immediately by shifting his body away. Lucifer did his best to not look a little offended, tugging on his clothes to put them to rights.

Sinner’s wanting to save somebody? All they did was hurt people. The more he spent around this one, the more annoyed he got with the idea that they might be complex. If they were complex even when they were suffering in hell?

Lucifer… wanted to get to know Vox better. To unravel the mystery, so he obliged for now.

“Alright. I’ll finish putting everything up over here! Don’t worry, we’ll be finished long before your shift ends. I promise!” Lucifer promised. Vox managed a thin smile, tugging on his clothes to put it back to the right. Not that it could eradicate the memory of that firm wall of muscle that Lucifer felt when he put his hand there. It was so unlike anything when he touched Lillith. Now that he had a taste… well now he couldn’t get it out of his head.

“Don’t work too hard. I mean, you aren’t getting paid for this. If you simply sat and watched I’d be happy to just talk to you.” Vox groped around on the floor, searching for the bottle that went rolling elsewhere. He found it… underneath one of the shelves. Falling flat onto his chest, he stretched out his claw trying to grope around for it.

Lucifer felt bad leaving the man with a biology not friendly for this task to do it, but it was the perfect distraction!

While Vox was distracted, Lucifer pulled up his sleeves and used magic to levitate the flurry of bottles whisking them to the appropriate shelves almost instantaneously. While Vox’s claws struggled to clasp around the glass bottle, an orchestra of glass and liquor flew about arranging themselves on the shelves.

Once a messy half-filled store with scattered boxes became neatly arranged with the products lining the shelves as if by their own accord. The containers all come together in a neat stack by the backdoor.

“Got you!” Vox proclaimed his victory, snatching the bottle by the neck. Prying himself off the filthy floor, he set the bottle on the shelf, only to stop and look around the store.

“Huh?”

“HUH?!”

In less than a minute, the store with all its empty shelves was stocked. Lucifer was in the corner breaking down boxes by hand. The angel smiled at him, waving. With a slack-jawed expression, he pushed himself to his feet and examined the store twice, thrice over. He was done, early.

“How did--” Vox began.

“I’ve got many tricks up my sleeve you know! I can do a lot more than take care of a few ruffians!” Lucifer answered in a sing-song tone, tossing yet another collapsed box onto the pile. With one hand tapped against the top of his head, he strode up to join Lucifer. Far too many times that night the short man had stunned him with his ability.

“You’re… an Overlord, aren’t you? That’s why you hide your name and how you can… do all this. Right?” Vox asked.

Lucifer dropped the box cutter in his hand, laughing nervously. His hand brushed over the back of his neck, cracking his neck in the process.

“You’ve sussed me out! That’s right… I’m a secret Overlord! Nobody ever expects me y’know?” Lucifer snapped his finger, putting on a theatrical show of spinning in place and waving jazz hands. Vox sighed, smacking his thigh with his hand.

“Well, I’m not going to ask what your real name is. I bet that’s safer for me too right?”

Lucifer dropped his arms, immediately rubbing his left with his right hand.

“Much. You’re… not mad?” Lucifer tentatively brought up the subject, rubbing his arm. For a big scary overlord, he was… a damn natural at hiding that fact. Vox lifted his shoulders and let them fall lifelessly.

“It’s Hell. Everyone’s got secrets and things they want to hide. I’m no exception. You’re not trying to steal my soul or kill me so we’re good.” The gentle smile on his screen felt reassuring. No pressure to be a King, no pressure to be honest, like Vox had given him full leave to be… whoever the hell he wanted to be tonight.

“Well, Luci! Once we toss out these boxes, want to crash at my place tonight? Figure it’s a good way to repay you for your help today.” Vox shifted in place, clearing his throat as he added, “If you’re O.K. with that of course.”

And today? He wanted to be Luci, an unfortunate man who just shared a name with the most hated man in history! For a man who loved arts and crafts, he lamented his lack of creativity when he was spontaneous.

Lucifer hid his smile behind his hand. Lillith was always so confident, commanding, gorgeous in every way, and intimidating with how powerful and tall she was. Something was endearing about how nervous and dorky this man was with a wobbly smile.

“Alright… sure. I didn’t want to go home tonight after all.”

“Cool!” Vox exclaimed, the screen shining a little brighter.

“Cool!” Lucifer agreed, throwing a pair of finger guns. An awkward silence settled between the two of them, with Vox breaking it first to grab the pile of broken boxes.

“I'll toss these! Can you get the crates? Another chance to showboat.”

Lucifer blushed and assisted Vox in carrying the rest of the trash out. While Vox went through the motions of locking up. When the two left the store dawn was already starting to come over Pentagram City.

5 AM was the ungodly hour for the early risers to be getting up for the day. The street was bitter cold; not that Vox could feel it. Lucifer, on the other hand, trembled like a leaf as he followed Vox’s side. The heavy brown coat he wore slipped off of his shoulders and draped over the short man. Lucifer pulled the jacket over to seal in what warmth he could, owlishly turning his gaze to Vox with tears blooming in his eyes.

“Won’t you be cold?”

Vox waved off his concern.

“Nah! I can’t feel it. As long as I stay above sixty I should be fine. Any lower and I might start struggling… but we won’t be out long enough for that to affect me.”

Lucifer smiled, staring at the profile of the sinner he walked beside. He’d seen a wide number of them in his time in hell. Taking the form of countless animals, objects, and plenty of insects. But this man with his strange boxy head was… new to him.

“What… are you anyway?”

“What…?” Vox pointed to himself, arching a brow. “OH! You mean my head?”

“Yeah...”

There was a brief pause until Vox was breaking out into laughter. Lucifer’s face burned hotter, pulling the jacket tighter over his body in mortification.

“You acted so nonchalant around me and even kissed me I thought you found this completely normal! It’s uh-- a Television. You’ve been to the theater right?”

“I have! But they never had those odd boxes at them. There is always a projector and a large screen. Is there a tiny projector inside the box?!”

“No? Kind of? I can’t exactly look inside my head. Back on Earth, there are these devices called a Television! It’s like going to the theater but you can have it right in the comfort of your own home! You don’t even need a guy to narrate what’s going on anymore; you can HEAR the people on the other side.” Vox’s whole screen lit up, taking the opportunity to gush even further.

“I was a TV Anchor! I would give people the news of the day! And of course updates about the World! Which was involved in a massive war at the time. I had a naturally handsome face of course. But the real reason everyone tuned in was my voice and ENERGY I could put into the show.”

Vox pointed to his screen, flashing a toothy smile full of teeth. Lucifer couldn’t say he completely understood, but he liked the enthusiasm the sinner showed talking about his old passion. “So would you say you’re happy you’re a television?”

The question caught Vox blind-sighted. “I… well no. Is anyone happy with their sinner’s appearance?”

“Well… I am.” Lucifer confessed, tugging on his new coat.

“Yeah, you get to exist in hell as the most beautiful thing in creation somehow and I’m a fucking box. Some guys get all the luck.” Vox threw his hands up, smacking his legs in defeat. But the good-natured smile on his face reassured Lucifer he was only a LITTLE salty.

Lucifer drew a little closer, then fell back when something cold fell on his face. He craned his head back, opening his mouth wide when he noticed soft white flurries falling around them. The first snow of the season.

“What is it?” Vox asked. He followed Lucifer’s gaze. “SHIT!” Instead of the gentle wonder Lucifer felt, Vox immediately started speeding down the street. Boggled, Lucifer raced after following in Vox’s footsteps.

“Vox! What’s wrong?!”

Instead of answering him, Vox focused on running faster while his hands tried to block the flurries overhead. Lucifer wasn’t quite so out of shape that a run down the street would knock the breath out of him. But after several minutes of constant running to rush into the first floor of an apartment building, Lucifer panted and heaved while his back leaned against the wall.

It was an old place, which screamed low rent. The wallpaper was old and peeling in places, stained yellow by smoke. The floor beneath creaked when they walked, and he could hear the faint murmuring of screaming in one of the rooms above their heads. Vox was still bent over clutching his knees catching his breath. He lifted a hand with an extended finger motioning for Lucifer to give him one second. The sound of heavy panting filled the air, broken by the occasional cough.

“S-sorry… Luci!” Vox spoke between another fit of coughing. “If water gets into my head it can be really bad! My head runs a little hotter than the rest of me so it just melts when it calls on my head. I want--” Cough Cough “Wanted to minimize the damage.”

Lucifer shook his head, holding his hand to stop his apology too little too late. “That sounds… inconvenient! That means it must be terrifying to go out in the rain!”

“Awful! Hate it! So yeah! This head kind of sucks. Scratch that, this whole body sucks! I’m a machine but I have the soul and mind of a human. I lost my face, my hands keep ripping my clothes, and my body underneath all this is… much weirder than getting shocked when you bite my neck.” The insecurity in Vox’s voice came bleeding through. The sound of panting continued, with Vox shutting his eyes trying to shove away the guilt he felt for venting at that moment.

Lucifer lowered his head, looking at the brown coat draped around his shoulders. He could see the tell-tale signs of duct tape repairing the leather in a hack job. The pockets were the worst, with thin strips lined multiple times until it was more like a Ship of Theseus paradox.

The tribulations of a sinner were hardly something Lucifer ever bothered to take a close look at. But one look at that pained smile trying to push away how much the struggle of his new life was and a new pang of guilt stabbed his heart. He didn’t doubt the man earned his place there, but did he truly earn eternal damnation?

There was a long hallway that led to exactly two rooms and then the other part of the stairs that led to the third floor. It didn’t seem like a particularly large complex, and Vox took them into the one straight down the hall.

The interior was depressing. Unlike the luxurious quarters that Lucifer kept, this man lived in depravity. It was cold even inside these walls, barely much warmer than it’d been outside. None of the furniture matched, the couch had stuffing coming and been patched in places with more duct tape. Lucifer put both coats on the rack by the door, taking off his shoes to tuck them beside it.

Vox followed his lead, haphazardly tossing his shoes against the wall. With a roll of his shoulders, Vox sighed and guided Lucifer further inside. Pointing to the closest door on the right.

“That’s the bathroom if you need to go. I… might have something to snack on in the fridge. You can help yourself. I’ll see if I have a spare blanket for you.”

A small closet in between the bedroom and the bathroom opened, blocking Vox from view. The space was tight, the door almost didn’t even have enough clearance to open all the way.

“That won’t be necessary.” Lucifer struggled to speak with confidence, each step deliberate as he closed the space between the two of them. The linen closet door clicked close, with Vox shooting Lucifer a quizzical look.

“You’ll freeze without it. Trust me, it’s not much warmer here than outside. The insulation in this place sucks.”

The shorter man shook his head, tugging on his bowtie. The fabric came loose until it’d become a long red ribbon with the bow on the end hanging around his neck.

“Not if we share your bed,” Lucifer suggested.

Vox spun around, shutting the door. That same heated look of a blush returned to his face. He motioned over his body to remind Lucifer who he was dealing with. Lucifer came around the side, closing the space between them until Vox was pressing his back against the closet door. It was a comical sight, with how much he towered over the angel.

“D-didn’t you hear me, Luci? This… this won’t help you feel be-- MMM!”

Sparks flew overhead the instant Lucifer’s hand laid over his belly. All the fight, every word of protest the taller man might have was swallowed into silence and a sheepish gaze while those ashen hands laid over his waist, tracing his fingers to explore the curve and dips of his body. His thumbs ran along the hip bone, falling over where the pants kept him from going any further.

“L-Luci?” The name sounded so weak coming from Vox.

Lucifer craned his head back, meeting those owlish eyes. “Let me be an adult and make my own bad decisions Vox. You might not be able to decide if you like me. But you covered me with your jacket just because I was cold, offered a stranger whose name you didn’t know a place to sleep for a night, and kept me from spiraling from the worst day of my life. All I want is to be beneath you tonight, to forget… everything”

The apprehension in Vox’s body melted away. The silence stretched, with Vox finally prying his hands away from the door to reach out for the smaller man. Lucifer flinched, expecting admonishment, hatred, blame, or starry-eyed respect for the king. What he got was a gentle stroke through his golden hair.

“If-- you’re sure you’re O.K. with me. To be honest, I’ve been… hoping I could entertain the thought of a dream tonight too. To at least pretend for a night that I love you, that you love me, that there’s… something still beautiful and fragile in Hell to possess.”

Lucifer leaned into his hand, laying his ashen palm on top of it. It was cold and inhuman, but it belonged to somebody who said they understood him.

“You sound like a poet.”

“Hah… when I was younger, I used to write these plays and dramas for my Mother. I wanted to impress her and inspire her. Then I wanted to inspire everyone else. There were times I wish I were a poet, but all my words on the screen peddled nothing but the propaganda of war and sold lies.” Vox’s fingertips danced across the features of the angel, brushing over the swell of his cheek and the shape of his jaw. The thumb claw pressed against his bottom lip, stealing a kiss. “But I did get good at telling people the kinds of things they wanted to hear.”

Lucifer broke out into nervous laughter. He’d intended to be the one to seduce, but he felt like the ball was being thrown back into his court.

“And what do you think I want to hear?”

“You know! It’s the first time I’ve EVER seen snow in hell. Granted, I haven’t lived here long but they are always saying things like… that has a snowball's chance in hell yeah?” Vox broke into what Lucifer believed to be a non-sequitur.

“Yes?”

“Well! There’s a snowball somewhere in hell right now! A snowball's chance in Hell you and I would ever find somebody who made us feel at least a little less alone. A miracle… Maybe it’s a cosmic sign we were meant to meet each other on this day?” The more Vox spoke, the less confidence he had. The once confident touch faltered with his wavering smile.

It still squeezed at the angel’s heart. As long as he remained Luci… Vox would continue to look at him like this. But one more lie to compound on this night fabricated by wishes and dreams.

“Vox… There's no such thing as fate. That’s all humans say to accept things they can’t control or to make something sound far more romantic than it is. The divine tapestry is many things but… this wasn’t preordained.”

“That’s what makes it more of a miracle, isn’t it? You and I meeting here tonight only happened because of two very unlikely scenarios happening. I got attacked and decided to run down that exact street and bump into you on the one night you run from whatever demons are haunting you. Any small change in our lives would likely have made us miss each other forever. But we didn’t.”

Maybe it was the gentle way he looked at Lucifer in some vain hope that the two didn’t have to be as alone as they thought they were. Or the man was hoping for anything to stave off the incomprehensible loneliness he felt now that he lost his one rock through millennia? He bumped his head against Vox’s belly, wrapping his arms around his waist. Nervously Vox’s claws hovered around his shoulders, unsure if it was OK to touch him. Lucifer leaned into the touch, until he felt comfortable enough to let his hands settle.

The navy blue legs almost stood out, with weaving of light blue on his inner thighs showing that not all of him was quite as human. Lucifer didn’t raise his head, burying his face further into the toned belly, riding his hands up his back until he felt an odd indent in Vox’s back.

“S-shh…! T-those are my ports. I charge from there and also can use them like… another prehensile appendage.” Vox explained.

Lucifer raised his head, applying more pressure there. The man underneath him squirmed, drawing his claws against the door as a hissed breath escaped his screen. “L-Luci...” The sound of the angel’s alias dropping from the lips of a man was so new, so exciting his arms locked hard around the sinner. The ministrations continued, finding another new closed port to trace his fingers around the outline. Vox turned his head, biting on a knuckle of his hand.

“It’s… weird-- and s-sensitive.” He insisted, with another inhale. Ignoring his protests, Lucifer snuck his hand beneath Vox’s shirt and touched it directly. Electricity immediately coursed through his body, sending tingles through Lucifer’s body that would have hurt any human. But they made Lucifer shiver in delight. A devilish grin spread across Lucifer’s face, adding kisses against the bare belly against his face.

“Then you shouldn’t look so cute when I’m touching you.” A long black tail whipped about behind the fallen angel. His teeth tugged on the shirt, peeling it back to reveal the dark skin of Vox’s belly. A sound like a whimper rang from above, further inciting the king. His wife Lillith never got this cute, this obedient for him. Lucifer peppered his belly with kisses, coming close to the boxers. Even if Vox tried to hold back how excited he was by gasping and biting his hand again, the twisted expression on his screen told all his secrets.

Lucifer traced a fingertip along the length, immediately evoking a strangled choke from Vox and another groove drawn in the door. A claw came down hard on his head, cyan blades digging into his golden locks but Lucifer wasn’t dissuaded. The resistance he could give while his legs were shaking was pitiful. Then he upped the ante, sinking his teeth directly into his wide earning a strangled noise from Vox.

When Lucifer raised his head, he found that Vox’s screen had become an odd pattern of black blocks. That was unexpected.

“Vox?”

No answers.

While the man was comatose, Lucifer opened the bedroom door and picked up the larger man. One arm hooked around the back of his knees and another holding his back with the frame of his head tucked against his shoulder, he fell into the angel’s arms. His body went limp in his arms, he was cold as a corpse thanks to being out in the cold recently, but the fans running a mile a minute within his body gave him confidence he wasn’t unconscious.

Lucifer carried Vox into the bedroom and gently laid him out on the bed. Immediately after he clambered on top, positioning his hands on either side of the head and his knees positioned by Vox’s hips. While Vox was unresponsive, he traced the muscled body beneath him. The toned abs with such lean strength hidden beneath the loose-fitting shirt he wore. A physique completely unlike his own. He was excited.

When that monochrome face returned, he was faced with eyes that took up the majority of Vox’s screen. His eyes bounced along the limits of the screen, taking in the sudden change in the environment, and landed on the man hovering above him.

“I’ve seen people go into shock before, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone do that because I bit them. You truly find me that beautiful?” Lucifer wondered, lowering his body until it came flush against Vox’s. His hands cradled the cherry wood finish, his thumbs running along the sides of the box.

The sinner’s Adam's apple bobbed.

“Absurdly so! I keep thinking to myself, ‘I can’t fuck this up’! This guy’s gorgeous, SEXY as hell, and weirdly… interested in me. I’d like to see what he looks like when he’s NOT having the worst day of his life.’”

Lucifer pressed his forehead in the space between Vox’s eyes, feeling the warmth and the static from the other side. The feel of that cold claw running through Lucifer’s hair returned, with him instinctively curling to hug the box.

“You really want me to still be here in the morning?”

A jab of a claw poked his cheek. Vox yanked his hand back with an apology but Lucifer snatched his wrist and pressed the palm against his cheek. Nuzzling into it like a cat, while a smile came over his face.

“You saved my ass more than once tonight and you touch me without giving me weird looks. Even if nothing else, it’d be nice to have a friend in hell.” Vox lifted Lucifer by the shoulder to put some space between them, stealing the angel’s lips in a kiss. He followed the sinner’s lead, brushing lips in a desperate chase to the faint buzz he felt each time they touched. There was a faint prick of pain when Vox’s sharkish teeth bit into his bottom lip, and an electrifying feeling as those large hands brushed over his body without hesitation.

Fingers intertwined, the two became one until the aching cold that made up Vox’s living matched the intense fire burning in the core of The Devil himself. Their hearts beating as one, seeking not only each others bodies but the comfort of another soul in the wild crazy world that didn’t know how to hold back it’s punches.

Unable to face the reality back home, Lucifer had welcome a Sinner to indulge in his body and he sank into a wonderful pit of euphoria and the tenderness reflected in those digital eyes that constantly reassured him that he was the most beautiful thing in all worlds. That he was still worthy of love, that somebody could still crave his company.

When their bodies had been born to their limit, buried his face into Lucifer’s shoulder as the two caught their breath. Nothing but the sound of their breath filling the air for the longest time, with a gentle light of the dawn coming in from the bedroom window.

“I’m… exhausted. I think I’ll sleep like a log tonight. After you go to the bathroom, would you be up for cuddling until we fall asleep?” Vox pushed up his body, pulling out and allowing Lucifer’s legs to fall back against the bed. He could see the wince of pain when his limbs returned to a proper position.

Vox collapsed onto his side, lying at the perfect distance where he could brush the back of his claws against Lucifer’s cheeks. And like some monster, Lucifer leaned into that touch, turning the palm over so he could feel that soothing cold hand bring down the intense heat in his face. The pad of Vox’s thumb brushed over his cheek, a kind of affection he could still remember when he and Lillith were still madly and utterly in love. It was a painful reminder that made him feel more alone than ever before.

Vox was right.

He was so terribly right.

Lucifer shuffled out of bed, shooting Vox one more smile as he left the room.

“You were right, nature calls! I’ll be right back!” He promised, rushing into the small bathroom on the right. The moment he closed the door he pulled back the toilet set and took a seat, burying his face into the palms of his hands.

It felt more real than ever now. He’d done an act he couldn’t take back, he slept with somebody besides Lillith. Got close to a man only to push away the unbearable loneliness in his heart while having no space in his own to return even an ounce of the tenderness Vox had given him tonight. He could feel the chill of those hands touching his hair and his face. The way his eyes turned so tender, or the tender tone of his voice when he let the vulnerability peek through.

In the end, Lucifer ended up spending so long in the bathroom washing his face and going over his thoughts that when he’d finally walked into the bedroom he found the man already fast asleep with his arm stretching out in the spot where he left him. Lucifer sighed and walked over to the side of the bed, pulling the blanket over to cover his body. The window across the room still showed snow flurries falling.

He set his hand on top of the boxy frame, tracing the wood grain watching the rise and fall of his chest. At that moment, Vox’s fingers clenched, reaching for a man who wasn’t there. He bent down, pressing a kiss to the top of his head and his parting words.

“Goodbye Vox. Tonight was… special to me. I’m not the man you believed me to be. In fact… They call me The Betrayer and it’s for a good reason. I wish I could have the capacity to reach for your hand and stay a little longer, but I’m empty. I’ll pray to the Angels you find somebody who won’t steal that tender heart of yours. But I know nothing good stays in hell… because of people like me.”

With a regretful smile, Lucifer used magic to redress himself in an instant and walked away. He looked back, once when he closed the bedroom door behind him.

When Vox woke later that day, he immediately stretched his hand out for a body that wasn’t there. His hand groped the sheets, when he had found it completely empty he sat up and held his head.

“Luci are you still in the bath--”

The daylight streaming in through the window was a telltale sign that the dawn had come and gone. It was the first time Vox had ever seen snowfall in Hell. And like the snow, it brought with it a beautiful memory that melted without a trace. Left alone, Vox sat up and brushed his hands over his bare body. He never slept in the nude, hating the freakish body he’d been given. But he felt beautiful, for one night at least.

“I guess… I’ll never be good enough for anyone to stay.”

[pculrstate]

how the night passes

day 2: prompt #36 (a story all in dialogue)

11:02 p.m.

Can you see in?

Sort of. Angle’s bad.

Can’t pull any closer without being spotted out his front window.

Other side of the street?

They probably have a neighborhood watch. I can practically smell the fuckin’ HOA, dude. We’re already pushing our luck.

It’s fine, I can see enough.

Pass me the thermos?

Yeah. Here.

Shit, Sammy. That’s good. From the motel?

Buy one get one at Wegmans. Whole bean.

Shit. How’d you grind ‘em?

Hand grinder in one of the drawers. Someone must’ve left it.

Well, lucky us.

11:47 p.m.

What’s it been, like two hours? Guy hasn’t moved.

Forty-five minutes, Dean.

Jesus fucking Christ. I hate stakeouts.

12:29 a.m.

You bring any grub?

Trail mix.

Ugh. I assume it’s too much to hope for some jerky.

It stinks up the car.

Roll a window.

That kinda defeats the whole being inconspicuous thing.

Whatever. Just gimme the bag.

12:57 a.m.

Stop yawning.

I can’t help it!

Take deep breaths.

How’s that different from yawning.

Are you kidding me?

It’s too warm in here, that’s the problem. Turn the AC on.

Can’t. It’s making that rattling sound, remember?

Dammit. Forgot I was supposed to look at that.

Just take your jacket off or something. Oh, don’t—don’t make a fucking strip tease joke, Dean. They’re not funny.

What are you talking about? I didn’t say anything.

I saw your eyebrow.

What about my eyebrow.

Nothing.

How’s that saying go? He who smelt it dealt it.

Shut up. Your voice is making me nauseous.

1:13 a.m.

Remember when we used to play I Spy? In the car?

Ha. Yeah. Dad was the best at that.

You’d always pick something green. Every time.

Cause there was a lot of green!

Yeah, but even when there wasn’t. And then it’d be something barely green, like. Like the reflection of my sock in the window.

Dad would make up colors. Charfuchsia. Ceruleaneon.

Jeez, how do you remember those? Charfuchsia. Yeah. Man.

I don’t know. But it was kinda weird, right? That he did that. Not like he was very creative.

What? Yeah he was. Had to be. Keeping two rascals entertained for fifteen hours straight? He was always making up games. Shit like that.

I guess.

Hey, Sam?

What?

You wanna play?

2:07 a.m.

I don’t think he’s coming out, man.

He has to. It’s the only time he can feed.

Maybe he’s fasting.

Yeah, I don’t really think they do that.

Maybe he ordered in.

Nice, Dean.

Bet he keeps a stash in the freezer or somethin’.

A stash? They’re people. Try exercising a little tact.

Sorry. Just saying it seems like he’s down for the count.

It’s still early.

Alright then, you good if I close my eyes for a few? I’ll take next shift.

Okay.

2:31 a.m.

You still asleep? Dean?

God, your snoring. You know, when I first got to Stanford I couldn’t sleep for weeks ‘cause my room was so quiet. My roommate slept like a corpse. I hated your fucking snoring. And Dad’s. Used to lie in bed thinking that one day I was gonna have my own room with my own bed and a pillowcase that didn’t smell like mildew and it was going to be perfectly silent, so silent that I’d be able to sleep through the night. You wouldn’t kick me awake. You wouldn’t drool on my shoulder. And then I finally got it, so many years of wishing, and those first weeks, it was…awful. It was so awful. I hadn’t been scared of the dark since I was a kid, but that dorm room. I still— Fuck, I can still remember the feeling. The black and the quiet. And I wanted it back, more than anything. You and Dad. Sometimes you sounded so alike if I wasn’t looking I couldn’t tell who was who. I almost called you so many times.

3:11 a.m.

Hey, sleepyhead.

Anything?

Nope. Still quiet.

Damn, I had a weird dream.

Strippers or Hula dancers?

Ha ha.

Bad?

Not bad. Just…weird.

Wanna tell me?

You gonna sleep?

I’m okay.

Okay. It was like…we were in the Roadhouse? Sort of. You know how that shit is in dreams. It was the Roadhouse but it wasn’t really. Ellen and Ash were there.

Not Jo?

Maybe. I can’t remember. We were all drunk. Like, plastered. Even Ellen. I kept asking her to look for me.

To look for you?

Yeah, I don’t know. I just kept saying that. You have to look for me. And she told me she would but I could tell she didn’t get it. What I was really asking.

What were you really asking?

Oh shit, Jo was there. Yeah, she was there. It’s coming back. ‘Cause every time I told Ellen to look for me Jo would come up behind her and say, What do you think we’re all doing?

Huh.

Yeah.

And what was I doing?

I don’t really…

What?

That part’s fuzzy.

Try.

I don’t know, Sammy. You were drunk like the rest of us. You never— Whenever I dream about you, it’s like. You’re never fully real.

What the hell does that mean?

It’s hard to explain.

How often do you dream about me? Dean?

Most nights. I don’t know.

Most…?

Alright, can we change the subject.

I’m never…fully real.

Like when I try to touch you you’re just air. And your face is blurry or something. Never mind. I shouldn’t’ve brought it up. Just a stupid dream.

Well how did it end? This one.

It didn’t, really. We were just there in the Roadhouse drinking and I was saying that to Ellen and Jo was saying that to me and you were looking at me the whole time but I couldn’t feel you. Whatever. Then I woke up.

Sorry.

What’re you sorry for?

Just—

It’s fine.

Dean. I’m real.

I know, Sam.

3:33 a.m.

We’re going out for the biggest fucking breakfast you’ve ever had in your life after this. Get ready, Sammy.

You sure you’re gonna make it that long?

Hangin’ by a thread. For a monster this dude is fuckin’ boring.

I mean, you think he slipped past us? Back door or something?

You wanna knock and find out? That’s what I thought.

I’m sure we got the timing right. Full moon thirty days before the solstice. Has to be tonight.

I’m thinking short stack. Bacon AND sausage. Home fries. Couple over-easys. Fuckin’ gallon of coffee. Damn. Pants are getting tight.

You’re disgusting.

Maple syrup dripping down my fingers. Shit is erotic, what d’you want from me? You seen that typa porn? Oh, wait, what am I saying. You get off to the History channel.

I do not!

Nothing to be ashamed of, Sammy. Those corset dress things? Hot as fuck. I don’t blame you.

I don’t do that.

Okay, kid. Whatever you say.

3:58 a.m.

Just go to sleep, Sam, I got it.

Not…tired.

Real convincing.

I can see the moon. Out my window.

How nice.

Waning—waning gibbous.

I bet it is.

Hey, Dean?

Yup.

Can you.

Huh? Can I what.

Never mind.

No, what?

I was just gonna say can you— Remember that song you loved, the one about moonlight. Dad had it on cassette.

Uh…

You sang it to me. When I was little.

Verging on delirious, dude. Go to sleep.

You remember. I’d be so scared in the middle of the night if Dad wasn’t there. Or when I was sick. You sang it to me. Say you remember.

I remember, Sam.

Can you…?

Oh, come on, I don’t—

Please.

We’re on a fucking stakeout. Waiting for a dude who eats people.

Dean. Dean?

Ugh, fine, just—just shut up. Don’t look at me. And I swear to God if you laugh I’ll take your head off.

Won’t laugh.

Okay. Okay.

Sam? Sammy? Man, that really works on you, huh? Just like— Yeah. Just like back then. Haven’t listened to that song in years. Surprised I even remember the words. There were nights when you were at school, Dad was on a hunt. I’d get shit faced off fuckin’ cask wine. Put down two or three bottles and then park in some field and lay out in the back seat and just. I’d listen to that song a hundred times in a row. And I’d think about you all alone, and Dad all alone, and me all alone. Why the fuck did we let that happen, Sammy? We were supposed to be together. Always. The three of us, and it wasn’t— Hey, did you wake up? Sam wears women’s underwear…

Look, I’m not saying—

It’s not that I—

It just sucked. It sucked so fucking bad. And I’m glad—

Anyway. Whatever. Sweet dreams.

4:47 a.m.

You ate all the M&Ms from the trail mix.

Yeah? And?

Five year old, I swear to God.

4:56 a.m.

Well those are spaghetti westerns, which don’t even count as real westerns.

What are you talking about they don’t count? Of course they count. The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly?

Okay but spaghetti western? Seriously?

Oh, don’t start with that it’s racist crap, Sam. Times were diff—

Times were different back then, yeah, I’ve heard the speech.

They’re good enough for Clint they’re good enough for me.

Still don’t think anything beats El Dorado.

Hell yeah. I’m with you there.

5:13 a.m.

Hey, did I—did I say anything? In my sleep?

Nah, you were out.

Oh. Okay.

Why?

No reason.

You having those freak vision dream things again?

No. Not since.

Yeah. Okay. But you’d tell me, right?

Course.

5:16 a.m.

Sun’s coming up soon. What the hell happened? Why didn’t he come out?

I don’t know. Maybe I read the book wrong. Missed something.

We only got one shot at this.

I know, Dean.

5:23 a.m.

Why Ellen? Of all the people who would look for you. Why her? I mean, we don’t even really know her that well.

Beats me. Wondering the same thing.

And what does that mean? Look for me?

It was just a dream, Sam.

Yeah, but what you said, about me—

Please, I really don’t wanna talk about it.

About me not being real.

It’s not. It’s not that you’re not real. It’s just that I can’t, like. Grab hold of you.

Grab hold of me.

Shit. I—

Like I’m gonna run away.

Sam.

That’s what you’re fucking worried about? All this, everything that’s happened. You’re still— Even in your sleep.

I can’t control what goes on in my head, Sam. You of all people should get that.

You’re a fucking asshole.

You asked.

5:31 a.m.

Don’t let me forget to look at the AC later, yeah? Sam? Oh, what, you’re gonna freeze me out now?

5:36 a.m.

It was a shitty thing to say, okay. I Spy a very sorry brother. I Spy a jerk who’s saying stupid shit because he’s hungry and tired and sick of the fucking car. I Spy—

I’m here, Dean. I’m real. I’m here. Do you get that? Where else would I go?

Okay. I know. Yes. I know.

6:02 a.m.

Dean. Dean! He’s coming.

Ow, fuck, you don’t have to hit me, I see him.

Man, he really waited till dawn. Wonder why? Nothing in the lore about that.

Well he’s a mold breaker, Sammy. Who woulda thought. Let’s just hurry up and ice him so I can have my fucking breakfast.

[ghostie-in-wonderland]

Kento Nanami x reader - Happy House

Angst, continuation of Happy House; there are no gendered references, the reader mentioned to be shorter than Nanami

spoilers for Shibuya Arc ; d3ath

8:14 pm, October 31st            

I sighed as I stood outside the veil, all of us waiting for Gojo. I stood next to my husband, my hand holding his tightly. The two of us would be going into Shibuya in different areas. I was given strict instructions to be careful with my technique. Instructions that Kento had told me not to roll my eyes out. Ino and Megumi stood on the other side of Kento. There was an ominous feeling in the air. “We’ll be okay, love.” Kento whispered. I looked up at him, before nodding my head. 

“I know.” I said, pausing as I fidgeted with his fingers. “I just…” I sighed. “I’m worried about you.” I admitted. He nodded his head, pulling me into a hug. My arms immediately wrapping around him. 

“I love you, (name). We’ll be back together soon.” He whispered. I nodded my head. 

“I love you so much. I’m just scared.” I said into his chest. His lips kissing the top of my head as I hugged him tighter. 

“Remember my vow to you, dear. No matter what happens, I will find you in every lifetime of ours, no matter what.” He whispered. I nodded my head, pulling away slightly and tugging him down. Our lips connecting for a moment. 

“Gross, can you not?” The familiar voice of Gojo interrupted. I lifted my hand, flipping him off, pulling away. 

“Don’t act like you never did anything like this in public.” I retorted, giving him a stink eye. He looked to the veil, then back at me. “They’re in there.” He nodded his head, heading into the veil. 

8:31 pm 

We all moved into the first veil, all of us splitting into multiple teams. I made my way down the street with Inumaki, the two of us quickly taking out the different transfigured people. My eyes scanning the street. “If patch-face is here, we’ve got to be careful.” I shouted to Inumaki who gave me a thumbs up. I dodged multiple transfigured people, each of them exploding the moment it got closer to me. There was a multitude of them flooding the streets, and it wasn’t about to get easier. 

9:24 pm 

I watched Yuji run passed us, heading to one of the taller buildings in Shibuya. His voice projecting throughout about Gojo being locked away. Inumaki and I sharing a look. I nodded my head, turning to leave. Ready to make my way down to Gojo. I saw a curse user standing in front of me. I tilted my head, looking at them feigning confusion. “Inumaki, deal with the corpses. I’ll deal with the curse user.” I ordered, Inumaki letting me know he heard me. The user running at me. I lifted my hand, the user’s body collapsing as blood began to pour out of every orifice. I tried to keep track of all of the souls around me. I was getting closer when I was stopped by another curse. I straightened up. “You’re volcano-head, yes?” The curse glaring at me. The two of us quickly starting to fight each other, my body barely missing flames every time. I kicked the curse, my hit going to its soul, damaging it. The curse backing away. It seemed to weigh options before running. I glared after it, wanting to follow, before turning back. I need to get to Gojo. I moved to continue forward, three to four curses coming around the corner at me. Time passing by quickly as I fought hard to keep moving. “Fuck this, I have to keep going.” I mumbled, clasping my hands together. “Domain Expansion: Soul Graveyard.” I whispered, my domain expanding around the curses. Gravestones appearing in the ground as crows flew through the air, cawing. A cold air biting my skin as I stood there. I dropped my hands, before making another motion, a two-finger swipe in the air. The curses being shredded apart instantly. I closed my domain, moving to continue forward when I felt the presence of Sukuna. My entire body freezing as I looked behind and up. I debated what to do next. 

“Hesitation can cause failure.” A familiar voice said. I turned, my eyes widening. Geto was right in front of me. Well his body was. Someone else was in his body. 

“Who the hell are you?” I asked, preparing to fight again. 

“I’m hurt that you don’t remember. I remember you, my dear friend.” 

“We were barely friends. And you’re not Geto. Your soul is too old and not the correct one for Geto.” I retorted. He laughed. 

“You really are strong.” He said, before moving his hand. A giant curse appearing. I dodged its attack, my technique destroying the curse as it passed me. The imposter disappearing quickly. I looked around, trying to find his soul again. Sukuna’s overwhelming my senses. I huffed, turning and running up the stairs. I reached the top of the ground, seeing fire everywhere. My eyes widening, silently searching for Kento’s soul, happy to find it, despite him appearing to be injured. I felt someone behind me, I turned seeing someone in traditional wear. I eyed them cautiously. A wave of ice coming towards me. I moved out of the way, reaching for the person, who blocked my touch with ice. My body flying backwards before I rolled, standing up. I glared at them. I looked to the side, seeing fallen sorcerers. I bite the inside of my cheek. I moved my hand, their body unconsciously following my hand. Their eyes catching onto the movement. They shifted, throwing a wall of ice between us to distract. I ran for the sorcerers, huffing. 

“Couldn’t you have gotten injured closer?” I mumbled. I placed my hand to the ground, raising some of the corpses around, having them begin carry the injured back to Shoko. I stood up looking for the Curse user, who was nowhere to be found. I sighed, turning and carrying another injured to Shoko. I reached Shoko and Yaga, placing the sorcerers down, helping her some by healing a couple of them. I paused at one point, the feeling of my soul being ripped apart, exploding. I could feel eyes on me as I stumbled forward, Kento was dead. His soul was there one moment, and then it was all gone within a second. “No.” I whispered. I looked at Shibuya, stumbling forward, Yaga grabbing me, seeming to understand. “No, let me go. I need to get to Kento. I need to get to him.” I shouted, fighting against him. 

 “You’re angry, you could die if you go out there.” He said, struggling to hold me. 

“Let me go!” I screamed, violently thrashing to get out of his arms. “I need to get to Kento!” I cried. Sobs leaving my lips as I knew he was gone; I couldn’t feel him anymore. He was gone. He was gone and I didn’t get to say goodbye. My body collapsing as Yaga let go of me. “No, he can’t be gone.” I whispered. “Please, he can’t be.” My husband was gone, and he wasn’t going to be coming back. Everything I had ever wanted felt like it was slipping out of my fingers, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it. Numbness spreading through my body as the tears dried.

11:20 pm, October 31st  

[ramblingmoon]

OK SO. One-shot idea. Levi/Samarie (platonic or romantic) where they bond together after Marina’s death, and possibly, perhaps, maybe get drunk together. Samarie having lost the person she put on a pedestal and loved the idea of, and the irony that Levi knew Marina for less time and was closer to Marina than Samarie ever was. Samarie seeing Marina in Levi bc of Levi’s connection to Prehevil, the two bonding over the shared feeling of being walking corpses. Do you see my vision 😭 (PS: please don’t feel obligated to ever get to this request! Only do it if you feel motivated, are interested in the concept, and it’ll be fun for you! Take care of yourself!!! 💕)

Okay, but I’m making it sadder.

Also, I love this idea. Two people that are just so lost that they make it worse for each other.

Rating… explicit?

Tw drug use

Tw depressing

Mention of major character death.

------

Her sun was gone.

There was no warmth let in her as Samarie laid on the bed. A thin blanket was the only thing covering her nude body. She was desperate for anything to numb the pain of losing Marina. Beautiful Marina, perfect Marina, her personal sun.

Without her it was only cold and darkness

So desperate in fact that she found herself crawling into bed with him, an addict ex-solder from her dead sun's hometown. Not like she could judge him, Samarie was addicted to someone like he is addicted to his drugs. Was, what a painful word.

She barely knew this man besides her, was it Jordan, Luke, it was Levi. That was his name Levi. She had found him on the streets and read his mind and found he was delirious withdrawal. Samarie has gotten him to safety and found they drug of his choice. A whole case of heroin.

It was an intimate thing, to be taught how to shoot up. Her resting in his arms as his hands guided her hands to injected the needle in. She whined when the needle went in and the fluid entered her blood. But she was higher than her pain so nothing else really mattered.

The memory was fuzzy on who kissed who first. But he had his mouth around her breast licking her nipples. His cock in her hurt but only for a moment.

She moaned and thrust with her hips to his what she hoped what was good sex. Not that she had any experience in that department. Levi didn’t complain verbally or inside his mind.

Samarie had plan for her first time to be with Marina but there was not happening. She wouldn't do that to her corpse even if Samarie herself felt dead too.

So they just stayed in bed. Getting high and when they got thirst they drank vodka straight from the bottle. Fucking each other to make the pain go away. What else do people do when they are going to die in a couple of days.

Levi slept by her, naked as well. He dreamt of horror things that would sometimes flash into her mind. Blood and bodies piled high that they blocked the sun. Bayonet tearing through human flesh. A symphony of war pledged him.

He was as broken as she was and they will both drag each other to hell. There was no way either of them could stop from free falling into their misery.

She could feel his heat even as she laid on the other side of the bed. Her skin felt icy and in pain from the cold.

Turning over, she could see his back. The outlines of his bones where visible under his skin. She moved closer to him. Her body bare to his. His warmth burnt her but she didn’t mind.

Wrapping his burning body in her arms, Samarie nuzzled her head into his neck. So warm against her heart.

She had lost her sun but for these last couple of days of her short life, Levi could work. He was no sun but he was warmer than being by herself.

[llitchilitchi]

// a snippet of my oblivion au that I wrote a couple days ago because chat asked for it last night. chronologically this part takes place during the ‘path of dawn‘ quest, several days after this

warnings: they kill a man, dream has a panic attack

Luther Broad’s Boarding House is a lot bigger on the inside than it appears from the streets of the Elven Gardens District. The early afternoon sun casts the room in soft light, by now mostly empty as people move on with their days and return to their duties. Only couple people remain: a gossiping couple of girls with half empty glasses of wine, a middle aged man in the corner who looks up from his book as the door closes behind Dream, and a young man at the bar engaging in conversation with the bartender in a familiar white bandana.

Dream smiles, strolls past the empty tables and takes a seat by Sapnap’s side. The young Blade spares him a single glare, near identical to the one he gave him as he entered his cell. It seems like a lifetime ago. He turns back to his pint and Dream leans on the bar as the owner drops the conversation and asks Dream for his order.

“Just some ale, thank you,” Dream tells him, deflecting any further attempts at an offer of a meal or a bed.

Sapnap chokes on his beer at the sound of Dream’s voice and turns to the dunmer with eyes wide in disbelief.

“Dream?” he whispers as the barkeep passes Dream his drink.

“Long time no see.”

“Long time indeed!” Sapnap shakes his head, looks Dream up and down. His eyes linger on Dream’s curls. “Shit, you look like a whole different person. Or like a dandelion puff. Fuck.”

Dream laughs, short yet sincere, the sound more of a breathless wheeze than a full laugh. “Well, thanks. It’s good to see you too, I guess.”

Sapnap nods, once, twice, and his expression turns solemn. “Listen,” his voice drops into a whisper once more, “I’m being watched. Just do what I say.”

Dream hums in reply. He follows Sapnap’s gaze to the corner of the inn, towards the man with the book.

“I’m going to get up once I finish my drink,” Sapnap explains. He takes a sip from his mug, long and deliberate. “I’ll walk out of here. The guy in the corner will follow me. You go after him.”

Dream glances at the man in the corner. His eyes are fixed on Sapnap’s back.

“Ready when you are.”

Sapnap tips the mug back, slams it back on the barwith a satisfied grunt. “Good. I want to see what he’ll do.”

He stands up then, offering the barkeep a couple pleasantries before the man laughs and nods his head towards the door in the back of the room. Sapnap mutters his thanks and stumbles towards the door with little grace. As soon as the door shuts behind him, the man in the corner stands and follows.

The door never has the chance to close a second time. Dream follows after him quick and slides his foot into the gap before it can shut close, and he makes sure the door makes no sound as he slips in.

The stairway is cast in shadows, the little light coming from below flickering and Dream presses himself to the wall where the light won’t reach.

The man descends the stairs, following the sound of Sapnap’s footsteps, and as he reaches the mid section, his hand goes to his hip, hovering over the hilt of a knife, and Dream curses under his breath.

He doesn’t think, taking two steps at a time as the man draws the blade. He shoves the man, making him stumble and the man shouts in surprise. By the time Dream regains his balance Sapnap has drawn his sword and drove it through the man’s middle. He looks up just to see Sapnap pull the sword out and slice through his throat with ease.

“Fuck,” Dream breathes. The air is heavy with copper as the body hits the old stone floor.

“Search his body,” Sapnap orders, his voice even.

“What?”

“Search his body,” he repeats and flicks his wrist, shaking the blood off his sword. “I’ll keep an eye out in case any of his friends are nearby.”

Dream gapes but doesn’t object, only nodding as he kneels by the man’s corpse. His nose twitches as he’s hit with the smell of blood and piss pooling around him.

The body has little to offer, a couple of septims that Dream pockets before patting the man down once more. He had a book on him, Dream thinks, and he knows it was not left behind on the man’s seat when he left.

He finds it tucked into his coat pocket, a small book bound in deep red leather. A strange book for certain, with ornate cover and a lengthy title in faded gold lettering, though what makes Dream stop is the title of the book, translated below the golden letters into the daedric alphabet. Commentaries on the Mysterium Xarxes, volume 1.

He stands and steps away, further from the pooling blood and holds the book up.

“I think I got something.”

Sapnap steps over the body and sheaths his sword, pulling Dream into a one armed hug with his free hand.

“Good work,” he tells him, heading back for the stairs. “I am glad to see you by the way, you just caught me at a bad time.”

“I figured,” Dream mutters. He turns back, towards the dead man. “We just killed a civilian.”

“He wasn’t a civilian,” Sapnap corrects him. “He was part of the Mythic Dawn- it’s the cult that killed the emperor.” He pulls Dream away from the body, towards the exit while Dream blinks slowly, and the information processes.

“The what?”

“Apparently they worship Mehrunes Dagon,” Sapnap continues. “Nasty shit. I’ve been tracking their agents in the Imperial City. I guess they noticed.”

“And we’re just- what? Leaving a body here? Sapnap we just killed a person! In a public space!”

“Right, right. Official Blades business. I’ll handle this, don’t worry your fluffy head over it.”

He leads him back to the bar, guides him to sit on a stool as he turns to the owner. Dream tunes the rest of the conversation out and he notices only when Sapnap slides another pint towards him.

“Drink up,” he tells him, and Dream doesn’t have the energy left to object. He takes a long sip, until his throat hurts from swallowing, but the cold liquid clears his mind, if only a little.

“There. You already look better,” Sapnap tells him and he pats his back. “What about you?”

“I found Uriel’s heir,” Dream replies. His voice is too small but at least he found it, somewhere. “I- his name’s George.”

“Oh thank Talos he lives!” Sapnap clicks their mugs together. “To George Septim, then! We shall restore him to the throne!”

“It won’t be that easy,” Dream says as Sapnap drinks his ale. He waits until the Blade sets his drink down. “We lost the Amulet.”

“You-”

“I went to Weynon Priory as you told me,” Dream rushes to explain. His ears twitch. “I found Bad, gave him the damned thing- He told me to go search for George. You’ve- you’ve heard of Kvatch, right? You must have, shit, of course you’ve heard of Kvatch! The city was destroyed, overrun by daedra-” With each sentence he picks up pace, right ear twitching as he thinks back to the charred stone and the smell of sulphur. “He was- I found him in the chapel, but first- the city gate was blocked, and there was- the portal to Oblivion itself, and the daedra kept coming, and there was so much lava and the stairs and it just kept going and I-”

He flinches back when Sapnap rests his hands on his shoulders and he blinks back tears. His vision clears, and Sapnap is looking at him with worry.

“Hey,” he whispers. “Deep breaths, okay? You’re not there anymore. Drink some more, it’s gonna clear your head. We’re back in the Imperial City. No more daedra.”

“I’m sorry.” Dream’s voice cracks.

“It’s okay,” Sapnap says, and then again when Dream does not believe him. “You saved the city,” he reminds. “You saved all those people. You saved George.”

Dream does not grace that with an answer.

They drink in silence, until the ale untangles Dream’s tongue once more.

“I brought George to Bad, and he said it would be best they hide in Cloud Ruler Temple.” His voice shakes as he speaks. “When- when we got back to Weynon Priory, there were these… the same people who were there, back then, when…” When the Emperor died, he wants to say. Sapnap nods when the words die in his throat instead. “We got there late. There were just… a couple left. They stayed behind to finish off who was left in the Priory. By the time we found Bad they fled with the Amulet.”

Sapnap nudges his knee against Dream’s. “You did what you could,” he reassures. “If Bad couldn’t do anything, neither could you. Or anyone, for that matter. You still managed to find George. Hope’s not lost yet.”

How strange, Dream thinks as a smile tugs at his lips. Bad said the same thing.

[thatpunkmaximoff]

[Book Two of Three]

Story: 4 out of 5 Smut: 3 out of 5

Holy hell! What a wild ride Juniper and Zane put us through. I honestly thought this book was gonna be half of what we found out in book one and half of this mortal/demon couple figuring their shit out now that Juni’s deal had been completed. But nope. I was wrong. The entire book was just filling in the blanks of what we already knew- and I am so glad we got those details!

Juniper, for me, was a little hard to like just because she was such a b-tch. Then again, almost being sacrificed and hunted would do that to a person.

Enter Zane who’s been craving her soul for years, and who will do strike whatever deal to get it, and it makes one twisted and delicious story.

I LOVED reading the downfall of the Hadleigh’s almost as much as I loved reading as Zane brought down Juniper’s walls piece by piece.

On a side note, did anyone else want to attend that demon party as well? Lol.

Now here are my rambling thoughts...

*Of course Juniper was befriended by Victoria and Jeremiah. Ugh. I bet that betrayal stung. I’m so glad she got her revenge in book one, though I’m excited to hopefully read the details of all that went down here in book two.

* Holy shit. Victoria really gave her friend acid and then sacrificed her. SHE WAS ONLY FIFTEEN!! Now what I wanna know is how the hell Juniper got out of that mine shaft 😬

* Damn. She escaped and tried to kill Victoria. Good for her. Unfortunately that didn’t happen, but they did lock her up for three years because they thought she was delusional. And now she’s out.

* Lol only Zane would laugh at being shot and think Juniper is being flirty.

* Hot damn. Zane fucking Juniper on the forest floor. Loved it. But of course it was ruined when Juniper saw what Zane really was.

* Aw man. Juniper got the text of her brother’s murder. And now it’s back to Abelaum we go.

* Damn. She saw Leon take her brother’s body from the grave. I don’t know how she remained quiet.

* Zane would be turned on by getting stabbed 😂

* Dammnnnnn. Zane claiming Juniper’s soul, fucking her throat, and then pinning her to the tree..? Fuck, I want a demon now 😏

* Aww he bathed her.

* lol Juniper stabbed him. Again.

* Goddamn. What is it with guns going into no-no areas 😂

* Holy shit. They went and retrieved Marcus’ body. And were attacked 😬

* Juniper is really annoying me. I get it’s your brother, but those monsters outnumbered you greatly… and you still ran into the middle of them to fight for a corpse that was already half eaten? I hope Zane punishes you.

* So… Heidi helped her out of the mine shaft? Wtf. Why?

* Ouch lol. Zane did not have a good first meeting with Callum lol. Such a protective Archdemon.

* “I don’t fuck around when I find something I want.” // “But you already have me.” // “Body and soul. But I decided I want something else too.” He laid his hand around my neck, and pressed his thumb against my pulse. “That right there. I want that next.”

* Wow. She bound and gagged him, and rode his cock while carving her name into his flesh. I love these kinky fucks.

* Zane is my fucking spirit animal! Tripping children who annoy him in the store..? Yess! 😂

* “Fuck, I’d look hot as hell in this. And I’d still dick you down good. Demon maid at your service.” — 😂 omfg.

* Yesssss. Fucking Kent got what he deserved.

* Demon party. Hell yes.

* And now Juniper has Zane’s metal. I fucking love how demons give metal to show their love, loyalty, and devotion to a person.

* Goddamn. Jeremiah is ruthless. I know he killed his sister, but to read about how he snatched her off the street and everything… yikes.

* Damn, Zane. You really ripped through J’s little cult like it was nothing 😏

* Oh shit. Jeremiah/The Deep One really fucked up Zane. I knew it was going to end well, but I hate seeing the close calls. My poor baby demon 😩

[tap3werm]

Pictures of furniture (07/13/24)

Currently, I’m outside. It’s raining, and I’m trying to spark a fire. There’s a trail of failed attempts left in my wake. If I really wanted to, I could curl up in my three story cabin and cultivate what I already have. I could continue ornamenting my walls with new memories and with deeper understanding of each room, running my fingers through each fracture in the wood. It’s very tempting to hide away in this lavish, analogized abode.

On the daily, I see people tend to a fleet of tiny homes. They flaunt them; These tiny homes, made of paper. They house abstract and superficial contents that the owner can’t even seem to distinguish. Once in a while though, I walk through a new neighborhood. It's so peaceful looking at the trees that have their own individual way of spiraling up, grasping toward the sun, and the unique houses that line the streets. Sometimes, I find a mansion. 7-8 years in the making potentially, maybe even more. But when I peer in through their windows, all I see is pictures of furniture.

I’m trying to extend the size of my house, maybe add a room or two. Maybe I want a side home or something. I’m fine with either. But here I am trying to build a foundation, trying to create a small fire at the very least, and I'm being blasted by a torrent of rain and wind. Once in a while the rain actually kinda stings.

I’ve already come to the conclusion that the only surefire way to add a room to my house, is to wait for someone to stumble upon my doorstep. Then, naturally and intuitively, it ends up building itself.

I failed to mention, that a lot of people rarely match my superior artistic taste in furnishing, or wallpaper, maybe the choice in wood, whatever the fuck else you put in a room. And to add to that, a lot of people are not the greatest guests. They don’t even understand the mechanisms behind the furnishings, don’t even have a relational vocabulary. It is honestly kinda pathetic. It’s also sad, because I didn’t consciously learn any of these things; But my god, I can’t deal with people shitting in the bathtub anymore.

Once in a while I find the most succulent guest, my mouth waters in anticipation for their arrival. But sadly, they are usually too busy cultivating their own house. Sometimes, these are the people with a bunch of shitty little fifty square foot rooms that they squeeze into their mansions. When I see that it really excites me, I could show this person what a real room is. I could show them that I put time and energy into not only the foundation, but also, how comfy my hand crafted scrotum stools are. For your scrotum? Yes.

One of my largest, and ever-most lavish rooms, now a hollowed out, soot blackened cavity. Every time I make my way through the hallway to the bathroom to flex my muscle fibers for the mirror, or lay a turd perchance, I can't help but smell the burnt oak from that corpse of a room. The door clings onto its frame just barely, like one of those Indian dudes who hang large weights from their balls; the lock probably sitting stagnant on the floor just a foot away. The only thing this door manages to do these days, is slam open and close the moment I open a window. It doesn’t bother me so much as it would for another person.

That room never could house me. I would spend hundreds of hours, trying to put the rug on the floor, the couch and coffee table on the rug, the TV in front of the table, and the bed in the far corner. I would bathe my sweat away and come back with the furniture sticking out the walls and standing on the ceiling. So, I would put the rug on the floor the couch and coffee table on the rug the TV in front of the table the bed in the far corner, and so on. I go to bathe away my bacteria infested sweat, once again, only to come back, to the fucking couch sticking out the TV. By the ten thousandth time, I decided to just give up and leave it be. A few weeks later I think there was some sort of electrical fire. I’m assuming the neglect fueled dust gathered enough to fuel it.

So here I am, now soliciting my impressive property, so I can build a real room. I think hints of laborious effort scares people away. But these nihilist infested dingbats just don’t get how enlightening it really is. I take that back, they aren’t dingbats. If they were, they wouldn’t be so damned trite.

[turianslootbag]

I had a very tough day.

TW; animal death, graphic, cat specific

This morning on my drive home from school I witnessed something black dart across a busy street by my house; there were girls on the side walk pointing at it and gasping. It was a black kitten, no more than a few months old. All the cars were stopped, the cat wanted to get away and hide. I panicked and got out of my car and tried to get this kitten out of the road as I saw it go under a neighboring car with their windows down. I told the girl in the car there was a kitten under her car but idk where it went. I may have mentioned ‘I think it went on your wheel but idk’ and… I think in the confusion, I went to try and find it, didn’t see it, and tried to communicate that I didn’t know where it went. The lady, of course probably confused and over the situation, started to drive off. There I saw the cat jump down from a back wheel and try to get away— but… only its first half made it out. The cat was alone in the road, crying, half crushed. I picked it up, determined to rush it to the vet, to get some help for it. The noise it made was horrible— the sound of popping as it was crushed… fuck. It’s haunting. It’s so so haunting that I kept reliving it for the first few hours I was home. I can’t sleep because it’s in my head so clearly.

Unfortunately, it was way too late. Our lack of awareness led to this precious baby getting killed and dying in my arms. I don’t know how to cope with it. I still smell the feces that came out of it when it was crushed on my shirt even though I bathed and changed. I still feel his fur against my hands. I was determined to save him but he passed so fast and he was just so small.

The girls on the sidewalk reassured me it wasn’t my fault and watched him while I moved my car. I came back and they moved him to the shade and put flowers on his corpse. It was kind, it was sweet. They hugged me. Tried to calm me down, I was crying so hard but tears weren’t even coming out. I kept thinking— if I did more… if I rushed faster, if I didn’t scare the cat by going up to it, if I did this or that or the other thing.

And you could say those things too. But it doesn’t change what happened. I witnessed the death of a little angel in the wrong place at the wrong time— I, someone who will do anything for the fur babies in my life, failed. I didn’t even realize the danger I was in either on that intersection with cars and whatnot. And I feel a bit foolish for not thinking of that, either; not that my life matters anymore than this kittens. But my parents were terrified of the what ifs when they picked me up because I was too rattled to drive. And I’m angry no one else did anything— but, at the same time? What do we do in that situation? Try our best, and when our best doesn’t work…?

Those girls were just in high school or something. I’m glad they didn’t have to see first hand what I saw. What only I witnessed. The sound being that close, the way he struggled and tried to bite me— not out of malice, but primal instinct to bite when you’re in agony, the way he limped with his front paws. The way his head fell back in my arms and his little eyes closed like he was just so tired and sleeping. I’m lucky enough to have access to therapy and wonderful psychiatric care. So maybe it was a blessing that I tried to save him, and in turn ended up a big more traumatized— because those girls are too young to see something so horrible first hand like that. Even just the body was enough to scar I’m sure— and I hope it won’t leave terrible memories in their head. But I hope they’ll remember me and try to help little animals they meet if they won’t in turn accidentally hurt themselves.

I know that, even if he made it out from under that wheel, there was a semi right next to us. And oncoming traffic on the other side. It felt like forever but I know all that happened in the blink of an eye.

I just hope that precious little angel felt loved, knew it was cared for so deeply for even a moment. That some strange giant it had never met before cared enough about it to risk their own safety and try saving it even after it was far past the point of saving. I wanted to take him home and give him love or find his owner or… or watch him grow up and I didn’t get a chance to even love him a moment in peace and that sucks.

I’m sorry I failed you, little shadow. I’ll remember you always. I’ll try to do better next time, but for now I hope you’re having the sweetest of dreams— or if death is just emptiness then I’m glad you no longer have to struggle and suffer. I hope your home in the void is as comfortable as possible.

On a more positive note; a gal I knew is going to taxidermy him for me, so he can be cherished properly even in death and not just thrown in a dumpster by the next stranger who finds him.

God, man. Life is so fucking cruel.

[holland-westbrook]

EXHIBIT A

Conversation between Amalthea Myron (deceased) and Holland Westbrook

MS. MYRON: Holland, you are a fucking killer. Maybe you haven’t  struck Francis yourself, but you did much, much worse to him. And I didn’t have a choice, because you’re clearly insane and you almost killed me too, right now. Wren didn’t mean to! Wren was defending your girlfriend! But you coldbloodedly burned him, and I’ll never forget that smell or how fucking remorseless and crazy you are.

EXHIBIT B

Conversation between Holland Westbrook, Aspen Sawyer (deceased), and Wren Challis (deceased)

MS. WESTBROOK: She told the cameras everything. About what we did to Francis. About how you killed him, Wren, how we all helped hide the fucking body. She said it in front of everyone, and now everyone knows.

EXHIBIT C

Conversation between Amalthea Myron (deceased) and Nico Wylin (deceased)

MS. MYRON: Don’t kill me! She [Ms. Westbrook] is lying, she has been lying all along! She is a murderer. Trust me. I know you have no reason— You have to trust me! I’ve seen her cut off a whole human being – about your size actually. I’ve seen her throw his flesh and bones into acid without flinching. I’ve seen her kill and maim the corpse, and not feel anything. She’s ruthless and crazy, and whatever she told you, she will end up killing you too. No remorse. I swear! I’m not here to bother you. I am unarmed and weak.

MR. WYLIN: What’s happening? Are you being chased? Who are you talking about?

MS. MYRON: I don’t want to say something you could kill me for, but you should stay away from Holland. She is dangerous. She had killed somebody – we all… I didn’t, but we all were there. Wren and Holland killed a man from the Capitol, and Aspen and I had to help them cover it up. Holland chopped him into pieces. She didn’t even flinch.

MR. WYLIN: She’s trying to kill you? I— Tell me what happened. Tell me why.

Written testimony prepared by Lisa Featherpond, Avox to Mr. Lightbelle for 20 years

Q: You work as a Peacekeeper at the Tribute Tower, correct?

A: That’s correct.

Q: And you were there on the morning of the launch of the Arena.

A: Yes.

Q: Can you tell me what you saw just before dawn, and where you were?

A: Yeah I was guarding the doors. The doors on the side, you know, away from the new Gamemaker tower. It’s a boring job. I sit on this little stool and usually I have a book with me. I was reading that evening thinking nothing would really happen, when I got this weird feeling. I felt like maybe there was somethin’ down the hall. So I get up and I go over there, I got my flashlight and everything. There’s nothing there. But when I’m maybe ten or twenty feet away from the door, I hear this click. You know the click of the door opening. And I turn around real fast, and turn the flashlight and everything, and this figure comes through the hall, quick as anything. I can’t see her. Or them. And I run to follow, but you know, when I get out into the next hallway, there’s nobody there. There’s a bunch of doors and stairs there, you know if you’ve been there, so I try a few of ‘em but I guess I just chose the wrong one. But the thing is when I go back to the door, the one to the outside, I see a little bit of blood on the handle.

Q: And you suspect that this was one of the tributes coming through the door?

A: Yeah I bet anything it was that Holland.

DEFENDANT: Objection! Speculation.

JUDGE: Objection sustained.

Q: Can you tell me about the morning of the 23rd?

A: 23rd?

Q: The 23rd of July. The launch of the Games.

A: Right, yeah. So basically I’m out there doing my usual rounds. I got the truck, the guys with me. It’s a busy morning on the launch, there’s always a lot to clean up in the streets. So we got the street cleaner coming through and then my truck.

Q: And your truck is…

A: Garbage truck.

Q: Continue.

A: So we’re doing the usual. Emptying the big dumpsters out in the mansion district in the east. It’s a big day like I said but everyone wants to get it done to watch the launch later. So like I said we’re kinda rushing it. One of the dumpsters doesn’t get quite grabbed onto right, by the arms of the truck, you know? So it dumps the stuff, but not all the way into the truck. Some bags fall into the street. So then it’s my job to go get ‘em and throw ‘em in the back of the truck. I do that, but then I notice one of the bags is leaking. It’s leaking red. It’s blood. So I open it up.

Q: And what was in the bag?

A: It was a head, sir.

Q: Whose head?

A: Francis Lightbelle’s head, sir.

Q: Can you tell us who you are and what you do?

A: I’m a detective with the eastern Peacekeeping precinct of the Capitol. I specialize in murder cases.

Q: Tell us about the scene on the morning of the 23rd at Mr. Lightbelle’s house.

A: Well, it was a pretty shabby job those girls did.

DEFENDANT: Objection. Speculation.

JUDGE: Sustained.

A: Fine, it was a shabby job someone did.

Q: And why do you say that?

A: Because they did clean up the blood, most of it. But not all of it. There were traces of it all over the place. They didn’t put back the saw that she — that they used to cut up the body, or they didn’t put it back in the right place. And there was DNA all over that, and the room, and the limo.

Q: And that DNA was—

A: It was Westbrook, Myron, Sawyer, and Challis.

Q: And the saw?

A: That was all Westbrook. Thing was lit up all over with her fingerprints.

Q: But the cause of death was?

A: Cause of death was blunt force trauma. Wasn’t the saw that killed him. It was the saw that cut him up into pieces.

Q: And the murder weapon?

A: Had to be the statue. Little flecks of blood on that too, and it matched the injuries. Challis’s DNA, mostly, on that thing, which lines up with what the girls said, you know, in the Arena.

[snapsdragons]

Danganronpa V3: Killing Harmony Characters as Dril Tweets

Shuichi Saihara: sometimes i love to be able to want to be the man who is able to want to need to have his wants and needs able to be fulfilled sometimes

Maki Harukawa: I’m rwriting a script about a smart and handsome army man cop who murders civilians but wants to stop murdering civilians because hes in love.

Himiko Yumeno: if you have a problem with me kissing pictures of Dragons while driving the bus, fight me. i just ate like 30 hotdogs and im near invincible

K1-B0: (the trolls watch in astonishment as the milk shake they threw at me flawlessly bounces off of my head wwith minimal pain and mess involved)

Tsumugi Shirogane:JAMES BOND: (Shoots his gun at the screen in the intro and murders me) ME: Now that;s cinema

Kaito Momota: who the fuck is scraeming “LOG OFF” at my house. Show yourself, coward. I will never log off.

Kokichi Oma: every now and then i like to treat myself to a bit of "Lying under oath"

Gonta Gokuhara: IF THE ZOO BANS ME FOR HOLLERING AT THE ANIMALS I WILL FACE GOD AND WALK BACKWARDS INTO HELL

Miu Iruma: the doctor reveals my blood pressure is 420 over 69. i hoot & holler outta the building while a bunch of losers try to tell me that im dying

Korekiyo Shinguji: man while you were “gaming”, I tasted 100 different wines in a cave behind a waterfall and cried into a shamans arms.

Tenko Chabashira: obliviously driving m y car through chernobyl , absorbing lethal anmounts of radiation while looking for cute girls

Angie Yonaga: if youre one of the guys who blocked me on here, i Forgive you, and im ready for you to unblock me now.

Kirumi Tojo: THIngs other people like: being bastards, being Uniformly tasteless THINGS I Like; Being reasonably kind, and trying to help, when i can

Ryoma Hoshi: priest plugs my coffin in at the end of the funeral. “MILLERTIME” lights up in neon on the side, desecrating my corpse & sending me to hell

Kaede Akamatsu: i have posted at length regarding my inane balls at the cost of my family, my career and my dignity. the least you can do is rack up my Favs

Rantaro Amami: so long suckers! i rev up my motorcylce and create a huge cloud of smoke. when the cloud dissipates im lying completely dead on the pavement

Monokid: i am notr, nor ever have been, a nerd, and i have used some very powerful swear words on this website that would blow most nerds socks off

Monosuke: yes trolls. unlike you, i have a brain. its called a " JOB "

Monodam: blocked. blocked. blocked. youre all blocked. none of you are free of sin

Monotaro: i like to believe that getting my ass kicked 100 times a day for 50 years has granted me "Street Smarts"

Monophanie: it has come to my attention that people have been saying sex things, and alcohol things on this site. these posts give me migraines so stop