#is another notch in the column of

[sl-walker]

From Tales of the Green Lantern Corps, Iss. 3

[j-jonah-jameson-official]

spoogle moogle

for you mr triple J

HAH! WHY, HE LOOKS LIKE HE PEED HIS PANTS! ROBBIE! PRINT THIS ON PAGE ONE:

SPIDER-FREAK WETS PANTS!!! SPIDER-MAN IS A PISSBOY! SPIDER-MAN IS A LITTLE PEEPEE BABY!!!

[fortunekookie07]

Are requests open? May I request a sylus x wife reader (not the mc) where she is afraid of him and feels like he doesn’t love her cause of his cold and intimidating nature. Then mc arrives and she’s hurt and shocked with how he treats her. Now convinced that he doesn’t love her and hates her she keeps her distance and sits alone everyday on the rooftop. Barely eating anything nor sleeping properly she lost the will and strength to sleep next to him and sleeps on the couch or on the rooftop (after she saw him pin down mc onto the bed ya know that scene) . Even starts to think of packing up and leaving telling herself to “prepare” whenever he divorces her.

But one time she gets kidnapped for bait and injured yet sylus hasn’t come for days so she tells her kidnappers “ it’s a waste of time cause sylus won’t come for me, i mean nothing to him , he was already planning to get rid of me. so you might as well kill me right now and save your breaths.” Not knowing that her husband overheard her when he entered before she passed out due to lack of food and exhaustion.

Did You Ever Love Me?

The day you married Sylus was the happiest day of your life. You had been by his side for 3 years. It wasn't the easy life you had once dreamed of, but this was the reality of the N109 Zone. Nothing was easy, and everything had a price.

You still remembered the day you had first met, what a blood bath that had been. Your family had been one of the most influential in the area. Having long established their authority when it came to weapons dealing. Only supplying top-notch weapons.

From a young age your father had made sure you knew the business, drsminf of having you take over. He taught you everything he knew. From the making of the orders, to quality check, and even materials secured.

That day it was your parents 25th anniversary and a big party was thrown for them. Business partners and friends were all invited to the event.

The only thing your father had not warned you about, was the extensive dangers of the N109 Zone. He'd tried to shield you from just how dirty the world could be.

A rival family had crashed the party with a seemingly endless group of thugs. Before anyone had realized what was going on, gunshots filled the air. People started screaming and running in a desperate attempt to get to safety. Pushing and shoving others out of their way as they went.

A stray bullet hit your arm and blood immediately started pouring from the wound. You grunted as the pain slammed into you and momentarily lost your footing just a another bullet whizzed past the air where your head had been seconds ago.

You heard your father calling your name and pushing through people trying to get to you. You could see your mother sitting on the ground near one of the stairs columns. She was tying a makeshift bandage around someone's leg. Trying to staunch the bleeding.

You felt like your life was running in fast forward as you watched your father continue to push through the crowd and then he suddenly stopped moving as his eyes widened and he looked down. Blood was blooming across the white shirt of his suit and staining the black jacket. In the center of the stain was a hole. You felt sick seing that hole pierced through his chest over his heart.

"Father!" Your scream rang over the gunshots and panic as you tried to run to him. The long him of your dress got stepped on and you fell to the floor landing hard on your side. Pain zipped through your body at the hard smack to the unforgiving marble floor.

You desperately fought to get to your feet as it finally seemed like the crowd was thinning out. Thankfully no one stepped on you or your clothes again. Just as you reached your father the gun shots stopped and the following silence seemed to bring the air of dread.

The scent of blood was strong, making you gag as your stomach heaved. You push the feelings back and reach out to the injury, hands shaking as you try to staunch the blood flow. He grunts with the pressure and his eyes open slightly. You start muttering words but even you don't believe what you are saying.

"It's ok father, we can fix this. I'll get help, the doctor will fix you right up and then everything will be ok." Tears arr pouring down your face as he smiles weakly. He reaches for your face, trying to touch your cheek. Just before his hand can touch you a great force yanks you back.

You scream out at the pain, pulling you scalp. A heavy fist has gripped your hair, yanking the strands hardly and then a voice is in your ear. "I'll blast a hole in your head if you move a muscle." The voice growled near your ear as he tightens his grip on your hair. Your cried our in pain and he just tugged harder, you bit back the second cry as hot tears rolled down your face.

His arm grabbed your hand and forced you to your feet, perking you to face the way he wanted. He kicked the back of your knees forcing you to kneel in front of a man. Tugging your head back as he allowed you to stare at the man clearly responsible for this entire plot.

Fear stuck you as a cold, malicious smile stretched across his heavily scarred face. His eye was like flat steel. No luster or shine to its grey depths. A scar cut through his left eye and down his cheek, going all the way down to his mouth. Burn scars were also intermingled on his face.

His eye itself was an ugly milky color, it held no pupil or iris. On the right side of his face three long jagged scars could be seen stretching from his ear down to his chin. Little tremors went through your body. This man had an overwhelming presence and the sense of evil wrapped around him like a cloak.

"Well, well, well if it isn't the little princess. Your father was careful to hide you away from me. Protecting his biggest weakness. I must say I do admire him for that."

In contrast to his appearance his voice was smooth, a slight rasp clung to his words. Whatever had attacked and scarred him had obviously affected his vocal cords. He worked it to his advantage, speaking in a way that soothed you on the surface. Even if his words were unsettling or foul.

He reached for you, his fingers and thumb just barely brushing your face when a loud caw shattered the silence. With the bird cry black and red mist began pouring into the wide space and the air got heavy. As if gravity itself was pushing down on everyone and everything in the room. The mist covered and hid everything in its path. Blinking you realized you couldn't see the man in front of you.

A deep, suave, sexy voice seemed to come from no where as helped had seemed to arrive. "It seems you did not learn your lesson. I don't mind teaching it to you agiain, Osric." The mist wrapped around him, holding him still. Footsteps tapped across the floor, the occasional sloosh as he stepped in a puddle. Your body shuddered, knowing exactly what liquid he stood in.

It took a few minutes before you realized that the man who had been gripping your hair was no longer touching you, or even anywhere near you.

The mist began swirling into the center of the room, right next to you. Looking into the mist you could just make out a tall silhouette. As rapidly as the mist had spread it was now retreating.

A tall well built man was standing right beside you. Silver hair carefully styled. Red eyes piercing and promising danger. The right one seemed to be glowing.

"You have some guts, touching something of mine, I don't take kindly to thievery. The man, Osric, was hoisted into the air with the mist. He gasped and sputtered clawing at the mist to no avail.

Two men appeared by your side then. One offered his hand, bit you hesitate. Both are wearing black crow masks with subtle red lines on the face of the mask and a red tipped beak. Two red horns poke through the hoods they wear and a gold ring is on one of them. The two are slim and tall, you can tell nothing of their appearance. Clothing and masks make it impossible to discern any identifying features.

The first guy is still holding his hand out to you, he seems neither impatient nor upset that you haven't accepted it yet. Finally seeing no consequence to taking his offered hand you lightly place your palm in his. He gently but firmly grasps your hand and assists you in standing. He let's go after you are steady on your feet and positions himself at your side. The second does the same on your right. Like they are bodyguards.

"Screw you Sylus"! Osric sputters out, still trying to break free of the mist. His fingers are bloody from his efforts to free himself. "Luke, Kieran, see to it that she comes to no harm." The silver haired man says as he squeezes his hand. The mist constricts around Osric further cutting of his air flow completely.

One of the two lightly grabs your arm and spins you around just as a sickening crunch reaches your ears. This kind of thing happened a lot here. Those with power ruled over the weak. It was nothing new.

You had long grown accustomed to the way Sylua dealt with traitors and rats. He did not tolerate disloyalty and gave no second chances.

The events of your parents 25th anniversary party had happened five years ago. You often wondered how your life would have gone if you had never accepted his hand when he gave it. Your father had been supplying weapons to Sylus' organization for years. He'd apparently stuck some kind of deal with Sylus, that had involved your protection.

Sylus had married you, per your father's request and now he owned almost half of your family business. Haven acquired your mother and father's shares. He'd left yours to you.

At first you'd been absolutely terrified of him. His aura radiated danger, almost like he was a living grim reaper. He so often came back to the manor covered in blood. The twins were his direct subordinates. They followed his every command quickly and without hesitation. But at least they had a personality and could provide a sense of calm.

It had taken almost a year before you could approach Sylus without feeling nervous. You hadn't been able to understand your fear of him. He'd posed no restrictions on you, didn't make any ridiculous demands and had never threatened you with harm of any kind.

The turning point had been the day he'd come home injured and concern over his bleeding wounds had overrode the fear. Despite his insistence that he didn't need any first aide treatment, Sylus had not pushed you away or tried to stop you from cleaning his wounds.

After that he began spending time with you and talked to you. Before you knew it you looked forward to when he would come home and just talk to you for awhile. These little gestures and act of kindness had resonated in your heart and little by little you felt yourself falling for him.

He'd granted your request to be touched by him and he spent a night with you. Thinking that he too had given his heart to you, you lived your days believing that he loved you back. That was until she appeared.

In an instant his entire demeanor changed. He made her his top priority. Spending any and all time he had with her. Most nights he didn't even come to your room anymore. His side of the bed was often unspent in.

You hadn't officially met her yet, only seen her in passing. She was beautiful. Long dark hair hung in neat and straight lengths down to her very slender waist. Piercing eyes almost the shade of jade framed by thick dark lashes. She was on the shorter side, even you were taller than she was. This woman held some kind of connection with your husband and the knowledge that your place was very quickly being stripped away gnawed at you from the inside.

Wandering aimlessly through the manor one day you discovered the ladder that lead up to the roof. Even though it was cold outside, you still sat there on the roof. Wondering how long it would be before you were forgotten completely.

Despite the cold and the swirling snow, you dozed off hugging your arms to your sides. What seemed like minutes later you were woken up by a piercing light. The sun was beginning to sting your eyelids, squinting against the harsh glare of the sun's first rays of the day, you tried to sit up straight. Your whole body was numb and cold. It took several minutes to rub feeling back into your fingers.

Carefully moving away from the edge of the roof you stood up. Your legs shook from the movement. Having been in the same position for too long, they had gone to sleep.

You did some light stretches and gradually the shaking and numbing little stings subsided and you felt more sure on your feet.

Finally you made your way to the roof latch, having left it open all night there was a pile of snow at the base of the ladder and it was freezing cold to the touch.

You descended the ladder and walked around the manor. It was quiet, most everyone was asleep at this time. Feeling the desire to see Sylus, you turn around and head to his room. He was usually there at this time. You hesitate at the door. Whenever you'd come to his room he was usually accompanying you.

Just as your about to knock, a voice addresses you from behind. "He's not here, Sylus went out for work. I've been waiting for him to return since last night." Turning around, you see that woman. Feeling angry for a reason you can't quite grasp, you turn around

and storm by her. Purposely bumping into her on the way by. She stumbles but you keep going.

Your sour mood lingers throughout the day killing any appetite oyi might have had. Your wandering leads you back to the roof and you sit in the same spot from the night before.

From your spot on the roof, you can hear his motorcycle approach the manor and you sit their contemplating what to do. Finally after another two hours you head back to his room. When you get there the door is adjacent and you silently push it open. You feel your heart stop.

There on the bed is Sylus on top of her. She's pinned down and it's very obvious what is going on. His naked back is to you and her equally naked leg is wrapped around his waist. Their kiss is intense that you feel your heart break. His hand is twined with hers and pinned above her head. You back away and run down the hall and go to the roof.

Hot tears are streaming down your face as you realized that Sylus had never loved you. He'd just been indulging you for the last several years because you were useful. He could even hate you for all you knew. The one he truly loved was currently tangled with him on his bed.

You feel your heart break further as you realize that with no family or friends you have nothing. You had only ever been useful to Sylus because of you family's business. That was not love and never could be.

You cry yourself to sleep on the roof again, completely defenseless and unaware of the eyes watching you. When you wake up again, there's a dull ache in your head and a ferocious growl in your stomach, but you have no desire to eat or even move.

You sit there watching the stars for what seemed like days. Eventually the sky begins to lighten as the sun begins its ascent across the sky. You continue to sit, even as heavy clouds roll in. Another snowfall is coming, you remembered from the weeks forecast you had read a few days ago. But still you don't move.

It's only when the wind cuts through you, chilling you to the bone that you get up. Once again you rub feeling back into your frozen limbs and head down the ladder. You avoid your room and his. Just the thought of sleeping in a bed you had shared with him makes your stomach turn. Your entire body burns with the feeling if betrayal, but you can neither act on it or alleviate it. The feeling simmers in your stomach driving away the need for food.

Eventually you end up on the couch. The warmth from the fire burning in the hearth slowly warms you up and a drowsy feeling over comes you. Stretching out and pulling the throw down over you, you manage to drift off into a restless sleep.

After what feels like minutes, your body is shaken awake. It's that woman again, hate burns through your veins. You want to tear her apart and rip her to shreds. You glare at everything.

"Hey, the cook said you didn't eat dinner. So I brought you some food" She offers the plate to you. It's all your favorite things. A light fruit salad with beautifully cut fresh fruit and a stack of golden waffles topped with whipped cream and raspberries. Your anger overtakes you and you sit up and shove the plate away from you. She's so surprised at this action that she stumbles back, dropping the plate as she does. The delicate China shatters on the floor as the fruit scattered and the waffles sit there on top of the broken peices.

She looks at you with hurt on her face. "Why did you do that?" She asks just as Sylus enters the room. He looks annoyed at the mess on the floor. Concern overtakes him as he comes closer. Of course none of it is for you, she's the only important one in his eyes. A shard of the plate had bounced of the floor and put a cut on her arm. She had a line of bright red blood blooming out from the slice.

"Did you really think I would accept anything from YOU?" You spit the words at her like venom and stand up. "I know your not so stupid as to be unaware that Sylus is my husband." Your words are as cold as the ice outside. Red blooms across her face as realization strikes her.

You turn to leave the room and just as your about to step into the hall something grabs your arm and yanks you back. Your head whips around and your suddenly face to face with Sylus angry expression.

"She is my guest, you will treat her with respect. Don't lay your hands on her again." You rip your arm from his grasp. "You must think I'm an idiot. She's getting a hell of a lot more than hospitality from you. I owe her NOTHING. She is nothing to me but a sneaky slut that wormed her way into a married man's bed. Both of you disgust me." You storm from the room. As you leave, you take notice of the twins. They are also watching you, but you do not care.

You return to your room and begin to make preparations. You're almost certain now that Sylus hates you. "Divorce is pretty much guaranteed." You say out loud to no one. As you look around the room you realize that nothing in it is truly yours. Everything had been given by Sylus after your marriage. "What a joke I am. I must be the biggest idiot in all of the world. I never should have married him. He was a complete stranger. What a fool!" You kick the dresser in anger, the pain just spurs you on.

After ripping the sheets off the bed and throwing them to the floor your anger had only increased. Grabbing the nearest object, your hurl it to the floor. Feeling satisfied as it shatters. You begin throwing things all over the room. In minutes the neat, beautifully decorated room is in shambles. Glass, sheets, books, jewelry, makeup, and nick-nacks are all over the floor. You turn and leave the disaster you made, making sure to slam the door as hard as you can on your way out. The paintings on the wall tremble from the force.

You storm through the manor headed for the stairs again. You don't recognize the lightheaded woozy feeling that has over come you and you feel dizzy as you reach the ladder that goes to the roof. Halfway up, your foot slips. Before you fall, in a burst of adrenaline you manage to grab the ladder securely. Your heart is beating out of your chest as you cling to the rungs. "That was too close," you mutter taking deep, steady breaths.

Undeterred, you climb the ladder anyway, resolute in seeking peace on the roof once more. It takes a lot more effort to climb up than it had in previous climbs. Your huffing and puffing by the time you manage to get up.

As you walk to the ledge and glance at the snow covered ground below, you realize something is off. The footsteps in the snow are not yours and since it had been snowing for hours, the ones from earlier would have long since been hidden under more snow.

You whirl around ad your mind screams danger. You hands fumble through your layers of clothing to grab the knife you always kept with you. It was a custom blade and designed to attach to your bra. Although it was small, it was very sharp and could easily cut and stab in defense. As your hand manages to grab the handle a figure appears from the top of the roof. He easily jumps down to where you are.

"To think that the infamous wife of Onychinus' boss would be so easy to get to. No bodyguard?" He asks in a taunting tone. The man is dressed head to foot in black. His entire body is covered save for his eyes. Black as a blank night sky and soulless. He points a gun at you. "Drop the knife, or I'll put a bullet in you right here." He says his finger twitching on the trigger.

Having been taught how to fight from a small age, you fein dropping the knife as he moves closer. Just as he's within reach you spin it around and drive it into his upper arm. Unfortunately he was prepared for your tricks and fires the gun. The bullet burries itself deep into your thigh. You cry out and collapse to the ground clutching the wound. Blood seeps between your fingers and down your leg. Falling upon the snow.

"You're going to regret that." The man says as he pulls the blade out of his arm and flings it to the ground. He reaches out and grabs you. You're enveloped in a blinding light and then everything fades away. Sight, sound, and feeling are gone.

It feels like you're floating in darkness for a long time. You struggle to move, bit something is restricting you're movements. A rattling sound is the first thing you can hear as your senses come flooding back. The pain slams into you again and you groan. You realize that you've been blindfolded with a thick cloth.

"She's finally awake. I would really like to know about that blade she stabbed you with. It really did a number on your arm. It must have been very sharp.

"Shut up and just do your job. The boss needs information and she's going to have it. He said do whatever it takes to get it out of her. Just don't kill her." A gleeful cackle made you shudder and then footsteps came closer to you.

"Darkness makes the pain more intense. You will tell me what we want to know." The man says and then you can hear metal being moved around. Your heart begins to race. There is nothing for you to tell them. Sylus had always made sure that you knew nothing of his business and plans. You had only ever overseen the production of weapons. You didn't know their purpose or intended use.

"I imagine I'll get away with it if I do kill you though. Osric was his brother just so you know. Boss has a personal grudge to pick with you and Sylus. This is going to be delicious. Let's begin. We'll start with something easy." He said and then you could feel him standing at your side.

Hours had passed since the torture had begun, but no matter what question he asked the result was the same. You didn't know.

He had tried a variety of methods to break you. The first had been pulling you fingernails our. It had been excruciating and you nearly passed out several times. The he had tried whipping you. Your back was a raw bloody mess from all the cuts. That had made you pass out. His ways of waking you up again were resolute. Dumping ice water on you seemed to do the trick.

Your mind felt like it was going to snap if this went on much longer. Your voice was raspy and hoarse from the hours of screaming and crying. At first you had tried to hold back, but this maniac had taken it as a challenge. Several times he had said you were boring him with your instant responses.

"You're n-not going to-o get any.. anything fro-om me. I have nothing to tell. Even if I wanted to." This was not the first time you had said those words. It's just they fell on deaf ears. "Ju-just kill me al-ready. I I'm useless to yo-ou. He-e doesn't ca-are about me. Ju-just end it already. I-I don't kn-ow anything." This went on for days. You knew time was passing but you had no idea how much until finally a different person entered the room.

"Boss is fed up with you. He wants to know why she hasn't spilled her guts yet. He's tired of waiting for what he wants to know. Can't believe three days and she hasn't cracked once." His voice sounded disappointed and uninterested.

You'd lost count of all the methods they had tried to get you to speak. Several times you had begged him to just kill you but he'd only laughed in response. Sleep had been allowed a few times and sips of water had been given.

They had never removed your blindfold, and you were glad that you could not see what had been done to you. Even if you could feel every injury, being able to see them would have made it ten times worse.

Just as he was getting ready to start again, the door was blasted open. It sounded like it had been ripped right off the hinges. Chaos ensued with whatever had cause the door to explode, and the man started yelling.

"Who the hell are you? How did you get in here?" Crashes followed the words, and then a guttural sputter followed. Seconds later, you felt hands touching you, and you flinched, thinking that more pain would follow. To your surprise, the restraints on your arms and legs were removed, and then someone was carefully helping you sit up. A pair of hands touched the blindfold and then dim light hit your eyes. You screwed them shut feeling that it was painful.

Every part of your body hurt. Stinging and burning sensations were running rampant all over and you just wanted it to end. "We need to move." A familiar voice said in your ear. You open your eyes, ignoring the pain from the light and look at the voice. To your complete surprise Luke and Kieran are by your side.

"We've come to get you. Boss is so angry. I don't want to stick around here." The twins had their usual care free attitude as they watched you. "Why?" You asked looking at the pair. You could sense their confusion. "What do you mean why? You're Boss's wife. Of course he will take back what is his." One of them said as the other drapped a blanket over you and then carefully picked you up.

You grimaced and tried not to show the pain. "M-my leg is broken." You managed to get out between gritted teeth and gasps. They said nothing as they took you out the door.

Having never seen any of the place you were in, you were surprised at the twisting hallways and maze like route that you were taking. But the twins seemed undeterred and walked quickly. Before long there was a heavy metal door in front of you. It was all dented and it looked like an explosion had hit it. The door was already adjar and upon further investigation, you notice that it's hanging off the hinges.

Walking down another short hallway you come up into a large room. With a start you realize that blood is everywhere and there are bodies scattered through out the room. At the front leaning against a table is Sylus. He looks irritated and he has blood spattered on his face. He stands up straight when he sees you and the twins. His gaze hardens as he looks you over.

"Why did you come?" He looks at you blankly, his face giving nothing away. He just looks at you like he's staring right through you.

"Did you ever, even for one second love me?" You ask after several tense minutes go by. He still says nothing. Feeling the unsaid confirmation of what you had thought to be true now a reality you close your eyes against the tears.

A minute later and you open them again. "I am over this. I just want it to end. I don't care about anything anymore. I no longer want anything as I also posses nothing. You can have it all. I just want it to end." After letting go you feel like a weight has fallen off your shoulders. All the hate and resentment you'd felt several days ago has disappeared.

"Take her to the manor and contact the dr." Sylus finally says after many moments. The twins immediately move out. Despite their best efforts you get jostled several times and the pain makes you pass out. You surrender to unconsciousness, thankful to escape for however short a time it will last.

Over the next several months you are confined to bed to allow you injuries to heal. The scarring isn't as bad as you had though it would be, but it extends over most of your arms legs and back. The whip scars will never disappear and serve as a constant reminder to never show your back to anyone.

Eventually the day arrives that the dr tells you all of you injuries have healed and he discharges you from his care. Eight months have passed since that day and finally you are back on your feet. Having packed a bag with a few sets of clothes you grab the strap and the papers you had asked for a few days ago.

Without hesitation you go to Sylus' office and open the door. He is sitting at his desk reading some documents. You walk over and set two things down. One of them reads Transfer of Assets and the other says Annulment of Marriage. Placing a pen on top of it you say resolute "sign them and then you'll never see me again." You take a step back and wait.

He sets the papers down and looks at what you have placed on his desk with a raised eyebrow. "What is this?" You inwardly sigh. "Sinc you do not love me and I have no desire to play second fiddle to anyone else I am not staying. Clearly there is no place for me here. This is to repay the treatment I was given. You owe me nothing and I owe you nothing." You're confidant that with relinquishing your rights to your family's business and everything you endured being at his side will more than repay him.

He appears to be lost in thought as he reads over the papers. "You really want nothing in return?" The only thing you had asked for in the divorce agreement was that he not seek you out and that your paths never cross again. You nod and finally he moves to sign them. You turn on your heel and walk out of the door, out of his manor. This corrupt part of the city and out of his life forever.

A sense of peace washes over you as you get into your car and turn the ignition. Ready to begin your own life.

****************************************************

And thus ends another one. I did make some tweaks to the original plot line I was given because it flowed better in this way. I do hope you don't mind. I stuck to what you gave me as much as possible. I hope you enjoyed this one

Tag list:

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@barbuse @mariposa666haruka @cosmocup1d @xthefuckerysquaredx @bokerayboke

@ellieevu @prettytemis @bananagoesbonkers4 @dreamerwasfound @sweet2wth

@tanspostsblog @linxiajei17 @jeondyy @alexatiu

[agreeeeeeeeeee]

Hii there!! Can you write something about George Weasley where he and the reader have been really good friends for a while but start secretly dating because of some stupid rule like quidditch players can’t date during the season or something like that? And they get caught by their friends being intimate after a game?

Ps: love your writing style so much, your fics are so easy to get into and beautifully written💕

thank you for the request! hope your enjoy 🫶

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| George Weasley x fem!reader

cw: light smut (heavy petting/making out), sneaking around/secret relationship, jealous!george, assault via bludger, oliver wood is a cock block.

MDNI 18+

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You were walking down the hall with Luna, chatting about the results your divination exam, when a hand shot out and yanked you into a dark, empty classroom.

“Fancy seeing you here,” your captor said in a very familiar, cheeky voice.

“You can't just kidnap me, Weasley.” You cross your arms over your chest, jutting out a hip.

“Kidnapping is a bit dramatic.” George’s hands slide around your waist. “Can't a bloke want to spend a few moments with his girl?” He leaned down, his lips brushing along the column of your throat.

You craned your head back for him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Perhaps. But still, some warning would be nice.”

His lips connected with yours in a soft, languid kiss. “Consider yourself warned,” he grinned.

You breathed a content sigh, taking your fingers through his ginger hair while he peppered featherlight kisses along your cheeks, your forehead, your eyelids. The last few weeks had been so challenging thanks to Woods new rule about dating during Quidditch season.

You and George had been circling one another since fourth year, waiting for the right moment to dip your toes into something more than friendship. And of course, when the stars finally aligned, Wood had to throw a wrench in your new relationship. So now, instead of basking in your honeymoon phase, you were forced to sneak around, hiding your relationship from everyone.

But Fred, obviously. George couldn't lie to his twin even if he wanted to.

“You're in your head, darling,” George murmured, pulling back to look at your face in the dim light.

“Am not,” you argued, dragging your hands down his chest and sliding them under his robes. The sweater beneath was soft and thick, warm from his body heat.

“What are you thinking about?” He kissed your temple, across your cheekbone, beneath your ear…

You hummed, leaning into him, soaking up his heat, his unhurried affection.

“Love?” He prodded, nipping at your ear.

“Just how much I like you,” you whispered, resting your chin on his sternum when he pulled back.

A smile spread across his freckled face. “My sweet girl,” he cooed. “I like you too.”

You pressed your lips to his, brushing your tongue along his lower lip, and his hands tightened on your waist. He parted his lips for you to delve deeper, matching every stroke of your tongue with his until you were panting, clawing at his sweater to get closer.

He backed you against a desk, his hand sliding under your skirt to squeeze your ass, notching your hips against his. A gasp squeaked for your throat when he ground himself against you, already growing sensitive.

He chuckled. “Gonna to have to be quiet f’me, love. Don't want go get caught with a Beater, aye?”

You nodded, clamping your lips shut.

The Quidditch season was only three months. How hard could it be?

⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Quidditch practice ran late for the third night in a row, and you were desperate for some attention from your boyfriend.

You lurked by the Gryffindor locker rooms, waiting for George to emerge, freshly showered in his favorite hoodie and sweats. Your mouth nearly watered at the thought.

But player after player trailed out of the locker room, and no George. You were getting impatient, shifting form foot to foot when you spotted Fred walking with Ron, chatting animatedly about the match this weekend.

You grabbed Fred’s wrist and yanked him to the corridor you were hiding.

“Oi! What—oh, hey y/n.” He smirked down at you, waggling his eyebrows. “Wrong twin, but—”

“Ew, Fred! No! Where's George?”

Fred snickered. “Still in the shower. Pitch was muddy and he got a face full from Thomas.”

You grimaced. “Ouch.”

“Yeah, he was livid. But, he's the last one in there if you want to cheer him up.” Fred winked and slipped back into the hall, leaving you to your mischief.

You scampered down the corridor and into the locker room, following the trail of steam until you found the only drawn curtain. George was humming to himself, tapping his feet on the tile floor.

You clapped a hand over your mouth to avoid laughing and ruining the surprise, and perched on the bench across from the curtain to wait.

A few moments later, the water cut off and his hand poked through the curtain, grabbing the red towel off the hook.

The curtain ripped open, and George yelped in surprise, nearly dropping the towel slung low around his hips.

“Fancy seeing you here.” You grinned.

“You little minx.” He grabbed you off the bench and into his still damp chest, kissing you fiercely. “I was just about to come see you,” he said between sloppy kisses, backing you against a row of lockers.

“Were you?” You giggled as his lips moved down your neck, sending tingles skittering across your skin. You dragged your nails cross his bare back, admiring the way his muscles jumped at your touch.

“Couldn't stand another night without you,” he admitted. He started undoing the buttons of your blouse, clearly feeling as desperate as you did based on the tent in his towel.

“Eager, are we?” You teased, hiking your leg over his hip as his hand slid into your skirt.

His middle finger swiped through your slit, teasing your clit with small circles. Pleasure pulsed through you, making your eyes roll back. “Someone is. Already soaked for me, love,” he groaned, capturing your lips in another bruising kiss as he toyed with you.

“Fuck, Georgie,” you whined, bucking your hips against his hand.

“Merlin, I missed you.”

“Weasley, you still in here?” Wood called his voice echoing around room.

“Bloody fucking—stall, now.” George slipped his fingers from you and into his mouth, ushering you into the shower stall he just vacated. The air was still humid and scented by his vanilla body wash. No, your vanilla body wash, you realized, spotting the bottle you'd been missing still sitting on the shelf.

“Still hangin’ around, Wood?” You heard George say.

“I wanted to talk to ya’ about somethin’,” Oliver said, and you saw his boots enter the shower room from under the curtain.

“Can I put trousers on first?”

Oliver snorted. “Sure, mate.”

You heard George shuffling around, pulling on his clothes.

“Fucking trousers don't hide shit,” he grumbled to himself and you had a stifle another laugh. “Alright, Wood. What's on your mind?”

“You've been distracted, Weasley. Missing bludgers, ignoring plays, it's not like you to not take Quidditch seriously,” Oliver said, and you frowned.

George sighed. “It's, ah, there's an assignment in Herbology that's gone tits up. Damn plant won't grow,” George said.

“Uh huh,” Wood answered, clearly not buying it. “Well, maybe it's time your sort out your priorities, mate. Not sure a plant is worth throwing the season, if ya’ know what I mean. We need our best Beater, yeah?”

Your stomach dropped, indignation at Woods words colliding with the newfound guilt in your mind. George loved Quidditch. You didn't want to be the reason he wasn't playing well. But also…what if that meant Quidditch was higher priority to him? Where did that leave you?

“Understood, Captain.” George's voice was cold, a stark contrast to his usual chipper demeanor, and it raised goosebumps along your arms.

Oliver clapped him on the shoulder and left the locker room, evidently oblivious to the shift in George. The door clicked shut behind him, echoing around the empty room.

George tugged the shower curtain open, startling you from your spiralling thoughts. He immediately clocked the distress on your face, the corners of his mouth turning downward. “Oh, lovey—”

“I didn't know I was impacting the team,” you mumbled, looking down at your shoes.

George tilted your chin up, his other arm wrapping around your waist. “Baby, the teams fine. Wood just has a stick up his ass. I played great today, and always do when you're in the stands watching me.”

It was true. Some of his best games had been in the last month you'd been together.

“And besides, I don't need to sort out my priorities.” He bumped his nose against yours. “You always come first, y/n.”

Your heart soared, heat creeping up your neck. “Before Quidditch?” You asked, curling your hands into his hoodie.

“Before everything.” He kissed you softly, with no real pressure, just feeling you against him, and all your anxiety fell away. “C’mon, Freddie's going to a Hufflepuff party tonight, so we've got my dorm to ourselves.”

You kissed him again, smiling. “Sounds perfect.”

⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Brooms whizzed over your house’s section, whipping your scarf around your head.

“Go George!” You cheered, when he drifted nearby, twirling the bat in his gloved hand.

He flashed you a wink before banking left, whacking the snot out of bludger that was hurdling straight for Ron. It rocketed across the pitch and directly into the other houses Seeker, giving Harry the advantage.

“Woohoo!” You cheered with the rest of the student body. “Weasley! Weasley! Weasley!”

“Good game, aye?” A guy sidled up next you, leaning against the railing. You sort of recognized him from your Potions class, but couldn't be sure.

“Great game,” you replied, turning your attention back to the match and your boyfriend.

“Are you fan? Of Quidditch, I mean?”

“Mhmm—go Ron!” You cheered, tuning him out.

“I'm Gus, by the way. We're in the same Potions class?”

“Hi, Gus.” You give him a tight smile, hoping he takes the hint.

“Y’know, maybe we could study together sometime. Merlin knows Potions isn't my strong suit, but you seem pretty smart—”

“Get after it, Harry!” You roared as the Seeker flew overhead, the snitch just a few feet out in front of him.

“What do you think, y/n?” Gus prodded.

Irritation prickled up your neck. “I'm not sure I have time to tutor someone.”

Gus’ smile faltered. “Well, what about the next match, then? Maybe we could sit together.” He scooted closer you, infringing on your already limited space.

You squirmed closer to your friend on the other side of you, who was too wrapped up in the match to notice your discomfort. “No thanks, Gus.”

“Oh, c’mon. I promise I'm a nice guy.” He dropped his hand on your knees, and you wrenched yourself away.

“Don't fucking touch me—”

A deafening crack sounded from across the pitch and you both startled, turning back towards the match. A bludger was barreling straight towards your section. You screamed as it slammed into the post less than half a meter from Gus' head, ripping through the wood with a resounding boom and scattering splinters across the section.

You jumped back, falling into your friends laps, and Gus shrieked like a banshee, his face blanching white at how close it had come to taking his head clean off his shoulders.

An ear-splitting whistle interrupted the resulting chaos.

“Weasley, out!” Madame Hootch hollered.

You straightened in alarm, finding George hovering at the center of the pitch, his bat gripped tightly in his hand. His eyes were locked on Gus, dark and smug, a smirk tugging at the edges of his mouth.

“George, land!” Wood bellowed, and George finally floated back to earth. You could hear Oliver shouting, but couldn't see George from your seat.

You fought your way out of the stands, trying to push your way towards the locker room.

Gryffindor was booing the call, chanting “Weasley!” at the top of their lungs. Without George, unless Harry caught the snitch, the match was basically forfeit.

Your mind raced from the adrenaline. Did George do it on purpose? And if he did, why would he jeopardize the match like that?

You found him in the locker room, undoing the ties on his robe. He was still in his uniform, sweaty and smeared with dirt, his hair flat from the helmet.

“George,” you said, and he looked up.

“Love, what are you doing down here?” He frowned, reaching for you, but you held your ground, crossing your arms over your chest. His frown deepened.

“Did you do that on purpose?” You demanded.

“Of course I did,” he responded, not a trace of hesitation in his voice.

“Why? They won't win without you!”

“I don't care about the bloody match, y/n.”

You blinked at him. “What?”

George walked over to you, cradling your face in his gloved hands. “That guy was bothering you, yeah?”

You almost denied it, but found yourself nodding, unable to lie to him.

“And you thought I was going to sit back and let someone make you uncomfortable? My girl? Fuck no.”

You giggled, his protectiveness spurring a wave of affection and dissolving your anger. “I think nearly killing him was a bit much,” you snickered.

“Are you questioning my aim?”

“Just your sanity.”

He pinched your cheeks together in his still gloved hand, shaking you slightly. “I'll always protect you, brat. And if that makes me a madman, so be it.”

You swatted his hands away before wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him down for kiss. He tasted of salt and peppermints, his skin smelling of turf and fresh air, with a hint of that masculine musk that made your head go a little fuzzy.

He kissed you back, catching your lower lip between his teeth and sucking gently. You moaned against him, allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth and taste you.

“I'm done hiding,” he murmured when you both came up for air. “And Wood can bugger off.”

The mixing shouting of the crowd filled the quiet air around you. “Ravenclaw scores another twenty points!” Lee declared, his voice notably unenthused.

George shook his head with a smug chuckle, leaning his forehead against yours. “See? They need me.”

“Weasley!” Oliver shouted, startling you both. George looked up, tightening his grip around you. Oliver didn't even bother to act surprised. “You're back in,” he sighed.

A grin split George's handsome face, making your heart flutter.

“Good man,” he replied, dropping a peck onto your lips before doing his helmet and running back out onto the pitch to the roar of the crowd.

“Weasley! Weasley! Weasley!”

⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Thank you so much for reading!

If you enjoyed, you can check out my published work here.

Much love,

Allie

[1800titz]

LIQUID SMOOTH | Best friend’s dad

age gap. 6.9K on patreon

You tell yourself, it’s not because he’s older— not the way you linger in the crows feet by his crinkling eyes when he beams like sunshine, or the way his hands look (not the way, you know, he knows how to please a woman inside out)— but because he’s him. You tell yourself that you aren’t chasing after the placeholder in the shape of the mangled wound you have (need to fill it), and still spend your time taking insubstantial surveys on the internet— daddy issue symptoms in your search bar. (The results are always the same.) (The downfall, culminated, is that he fills a gap— but you’ll never admit it.)

preview

His mouth is a dogged line under his scruff. Mullish— like even in the insober dew coating his eyes, Harry feels that ripple of the undertow. Wrong— right— you want him to chew into your collarbone. Latch on, never let go. 

Something just for him— anything— trapped in the orbital chimera of an impermissible wet dream, all consuming.

He doesn’t, but he tucks his other hand along the side of your neck— fingers at your nape— palming, swallowing, huge (sacrosanct; you freeze, lungs clotted, and let him, let him, let him—), and he pastes his mouth to your jugular. His stubble scratches an itch that stems from pool parties, your gaze coasting the pool decking to savor a glimpse of his supine shape, thighs split, on a chaise lounge in six-inch inseam trunks. 

It’s wet. Muricate, his tongue drawing a hot, slick line. Hungry, sloppy; a roily forerun to a bastardized rendition of lovemaking. Animalistic, nearly— drooling along your neck before taking a bite.

And you think, maybe— bastardized rendition of lovemaking— he’s going to fuck you like this. Tuck his fat cock deep behind your navel on the creaky couch in the garage, hammer up, in, until you’re mewling, dripping all down his balls. Until your orisons feel like crumbled, shedding stars across your shoulder blades. 

Thinking is a rickety concept. Exhausting, feels like wading through the slush of a knee-deep morass, clinging to bald cypress; conversation starters, what-ifs, contemplating mini-skirts over teeny gym shorts. And you wonder how long he’s felt it too. How long his fingers have been aching to find purchase in your proscribed, soft sinew, how long he’s been waiting to score scorching lines along the column of your throat with his tongue. A while, maybe, you decide. He clings like it’s centuries, scrapes with the blunt flats of his teeth like it’s eons.

You stick to his lap like it’s a plinth, mold around his thighs, split legs, and it’s molten. Fever in the blistering revelation, forbidden, denim rough against the skin bared under the flimsy length of your sleep shorts. He paws at your ass, climbs the stretch of your thigh to seal curvature in a palmful, and under you, he’s achingly hard. It makes you ache.

The way Harry licks a stripe across your throbbing pulse, the soft ridge of your jaw. The way his nose grazes your blistering cheek, still tingling from the liquid courage you found in tequila off the hutch. The way it bumps your own, once, twice, and then his mouth slots to yours. Hungry, wanting— throes tangible in the way you angle your head to let him consume, let him tangle his fingers in at the hair on your crown. Let him lead, roll slick into the gap between your teeth until you taste tequila, tongue, the dirty oneirism in the heat of his bulk under you, finally coming to fruition. Your fingers twist into the fabric under your hands. 

He says your name against your teeth. A surly, gravelly sound, like a cosmogyral confession— everlasting, recurring duplication along stardust, again, and again, and again, in every ulterior crevice of the cosmos where another version of this exists. Meant to—

Be. 

He says it again, like a plea. Eyes creased, crushed nephrite, like he’s begging under the notch of his eyebrows. And he’s still clinging like wet paper, like you’re— 

“Fuck,” Harry slurs. Peels away. Shakes you with the purchase he finds on your shoulders, shoving— away. “We can’t— I’m. Fuck.”

You fall in love with your best friend’s dad along the coast of Hurghada.

A trip you take over the summer months, highlighting the obelisk of an incoming senior year at university, dangling in the misty limbo between semi-childhood and something closer to his own footing. Meddle in the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes when he grins in your direction from under the callused awning of his palm against his brows.

You’re twenty-one, and he’s older. 

The kind of older that’s trussed to the unbudgeable anchor, something that festers under your footing— rooted in an issue that isn’t plaited with the seedy, broken thing inside of you. Something that makes him untouchable, throes in the noose of a friendship you plucked up mid-semester from study sessions at the crack of dawn and overpriced, cardboard coffee cups bought on campus. 

It’s perilous footing— tiptoeing along the crumbling bridge of what this was, what it’s become, and dry rot crackles in the flame that swallows the comfort (irreturnable) of pretending that he doesn’t make your guts itch. That you don’t wallow in the gazes he spares you, that you don’t cherish the nights you spend awake with him in the kitchen when the sky is still everdark, carving a world out of a dyad in the dead of night over murmurs across the peninsula. The shockwave of his eyes on you, his soft, sleepy voice (husky, rumbling), blistering under your skin, whitehot like thunderbolts rippling across the aether. You always pretended that you didn’t go back to your best friend’s hometown, every break off, to soak in the deluge of your derelict obsession, and now—

You face the revelation that you’re in love with him along the coast of Hurghada— cataclysmic, uneasy in the way that this puppy crush has metastasized. Grown staunch, irreversibly loyal, searching for him in every man that looks your way at a bar, miles out of his radius. Trailing across the cobble in a burnt orange alleyway off the nook of bars, latched onto the rigid muscle of his arm, the way your best friend is, on the other side. Only for you, it’s different. So different, for you, it’s—

Sloppy steps, head pasted to the sinew there, eyes half-mast. You tip your chin up and stare—

You realize then, but it starts long before. Starts as an ache in your gums to gnaw in the first time you meet him. Swells in the seal of your bubble when you catch glimpses, collect them, like trinkets— shirtless in the kitchen over the stove when you emerge in the morning, climbing out of the jacuzzi while you’re sprawled on the sunbed, the first time he taught you the geometrics of pool, strategy in the aim, on the table in the garage. So respectful. Abiding, untouchy, daughter’s best friend ingrained like crime-tape scratched into his bones, off limits, to the forerun of every action. 

You fall in love with him somewhere in the gully between Hurghada and peanut butter pancakes, and now—

Now—

Now your stomach is churning, because his hands are cupped around your forearms— brassbound, aborting— pressed to his pecs, and his head is turned to the side like he can’t look at you. Like he doesn’t want to face the origin of the taste on his teeth.

Stupid—

Stupid. Finding debauched bait in vinyls and hard liquor, sleep shorts short enough for his eyes to crawl, wander, loose enough for his fingers to slip under, and now…

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[mostlysignssomeportents]

Kickstarting the Red Team Blues audiobook, which Amazon won't sell (read by Wil Wheaton!)

Red Team Blues is my next novel, a post-cyberpunk anti-finance finance thriller; it’s a major title for my publishers Tor Books and Head of Zeus, and it’s swept the trade press with starred reviews all ‘round. Despite all that, Audible will not sell the audiobook. In fact, Audible won’t sell any of my audiobooks. Instead, I have to independently produce them and sell them through Kickstarter:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/doctorow/red-team-blues-another-audiobook-that-amazon-wont-sell

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/21/anti-finance-finance-thriller/#marty-hench

Audible is Amazon’s monopoly audiobook platform. It has a death-grip on the audiobook market, commanding more than 90% of genre audiobook sales, and every single one of those audiobooks is sold with Amazon’s DRM on it. That means that you can’t break up with Amazon without throwing away those audiobooks. Under the 1998 Digital Millennium Copyright Act, I can’t give you a tool to convert my own copyrighted audiobooks to a non-Amazon format. Doing so is a felony carrying a five year prison sentence and a $500,000 fine for an act that in no way infringes anyone’s copyright! Indeed, merely infringing copyright is much less illegal than removing Amazon’s mandatory DRM from my own books!

I’ve got amazing publishers who support my crusade against DRM, but they’re not charities. If they can’t sell my audiobooks on the platform that represents 90% of the market, they’re not going to make audio editions at all. Instead, I make my own audiobooks, using brilliant voice actors like Amber Benson and @neil-gaiman​, and I sell them everywhere except Audible.

Doing this isn’t cheap: I’m paying for an incredible studio (Skyboat Media), a world-class director (Gabrielle de Cuir), top-notch sound editing and mastering, and, of course, killer narrators. And while indie audiobook platforms like Libro.fm and downpour.com are amazing, the brutal fees extracted by Apple and Google on app sales means that users have to jump through a thousand hoops to shop with indie stores. Most audiobook listeners don’t even know that these stores exist: if a title isn’t available on Audible, they assume no audiobook exists.

That’s where Kickstarter comes in: twice now, I’ve crowdfunded presales of my audiobooks through KS, and these campaigns were astoundingly successful, smashing records and selling thousands of audiobooks. These campaigns didn’t just pay my bills (especially during lockdown, when our household income plunged), but they also showed other authors that it was possible to evade Amazon’s monopoly chokepoint and sell books that aren’t sticky-traps for Audible’s walled garden/prison:

https://www.publishersweekly.com/pw/by-topic/columns-and-blogs/cory-doctorow/article/90282-we-wrote-a-book-about-why-audible-won-t-sell-our-book-and-snuck-it-onto-audible.html

And today, I’m launching the Kickstarter for Red Team Blues, and even by the standards of my previous efforts, I think this one’s gonna be incredible.

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/doctorow/red-team-blues-another-audiobook-that-amazon-wont-sell

For starters, there’s the narrator: @wilwheaton​, whose work on my previous books is outstanding, hands-down my favorite (don’t tell my other narrators! They’re great too!):

https://wilwheaton.net/

Beyond Wil’s narration, there’s the subject matter. The hero of Red Team Blues is a hard-charging forensic accountant who’s untangled every Silicon Valley finance scam since he fell in love with spreadsheets as as a MIT freshman, dropped out, got his CPA ticket, and moved west. Now, at the age of 67, Marty Hench is ready to retire, but a dear old friend — a legendary cryptographer — drags him back for one last job — locating the stolen keys to the backdoor he foolishly hid in a cryptocurrency that’s worth more than a billion dollars.

That’s the starting gun for a “grabby next-Tuesday thriller” that sees Marty in between three-letter agencies and international crime syndicates, all of whom view digital technology as a carrier medium for scams, violence and predation. Marty’s final adventure involves dodgy banks, crooked crypto, and complicit officials in a fallen paradise where computers’ libertory promise has been sucked dry by billionaire vampires.

It’s a pretty contemporary story, in other words.

I wrote this one before SVB, before Sam Bankman0Fried and FTX — just like I wrote Little Brother before Snowden’s revelations. It’s not that I’m prescient — fortune-telling is a fatalist’s delusion — it’s that these phenomena are just the most spectacular, most recent examples in a long string of ghastly and increasingly dire scandals.

Red Team Blues blasted out of my fingertips in six weeks flat, during lockdown, when technology was simultaneously a lifeline, connecting us to one another during our enforced isolation; and a tool of predatory control, as bossware turned our “work from home” into “live at work.”

The last time I wrote a book that quickly, it was Little Brother, and, as with Little Brother, Red Team Blues is a way of working out my own anxieties and hopes for technology on the page, in story.

These books tap into a nerve. I knew I had something special in my hands when, the night after I finished the first draft, I rolled over at 2AM to find my wife sitting up in bed, reading.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I had to find out how it ended,” she answered.

The next day, my editor sent me a four-line email:

That. Was. A! Fucking! Ride! Whoa!

Within a week, he’d bought Red Team Blues…and two sequels. I finished writing the second of these on Monday, and all three are coming out in the next 22 months. It’s gonna be a wild ride.

Kickstarter backers can get the usual goodies: DRM-free audiobooks and ebooks, hardcovers (including signed and personalized copies), and three very special, very limited-run goodies.

First, there’s naming rights for characters in the sequels — I’m selling three of these; they’re a form of cheap (or at least, reasonably priced) literary immortality for you or a loved one. The sequels are a lot of fun — they go in reverse chronology, and the next one is The Bezzle, out in Feb 2024, a book about prison-tech scams, crooked LA County Sheriff’s Deputy gangs, and real-estate scumbags turned techbros.

The third book is Picks and Shovels (Jan 2025), and it’s Marty’s first adventure after he comes west to San Francisco and ends up working for the bad guys, an affinity scam PC company called “Three Wise Men” that’s run by a Mormon bishop, a Catholic priest and an orthodox rabbi who fleece their faithful with proprietary, underpowered computers and peripherals, and front for some very bad, very violent money-men.

Next, there’s three Marty Hench short story commissions: the Hench stories are machines for turning opaque finance scams into technothrillers. While finance bros use MEGO (“my eyes glaze over”) as a weapon to bore their marks into submission, I use the same performative complexity as the engines of taut detective stories. Commissioning a Hench story lets you turn your favorite MEGO scam into a science fiction story, which I’ll then shop to fiction websites (every story I’ve written for the past 20 years has sold, though in the event that one of these doesn’t, I’ll put it up under a CC license).

Finally, there’s a super-ultra-limited deluxe hardcover edition — and I do mean limited, just four copies! These leather-bound editions have Will Staehle’s fantastic graphic motif embossed in their covers, and the type design legend John D Berry is laying out the pages so that there’s space for a hidden cavity. Nestled in that cavity is a hand-bound early draft edition of The Bezzle, the sequel to Red Team Blues. The binding is being done by the fantastic book-artist John DeMerritt. Each copy’s endpapers will feature a custom cryptographic puzzle created especially for it by the cryptographer Bruce Schneier.

I often hear from readers who want to thank me for the work I do, from the free podcast I’ve put out since 2006 to the free, CC BY columns I’ve written for Pluralistic for the past three years. There is no better way to thank me than to back this Kickstarter and encourage your friends to do the same:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/doctorow/red-team-blues-another-audiobook-that-amazon-wont-sell

Preselling a ton of audiobooks, ebooks, and print books is a huge boost to the book on its launch — incomparable, really. Invaluable.

What’s more, helping me find a viable way to produce popular, widely heard audiobooks without submitting to Amazon’s DRM lock-in sets an example for other creators and publishers: we have a hell of a collective action problem to solve, but if we could coordinate a response to Audible demanding the right to decide whether our work should have their DRM, it would force Audible to treat all of us — creators, publishers and listeners — more fairly.

I’ll be heading out on tour to the US, Canada, the UK and Germany once the book is out. I’m really looking forward to as many backers in person as I can! Thank you for your support over these many long years — and for your support on this Kickstarter.

Today (Mar 22), I’m doing a remote talk for the Institute for the Future’s “Changing the Register” series.

[Image ID: A graphic showing a phone playing the Red Team Blues audiobok, along with a quote from Booklist, 'Jam-packed with cutting-edge ideas about cybersecurity and crypto. Another winner from an sf wizard.']

[echoalyssa]

First Heat | Brett Talbot

Warnings: Unprotected sexual Intercourse and crude language. Please do not interact if you are under 18. Alpha Brett x 1st person Reader

Brett can’t think straight. Every single part of his body felt like it was on fire, crawling with need. It’s under his skin, an itch that can never actually be itched. A thin sheen of sweat covers his forehead, and he pants, feeling all too hot considering it’s the middle of an autumn night.

Scott had wanted to lock him up. To prevent him from coming in contact with anyone, even if they were inside the pack. Brett had been an alpha for less than a few weeks, which was adjustment enough. Scott had not wanted to fill Brett in on why he should be locked away, but the message could be found in all of Scott’s anxious whispering.              Brett would go into heat. And the only way to relieve it…

Scott hadn’t been successful in locking up the new Alpha. He had gone missing just before Scott could get to him, his heat beginning earlier than expected. 

Brett isn’t entirely sure where he’s going. He just knows that he can’t stop himself. He passes house after house, looking for something but his brain is too foggy to tell him where he’s going. He groans softly as the minutes pass, growing more desperate than he had been previously.

He rounds a corner, almost smacking into a streetlamp because he’s so distracted. And then he sees the house and he can’t enter the house fast enough.

~~~

The music is cranked up high, almost too high. It’s just warm enough in the house that I can wear only a thin oversized t-shirt and a thin black thong. Considering the season, I can’t complain. I’m attempting to rearrange my bookshelves, which had seemed like a much easier task before I had begun. It has to be at least two hundred and fifty books, separated into piles on the floor and my desk.

I pull another stack of books from the shelf, wandering past piles to determine where the books in my arms should be sorted. As much work as it was, I could probably do it forever. Something about the smell and feel of the books was comforting.

My music stops playing, and I turn around to reach for my phone. I stop short, a scream halfway up my throat. Brett is standing in the doorway to my bedroom, his knuckles are white as he grips the frame of my door. He stares at me, eyes glazed slightly but flared red. His eyes roam up and down my body. His chest heaves with his breath as he slowly sidles closer to me.

Something is wrong. I can feel it.

“Brett?” I ask, “What are you doing here?” 

He doesn’t respond. He instead circles me, his eyes catch on the hem of my t-shirt, hitting at the tops of my thighs. This wasn’t the Brett I knew. There had to be a reason that my Alpha had entered my house in the middle of the night unbeknownst to me. 

His eyelids flutter when I look at him and I can see something there. Something wild and animalistic. He moves towards me again, so close now that I can feel his body heat radiating from him. The tips of Brett’s fingers touch my wrist, and he gives me a saccharine smile. My Alpha trails his fingers up my arm, continuing until he wraps them around the column of my throat. His thumb strokes the pulse point there.

Brett dips his head to the notch of my throat and inhales slowly, his body shivering in reaction. It hits me then. I knew exactly why he was acting like this. Brett was experiencing his first heat as an Alpha. The heats that Alpha’s experienced were more extreme, they lasted longer. He would be insatiable for the next week.

I swallow hard. “Brett.”

It’s useless, I knew. I knew that he was past reasoning. 

He’s kissing up my jaw now, his other hand coming up to snake around my body and pull me flush to him. “You smell so good.” His voice is a breath-y moan.

It’s as if a switch is flipped because he had been holding back before. Something in my scent had pushed him over the edge. He brings his hand up, wrapping his fingers around my jaw to get me to look up at him. “I won’t be able to stop.” He warns.

I suck in a breath and look into his eyes, searching for a trace of him behind his unrivaled desire. Brett is my Alpha, but he was also my friend, and his heat would be excruciating if he wasn’t able to relieve himself.

I tilt my head up to meet him, and that is all he needs. He surges forward, grabbing my face to press our lips together. The world stills for a second and all I can think about is him and this fortuitous happening that had gotten us here. 

The kiss is open-mouthed and desperate. His hands are everywhere, not able to touch enough of me fast enough. He walks us both backwards until the backs of my knees hit the mattress. In between his kisses I catch sight of his claws, starting to peek out as he fights his shift.

He uses the tips of his fingers to slice the thin strap of my thong and it falls to my ankles. His hands press up under my shirt and he grabs a handful of me under the shirt. I gasp, my back arching off the bed and into him. Something primal and old in me just wants me to give myself over completely to him. He’s rutting against me and the more that he does the more my legs fall open for him.

“Please, Brett.”

That’s all the convincing he needs. Brett growls low in his throat and then pulls away to shove his shorts and boxers down his legs. He’s back on me in a second. I don’t even have time to take in his size before I feel the head of him press against my entrance.

He presses his lips to mine and with one fluid stroke of his hips… he takes me. I gasp, nails fighting for purchase on his back in response to the sheer length of Brett Talbot.

“Fuck. Fuck.”

The pace he starts is brutal. He pulls one of my legs over his shoulder, turning his head to kiss at the inside of my calf. All I can do is hold on to him and stare at where are bodies are connected.

His abs flex with each thrust and he’s chewing on his lip, staring down at me with a certain expression that I can’t quite place.

“Been thinking… thinking about you for…”

He rips out of me suddenly and I whine at the loss of contact. In a flash he’s flipped me around so that I am on my stomach. Brett wraps and arm around my hips to hold me in place while his other hand pulls my ass cheeks apart so that he can get a better view of him entering me again.

I cry out for the second time, fisting the sheets underneath me.

“So deep!”

“Look so fucking pretty like this baby. S-stay right there.” He whispers it against the shell of my ear, and it makes my breath catch.

With one hand on the back of my neck he presses me into the mattress, angling me so that the angle is to his liking. Then, once again he resumes his brutal pace. I can feel the threshold of pleasure drawing closer. It trails up my spine, just out of reach.

“Please, Brett!”

He snakes a hand around the curve of my hip, and it trails down down down until it hits that sensitive spot. I stifle a sob into the comforter below me.

I’m close. I’m so close. 

“You can do it baby. Make me proud. Come on baby, cum for me.”

I scream, my fingernails clutching at the sheets below me. My core is pulsing around him, over and over as I gasp for breath. He tucks himself against my back, still working me through my orgasm with his thumb and brutal pace. The following moans that slip from my mouth are sinful. I couldn’t remember the last time I had cum this hard, let alone at the hands of a man.

Brett doesn’t even wait for the shaking to subside. He removes his fingers from between my legs and grabs a fistful of my hair at the scalp. He tugs my head up, working my body into just the right position. 

The tidal wave of pleasure is flying back to me already. The room is filled with the sound of skin on skin as he works towards his own release. He drops his head to mine to start whispering those filthy little words again and that is all it takes for me to reach ecstasy for the second time. It knocks me silent, and I arch off the bed. My eyes roll back into my head and all I can say is his name over and over again like a prayer.

Brett is close behind me, managing to drill into that sacred spot deep inside me before his hips stutter and the most guttural noise leaves his mouth. He holds my hips firm against his and presses close to me, ensuring that every inch of him is sheathed in me. I can feel the thick ropes of him release into me, so much that I knew the sheets would be utterly ruined.

Brett lands a slap on my ass as he shudders again, his release drawn out more than he is used to. It takes time for me to float back to reality after two of the strongest orgasms of my life. My thoughts are jumbled, floating just far away enough that I can’t reach them. All I know is the Alpha still buried balls deep inside me from behind.

“I’m… stuck.”

That draws me back somewhat and I peer over my shoulder at him, watching him stare down at where we are connected.

“What do you mean?”

“I…” He moves to draw his hips back and I hiss at the sudden sharp tug. “I knotted you…”

I wrack my brain, trying to decipher his words. Vaguely I remember Scott mentioning that an Alpha would knot his mate to ensure offspring.

I force down the rising panic that is climbing my throat. “For how long?”

“I-I don’t know. This has never happened to me before.”

I nod and take a breath to calm myself. It would be fine. I was on birth control, and I didn’t mind Brett keeping me full. It was fine. I can feel sleep trying to pull me under, so I let my body relax.

Brett lays draped over my back, his mouth pressing lazy kisses to my shoulder blades as he waits for the swelling to go down. He tests the connection every couple of minutes, drawing a gasp from me each time. I can tell that his release has cleared his head slightly but the longer he has to recover, the less lucid he becomes. 

I’m perfectly sated and spent, feeling as if I could sleep for the foreseeable future. However, this was a week-long event. When the swelling finally does go away, he slips out of me slowly. Brett licks a line up my body and when he clears my clavicle, he’s ready to go again. Those red eyes peering at me with lust already.

[hiemaldesirae]

The Hazbin Graduate's Guide to Homicide (2)

Student Report: Alastor Hartfelt Supervising Staff: Vice-Dean Lilith Morningstar Sponsor: [REDACTED] To the esteemed and generous sponsor of one Mister Alastor Hartfelt, The following enclosed letter is a partial recount of Mister Alastor's first week during his term here at our esteemed institution. Please dispose of this report as soon as you are finished reading it for privacy insurance. We at the Hazbin Institution for Homicide Practictioners thank you for your continued interest and patronage. Sincerely, Vice-Dean Lilith Morningstar.

(Enclosed is also a photo of your charge with our current star student, Vox Vanhal. Please note that Mr. Vanhal's file is not yet open for your private purposes, but Dean Lucifer is working on it.)

[more murder academy radiostatic content] <- read the first for context! ^^

"Does this radio only have one station?" Alastor frowns at the contraption.

Having arrived at Pride House late into the semester (according to Dean Morningstar, anyway- he hadn't wanted to come here in the first place, so he doesn't see why he should be given the blame), Alastor had been stiffly informed by the receptionist- one Mrs. Mayberry- that he would have to be sharing a joint bathroom with a young woman named Charlie as a result of no other rooms being available. He'd been tempted to ask about the peculiar young man who he'd met that afternoon and how he'd assumed they might be roommates, but after one sour look from the receptionist that reminded him far too much of his late grandmother, he'd simply kept his mouth shut and taken the key.

The room he was assigned honestly wasn't half bad, if he could push out the questioning in his hindbrain of why he was given a room with a bathroom to share with someone of the fairer sex. Light from the setting sun streamed in from the open curtains, and through the window, an elevated view of the small Dutch-themed town square was easy to see. If Alastor squinted, he could see the glittering waters of the oddly named Lake Pandemonium, and past that, a thick covering of colourful flowering trees he had never once seen before in his life.

The room itself reminds Alastor a little of hotel rooms: somewhat sterile in its professionalism, and altogether unattached from any sense of home. Though he supposes it's better this way: he would rather a completely sterile and unlived in room than one bearing marks of another's absence.

Anyway. Back to the radio.

Alastor fiddles with the knobs a little, but still, the tunes of the blues persist on, with not even the slightest bit of variety.

It was ironic now, thinking of how he used to dance to songs just like these in Mimzy's company, and now he was complaining for no reason. He'd expected much less kind treatment when he'd been brought to Hazbin, after all, but after not even a day of staying here, it seemed to him that their service alongside their accomodations had been top notch. Excluding the presence of the Dean, Alastor found himself thinking that he may even end up liking this place.

That line of thought would soon be tested the very next morning, when Alastor made his way out of his rooming quarters and down to the building that housed the institution's dining hall.

Though the dean had been careful to point it out to him during the tour, he hadn't realized just the sheer size of the place: its high-sloped ceilings and massive polished columns of oak wood and obsidian enlays made for a stunning, if intimidating layout.

"Ah, Mister Hartfelt- Alastor, right?"

A voice catches his attention and before he even turns, Alastor knows who the soft hand on his shoulder is from. Lo and behold, the man with the mismatched eyes offers him a smile, one that Alastor returns after a beat of silence.

"Since you're new, do you want to come sit with me?"

"I don't see why not," Alastor responds simply. There's no harm in it, exactly- he's not quite sure what exactly he's supposed to be doing at mealtimes (see once more: coming in to the start of the term 'late') and, besides. He's been curious about the man with the gemstone eyes since they met the day prior, so the chance to sit and eat with him... well, it was quite the unexpected boon.

"Right, you'll have to get a plate for yourself, but you can always just take one from someone who hasn't woken up yet," Vox says as they make their way to the table where he was sitting. "Just be careful that the one you're taking isn't from someone really protective of their property."

"Why not?"

"They've probably already laced the plates with some kind of poison." Vox shrugs. "Most have antidotes on hand for that kind of thing, but only for their own poisons. So we try not to get the plates mixed up."

"Ah," Alastor says succinctly. "My apologies, remind me how long you've been here for again?"

"Two weeks," Vox says. He laughs a little at the face that Alastor makes, "I mean, well, you tend to learn these kinds of things pretty quick. If not cause of the upperclassman, usually staff are around to tell you what not to do... and if they're not there either, there's always the medical personnel who can help you after you've done the deed and gone belly up, so to say."

"I'm quite sure I'd rather not have to resort to said medical personnel, but to each their own," Alastor says.

This gets a laugh from Vox again, one that provokes that deep sort of familiarity inside of Alastor, and once again he asks himself where do I know this man from? It was certainly never from any radio program he'd ever heard, but he couldn't quite rule out the possibility of it being from a foreign program either, given the soft influence of german notes in the other man's speech.

He's drawn out of his thoughts when Vox pushes a plate towards him, already laden with food. "Here. Snatched this one from my former roommate a week back and he never questioned it. Guy didn't even show up to breakfast half the time."

Alastor takes it without asking any further questions, though he does look at the meal to check for any sort of poisons he should watch for. Not that he has enough faith in Vox to think that the other would be able to murder him, but, this was a school for murder, and in the current moment, he was outclassed (even if it wasn't by much.) However, there was a question he wanted to ask unrelated to the food.

"Former roommate?"

"Mm, he graduated- well, went to complete his thesis, which is basically the same thing but shorter because if you don't complete your thesis you may as well say your goodbyes- and that was three days before you arrived," Vox clarifies. "Or, well. I s'pose I shouldn't say that. I'm pretty sure he graduated. The guy was an upperclassman, and the terms here are pretty unpredictable- there's no limits on the time you spend here unless your funds are limited, and he was definitely not one of the people who have to scrape their savings together to afford a single year here. I didn't know anything about his academic career though, so it's definitely a possibility he didn't graduate."

"If he didn't graduate, then-"

"If he didn't graduate then he's dead, simple as pie," Vox clarifies once more. Alastor squints his eyes at the other man, who huffs and bites into his toast before saying anything else. "Well, hey, I mean I know I don't seem like the best roommate right now, but look, all right, I'm not gonna be looking into the disappearance of the guy who kept wrecking my bathroom setup for two weeks! Besides, when Dean Morningstar introduced you the other day, I thought that we'd be rooming together- especially since I already had the vacancy, and it'd make sense to just, you know, lump us together, right? Since I've got the room, and you need it?"

"Yes, it'd seem that way," Alastor says. He picks at his own food for a moment longer, debating between telling Vox of his actual room arrangements and keeping his mouth shut before deciding that whatever information he could get out of the man would be worth the potential embarrassment and questioning. "But instead, I was assigned to share a room with a woman."

Vox spits out his food onto the table, hacking and coughing as Alastor reaches over the table and pats him on the back firmly, shaking his head when some other members start making their ways towards him. "You- they made you room with a woman? What?"

"Well, it's certainly not as bad as you're making it sound-"

"I mean, sharing a bathroom, whatever, I know how rooming works in the Pride House so, all right, not that bad considering you'd have the double locked doors and as long as neither of you forget to lock the doors everything's all right, but, seriously, what?" Vox sounds puzzled, almost as if he himself can't work out what the staff are getting at, and in fairness, Alastor himself can't really puzzle it out himself. "Couldn't you file like, a report against that or something?"

"I'm here on a sponsorship," Alastor reminds the other man, who seems to shrink back into his chair at the reminder that he hadn't been the one to put himself into this facility. "I'd rather not risk their ire, if only for the sake of my sponsor."

That was a lie, of course. The truth was, as amiable and sociable as the man before him was- and as much as Alastor had a personal sort of curiosity towards him, he still didn't wish to room beside a man, even if it was Vox specifically who he was sharing a bathroom with.

Whatever it was that the Dean and whoever had arranged their rooms had been planning, Alastor felt free to turn a blind eye to the proceedings, at least until it affected him negatively.

"Makes sense," Vox says after a beat of silence. "Well... even if we aren't roommates, are you up to being friends, perhaps?"

"Sure," Alastor says. The other man's face brightens, and with it, his eyes too, sparkling like the gemstones he'd been silently comparing them to. "As long as you don't kill me."

"Hey, I wouldn't do that," Vox rolls his eyes. "If you wanna meet someone who'll kill you after becoming friends then you can go ahead and talk to Miss Rosetta Levi. She's taking... Mariticide as a major if I remember correctly? Oh, don't call her Rosetta, though, I hear she prefers Rosie."

"I'll keep her in mind, dear pal," Alastor chuckles. With that, he begins to once more dig into his breakfast, before a final question occurs to him. "Oh, right. I wanted to ask- if it's not too personal- what is it that you're here for?"

"Huh?" Vox blinks at him, spoonful of food raised to his mouth as he waits for Alastor to clarify.

"Your target. Because there's one for everyone here, right?" Alastor says simply. "They make you write it on the application, don't they? Whether it's your mother, your father, the organization who wronged you..."

The other man sets the spoon down gently before grabbing his glass of orange juice and taking a swig of it like a day drinker. "They do."

Alastor waits for a moment, but there's nothing else. "Well, all right then. I'm not quite sure what mine was listed as when the application from my sponsor came in- the Dean refuses to let me see more than I absolutely have to when it comes to my own paperwork- but I'm quite certain my father's name is on the list there somewhere."

He's not saying all this solely in an attempt to get Vox to open up, though that is part of it. Still, it's nice to let someone know of his own things (if only because he's a bit of a fiend for attention). "Anyway, it's all right if you don't want to say. I figure it's personal."

"It is," Vox says simply before he sighs. "Sorry. It's... well, it's a bit of a touchy subject for me. Not exactly something I'd like to spill at breakfast twenty-four hours after our first meeting."

"I understand," Alastor responds, though in his head he's already beating himself over the head for his lack of tact and how much he'd said. "I'm sure not many would."

"Eh," Vox waves his hand. The easy flow of conversation has returned now, as Vox continues, "I met a guy my first week here called Arackniss and he proceeded to tell me every single gory detail about how he planned to do away with his stepfather for the sake of his cartel's future. Lot more mob people than I'd expected."

"It's because of Prohibition." Alastor says absentmindedly, not expecting anything to come of his throwaway comment. Then he looks over at Vox, who's staring at him.

"You're that old?"

"What?" Alastor squinted. "The year is 1948, right? I'm not crazy? I'm 32, this isn't-"

"You're- no, sorry, I-" Vox laughs, hand flying up to his mouth to cover it. "Sorry, I just- you look so young."

"I am young," Alastor says. He sighs even as Vox continues laughing, pressing a hand to his temple to quell the coming headache.

"Sorry! Sorry. Different age standards, you know. It's a Hollywood thing," Vox smiles, mirth twinkling in his eyes, and suddenly, Alastor knows where he recognizes the other from.

"You-"

At that moment, a loud ringing echoes through the halls nine times.

"Ah, that'll be the morning bell. I've got Aesthetics and Disguise with Professor Asmodeus next," Vox says. He scarfs down the remaining food on his plate in record time and gets up, readjusting the uniform shirt and jacket he wears before grinning at Alastor. "I'll see you at lunch, then!"

"Right. I'll see you there."

[joyful-enchantress]

Love at First Bite (18+) | Adam (OLLA) x Fem!Reader

banner created by the amazing @springdandelixn

A/N: You’ve been dating Adam for a while and this Valentine’s Day, you take a new step in your relationship. Written as part of the 14 Days of Valentines Collection curated by @muddyorbsblr ❤️ This is my first time writing for Adam. I hope you enjoy!

Genre/Warnings: Smut (18+), fluff too, angst (if you squint), established relationship, language, vampires, biting, mentions of blood, dom/sub dynamics, restraints

Word Count: 3.5k

“It is too dangerous, darling. The answer is still no.”

At his steadfast declination, you turned your lips downward into your most convincing pout, your doe eyes adding to the air of innocence and longing. The demure look on your face was surely a stark contrast to your lascivious body, perched as it was, straddling Adam's lap and clad in nothing save for a pair of black lace panties and one of his tee shirts. “I only want it because I’m so sure you’d never hurt me, Adam.”

Your immortal lover brought his cool fingertips up from where they had been resting on your hip to brush softly against the column of your throat, his eyes meeting yours and swimming with a heady cocktail of solemnity, regret, and... was that desire? “We’re not talking about a hickey, love. I’d pierce your skin, drink your blood. By definition it would hurt you.”

You gave an exasperated sigh. “You know what I mean, Adam. I just know that I’d be safe with you. I trust you with my life.” An almost feline smirk stretched across your crimson lips. “And I can’t stop thinking about how hot it would be. Please, Adam. I want this.”

As you finished your plea, you began to kiss and suck on his neck, working your way from the corner of his chiseled jaw down to the notch between his collarbones, pulling a gravelly moan from his lips in response to your attention. You were fully aware that you were testing his resolve, fraying the edge of it, thread by thread. Hopefully, one day soon, it would finally snap, because you knew that deep down he, too, found the idea of drinking from you incredibly erotic.

He has actually admitted as much to you in the past. The two of you have discussed it before, almost too many times to count over the fourteen months that you've been seeing each other. Understandably, prior to dating Adam, your knowledge of vampires was limited. You'd thought that if he were to ever sink his fangs into you, that there were two options: dying or becoming a vampire yourself. It surprised you to learn that he could bite you, feed from you, without killing you and without turning you. From that moment on, the thought of him doing just that took up occupancy in a dark corner of your mind and never left.

“Darling…” Adam’s husky growl pulled you back to the present moment. “…look at me.”

You reluctantly pulled your lips away from his collarbone and met his gaze with your own.

He seemed to hesitate for just the briefest second, as if he was contemplating a change of heart, before he continued, “I can’t bring myself to do it, to mar this perfect skin…” as he said it, he brushed the pads of his fingers against your throat once again, touching you so gently, as if you were as delicate as a butterfly’s wing. “...you’re my lover, my partner. I love you, I cherish you, I respect you. You’re not a food source.”

You pondered his words for a moment before responding, absentmindedly tracing swirling patterns along the alabaster planes of his bare chest with your lithe fingertips.

“Adam, do we not have sex?”

He looked stunned at your question and scoffed as though it was the most ridiculous question he’d ever been asked. “Of course we do.”

“And is sex not a primal, almost animalistic desire?”

“I suppose so, but —”

You cut him off before he could continue. “So if you have no problem using my body to sate one primal hunger, why are you so morally opposed to using it to sate another?”

Adam's mouth opened as if he wanted to say something in response before it drew shut once more as he considered your words. Seizing the opportunity, you continued, leaning forward to rasp seductively in his ear, "We both already love it when I submit to you in the bedroom. Think of this as a natural extension of that submission... a way for me to yield even more control and power to you, Sir." You felt him shudder as the final word rolled off your tongue.

When you pulled yourself back to look at him once more, you noticed that Adam seemed flustered by your words; he broke eye contact and looked around like he was searching the room for a reply that kept evading him. And if vampires could blush, you thought to yourself, his neck and cheeks would be turning scarlet.

"Adam..." you whispered as you took his face between both of your hands and gently turned his head to look at you. There was a sadness in his eyes when they met yours again. He looked sorry. Guilty, even. "...we don't have to keep discussing this for now. It's okay. I can tell it is upsetting you, and that's not what I want. That's not what I ever want." As you breathed out your loving reassurance, you kissed him softly, willing all of your adoration to cascade over him in a soothing wave of warmth and devotion.

When you finally broke the kiss, Adam spoke again at last, his voice careful and deliberate, as if what he was saying might scare you away.

"Y/N, my love, I would be lying if I told you that your suggestion doesn't sound... divine. My reluctance to grant your request does not stem from a lack of desire, I assure you. In fact, it is just the opposite. I fear that I desire it too strongly -- that I'd enjoy it too much. That I'd be unable to control myself... unable to bring myself to stop."

You held your breath, completely captivated by his words; this was a new revelation -- he was being more honest with you than he'd ever been. If you were being truthful, it did scare you a little. But it didn't make the idea of Adam drinking from you any less arousing.

His eyes swam with unshed tears as he continued.

"I am ashamed, darling. Ashamed of how much I want it." He blinked and one of those tears broke free, toppling over the edge of his cheekbone and leaving a glistening trail down the side of his face. "And I know you trust me with your life, Y/N, but the trouble is, I don't trust myself..."

There was a pregnant pause -- Adam took a deep breath and he slowly swallowed, as if he was pushing down his own fear. What happened next sent a shiver down your spine and a jolt of arousal to your heated core.

His pupils dilated and his sapphire eyes darkened with lust before he continued, "...at least not yet."

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

More than six weeks had passed since that conversation with Adam; it was the last time the delicate subject of him biting you came up. Neither of you mentioned it again after Adam bared his soul to you the way he did and finally admitted the real reason he was so hesitant to grant your salacious wish.

Your thoughts drifted back to that night; after your conversation and Adam's confession, the two of you shared a night of passion that has been burned in your memory ever since. The ferocity, the possessiveness, the raw eroticism. The way he claimed you so roughly, so thoroughly, that you would never again doubt who you belonged to.

Something turned Adam completely feral that night -- the marks of ownership he left on your body lasted nearly a week and the echo of him chanting "Mine..." over and over again like a mantra rang in your ears long after the night ended.

A wave of hot, wet arousal pooled between your thighs at the vivid memory.

A ping from your phone delivered you from your reverie and brought your thoughts back to the present. It was a text from Adam.

Happy Valentine's Day, my love. I cannot wait to see you tonight. I have a surprise for you so don't be late. xx

The loving yet commanding tone of his text message, combined with the filthy images that had just been flashing through your mind, fanned the flames of your already sweltering desire. You hoped that whatever Adam had in store for you tonight would lead to the bedroom.

Glancing at the clock, you realized that you had just over an hour to get ready if you wanted to arrive on time. You'd better get to work.

After showering and ensuring you were properly groomed from head to toe, you slipped on Adam's favorite black mesh lingerie set. The sheer fabric left almost nothing to the imagination, and the strappy accents gave a subtle but sexy nod to the harnesses and cuffs he loved to use on you. You hoped he would use them tonight.

You chose a classic little black dress and leather jacket to wear over the lingerie. The look was complete with a touch of makeup, including blood red lips, and your black Doc Martens. With one last once-over in the mirror, you gave yourself a nod of approval and walked out the door.

When you pulled up to Adam's and approached the front door, you could hear him playing music inside, the vibrations from his amplifier rattling the old house. You pressed your palm lightly against the door, feeling as the wooden panels seemed to thrum with electricity under your touch. There was no need to ring the doorbell -- he'd barely be able to hear it, bathed as he was in his own symphony of sound. Plus, you knew he'd be able to pick up your scent and would come to greet you and welcome you inside.

Not even 30 seconds later, the music came to a stop and you could hear the faint creaking of the floorboards as Adam gracefully descended the staircase and strode towards the front door.

As he swung open the door, he stood before you, clad in faded black jeans and his favorite robe, tied sluttishly loose around his waist so that his bare chest was exposed to your roaming eyes. His own iridescent orbs peered out from behind curtains of jet-black hair and met yours with a simmering intensity that took your breath away. At your reaction, a self-satisfied smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth; no doubt he could hear your quickening heartbeat.

"Hello, darling. Right on time, I see. Good girl." He wrapped you in his arms, pulling you flush against his chest and nuzzling the top of your head. His praise turned you to a puddle for him and dammit, he knew it. Not that you were complaining.

"Hi Adam," you murmured softly, "Happy Valentine's Day."

"Happy Valentine's Day, indeed," he hummed, "Come inside, love, so we can begin celebrating."

You followed him inside, kicking off your shoes and hanging up your jacket in the foyer, and before you knew it, you found yourself in a familiar position -- straddling his lap as he sat on the couch, lips joined together in a passionate kiss. His cool digits danced up the length of your thighs, hiking up the skirt of your dress as they went. The chill of the air meeting your freshly exposed skin caused you to shiver, and Adam took advantage of your momentary distraction to break the kiss and move his attention to your neck, licking and sucking on your pulse point until you moaned for him.

"Adam..." you panted, "I thought you said you had a surprise for me?"

You could feel him smile against your neck, and he chuckled softly before he replied, "Don't worry, my love, you'll find out soon enough."

Your skirt was bunched around your waist at this point, and Adam brought one hand between your thighs and stroked a finger against your mesh-covered heat.

"Mmm... so wet for me already," he growled darkly, "And I see you wore my favorite. Such a good girl. My good girl."

When you let out a high-pitched whimper in response to his touch and his words, he recaptured your mouth with his, pushing his tongue past your teeth and stroking it languidly against your own. You followed his lead and returned the favor, pushing your tongue against his lips to ask for entry, which he easily granted.

As his teeth parted for you, however, you felt a strange movement within his mouth -- something new... something foreign. It felt like his teeth were...growing? In your confusion, you stilled your tongue against his teeth and realized that he was slowly, but surely, protracting his fangs.

He had never done this before. He'd never even let you see his fangs. Your heart pounded against your ribcage like a mallet on a drum and you pulled away so you could look him in the eyes. Instead of the familiar crystalline blue orbs, you were met with a warm reddish-gold. Equally as beautiful, but more menacing, more... hungry.

Did this mean...?

"Are you frightened, darling?" Adam eyed you warily, concern etched all over his devastatingly handsome face. Concern and...lust.

"Yes," you breathed out in a shaky response. "Yes... and no."

"Good..." he breathed in sharply through his nose and you swear you saw the color of his eyes intensify even more as he inhaled your scent. "I'd be worried if you weren't scared at all. A healthy dose of fear is completely normal in this situation and will likely even heighten the experience for you."

You gasped as his words sunk in. Was he finally ready?

“Adam,” you started. “Does this mean what I think it means?”

“I’m ready, Y/N. If this is something that you still want, I’m ready to give it to you.” He brought his hand up to stroke your face, thumb brushing gently across your cheekbone. “I want to drink from you. To taste you in a way I haven’t before.”

“Oh, please, Adam. Yes, I still want this,” you rasped. “I trust you completely.”

At your confirmation, he pressed his lips to yours once more, and stood from the couch, hands cupping your ass as he carried you towards the bedroom with purpose. You wrapped your legs around his waist and gave yourself into the kiss, your whole body humming with anticipation of what was about to happen.

Adam laid you down gently onto the bed and hovered over you, resting his weight on his sinewy forearms. He broke the kiss to give you a chance to catch your breath and when your eyes met his, you saw something else lurking beneath the reddish-gold blanket of hunger and lust. Reverence. He was in awe that you were willing to let him do this, to submit to him and give yourself to him in this way.

“Darling, before we go any further, I need you to know that I love you,” he proclaimed, his voice husky with desire. “I love you so much, and I promise to keep you safe.”

“I know, Adam, I love you too.”

“I’m going to time my bite so that it coincides with your release. That way, the surge of endorphins will help with the pain.”

“I’m not worried about the pain, Adam, I —“

He cut you off before you could finish. “I am. At least for this first time. There’s nothing I can do to stop it completely but if I can lessen the pain then I’m going to.”

There was no room for argument, so you simply nodded your understanding.

“There’s one other thing, my love…” Adam began, “…if it is alright with you, I think it might be better if I restrain you.”

“Restrain me?” A shudder ran through you, your natural sense of self-preservation kicking in. Despite your earlier hope that he would use cuffs and harnesses on you tonight, this didn’t feel like the time.

“I know what it sounds like, but it is actually to ensure your safety even more. I trust myself, but I do think that any sort of struggle might trigger my more… predatory instincts. I’m sure I can control them, but why test that theory? Again, at least for this first time.”

Your heart fluttered with excitement at the fact that not once, but twice now, he alluded to there being a next time.

“Okay then. Yeah, let’s take every precaution,” you breathed out with a heavy sigh. The weight of the situation was taking its toll on your energy level.

Adam worked quickly to remove your dress and all of his own clothing before he secured your wrists to the corners of the headboard with silken rope. You were quite literally spread out for him. Like a meal.

He began kissing you then, beginning with your lips and moving shortly to your neck, worshipping you like a goddess as he licked and sucked his way from your chin to your shoulder, pulling breathy moans from you as he went. Without interrupting his oral ministrations, he swiftly removed your panties with one hand. You lifted your hips and legs to help him pull them down and completely off your body.

That same hand of his came back up to cup your sex. He groaned as he dipped his fingers between your glistening folds, gathering up your slick wetness before moving his attention to your aching clit.

“Oh, Adam…” you whimpered desperately. “I want you. I need you. Please.”

“Shhh, sweet girl, I’ve got you.”

As he said the words, he lined himself up at your entrance and slowly thrust his rigid cock into your waiting pussy.

“Fuck —“ he gasped, “so fucking tight. I’ll never tire of claiming your perfect little cunt.”

You clenched around him, pulling a deep, guttural groan from his chest.

As he began rutting his hips, grinding against you and into you, you could tell that you were close. That familiar coil was tightening at the base of your abdomen and it wouldn’t take long at this rate for it to snap.

“Adam, I’m — ahh — I’m close!” You managed to piece together the words between pants.

“Are you ready?” He asked you soberly, one final check that he had your consent.

“Yes, Adam. Please drink from me.”

And that was all the confirmation he needed.

He reached between your bodies and moved his dexterous fingers against your clit once more, pulling you towards the precipice of pleasure and hurdling you over the edge.

At the same time that he felt you come, squeezing his cock like a vice, he brought his lips to the spot where your shoulder met your neck and bit down. Hard. Sinking his fangs into your supple flesh, savoring the blood that pooled on his tongue.

He found his release not long after, coating your walls in his seed.

Amidst the throes of your orgasm, you could feel the sharp pain when he bit you. The pain was worse than you thought it would be and for a moment you were frightened. Had you made a mistake?

But then, as quickly as it came, the pain faded away; it melted into ecstasy as he drank from you. You reveled in his moans of pleasure at the taste of you on his tongue.

After a few swallows, he pulled away from your neck and peered down at you; you watched as his fangs retracted and his eyes began to return to their usual shade of blue. A few drops of your blood still clung to his lips and you were somewhat surprised to realize that you found the sight to be one of the most erotic you’d ever seen.

Once he came back to himself, he scrambled to untie your wrists and wrapped your body, limp and spent as it was, in his arms.

“My sweet, darling girl…” he lovingly whispered. “You were so good for me. So brave. So selfless. And you taste even more divine than I had imagined. Thank you for trusting me. And thank you for being patient and waiting for me to be ready, even though you’ve wanted to try this for so long.”

“I love you, Adam,” were the only words you were able to form at the moment.

As you lay there, coming back down from your high and recovering your depleted energy, Adam tended to you. He massaged your wrists and shoulders to soothe any ache left behind from the restraints, and he lifted you and carried you into the en-suite bathroom where he lowered you into the tub that had already begun to fill with warm water.

The wound on your neck was not very deep. He cleaned it thoroughly and bandaged it up for you.

“Thank you Adam,” you finally managed to say.

He chuckled, “You’re welcome, darling. I thoroughly enjoyed myself, but I had no doubt that I would enjoy it. Did you like it as much as you thought you would?”

You basked for a moment in how sated you felt physically and how closely, intimately, connected to him you felt emotionally.

Then you looked up at him and with a cheeky smile you replied, “It was love at first bite.”

Tagging some lovely people who might be interested. No pressure though if not! @lokisgoodgirl @give-me-a-moose @fictive-sl0th @thomase1 @coldnique @maple-seed @tallseaweed @cheekyscamp @simplyholl @sarahscribbles @loopsisloops @mochie85 @cake-writes @holymultiplefandomsbatman @springdandelixn @gigglingtigger @vbecker10 @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @lokiprompts @mischief2sarawr @peachyjinx

[shinnith]

Best Sims 4 Script Mods✨

wanted a masterlist on this site of my "cannot live without" mods, so buckle up and get ready for your game to finally become even better!

Note: Playing on basic hardware and think your game can't run this high of scripts? My specs are a laptop with barely 4 GB of usable RAM and the most basic cpu+gpu out there. Go ham.

⭐List is under the cut and includes scripts like "All Worlds/Secret Worlds Residential", "Travel to Hidden World Easily", top notch map/loading screen replacements, ongoing projects like "sims 4 multiplayer" and more⭐

Gameplay Tweaks:

✨Darkmode ★ By: Dskecht

As of making this, both Arnie's Darkmode/Plumfruit are broken and will probably stay that way due to their retirement. Dskecht is currently hard at work with updating theirs though, which you can find at the link above, and their main updates about patch fixes here.

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✨All Worlds Are Residential ★ By: Zerbu

With this, destination type worlds (granite falls, selvadorada/ect) and hidden worlds (sylvan glade/forgotten grotto/ect) become residential or whatever lot type you want them to be. You'll need the creator's Venue Changes mod along with it. Cannot explain how important this mod is.

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✨Travel To Venue/Hidden World ★ By: TwelfthDoctor

Quickly travel to places like Forgotten Grotto and more- all from your cell phone!

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✨OMSP Shelf ★ By: AmoeBae

This "shelf" is basically a placeholder and has many slots, which doesn't conflict on placement and you can then turn invisible. If that sounds confusing, basically: wow shelf/table full of decorations instead of like two weirdly placed objects.

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✨More Traits ★ By: MapleBell

A lot of good traits, that I feel go well with a "maxis match" or "basegame" playthrough.

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✨Photographic Memory ★ By: RSVN

Take better photos with a custom camera and frame them in different frames, polaroids, canvases, calendars, ect. Beautiful work.

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✨Sacrificial's Mods

The creator of "Extreme Violence" brings you a ton of other elements. Armageddon, Zombies, Life tragedies, possessed or murderous children & so much more. Go wild.

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✨TurboDriver's Mods

Wouldn't be a complete list without the creator of "whickedwhims". Kudos, TurboDriver.

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✨Basemental's Mods

Mods which are full o' vices, if you catch my drift. All of their work is amazing and goes super well with sacrificial & turbodriver's work.

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More Scripts:

✨Dershayan & 20thCenturyPlumbob Maps/Loading Screen Replacements

I can't choose a favorite set- both creators have made beautiful work, though Dershayan only offers map replacements.

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✨More Columns in CAS ★ By: weerbesu

CAS UI is incredibly irritating and this helps by giving more columns. You have different choices for how many you want.

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✨Better BuildBuy ★ By: TwistedMexi

Will change your life and TwistedMexi will become like family. Oh, and did I mention it has live camera (tab key) in build mode?

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✨ColorPicker ★ By: Carl's Guides

Hate the game's colors with objects? Carl is here to help.

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✨T.O.O.L ★ By: TwistedMexi

Total manipulation over otherwise locked assets in game (ex. non-editable player items/buildings/terrain like those freaking apartment windows you can't delete or change). This creator is currently working on a huge project for this entire community, and is also another concrete presence.

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✨Big Ongoing Projects✨

🏆Sims 4 Multiplayer

Creator Simsmultiplayer brings you something we've all talked over for years. It's released, but I haven't tested it myself.

🏆Sims 4 Create-A-World

TwistedMexi comes through once again, but this time with the most complex sims mod were seeing being developed. It has years of work already and is currently still in development. Updates at link above.

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Kudos to all mod + creators- big and small💞 This game has been tweaked, redesigned and literally fixed by modders time and time again and our community gets even more vibrant each day with their talents. After almost ten years in this community, I have seen such amazing work and tireless effort to creations of assets & mechanics, fixes to game bugs of all types and providing of technical support. We love you guys💖

[luckycharms1701]

Raph grins when Mikey, chest puffed out, yells “Dare!” at him. The look on his face alarms you, and you aren’t the only one. Leo sighs and puts his head in his hands. “Raph, whatever you’re thinking, just don’t.” Raph’s grin widens.

You and April had discovered that the turtles had never experienced a proper sleepover and immediately set about fixing that. Of course, that includes the normal sleepover games, and the turtles are currently going nuts over Truth or Dare.

“I dare you-” Raph uncharacteristically allows a moment of silence, making you think he’s spending too much time with Donnie the drama queen. Then he drops a literal bomb on the whole crew by gesturing to you. “-to give shorty over there a kiss.”

Chaos erupts. Leo is yelling at Raph, Donnie and April are cackling, and you think Mikey might have grown wings from how fast he jumps up. Raph is sitting in the middle of it all, smug grin on his face as he stares you down.

You are frozen in place, eyes wide as your brain reboots. You immediately regret ever telling your best friend anything about your feelings for his brother. He had been pushing you to confess, but you had never imagined he would go this far.

Your staredown with the red-banded turtle is interrupted by said brother kneeling in front of you. You gulp as you look up into kind blue eyes. He looks... nervous?

The chaos continues behind him, Donnie and Raph now both ganging up against Leo as April films. Mikey hesitates, then opens his mouth. "Yo- Are- Is this okay?" he stutters. Add another notch to the 'turtles being uncharacteristic' column. You blink at him, then consider his question.

This could be your only chance.

You swallow, then look into his eyes as you nod. No regrets, no fear. You are rewarded by his shoulders lowering as his trademark grin spreads over his face. He leans towards you, putting a cool hand on your overwarm cheek as he whispers, "That's my girl." Your heart stumbles in your chest at the thought of being his girl.

Your eyes close as his lips brush yours, soft and sweet. He pulls back far too quickly for your tastes, and you chase him unconsciously. He chuckles as you open your eyes and are immediately enveloped by the warmth in his gaze. You lean into the hand on your cheek.

His breath catches as his eyes grow impossibly warmer. You recall, suddenly, that some of the hottest flames burn blue. You tilt your head up to him as he leans back to you, pressing more firmly against your lips this time.

You're going to have to thank Raph later, you think hazily. Dammit.

[integra1127grimmreaper]

His Warrior Princess - Part seventeen

Series Masterlist

Part 16

Warning: swearing, smut, mention of pregnancy

"Vi...?" you heard Harwin's voice call out from the stairway.

Silently stepping out; you grab hold of his hand, leading him through the path toward Balerion's chamber.

"Where are we going?" Harwin enquires, scanning his surroundings in confused fascination.

"Vi, what is going on? Why are you in your night clothes?" he continues to press, halting his questions at the sight of Balerion's shrine.

"This that...?"

"Balerion, the 'Great' Black Dread" you offer in response.

Harwin turns toward you then, reaching out to stroke your cheek with the back of his fingers.

"Why are we here, My Love?"

You stare deeply into his eyes as you silently disrobe in front of him.

"What are you doing?!" Harwin nervously scans the room.

"What if someone sees?"

"No one comes down here" you respond, stepping flushed up against his chest.

"At least not at this hour..."

"Vi..." Harwin groans out in warning as you pull him down for kiss.

"You are playing with fire..."

"I am a dragon..." you purr out, nipping at his bottom lip.

"Fire is in my blood... now take off your clothes, My love."

Harwin cups your face in the palms of his hands, staring deeply into your eyes.

"Vi, are sure? Because if I touch you now... I will not be able to stop."

"Harwin, please take me... make me yours completely" you whine out pleadingly, placing a kiss into his palm.

"Fuck" Harwin growls out, capturing your lips in a hard kiss as he began hastily stripping his clothes off.

Breaking the kiss after he had fully disrobed, you both silently stared at each other in fascination, (this was the first time you were witnessing one another fully naked.)

"Harwin?" you whisper out, waiting for his next move.

Carefully arranging the clothing on the ground, Harwin reaches out a hand to you.

"Come here, Love..." he leads you to lay down on it then.

You let out a soft sigh as Harwin leans over you, gently stroking your cheek.

"Beautiful..." he softly utters out, his hand moving down to gently cup your breast.

"Har..." you arch up into him with a whine.

"Easy... My Love..." Harwin whispers, tipping down to kiss you.

"I want this moment to be just as equally pleasurable for you."

Smiling at his concern for your comfort; you reach up to rest a hand in his curly locks, pulling him into a deeper kiss. Breaking from the kiss, Harwin's lips travel a slow journey of feathery kisses down the column of your neck, then downward to your breast, the hand cupping it; sliding down to cup your mound then.

"So wet for me already, Love...?" Harwin groans against your breast approval, slowly running his finger through your drenched folds.

"Har, no teasing..." you whine out in frustration, causing him to chuckle.

"I need to prepare you to be able to take me, Love."

Harwin stares deeply into your eyes as his finger slowly probs at your entrance, finally slipping it in after a moment.

"Alway so tight, Love..." Harwin groan in approval as he gently works it in and out of you, a second finger being added not long after.

You were a moaning mess underneath him, yet still it was not near enough as you pulled his face closer to yours, whimpering then.

"Har, cease with the teasing, I beg of you..."

Harwin lovingly brushes your hair from out your face whilst continuing to work his fingers in and out of you.

"You are sure?"

Biting into your lip to stifle the moaning; you silently nod in response.

"Word, Love... I need you to use your words."

"Yes, Harwin..." your groan in response, fighting the argue to roll your eyes.

"No need to be audacious, Love" Harwin chuckles, removing his finger to tug at his cock as he positions himself between your thighs. Sliding the head of his cock between your folds a few times, he looks deep into your eyes then as notches it at your entrance.

"Ready?"

"Yes" you breathlessly answer at the sensation.

"There will be no turning back after this..." Harwin reminds you one last night.

"Do it already..." you groan out through clenched teeth.

"Audacious" Harwin smirks as he finally begins pushing into you, causing you to sharply gasp out at the stretching sensation.

"Fuck..." Harwin groans, pausing midway with a how tightly you were squeezing him already.

"You need to ease up a bit, Love" he grits out almost painfully.

"H-Har..." you softly croak out, tears forming in your eyes at the slight discomfort.

"Shhh..." Harwin gently brushes the hair out of your face, pressing soft kisses to each eyelid.

"I know that it hurts, Love... you are doing so well though. The discomfort will pass soon enough."

Shutting your eyes with a deep breath, you open them back up to stare up at him and exhale.

"Finish it..."

Harwin's eyes turns completely dark as tips down to capture your lips in a hard kiss, his hips snapping forward with a hard thrust as he buries this rest of his cock fully inside you.

You loudly cry out into his mouth at the pain and Harwin lets out a throaty groan in response.

"So-fucking-tight..." he utters out while giving you some time to adjust to him.

The pain soon seems to subside, and you experimentally clench and unclench your inner muscles around him.

"Fuck" Harwin hisses, shutting eyes almost painfully.

"Do not do that... or this will be over far too soon."

Feeling a bit mischievous; you do it once more, causing Harwin to glare down at you in warning and you giggle at him in response.

"You find it amusing, aye?"

You shrug, flashing a hoity smirk.

"We shall see who is the smug one soon enough" Harwin grits out as he slowly retracks his hips, silently staring into your eyes.

You shoot him a challenging glare in response, when suddenly it happens.

"Aahh..." your loudly cry out, your body arching upward when Harwin thrusts back inside you.

"Where is all that smugness of yours now...?" Harwin breathes into your ear, rocking into you at a steady pace.

"Tis merely the start..." you manage to ground out, wrapping your arms and legs around him tightly as you begin to move along with him.

"Truly now...?" Harwin scoffs down at you, causing you to giggle.

"Believe that I need to fuck the smugness from out of you" Harwin growl, anchoring you tightly underneath him as he picked up the pace of his thrusting.

"Fuck, Harwin..." you whine out, your head tilting backward in pleasure as he breathes heavily into the crook of your neck.

"So-good... taking him so good..." Harwin groans out as he continues fucking into you. The sounds of skin slapping against skin and those of your and Harwin's moans and grunts.

Whimpers begin spilling from your lips as you feel your orgasm nearing, causing Harwin to grunt in approval as your walls flutter around him.

You felt it then; felt something call out to you, calling out for you to open your eyes. In your pleasure filled daze, you find yourself staring up at the shrine of The Black Dread at the exact moment your orgasm hits.

"Har...!" you cry out as it hits, clamping down tightly around his cock.

"Fuuuck..." Harwin groans out, pausing to allow you your moment, continuing once your walls had lessened their grip around him.

You held on tightly to Harwin as he worked towards his own release, surprisingly sensing another orgasm building up.

"Vi..." Harwin grits out, the paces of his thrusts becoming slopping the closer he gets.

"Where... fuck- Where do you want it...?"

"I-Inside..." you whimper out, causing him to groan at the thought.

"You are sure?" Harwin stares down at you through pinched brows.

"Yes... please...?" you whimper out pleadingly.

"What if it takes...?" Harwin finds himself groaning out loudly at the vision of you round with his child.

"Then I shall proudly take my oath as your wife as our child already quickens in my womb..." you utter out breathlessly.

"Fuck, Vi...!" Harwin grunts as he spills his seed deep into you, resulting in your second orgasm to hit as well.

You stood in front of the fireplace in your chambers, the moon tea Grand Maester Mellos had delivered earlier in hand.

Studying it silently and tilting your head side to side deep in thought; you lift it up toward your lips then, looking into the flames of the fire with a smirk as you toss the liquid into it.

"I decide my own fate..." 

Part 18

Tag:  @missusnora@alexandra-001@green-lxght@stitchattacks@evyiione@squidscottjeans

[padfootastic]

hello! i am back with yet another…thing. thank u for the tag @lovelymasks <3 (i realised, upon second reading, that this was supposed to be a sunday snippet but i’m an idiot n therefore this is now a saturday snippet mwuah)

I think you should go to a Healer, Sirius. 

Why, he’d asked, flippant. What was there to do with a Healer when you were a convict on the run? Besides, Sirius was wrong in a way that couldn’t be made right. He was past the point of return. Healers would’ve barely known what to do with him before Azkaban, let alone in the condition he was in now. 

Because you look like a stiff wind will blow you over, Harry’d answered, though the answering flippancy didn’t quite land the way he intended because what Sirius heard was ‘Because I don't want to lose anyone else.’ 

What Harry didn't say, and Sirius didn’t want to hear, was ‘Because I can’t lose another parent.’

He quietly acquiesced after that. The trembling, hopeful smile growing on his godson’s face was enough to wipe away all apprehensions after that. 

Until now, when Harry was at Hogwarts, and he was second guessing this whole business. 

Did he really need a Healer, like, really?

One look at the mirror in front of him gave him a solid, sturdy answer. 

He was dressed in his old rags and it was a testament to the conditions of Azkaban that clothes from when he was younger, before hitting his final growth spurts, were barely just fitting him now. Sirius’ back was almost constantly bent these days--all days spent curled up in a ball seemed to have reshaped his skeletal structure, who knew--each vertebrae gaining a distinct notch in the column of his skin. His stomach was a fascinating blend of too small and too bloated. He couldn’t keep anything down, but he wasn’t able to eat much either. A mystery for the ages. 

Less said about his face, the better. Sirius wasn’t vain, never had any reason to be, but there was a certain…pride he’d maintained, a level of outward appearance that was considered bare minimum for a Black, a conditioning he’d never managed to shake off. 

It was that conditioning itching at him now, turning him away from any reflective surface before he could see his distorted features, grotesque and inhuman, staring back at him. 

And ultimately, it was that, he realised with a shameful sort of guilt, that pushed him to see a Healer. Not his godson’s pleading look, not concern for his wellbeing--but leftovers from an upbringing that he hated, his mother’s words he couldn’t stop hearing, his father’s sharp commands. 

Ultimately, it was his blood that made him give in, as it always did. 

further tagging @jmagnabo92 @soopsiedaisies @groundzero-v 💜

[in-death-we-fall]

Sex, Drugs and One Armed Groupies

...is gonna be the title of this since there kinda isn't one. Scans were posted by @fuckyeswednesday13 a long time ago. I really liked this article and now it's nice and easy to read (especially the columns. Ask me how much I hated the columns.) Enjoy! (drive link)

UPDATED FULL VERSION HERE

The Big Day Out. The Australian travelling musical circus that steamrolls its way around Australia and New Zealand every winter with the hottest bands on the planet flying from all over the globe to join down under’s best bands in a mayhem filled fortnight. This year’s line-up, features among others, The Foo Fighters, Queens of the Stone Age, Jane’s Addiction, Jimmy Eat World, The Hard Ons and deathglam monstrosities, the Murderdolls. So far, the Mid West (sic) based five-piece outfit have been the cream of the festival, appropriately headlining the ‘Essentials’ stage. This is the band’s first time in the Antipodes and quizzical music fans have crowded to see the much-talked about live set. With Sydney copping the biggest crowds of all the legs on the tour, the band are preparing something special. But at 3pm in the afternoon you wouldn’t know it. Most of the band are still in bed from the night before, well, actually… the week before.

The ‘Dolls have been in Sydney for five days before their Big Day Out show and not finding much to do early on in the week they’ve just been getting down to the (sic) rock’n’roll’s most popular pastime: hard drinking. Drummer ‘Big’ Ben ‘The Ghoul’ Graves and bass player Eric Griffin are recovering from last night’s binge. While singer Wednesday and guitarist Joey Jordison are recovering from the night before the night before. Acey Slade, who maintains his sobriety, but still stays out ‘til dawn, has been up since 11am and is the only one ready for the show. With the band on stage at 7:15pm, things need doing. Staggering through their beer can and ‘paraphernalia’-strewn rooms to the showers, they’re down in their van and on the way out to the Big Day Out site just after 4pm.

Situated at the same place that hosted the Sydney 2000 olympics, the festival facilities are first rate and the sell-out crowd of 52,000 festival-goers are making the most of it. The temperature’s pushing a blistering 35°C and being the middle of a drought-ridden summer in Australia, everything’s dry, dusty and cracked. It’s a good 40-minute drive from the city to the festival and the sun’s stinging in through the van windows. Not big fans of the sunlight, the Murderdolls have got their leather jackets up over their heads to avoid even the slightest hint of a tan.

In the cool, air-conditioned shade of backstage I get to sit down with Joey Jordison and singer Wednesday 13 to gind out how the band are doing after their meteoric rise over the past eight months. Joey is straight down the line, measured and professional. “This si the first Big Day Out for all of us. Slipknot have only been down here once but not that (sic) this festival. This is something I’ve really wanted to play – something I’ve wanted to do for a really long time.”

For Wednesday, this is another notch on his rise as an international rock’n’roller. “It’s awesome,” he says. “I’ve always wanted to be out on the front of a rock’n’roll band at a festival like this. After struggling doing my own band for six years I actually quit my job back in April and I’ve been touring every since. I’ve done all the things I ever dreamed about. I’ve been to Europe three times, Japan twice and here we are now in Australia and that has all been pretty much in the last six months! Holy shit we’re doing some things that some bands have never done!”

“We just checked out the videotape from the Auckland show the other day and fuck man, it was awesome!” enthuses Joey. “People are saying we are pulling the most people to that stage out of everyone. Our band has been doing really well especially since we’ve only been going for a short time. We hope that after the BDO we’ll be able to come back and do some real headlining shows down here. We are having fun though, thinking about it, we’ve never had so many days off between shows before, it’s more like the Big Day Off!”

The band wasn’t supposed to be so idle. Most overseas bands on the BDO bill play a bunch of satellite shows in various cities around the country and for a month prior, the Murderdolls had been slated to perform a Sydney show with fellow US rockers The Deftones. But with very little warning, the Murderdolls were dumped from the bill just before the show. What really pissed off Joey and the lads was a lot of the Murderdolls fans had bought tickets on the basis that the band would be playing but in the end had to watch the Deftones supported by ex-At The Drive-In chancers, Sparta.

Without much choice in the matter the Murderdolls issued a statement on their website apologising to their fans and kept trying to fly their flag with some instore appearances at local record stores. One in particular at Utopia Records, was insane. There was such a roar when the band turned up, they looked truly surprised at the number of kids who had showed up, most dressed in black and red outfits.

“Someone told us there was only going to be about 150 kids, which was supposed to be a good turn-out for Utopia records for a new band,” retells Joey. “But when we turned up there (sic) almost 500! We talked to fans and signed everything that they had. We were there for a good three and a half hours. And at the Channel V interview it was pretty much the same story. Hordes of kids that wouldn’t let us get away.”

“That’s the cool thing with our fans,” explains Wednesday. “We’re not a radio band or an MTV band with this created army of little kids which I think is more pure than being the Number One radio band or liking it because someone tells you to like it. I know that our fans are real. It is really cool to see these hordes of kids show up, they are dressed like us, they know everything about us, it is just awesome.”

Thinking further ahead fans will be please to know the band are not going to let up on the groundswell already created by the Murderdolls. “I have to go back and finish recording some Slipknot stuff,” reveals Joey. “Then we (the Murderdolls) are going to do some more touring. There’s usually a three to four month sort of break between recording and when an album comes out so we are going to tour pretty much all the way from the end of May all the way to maybe the beginning of October. Which will be good because there’ll be less sunlight at that time of year,” jokes Wednesday raising his non-existent eyebrows and throwing his arms, heavily tattooed with b-grade horror heroes, into the air.

As the hot afternoon drifts into an only slightly less simmering evening, there’s a small problem with guitarist Acey. He’s got indigestion. This amounts to a small crisis because first aid officials must follow procedure and administer the medicine. This takes two St. John’s Ambulance men on pushbikes in a five minute ride from their base at the side of the main stadium. Very un-rock’n’roll indeed.

With the gig just 45 minutes away, the boys are pacing around their trailer, having their pics taken for Hammer. Acey inside in front of the mirror still applying the last of his make-up, Ghoul is getting powdered up, Wednesday’s still with the photographer, while Joey’s nervously pacing around, in the trailer, out the trailer, back in… Eric meanwhile is ready for the stage and cracks open the obligatory bottle of Jack Daniel’s. As a Murderdolls ritual, they’re applying the slap, the band have to listen to Kiss. “Must. Have. Kiss.” stipulates Joey. “‘All American Man’! We sometimes change that to ‘All American Ghoul’,” chimes in the Ghoul.

Just 10 minutes before showtime and the long lanky frame of Ben Graves is stretched spider-like up against the dressing room wall. “I’ll be in pain afterwards,” he explains. Wednesday has by now finished his solo shots with Hamer’s photographer. The day is hot enough anyway, and under the photographers lights the heat is even more stifling. ‘Jesus, it’s fucking hot!” exclaims the frontman. “But I don’t mind… I’m a naturally dead person in front of a camera” he laughs.

More Kiss blares out from the dressing room, this time ‘Dr Love’! Then the moment comes: ground fucking zero at the Big Day Out! The band clamber into the van and head around the back way to the Essentials stage. The bottle of Jack’s being passed around as they approach the stage the band take a quick peak (sic) to see how the crow’s building up. It’s the biggest yet, taking up most of the grassy area out the back of the main stadium. Joey – who regularly suffers from pre-gig nerves as his pre-stage vomiting on Slipknot’s ‘Disasterpiece (sic)’ DVD proves in all its technicolour glory – is bricking it.

Five minutes before the band are due to hit the powerchords and the guys are milling around in the wings. Ghoul is banging on some warm-up pads and everyone is getting psyched. They’ve left the Kiss CD backstage so they have to hum ‘All American Man’ together. Then they make their way to the stage.

A couple of huge Murderdolls logos adorn the stage and in an eruption of noise and energy, the Dolls take the stage and instantly kick off with ‘Dawn of The Dead’. Jordison in black leather Gestapo hat is jumping around stage left, Acey is wailing away stage right while Eric bangs away on the bass doing his best Nikki Sixx impression, while the Ghoul wrecks the trap kit. Wednesday is the last to take the stage and screaming, “We are the dead, coming for you!” And the crowd goes fucking wild.

The kids down the front, dressed up in full glam-goth regalia, know every word and sing along fervently with the band while among the throng watching from the side of stage are some of the biggest names in the Australian music industry. Members of bands like 28 days, Machine Gun Fellatio, Cog, Jimmy Eat World, Pre-Shrunk, and Sparta all stand wide eyed and mouths agape at the outrageous rock revisionism being unleashed onstage.

By the time the band have launched into ‘I (sic) Was a Teenage Zombie’, ‘Let’s Go To War’ and ‘Slit My Wrists (sic)’, the crows know what they’re in for. Most who have showed up for curiosity (sic) sake are still hanging around, but if anything the crowd is building and everyone looks like they are right into it having fun. The intro to ‘Twist My Sister’ is a kid’s nursery rhyme ‘Old McDonald’ which gets the whole crowd singing along.

Unbelievably, some lunatic in the crowd starts throwing bangers at the stage, but the fireworks only make it as far as the front row of fans before blowing up in their faces. Wednesday tries to get the guy to quit while geeing up the rest of the crowd. “All the people down the front tell the people at the back to ‘Die Die Die… my bride!’ he yells as the band grind into the song…

Today’s set includes two new songs, and we can report that both are killer kitsch rock rippers. The first, set for legendary status is called ‘The Devil Made Me Do It… And I’ll Do It Again’ while the second is the set closer, a crowd sing along gem ‘I Love to Say Fuck’. Wednesday grabs his big black umbrella, emblazoned with the word FUCK, Eric, Acey, and Joey are going crazy, jumping up and down in unison, Ghoul is all arms and legs behind the kit while Wednesday is right down in the crowd’s face urging them to stick their fingers in the air and yell ‘Fuck!’. It looks great to watch. “It isn’t choreographed,” says Wednesday later. “Everything’s pretty much spontaneous. There are some things like we all jump on an ascent in the music or whatever but everything else is stuff that just happens on stage.”

They (sic) crowd are almost passing out from the combination of frenzied activity and the extreme heat, but still manage to scream out for more as the band leave the stage. “A lot of people don’t know that’s what drives a show,” explains Wednesday about his relationship with the audience. “You have to make fans feel part of the event and I think we do it better than anyone else.”

The band then jump back into the van for the two minute trip back to their dressing room behind the main stage. When they get back there the guys are all super hyped up. Excitedly buzzing around their dressing room, drinking beers, telling jokes. Joey is busy analysing the gig, and the BDO circus in general. He and Wednesday have got an interview to do with Australian TV scheduled for 8:45pm. It’s almost 9pm and Joey has another issue: “I want to eat! I must eat before I talk!” he exclaims. The interview is postponed for 20 minutes.

Bass player Eric is hanging around, so I grab him for a quick chat. Of all the Murderdolls, Eric seems the shyest but is probably the one most up for anything, especially if it is party related. He may only be small, (even in his Ace Frehley six-inch platforms he’s still barely average height!) but he’s a true rock’n’roller with a party attitude to match. “‘Machine Gun Fellatio’ that’s a cool fuckin’ name,” he squeaks discussing some of the other bands on the BDO bill. And he does squeak, kinda, like annoying Brit ‘comedian’ Joe Pasquale.

I bring up the fact that esteemed record producer, Nick Launey (Silverchair, INXS) was side of stage watching the show and had an interesting story to tell me about Eric. “I think I know where this is going,” smiles Eric slyly. “I met him about two years ago in LA at a party and we were all fucked up. I got dragged down three flights of stairs by my hair and he reckoned it was the biggest rock’n’roll moment of ‘00 for him. First impressions count, man.”

“It was so rock’n’roll!” Launey informs me later. “It was the launch of Orgy’s album and they had these models dressed as prostitutes lying on a bed and Eric jumps up on the bed with them, which of course you weren’t allowed to do. So the bouncers are dragging him out by his hair, kicking and screaming, down the stairs. His head was literally bouncing down each stair like a cartoon character and all the while he’s just got his middle fingers up on each hand and is yelling out ‘Fuck You!’, ‘Get Fucked!’, ‘Fuck you, mind the hair!’ Somehow he got back into the party and I asked him ‘how’s your head?’ and he just said “Whaddya mean?” - it was just so rock’n’roll!”

Eric has pre-arranged with their tour driver to take him over to the Boiler Room, where the BDO’s electronica acts are playing. He wants to see German electronic innovators Kraftwerk. “One of the bands I was in before the Murderdolls was very digital and computer based,” he reveals. “Kraftwerk don’t do a lot of live shows and I don’t think I’ll ever get the opportunity to see them again. They’re pretty important to the genre and even if I catch just 10 minutes of their set I think it will be worth coming over. A short ride through the back entrance, we arrive at the Boiler Room and manage to get in, via a bit of a labyrinth, through the backdoor and into the main arena just at the side of the stage. The Kraftwerk guys are standing robot-like in front of their computers while the huge dome-like venue is dripping with sweat from the 10.000+ strong punters who have basically been locked in the room all day listening (sic) the dance bands. We get a good vantage point but after about five minutes we’re leaving. “Jeez! That was the most boring piece of crap I’ve seen!” exclaims Eric when he gets back to the dressing room. “But it was worth going because I scored some drugs!”

Acey’s just hanging around backstage with his camera and a little doll from The Nightmare Before Christmas. He has a ritual where he takes a photograph of the doll in front of landmarks all around the world. “I have him in front of the Eiffel Tower for instance,” he says. “The other day I took a pic of him in front of the Sydney Opera House.” And with that he takes a photo of the doll sitting in front of a sign that says ‘Sleazy’. Hmmm. Odd man.

Acey and Eric are loving every minute of the Murderdolls ride. They’re both on their first trip to Australia and according to both of them it is (sic) has been “Cool as hell!” “The Gold Coast was really on,” says Eric. “It’s been kinda mellow since we got to Sydney because we’ve had four or five days off before this show so we’ve just been trying to find out what’s been going on. It’s been building gradually… and we’ve been partying a lot – maybe too much,” he adds sheepishly. Rick the tour manager – who’s passing by – agrees: “Yep, they’ve been very naughty boys – they’ve got to go to bed early tonight with no supper,” he jokes.

“He knows we’re the most dangerous band on the tour,” counters Eric. It’s a fact that seems to deter any other bands partying with the Murderdolls too. “The only band that has even reached out to us are the guys in Jane’s Addiction, in particular, Dava Navarro,” offers Acey. “He actually came out of his way to come over and introduce himself. And pretty much comes up and talks to us everyday he sees us along with the drummer, Steven [Perkins]. Everyone else is just kinda like, ‘What’s Up?’ Maybe it’s because we don’t look like we’re the most approachable band. Then again no-one has done anything to piss us off at all.”

No one may be talking to the Murderdolls but there is talk of the Murderdolls all over BDO. Most centres around their appearance with most Australian musical luminaries agreeing the band are the best dressed at the festival. One member of Aussie band the Resin Dogs even goes as far as to say, “The Murderdolls rock the wardrobe”. Acey is kinda flattered but non-plussed by the comments. “What image?” he exclaims. “This is how we are all day! Obviously we knock it up a notch for the show but this is the real thing. We don’t care if people like us as sexual deviants or not, but one thing’s for sure – they’ll fucking remember us.”

Big Ben Graves strides over to join us at the table. “Did I hear the words sexual deviant?” he announces in his deeply rounded US accent. “I’ve always been like that! Some people have a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other – I just two devils. There is NO voice of reason!”

We ask him if he has had any interesting adventures since he’s been in Australia and then instantly regret it…

“Dude, it has been nothing but interesting adventures. For instance last night, he (indicating Eric) he almost screwed a one-armed girl!”

“She had three tits and one arm,” giggles the dimunitive (sic) bassist.

“Yeah. It was weird,” continues the Ghoul, “one of her arms was like a stump and it looked like it had a nipple on it. I must admit I almost fucked her just for the freakiness of it.”

And with that starter for 10, the Ghoul is off. He starts ranting on with these sick freak jokes that crack everyone up and inside a minute you get a window to his personality. “Our drummer is one bona fide sick fuck,” jokes Wednesday of him later. “He stills (sic) freaks us out. I’ll just look at him sometimes and say to myself, ‘holy shit, dude, what planet are you from?’”

“It was weird on the Gold Coast,” says Eric, picking up on the tour adventure thread. “The girls there were the hottest chicks I had ever seen in my life but by the same token I had never got as much shit for the way I look than I have there as well. It was like two opposite poles. At first it was, ‘hey freak, where’s the funeral?’ and the next was, ‘sit down have a drink with us.”

“As far as people looking at you weird, I found Sydney is where I got the stares,” admits the Ghoul. “Sydney sucks! Although we did have some girls staking out our hotel which was pretty funny and I did have an over-zealous fan thrown out of the bar. The guy was just touching me a little more than he should and I didn’t like it,” he says animatedly. “I was like, ‘man, don’t make me waste this perfectly good bottle of Heineken by breaking it over your head. I’ve done it before’. Eric looks at him and says, “yeah he has!” But he was on something. I remember thinking ‘I want whatever he’s on… times ten!”

“I gotta say though, the Sydney crowd today was one of the best crowds we’ve had so far,” offers Acey as he joins the throng. “It was insane. It is good for us this tour, because the kids don’t know what we are all about yet so we have to prove ourselves. By the end of the set they all had their hands in the air.”

By this time Joey and Wednesday have finished their feed and their hastily re-scheduled interview and are looking for some more mischievous fun for themselves. “First of all, I’m going to go back over to the stage we played because there are a lot of kids hanging around over there still wanting to see us,” explains Joey. “Then after that, I’m gonna go directly where ever (sic) the free drinks are at…” Suddenly, Eric’s doubled over in the doorway of the dressing room. It’s been 45 minutes since he visited Kraftwerk in the Boiler Room and the pharmaceuticals are beginning to take effect. We ask if he’s OK. “Yeah man, I just think I’m gonna spew!” he grins. The rest of the band are baiting him ceaselessly.

“C’mon chuck it up man!” they urge and all crack up laughing together.

In the middle of all the commotion Wednesday is taking a piss in the corner of the dressing room. The place is a wreck: there are empty bottles of booze, food scrapes (sic), squashed fruit, hairdryers, make-up, boots, clothes (black and red if (sic) course) and of course a giant mirror. Wednesday is actually pissing into a bottle of Corona. At the same time I am just about to pick up my freshly opened bottle of Corona from the table which is besides (sic) a now suspicious looking bottle. “Yeah I always piss in the empty bottles,” giggles Wednesday. And then I leave ‘em on the table just to piss off anyone who might want to grab some of our rider or whatever. Just be careful just to get bottles from down there in the ice box, he laughs mischievously. Suddenly the oddly warm bottle in my hand seems less than appealing…

As the clock turns 1am the only people left at the stadium are the cleaners, the roadies and the still-partying Murderdolls. Last to leave, the van is parked just outside the dressing room and all I can see through the opened door is the Ghoul chucking around a baguette, now baked hard as a rock over the course of the stifling hot day. “Look at this - it could be used as a weapon to seriously maim you!” he screams bouncing the French loaf off the wall. A post vomit Eric cracks up, as the two hold a mock baguette joust oblivious to the outside world. They eventually make off back to their hotel room in the city, but don’t hang there for too long. The weekend lights of Sydney beckon and they cruise down William street in King’s Cross, to an underground rock venue called Club 77. It’s glam night, just their crowd and they spend the wee hours of the morning hanging out with fans and getting stuck into the sauce with a vengeance. Australia has officially been Murderdolled!

Blood and Glitter

Gavin Braddeley charts the rise of shock rock

Glam is hard evidence that what goes around comes around. Long dismissed as the definitive climax of 70s bad taste, in recent years glam rock has arisen from the grave, albeit with a veil of cobwebs draped over its original dusting of glitter. Originally a violent reaction to the 60s happy fad for all things natural, worthy, meaningful and drab, glam was all about being deliberately artificial, selfish, throwaway and garish.

In the States Alice Cooper was impaling baby dolls and throwing blood bottles around the stage from ‘70 onwards culminating in the vaudeville theatrics of the ‘Welcome To My Nightmare’ album/tour of ‘76.

Back in the UK, the Glam pioneer was lame pop pixie Marc Bolan (sic), photogenic frontman with T-Rex, who caused a sensation when he took to the stage on Top of the Pops in ‘71 with glitter under his eyes, clad in what looked suspiciously like drag. Never one to miss a trick, the lizard-like David Bowie soon jumped from the hippy ship to take on his otherworldly Ziggy Stardust persona.

The older generation may have thought that smearing make-up on your face and covering your clothes in sequins made you look like a ‘pooftah’. Alice Cooper got around this by replacing Glam’s overt ‘fagginess’ with ghoulish melodrama, prompting one critic to observe that Americans were more comfortable with necrophilia than homosexuality. And then came Kiss. Gene Simmons’ monstrous blood vomiting, fire breathing ‘Demon’ persona enslaved an entire generation of US children crossing Glam’s theatricality with heavy metal machismo to create one of the most influential bands in rock music history.

W.A.S.P. and Mötley Crüe supercharged Kiss’s sleaze and violence quotient to spectacular effect in the 80s, and provide the missing link between Glam and the Murderdolls, who happily cite the back-combed bad boys as a large part of their creative DNA. The chief inheritor of the Glam tradition in the last decade, however, is cross-dressing controversialist Marilyn Manson. Bowie may have metaphorically murdered his creation Ziggy Stardust in the summer of ‘74, while Bolan (sic) died more literally in a car accident three years later, but quarter-of-a-century on, Manson used his own dark arts to conjure their spirit on ‘Mechanical Animals’, his own tribute to pop’s most decadent decade.

Dead… and loving it!

The Murderdolls’ five favourite movie death scenes of all time…

The Murderdolls are proof positive that nothing gets some folks’ creative juices flowing quite so freely as a truly delicious cinematic death scene. Joey and Wednesday have a few favourites – both carnage connoisseurs identifying the ‘74 classic power toolfest The Texas Chainsaw Massacre as the gory cream of the crop – a movie currently being remade with a certain Mr. Manson in the soundtrack composer’s chair. (As a curious aside, you never actually see the girl hung on the hook – just a shadow – but such is the film’s sordid impact that most viewers swear you do!)

Joey 1. Texas Chainsaw Massacre “The girl on the hook.”

2. Friday The 13th Part IV “When the knife comes through the bed and impales the chick.”

3. The Exorcist “When the priest is hucked out through the plate glass window.”

4. A Nightmare on Elm Street “Where the girl is getting dragged across the rooftop.”

5. Necromancy “Where a group of devils and monsters take a girl apart.”

Wednesday 1. The Texas Chainsaw Massacre “The girl on the hook.”

2. Dawn of the Dead “When the spiked ball comes down and rips the guy’s head apart.”

3. Phantasm “A silver ball hits the guy in the head and sucks out all his brains.”

4. Hellraiser “Where (sic) the end sequence where the guy is being chased by all these hooks. They attach themselves to him and rip him apart.”

5. Nightmare On Elm Street “Where Freddy rips out the guy’s veins and uses them like strings controlling a puppet.”

Schlock n’ Roll

B-movie classics that have influenced shock rockers of now and then…

Some horror movies are best watched not so much with your tongue in your cheek, as thrust firmly through it, films that by accident or design are more about fun than fear. The same could be said of numerous horror loving bands, including the Murderdolls, where an ‘everyday is Halloween’ ethos prevails. Here are a few examples of B movie blood fests which may not have won any Oscars, have been paid tribute to by schlock loving bands over the years…

Plan 9 From Outer Space (1957) It is no surprise that the mother-of-all cult movies inspired the mother-of-all cult bands, and when Glenn Danzig created a label to release early Misfits material he dubbed it ‘Plan 9’. Frequently voted the worst movie of all time with its ludicrous script, mind bogglingly bad special effects, cardboard sets, and even more cardboard artistry, Plan 9 From Outer Space is irresistibly entertaining. Directed by the cross-dressing caliph of crap Ed Wood Junior, featuring proto-goth babe Vampira and Bela Lugosi (dying of drug addiction, he was replaced mid production by a stand-in who looks nothing like him).

The Abominable Dr Phibes (1971) Featuring horror cinema’s kind of camp Vincent Price as the fiendish Phibes, avenging the death of his wife using maniacal methods borrowed from the biblical plagues, all against wonderful, strangely psychedelic sets. Also possessed of a strange psychedelic sensibility are punk pioneers the Damned, though in the 80s, lead singer Dave Vanian’s horror sensibilities took centre stage, attracting a goth following. The 80 track ‘13th Floor Vendetta’ is a classic example of the band’s game-topping which, if you listen carefully, is all about ol’ Doc Phibes.

Mars Attacks! (1996) Director Tim Burton’s tribute to the drive-in shockers of the 50s and 60s, Mars Attacks! was actually based upon a ‘62 series of bubblegum cards, discontinued because of their gruesomely graphic pictures of earthlings being exterminated by alien invaders. As such this inspiration might suggest Mars Attacks! has little by way of plot, but for anyone with a weakness for vintage schlock sci-fi it’s a true Technicolor treat. This must certainly include the Misfits and when they reformed, they did so without the blessing of founder Glenn Danzig, but with their monster movie obsessions intact – among a multitude of horror movie tributes on their ‘97 comeback album ‘American Psycho’ was ‘Mars Attacks’ (and even an instrumental coincidentally titled ‘Abominable Dr Phibes’!)

I Was A Teenage Werewolf (1957) The drive-in movies of the 50s and 60s typically featured juvenile delinquents or monsters, and this bargain-basement effort delivered both in one lurid package. Before becoming ‘Pa’ on TV’s Little House on the Prairie Michael Landon stars as a troubled teen – though when he starts growing hair in strange places, it’s more than just hormones to blame. A howl from beginning to end, Teenage inspired a number on ‘Songs the Lord Taught Us’, the ‘80 debut from drive-in movie loving ghoulish rockers The Cramps.

Murder, mayhem and a right old mess

Minging Murderdoll tales from the Big Day Out

Who is the messiest Murderdoll of them all? Wednesday: “That would be Eric and The Ghoul. They are just messy as fuck. But you know you’ve just got to get used to living with these people. We’ve been on the road since July. You live on a bus for six weeks which means you’ve got (sic) live in everyone else’s shit.”

Who is the tidy anal doll? Joey: “No-one. We’re all pretty fuckin’ messy.” Wednesday: “I just took two garbage bags of mess out of my room. And just put it in the hallway. Just full of chicken bones and beer bottles and all sorts of shit like that, it was just smelling really bad so I had to get rid of it.”

So you do that yourself? Wednesday: “I don’t let the cleaning staff come into my room and tidy up. I put the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign for the whole week I am there.” Joey: “The housekeepers are scared shitless to come into our rooms anyway so we keep it easy for them and put the ‘Do Not Disturb” signs up the whole time. They are going to be so scared to come into our rooms and clean up after we’ve been there for a fuckin’ week!”

[thebrickinbrick]

The Heroes, Part Two

The assailants had numbers in their favor; the insurgents had position. They were at the top of a wall, and they thundered point-blank upon the soldiers tripping over the dead and wounded and entangled in the escarpment. This barricade, constructed as it was and admirably buttressed, was really one of those situations where a handful of men hold a legion in check. Nevertheless, the attacking column, constantly recruited and enlarged under the shower of bullets, drew inexorably nearer, and now, little by little, step by step, but surely, the army closed in around the barricade as the vice grasps the wine-press.

One assault followed another. The horror of the situation kept increasing.

Then there burst forth on that heap of paving-stones, in that Rue de la Chanvrerie, a battle worthy of a wall of Troy. These haggard, ragged, exhausted men, who had had nothing to eat for four and twenty hours, who had not slept, who had but a few more rounds to fire, who were fumbling in their pockets which had been emptied of cartridges, nearly all of whom were wounded, with head or arm bandaged with black and blood-stained linen, with holes in their clothes from which the blood trickled, and who were hardly armed with poor guns and notched swords, became Titans. The barricade was ten times attacked, approached, assailed, scaled, and never captured.

In order to form an idea of this struggle, it is necessary to imagine fire set to a throng of terrible courages, and then to gaze at the conflagration. It was not a combat, it was the interior of a furnace; there mouths breathed the flame; there countenances were extraordinary. The human form seemed impossible there, the combatants flamed forth there, and it was formidable to behold the going and coming in that red glow of those salamanders of the fray.

The successive and simultaneous scenes of this grand slaughter we renounce all attempts at depicting. The epic alone has the right to fill twelve thousand verses with a battle.

One would have pronounced this that hell of Brahmanism, the most redoubtable of the seventeen abysses, which the Veda calls the Forest of Swords.

They fought hand to hand, foot to foot,

with pistol shots, with blows of the sword,

with their fists, at a distance, close at hand,

from above, from below, from everywhere, from the roofs of the houses, from the windows of the wine-shop, from the cellar windows, whither some had crawled. They were one against sixty.

[inkykeiji]

helloo :)

can i get thirst + 1950s kei hehe

prompt: thirst series: 1950s au warnings: historically inaccurate 1950s au, reader is female, ur in keigo’s lap for pretty much this entire piece, a very spit-slicked kiss words: 1.3k

absolutely!!! thank you so much for requesting him hehe c:

“It’s another hot-hot-hot one out there, folks! Twenty-eight degrees, with temps climbing into the mid-thirties, and a humidex of thirty-six,” the voice on the radio cackles, stuffed with static. “Be sure to keep those bodies cool and those throats hydrated!” 

Gosh, when is this heat wave gonna end? you’re murmuring to yourself as you push past the swinging screen door, a glass pitcher of freshly made ice cold lemonade in your hands, droplets of condensation already beginning to stream down the curved sides. 

“Hopefully this can help quench your thirst,” you set the pitcher down on the rickety wooden table next to Keigo, holding a glass steady as you pour, sure to get a few ice cubes and a slice of lemon, just how he likes it. 

“Thank you, angel,” he takes the glass from your hands, grateful, tongue darting out to lick at his bottom lip. 

“So?” you rock a little on the balls of your feet in anticipation, keen eyes watching his Adams apple bob as he swallows a mouthful. “How is it?” 

“Mm,” he hums as his hands encircle your waist, pulling you down into his lap, the plastic of his lawnchair squeaking beneath your combined weight. “Perfect, as always.”

He noses along the curve of your neck, inhaling slowly as he plants sloppy, open-mouthed kisses across your damp flesh. The light summer breeze rustles the leaves of the old oak tree on your front lawn, twining through the full branches, caressing your saliva-slicked skin and leaving a pleasant, cooling sensation in its wake. Sighing, your body relaxes against Keigo’s as your head tips back, exposing more of your neck to him.

“That nice?” he asks, lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice smooth and thick like caramel. 

“Yeah,” you breathe, eyes still closed. “Feels good.” 

You feel him lean away for a moment, taking the heat of his mouth with him, ears pricking as teeth clink against glass, as ice clinks against teeth. Then he’s back, an ice cube cupped in his tongue, frosty and frigid as it drags across your feverish skin. 

The unexpected cold makes you jump, and Keigo chuckles—a deep, velvety sound that vibrates against your flesh—as he licks up the notches of your neck, ice gliding with his tongue, slow and purposeful.

Chills erupt across your body, back arching just a little and pressing further into his touch, powerless to stop the soft mewl that spills from your lips. 

He takes his time with it, unhurried in his ministrations, thorough in his work, each caress of his tongue meticulously thought out, sure to cover every inch of exposed skin he can easily reach—the nape of your neck and the blades of your shoulders and the column of your throat—until the cube has fully melted, leaving a mess of watery saliva painted across your skin in large, wide strokes.

The icy tip traces your jugular vein one last time for good measure, up, up, up, traveling along the edge of your jaw to the lobe of your ear, and shivers skitter up your spine, sending a wave rippling through your flesh. 

“All done,” he purrs in your ear, breath still chilled from the ice. 

And you just can’t help yourself, suddenly parched for him, twisting in his grasp and capturing his lips. Hands splayed wide on either of his cheeks, you tug him closer, fingertips hooking behind the hinges of his jaw, nails sinking into his skin, leaving behind shallow crescents. 

He tastes sticky-sweet, a syrupy film of vanilla cola still clinging to his tongue and lacing his spit, complemented by the slight sour tang of the lemonade. Your tongue curls around his own, sucks it into your mouth and scrapes your teeth across the surface, desperate to swallow down whatever you can of him, to steal just a stringy piece of him and hold him in your tummy, close to your heart. 

A keepsake, while he’s away. 

Finally, you part, with glimmering lips and spit-slicked chins, chests heaving together with ragged little breaths.

“Wow,” Keigo chuckles, the word wispy, eyes shining bright like two starbursts of topaz. “What was that for?”

“I, um,” you turn away from him, suddenly shy, settling back against his body and tucking your face into your shoulder. “I just—I really don’t want you to go tomorrow,” you admit softly, a slight pout in your voice. “I know it isn’t fair, but...” 

But I want you all to myself. But I miss you like crazy when you’re gone. But it’s true. 

“I understand, baby,” he leans his cheek against yours, short stubble scratching your sensitive skin, and squeezes you to his chest, tight and secure. “You know, you could always come with me...”

“Keigo, please, don’t start—”

“I’m serious—”

“So am I,” you pull back to look at him, shifting a little in his lap. 

Holding his stare, your eyes search his, shimmering topaz ever-changing in the late afternoon sun, flickering with the sunbeams streaming through the fluttering leaves, casting shadows and shapes on his face. He gazes back just as steadily, nothing but sincerity brimming in his eyes, and your lips tug down. 

Fingers brush back the golden curls saturated in sweat sticking to his forehead, carding through the unruly strands in a rhythmic motion, eyes following their movement.

He catches your wrist, bringing your hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to your palm. 

Keigo’s been attempting to persuade you to quit your job for a while now, to abandon the life you worked so hard to build, painstakingly from the ground up and with your own two hands, to throw caution to the wind and come jet-setting with him around the world despite the fact that you know next to nothing about his work—nothing about his elusive and mysterious job that requires freshly pressed and finely tailored tuxedos, that pays six figures, that allows him to have a two-storey house and a 1957 cherry red Chevy Bel Air and a collection of glittering Rolex watches—despite the fact that, technically, you aren’t allowed to. 

“You know I’d love to, but my job at the diner—”

“Isn’t necessary anymore.”

“Is important to me,” you continue, voice firm with conviction. 

You know he doesn’t exactly get it, why you’d want to keep working a broke-down job at a shitty little mom & pop malt shop when he can now provide for all of your needs, and more, but this job holds a certain type of sentimentality.

Because it’s something that’s yours, something you earned all on your own, accomplished through your own volition and hard work, something that enabled you to claw your way to freedom.

You love the grease, the way the scent of fresh-cut fries and sizzling cheeseburgers twines through your hair and carries home with you. 

You love the sticky milkshakes and melty sundaes and ostentatious banana splits, the way they always seem to perpetually stain the tips of your fingers, tinging everything with sugar. 

You love the speckled white tables and the glittery red booths and the checkerboard floor, the way your regular customers’ eyes light up when they spot you.

You love it all, so dearly. 

“I can’t just leave.” Not now, not yet, not until you’re ready to let go. 

He doesn’t exactly get it, but he doesn’t need to. 

It being important to you is already enough reason for him.

He glances up at you through thick gold lashes, thumb pausing in its quest to pick off a chip of peeling white paint from the table, holding your eyes for a moment before giving a resigned nod, shoulders slumping ever-so-slightly in another defeat. 

“Ah well,” he sighs with a shrug, pulling you back to his chest and cradling you in his arms, chin resting on the crown of your head. “It was worth a shot. One of these days you’ll finally say yes to me, and I’ll be the happiest man on earth.”

“Yeah,” you murmur softly, arms curling around his own and hugging them to your torso. “Maybe one day.”

It isn’t the first time he’s suggested it. It won’t be the last; not until you finally say yes.

But you think you’re alright with that.