#it looks to me like they had plenty of ways to fuck with the votes

[funforahermit]

..

[navybrat817]

Did you see the Sebastian photo with him in the leather jacket and Bucky hair? The black and white one? He looks so good!!!!!!!!

Is it the image below, nonnie? If so, yes! He looks amazing. So much that I had to share more rocker!Bucky. If not, I'm happy to receive the pic.

Everybody Wants a Taste

Pairing: Rocker!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Are you really Bucky's girl? He thinks so. Word Count: Over 1.5k Warnings: Implied explicit sexual content, oral implied (m. and f. receiving), possessive behavior, slight jealousy and insecurity, swearing, slight feels (it's me), sort of getting together, communication is key, Rocker!Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: Some White Wolf and Luna that no one asked for! This can also count for Week 4 of the @the-slumberparty for Across the Universe!❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Banner by the amazing @sgt-seabass and banner by the lovely @rookthorne . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

When word got around that you were seeing Bucky Barnes, some of your friends back home told you to be careful. Not because you couldn't keep up with the rockstar, but because they didn't want him to throw you out when he eventually grew bored of you. Touching as it was, it was also insulting.

"We're having fun." you said in the group chat. "Nothing wrong with that."

"But everyone wants him!" one of them replied. "What makes you different from the rest?"

What makes you special?

"Nice fucking pep talk. Really. Appreciate the vote of confidence!" you sent.

"I didn't mean it like that."

"I'm a big girl. I can handle myself."

That was the last thing you sent in the chat.

You may have given your phone the finger, too.

As if you needed another reminder that girls, and guys, lined up to get just a glimpse of the man you somehow got to call yours. Some were better looking than you and others were nicer, but you refused to let it shatter your confidence. They didn't click with Bucky the way you did. If he woke up one day and decided he didn't want you, it wouldn't be the end of your world.

You took care of yourself long before you left home and wouldn't depend on a guy for anything. That was something you made clear when you started spending more time with Bucky. At least, you told him once you could form a coherent sentence since he fucked every sane thought out of you.

"It's okay to keep wanting me, Luna."

Being addicted to him wasn't something you anticipated nor did you want to admit that he had a hold on you. If you did, he'd have the entire deck stacked in his favor. But the cocky fucker knew he had you in the palm of his hand and you couldn't bring yourself to care.

Not when you were on your knees worshipping him like the god everyone made him out to be.

You waited for Bucky after rehearsal, knowing he could do with a bit of stress relief. Steve gave you a knowing smirk as he walked by. "Hey, baby," he teased.

“Hey, blondie,” you winked back.

"Don't call my girl 'baby', punk," Bucky said as his friend laughed.

Am I your girl?

Shamelessly allowing your eyes to roam his body as he walked closer, you wondered how he even got his jeans on some days with the heat he was packing. The rest of the band nodded to you as they passed by, knowing exactly what they'd witness if they stuck around.

"I don't remember texting you," Bucky said when he stopped, running his ringed fingers through his hair. "You don't have anything better to do than wait for me?"

Asshole. You're lucky I adore you.

Your eyes narrowed as you pushed yourself off the wall. "Plenty of other things I can be doing that don't involve you."

"C'mon, baby. I'm fucking with you," he smiled as he moved to stand in front of you. "I just figured you might be hanging out with Alice and Sunshine."

"Oh, we did each other's nails and had a pillow fight. Almost fell out of my top as I jumped around," you smiled, leaning against the wall once again.

You liked Alice and Sunshine. You'd be a bitch not to and they understood things that people back home wouldn't get. Jefferson was certainly more cheerful now that he had his girl back in his life. And Hal still adored his high school sweetheart just as much as he had the day before.

What's it like for someone to be loved the way they are?

"And I missed it? That's too bad. Didn't get a facial?"

You arched an eyebrow as he moved a finger along the swell of your breast. "How could I when you weren't there to give me one?"

"I can give you one now," he smirked.

You laughed and shook your head as you tugged him closer by his t-shirt. "I don't know if I want one anymore. I could find something else to quench my thirst."

"We both know you love the taste of my cock."

"Almost as much as you love the taste of my pussy."

He placed both hands on the wall and looked into your eyes as you bit your lip. "My favorite treat. You gonna let me get my mouth on you so I can have my fill?"

"Maybe after you fuck my throat. Maybe," you said before he brought a hand to your throat. He held it there, but didn't squeeze. "So you'd rather choke me with your hand instead of your cock?"

"Luna, baby, don't tease me."

"Isn't teasing just another form of foreplay?" you asked.

The flirty, fun banter never got old with him. Even on the days you didn't have sex, you found yourself smiling at his words and antics. It made it difficult to protect your heart. But like your body, it was yours to give the person you wanted and he had the key to the lock before you knew it.

"I want to see those pretty little lips wrapped around my cock," he stated, tightening his grip when you moaned. "Want you to choke on me before I make a mess of you."

The mere suggestion was enough for your thighs to rub together, tour panties dampening more at the thought of him using your throat to get himself off and paint your face. His thick cock filled every hole of yours to the brim time and time again, reminding you that you belonged to him. But you couldn't always give in so easily. Call it pride or a power move.

You'd both get off in the end.

"Sure you don't want one of your other groupies to suck your cock?"

Everybody wants a taste.

His smirk vanished instantly as he leaned in close enough that you could feel his breath against your lips. You didn't shy away from his gaze, captivated by the blue of his eyes. He liked that you didn't try to hide.

Caught in his trap, you couldn't duck and run if you wanted to.

"I haven't fucked anyone else in weeks," his voice dropped as he shoved his knee between your thighs without warning, your core pulsing as he brushed his lips against yours. "Thought I made it clear that you're my girl."

You swallowed hard enough for Bucky to loosen his grip. If Bucky let you in, that meant something because he didn't give himself away lightly. Sex, he could find that anywhere. Someone to stick around through the highs and lows after was another story.

One you wanted to write with him.

"You never actually asked," you said above a whisper.

It was weak to say it out loud and make him put a label on it, but you wanted to hear it.

"I didn't think I had to ask," he said, kissing the spot between your eyes with a small huff. "I thought you were already mine.”

Your stomach swirled with butterflies. "I thought you were mine, too."

"Because I am. I’m all yours," he whispered, playing dirty by rocking his knee a bit more. You were tempted to slide up a bit more and ride his thigh and weep from knowing he was really yours. "C'mon. Be mine. Be my fucking girl, Luna."

You whined when he brought his lips to yours again. You would have said "yes" regardless. "I'm your girl, but don't you dare break my heart. 'Cause I'll hunt you down and make you sorry if you do. I'll curse that glorious dick of yours, too."

Bucky threw his head back and laughed. The sound brought a smile to your face. "I'd expect nothing less. You better not curse my dick or break my heart either."

His casual tone had an underlying vulnerability that you wouldn't dare joke about.

"You're my guy, Wolfy. I won't hurt you."

And I'll be your Luna no matter what.

"Don't let anyone hear you call me that," he grinned, pulling his knee away to leave you wanting more. Tease. "I have a reputation to uphold."

You smiled as the atmosphere shifted back to the sexual charge. He didn't need to dwell on the emotions for the moment and neither did you. Your heart was full and that was more than enough for today.

"Guess you better shut me up then," you suggested as you reached for his belt.

"Oh, no. Still wanna hear you moan and whine when you take me in your mouth," he stated, stepping back so you could unzip his pants and sink to your knees. "When I'm done, you're gonna sit on my face and sing for me. Those pretty sounds of yours might inspire our next song."

"Call it 'Howl at the Moon'," you smiled up at him. "Dedicate it to me," you added with a wink.

You'd find out later that Bucky already had.

Oh, these two. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[bobby-r2d2-floyd]

The Nanny (Hangman x Reader)

authors note: so, hangman won by a long shot in the poll, but for the few that voted for the rest, they're still coming! i have to deal with the bs with my basement and i am a college student, so i have to deal with my coursework as well.

inspired by @roosterforme

this will be a mutli part series, im not sure how many parts though

pairing: jake "hangman" seresin x benjamin niece!reader; established mav x penny

warnings: some swear words and an inaccurate depiction of how social workers handle dropping a baby off to its living, absent father. also cyclone is a dad bc jon hamm if a dilf.

not proof or beta read, we die like men.

summary: Hangman wakes up one day to a social worker and an infant on his doorstep. the infant? his 3 month old daughter.

word count: 1.9k

-----------

It was the one day that the Dagger squad had a later morning (11am, per Maverick’s request), so when the pounding on Jake’s door woke him up at 8:45, he was a little pissed.

He stumbled out of bed and the arms of some red head whose name he definitely doesn’t remember, throwing on a shirt along the way to his front door where the pounding is originating from and reverberating through his skull. “I heard you the first fucking time,” he curses out, throwing the door open and preparing to unleash verbal hell on the person standing at his doorstep.

All the words die out though when he sees an older woman standing there with a sleeping baby in a car seat at her feet. “Jacob Seresin?” she asks and his eyes bounce between the infant and the woman.

“Yes?” he asks, voice cracking a bit as he looks back to the woman.

“Do you mind if I come in?” he nods and moves aside as she picks up the car seat and steps inside. “My name is Caroline Husband, I’m a social worker for the state of California.” she tells him as she sets the seat down on his coffee table, “and this is Avery. Your daughter.” 

Jake feels his heart stop as he looks down at the little girl, “what, what do you mean?” he sinks down to the floor on his knees, heart racing and Caroline gives him a small smile.

“Her mother-” she looks down at the paperwork she was holding, “Samantha Barnes, passed away from complications shortly after birth, you were listed as father on the birth certificate.” 

Samantha Barnes… Jake remembered her with a small smile. They were briefly exclusive before she had disappeared one night, leaving behind the memories and a note saying she needed to go back home to help with her ailing father, her last living relative that she still spoke to.

“H-how uh, how old is she?” he asks, taking her small, but definitely bigger than a newborn, hand in between his finger and thumb.

“She spent some time with a foster while the state was waiting for you to return stateside. She just turned 3 months old.” Caroline forms him, which makes sense as he was just in the middle of the ocean for the last five months. “I have some supplies in my car that her foster mom put together for you, should you choose to keep her.” 

“Choose to?” he asks, as if there was any other option for him. The second he found out Avery was his, there was never any other option.

“You can alway sign your parental rights away, there’s plenty of families looking to adopt babies.” she says and he shakes his head.

“No, she stays with me,” Jake says as he stands and Caroline smiles up at him.

“Well then, there’s all the information that you need. Her old foster mom made a list of information for you, her pediatrician, what formula she was feeding, how to prepare bottles...” she goes on to tell him more necessary information about Avery but tunes her out as he watches the little girl start to wake up and look around, well, as much as a 3 month old can, he supposed. “Here’s my card, it has my personal cell phone number on the back should you not be able to reach me at my office in the event of an emergency.” 

He takes it with a smile and a thank you before walking Caroline to the door to help her bring the items in from her car and as quickly as she was here, she was gone. Leaving Jake to sit on his couch as he stares into the eyes of his daughter. 

He kicks out his guest after 15 minutes of sitting there before he’s googling how to put a car seat base securely into the back seat of a F-150. After fighting for what felt like an hour (only 10 minutes) he has his daughter secured in his car before driving way under the speed limit to The Hard Deck, only 45 minutes late to meeting up with the rest of the Daggers but as soon as they see him walk into the bar with a car seat, all the teasing for being late blows out of there mind. 

“Do we need to call the police?” Bradley teases and Jake lets out a nervous laugh.

“No.. no police needed.” Jake says as he sets his daughter’s car seat and diaper bag in the middle of the pool table the team was surrounding.

“Well, then who is this?” 

Jake takes a deep breath before answering, “this is my daughter, Avery Seresin.”

Immediately the team has plenty of questions for the team’s resident playboy. He explains the situation as best he can with the information he got from Caroline.

“I never even knew Sam was pregnant. She never said anything and then she was gone.” Jake says softly as he looks down as his daughter in his arms, sleepily drinking from the bottle he made and Penny gives him a smile.

“You seem like a natural already.” she says, snapping a photo of the daddy-daughter moment and he smiles.

“Yeah, I was still around when my sisters started having their own kids, all girls too, ironically.” he responds with a small laugh and the movement of his chest startled Avery awake and she starts drinking more steadily again.

The squad takes the rest of the day before the bar opens with turns holding the newest member of the team. Aside from Jake, Bob and Natasha were the only other two who seemed comfortable enough to hold her without needing any instruction on support for her head. 

“Does Cyclone know you have a kid yet?” Mav asks as he takes his turn holding Avery, seasoned from when Bradley was a baby and he used to watch him while Carole and Goose needed alone time. 

“Fuck, no not yet.” Jake groans as he rubs his hands over his face. “I need to go see him.”

“Go see him now, between Penny being a mom and me dealing with Bradley as a baby there’s plenty of experience here to watch Avery for a bit while you try to get some time to adjust to dad-life.” Mav says and Jake looks over at him.

“You’re serious?” 

“Yeah, besides, Avery is already better at 3 months than Rooster ever was.” Mav teases and Bradley makes a couple of offended noises before being slapped in the chest by Natasha. 

Jake nods, “okay well here’s her-”

“Hangman, get out of here. I did all this with Amelia.” Penny says as she pushes him towards the door and Jake pulls her into a hug.

“Thank you so much, Pen.” he says, meaning it too since Penny is the closest thing to a mom that he has since he hasn’t talked to his real mom in years. 

The drive into base wasn’t a long one, but felt like it was with how often he was checking his backseat and not seeing his daughter before remembering she was safe with Penny and Maverick at the bar. 

Walking into Admiral Simpson’s office, Jake broke out into a nervous sweat. “Um, excuse me, sir.” he says as he knocks on the open door.

Both Admiral Simpson and Admiral Bates looked up at him from where they were sitting at the desk discussing some news that they received from higher ups. 

“Can I help you, Lieutenant?” Cyclone asks and Jake nods, taking that as an ‘okay’ to walk into the office.

“Yes actually, I uh.. I was wondering if I would be able to get leave, sir. I had a surprise visit from a social worker this morning and-and my infant daughter.” he says as he straightens out his back and rolls his shoulders back.

“You have a child?” Cyclone asks, closing the folder that he had open to focus more on Jake. “Since when?” 

“Well, as of 9am this morning, sir. Her mother passed away after she was born and no other living relatives so… She’s currently with me. Well, not with me Captain Mitchell and Penny Benjamin are currently watching her.. sir.” 

Warlock and Cyclone share a look and Jake stands there nervously, “I know that this is short notices but all I’m asking for is a week to figure things out, find a sitter, get some kind of a routine started for-”

“Okay.” Cyclone says and Jake looks at him instead of the spot that he had been looking at on the wall. “You only want just one week?”

“I can have more, sir?” Cyclone nods, having recently become a father himself and knows how important bonding is for parents. 

“Unless something urgent comes, how does three weeks sound?” he asks as he pulls something up on his computer and begins to type.

“I would greatly appreciate that.” Jake says with a small smile and Cyclone nods, ending the conversation and Jake starts to walk out of the office.

“Seresin?” Warlock calls out and Jake turns around, “congratulations.”

“Thank you, sirs.” 

Jake drives back to the bar already feeling lighter than he had in the last 6 hours, and upon walking back into the watering hole, he sees a red faced Avery and a panicked Rooster.

“Bradshaw what did you do to my daughter?” 

“What did I do? She threw up on me!” he says, holding the infant safely, and at an arm's length away. 

The rest of the team is laughing behind him and Jake just takes Avery and lays her against him so her head is on his shoulder, “well I’m sure you deserved it.” 

Bradley glares at him before wandering away to the bathroom to clean up. Jake smiles and rubs his daughters back as she babbles in his ear.

“How did talking to the boss go?” Penny asks and Jake smiles.

“Really good, actually. Said I can have three weeks as long as nothing urgent comes up that’ll need the full team's attention.” 

“Well, if you ever need a nanny so you can have a break and none of us are available, my niece just moved to the area and is looking for work.” Penny says with a small smile as Jake moves to sit next to her. “Plus she has a degree in early childhood and special education.” 

“Okay, yeah I’ll let you know.” he says with a nod.

“Well, you can meet her tonight, she’s supposed to come and help me out here for the night since Jimmy can’t make it in.” Jake just nods and Penny pats his shoulder that Avery isn’t sleeping on while she stands to start opening duties for the bar. 

Jake didn’t end up meeting Penny’s niece that night, or any time in the following week. In fact, it wasn’t until the last week of his leave that he met her. 

Jake was holding Avery as he walked into the bar before it opened, she was babbling up a storm and he took his sunglasses off to put on the top of his head when he saw someone new behind the bar, head thrown back and laughing at something that Bob had said. 

You look over at him and he swears his heart stopped, “Hi! I’m Y/N Benjamin, but you can call me Saturn.”

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next part

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taglist: if you want to join the taglist for all my future works, shoot me a message and i'll be happy to add you :)

@mandylove1000

[borisbubbles]

Eurovision 2024: Last Place

37. ISRAEL Eden Golan - "Hurricane" 5th place

Decade Ranking: 150/153 [Above Noa Kirel, below Roxen]

Where do we start?

Let's begin, perhaps by stating the obvious. Israel's participation in this year ruined the contest. You encounter an entrant or two that completely warp the meta around them at every contest, but never to an extent this cataclysmic. Every sour note of this contest, and there were plenty, sprouted from the decision to allow Israel into the year. That was the tipping point. I believe that makes "Hurricane" the worst entry of all times in terms of the sheer negative impact its presence had on the edition it parttook in.

The ESC discourse -on asocial media- completely revolved around the conflict in Palestine either to denounce the war crimes perpetrated by the Israeli goverment and the subsequent silencing of critical voices calling it out, or to make a stand against the Poor Young Girl who was unfairly maligned by radicalized leftists for a conflict she had no hand in.

So was it any surprise that Israel won every Western televote? Be honest. I know that the Twitter manchildren claim Israel cheated, but they are in denial. The televote was genuine. The scalpel slices both ways, sadly. For every heckler booing Eden or protesting for Palestine or announcing a Eurovision boycot or lecturing the general public to not vote for Israel, a sympathy vote for her arises because "Aw She Doesn't Deserve So Much Negativity, Poor Thing". That she willingly chose to rep israel at THIS time with THAT song is blissfully ignored. Eden Golan is not a child. She's fully accountable for the effects that her participation caused, and is perfectly a-OK with it.

So, wake the fuck up. The sympathizing nutcases were OPENLY mobilizing to vote for Israel without even watching a second of the contest, to prove a point against you know, "insane leftist wokery" or whatever they call it. "You can't make me think what you want or do what you want, TAKE THAT". It's the same principle that led to Brexit and Trump beating Clinton. Similarly, they attempted to hijack the results like a particularly nasty species of asian hornet because their 'Freedom of Speech' is more important to them than fair results in an entertainment show, or a potential genocide. Or maybe they were just indoctrinated. A smaller sample size due to boycots + 20 votes per crazed zionist, it's honestly a miracle Croatia STILL beat them in the TV overall.

In other words, pretty much every opinion about Eden revolved around the politics that accompanied the flag she flew under.

And I'm sorry, but Eurovision is not supposed to be about Israel. Why should THAT country get more attention, or even preferential treatment in this otherwise excellent line-up? That's not what it should be about.

It is THEM who it should be about:

None of these artists asked to be a part of this shambolic display. So in that sense, let's do something many have FAILED. Let's do what we're supposed to dp: Discuss the SONG, outside of context.

Frankly, there's remarkably little to say. Even without the context, "Hurricane" would have been bottom of the barrel for me regardless? It's a mediocre sappy ballad aimed to Make People Cry. We see such ballads pop up all the time in NFs (most recently Krick in Luxembourg and Noble in Portugal), where -more often than not- their sucktitude catches up with them and manifests a loss.

I've seen people be outraged that Norway's jury gave it points but I mean, look at any recent scandi NF and tell me a Hurricane wouldn't fit within its ranks. It's Undo, What if, A Monster Like Me, all the tacky soulless ballads with poor narratives preying on the soft-hearted and the guillible with cheap emotional manip. "Hurricane"was cut from the same dementor-esque, sympathy-craving cloth. Call me old fashioned, but I was taught that sympathy requires a modicum of respect, which needs to be earned, not begged for like a dog's dinner. (I hope the Europapa fans are reading this because this also applies to him, and that ghastly outro). If your song was written with the idea in mind of pinkwashing the deaths of a few thousand children, then perhaps you may have not fully earned the benefit of the doubt, jussaying.~

In terms of performance, Eden was vocally good, at least. It's her voice that carries it although i don't find her particularly likeable as a lead. Then again, she is a Russian nepo brat whose family emigrated to Israel after the Ukrainian war so that her daddy to secure his financial assets and the Golans could continue their lavish, privileged lifestyle in a safer country. It was always a challenge, so to say, to consider Eden Golan a likeable individual.

Also what is UP with the choreography? Why do the dancers look like they are loading air rifles? A Choice, to say the least.

So all in all, a pretty weak entry that always would have been in my bottom 3 for any country, but that probably had a ceiling of lower top 10 in a normal, generic year of ESC.

However, this was NOT a generic ESC. There's NO imagining "Hurricane" without its context which makes it so, SO much worse. It was specifically written in support of the Israeli victims in the war (why go through that trouble and not simply withdraw and spend the participation fee on providing for the families of the hostages? Isn't that more effective charity? But hey, what do I know.) There is no "depoliticizing", no matter how often you retcon the lyrics into gibberish. Hurricane's intentions are present in its rhythm, its instrumentation, the keys in which it is sung. The notion that you can separate it from its context is absurd.

And yet, that is precisely what the EBU were hoping for when they allowed it in, and it exploded into their face like a firework. I can't say they didn't deserve it. Ultimately, the full blame for all of this rests with them. If a certain entity threatens the integrity of your being, you get rid of the threat. You don't passively sit back crossing your fingers they leave at their own volition. The Israeli's would understand the reasons for exclusion, surely, as they've been applying the exact same principles to the Gaza Strip since mid October.

The EBU allowed them in, officially to prove Eurovision wasn't political and United By Music (in reality because they're cowards and didn't want to be the first organization to ban Israel from an international event, and be branded antisemites as a result). The result was the most politically charged and divisive contest of all time, rife with incidents that were as avoidable as they were outrageous. It couldn't have been further away from "apolitical unity" if it tried.

Hurricane was NEVER worth the price of admission. All the controversy, the security risks, the boycots, the antisemitism and xenophobia, the censorship, the harrassment of other delegations (which the Israeli delegation EAGERLY participated in) and of course the Israeli embassies in participating countries OPENLY advocating to vote for Israel as "a signal". Even the tensions that led to Joost's dubious DQ which I doubt would have happened at any other contest. This could all have been foreseen and avoided by excluding the country that clearly would have brought the contest into disrepute. Eurovision is now on life support. Congratulations EBU. You KILLED your own contest.

It briefly looked like Israel could win (leave to RAI to be woefully incompetent and blasé), which would have been the final nail in Eurovision's coffin but then they magically lost the televote (thank you SO much Eastern Europe, you are SO real for this) and stranded themselves in 5th place. Instead of being the Worst Winner of All Time, Israel are merely a mediocre also-ran, which I can live with. It makes "Hurricane"' marginally less appalling than "Unicorn" and "I.M" for me. Let their fifth place serve as a grim reminder for future editions that Hatred Breeds Hatred, and also, thankfully, that Love Can indeed Prevail.

THE RANKING

[munson-blurbs]

@corrodedcoffinfest Day 8: Band Politics

Word Count: 614/Rating: T/Pairing: none/CW: conflict, mild political discourse/Tags: Eddie Munson, Gareth, Jeff, Grant, Robin Buckley, angst, arguments

Divider credit to @silkholland

December 1988

“They want us to do what?”

Eddie can hardly believe his ears. This must be the result of too many years of loud music, riffs heard from The Hideout to Madison Square Garden. No, there is absolutely no way–

Robin gives the boys a look that says she’s just as shocked as they are. “I asked if they had the wrong number. But, nope. They want you to play at Bush's inauguration.”

“No fucking way.” Eddie drums his fingers on his chair, glancing around the band manager’s office. “The same assholes who spent the last five years telling us that our music was the work of Satan are now asking us to play at the White House?”

“Technically,” Jeff interjects, “they’re asking us to play at the Capitol.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, crossing one leg over the other. “Whatever. The point stands–we’re not doing it.”

“Says who?” Gareth scoffs.

“Yeah, don’t we get a vote?” Grant’s voice takes on a challenging tone; it grates at Eddie like nails on a chalkboard. “I didn’t realize that this was the Eddie Munson Band.”

They can’t be serious, Eddie thinks. They’re just giving me a hard time. Busting my balls.

Robin speaks up before any of them can talk again. “It’ll draw plenty of attention. No one is expecting Corroded Coffin to be at the inauguration.” She grazes her teeth over her lower lip, peeling back a bit of pale pink lipstick. “Talk it over, but we need an answer by tomorrow.”

“We already have our answer. It’s a big, fat, no way in hell.”

Gareth stands up, placing himself right in front of Eddie. “We have the chance to play in front of the entire country, and you’re gonna throw that away, for what?”

“To prove a point.”

“What point? That we don’t want more people listening to our music?”

“That we’re not sell-outs!” Eddie slammed his fists on the chair’s wooden arms. “I’m not gonna kiss politicians’ corrupt asses just for a few more fans. It goes against everything we stand for!”

Jeff sighed, scratching the back of his neck. “Okay, but picture this: kids watching the inauguration, their parents and teachers thinking that they’re getting this great educational experience, and then—BOOM! They hear real music for the first time in their lives. Because of us.” He raises his brows. “This performance could shape the future of metal.”

Eddie chortles. “‘Shape the future of metal’? What kind of kumbaya bullshit is that?” Pretending not to notice the hurt on his friend’s face, he digs his heels in deeper. “How about the fans we already have thinking that we’re pro-government. Might as well stop playing all of our songs about anarchy.”

Grant gets to his feet next. “It’s three against one, dude. Just give it up. We can’t throw away this opportunity.”

“Well, good luck going on without your lead singer.” With that, Eddie storms out. A pit lays where his stomach should be, heavy with the weight of anger. 

The guys could do whatever they wanted. They could bend over and spread ‘em for those hoity-toity politicians. All of the new fans they might acquire means nothing if they had to sell their souls to get them. 

Eddie had spent all of his teenage years living with the rumors of devil-worshiping escapades masquerading as Dungeons & Dragons campaigns. He certainly wasn’t going to start worshiping actual evil entities—the ones who sat in their gigantic mansions and cut welfare and foodstamps and Social Security benefits without batting an eye—just for more fame. 

Maybe I’m an asshole, he thinks, pushing open the door and stomping into the lobby, but at least I’m not a goddamn sell-out. 

--

[rainbowcaleb]

If you need a goofy little fic distraction right now, here is 1.2k short and sweet words about surprises, costumes, Jester, Fjord, Beau, boats, bagels, baguettes, buns, breads and more 💙🍞

(Read and comment on ao3)

“Jester, this is an awful lot of bread.” Fjord pushes past the two heavy bags by the door, their canvas sides obscuring what’s inside but the heads of the baguettes peeking from the top are clue enough.

“Hellooo, I'm in the kitchen!”

He can hear her voice despite the well padded room muffling the sound; Jester’s skill at projection is the stuff of legend. He side steps another crate that smells suspiciously like yeast and a large sunflower patterned tote bag of buns as he gingerly makes his way through their house. “Beau is with me, she says she ‘has the stuff’ . Should I be worried?”

Beau’s sigh is audible even though Fjord doesn’t have eyes on her in this carbohydrate jungle. “What part of ‘need to know’ escapes you?”

“Kneed to know!” They’re close enough to the kitchen now that Jester pokes her head out of the doorframe giggling. “That’s a good one, Beau.” Miraculously there’s nary a crumb on Jester’s all-black lace outfit, incongruous to the room behind her piled high with crusty rustic loaves.

Fjord has experience in how to navigate this. “Wow, don’t you look lovely today, also, if you could perhaps tell me what is going on—”

“Can you hold out your arms?” Jester steps towards him and lifts her arms straight, a strange mimic of a hug as if one has never done it before.

Fjord does so, but continues his gentle prod. “My love, would it be okay if I grabbed a snack? It looks like we have plenty extra.”

“Whoa, your wingspan is so wide.” Jester looks at Beau. “You think you brought enough?”

Beau gives Fjord an appraising look. “You working on your traps and lats? Some pre-wedding routine? Looking good.” She grins at Jester. “Yeah, I have enough.”

“Absolutely not!” Jester rounds back on Fjord, taking advantage of his raised arms to wrap her own around his waist. “The bread isn’t for you. It’s not really for me either. It’s the theme , Fjord.”

Fjord knows if he doesn't or if he does asks it's a trap either way, but it’s a risk he must take. “Someone want to clue me in?”

“Fuck man, did you forget?” Beau laughs then covers her mouth to hide it. “He’s all yours, Jester.”

“Should I pre-apologize?” Fjord glances over Jester’s head at Beau. She shrugs but there’s a glint to her eye he doesn’t like.

“It’s fine , like totally, I know you’ve been super busy this week finishing up the whole ‘buying another ship for the fleet and hiring a crew thing’ but you really should look at a calendar once in a while.” She squeezes his middle then quickly shoves her hands under his shirt. Jester tickles like it's her mission to seek, destroy, and cause the most giggles.

“Mercy!” Fjord laughs. “I concede! Do I need to wave a white flag above my head?”

“Depends, are your undies white today, and can you take 'em off and wave those?” Jester pats his stomach and pulls her hands back out with a smile.

“Absolutely do not forget I am in the room right now.” Beau speaks from behind the safety of her hands shielding her eyes.

“Pbbfft, you’re no fun.” Jester sticks out her tongue but does take a step back. “It’s the costume party today! The neighborhood contest? All the kids are going to be stopping by for treats ‘cause I’m trying to bribe them to vote for us?”

“Oh.” Fjord inhales; some part of him knew it is today and that part of the chaos of this week had been decorating every surface with fall leaves, gourds of all sizes and painted face persuasions, and Jester’s insistence of sampling a strange but bountiful variety of baked goods. He knows it doesn’t look good that he forgot, but to be fair his makeshift panel for hiring new crew had included Marius for ‘reading people to see if they’re the right fit’— whatever he meant by that– and Kingsley who in their words ‘think the newbies need a bit of a test first’ which Fjord learned the hard way was just skirting the lacey edge of unethical. He is feeling exhausted after a week of too much peopleing and too little fire extinguishers on board a wooden ship.

“The party is tonight.” He says simply.

“And you, my lovely to-be, are just in time for the costume fitting. Have you been practicing your bat screech?”

“Ah.” It all comes back to him in a buttered bread scented rush. The half-conversation he heard Jester and Reani having. The craft night with Veth and Yasha. The suspiciously full bag Beau is currently carrying. “I’m not good at animal voices the same way I am with accents.” Fjord tries to shrug like he isn’t afraid of what is in store.

Jester sighs. “Just promise me you’ll do your best. I heard the best themed house on the street gets free cinnamon crunch rolls for a month .”

“Darling, my love, we are surrounded by rolls right now.”

“And that’s for the bribe! Keep up!” Jester smacks his arm lightly.

“Yeah, keep up, Captain.”

Fjord sends a lukewarm glare Beau’s way but he is intelligent enough to know when the battle is lost. He has to keep his eyes ahead on the war.

“Are our friends joining us?”

Jester takes the bag from Beau’s arms. “Duh, of course! Caleb is helping Reani teleport over and she’s bringing the headbands. Veth says she’s gonna try and get Luc to be a baby bat but he’s been really teenagery this week so who knows. Yasha and Caduceus picked up their costumes this morning so I bet they’ll be here any minute!”

“Do you need me to run out and get anything?” Fjord eyes the distant door, half-walled off by baked fences.

“Nope!” Jester pops the ‘p’ with her mouth. “Just put on the sexy bat costume and we can start the night with a bang!”

“I am right here. ” Beau repeats.

“Surely Beauregard, you’d want to be the sexy bat instead? Yasha would love to see you…” Fjord tries to think but it’s like the flour has seeped into his brain. “Flap around sexily?”

“I don’t need any help there.” Beau flexes and sends a wink to Jester. “No, this bat costume is made. Just. For. You.” She pokes his arm with each word like deflating a balloon with a barb.

“Captain Tusktooth, won’t you do it for me?” Jester’s voice lilts up and Fjord knows what he will see when he meets her eyes. Glossy, round, perhaps a little magically enhanced to be utterly convincing, but that may just be Jester’s natural charm.

“Just for tonight?” His willpower is crumbling like the pastry crumbs below his boots.

“Yes!” Jester hugs him again. “Just for the party!”

“It’s only a couple hours?”

“Maybe like four or five or maybe six,” Fjord’s sudden cough sounds strangled. “It might go past midnight, but yes just for tonight! My sexy little flappy Fjordy bat, please do it for me.”

“For you, always yes.” He doesn’t have it in his heart to say no. Fjord can suffer the embarrassment for a few hours. He knows the smiles and laughing kisses from Jester will be worth it. Plus, who are they to pass up free cinnamon crunch buns for a whole month ?

[moonlightndaydreams]

On today’s episode of Reese’s Delulu Hours, I’d like to discuss my Secret Hard Dom Jisung agenda. In which, he doesn’t like to show it in front of the guys but you know just the right buttons to push to get him to come out and play. Two scenarios, for your consideration…

-------

“Where should we go tonight?” Chan asks the crew.

“Doesn’t matter to me. Karaoke? Arcade? How about let’s go to a bar? I could go for a drink.” they all chime in at once.

“I want a drink too,” you shout.

“Easy there, doll. How about we…?” Han says dismissively, without looking at you.

“Ugh! You never let me vote on anything!” You whine loudly. Han immediately walks over to where you are seated and slowly bends down.

“You certainly have a lot to say sweetheart.” he says low enough for only you to hear. He gently grabs your shoe and pretends to fix your shoelaces. You look over toward the other guys.

“Don’t look away from me when I’m talking to you. They can’t help you princess.” He whispers sternly. You look down at Han as he stares up at you expectantly. “Now what do you have to say for yourself?”

“I’m sorry, Sir.” you say quietly.

"Good." He smiles and out of habit, you roll your eyes. He stiffens. Oh shit.

“Fucking little Brat. Say goodnight to the guys while your mouth still works...” 

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

Before arriving at the company building, you had been teasing Han mercilessly about his stage outfit for their latest performance. Usually, he could pull off absolutely anything. But it was something about the poncho or maybe the croc boots. Well, the whole ensemble just seemed like the stylist’s practical joke or the consequence of a lost bet. So much so, it made you laugh at him. And then there was Seungmin’s savage commentary that made the whole crew cackle on the ride over. But Han remained eerily silent as you all made your way to the conference room. You stood at the back of the room, far behind the camera, leaning against the wall while they were all on live. The guys went on and on about their recent scheduled events and responded to viewers’ comments. The conversation turns to Han’s stage outfit and while the other guys are deep into discussion about their own outfits, Han looks toward the camera. But then he does it. The Look. To the untrained eye, Han is just playing around with STAY– the usual silliness everyone loves about him. But it is obvious to you, in the same room as him, that it's a veiled threat towards you. You have seen it plenty of times before. Your heart immediately begins to race and your mouth is suddenly very dry. You quietly sneak out of the door to go find a water fountain and collect yourself. Just as you bend over to take a drink, you feel a stinging slap to your ass. Yelping in shock and pain, you jerk upright only to be pulled into the restroom next to the water fountain. Han’s hand covers your mouth as he presses you between his body and the door. You hear the lock click. “There is much more where that came from. I hope you enjoyed yourself today, love. So pretty when you laugh but now I’m gonna make you cry.” He growls.

Secret Hard Dom Jisung is merciless and we love it. SORRY, NOT SORRY.

@thatonenoona I feel so bad I haven’t responded to you share with me (I had always intended to) 😢 but now I know why I hadn’t yet. After reading THIS I was thrown straight into my naughty imagination thinking every detail through… and then I needed to be alone 😈 . But truly, your scenarios have left me not being able to think coherently (in the way I love most)… it’s just soooo good. Secret hard dom Jisung is sooo good!

I don’t know which scenario I want here! Can I have both? I’m really greedy and require all the various Han’s including “secret hard dom Jisung”! Oooh Imagine though, he’s such a cutie pie most of the time, but you know what he’s capable of. Destruction. Devastation. Punishment. Oooof! Arghhh my brain…. It can’t handle this! 😩😩😩😩

[angel-of-the-moons]

Nothing Is Lost

Khonahu x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Mentions of drugging/roofies, allusions to rape but nothing happens, murder, kidnappings references, Khonshu being an asshole but one who won't just leave you hanging, Reader gets her baby wings!

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: Thanks to everyone who voted in the poll! Just a reminder; every single variation had hints as to what's happened in the past; and little Easter eggs >:3.

Taglist: @drinkingwithkhonshu @astrosphereblog @themostegotisticalgirl124 @patchesofwork @lialiwasneverseen

Chapter 14:

Starting Lessons

"Try again." Khonshu sighed boredly, resting his long beak on his knuckles as he sat on the boulder nearby.

You panted, your body sagging with exhaustion as you glared at him, "Alright, you goddamn vulture!" You wiped some sweat from your brow. The cheeky old fucker gave you his staff to practice with, and your arms were tired.

The inherent magical properties helped focus your magic as if under a magnifying glass, helping you figure out the right "flow" that best suited you, Khonshu had told you. It was going to be used as a tool to focus your skills until you didn't need the "crutch" anymore. Until you could weave spells and cast them with your own hands.

"This fucking thing is heavy." You wheezed, callously letting the golden moon at the head dip into the soil and snow, scratching a groove in the snow to reveal the dark earth beneath.

Khonshu rolled his head a bit--if he had eyes, you knew he'd have been rolling them--and stood up with a raspy grumble, "Whiny little runt." He calls you.

Every lumbering step he took only made your irritation grow, even as he stood before you in his full imposing height.

"What more do you want from me?" You groused, not backing down. You didn't even so much as flinch when he leaned down, invading your personal space.

He reached out with a large, long finger and tapped the staff; and instantly it felt lighter. Almost the same weight as the broom you usually pushed at work.

"There. Will you stop your whining?" He scoffed as he leaned back again.

You lifted the staff and drop it a few times, gawking, your mouth agape. "You're telling me you could have done that the whole time??" You look back up at him, "Why didn't you lead with that?!"

"You did not ask." He stated with a casual shrug, returning to sit on his boulder.

"And, aren't you concerned at all about anyone seeing us?" You asked, sweeping your arm out before you. You two were sitting in the middle of Central Park. Yeah, it was half past midnight... But there were plenty of homeless people and police that walked the park at night.

Hell, even the wayward superhero or two...

It was as if Khonshu could pick your thoughts out of thin air; "I placed a ward. Nobody will see us if I do not let them. Not even that sorcerer, Strange."

"Strange? As in Doctor Strange?" You gasped.

"Of course. Do you have rocks in your ears?" He asked, tipping his head to the side. The bastard.

"I'm not deaf." You hissed, your hands tightening around the ancient staff in your grip.

"Then why ask obvious questions? Now--again. Trace the rune I showed you."

You groaned loudly and sighed in defeat, holding the staff out like you were going to stab the air.

Now, the rune went like--

"Gah. Widen your stance. If you cast it improperly you will be thrown aside." Khonshu scolded, waving his hand. You widened your feet, twisting the staff in your grip.

But apparently, that wasn't what he wanted. It was obvious when he got up once again, muttering beneath hushed breaths as he marched back up to you. He reached out to you, spreading your hands down the shaft much wider than before. Then, with one of his feet, nudged one of yours until you are standing, wide-legged.

He put his hand in between your shoulders and pressed lightly so you hunched inwards just a bit--the staff now in a perfect position to guard your upper body if you were struck.

However, you were flustered--and not in the fun way--when he just... did that to you. He didn't seem to notice, or even care, at all as he stepped back away.

"There. Now," Khonshu sighed, sounding as though he were a disappointed father scolding his child.

"Again."

Your shoulders ached. Your back ached. Your legs ached. Your everything ached.

"Motherfucking--bitch ass bird-headed bitch." You grunted under your breath.

Your jerked forwards and stumble, earning a few weird looks from two women leaving the bar you'd passed. They couldn't see what you felt, however. Or hear what you heard.

What you felt was a hefty smack to the back of your head--like a parent brain-dusting their rowdy child for causing a ruckus in a church--and what you heard was a rather snide voice:

"You will learn respect, you little pest."

"Go get bent, you old bastard." You muttered, shoving your hands in your pockets with a huff.

You felt a chill slip down your spine as a lock of your hair was pinched and twisted back. Almost like a child pulling their sibling's hair. You wondered, honestly, why Khonshu didn't do more.

If he hated this so much, surely someone with his god-forsaken ego would lurch at the chance to abuse their power? Hell, someone with his powers in general... should have abused them by now, right? So, why...

That's when it hit you. It wasn't that he didn't want to...

He couldn't. Something was stopping him. That had to be it, right? What, you wondered, could stop a literal god from--

"Go back to that bar." He commanded suddenly.

"As much as I'd like to drink, Khonshu, I'm going home to go to sleep." You sighed, shaking your head.

Your jacket was yanked on, making you stumble back and almost fall on your ass into the slushy snow. "What the hell--"

"This is not a request. Do not order anything alcoholic." He hissed at you.

Though you couldn't see him, you knew he was hovering; judging by the chill that so easily penetrated your otherwise warm clothes. What was his damn deal? Why was he so insistent that you go into this hole-in-the-wall?

"Why?" You grumbled. "What's so interesting about--"

"Do not question me!" He hissed, shoving you back towards the bar. "I will instruct you in what to do. Now go!"

You grunted in frustration, but relented. If it got the old bastard to shut the hell up, you supposed you could at least grab something sweet to boost your mood...

The bar stunk. It smelled of body odor from the old bikers and few homeless who were pissing away their few bucks for some liquor; as well as the sickly-sweet scent of marijuana and cigarette smoke.

The latter normally wouldn't have bothered you overmuch--but combined with the smell of spilled liquor (and even a hint of someone having pissed themselves, or thrown up on their own clothes) it had you nearly nauseated.

You shouldered your way through the noisy, rambunctious crowd. You felt a gnawing pit form in your stomach because you knew eyes were on you.

You'd never been to this bar before; this was unfamiliar territory for you, and you feared it brought you the wrong kind of attention... What was the old man thinking?

You awkwardly sit in the bar stool; the seat cracked and the stuffing poking out as it squeaked and creaked under your weight. The older woman behind the bar has a cigarette hanging out of her mouth--and you having worked at previous bars knew that was a big no-no, that it was not only a safety hazard, but also a sanitary one--as she was cleaning out a pint glass with a ratty cloth.

You suppressed your urge to shudder at how gnarly it looked and smiled politely at her, "Do you have a drink menu?"

She laughed, her voice slightly scratchy, "The hell kinda place you think this is, toots? Do we look like a bougie-ass cocktail club?"

You smiled thinly, the corner of your mouth twitching in irritation--customer service was clearly not high on this woman's purview. Not that you enjoyed it yourself back in your days as a bartender; but you knew that ensuring your patrons were happy and had fun were great ways to get big tips. This woman on the other hand, didn't care.

"Um--can I have a virgin daiquiri, please?"

Her nose crinkled and she flicked her cigarette ash into a nearby tray, "You come to a bar and order something with no booze? You a church girl?"

"Ha... I suppose you could say that, now..." You reply stiffly, your fingers tapping the sticky countertop. You didn't want to even think about how long it had been since the damn thing had been properly cleaned and disinfected...

"Gah, fine, girly." She turned, looking for the proper mixers and glass. She eyed you over her shoulder, quirking a thin, penciled-on eyebrow at you, "You want strawberry or peach? 's all we got, sweet cheeks."

"Ah... Peach is fine."

"Riiiiiiiight." She replied with a short, going to mix your drink.

"Basic bitch." You heard her mutter under her breath.

You gritted your teeth; feeling eyes take over your body and making goosebumps creep up your spine and making your hairs stand on end. You have a casual look around the bar and spot a small table with three men and one woman.

One of the men had their arm around the girl, laughing obnoxiously in her ear at something one of his friends said. You weren't sure why, but something had you on edge.

Whomever was looking at you before, didn't seem to be doing it, now. But the uneasy feeling didn't subside.

"Do not panic," Khonshu's voice murmured in your ear. "I am here. I will talk you through this."

You sucked in a tight breath and let it out, relaxing your posture a bit. Despite being annoyed at how he had been invading your personal bubble the past few whatever-it-had-been at this point... you were thankful you weren't currently alone in no-man's land.

She slid the drink to you, the contents sloshing a bit, no ice cubes to keep the drink chilled. Most places, you found, tended to serve them with ice by default. You yourself had yet to meet a person who liked them at room temperature.

"Thanks." You muttered, looking into the glass. You weren't sure yourself if you were thanking her or Khonshu for his reassurance.

She noticed how you stared at the drink and sneered, "Sorry if it's not to your likin', princess--but you didn't say if you wanted it on the rocks or not."

"Oh, don't worry--" You lie quickly, grabbing the drink and sipping it. It was sickeningly sweet. Too much mixer and syrup; the crushed peaches mixed in were bitter and unripe. "--It's fine."

"Yeah, I'll take your word for it." She says, rolling her eyes as you slip a few bills onto the counter--overpaying more to get her away from you than to be generous--and stuffing them into her bra. Again, another unsanitary thing that made you shudder.

You watch with disappointment as she takes shots with a few patrons, smiling and joking with them as opposed as to how cold and rude she was to you. Poor conduct, how on earth was this place still even in business? You had half a mind to report them to--

"The table you spotted before." Khonshu's voice said to you. "The men with the lone woman."

You casually spin your stool around, leaning back on the bar as you take a hefty swig of your drink, letting him continue as you discreetly glanced towards the party he mentioned.

The man hanging on the woman seemed to be getting too handsy with her--the poor thing looking like her skin was crawling from the way her nose scrunched.

"They intend to drug her." He told you, almost making you choke on your beverage. "You will stop them."

You turn back around and hunch over your drink, muttering, "Easy for you to say, old man. You're like, nine feet tall. I appreciate the confidence in my baby magic skills, but seriously--"

"You can do this task," He says matter-of-factly. "All you need to do is act inebriated. They do not know your drink isn't mind-altering. Nor do they know if you had been drinking elsewhere before coming here. They are not paying close enough attention to you to see you are able-minded."

That... made sense. But what were you...

Once more, he seemed to pluck your thoughts like low-hanging fruit: "Act as though you are nearly incapacitated. Drink your fill in one go to put on an effect. Spill the young woman's drink on her before the man has the opportunity to slip the drugs in her drink."

He paused a moment, allowing his words to absorb before continuing to speak to you once again, "You will leave this bar with them, and bring them to the alley past the next street corner. Continue to act inebriated. I will be with you the whole way, do not worry."

You shivered, adrenaline beginning to thread its way into your bloodstream when you feel Khonshu recede; as if he was the music that was being drowned out by the crowd in the bar. You fist your drink tightly before tipping your head back and shotgunning it, trying to get into your best "shit-faced" mode. You've never been the whole "blackout drunk" type; so you had to draw on from what you've seen firsthand from others as well as online.

You pretend to be unsteady on your feet, wobbling as you step off of your stool, beginning to sing along to the radio in off-key, slurred speaking--even going so far as to pretend to hiccup and wretch--as you made their way over to their table.

Their demeanor shifts as you close in, the men becoming guarded as you approach them on shaky feet.

"Heyyyy!" You croon, slipping your arm around the woman's shoulders, knocking into her and discreetly tipping the glass of bright, cherry red cocktail onto her nice pastel pink top.

She gasped and immediately pulled away, her mouth agape as you cover your mouth and overdramatic shock, "Ohhh! I thought you were my fr--frriend!" You say, trying to wipe at the stain, only making it worse, "I'm sh-sorry!"

"Ah! I don't know you! You ruined my--" She whined, her pained expression making you feel very guilty. You could tell that was probably her favorite too; one she would now have to throw away because of this stunt you were pulling.

"I--I'm gonna go to the bathroom." She groans, turning to stomp away towards the back, her leather boots squeaking on the floor.

You turned to the mean, swaying slightly as you pouted, "I jus' thought she was my frien'.... was s'posed to meet me here after I left tha other place..."

You felt a disgusting viper strike at the inside of your belly when the men shared looks and toothy grins, "Ah, well," The oldest one said, adjusting his flaking faux-leather jacket. The prick was trying too hard to lean into the 80s greaser stereotypical biker look, and the smell of whatever disgusting cologne had you wanting to blow your nose all over that shitty Walmart-brand plastic jacket of his.

"Hey, you're here, now, baby." He continued, slipping his arm around you, instantly making your fear spike and your mind struggling to fight your "fight or flight" mode. "Come on, party with us. We'll keep you company, right boys?"

His two friends nod, raising their beers and drinking messily with laughter; the way their eyes gleamed at a conquest--willing or otherwise--made panic rise in your gut.

"Calm down. You are not alone. Play into your role." Khonshu's voice rumbled to you, "They will not harm you. They will be lucky to survive what you will do to them."

You kind of hated that what he was saying sat right with you--you weren't really the "beat someone within an inch of their life" kind of person. Even when it came to self-defense. You believed in incapacitating them long enough to get away. But if what Khonshu said was true, about their intentions with that poor women...

Rapists of any kind deserved to be castrated. Among other nasty and violent things you fantasized about when you'd heard horror stories from other women--hell, even the things you saw on Law & Order--and from what you yourself had narrowly dodged.

The viper in your belly calmed somewhat; a fiery rage it began to coil around for warmth took precedence.

"What d'you say we take our party somewhere else? I know a bar with waaaaay better drinks than the shit Tilly serves." The man holding you said in your ear, his breath slimy as it dropped down the sweaty skin on your neck.

"Okay..." You replied out loud, keeping up your drunken facade--you could just barely make out a shadow passing over the table, the silhouette undeniable.

"Aaron, pay the tab." He ordered, swinging you around to head towards the door, his other friend following quickly, leaving the third behind to rush up to the bar and pay before following suit.

The cold outside immediately hit you; making you shudder.

Even the typical stench of the city that you'd become accustomed to was more welcome than the oppressive scents in that dive. You let the men continue to lead you, subtly influencing their steps as you followed the route Khonshu instructed you in.

And, he was right. Past the stop sigh at the corner, there was an alley that was lit by a nearly burnt out light to your immediate left.

You took the opportunity to lurch forward, pretending to get nauseous and gag. This didn't seem to deter the men, even as you fled to the alley to curl over the nearest trash can.

Like stupid lemmings, they followed you.

And predictably, one of them grabbed you and pushed you up against a nearby wall, his hand gripping your jaw tightly as your heart sped up; beating against your ribs like a frantic animal.

"Press your index finger to his chest and trace the rune I showed you earlier. Flick your wrist like you are swatting a fly."

You do as he says quickly, your finger shaky and snagging on his jacket as you do, but you manage to trace the rune--the symbol faint and golden as it hung in the air between you. Your assailant looked down at it, his brows furrowed.

Before he could process what was happening, you flicked your wrist out and watched as he went flying out into the street, slamming into a nearby car hard enough to deny the metal; the alarm blaring viciously loud in the cold night air.

"Holy shit." You breathed, staring at your hands in sheer awe. The adrenaline was pumping like a powerful drug within you and you turned, getting into a ready stance like Khonshu had bullied you into practicing. Yes, you didn't have that obnoxious staff, but it made you feel more steady on your feet as the other two rushed at you.

Time slowed almost to a crawl as Khonshu instructed you once again, "Curl your thumb into your palm and thrust your hand out, after that, duck and roll away. Do it, now!"

You took in a sharp inhale, and right as the men reach your space, you reached out for the closest one; thrusting your palm out and shuddering at the sound of bones cracking beneath an unseen force. He didn't go flying like the first one, instead he fell to his knees, gasping desperately for air and clutching his body gingerly.

When the other man swung his fist out to punch you, you ducked down, spinning into a roll; the icy slush helping it be more fluid than it would have been any other day--albeit messy--and watch as he stumbles, crashing into the wall you were just in front of, your chest heaving with heavy breaths as you watched his friend collapse into unconsciousness.

"Rise to your feet and kick between his legs--" Khonshu quickly instructed you, "Then I want you to slam the heel of your palm into his face."

You rose to stand with a slight bounce on your heels, trying to stay light on your feet as the man turned to glare at you, "You little bitch! When I'm done with you, you'll be beggin' for--"

You cut him off by swinging your leg up as hard as you could, right into his groin--feeling a sick sense of satisfaction as his voice left him in a strained wheeze. You squeezed your fingers together and when he fell to his knees to look up at you accusingly, you slammed the your hand up into his nose, the crunch of bones once again assailing your ears and the coppery scent of blood filling your nostrils as he fell onto his ass and into the dirty snow and ice.

He spat out a glob of blood, shakily climbing to his feet as his eyes narrowed on you in pure blind fury; "You fuckin' little whore! I'm just gonna fucking kill ya!"

"Fuck you!" You spat back, your palms itching furiously, the faint glow coming from beneath your skin again.

"Now, trace the--"

You didn't give Khonshu the chance to finish speaking. You balled your fist and punched as hard as you could, sending his head knocking sideways with a gnarly twist; unbeknownst to you, severing his spinal cord.

As soon as he tumbled down into a limp heap, you surveyed the carnage you wrought with Khonshu's guidance. The adrenaline giving way to pure euphoria, and the knowledge that you'd very likely saved a woman from being brutalized, traumatized--or even worse--making your heart and mind soar with the feeling.

"Ah..." You sighed, your voice shaky as everything soaks in. Khonshu appears before you, nudging the last corpse with distaste.

"I did not tell you to--"

"Ah--HAH! Hahahah!" You began to laugh hysterically, bouncing on your feet as you ran your fingers through your hair, spinning in place.

You stomped your feet, pointing at the bodies both dead and unconscious-- "Fuuuuck! You!"

You looked up at Khonshu, your eyes wide as you pointed, "I did that! Me! I did!"

"Yes, you needn't prance about like a cat bringing home a dead bird." Khonshu sighed at you.

"I--! I just--I fucking saved somebody, and..." You felt your body lurch from within--like you were on an elevator that came to a sudden stop.

"I--I did--I did--I--!" You wobbled on your feet as Khonshu turned to stare at you. You felt something warm and wet drip down your face.

You swiped at it and stared at the bright red blood on your sleeve that continued to drip steadily from your nostrils.

"I... Oh, that doesn't look too--"

The last thing you were aware of was Khonshu leaping towards you in a blur, and then--nothing.

Khonshu sighed as your body went limp in his arms. He cradled you as though you were comparable to a sack of rubbish; hanging off of him in sheer dead weight.

You learned quickly, it seemed. It was both relieving to know and frustrating at the same time. Relieving because it meant he would not need to tutor you overlong in the ways of ancient magic--frustrating because you so quickly took to it that you became overconfident in your own abilities and knocked yourself out.

"Troublesome little pest." Khonshu muttered, looking around at the scene you'd created--painting some of the dirty white with bright red--some of it your own.

Yes... you may have overworked yourself. But you did do a good job of following his instructions up to that point, saving that woman the men had planned to essentially torture.

Khonshu adjusted his grip on you, brushing the blood rivulets from your face with his wrapped fingers.

The car alarm finally silenced, and Khonshu was aware of frantic shouting heard--the young woman and others. The siren of a police car could be heard getting closer and closer.

"Hurry!" He heard the woman shout. "I think I saw them drag her this way!"

He leapt up into the sky, perching with you still draped in his arm as he watches the woman scream, her mouth agape in horror at the scene as several other concerned patrons and citizens rushed into the alley where you had been moments before.

Khonshu huffed to himself, feeling pride in the fact that there were still some people willing to come to the aid of strangers who needed or--or at least, whom they thought needed it.

Justice, he felt, was served this night. The young woman could go home safe, only mourning the loss of her shirt. The men you had felt watching you were not sizing you up out of malicious intent--but because they saw a young woman alone in the dead of night in an unfamiliar location. They were concerned for your safety.

Bodies were collected, the living transported to the hospital.

Khonshu knew the mortals would find out that the men you'd fought had careers stretching well into their youths. They had become so confident in their abilities that they willingly left DNA in the women and young girls they would drug and abduct--and in some cases, killing and dumping.

The city would rest easier from now on, knowing three monsters had been dealt with. Justice had been served.

The first thing you were aware of was the feeling of sand beneath your feet; the grains shifting to flutter over your skin and slide between your toes.

Your breath leaves you in a ragged gasp as you look up, and see the walls of a narrow canyon stretch for untold lengths up into the sky--the faint ribbon of blue almost invisible from how high it was from you. You look ahead, and behind, nothing but the rocks and sand to greet you.

Your feet feel like lead weights as you walk on into the canyon; "H-Hello?" You called out desperately, wrapping your arms around yourself.

"Is anybody there?"

The further you walked, the colder it got and the more the canyon seemed to close in on you. When the canyon began to squeeze down on your shoulders, you turned to try and flee back the way you came; panicked and scared.

But, the way had changed. It was just as narrow as the way you had been headed. You felt a sob creep into your throat as you pressed on; headed forward once again, no choice but to endure as it squeezed you more, and more, and more...

Until you couldn't breathe. You flailed, and screamed, trying to get something--somebody--to come and save you.

But your squirming only made it worse; you felt the sand shift beneath you, flooding the canyon like water as gnarled, withered hands began poking out of the roiling dunes to claw at your skin, grabbing onto your dress and staining it with their dirty fingers.

You screamed again as the hands closed around your face, beginning to cover your nose and mouth, until only one of your tear-filled eyes stared at the sliver of sky above you.

And when you blinked, you were on your hands and knees in a temple.

You patted your body down, checking for any injury; and, upon finding none, you sighed with relief, staring up at the statue before you.

You say like that for however long had passed, watching as the paint and gold began to flake away into a decrepit, withered facsimile of what it had been moments before; blood dripping from the eyes and flowing like a stream towards you.

You panicked again, shuffling to your feet as you turned to run.

But as you did, something hit you so quickly it was a blur--the air punched from your lungs in a sharp gasp.

You retained your footing, and when you looked down you saw it. The blood from the statue running between your feet like a swollen creek breaching its banks, as red as the blood that seeped out and soaked through the white dress you were wearing; dripping down your body from where your belly had been so callously... stabbed? Sliced?

You didn't know, all you know is that you were frantic, trying to stop the bleeding even as you fell to your knees.

Your body was growing colder, your vision going dark around the edges as your essence seeped from you like a flood.

Everything around you sounded muffled, like you were under water.

You could just barely make out a voice, so soft and almost inaudible:

"I'm sorry. I do love you."

Chapter 15: Link

[httpsserene]

my bahrain 2024 grand prix recap:

if it were anybody but max in p1 and they had the same exact race with the same exact lead on p2, they would’ve been driver of the day. did i still vote for carlos, yes.

a ferrari p3 and p4 is a win—i don’t care what people say 😤 we have to celebrate this as a win because it may never happen again this season. that being said,,, if i hear “we are checking” more than two times in a race, i am cutting somebodies head off at ferrari, and until an improved result is shown more heads will roll :)

did i expect anything different in mercedes’ performance today? no. am i still upset? yes. overall: if both george and lewis could qualify high i think they could have relatively gold race results. they’ve got to find a way of avoiding traffic and dirty air to prevent them from lifting and coasting, but alas, that is inevitable in formula one.

mclaren…i actually am mildly indifferent about my boys. obviously i want them to be higher up as i HOPE the car has made more improvements from last year. i want a lando win, and plenty of lando or oscar on podiums! i need menace mclaren annoying the hell out of red bull this year!

visacashappracingbulls….what the fuck was that at the end 😀 perhaps invest in future planning if you want to overtake a haas. that was embarrassing a lil but. i feel for yuki but i also feel for daniel.

williams; i haven’t looked into what happened with logan but i will be checking! i want him and alex to both do well, and at least have one of them get points today but, it is what it is. i feel like it’ll come in time tho

alpine, go ahead and clock out! if they DNS every race from this point forward they will probably have the same amount of point even if they raced. which is 0 LMAO 😭

aston; same as mercedes really qualify higher and perhaps they will end the race better (truly i think, maybe, that can be said for anyone LMAO but i mean in the sense that they could maintain a higher position better than other teams regardless of their qualifying position if that makes sense?)

stake, sauber, kick, whatever the hell um you’re definitely on the track. i couldn’t miss the car if i tried. also couldn’t miss that 56 second pit stop!

anita max wynn

lewis has such a fat ass that it broke the seat

give me my damn pitstop times CONSISTENTLY. it was funny seeing the 52 from sauber but hell not seeing the others

oscar tried to stay ahead of lewis and it didn’t work but it was a good attempt! keep the confidence up bestie

i did not forget about george potentially leaking fluid at one point or charles’ breaks, or lewis’ battery, or the entire mercedes car—but im just happy it’s over lmao

ONE RACE IN NO DNF, NO CRASHES, NO RED FLAGS, how long will this last?!!!

i’ll see y’all next saturday with another race recap 🫡

[astr0disiac]

MISTY CHAPTER 11 SNEAK PEEK

Sorry it's been taking so long! Laptop is still in the shop and I've had to go back to the prehistoric days and type on my phone. SO, here are some excerpts from the new chapter of MISTY, set to be posted next Tuesday (to replace TIANAMI TUESDAY). Take everything at face value...hehe...

This chapter will have mild sexual content. Because this chapter is plot heavy, the og will be on ao3, and both the og and sfw version will be posted here. Some people don't like sexually explicit content me and that's okay! Minors, DO NOT READ.

Also, be prepared, this chapter is a rollercoaster. We have reached the precipice.

Lastly, thank you to everyone that voted. This is your fault btw! Hold on to 'yer britches!

Please enjoy!

***

But what threw her off the most is when he bought two blankets; what the hell would they be needing blankets for? Tiana had plenty at home. At first she believed they were for Nanami; the guy seemed to sleep with just a sheet. But it didn’t match the decor the two agreed upon for his home.

***

So she tries to put a bit of pep in her step, and sprinkle humor in her voice despite her trembling insides. Nanami stands with his hand outstretched, watching Tiana try to hide the rigidness in her walk. When she locks her fingers with his, he squeezes her hand and pulls her closer so that he could find the truth within her eyes if she decided to let a lie leave her lips.

***

“Tiana, this is what I’m supposed to do.” Nanami turns to her. “I’m supposed to go out of my way for you. I want to.”

***

“Well, don’t just stare at me.” Tiana sniffled, her eyes searching for his own, shyness creeping up on her having been the only one to vomit out her own heart. “Say something.” She whispered. “What did you think of me, Nanami?” She paused, her voice light.

***

Maybe it’s because she hadn’t done anything like this in a while and she had gotten rusty, but dammit, what did that make Nanami? Was he just naturally good at this? Or maybe, he just wanted her that badly?

***

His phone rings from his jean pocket, and he gets up, walking towards the folded pile of worn laundry. He digs into his pocket, pulling his phone out, his face drooping into a frown. He waits until he hears the sound of running water from the bathroom before he slides his thumb across the screen, accepting the call. A call he had been dreading to receive. Because somewhere in this lie he colluded, he himself forgot the harsh truth. “Uncle.” He answers with a hard swallow.

***

“Oh?” Gojo says, lifting his shades. “Oh, oh, oh?” He taunts the blonde, and Nanami grips his thermos.

***

“Nephew!” He booms, and Nanami shushes him quickly, striding to the door and slamming it closed. He prayed no one heard his declaration.

***

“As my boss, you can take this however you want, but Nanami? As my friend? What the actual fuck?”

***

“I said it’s fine.” Tiana doesn’t bother looking up, growing more perturbed as the conversation continues. “What is with you today?” She says, placing the plate on her lap. “Actually, all week you’ve been-” She pauses when she looks back at Nanami, finally noticing that he still hadn't stepped inside. In fact, he looked sick, paler than a dying star.

***

"That’s…insanely fucked up.” “I know-” “No, you don’t know.” Tiana says. “Because if you did, if you truly did, you would have never done that. That…fucking hurt, Nanami.”

***

[mulderscully]

henlex ficrecs? i don't know where to start

i was like who tf is that til i realized some of u are calling firstprince that lol i'm sorry but i bring you porn only so i hope that's what you want 🫣

some of these are bookverse and some are movieverse and tbh i see no great difference bc it's the same relationship to me but i added a * to the ones that are specifically movieverse, the others are either an au or bookverse or a mix of movie and book

familiar gravity

"Yeah,” Alex breathes, and he pulls back to look Henry in the eyes. “I’ve been fantasizing about you fucking me in this chair for, like, weeks. Every time you sit down here with your stupid book.”

Henry likes it when Alex speaks Spanish and Alex has a request.

in the teeth of strong opposition

"You know what?" Henry says loudly, annoyed beyond belief that he has to hear for the millionth time how fucking cool Alex is with Henry's sexuality. "If you're such a good ally, why don't you suck me off? Since you're so insistent, why not get on your knees, Alex?"

He regrets the words as soon as he says them, but it's not like he can shove them back into his mouth; he can't take them back. He closes his eyes so he doesn't have to see the shocked expression on Alex's face and takes a few deep breaths.

"Sorry," he says tightly a moment later, eyes still closed. "That was uncalled for."

"Do you want me to?"

the red side goes up

Henry brings home a little something new to try in the bedroom. Or: The One Where Alex Gets Jealous of a Butt Plug.

bedroom warfare (3 part series)

Looking back at it, it's all Nora's fault.

Or, the time Henry and Alex bet on who can last the longest without sex.

voted most likely to run away with you*

Alex drifts into consciousness in a bed full of tangled limbs and warm, sleep-rumpled skin. He’s lying half on his stomach and half on his side, the shoulder smushed against the bed protesting in a way that tells him he’s going to have a crick in his neck for the rest of the day.

But fuck if he cares, with Henry stirring next to him, one of his long legs draped over the back of Alex’s thigh. Alex doesn’t need to open his eyes to know the room is hazy with filtered sunlight, spilling pale yellow through the carelessly drawn curtains.

who knew polo was such a turn on?*

Henry had no idea the horseback riding lessons he started as a child would lead to this.

save a horse, ride a cowboy

“Forget about walking,” Henry tells him boldly, giving him a hard kiss before he pushes himself back up vertical. “Just wait until you see me ride.”

baby*

Henry has plenty of pet names for Alex, but how did Henry end up with the pet name "Baby"?

i dream your name backwards

Three times Alex wakes up from a dream and can’t help but tell Henry about it, although they're apart and an ocean is between them.

And one time, Henry wakes up from a dream and Alex is there.

isn't it amazing how every line of our hands align

Alex knew it was going to be one of those days the moment he realized his third coffee of the day had absolutely zero effect on the turmoil of his thoughts. It was not even nearing ten in the morning when he had to face defeat, annoyed and broken down to a single thought: Henry was right. Not that he never was, far from it, but Alex had this kind of constant competitive streak with his boyfriend — and he hated admitting when Henry was right.

Or Alex is having a bit of a day, and Henry knows exactly how to help him out.

it's a scene (and we're out here in plain sight)

"I don’t want us to be in the press for anything other than how good I am at polo, and how charming you look in that shirt.”

Henry just wants the Fifth Annual Okonjo Foundation Polo Match to run smoothly, but that's harder than it seems.

i like that thing you do

Ever since the first polo match Alex attended, his obsession with Henry on a horse has only grew. Years into their relationship, Alex is still hanging onto the pitch's fence, watching with rapt fascination. Read to find out what happens when Phillip asks a question that creates a lust monster Alex can't control. No one ever said those white pants Henry wears aren't meant to be destroyed.

alright that's all 4 now i can do a non smut one later too but say hey if u see urself on her @ authors!

[tomatoswup]

New Horizons Hospital

___🕯️a decision based trigun horror adventure 🕯️__

summary: welcome to new horizons hospital, an abandoned hospital on the outskirts of town. Maybe you should denied that favor...

Play the game, Observe the story, Indulge yourself to the characters but converse with peers. Choose wisely, Every decision is dire.

caution: this game will contain : disturbing themes, horror themes, violence, the paranormal, blood, suggestive content, drug references(hospital), hospitals, insects, body horror,,, warnings will be applied to every entry this game will post.

🕯️If you can not handle any of horror or violent-like subjects, I would advise you not to play.

🕯️the way this story is written will be based on the consensus voting that the audience will be doing. You, the reader, are the main character.

A/N: hI YALLL!!! Welcome to the 100 follower special!🎉 :D It took a bit for me to make this work more easier so I thought this was the best way! I also been wanting to write a horror-centric trigun fic au bc of the lil cosmic horror that happens in the Trimax manga also fatal frame ;P ...and phasmophobia. And honestly this is gonna be a fun one!

Join and play the game! And careful, with every step you take, it may be your last. Have fun! :D

You've done plenty of things in your life... Actually rephrasing that, probably not the amount of things other people have done like party or adventure, but you've done enough that you were just...content!

Like visiting cafes, or visiting your local library! Those were most things you would've liked to been doing at the moment, and not..

This.

The loud cracks of thunder striked through the night sky and the drowning rain didn't stop for just one second as you tightly wrapped your jacket closer to your chest, taking a step to the side and closer to the white van doors you were standing infront of.

Wow! Look at that bright sun! Such mood-lifting weather huh?

'Fuck' You thought to yourself, staring up at the large ominous hospital that gloomed over you as the van stayed parked in place. With various vines crawling up its brick walls and the metallic debris scattered about the yard, you were kinda worried that you might catch tetanus in a run-down place like this.

Or maybe tetanus was the least of your problems...

"Hey, I thought you guys said it was a small clinic?" You nervously laughed, the palms of your hands feeling a tad bit more sweatier than before.

"Well, they did say it was pretty big hahah!" Your friend, Meryl, sweat-dropped, shooting you a sorry smile as she unpacked wires and cameras from the various boxes around the van.

You quickly whipped your head back to the abandoned place.

Clinic?

Whoever told Meryl about this absolutely lied to her because this damned place was not a fucking clinic. You didn't think there was any clinic that was this big around here.

"I don't think we should have anything to worry about though!"

Spinning around in her chair, Meryl shot you a small smile “Folks said it wasn’t anything too crazy like last time, just the normal nightly poltergeist!”

Normal. Poltergeist.

And too crazy like last time? WHAT HAPPENED LAST TIME FOR THEM TO SAY THAT-

Goddamn it, you really should’ve said no to doing this favor for her. 

“Pretty please? Oh cmon! You said a psychic told you that you had a really high energy no? Maybe you could help us get some ghosts while Nai is out sick! Please?” She had begged you while you were working your morning shift at the coffeehouse last week. You knew Meryl's done some odd jobs before but this one was the oddest. Ghost hunting really?

Thinking back onto it, it wasn’t even a real psychic it was really just some random ass dude wasted out of his mind from the club next door!

At least he was nice enough to not throw up on the floors the part-timer had just mopped.

But you couldn’t go back on your word could you?

You sighed, wiping the rain drops away from your forehead “So who’s going in with me-”

Your shoulders jumped up in surprise as a loud bang sounded through the van as her partner, Milly, slammed a large box from the van and right in front of you, just making sure it was still under the van’s roof.

“I-Im not going in alone right??” You worridly continued as Milly brightly laughed out “Of course you’re not silly!” Cracking the top of the box open, you couldn’t help but peek into the weird trinkets inside, spotting different kinds of tech and… Was that a fucking cross?

“The others should be in here in just a bit. The rain kinda set us back just an hour but- Hey and there comes one of our crew now!” Milly cheered, waving behind you as the smell of nicotine had started to get stronger and stronger.

“Sorry, had a late service at the church.”

Wait.

You whipped your body around at the very familiar rugged voice, your shoes making a dent in the wet mud as you watched the local priest walking up behind you, a lit cigarette in his mouth and the beaded blue and black rosary swinging from his neck back and forth. 

It wasn’t until he was right beside you that he looked you up and down with a raised eyebrow.

“The coffee house barista?” “THE FUCKING PRIEST?"

Dude no fucking way was the priest who wed your aunt and uncle just a few months ago was gonna help ghost hunt.

You were taken aback as Wolfwood let out a “Hmph”, crossing his arms around his chest.

“Now I should be the one asking why you’re here. Didn’t you just make my drink a few days ago?"

“Yeah I did and I hope you know that’s the worst flavor on the menu. And I’m here as a favor for a friend that's all."

Wolfwood ignored your remark, turning to Milly who held out small ear pieces for the both of you to put on “Hey is blondie here yet or do we gotta start without him?” He lazily asked, taking the ear piece and putting it on as you followed suit.

“You guys can start,” Meryl called out from inside the van, before popping out and placing something bulky in your hands. With golden rims and odd scriptures alongside those rims, the old-

Actually really old antique camera fit well in your hands “Vash texted me he was gonna be a bit late so we’ll start off slow and steady, okay guys?”

Achieved! "Camera Obscura"

You couldn't help but scrunch your face up in confusion, motioning to the camera she had randomly just handed you. "Oh right! That's the Camera Obscura, it was given to us by our boss Roberto. You remember? The one I brought the other day?"

Oh! The tired man who really liked black coffee! "Apparently it exorcises spirits if you get them in the pictures you take but we haven't tried it out yet. Maybe you'll be the right person for this? Our medium isn't here yet but this is a good head start!"

You looked back down at the camera and moved it around in your hands, getting use to the weight as you looked at the dents and cuts on the surface of it t as Wolfwood blew out another small cloud of smoke.

“So who are we dealing with now?”

Meryl tinkered around with a tablet in her hands “Our main ghost is nicknamed “Four Legged Sherry”, apparently she appears more when people are alone…” At every word she spoke, you couldn’t help but play with the hem of your jacket in nervousness at the thought of what you were getting into.

Just your luck wasn’t it?

You put the camera strap over your neck, it's home for the time being before you felt the wind get caught in your throat as Milly slapped both hands down on your shoulders, a small “Eep!” slipping out of you as she gave you a thumbs up “I know you’ll do well with this being your first time and all! Good luck!” 

Achieved! Teammate Nicholas D. Wolfwood, Exorcist

And before you knew it, you were making your way inside the desolate place alongside Wolfwood as the radio crackled through your ear piece.

“Check, check, check! If you can hear me, please click the button on the earpiece and respond.” Meryl’s voice rung out, earning a response from the both of you before you guys continued and thus, began the hunt. 

“Do you guys do this often?” You asked curiously, closely following Wolfwood through the dimly lit hallways, each bang of the nearby animals making you turn in paranoia as every empty room was filled with darkness, the flashlights y’all held illuminating the peeled rotten walls around.

Each step the both of you took through the puddles on the floor echoed like music from the depths of hell.

Fuck, you were never doing this ever again. 

Woflwood lifted up the small cross at the end of his rosary and used it to scratch the top of his head, cigarette kept lit in his mouth “Too often than I’d like to really.”

He suddenly stopped in place before whispering to himself, turning towards you as he made a taunting scary face “Scared already? You’ll get use to it, this is nothing!”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the small statement “You act like I’m gonna be doing this again.” You brought the camera up to your face and snapped a picture of the hallway before the polaroid slowly popped out from the top.

He went quiet again, staring down the dark hallway with a stern look, before taking the cig from his mouth and throwing it to the floor, crushing it clean under his shoes as he muttered under his breath, the final cloud of smoke leaving him.

"You will."

You didn't get to respond before a small breeze of wind gaze your cheek, making you turn your head and your light into one of the desolate rooms, rusted with olden beds and papers scattered around the floor.

Obtained this chapter:

-Camera Obscura

-Teammate Nicholas D. Wolfwood

UNLOCKED:

Entry 1 NOTEBOOK

description: photographic findings, files, and personal character entries will be posted in the notebook.

[a-couple-of-notes]

Yesterday I voted for Kamala Harris.

It was a struggle. I applied for a mail-in ballot, and though I had listed my mailing address on the application as my current residence, and had received mail-in ballots to that address before, my county sent my ballot to my former college dorm that I'd moved out of three years ago. (This was partially my fault; I hadn't updated my voter registration since then.)

Three weeks before the election, when the ballot didn't come, I called my county elections office. I'd seen that the ballot was sent to the wrong address, and I just wanted to cancel it and vote in person. (I didn't trust the time it would take to mail a new one.) They told me I would have to submit a cancellation form. I was in the middle of moving to another apartment, so I had to go down to the library, get a library card, print out the form, go to the post office, and buy envelopes and stamps before I could mail the thing. But I did.

Later, I decided to call the elections office again, just to make sure the cancellation form had gone through and I could vote in person. The support worker (who was very nice) eventually confirmed that the county does not process cancellation forms after mail-in ballots have been sent out. I also could not vote in person without surrendering the unmarked mail-in ballot to a poll worker on Election Day. So either way, I would have to retrieve my mail-in ballot from the address it was sent to (which, again, was a college dorm I had not lived in for three years).

So I got off the phone. I looked some things up.

And I got on a train and went back to that college dorm.

Luckily, I only live an hour from my old college. I had totally forgotten which building I lived in for that final semester, so I had to dredge up my moving-in instructions from 2021(!!) from the bottom of my saved emails. I also pulled up my voter registration so I could show the security guard that my ballot was sent here.

I walked in, and the security guard looked at me. I said, "This might be weird, but I lived here three years ago, and my ballot was sent here?"

Miraculously, the security guard said, "Oh, yeah, I remember you. Go on in." (I did not realize I was that memorable.)

The student working the mail counter wanted me to tap my student ID. I told her I'd graduated and didn't live here anymore, but she said it didn't matter--I guess I was still somehow in their registry. Also miraculously, I still had the student ID.

And the most miraculous of all: they still had the fucking ballot.

I'd retrieved my ballot--somehow. I went home. I filled it out for Kamala Harris. I called the elections office a third time to make sure that the cancellation form absolutely 100% would not go through after I cast the ballot and render it void. They assured me it would not. They also told me that I couldn't drop my completed ballot off at the polling place, which I did not know at the time; I had to go to one of the county's designated dropboxes.

I did, on November 5th. I drove forty-five minutes to the dropbox and put my ballot for Harris into the damn slot. A sweet old lady gave me my "I VOTED" sticker.

My story's pretty funny. All of the things that happened to me were inconveniences, miscommunications, or the consequences of my errors. Plenty of other people faced true voter suppression, including damaged ballots, more convoluted processes, and pressure from family or intimate partners. But I'm writing this down because I want it to be known that I did fight, I did try my goddamn best, and so did so many other kind, brave people in this country. I don't want that to be forgotten.

We'll keep fighting. We'll keep trying. We'll find moments of surprising grace and kindness, like that security guard who recognized me or the fact that my ballot had been kept safe in that mailing room for almost a month. And come 2028, we had better fight harder.

[hegoeshardasfuck]

whatever it takes

wordcount: 1.2K

tags: free use, stuck in a wall, voyeur hinata, the sex itself is non-explicit but he is fucked beyond belief, body marking

synopsis: Naruto didn't expect that he'd have to degrade himself so far to get respect from the village even after all he's done

authors note: whoring him out is my favorite hobby these days, hope ya'll enjoy!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/59579065

Did you know that sharpie starts to sting after enough of it's ink has been laid onto your skin? After the pitch black markings cross over with fresh, skin deep wounds- it stings.

He learns that with another day of this god awful display of humiliation. He willingly put himself up to it of course, the public held displeasure that he became Hokage. So the next best thing to appease them would be to prove he could handle anything even if he had already proven himself plenty.

It's not his fault the votes where in favor of one Naruto Uzumaki becoming the town cum dump for a weeks time. He took on the challenge with a grin, said he'd be fine by the end of it. Completely unaffected both physically and mentally, even in spite of that fact it would be seven days of overstimulation.

Three days have passed and doubts are starting to settle in.

He's allowed to return home at night if he so desires, so he can eat and sleep and apologize to his wife. He spat a big fat fuck you at everyone who said it'd be wise if he did so the first night. Fuck 'em. He said he'd take it and by god he's gonna take it all, every last drop

and every last marking and every single filthy degradation he endures.

Of course, he can't say no when it's Hinata whose walking in. She holds a cup of ramen in her hands because they definitely weren't making sure he doesn't starve out there.

He perks up at the sound of footsteps and smiles best he can when he sees his wife, "Hi, Hinata." He laughs weakly, his entire body shakes. He's thankful they gave him a bench to use as support for his arms.

"Are you going to come home tonight?"

Hinata asked.

"Nope!" There's a sharp intonation in his voice and a flicker of red in his eyes.

"Should I leave?" Hinata asked.

"I mean, if you wanna watch your husband get plowed from behind feel free to take a seat in the cuck chair," Naruto offered. He shakily raised an arm to gesture to a fold-up chair as he spoke in spite of the breathiness to his tone. "I don't actually know why they put that in here."

"Sometimes people like to watch," Hinata said simply as she placed down the ramen on Naruto's bench before pulling up the chair, "Do you want to wait until after he's done fucking you, or will you not choke if I feed you while he's doing it?"

Naruto paused, "It's a she, I think-" This weird almost growly sound stumbles out past his lips as he grips the bench.

"You can tell?"

"It's really cold, glass i think."

Hinata gave a small hum, "Then she won't leave for a bit?"

Naruto yelped, and then yipped, and finally yowled.

Hinata doesn't speak.

A brief shudder of relief courses through him, she can only recognize it due to the way his entire torso heaves, followed by a sigh, "Can I have some ramen?"

"Of course."

-/-/-/-

Two more days pass and Sasuke comes in for a visit up front, there's even more marks on Naruto.

"Hey, Sasuke," Naruto started with sloppily, his claws bore into the bench, his fangs were pronounced quite a bit. He's having a hard time keeping up his grin with how sore his face is from being fucked and slapped and somewhat written on. He looks wrecked.

It renders Sasuke near speechless.

"Here for a turn?" Naruto asked, "Come on, facefuck me. Do it."

"I came here for a turn but holy fuck, Naruto."

"Wait till day seven, I'll be a real mess when we get there."

"You can't get much messier than this."

He means it.

There's so many markings on his skin it's unreal, he doesn't even want to see what's on the other side of the wall. Sharpie, claws, bites, sore red marks, all of it is accounted for on Naruto's flesh. The bench is damp with drool and sweat alike. It smells of nothing but sex even outside the door, the scent having seeped through an insane amount. It was a rich, pheromone heavy scent that Sasuke was very familiar with.

"Oh ho ho, you'd be shocked," Naruto laughed as he lightened his grip on the bench. He folds his hand under his chin, "Anyways, what can I do ya for? I usually have a dick in my mouth by now."

"Do you even know whose been here?"

"Sort of, most of them they left a signature though, check it out!" He raises up a shaky arm, "Shikimaru keeps dropping in for sloppy sevenths with Ino."

Sasuke takes Naruto's hand and reads all the names, insignias, and logos on both arms.

Just about everyone noteworthy in the entire village has hit him up. Some probably didn't even leave a signature at that. It's both horrifying and impressive to imagine that one of the strongest most influential figures in the shinobi world has whored himself out so thoroughly in the course of five days. Just five days and his hair is matted with cum and sweat and his face is marked up with sharpie, cum, and tears alike. Only five days out of seven.

"You really think you can make it through?" Sasuke asked.

Naruto scoffed, "After enough time you don't really feel it as much, it's pretty tingly for the most part. I will say that nobody fucking cleans up after themselves- my thighs are so sticky right now it's insane. Walking home after this is gonna be horrible."

"As soon as you get out of this me and my wife are taking care of you." It almost sounds like a threat.

Naruto smiles lazily at Sasuke, "Really?"

"A promise, we'll get off all the sharpie."

"Will Hinata be there?"

"If she wants."

"Alright-! Fuck!"

Claws rip into the cushions once again, heavy panting, and Sasuke can hear the sound of a hand hitting skin.

"Looks like Sakura's back." Naruto laughed before whimpering.

"How can you tell?" Sasuke demanded.

"Hunch- go give her a hand, get in your fucks while you still can legally," Naruto taunted. He moans again and fuck that's a rich sound, absolutely delicious. He missed it quite a lot when it fell out of his best friends mouth, be it in the sheets or a fight.

But Sasuke doesn't budge.

"It'll be infidelity in two days..." Naruto drawled in an almost melodic rhythm.

That gets Sasuke moving.

And in a brief moment Naruto can feel a second set of hands on his body.

-/-/-/-

Just like Sasuke said, three sets of hands are on him.

They hold him gently, scrubbing the ink off of his flesh as he soaks in a lavender scented bath. Suds rest atop the water in a thick layer that he wants to sink into entirely. They won't let him though, holding up one sore leg and then the other to try and get off as much sharpie as they can.

He's almost worried that some of it has sinked so far into his skin it won't come out again. Sakura assures him it'll wash out eventually, even if not entirely right now.

"If it doesn't all come out now could we do this again next week?" Naruto asked, raising himself out of the water just enough that his speech wouldn't be distorted.

Sakura nodded, "Of course we can."

[astroboyanalysis]

5. The Third Magician

STOP! YOURE MAKING HIM SELF CONSCIOUS!!!!!!!!!!

Well this is just fucked

OH FUCK THIS IS THE ONE THING YOURE NOT SUPPOSED TO DO AS A MAGICIAN!!!!!!!!!! About to get blackballed by the magicians guild

Well no wonder he keeps revealing his secrets hes not supposed to lie. thats like, the main thing magicians do.

Ok I'm gonna be honest I think a human would also be concerned about this

Number 3 on my Top 5 things to say to get kids to REALLY want to investigate the house right here.

Kenichi like breathes and Atom is like screaming because it was so loud

Again just appreciate how straightforwardly evil this is

Tezuka had a lot of fun drawing these panels I can tell. It reads like a wheres waldo page.

Really great way to consolidate all the paintings into several easy to transport vans so they can get stolen easier.

Ok I do gotta hand it to Tawashi this is a great hiding spot

On my "'Tis" and "Indeed" bullshit yet again

First calves vs. boots mistake(s) I've spotted since Plant People, but it's possible I missed one in Deadcross. All panels leading up to this have boots, he loses them for 3 panels, then they come back.

I want to stress again that calves vs. boots does not matter. I just like pointing it out.

Okay embarassment may be a little harsh

I hate him but he is pretty relateable. Me trying to escape problems as well.

This type of thing is common at the police agency (as we'll see) and Atom overhearing it is Also fairly common. I can't say its not relatable to have heard people say things they believed were behind closed doors about like. Your humanity and human rights.

Anyway, Ochanomizu is not likely to react well to you asking for that change but feel free to go for it I guess.

Actually so badass.

Atom's very unprepared for a debate like this, and clearly Tawashi is embarrassed he's been caught in being a bigot who pretends not to be one.

This interaction is bringing forward like, memories of the way Blue Knight's (2003 specifically) logical and straightforward but passionate approach was really clear to me as a kid. It was like, so simple that to go against it would immediately make someone look bad. They would have to admit the core conceit that they did not think robots deserved rights, nor did they deserve to Leave or be properly compensated - and from there, it's a different conversation.

This Atom, in this moment, just doesn't have any idea of what strategies to use, what to say, what to do. It's sad! And it's overwhelming. No wonder he's about to cry and resorts to "You're being mean!"

For anyone, myself included, who has been put in this situation while wholly unprepared to advocate for their own rights, this scene might hit pretty hard. Or maybe I'm just not normal about the comic book.

This would just be really scary and humiliating and upsetting. For anyone. I'm glad he has someone like Ochanomizu who can support him and guide him through it, but in an ideal world he wouldn't have to go through it at all.

Then again, ideal worlds don't make the best stories, do they?

I do love these moments when the roles are reversed from what we've seen before, and Ochanomizu is Protecting Atom from something he can't fight (human bigotry) instead of Atom protecting Ochanomizu from a more direct physical threat.

This whole portion of the story just makes my heart ache a little

Here we see a completely peaceful demonstration by robots to defend an ambiguous existing law that allows robots to act autonomously.

Atom's conceit here is that "If we offend the humans now, it'll only make things worse!" does not work - They will make things worse if the robots do nothing. Should they not at least show that they disagree? That they don't want to go down quietly? The human police are attacking a peaceful protest.

This is all stuff we're plenty familiar with. Atom's idealism is the same as liberalism in many ways. Go out and vote, don't disrupt the way things are. It allows the status quo to go almost entirely unchallenged, and all that needs to happen is a workaround for some votes. A system rarely actually listens to its most vulnerable.

This is the angriest we've seen him yet in the omnibus order. "Maybe I'm not in the mood to listen!" speaks to some righteous anger we rarely see from him - he's sick of always listening, always being patient. This is the way he knows to enact change. Fighting and punching work. When fighting and punching are out of the question, he feels helpless.

FUUUUCK YES DOGGY POLICE CARS FUCK YES ITS EVERYTHING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I'm biased but I do especially love how this was interpreted for Astro 2003. That said I can't find an image online immediately so everyone that's reading this please join me in imagining the 2003 dog cars.

...

It's great, right?

Oh good thing there's only one big place for us to check huh?

To be continued in a reblog. For reasons.

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Yellow City, Chapter Eleven - a Malevolent AU

Where were his parents? Wait, no, they wouldn’t be there anymore. Cloud City, he lived in Cloud City, not there, not for a long time. But his parents should have been there, in the village, smiling, working. Where were mom and dad? No, he knew they were gone, this was all wrong, this was—

Vertigo. All he could feel right now was vertigo. He made a small, soft sound.

Chapter eleven of Yellow City. Warning: this fic is explicit, though this chapter is not.

AO3

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

Arthur had never been in a room more dangerous.

He walked slowly, trusting his partners to stay on his heels, to have his back. And he needed his back had here.

Everyone who was anyone in Cloud City was in this place, wearing fucking cufflinks worth more than Arthur’s rent. People who killed, and people who schemed. Gowns that sparked like painted depictions of the unseen night sky. Jewels like rain dangling from eaves. Thieves and owners of thieves. Those who claimed to uphold the law and also broke it.

People Hastur used to work with and call his peers.

This had to be awkward for Hastur at best, and awful at worse. Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to bring him. “You good, partner?” he said, turning to look up (and his leash was long and thin like golden thread and there was plenty of slack and so it did not tug and bother him when he turned).

“Of course, little detective,” said Hastur, and he was slurring. “Why would I not be?”

Arthur gasped. “Are you drunk?”

Hastur laughed, low and terrible, and stroked Arthur’s hair. “Silly little detective.”

“Hastur!” Arthur hissed. “We need to be on our best game right now! What were you thinking?”

“That this is not the threat to me that you seem to think it is,” said Hastur, adjusting Arthur’s (fine golden collar) white bowtie.

“Fuck,” said Arthur, and looked to Parker. “Are you drunk, too?”

Parker stared at him. “No.”

“Good. Because we gotta pick up the slack.” He gave Hastur a dry look, then shook his head. “I get it, I guess. Just wish you’d told me it would fuck you up so much to see your old cronies.”

“My old cronies, you say,” said Hastur, delighted and slurring.

“You’re lucky he’s this sensible,” said Parker. “He’s been a nut for days. Ever since you—”

Arthur heard tied the knot, and some part of his mind hurt, and deep in his chest hurt, but both stopped at once and he felt fine.

“—didn’t even put you down for one fucking second. Carried you around like some kind of doll,” Parker complained.

“It’s a honeymoon, Parker. I don’t know what you expected,” Arthur said a little defensively.

Parker stared. “It was not a fucking honeymoon! He stabbed you through the heart.”

Arthur was a grown man, and only colored a little. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

Parker covered his face with his hands and screamed, close-mouthed, into the meat of his palms.

“Grow up, Yang.” Arthur said. “Well, as long as we make it through the performance, we should at least get out alive.”

“Performance?” Parker said weakly.

“All is ready,” Hastur said, tentacles rising, many eyes glowing briefly golden behind his mask.

“Yeah,” said Arthur, looking around. “There’s Lauren Darling. I gotta talk to her.”

“Who? Why?” Parker said.

“The vote,” said Arthur simply.

“You’re remembering that all the time,” said Parker softly.

“It’s important. We’re the only hope those kids have,” said Arthur, as if that explained everything.

“His memory has improved,” said Hastur, eagerly. “Lead the way, little detective. I have your back.”

“That’s just what I wanted to hear.” Arthur checked his hand, where he saw a ring (so many rings) that matched the hammered gold bands (beauty) on Hastur’s tentacles. His heart did a happy little skip. “First job as a married man. Let’s get this done.”

Hastur’s laugh was deep and pleased.

Parker’s leash had plenty of slack. He hung back. Lauren Darling was Pers, Hastur’s half-sister, a horrible bitch Parker did not care to go anywhere near, and he wondered if Arthur would crazy his way into her graces, too.

He hated this place. Knew it well. Had spent nearly four fucking years here, suffering. Suffering. Unable to appease his god.

His god, whom he’d been sure would free them from all other gods. He’d been so sure.

The floor was slimy, and the walls were slick. Insects squirmed in the corners. The dais and throne—which he’d never seen the Defiler use—gleamed dully with whatever awful slime grew all over it.

He’d have to fucking burn the skin off his feet once they left here if he wanted to feel clean again.

He crossed his arms over his chest. Hastur was happy, clearly—his tentacles all undulated, the edges of his robe fluttered without breeze, and his crown somehow cut the air in a way that even Parker couldn’t parse without feeling like his brain was being stabbed. Paker let them get so far away that the leash was almost taut.

He couldn’t hear them. Pers (in all her freakish pink glory) was being threatening, leaning over, tentacles pointed like knives, but Arthur didn’t seem to see—or possibly didn’t care. It’s not like she’d try anything with Hastur right there. Probably.

He could admit to himself he didn’t know for sure. In this moment, surrounded by towering gods who paid only enough attention to him to avoid stepping on him, he could admit he didn’t know a lot.

He used to know. He used to see, to feel. To wield magic by will, channeling power he thought he’d earned in pursuit of his goal. He’d been so close.He’d pleased his god. Then, he’d failed.

Hastur laughed. The room shook; gazes turned his way. Even when it wasn’t his fucking party, he had to make it about him. Parker rolled his eyes.

Arthur was working his own magic, though, whatever it was. Pers’ body language had calmed, her pink tentacles lowering, and she was laughing, her nearly human guise almost smiling right, though the eyes were too wide, and she had too many teeth.

Parker shuddered. Turned. And found himself facing sagging flesh, puckered skin, the pocked and oozing putrefaction of the one he’d once called lord.

He had never been one who startled, who spooked. He went stiff, but neither cried out, nor stepped back. Instead, he looked up.

There was no head. Parker looked there anyway. He’d determined, in the nearly four years of unending torment, that regardless of the putrid and melting form taken, Y’golonac always watched from that place.

Silence. Y’golonac dripped onto the tiles, and his smell twisted the air.

Guilt, fear, hope chased each other down Parker’s throat, clogging it. He had never been good with words.

“Having fun with the Peacock King?” the Defiler finally said through his disgusting left hand.

The smell of rotten meat carried those words. The sheer yellow fabric Parker wore began to sort of wilt, like flower petals under intense heat. “It’s fine.”

“You’re miserable,” said the Defiler with his right hand. He produced another arm with too many fingers, each of them with tips torn off, oozing something pink from the shattered bone tips. This is what he used to touch Parker’s leash, pinching it between his fingers. “Do you want to come back?”

Yes, Parker wanted to come back. Not to suffer more, not to hurt, but to regain acceptance. To unearth the favor he’d lost. To find the… he wouldn’t call it love (it had never been soft or fond), but the approval.

It was the tone that tipped him off, though: mocking. Beyond teasing. Cruel. “You’re not offering.”

“No. I’m not offering.” The Defiler said.

It wasn’t as though they’d Contracted; Parker couldn’t host him. Y’golonac’s servants had come, or there’d been signs in dreams. And the power; there’d always been such power, strength, healing, health. Parker never got sick, even when the whole department did. By the time Arthur had been chosen as vehicle, by the time Parker was many murders in and blindered, he’d felt fucking invincible.

More importantly, though, he’d felt approval, and that had been his drug.

It was all gone now. His heart hurt. “What’s it gonna take to make up for it? If you’ll just fucking tell me, I’ll do it.”

“He’s going to give you back soon,” Y'golonac said. On either side of his pinch, the leash lost its gold, began to darken and grow stiff.

This was bad. This was good. This was complicated. “He say that?” Parker managed, both terrified and hopeful.

“No. But I know him. Flighty; distracted. He’ll want his favorite happy, and…” Both the Defiler’s hands laughed, spraying Parker with saliva that stank, that burned. “How happy do you think he’ll be when he learns just what was traded for you?”

Not happy at all.

It seemed like the one consistent thing left in Arthur’s shattered brain, and no, he would not be happy. He’d never blame his precious Hastur. No. Parker knew how it would go down.

The Defiler was getting him back. It wouldn’t be a joyful reunion. He wanted it to be, but it just was not.

So many things twisted under his tongue, in his head, but only one came out of his mouth, out of nowhere, bad. “Do you hate me?”

“Yes.”

Even when being tortured or sent on endless, punished errands, he hadn’t been told that.

Hard to breathe around the weight of what he’d lost. Crying would be so fucking dumb. “I can make up for it. I can.”

Y'golonac said nothing.

Behind him, gods laughed. Arthur had done something entertaining, and the laughter was followed by light applause. Well, that figured. Arthur had always been… likable. Even at his lowest, grouchiest, most self-destructive.

Parker had never been likable, even at his best. Words were too fucking hard.

Parker tried: “I’m sorry I failed you.”

“I don’t care.” Light tone, flippant, almost covered by the voice behind, by Hastur’s booming pleasure.

“Yeah, you do,” Parker dared.

Y’golonac studied him, face unseen, and the mouths in his hands smiled. “I don’t hate you because of your failure.”

Hastur’s voice rose, some questioning prompt. Arthur replied, and their audience cheered again.

Parker couldn’t find words.

“I hate you because you’re everything I hate,” said the Defiler almost kindly, as the leash began to crackle where it had blackened, the rot climbing toward Parker’s throat. “I’ve always hated you. Virile. Strong. Healthy. Smart. I hated everything about you from the very beginning.”

Parker staggered back one step as if that had been a physical blow.

Was this happening? Really? Laughter danced over his shock, pressing his sinking heart deeper into drowning. “But you… kept me that way,” he finally said.

The floor beneath them darkened, foul. “I had to. You had to serve me, didn’t you?”

Hated by his god. By the one he’d done everything for. It hurt. It hurt. Parker clenched his fists. “Why are you talking to me right now, huh?” he choked out.

Y’golonac shrugged, and the sound was like wet leather being twisted.

Parker looked at the leash. The darkness was a foot from his throat.

He should cry out. Step back. Something.

There didn’t seem to be a point.

Always hated him. There’d never been approval. Only tolerance and manipulation. Like all of them. Like the ones he’d dedicated his life to ending.

Parker stayed still and did not raise his voice, but he decided at least to ask. Why not? There was nothing left to lose. “What would you have done to me if I’d succeeded?”

“Let you die.”

Said like a cheap gift.

Said like an unimportant thought.

Says like an already-faded bouquet.

Parker couldn’t find his words anymore.

“I won’t let you die now, though,” said the Defiler. “Not after what you cost me. I’m keeping you. I hate you.” The rot was nearly at the end of the leash. “You failed me. With all the power I could give you, all the tools, all the time. I’ll keep you so long, you won’t even remember why I hurt you. I’ll find new ways. You’ll never adapt. You’ll never know joy or peace. Anybody who fails me will know—”

An inch from Parker’s skin, the rot stopped crawling up the leash.

“Back away from him,” said Arthur from behind the enormous god of rot.

Surprise made those puckers tighten, squirting a little unidentifiable fluid, and the Defiler turned.

Arthur. Holding a… something like a gun, pointed right at the Defiler’s midsection. “I said back away from him, or you can fucking say goodbye to your kidneys.”

Behind him, Hastur. Chuckling. So amused. “Brother,” he said.

“Brother,” said the Defiler. “That’s a dangerous toy to give your pet.”

Arthur’s thumb moved. Parker thought he might have “cocked” whatever he was holding. “You deaf or just stupid?”

“You’re making a mistake,” seethed Y'golonac like boiling shit.

“I suggest you step back,” said Hastur. “I will let him use it.”

Whatever that black thing was, it apparently was serious, because the Defiler took a single, wet, heavy step back.

“Parker,” said Arthur, hand and eyes still steady on Parker’s fucked-up god. “You good?”

“Yeah,” said Parker, aware now that he stank, aware that his yellow frothy gold had withered, fried, turned crackling and sticky.

“Come on over here,” said Arthur. “I’m covering you.”

Hastur tsked. “My, my, what have you done?” he said, and his tentacles slid over Parker, and the stench was gone, and the tiny bits of burning, and the leash gleamed, and the fabric frothed like golden mist and reformed perfect and sheer and pointless.

Parker knew he should say thanks. The only words he could find were angry. He clenched his jaw shut.

“You have some balls,” said Y’golonac, calmly, “pulling this at my gathering.”

“I don’t care if it’s your mama’s kitchen,” said Arthur. “Stay the fuck away from my partners.”

Hastur chuckled.

Y’golonac made no sound at all.

“Fuck, shut up, Arthur!” Parker whispered.

“I’ll remember this. Do you think you can get away—” The Defiler stopped. The Defiler stared. “You marked him?” he bellowed.

Voices dimmed.

Parker looked around. Everyone was staring. His eyes went wide. It was that big a deal?

“Yes, I did,” said Hastur bombastically.

Y’golonac leaned away as if Hastur was the contagious one. “You’ve gone crazy.”

Hastur chuckled. “Just because I have better taste than you hardly means that.”

Arthur didn’t seem to be hearing this. “Deep breaths, man. You’re safe now.”

Parker stared at him. “What the fuck did you antagonize him for? He’s dangerous!”

“You needed it,” said Arthur.

“I’m not your fucking friend,” Parker snapped, and thought that would work.

“You’re my partner,” said Arthur. “And I’m your friend because you fucking need one. Now, listen: this party’s a wash. I’m doing the music number, and we can get out of here.”

It was whiplash, talking to this guy. “What? What number?”

“Arthur Lester,” said Y’golonac. “Your owner traded his vote to me for the sake of your new friend.”

And every single being around them went quiet and still.

Parker’s stomach turned. Bile filled his mouth, made his eyes water, and he struggled not to throw up.

Arthur stared.

The Defiler laughed, a wet sound, unpleasant. “He didn’t tell you?”

Parker couldn’t stand straight; the cramping in his stomach—

Arthur looked up at Hastur. “Is that true?”

Yeah, it was true, and it was over. That’s what the Defiler had been doing, talking to him. Building it up, marinating his meal, getting Parker ready to be traded back.

It just… there was no way out. Parker covered his eyes.

“Yes,” Hastur confirmed.

Arthur sounded so… hurt. “Why? Why would you do that?”

“You asked for him,” said Hastur, all calm.

Such heavy silence, bored gods waiting to see how this played out. Parker knew how it would play out. He bent almost double. He didn’t want to see Arthur’s betrayal, Arthur’s sorrow, and finally, Arthur’s hardening accusation. Weak, pathetic, he thought, because the kindness Arthur had given him had somehow become precious. I’m a fool.

“Your vote?” said Arthur.

“Yes,” said Hastur.

“You…” Arthur stopped.

“So fix it,” said Y’golonac. “Make your pet happy. Trade back. Now.”

Had it been this quiet in this room three minutes ago? Had there been so many eyes, such weight of attention?

“Why would you do that?” Arthur whispered.

“Because that was what he wanted,” said Hastur.

The Defiler laughed. “He didn’t even try to bargain.”

“I knew there was no bargain,” said Hastur. “He said what he wanted.”

Here it came. And suddenly, Parker decided he’d say goodbye. Goodbye to this absolute lunatic, a guy he’d respected, a guy so crazy he probably wouldn’t even remember.

A guy he’d helped break by fucking around with knowledge of his daughter’s murder.

A guy he’d thought would never break.

The last kindness he would ever know had come from this guy. He owed a goodbye. Parker stood and faced him.

Arthur wasn’t hardened. He was frowning, deep in thought. Looking back and forth between the huge deities. He stopped, looking at Hastur. “I believe you.”

Parker swallowed more bile. What?

“I wish you’d fucking told me,” said Arthur. “But I get it.”

The Defiler had not expected this. “I said he traded his vote!”

“Yeah, I heard you,” said Arthur.

Parker felt slow and stupid. “You’re all about votes. This is suddenly fine?”

Arthur looked at him. “It’s not fine, but look: if we can’t swing enough votes that Hastur’s matters that much, we were fucked anyway, because they’ll just roll a second vote and win. It has to be decisive. But more important… Parker, we had to get you free. This is about people. The vote’s about people. I’d be a hypocrite to trade a life for a vote in the name of more votes.”

Parker gawked at him, mouth hanging open, throat closed.

(How many people had he killed, all for the greater good?)

There wasn’t another sound in this room.

(How many times had he violated his conscience, saying the one for the many, like the many weren’t made of ones?)

Everyone stared.

“Right,” said Arthur, handing the not-a-gun back to Hastur. “Time for my number. How do I look?”

“Perfect,” purred Hastur, and by gods, he sounded like he meant it.

Arthur nodded, moved as if removing a non-existent jacket and handing it to Hastur, then headed for the dais at the other end of the room.

And Hastur had to ruin the moment with himself. “You thought that would be a deal-breaker, didn’t you?” he said so smugly that Parker almost wanted to be returned out of spite. “You don’t know my little detective. I do.”

“You’ll get tired of it eventually,” Y’golonac snapped. “When your pet forgets him. You haven’t marked that one, and you won’t.”

No, Parker would definitely not be marked.

“I don’t have to mark him for him to be mine,” said Hastur, making no damn sense, and then Arthur’s musical number began.

Instruments blared out of nowhere, human percussion, human brass. Bright and syncopated, jazzy and fun, and Parker startled. “What the fuck?”

“The music is his arrangement,” said Hastur, ignoring the Defiler while standing in his house. “From his mind. He’s been working on it for days.”

It was lively as fuck, and Arthur was no tap-dancer, but he moved his feet on the dais as if it were a stage, conducting with his whole body, not just his arms, leading the sound of an invisible big band. Then, still conducting, he turned to face the room and sang. “Well, it's a marvelous night for a moondance / with the stars up above in your eyes / A fantabulous night to make romance / 'neath the cover of October skies.”

Parker stared. “What the fuck is this song?”

Hastur laughed darkly.

“That’s…” said some god Parker didn’t know. “How does he know that? He can’t know that.”

“He dreamed it!” Hastur proclaimed, raising all his limbs, and Arthur’s whole body shimmered. Suddenly, Arthur wore a white tux and tails, top-hat included. Suddenly, there was a spotlight, and numerous shadows as if dozens of musicians rose in tiers behind him.

Parker might never find words again.

Arthur tapped in time, swaying his hips, directing the unseen orchestra he imagined in place of a putrid throne, and sang again. “And all the leaves on the trees are falling / to the sound of the breezes that blow / You know I'm tryin' to please to the calling / of your heartstrings that play soft and low.”

The gods were dancing.

Parker felt insane.

They were… lurching, or tapping, or… he recognized that. Fucking jitterbugging?

“But that song was never written anymore,” somebody protested.

Parker could believe that. He’d never heard anything like it. Jazz? Sure, it was jazz, but utterly unfamiliar. Some future-age jazz, unknown. He stared.

Arthur spun. His eyes sparkled. His hair, slicked back, shone in red-gold waves. And this time, still directing an orchestra that didn’t exist, he sang… to Hastur. Arm out, eyes fixed, a smile on his face. “Well, I wanna make love to you tonight / I can't wait 'til the morning has come / and I know that the time is just right / and straight into my arms you will run / And when you come, my heart will be waiting / to make sure that you're never alone / There and then all my dreams will come true, dear / There and then I will make you my own.” And he spun back around and directed with his whole body, white tail-coat dancing with him, unseen instrumentalists following his every move as they changed key.

The place was in an uproar. Almost all of the gods were moving now, and while they didn’t have faces, they were… they were…

Happy?

Parker had never seen happy gods apart from Hastur. It hit him like a brick to the head, that thought. He turned slowly on his bare-footed heel, jaw open, staring at wriggling, tapping, dancing gods, and felt completely out of his mind.

Was insanity catching? Had he really fucking lost it? Was—

His collar gave a terrible yank, a nasty pull that slammed him right onto the slimy marble floor, and he hissed in pain as something in his shoulder cracked.

One of the Defiler’s lackeys sneered at him. “Oops,” it said, ears dripping with puss that bubbled and popped.

Hastur smacked it.

One tentacle, casual as anything, smacking the lackey right down, and it crunched beside Parker and cried out.

Had that been… equivalent exchange? What the fuck just happened?

Something in his shoulder was broken. The shock was done, and pain was catching up, rising, climbing. Unfair, that dead people could feel pain. Unfair.

Hastur picked him up. “Silly little traitor,” he said, and he healed that shoulder.

The pain vanished. The crunching stopped.

I’ve lost it, he thought, because the fuck?

The orchestra of Arthur’s mind followed his direction, ending at last with a screaming-brass dissonance and glory, a chord that felt like rising sun and jazzy joy and life, and in Hastur’s grip, Parker panted.

Arthur jogged down the dais steps to wild applause, somehow not slipping on the slime everywhere in the Defiler’s house. His white tux shimmered, disappeared in golden mist, became his little sheer yellow drapes of ownership. He was beaming.

Parker had to admit some grudging amazement. Hastur really did manage to take over any situation. Well. Whose fault was that? Y'golonac shouldn’t have invited him, if he didn’t want that.

“Well done, little detective,” said Hastur in a low and hungry voice.

“I figure we can go now,” said Arthur. “Obligations done. And I don’t think we’re getting more votes tonight.”

“Likely not,” said Hastur, picking him up, too.

Parker thought he’d get more, but he wanted no reason to stick around.

“Gotta watch it,” Arthur said, low. “Kissinger’s gonna get us back for this. Not that I regret it. Just saying.”

“He will try,” Hastur agreed, heading for the door.

“You promised,” said Pers, “and you delivered. Magnificent.”

“I told you,” said Hastur.

“Ma’am,” said Arthur, tipping a hat he did not have.

She purred, a higher sound than Hastur’s, almost trilling. “Lovely.”

“Yes, he is,” said Hastur, and at last, they were free.

Parker hadn’t believed he’d actually get out of there. But they were out. They were out. Somehow, he’d gotten out.

He lost it, great big gulping sobs like some rube, and couldn’t rein them in.

“Hey, man,” said Arthur. “Hey. Come on. You’re okay.”

“Fuck,” whispered Parker, wiping his eyes. He couldn’t stop.

“You have done so well, my little detective,” Hastur rumbled.

Arthur looked at Hastur like he’d hung the moon.

Parker hated Hastur. He did. But alongside guilt, alongside the heavy weight of failure, he could not kill the tiny seed of gratitude that now grew like deep-rooted weeds.

#

Hastur made them eat.

Arthur didn’t wanna. “I don’t—” A bite of stew chewed and swallowed, meat and root vegetables and herbs boiled soft. “I’m not hungry.”

“Eat,” Hastur said, not giving him a choice.

Parker picked at his own stew. The taste of bile was long gone, and all the muck cleaned off. Hastur had let him share the enormous in-ground pool, hot and scented. Had focused on Arthur and let Parker scrub himself red, scrub himself bleeding, not stopped him from crying into his hands or repeatedly punching the water.

Parker couldn’t understand any of this. He tried to find some words. “Hey. Hastur.”

“Hmm?” More stew, which Arthur obediently chewed and swallowed.

“Why did you stop him?” That wouldn’t be clear enough. “You hate me, too. Like he does.”

“I don’t hate you, little traitor.”

He had words for that. “I sleep on a damn table.”

“That is because it’s funny.” Hastur kept Arthur occupied, little touches, mouth full. “I don’t hate you personally, viscerally. I just don’t feel better yet.”

Parker frowned. “Better yet?”

“Hastur, I’m tired,” said Arthur, and looked it.

“A little more,” said Hastur.

He couldn’t mean… “What, from when I fucked him?”

“Yes,” said Hastur. “He listened to you instead of me.”

That’s what this was about? Parker stared. “Years ago!”

“Yes.”

Gods were stupid. Stupid as mud, all of them. “He did that because you made him mad!”

Hastur said nothing.

Parker bared his teeth. “That’s who he fucking is. Make him mad at you, and he runs in the opposite direction just to spite you, even if it’s into a damn wall!”

Hastur’s response was both infuriating and unnerving: “I don’t feel better yet.”

Parker gripped his head in both hands and leaned on his elbows. What in hell was he supposed to do with this?

His afterlife was over. Being brought back was a big thing, disruptive; whatever was meant for him in the Dark World would never come to pass. He had to make this work. He didn’t want to just go completely crazy like Arthur (whom he’d never thought would). There had to be another—

“Hey,” said Arthur all of a sudden. “We need to talk about Charlie.”

Parker looked up at him very slowly. “What?” he said in a small voice.

“Curious,” said Hastur. “I seem to have visitors. Well. You both need to rest, anyway.”

Arthur yawned. “Sure. But we need to talk about him.”

Parker's voice was vicious. “You don’t know nothing about Charlie.”

Hastur was carrying them toward the enormous bed.

“Hey,” said Arthur. “I gotta talk to him a minute.”

“As you wish,” said Hastur, and for a moment, held Parker over the little table as though about to drop him on top of it. Instead, he put them both in the enormous bed, and had the gall to chortle as he tucked them in.

“What the fuck?” said Parker, hackles up.

“Need backup?” said Arthur.

“No. This is a request from the Mother,” he said.

Arthur translated. “Security. Oh, yeah. You handle that.”

“You’re just leaving me here?” said Parker, freaking out. “A trap?”

“No,” said Hastur. “He’s mine, now. Marked. You could never take him from me.” And Hastur left them there while Parker gawped after him, and Arthur snuggled down into the enormous sheets and against the enormous pillows that made them both look like children.

If he hit Arthur, he wondered if Hastur would hurt him. Or throw him out.

Parker didn’t want to hit Arthur. Arthur, who lay there, looking at him, deadly serious and absolutely crazy.

“Charlie,” said Arthur.

Parker nearly hit him anyway. “You didn’t know Charlie.”

“No. But I know what he was to you,” said Arthur.

Parker curled up and lay with his back to Arthur. “What do you know?"

“You loved him. He made you happy,” said Arthur.

Parker was not at all prepared for this today. He curled tighter. “Maybe crazy’s easier. Has to hurt less,” he muttered.

Arthur ignored that. “I heard something tonight, Parker. I know you never caught who killed him. I heard—ended up down by the docks without his head, full of white worms. Right?”

Parker didn’t answer. That…

That had been the worst day. Of all his days, even the day he’d failed, that had been the worst day.

“I thought maybe you’d killed him for a while,” said Arthur.

Parker clenched his hands so tightly his nails bit into his palms. Through his teeth, he said, “No.”

“No. I know. I heard.”

“You heard,” said Parker, bitterly. “You dreamed, probably.”

And he didn’t know how he knew it changed. Didn’t how how he could tell, or what was different in Arthur’s voice, but in that moment, Parker knew that Arthur was sane: “Yeah. I did," said Arthur. "But I’m right.”

Parker turned to face him.

The ordinary, focused look was gone. Arthur looked aged, strained, almost ragged. “He made you happy. Charlie.”

“Yeah.” Words sucked. Happy. Yeah, Charlie had done that. He’d made Parker actually look forward to the remade world, instead of focusing on taking it away from the gods. Charlie made him feel like there was a future.

“It pissed Kissi…” Arthur shuddered. Closed his eyes. Opened them, and the strain of sanity added wrinkles to his skin and red to his cheeks. “The Defiler. It pissed him off. He had to put up with you being… fucking healthy, but happy was too much. He had him killed, Parker.”

No.

No, that wasn’t it.

That couldn’t have been it. “He did not,” said Parker.

“He did.”

No. “He kept me fucking motivated. There is no damn way Y’golonac had him killed.”

Arthur sighed. “What seems more his taste, huh? Acting out of hope, in faith you can build a life? Or out of bitterness that eats away at you, driving you with anger and burning you the fuck up on the way?”

Parker stared.

The sanity flickered in Arthur’s eyes like a dying light bulb, and in the next blink, it was gone again. “Fuck of a night, right? That room was as dangerous as the fucking Wastes.”

“You’re not wrong,” said Parker in a voice he didn’t recognize, because he had to parse this, because if Y’golonac hadn’t said what he said tonight, Parker would have dismissed this information, just laid that murder and loss at the feet of the gods like he did all Cloud City’s sorrows, but (I hate you) it seemed more likely, now, didn’t it, and such a seismic shift  ground Parker's thoughts against each other, crushing rock and causing quakes.

The temple doors opened.

Hastur hovered there, backlit by the double suns. Behind him, several dozen witches stood in silhouette, gathered. Quiet. Solemn.

Parker sat up. Every instinct he had said something had just gone real weird.

“Come to me, Arthur,” said Hastur.

Arthur slid out of the bed, yawning, and padded to him, nude and uncaring.

Hastur picked him up.

No one said anything to Parker. He slid out of bed and followed, anyway.

Hastur carried Arthur and traveled to the edge of the city. He was silent, leading a train of silent, grim women.

Asenath was here? Yeah, Asenath was here, looking kind of serious, marching along.

Fuck, Parker did not want to talk to her. He’d never liked her, never liked her attitude, and she was just on top of the world here, even if he had gotten to kill her. But likely, she knew what was going on. He sighed and edged his way toward her. “Hey.”

“Hello, trashpanda,” said Asenath.

Trashpanda? The fuck was… Right. That was a distraction. “What the fuck’s going on?”

“Dreamlands changed,” said Asenath. “Connected to Arthur.”

That was such an insane couple of sentences that Parker laughed.

Asenath did not laugh.

“Sure, Asenath. Right. Tell me another one.”

“Dreamlands changed,” she said. “And it is connected to Arthur.”

This was baloney. “Okay, one,” said Parker, “they don’t change. There aren’t enough people. And two, why would Arthur have anything to do with it, and three, why would anybody know he did?”

They’d reached the outer wall. Nobody went beyond the outer wall of Carcosa. It would be like stepping into a raging sea, a blender, a whirlpool. Here stood the tall, black gates which would only ever open to Hastur’s command. No one was going to the gates; they were just lifting up, flying to see over the wall.

Parker couldn’t fly. He eyed the wall, considering how to climb it.

“Fuck’s sake, you could ask,” said Asenath, and grabbed him by the back of his neck like a young dog. Suddenly, they were airborne. Parker did not startle easily, but this one came pretty close to getting him.

“Right, so,” said Asenath. “The perimeter guards spotted it, so.”

They reached the top of the wall—high, so high, higher than the tallest buildings in Cloud City, and so wide that all six of the police force’s cars could ride along side-by-side. And past the wall—

Past the wall, madness, swirls of color, lightning jumping into the sky, sideways rockstorms, shrieking that tore flesh and remade it, ground that was not for no reason and closed over the falling again at random, and—

There was a little town out there.

There had definitely not been a little town out there before, but here it sat: quaint, cute, orderly. They were high enough to see over its wall; it had sweet little thatched-roof cottages and neat little stone-paved streets. Organized, with a well in the center, it would have been idyllic if not for that wall, which looked gouged, which looked burned, which looked like giants had taken bites out of the tops of it.

“So,” said Asenath. “That’s Harper’s Hill.”

Parker had to think for a moment. “That’s where Arthur’s from.”

“Yep.”

“What… wait.” This made no sense. “The fuck is that doing here?”

Asenath made the I dunno sound, exaggerated and shrugging.

Wait. “That can’t be here,” said Parker.

“Yeah, I know,” said Asenath.

Hastur was holding Arthur so he could see the place.

Why? What did they all think was going to happen? What, he’d explain where it was from, or the thing would grow legs and walk away, or—

“That’s… familiar,” said Arthur dreamily.

“Yes,” Hastur prompted.

Arthur shook.

He stared at it, stared, and an odd stream of dust rose from the place as if it were disintegrating into the wind.

Arthur shook harder.

“I do not care for this,” Hastur said mildly.

“Arthur,” said one of the witches. “Do you have anything to tell us?”

“No.” Arthur turned and hid his face against Hastur’s cowl.

“I told you there was no point,” said Hastur.

“The Mother has questions,” said another witch.

“The Mother will have answers,” said a third.

“Chill,” said Asenath, hovering closer and still gripping Parker by the back of his neck. “It’s okay, buddy. It’s okay.”

Arthur shuddered.

“Too big a day,” she said. “Take him back. We’ll monitor this. She might want to see him again.”

“I don’t know if I care to allow that,” Hastur growled.

Asenath’s eye-roll was incredible. World-class. Devastating. “Nobody wants your woobie. We were kind of hoping he’d see it and respond with, like, information. If he does say anything, you need to tell us.” She points. “That is unknown. That could be dangerous. If it had appeared in the fucking wall instead of outside it, we’d all be exposed.”

“Fair.” Hastur clearly wanted done with this. “We are going home.”

“Yeah.” Asenath sighed. “Tell us the second he says anything relevant.” She dropped Parker.

He shouted—only to find himself floating gently down, like a feather.

The witches laughed. Not cruelly, but… not really nicely, either.

Well, he didn’t like them, either, and stayed for a moment on all fours in the lush grass, breathing hard.

“Home,” Hastur commanded, and flew back that way.

Parker did not want to be caught out here, left out here, vulnerable. He ran after.

#

Arthur kept his eyes shut and tried not to remember home, which hadn’t felt like home since he was a small child, which he didn’t even know he’d recalled in that level of detail. It felt wrong being completely empty, even though it had been mostly empty by the time he and his parents left, and seeing it…

Seeing it felt…

Where were his parents? Wait, no, they wouldn’t be there anymore. Cloud City, he lived in Cloud City, not there, not for a long time. But his parents should have been there, in the village, smiling, working. Where were mom and dad? No, he knew they were gone, this was all wrong, this was—

Vertigo. All he could feel right now was vertigo. He made a small, soft sound.

Hastur liked his whimpers. Hastur was under contractual requirement to see him suffer. Had that been why this happened?

“Sleep,” said Hastur, and Arthur had to obey, did not even try to fight, and slid with gratitude into a quiet, dark rest magically and gratefully free of dreams.

Notes:

The song Arthur is doing. Decades after his time.