#muse; tex

[agentoli]

concept: Tex is in a human host body that was actually a person named Private Jenny (much like how, in canon, Church inhabited the body of Private Jimmy)

I love it!! This also brings up a point I wanted to talk about: AI possesion.

For this AU, the longer an AI is in control of/possessing someone, the more the host begins to resemble the AI. The process is subtle, but if you compared the facial structure before and after years of possession, you'd see a noticable difference.

This is actually why Tex keeps her helmet on a lot. Seeing old pictures of her freaks her out bc "why the hell are my features changing??"

[robbiehfm]

[waynes-multiverse]

Polaris – Chapter 6

Series Summary: When Beau Arlen moved to Montana, he left behind a past he wasn’t proud of. But when a series of murders requires the FBI’s help, Sheriff Arlen‘s ghosts come back to haunt him one by one. With a wrong turn waiting at every crossroads, it’s hard to make the right choices and find his way back home – back to you.

Pairing: Beau Arlen x FBI Agent!Reader

Warnings: 18+, hurt, angst, more murder mystery, divorce, drinking, death

Word Count: 5.8k

A/N: Welcome back, guys! I'm still trying to catch up with comments and reading, so be patient with me 😂 BUT there's a big reveal in this chapter and things are about to pick up. Can't wait to hear your thoughts on all of it. Enjoy! 🤓🤍

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 6: Curses And Cries

March 2021

As you entered the dingy bar on the outskirts of Juárez, the smell of salsa deliciously hit your nose, causing your stomach to growl. Ever since your prolonged stay in Mexico, you had really gotten attached to the cuisine here.

After your husband’s death, you started to eat your grief in spicy carbs and worked it off with an hour-long jog in the mornings and some Brazilian Jiu Jitsu in the evenings.

And while you were eating your sadness, your companion was drowning his in tequila. Apparently, three shots in this time, judging from the empty glasses on the oak counter in front of him.

You sat down next to him and wordlessly grabbed a plastic menu, skimming through it with interest as Beau watched you from his peripheral and downed another shot.

“Oooh, they have Quesadillas here,” you hummed happily.

“They have Quesadillas everywhere here. And back home. It’s called Tex-Mex,” Beau grumbled and gestured at the bartender for a refill with his fingers.

“Maybe some Nachos, too,” you mused, ignoring his murmurs next to you. He had become quite the grump.

“You’re gonna puke at some point,” he muttered, thanking the bartender as he placed down five more shots in front of him.

“Jesus, by the looks of it, you’re the one who’s gonna puke tonight, not me,” you quipped and arched an eyebrow at his life choices. “Maybe you should order some food as well, soak up all that Don Julio. Or at least eat the limes that come with it…”

“I’m fine,” Beau said and hissed as he gulped down another glass.

“Yeah, by all means, you look great,” you retorted wryly. “What happened? What are you doing back here so soon? You were supposed to be at home the whole week. Weren’t you and Carla planning to go on that cabin trip with Em?”

Unlike you, who had come down here and never gone back, Beau made the trip home every couple of weeks for the sake of his marriage and daughter. You knew, however, from the occasional concerned phone calls with Carla that he barely kept his commitment afloat.

You tried to talk to him, tried to keep a balance, tried to send him home, but you knew deep down that you could try even harder. Selfishly, you wanted him here with you. He was your lifeline, the only piece you still had left of your husband.

Beau snorted a drunken laugh in response and grabbed another shot. “Yeah, that went downhill quickly.”

Your brow scrunched with a mix of concern and confusion. You placed a palm on his forearm in a comforting manner. “What happened?”

Beau silently reached into the inner pocket of his jeans jacket and pulled out a folded and crumpled heap of stapled papers, slapping them onto the counter in front of you. With a creased brow, you took them and unfolded them carefully, while Beau downed another shot.

“Oh Beau…” You sighed when you read over the lines that stung out and looked at him, putting the document back down. “She’s divorcing you?”

“Yup,” he replied bitterly and stared ahead, another shot raining down his throat.

You frowned and snatched the last remaining shot, drinking it before he could.

“Ey!”

“You’re cut off,” you barked sternly at his protest. “Drinking isn’t gonna make this better, you know?”

“You sure? ‘Cause it certainly feels like it.” Beau grinned lazily at you. Judging by the glaze in his green eyes, you were honestly surprised he didn’t slur his words yet. But then again, you figured he had built up quite the tolerance over the last couple of months.

“Uh-huh, worked out great for you the last few weeks. You know, some would even say all the booze is what got you into this mess in the first place,” you retorted and threw him a pointed look.

Beau muttered mockingly into his empty glass, “Really? And who are those people?”

Rolling your eyes with a small sigh, you grabbed his arm and tried to get him up from the barstool. But Beau shook his head and wiggled himself out of your grip. In that moment, you wished that he was lighter and that you were a lot stronger.

“Nuh-uh, I’m not done sulking yet,” he told you and swiftly turned to the bartender once more.

Fourteen tequilas in, you were finally allowed to take him back to the motel. Getting him from the bar into the car and then from the parking lot into the room was quite the straining task. He was a big guy, his full weight resting on you as you had his arm slung around your shoulders, guiding him on wobbly bow legs.

“Where’s your key?” you demanded firmly like a kindergarten teacher talking to a misbehaving toddler.

Beau flashed you a crooked smirk. “It’s in my pocket. Go fish.”

You laughed in annoyed amusement. “Oh, you’re gonna regret that one tomorrow,” you said and dove your hand into the back pocket of his jeans, hauling out the key without further ado.

“Ow! Did you just pinch me?”

Well, some further ado.

“You bet I did,” you replied dryly, chuckling as you turned your back to him and fumbled the key into the lock.

“Oh, you’re a sly one, alright… Kinda like it,” he slurred drunkenly behind you.

You soon caught a waft of tequila as his breath tickled your neck, your gaze wandering up as his flat palm steadied on the door next to your cheek. He then leaned his forehead on your shoulder as he swayed behind you in the cool night air. A shiver ran down your spine, but you tried to remain composed.

“You smell nice,” he noted with a smile in his voice. “You always do.”

You snorted and finally managed to unlock the door. “Okay, now I know you’re really wasted,” you joked and tried to get his mind to focus on something else.

You didn’t take offense to his advances nor did you put too much thought into them. You supposed every guy, who was drunk, lonely, sad, and most of all, a man, would hit on any female in his proximity. His pride was shattered, and you were just the closest thing there to mend the pieces of his ego back together again.

Besides, you weren’t all that scared of him. Maybe currently a little uncomfortable, but that was it. You knew he was a good guy. And if it turned out he wasn’t, you had practiced enough Jiu Jitsu over the course of the last months to throw him on his ass with the power of your little pinky.

However, before you could twist the knob and open the door, he gripped your waist and spun you around. Your back hit the flat surface behind you, pressing against the fragile wood as you came face to face with him. He licked his plump lips with a mischievously cocky smile, leaning closer to you as he dipped his head.

But you didn’t move or flinch. Instead, you patiently crossed your arms over your chest and quirked your brow with an amused smile. “And what d’you think you’re doing here, gaucho?”

As long as he didn’t overstep any lines, you were willing to entertain his little flirtations for the sake of his ego. Deep down, you knew he wouldn’t go through with them anyway. Like the tequila, it just made him feel better in the moment.

As expected, the mischief soon disappeared abruptly from his face and was replaced by a surprise attack of nausea. “Puking,” he managed to spit out.

With a sigh, you grabbed behind you and swung the door open for him, watching him bolt past you into the bathroom. You heard him retching a second later.

“Told you so!” you called after him with a triumphant grin.

With a few taps of your combat boots, you waited till the silver elevator doors of the DA’s office parted with a ding. Your head bobbed mindlessly to the jazzily generic music till you reached the fifth floor and Diane’s office. For once during this case, you were excited to meet with a prosecutor. You finally struck gold and had something in your hands, even if it was just a username and a possible connection to the victims.

Depending on what your tech analysts at the FBI back in Houston would find, you hoped for an arrest by the end of the week.

“Hey, working hard, I see,” you said with a friendly smile as you approached Diane’s desk and saw the huge piles of files in front of her. It was late, too. The office was empty, her colleagues already having cleared out.

“Yeah, I’m the newbie, so I got a lot of catching up to do,” she said, chuckling softly.

You then noticed the diploma behind her hanging on the wall and nodded impressed. “Wow, Stanford Law School, huh? You’re from California?”

“Oh yeah, born and raised. And honestly, it’s not that remarkable. It’s really just like any other law school in the country,” she replied modestly.

You snorted, amused over her response. “Yeah, I doubt that.” There was a twinge in your stomach and a voice in your head.

Smart, driven, the California Penal Code, it whispered, checking off a secret list.

“By the way, I’m sorry about last week,” Diane apologized, causing your brow to wrinkle in confusion for a moment before you caught on. Her voice sounded secretive like the two of you were having a chat between friends. Only that you weren’t remotely close at all. “I didn’t mean to barge in and interrupt anything with that hottie sheriff.”

“Oh, uh, don’t worry about it,” you told her courteously, squinting your eyes a bit.

“You’d think someone like him would be married,” she commented cheekily, while you direly wished you could escape the awkwardness of that conversation.

“Divorced,” you supplied politely, trying your best to remain professional.

Socially weird, the detective voice in your mind noted.

“Oh, that explains it. Wonder what happened there. I was actually so surprised when Sheriff Arlen introduced you as his girlfriend,” Diane said and explained further, “I just noticed your wedding ring, so I assumed you were his wife.”

“Uh, no.” Your eyes flashed down to your golden wedding band around your ring finger, the urge to take it off and hide it in shame before crawling into bed with a torrid lover suddenly permeated your thoughts. As if taking it from your finger and hiding it in some pocket, out of everyone’s judgmental sight, would make the immoral affair less of a betrayal.

There’s nothing to feel guilty about, you reminded yourself sternly.

However, there was a flicker of something in Diane’s gray eyes that tugged and tore at you, cautioning you to tread carefully. That something wicked in her eyes wanted you to suffer and doubt yourself.

“So, what’s the story there? You married?” Diane asked bluntly and then shook her head, chuckling. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t pry. It’s none of my business.”

“No, you’re good,” you feigned your assurance with a hard smile. “Dead husband, actually. Happened a couple of years ago now.”

“Ah, well, lucky you. Sheriff Arlen seems like a catch,” she quipped, grinning.

“Yeah, lucky me,” you faux-agreed and kept your smile, although everything was killing you inside.

“So, how did you two meet? Excuse my nosiness, I’m a sucker for a good love story.” Diane’s question reverberated with charm that could’ve easily fooled anybody into thinking it was all just harmless curiosity.

But not you.

You broke a polite smile, but your stare could’ve killed her. “He was my husband’s partner back in Houston.”

“Oh, wow. Sounds a bit messy, doesn’t it?” Diane gave you a surprised look, but you couldn’t shake the feeling she had already known the answer and her question was only supposed to torture you. Your feet were starting to get antsy to leave, your hands itching to grasp your gun. When you only replied by offering her another tight-lipped smile, she cleared her throat and dropped her intrusive exam. “So, uh, what can I do for you? Any new leads?”

Pursing your lips, you shook your head. “Uh, no. It’s a tough one. We’re still chasing down several ends, but nothing concrete. Just wanted to stop by to give you the coroner’s report of our last victim. It came through this morning.” You pulled out only one file from your bag, keeping the others inside, and handed it to her.

“Oh, alright. Anything remarkable?” Diane’s smile was sharp as she leafed briefly through the report. You guessed she didn’t need to read it to know what state the victim was found in.

“Uh, no. Nothing so far. Gotta be honest with you – this case is a tough one. Might take us a while,” you lied openly. You knew she didn’t buy a word of what you said, and you could see that she didn’t care.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll solve the case. After all, you’re a smart one, Agent Y/L/N. I have no doubt you’ll catch her, eventually.” Diane sent you a confident smile.

It was the last insurance you’d needed. You knew for a fact you had never mentioned to Diane that the killer was most likely a woman. That information wasn’t anywhere in the documents you’d given her yesterday. You had kept it close. Only a handful of people knew.

You could then see it all right there in front of you as the alarm bells rang in your head. You were face to face with your killer, staring right into her gray and cold eyes, and there was nothing you could goddamn do about it.

Judging by her cunning look, she knew it, too. She wanted you to catch on. She wanted you to know it was her. She was fucking playing with you.

March 2021

“Oh God…” Beau groaned as he hugged the yellowing porcelain throne, his forehead propped up on the back of his hand, knees scraping against the chipped and dirty green motel bathroom tiles.

“There, there…” you soothed with a hint of amusement in your voice, your palm rubbing his back in comforting circles when he heaved again. “Let it all out, big guy.”

“I think this was the last of it.” Beau straightened a bit as his fingers fumbled blindly for the flush. His eyes were bloodshot and teary, his nose was red and snotty, and his lips were pale and dryer than the desert. He never looked worse.

You grinned and pulled out your phone, swiping to the camera. “Say cheese.”

Beau’s brow scrunched in confusion and betrayal. “What in God’s good name-… Why the hell would you do that?”

“You look terrible, my friend. Figured it’d be a great picture for the slideshow I’m planning for your fiftieth,” you quipped, your wicked grin widening.

“Oh God…”

“Relax.” Playfully, you rolled your eyes back, while you saved the photo to your favorites on your phone. “You’ve still got a while ‘til then. You’ve just turned forty not that long ago. I’m just planning ahead.”

“Not that.” Beau shook his head and clutched his stomach, his cheeks losing color again. His eyes widened in miserable realization. “I think it’s starting again.”

With that, he tossed himself over the stained white bowl and puked his literal guts out for the umpteenth time.

“Yeah, I’m not surprised. Pretty sure you purged all the tequila and drank the entirety of Mexico dry,” you commented with a chuckle over his vomiting noises. If you ever thought the guy was sexy again, you would remind yourself to think back to this moment.

“I don’t remember you ever being this funny when I was sober.” After his last heave, Beau flushed once more and leaned back against the cool wall with an exhaustive sigh. “I think I’m really done now.”

You lifted an eyebrow. “You sure? You’ve said that a few times in the last two hours.”

He nodded with his eyes closed. “Mhm, yeah… That one felt final.”

“Alright.”

You rose from your floor seat against the bathtub and held out your hands. He glanced at them for a second before he took you up on your offer. With your help, he hoisted himself back onto his wobbly feet. You reached behind him and grabbed his toothbrush with a dab of paste from the sink, handing it to him.

You smiled. “You’ll thank me in the morning.”

After he thoroughly brushed his teeth and washed his face with cold water, you accompanied him to his bed with his arm slung around your neck. While he was more sober and coherent after his vomit escapade, he was still pretty drunk. You knew the massive hangover that would hit him in a few hours would be more punishing than the desert heat.

Sitting him down on the edge of his bed, you handed him a Tylenol and a bottle of water to swallow it down. “Hydrate,” you ordered as you kneeled down on the carpet in front of him, untying his boots and slipping them off his feet.

As you straightened, your face fell right into his hands, both of his massive palms cupping your cheeks. You stared into his hazy pine-green eyes, a twitch of confusion on your brow as your breaths mingled. Your heart skipped a beat, the white noise ringing in your ears. You weren’t sure what he was doing, but you could guess.

Beau swallowed thickly and dropped his hands from your cheeks. “I should lay down.”

“Yeah, you should,” you bit, a trace of anger in your voice. Though, you couldn’t tell if it was because he almost overstepped or because he didn’t. You knew the latter would be a problem for both of you, so you decided on the first. There was no need to unnecessarily burden your conscience with imagined immorality.

Beau groaned as his head hit the pillow. His eyes found yours, a fragment of an apology fluttered across his features. “Thank you, uhm, for taking care of me. You coulda just bailed.”

“Yeah, I know. But this was more fun to watch.” You grinned teasingly.

Beau pursed his lips, chuckling lightly. “Is that the only reason you stayed? ‘Cause it was fun?”

“No, you’re also my friend, and I’d never desert you. We leave no man behind, remember?” you said with a smile, quoting one of the cliché lines your task force team repeated often. “‘Sides, you and I are trauma bonded.”

“Alright.” Beau bobbed his head pensively, his lips curled. “So… on a scale from one to ten, how full is my quota for tonight to do somethin’ stupid again?”

Your heart twisted and clenched in your ribcage. You knew what he meant. He couldn’t have been clearer. It was all written in his eyes as bright as the stars in the sky when he looked at you, only a dangling question of “May I?” hanging in the air between you two.

“Twenty,” you said firmly and held your chin high, swallowing thickly. “I think that quota is pretty fucking full.”

“That’s too bad.” On his lips flickered a forlorn smile, his hand brushing your cheek for a moment before he gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch lingered like smoke on your skin. “But maybe for the best. I’d like to remember that one, and I’m not sure I would tonight.”

A shallow scoff left your nose. “Maybe you’ll remember this,” you said with bitter anger in your voice and stared daggers at him. “You’ll always be the guy that stood on my doorstep and told me my husband was dead.”

Beau nodded with a harsh swallow of understanding and retreated, forcing some distance between you two. “Yeah, I think that’ll stick even through the tequila.”

“Good,” you bit and rose to your feet, walking to the door. “Get some fucking sleep.”

Beau’s mouth opened with a want to say something, maybe even an apology, but the door slammed harshly behind you before he got a chance. And now, all he had left was silence, a raging headache, guilt in his stomach, and regret in his heart.

Breathlessly, you arrived at the Sheriff’s Department and stormed into Beau’s office. The door was ajar as he chatted with Jenny, both of them curiously looking at you before concern took hold of their faces.

“Hey, everything alright?” Beau instantly rose from his chair, his brow knitting with worry.

“No,” you replied with a shake of your head, the alarm visible in every crease of your flushed face. “I think I’ve found our killer.”

“What? How? Who?” Beau ran down the basic wh-questions in confusion. “Weren’t you just at the DA’s office?”

“It’s Diane, isn’t it?” Jenny shot straightaway, and your eyes widened in confirmation as you nodded. “Yeah, I got a weird vibe from her, too.”

“What, no? Diane?” Beau raised his brow at the two of you in disbelief. “Okay, back up a little here. Why do you think it’s Diane? We met that woman only three weeks ago. She seemed alright. Little awkward maybe, but we can’t arrest people ‘cause they’re weird.”

“Look, I know that,” you said and crossed your arms. “And I don’t have anything concrete yet, but it’s just a feeling. I got a really strange vibe from her earlier.”

“Well, we can’t arrest people because of strange vibes either,” Beau retorted. “And if it really is Diane, arresting her at all is gonna be hard. I mean, she’s the DA on the case. Who’s gonna issue the warrant, huh?”

“Convenient.” Jenny scoffed under her breath, earning her a scolding look from her boss.

“Don’t encourage her, please.” He shot Jenny a warning and yet pleading glance.

“Look, I’m not crazy! It’s her. I’ll find proof,” you insisted. It almost sounded like a threatening promise.

“What did she say to you exactly?” Jenny questioned and cocked her head at you in interest. You appreciated her professionalism, unlike Beau who still looked at you doubtfully.

“She asked some really personal questions about me and Beau. And not in a friendly chitchat manner. It’s hard to explain. I guess you had to be there… It was weird, okay?”

“Well, you can’t really fault her for that after what she’s seen,” Beau mitigated the circumstances.

“What has she seen?” Jenny looked suspiciously between you two. When both of you responded with deafening silence and averted your gazes, she chortled. “You two really need to lock that door.”

“Alright, that’s not the point,” Beau huffed his retort with blushed cheeks.

“Can we get back to Diane being a serial killer, please?” you requested impatiently. “Look, she fits the profile. She’s got the California connection. She went to Stanford. She’s obviously wicked smart. And she also knows we're looking for a female perp.”

That caught Jenny’s attention. Her brow furrowed. “You didn’t tell her?”

You shook your head. “No, and it’s nowhere in the files. So unless one of you told her, how did she know that?”

Grabbing the football from his desk, Beau’s head bobbed pensively as he squeezed the peanut between his hands. You tried not to think about Randy, but your heart stung nonetheless. Beau seemed to notice your distracted look and quickly put the ball back down.

“Alright, what do we do next?” he asked with a clear of his throat.

“I hope whatever the tech analysts find points to her. We could also put a tracker on her car. Won’t help in court, but maybe she leads us to one of the bunkers,” you suggested and pursed your lips for the next part. “I could also talk to the other DAs on the case. If we can’t get an arrest warrant here, we can still try through the other states and extradite her.”

“Good idea. Who would–” Beau stopped mid-sentence, his eyebrows drawing together as he realized your plan. “You wanna ask Ted? C’mon!”

“It’d be the fastest way! We’ve worked together for years,” you defended.

“Uh-huh, a little too closely…” Beau muttered under his breath, earning a small glare from you.

“Would you calm down? We only went on three dates. Nothing ever happened,” you stated and looked at him, completely forgetting Jenny was still in the room, too.

“I’m gonna go for this part,” she excused herself and touched your arm on the way out. “I’ll do some research on Diane. See what we can dig up about her past.”

“Thank you. That’d be great,” you said as she left.

Beau waited for a beat, ensuring you were completely alone before he found your eyes. “Nothing happened?”

“No, I ended it before it got to that point. Mainly because I didn’t want it to get to that point,” you explained and could see him relax, his shoulders falling.

He stalked closer to you, wrapping you in his arms. He kissed you deeply, hands wandering to your ass and squeezing the cheeks through your jeans. You smiled up at him.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous,” you teased.

“I’m not–… You know what? I am,” Beau stated almost proudly. “I don’t like thinking about losing you to some jerk. Actually, I don’t like thinking about losing you at all. It’s killing me that I almost did. I should’ve never let you close the door on me that day. I should’ve never left… At least not like that.”

“It’s okay. I’m here now… with you. It all sorta worked out. Maybe we needed that time apart,” you said softly and hoped you soothed his guilt a little. Your mind drifted back to Diane’s words. Thoughtfully, you twisted the ring on your finger.

“You okay? Did I say something wrong?”

“No, no, it’s just something Diane said,” you told him, your brow wrinkling as the bad feeling in your gut expanded. “She just asked about my ring. It was odd.”

“Well, we already know she’s a bit nutty,” Beau said and gave you a soothing smile, embracing you a little tighter as he pulled you against his chest and pecked the top of your head. But his heart ached with worry and a bad feeling.

“Yeah, I just…” You glanced at your ring again and exhaled one nostalgic breath. You then took it off and placed it in Beau’s palm, who seemed rattled by your unforeseen choice. “Take it and keep it somewhere. Throw it in a lake or feed it to a trout. I don’t care. I don’t wanna wear it anymore.”

“Y/N–”

You stopped his protest, knowing it was well meant. “No, really. It’s alright, okay? I’m ready to let go. I’m with you now… And I love you.” You gave him a smile, and he mirrored a softer one, nodding.

“Alright,” he accepted your decision and lifted the ring to your view. He opened a drawer in his desk and stored it carefully inside. “I love you, too. But I’m gonna keep it safe here in case you ever change your mind… which you can do at any point in time, no questions asked, okay?”

“Thank you.” You stretched up to meet his lips, kissing him passionately. Sometimes, it was hard to believe you’d found it twice – true love. But you were sure of it whenever you stared into Beau’s mesmerizingly green eyes. Maybe Diane was right. You were lucky, after all.

August 2020

The cookbook laid open on the marble counter by the stove, a second one with another recipe right next to it. You stared at them, your narrowed eyes wandering back and forth between ‘Brisket’ and ‘Biscuits and Gravy’ as you tapped your chin with a wooden spatula.

You had never been the best cook, as your mother would attest to, but every once in a while you tried and even had some success with the classics. Those two dishes were Randy’s favorite – like almost every Texan’s if you excluded BBQ.

You’d been gone for close to a month for an assignment that took you all the way to Arizona. You had just gotten home two days ago, and after washing a month’s worth of laundry and getting some well-deserved rest, you promised your husband a delicious meal for date night.

When the food was done, you set the table with the good china you’d received from your mother-in-law at your wedding. As you waited, you filled a glass with Merlot. Then, a second one. You stared at the hands of the clock in the dining room moving in a circle, alternating with the watch around your wrist in case either one was wrong. Every two minutes you checked your phone, scrolled through social media, and exhaled sighs. The food was getting cold, but that was the least of your problems.

You were growing anxious, steadying the slight tremble in your hand with more wine.

But when the doorbell rang, you stood up from your chair with relief and rushed into the foyer. You ignored the voice in your head that told you Randy wouldn’t have rung the damn doorbell. He would’ve just used his key. And you ignored the voice when instead of Randy, you found his partner on your doorstep.

“Beau, hey.” Your brow crinkled at the oddness of seeing him so late at your house, but your lips formed a smile nonetheless. “What are you doing here?”

You ignored the voice that warned you about the universal truth everyone in law enforcement knew about. If a partner showed up at a cop’s wife’s house, it was never good news. Deep down, you already knew why he was here. You saw it in the haunted green of his eyes. You saw it in the dark and puffy circles underneath them. You saw it in the bloodstains on his white shirt. You saw it in the bloody creases of his nails that he couldn’t entirely scrub clean before he came here.

“Beau?” The wrinkles in your brow molded into deeper cracks, hardening like cement. You took a step forward, one hand on the door jamb steadying your jittery bones. “Is Randy okay? Is he in the hospital?”

You needed him to say the words, but he couldn’t. His lips quivered, his hands trembled, his eyes filled with tears. He swallowed harshly and clasped his mouth, not knowing what to say or how to find the words. He turned his back to you, walking a few steps. Whatever courage he had to come to your door in the first place, left him the second he saw your face.

You shook your head, disbelief keeping you from accepting reality. You stood on the tracks, the freight train was coming. “Just lemme grab my jacket. We can drive to the hospital together.”

Snatching a too-large jacket from the coat rack you were sure was your husband’s, you tried to bolt past Beau, but a hand on your arm caught you and stopped you on your front lawn. You found his green eyes. He wordlessly shook his head.

“No! It’s not true,” you insisted desperately, tears starting to flood your eyes. “I just talked to him a few hours ago. I-I made dinner… His favorite. He’s coming home! You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Beau’s clasp on your arm tightened, a tear slipping down his cheek. “I’m so sorry.”

Your tears now fell, too. Yet, you vividly shook your head and stuffed the pain down your throat until it felt like you were choking. “No, you’re wrong. You’re wrong, Beau! He’s coming home to me. He’s coming home…”

You repeated those words over and over until your sobs swallowed them all. Beau pulled you to his chest and held you tightly. You felt his tears fall like raindrops upon your head, your body stiffening and bones turning to stone as unbearable pain and grief wracked through your veins and consumed you.

“I’m so sorry,” Beau repeated, his voice muffled by your hair. His arms wrapped around you even tighter. “He’s not coming home, darlin’. I’m sorry. I’m so, so, so sorry.”

He kept saying it as he held you – how sorry he was. But once the reality of the situation fully hit you, so did your anger. You pushed him away. As you met his gaze, he almost looked hurt by that action, but all you could find in your heart was vitriol, disdain, and blame.

“You should be. You should be sorry,” you spat through your tears. “Where were you in all of this, huh? You said you’d have his back! So, why are you here and he’s not? Where the fuck were you, Beau?”

His mouth jittered open, searching for an explanation for his own failure. “I know… I-I don’t know what happened. It just went south so fast… I-…”

“You guys told me it was a quick job,” you pointed out furiously. “In and out! ‘No big deal, darlin’,” you quoted him in mock. “It was your fucking idea to go in! I asked if you guys needed backup, and you said no! You told me you could do it on your own, you arrogant shit!”

Beau dragged a hand over his face, wiping some of the tears away. “I know.” He nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t fucking cut it! You got it? It’s not gonna bring him back now, is it?”

“I know. I know I fucked up. Trust me, Y/N. I know…”

You furiously shoved at his chest, pushing him back a few inches. He let you, didn’t even try to stop you in the slightest. He was willingly volunteering to be your punching bag as if it would magically better the situation and absolve him from his sins.

“You were supposed to be his partner!” you yelled so loudly all the commotion in the front yard of your quiet neighborhood had woken the neighbors, a few of them flooding out of their houses and gathering in their own yards to gawk at the spectacle.

You pushed him again. Harder this time. “You were supposed to fucking protect him!”

Another push. “You promised me you’d take a bullet for him!”

Push. “You fucking coward!”

Beau just nodded in agreement with all your accusations, his eyes brimming with tears. “I know. It’s all my fault. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

This time, you slapped him across the cheek. “Stop saying you’re fucking sorry!”

The harsh slap echoed through suburbia. Your palm tingled and stung as you watched Beau’s cheek redden with your furious mistake. You stared around you and glanced at the gasping and gaping faces of your neighbors. You clasped your mouth with both hands as you broke down and started to sob uncontrollably.

Kind and forgiving as he was, Beau pulled you back into his embrace, strong arms locking around you and soothing your anguish. “It’s okay… I’m here. I gotcha… It’s okay. I gotcha… I’m not lettin’ go, alright?”

Sobbingly, you nodded as you cried and sniffled, burying your face in his chest. You wrapped your arms around his torso and held onto him, too weak to keep standing on your own.

“It’s okay… I know,” Beau said and tucked you under his arm, leading you back to the house. “C’mon, let’s get you inside, darlin’.”

Chapter 7: Storm Coming

Welp, we know who our killer is now! Ready for the approaching storm called Diane? When it rains, it pours... 👀⛈️

Join the TAG LIST here! 🌌 Wanna sponsor my caffeine addiction? ☕️

Everything Jensen: @alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@mxltifxnd0m @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444

@syrma-sensei @perpetualabsurdity @deans-baby-momma @yoobusgoobus @jessjad

@hunter-or-the-hunted @k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways

@muhahaha303 @ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70 @brightlilith

@nesnejwritings @autistic-gothic

Everything Beau Arlen: @snowayumi

Polaris Series: @corruptedcruiser

[thezombieprostitute]

Hope you work day is going alright!💞

A drop-in visit from PhD!Candidate Curtis on his way back to his apartment from the university. He’s gotta run some data analysis for his thesis, but has no idea where to start. Someone said you could help him find a way?

Sincerest thanks for your patience, Essie! My muse did not want to work on this for the longest time!

A/N: Reader is gender neutral. No physical descriptors used.

Warnings: college/university stress. You don't know pain until you see university students begging the printer to work faster during finals week.

Today seemed to be regular day at the reference desk. You were answering emails from the mathematics faculty and students, assuring them about library holdings of their requested materials. Sometimes directing them to the LaTeX to TeX converter you'd had to make, silently cursing MathSciNet and zbMath for not converting yet. Thankfully, the library students you were monitoring at the reference desk were able to handle most of the questions that got directed at them.

At least until a tall, very handsome man with a buzzcut, wearing sunglasses and a leather jacket walks in. You keep an eye on him as he approaches the desk because he doesn't look happy and you're not about to let anyone yell at the students. Thankfully he seems polite enough, neither of the students look scared, but they do direct him to you.

Making eye contact, you motion him over and he's quick to obey.

"How can I help?"

"I'm, I'm Curtis and...my, my data is...I think it got corrupted," he removes his sunglasses and he looks completely devastated. "I can't lose this data. It's, it's my thesis."

You nod in what you hope is a reassuring manner, "do you have a copy of the data in the university servers?"

He holds out a flash drive and you grab the laptop that's never allowed to connect to the network and get it ready. When it is you hold your hand out and he gives you the drive. Plugging it in you take a few minutes to figure out what you're looking at. Some of the terminology is familiar, he's clearly not a mathematics PhD, based on the labels you're able to discern.

"Oh, I see the problem," you tell Curtis, who's looks keep distracting you from your work. "You were, understandably, trying to use data you'd picked up using our Statistica license on your home computer that has the public domain Dataplot software."

"And I'm guessing the two are not interchangeable," Curtis sighs in defeat.

"Unfortunately the metadata schemas they use for the data sets don't work well together," you nod. "The data isn't corrupted, it's just very, very messy and it would take you a lot of late nights to clean it all up again, even if you knew R."

He scratches the back of his neck, "so my data is useless?"

"You have backups, right? You didn't just keep all your data on this flash drive, right?"

"I have backups," he nods. "But it's still months of work down the drain." He raises his hands to his face, looking like he wants to cry. It's a look you're painfully familiar with given your line of work.

You unplug the drive and hand it to him, "hey, look at me." He lowers his hands a little and the pain in his beautiful blue eyes breaks your heart. "You're going to be okay. Yes, it's a lot of time you'll never get back, but it's not the end. You're going to be able to kick this data's ass and get it in line because you know what you're doing with it now. Your thesis hit a setback, it happens a lot more than people would like to admit. You're not alone and you will be able to get this done."

He seems to take your words to heart, taking a few breaths and standing up straight.

"And make sure to get yourself a treat," you add. "You're hurting and you need to take care of yourself."

He almost smiles as he nods and walks out.

🔣🔣🔣🔣🔣🔣🔣🔣🔣🔣🔣🔣🔣🔣🔣🔣🔣🔣🔣🔣🔣🔣

It's been a few months and you'd almost forgotten about the poor PhD student. You probably would have had his physique not stood out so much. The same physique you see walking towards the reference desk, but with a giant smile. You smile in return, he must've gotten his data sorted out.

He walks up to you, "I don't know if you remember me--"

"Statistical software mess, right?"

He lowers his head as his cheeks develop a pink tint, "yeah."

"I'm guessing it all worked out?"

"I'm officially Dr. Everett, now."

Your smile grows, "congratulations, Doctor!"

"Thanks, um," he rubs the back of his neck. "If, if it's not too forward, could I take you out to dinner? As a thank you?" Your eyes go wide. "It wasn't just the data, software stuff that you helped me with. I was genuinely considering just dropping out, giving up. But then you looked me in the eyes and told me I could do it and...and I want to thank you for that."

Smiling, you tell him, "I get off at 6."

Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @ronearoundblindly

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

"Save a horse, ride a cowboy" - Tex "Oatmeal" Johnson asking for his.. "breakfast" and some exercise to wake them both up 😌

Spooky, here’s your breakfast. Tex Johnson x Fem Reader. Gif by @cristinaricci. TW: somnophilia, dub-con, Tex, spanking, anal play, really nsfw

You should really know better by now; sleeping in Tex’s big flannel and that little thong (or, as he likes to muse, a scrap of cotton on elastic) he loves… just to get him riled up? Tsk.

That’s how you end up with him kissing and nibbling your cheeks while he knuckles over your pussy.

You’re all weak and jello, unable to protest properly when he slaps the band of stinging elastic against you, pulls it aside and flicks your little asshole with his tongue.

“Nah, nuh-uh,” you growl, hands going back to stop him, but not before he catches your wrists and holds them flat against your back with one unfairly big grip—your own personal pair of handcuffs.

“You don’t like that?” He asks, grinning a kiss into your plump left cheek, only letting his teeth graze just a little bit. 

You giggle, and it’s stupid that you honestly think you can get out of this by saying, “go away.”

“Oh yeah?” He muses, nuzzling his beard into your pussy lips, sucking and slobbering. The underwear does little to deter his sneaking, slippery, silver tongue.

You try a different bargain. “Tex, I can’t -“ 

He gives your butt a wicked little slap. “You’re gonna.” 

You groan and bury your face into the pillow while he eats the cum out of you. 

“Fuckin sleeping in these cute little panties to get me hard first thing in the damn morning. You just wanted to tease me, huh, little girl?” 

The generous bastard gifts you two thick fingers curled perfectly.

“Answer me or I’m gonna edge ya til you cry.”

“No no no please. Okay okay yeah. Nah ah ahn oh fu-uh-uck.”

You clench on three fingers without warning, soaking right through those aforementioned cute panties. Fuck, you really liked those.

“Already?” He asks, shaking his head. “Talk about jumpin the gun.”

“Shut uppp Texx—“

“Tell me what I wanna hear.”

“Mmm.”

“Oh, you better fuckin do it.”

“M’ your pretty girl.”

“What honey?” He purposefully ups the force of his fingers to get you louder: “m-mmmmah yuh-ur pretty girlll.”

This is what you get for insulting yourself in front of him that one goddamn time. He had grabbed your cheeks, smushing them between his fingers. “What was that?”

“What?” You challenged, defiance ruined by the comical distortion of your voice.

“Naw, you know exactly watcha said, and if you ever talk like that about my pretty little honey again, you ain’t gonna like me very much.”

You rolled your eyes and batted him away, but he threaded his fingers through your belt loops before you could run. “You hearing me? Only person that gets to be mean to you is me and my cock. Are we clear, pumpkin?” He tugged you chest to chest, usual playful smile turned down into something stern and menacing.

“Crystal.”

And, ever since that moment, he has been making you say it—that you’re his pretty girl. Even in public, around people you know, if he asks, you supply with a bright blush and eyes downcast and pussy clenching.

As he’s stated before, he really likes making you gush around his fingers and then licking it up with his tongue—overstimulate your “poor little kitty kat”. Loves it when you’re swollen and spent, cum dribbling from both holes when he and John decide to make a sandwich out of you. Sure, he can threaten all he wants with edging games, but you know that, if you play cards with this wicked devil just right, he’s going to make you cum many times over, until it fucking hurts—leaves you screaming and crying and kicking your feet, actually missing Wick’s week long edging sessions…as awful as they are.

You’re already sore when he makes you sit on his cock.

“I’m tired,” you whine, draped over his torso so his fat tip isn’t bruising your cervix quite so much.

“Baby,” he murmurs, kissing your hair. “You’re always tired. Nappin like an house cat every time I see you.”

“I’m sleepy,” you protest, huffing into his chest. And it’s probably because we fuck like rabbits every six or seven minutes, you think to yourself.

“Aw, poor sleepin beauty.” He gives your ass a sharp smack. “You better start workin on this cock before I do it for you.”

[johnwickb1tsch]

Yandere Tex Johnson x Witness!Reader x John Wick Imagine Part 3 by @treedaddymcpuffpuff @sweetwolfcupcake and @johnwickb1tsch GIF credits to @scarlettspectra ❤

Original Post Part 1 Part 2

Warnings: So many dead doves! Do not eat! Unless you like dead doves, that is. You're in good company here. 😘 Violence, sexual content, blood, murder, kidnapping, possessive behavior, yandere sh!t...it's all here! Please take care! 😘

“Atonement? What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means,” Tex says with that wolfish smile, “That you hurt our feelings, and you gotta say you’re sorry.” He reaches up to coil a bit of your hair around his finger, tugging gently. Having the two of them crowding you against the wall like this is terrifying—and insanely…titillating, if you’re being honest. Your eyes follow the line of Tex’s arm up by your head, from muscular forearm to the curve of his bicep. A thing of beauty.

You should not be this attracted to either of them.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Nope. So now I think you have to sleep with both of us.”

John pays his partner a sliding side-eye look that conveys maybe he’s not so happy with this arrangement.

“And I gotta say, I’m feeling a little left out that you kissed John but not me.”

 You’re pretty sure John kissed you—then lightly assaulted you?—but who’s counting.

“I think she liked kissing me,” says John, claiming your attention again. “Didn’t you, honey?”

Suddenly, your mouth is dry as a desert, as you try to form a response and utterly fail. You wish you could just disappear into the wall behind you.

Now Tex’s hand is on your cheek, turning you back to him. You are getting dizzy, with all the back and forth. How the fuck do they expect you to keep up with them? You watch with fascinated horror as Tex lowers his head to you, his full mouth pressing yours. The sweep of his tongue in your mouth sends a spear of desire straight to your center; you hate it, that they make you feel this way. Pent up and helpless, needy and yet somehow so alone.

It builds in you like the fuse on a firecracker—you nip Tex’s beautiful lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

He jerks back, touching his mouth. You expect anger when he sees the blood, but he laughs. “You fucking little rattlesnake,” he growls, ducking to your neck, his big hand on your waist pinning you hard against the wall. Before you know what’s happening you feel his teeth there, at the bend where your neck meets your shoulder. He bites you hard enough to bruise, sucking for good measure so that you know there will be a mark.

The pain is sharp and you whine, squirming against them. But there’s no getting away. That’s starting to sink in a little more, and it makes your knees weak. You start to slide down the wall in your last attempt to get away from them, but strong hands hold you up. There’s a hand under your shirt, holding your bare waist. You’re not sure whose, until you realize, it’s both of them.

Treedaddymcpuffpuff:

”Tact, Tex,” John scolds, “this is a delicate little creature.”

Tex releases from your skin in a wet pluck, glaring at his companion. “Delicate girls bite where you’re from?”

“You’re a brute,” John tells him. He leans down to kiss your head, runs soothing fingers over the fresh bloody bruise that Tex left in your skin. “There are better ways to tame a nippy dog.”

“Muzzle works just fine.” Tex bites the air beside your jugular, so hard you can feel the sharp gnash vibrate your skin.

You wince back from him, only to push the other side of your neck into John’s waiting mouth. You don’t understand how someone who looks so terrifying can be so soft. His lips are like feathers, silk. Barely touching you. Running across your jaw and making you groan, down the column of your throat, over your collar, finally landing a tiny, wet, warm kiss on Tex’s aching mark. Your hips twitch up into his thigh of their own accord, and he makes a noise resembling a chuckle.

“See, she does like me better,” John muses.

You’ve never felt so helpless, and you’ve - regrettably - never been so turned on. Tex grabs your jaw and turns your head up to his. “Well now, we’ll have to fix that, won’t we?”

He picks you up and carries you to the bed. You don’t fight in his arms, but you’re sure as hell scrambling away from him futilely once he follows you into the mattress. He drags you back from the edge, plants you right in the middle, and descends on your skin while you sob and squeal and - because you’re pathetic - moan.

He’s hard on you, unforgiving and purposeful, overwhelming with nips and kisses and suckles and long, slimy licks. You go from trying to get him off to gripping him closer, which seems to egg him on.

He’s big, corded with muscle, intense, facial hair chafing your pliable skin. It’s too much and not enough. Your hips grind, desperate for friction, on nothing. John is leaning against the wall, beautiful arms crossed over his chest, watching, steaming, longing. The tempo of your arousal gets so much worse when you catch that man-starving-in-the-desert look.

Tex gives your collarbone a break to call his counterpart. “Rethinking sharing the bed, John?”

Johnwickb1tsch

John doesn't answer, just watches from the wall with his arms crossed. You can feel the weight of his stare from across the room, like a hand on your skin.

"See?" eggs Tex, his deep voice in your ear making your toes curl. "He ain't gonna save you. Still like Johnny better than me?"

He nips at your earlobe, winning a sound out of you that makes him smile like a baring of teeth.

"He's nicer than you," you pout.

Tex laughs at that.

"Honey, if you think that's the truth, then you ain't been payin attention." He kisses you on the mouth, a little gentler than before, but no less posessive, his tongue stroking yours. You cannot help the moan that escapes from deep in your throat, and you feel him smile triumphantly against you. He pulls you closer, insinuating a sinewy thigh between yours. You aren't proud about it, but you are desperate, as you grind yourself against him. Your throbbing, wet cunt thanks you for it, even as your self-respect flinches for the blow.

Tex keeps talking, and you can tell he's utterly smug.

"Know what the Italians call him?" he asks, kissing a line down your jaw.

"El guapo?"

Tex snorts. "Naw, that's what the Medellín boys call me."

You can't help but giggle a little.

Now, the whisky is definitely helping.

"Ok, what do they call him?"

"Lo spectro."

You crane your neck to look at John, but find he's gone from his spot at the wall. You didn't notice him move, didn't hear a thing. For some reason your heart jumps in your chest. Where the fuck did he go? Finally you realize he's settled in a chair in the dark corner, swathed in shadows as he watches the two of you. His eyes glitter like obsidian, unblinking.

"That means the Ghost."

Fitting.

"And the Russians think he's the bogeyman or some shit. What do they call you? The Baba Yaga?"

John huffs in acknowledgement, but you can't help but pause. "Isn't that the witch that lives in a shoe?" You laugh to yourself, knowing you're a little drunk, and crazy for thinking out loud, but unable to stop yourself. "No, it's a house on chicken feet. She's a scary old woman."

Tex grins, looking over to John in his corner. "That so?"

"I didn't give myself the nickname."

He sounds almost grumpy about it, and Tex chuckes. "Guess they didn't do their research while they were shitting their pants."

You wrinkle your nose, and he laughs at you. It's the laugh from before, in the diner. Joyful, a little wild. The laugh that made you want to follow him into his car, before it all went to hell. It promises fun, and adventure ahead. It inspires an involuntary warmth in your chest.

You must have a screw loose.

"You kinda sound like a fan boy for him, Tex," you tease.

"Nothin wrong with acknowledging greatness in your professional field." This is partially muffled by his mouth against your shirt-- traveling downwards.

"And--" You grab fistfuls of his soft dark hair, hoping to distract him from his intended target. His solid weight pressing you down into the mattress is far too delicious for comfort. "What do they call you?

It works, and he looks up at you with his chin on your breastbone, a mischievous sparkle in his eye. "Crazy Man."

Of course.

"It doesnt suit you."

He snorts, aware that you're ribbing him.

"You know what would suit me?"

He continues his trail downward, pulling up your shirt to kiss your bare belly.

You're really afraid to ask, and he doesnt wait for you to.

"My tongue in your sweet little snatch."

Hearing him say it aloud like that makes the body part in question clench with longing.

The Stupid Lady Parts have cast their vote, but you like to think you still wield the Executive Veto.

"Maybe that would win you over?"

His teeth are in the waistband of your boxers, pulling down over your hip, when you try to squirm away from him. "Wait...don't."

"No? I'm tryin to be generous here, honey."

"I just..." The thought of that fast-talking tongue working on your aching clit fills you with equal parts excitement and dread. You cover your face with your hands, overwhelmed. "Oh God."

You know there's really not anything you can actually do to stop him. You're not even sure you do want to stop him-- only that you should want to stop him. This has been the most stressful fucking day of your life, so help you gods, and you just dont fucking know what you want. So you're surprised when long seconds go by, and he moves no further, as though he's actually waiting for your answer. You look down with tears glittering in your eyes, to find him smiling wickedly up at you.

"That's alright, darlin'. I can wait until you beg me for it."

Your heart plummets, even while your Stupid Vagina rejoices like a chorus of angels.

Somehow, you sense that you have managed to fuck yourself over so royally.

Treedaddymcpuffpuff

”Let’s play pretend,” Tex says, kissing your tummy, letting his sharp stubble drag and give you wicked rug burn.

“I’m not a fan of - ah nnh - cops and robbers.” Your voice all high and squealing while he tugs John’s boxers down just a tiny bit more and nips your hip.

“Oh, maybe we should do that one instead,” Tex replies as though you’ve just given him a marvelous idea. “John, you mind tying her up again?”

“No, no no no,” You stupidly attempt getting away, and it fails miserably just like every other time. You really need to work out or join a self defense class or something. Tex holds you down like you’re a stuffed rabbit.

“You can handle it,” John tells him, voice hushed. You spare a glance at him, and, by God, it’s a mistake, because he’s palming something massive in his pants and looking right back at you.

You can’t look away from the sight of whatever sea monster is lurking below his trousers. Of course, he’s huge. Maybe you were hoping you could get a small dick joke in somewhere just to gain some leverage, but that is definitely not going to happen now.

“Anyone ever tell you you’ve got a staring problem, little fox?” Tex asks, squeezing your cheeks and making you look back at him.

You bite your lip to keep the retort at bay. That’s exactly what he wants you to do, after all, talk all weird and muffled because of your cheeks being dented in. He means to laugh at you, and you’re not giving him the satisfaction.

“Anyway,” he starts, “the game I wanna play is house.”

John grunts as if to laugh.

Tex releases your cheeks and they spring back puffy and handprinted. “Try to imagine that I’m not an evil psychopath.”

It’s your turn to laugh, and you open your mouth to do so, but he pinches the skin on your side rough enough to make you screech instead.

He keeps you pinched while he licks a line over your hip. It’s a daunting mixture of pain and pleasure and you’re bucking up into his dastardly mouth.

“Anyway, we go for a long ride in my car like we were planning. You ‘member?” He sucks your skin and releases the hold of his fingers, lighting you up with the pain of recirculation.

He trails sloppy wet kisses down until he’s just over the mound of your cunt, tongue licking over the elastic underwear band. You go to stick your fingers back into his hair, but he tsks at you.

“Keep those hands to yourself, tiger, or else I’m gonna have to use more of that itchy rope you love so much.”

You shoot him a hateful look, but put your hands at your sides and fist the sheets.

“Oh, you do listen. Good job, honey, makin’ me proud.” He takes a minute or two or three to use his mouth and turn you into a throbbing mess. Your tummy and hips are all raw and sore and sensitive and spit covered, and he’s got his hands holding your thighs down on the bed so you can’t even grind on air.

He continues. “I get you back to my place, put on some music, turn the lights real low. Give you a long, naked massage. Oil you up. Get you nice and slippery and wet. Nuh uh, honey bunch, open your eyes and look at me.”

You do, peppery tears caught in your lower lashes. And your vagina, which was once enthusiastic and committing blatant mutiny, is now wishing it would have listened to your rational brain. Because his deep, sinful voice, combined with the narration and the eye contact - oh, and don’t forget his expert fucking lips and tongue and teeth - have one unforgiving, aching tightness building brick by brick inside of you - and it fucking hurts.

“And once I get you all worked up, I use both these big hands you’re always starin’ at to rub your cunt. Nice and slow and heavy - just a plain, good, old fashioned clit tease - “

Suddenly, he stops, and you’re extremely confused. The enchantment is broken. Him and John are staring at one another instead of at you.

“Was that the fuckin’ doorbell?” Tex sighs.

John digs a phone from his pocket and checks it. “Yeah. It’s Bradford.”

Your heart lurches. Agent Bradford. Here to rescue you. Here to get you out of this fucking mess.

Tex kisses your tummy one more time and slaps the waist of the underwear against your overworked flesh. “Your knight in shining armor is two hours early.” He says it as if it’s your fault.

What? What the fuck? They knew he was coming? Why did he ring the doorbell? You can’t contain these questions. You have to know, or you’re literally going to end up in a straight jacket with padded walls caging you in at the end of all this.

“What the fuck is going on?” You ask.

Johnwickb1tsch

"Well, looks like we might get to play cops and robbers sooner than later, sweetheart." Tex pats your thigh, hard, making it jiggle. For a moment he seems distracted by the motion of your flesh under his big hand, but he blinks out of it.

You however, are vibrating inside with the scant hope that maybe, just maybe, you might get out of this. Because maybe these men are handsome as the devil, and maybe they want to torment you with pleasures that lets be honest, you've only dreamed of, but they are dangerous. Maybe they promised to set you up with a new life, but its a promise you trust only so far as you could throw one of them.

Not really thinking, you try to stand, but Tex pushes you right back down like batting at a fly.

"Guess we've got to tie her up again."

John is already on his feet, pulling things out of the weapons chest. He holsters a small gun at his back, and sheathes a knife at his ankle.

"I'll do it. You make the knots too tight. Go make sure everything's ready."

"Fine, fine."

Tex winks at you before strutting out.

When John approaches with the rope you consider trying to scramble away, until he pins you with that certain look. You hold out your wrists with tears in your eyes.

"Sorry, honey," he apologizes, which genuinely surprises you. "This won't take long."

"What are you going to do?" you ask, fearing for Bradford.

He ignores your question, frowning at the coarse rope on your tender wrists. "Where the fuck did he get this?" he grumbles under his breath. "A hay bale?"

Despite the apparently less than quality cordage, you can't help but notice this man ties beautiful knots. If you were on a boat, you would have been impressed. Since they're on you...you're less than enthusiastic about it.

"Should be silk or nothing on this beautiful, soft skin."

Hearing this makes an uneasy thrill run down your spine.

"Alright, princess. Are you going to behave for us?"

You blink up at him, doing your damndest impression of an innocent little bunny.

"Yes."

He weighs you with that piercing stare, before snorting to himself. "No you're not."

He replaces the socks you flung at Tex and ties your ankles too. This results in him having to bridal carry you out of the room. John sets you down on the couch in a sitting room.

"Ready?" Tex is by the door, John standing across the room. There is an energy between them that gives you chills. Something is about to go down.

Tex opens the door, and Bradford limps in, looking between the two assassins with hard eyes.

"Ever heard of being fashionably late?"

Bradford scoffs. "Why, were you busy with something?" His eyes sweep to you, with what is undoubtedly sex hair, and the angry purple hickey visible above your collar.

"Something," Tex confirms with a smirk, winking at you.

You are so confused. Why are they talking like they're friends?

"You boys made a big fucking mess of this thing."

"No, you did, when you double sold your information," says John in an unforgiving tone, glaring between Tex and Bradford.

You look to Bradford with wide eyes, hardly able to believe what you're hearing.

"You? You're the fucking rat?"

Bradford sighs. "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? I fucking trusted you!"

Bradford steps to stand in front of you. "Look, I really am sorry. But I've got three teen kids, and good college is expensive."

You can hardly believe what you're hearing.

This man who swore to uphold the law sold your location to not one, but two assassins--for tuition money?

Maybe your ankles are tied, but it doesn't prevent you from winding up and kicking him with two heels in the dick.

Bradford goes down, curling up on the carpet with a groan.

Tex whoops with laughter.

Even John winces at the damage to Federal Property.

"You sonofabitch!" you spit. "I have been poor my whole life. Borderline poverty poor, but I never would have done what you did for money. You traded my life!"

You are just a pawn in a bigger game to all these men. Even the supposed good guys.

"Easy to say that, when you don't have anyone depending on you," grits Bradford through his teeth.

It's true. You have no children, no close family.

You are just...alone.

After a minute Bradford manages to stagger back to his feet.

"Need an ice pack, Agent?" needles Tex.

"No. I'll have my money, and be on my way."

John nudges a briefcase over with his oxford-clad foot.

"It's all there."

"Good."

Bradford limps over to pick it up, before heading for the door.

"What are you going to do with her?" he asks. Oh, so now he has a conscience?

"We're going to give her a new life," says John. "That's all you need to know."

The agent nods, then looks to you one last time. "I really am sorry."

"Eat a bag of dicks, you fucking asshole," you spit.

Tex chortles. "Tell 'im honey."

Then you watch what you thought was your last hope walk out the door with a suitcase full of money, payment, you assume, for pushing any further investigations away from your two captors--and you.

The two men in question come to stand before you, looming menacingly. They are tall, and forbidding--and why do they have to look so fucking handsome while doing it?

"Shame we gotta move," says Tex. "I like her like this."

"Don't stand too close, she'll re-arrange the way you pee," says John with a smirk. Then you notice he has a needle in his hand, again.

"Please, don't," you whine. Whatever it is they give you to knock you out makes you feel so out of it.

"Sorry, sweetheart. One more time, if we're lucky."

"We should just stick her in a burlap sack like the rattlesnake she is," jokes Tex.

John snorts, but doesn't encourage him further.

"Hold her down," he says, flicking the needle.

Tex is all too happy to wrap you back up in his strong arms again. This time, you don't really fight it though. What's the point? Having that needle jabbed carelessly into your flesh doesn't appeal to you, so you sit very still, and close your eyes.

Maybe soon, it will all be over?

Sweetwolfcupcake

The sun is shining, giggles echo in the air as you run around, dodging the person chasing you.

"Hey! Wait--(Y/N)!"

You turn around with a grin, ready to let his body crash into yours like the waves crashing against your feet. But you see no one. The ocean roars and echoes, but you are alone. The sun shines brighter and brighter until it blinds you with the bright---

The painful jerk has you opening your eyes with a startled whimper. Your vision is hazy, but you hear something akin to 'Careful'.

You try blinking your eyes, but your movements are too slow. It takes great labour's to even try to shift. You try anyway, only to discover that there are arms holding you.

"Hey, it's okay. Go back to sleep." The familiar voice cooes into your ear, tucking you closer.

"The road is shit!" Tex's voice reach your ears bit it's like slowly floating in.

Everything is slow, even the movements of---

Oh, you are in a car again, but your vision is too hazy and thought process too slow to grasp exactly what place it is. Everything looks familiar but somewhat incomprehensible.

And the dream, you have not dreamt of the day for a while but...

"Hey, it's okay, you're safe. You can go back to sleep."

You realise a tear has slipped down the corner of your eyes when John's thumb wipes it away.

The road ahead seems to be anything but free or even good. Rather, it seems bleak if you manage to rise above your...attraction to them.

You gulp, feeling a dull throb begging to grow in your head as it falls back into John's shoulder. The tightening grip registers a moment later, but it does not even occur to you to fight back in anyway.

You close eyes and let darkness fall over you again.

----

John watches your sleeping form, sitting on a chair that has been dragged nearer to the bed. You make him feel conflicted, and he can tell, Tex too.

They, the sorry creepers from hell, have felt warmth, sunlight, something they are deprived of. Something they do not deserve.

But you...

You have walked up to them. Outstretched hands cupping their cheeks, teasing their horns, looking into their hungry, miserable but malevolent eyes.

John knows that, he's human after all.

And even the devil craves solace.

He does not want to let go of this or you. He knows Tex enough - that man might try to hide it behind rough exterior, but he craves... this, you just as much. He would not be preparing a light meal for you otherwise.

With the kind of desperation and tinkles of madness that concerns John slightly but fuels Tex.

They will come up with an arrangement, as discussed at he bar. But hell may freeze and heaven be scorched - they are not letting you slip away.

They deserve something good, something soothing after what the world has put them through...

But every action has a consequence. In their world, this stretches to the extreme. All they need now is to prepare for the consequences. This time, though, they won't be the one facing them.

Treedaddymcpuffpuff

You wake up screaming. Which in itself isn’t unusual. Nightmares have always been a constant companion for your sleeping brain, and they only got worse when you accidentally stumbled upon the bloody execution that got you into this mess.

This is different. Different because you’re not in your bed or your apartment and, at first, you don’t know what’s going on or how you got here. As you scream, you try to fling upright, and it’s a terrible mistake.

A few things happen at once. Your hand, still very diluted with knock out drugs (to the point it may as well be unattached from your body) hits a solid wooden slab - hard enough to make you think you may have broken your pinky. The second event - the one that lays you flat - is the light from the doorway hitting your eyes and popping your pupils like a juicy blackhead.

Screaming turns into to groans of agony as the headache bleeds from your orbital sockets into the rest of your head, then your neck, then your shoulders. You try to move and bury your face into something, but you feel like a bag of potatoes trying to roll itself along a sandy beach. You can barely grasp anything let alone move your torso or hips or your 800 pound, throbbing skull.

Strong hands grab and steady your zombified body, and John’s voice is at your ear before you can scream again. “Hey, hey, it’s alright.” He pulls you gently, propping your curled body on top of his own.

Rough finger pads nudge your lips apart and slip something liquid and bitter past them to coat your mouth. The slime absorbs into welcoming buccal surface and makes your face numb and tingly. That feeling travels to your head in a matter of seconds, and you are floating, blessedly pain free, high as a goddamn kite on a windy spring day.

Comfy numb spreads through your blood and makes it even harder to move. You try a finger and it won’t budge, but strangely you’re not really worried about it. John’s got you, and he’s warm and strong and whispering words of reassurance into your hairline. God, he smells nice, too, like some kind of woodsy, salty altar to ancient deities. You inhale as much of him as you possibly can and itch to grab onto his shoulders and never let go.

He wipes something off your chin - it feels sticky and wet - and you attempt opening your eyes to see what it is. Oh good, your eyeballs didn’t explode like you thought. Thick drool snaps from your face onto the back of his hand, and then he reaches to grab something, but your eyes don’t follow that movement because they’re too busy marveling at his sculpted face. How did he get more attractive? How does he keep getting more attractive. You want to touch him, rub your thumb along the tensing muscle of his throat and then let your tongue follow. For a second, it seems like you actually are doing those things, but then you’re teleported back to your previous location, unmoving; reality is slipping from you piece by piece.

“John?” Your voice sounds like some distant chant in a massive cathedral.

“Mmm?”

“Did I just lick you?”

He might be smiling or he might be frowning - you can���t really tell. “No.”

“That’s because I can’t,” you explain, wondering why he doesn’t realize he has to be the one to lick you because you really really can’t move but, God, you want to kiss him again. Feel the slick of his tongue and the feather of his fingers on your flesh.

He just looks at you, quirking his eyebrow.

Ugh. Men.

“Kiss me,” you demand, although it sounds more like a desperate plea.

He does, wonderful, overwhelming mouth hooking into your own and shattering bulbs of light and glass through your blood. He’s too soft and too much at the same time and you swear to God your heart is actually in your ears instead of your chest.

You were so dumb before, for not taking this opportunity. For not bagging this sinfully hot man and dropping to your knees and saying thank you Mr. Boogeyman. Wow, you’re stupid. But it seems like he forgives you while his big, polite tongue is teasing your own, so that’s a plus.

“Really?” Tex asks. “How many drugs did you give her?”

John’s lips release yours, and you whine - loudly - from the loss of wet, warm, crack infused contact.

“I gave her the recommended dose, but I think she had a bad reaction to the sedative.”

“If this is what you call a bad reaction, then I just gotta see what you consider a good one.”

Your eyes, animated on their own, flit to Tex. Oh, for a second you kind of forgot there was two of them. Or are you just seeing shit? No, you’re pretty sure there is two. God, you hope there’s two.

Johnwickb1tsch

Later, you'll wonder if this was a dream. If when you held out your hand to Tex, you didn't imagine the fleeting moment of vulnerability on his handsome features, before it disappeared into his usual confident smirk.

He joins you on the bed, sliding in on your other side, his solid warmth pressed against you. If the drugs weren't enough to make you loopy, being sandwiched between your gorgeous boys surely steals any last hint of reservation you had left to your name.

Your boys.

Is this even real?

His big hand slides under your shirt, gripping your waist possessively as he dips to kiss you. He's not as gentle as John, not as cloyingly sweet--yet there is almost a tenderness in the heated way he claims your mouth with his soft lips and devilish tongue.

Needless to say, you are a quivering mess between them by the time he pulls away.

"Hard to believe this is the same girl," he teases you. "No biting, no mouthing off. Just soft and sweet..."

John's lips have drifted down to your neck, feathering light kisses behind your ear. You are barely capable of movement, but your fingers dig into his shoulders, and you writhe languidly as you feel Tex's hand sliding down your belly.

John stops him as his fingertips slide just past your waistband, and surprisingly its you who gives a sound of protest. At least, you think you do. Everything is golden edged and fuzzy. It's hard to discern what all is happening in your mind, and what is real.

"Let her come out of it a little more," says John, almost like he feels guilty for drugging you.

Tex grumbles, "Yeah, ok. I like her better when she's feisty anyway." His kiss on the corner of your mouth curls your toes, and you whine for your thrwarted satisfaction. "Sorry, little rattlesnake. Blame Johnny for giving you too many drugs."

You can hardly believe the words that come out of your mouth. "What does it matter?" After everything they've done so far...what does any of it matter? You've been forsaken, sold down the road by the justice system that was supposed to protect you. The men who have saved you are career criminals and contract killers. In this strange state, you can almost sense the outline of your doom. Maybe you might as well enjoy what you can, when you can.

John, however, doesn’t seem to like hearing you talk like this. "You matter," he affirms, kissing your temple. "Why don't you get some more sleep?"

Wrapped up in the warmth of both of their imposing bodies, this doesn’t sound like a terrible idea. You rest your head on John's broad shoulder with Tex spooning you from behind, his muscled arm draped over your waist.

He's snoring behind you before you even drift off. Strangely, it doesn't bother you, and soon you're following to the land of dreams.

*******

You're not sure what time it is, when hazily you wake. There are no windows, just shadowed darkness. You try to sit up, but John's arm tightens on you. He's the one spooning you now.

This is the puppy pile from Hell.

"I have to pee," you tell him. Your bladder feels like it might burst at any moment.

"Through there," he says quietly, pointing across the room. You see a door with the gentle glow of a blue night light beyond. "Don't take too long."

Finding the last bit entirely unnecessary, you roll your eyes, knowing you're safe in the dark.

"Fine."

Able to move a little better now, you extricate yourself from your assassin bedfellows, picking your way across the floor to the toilet.

After relieving yourself you wash your hands, and look at yourself in the blue glow of the mirror. Your head hurts, and you take a drink of water from the faucet.

Your thoughts are not quite so fuzzy now, and you take a moment to assess what's available to you here.

Unless you think you can facilitate your escape with the deadly weapon of a soap dispenser...no dice.

You turn to go and gasp at the tall shadow of a figure in the doorway.

"Jesus Christ!"

Tex steps farther into the light, filling the entire doorway with his impressive form. He's removed his shirt for sleeping, and unbuttoned the top button of his jeans. When he reaches up to hold the top of the door casing, displaying those toned arms and powerful chest, the pose does not fail to catch your breath in your throat.

"Excuse me," you say, hoping he'll move, staying out of arm's reach, for all the good it will do you.

"Gotta pay the toll," he says with that devilish smirk.

Your heart skips a beat.

"What does that mean?"

He puckers his lips, and you have to fight not to roll your eyes again. This man...is a handful, and you're not sure if you want to kick him in the shin or indeed kiss him full on the mouth.

Moving carefully, you steady yourself with fingertips on his chest, standing on tiptoe to peck his lips.

Your feet leave the ground completely when he grabs you up, slanting his mouth over yours. Your brain shuts down, when he kisses you like this. Like you are something delicious he'd like to devour, bones and all. When he presses you into the door jamb with a hard thigh between yours all you can think to do is whine, your treacherous lady parts rejoicing again.

"Tex." says a warning voice from the bed.

He lets you go, smacking your behind as he nudges you on your way. "Get back in bed."

Your limbs tremble as you scramble to obey him.

Sweetwolfcupcake

This time, though, sleep does not come easy. You can feel their bodies pressed against yours, and while John's arms resting around you feel a bit of a cage, Tex's knees nudging between your thighs feels absolutely unnecessary but, much to your annoyance, not uncomfortable. You try to keep your legs crossed, only to hear a quiet growl from behind. It is not entirely guttural but has a warning edge to it.

"Don't play with me right now."

You shiver, letting his knee nestle in. His hand rests on your shoulder for a while before going for your scalp, running his fingers through your tresses, untangling them with an unexpected gentleness.

It reminds you of... someone, and your breathing shifts a bit, quivering slightly as you try to push the image out of your mind while you keep your eyes stubbornly closed.

John's hold tightens around you instinctively.

"Go back to sleep. You've not recovered yet." His voice is careful, soft, and everything you realise you have craved all your life.

Perhaps the universe has played another callous game with you - granting your wish in its own, twisted way - in the form of two deadly men who make you feel more conflicted than you have ever been-- you feel simultaneously safe with and hunted by them, they arise your resentment, anger but also a volcanic desire that threatens to consume you, that tempts you to just give in.

But you won't. You refuse to give in. You know it's a decided battle, but you choose to fight.

You have fought all your life, this is another one of them.

You decide.

You would not be their plaything - that is what they see you as. Their doll to play with until they decide that they had enough. You have no other reasoning or explanation for their actions.

But at some point, you manage to fall asleep, curled against them, letting your breathing mix with theirs until they find a pattern.

-----

You feel his beard rubbing against your chin as a pair of lips engulf yours, swallowing your words-- or were they just babbles? You can not find it in yourself to care. Everything is hazy, floating-- good. The soothing, low, deep voices coax you into spreading your legs further, welcoming the sensation of a surface rubbing against you. Your core pulses with desire as you arch your back, pressing against the toned, hard chest-- the contrast makes you shudder as you whimper. The surface presses harder and continues to rub against you while the lips descend to tour chin and neck.

What place is this?

You welcome the overwhelming sensations, pleasure rising in your being, in slow, steady motion. But that does not feel enough.

Suddenly, the motion is sharp and calculated but faster and--and your eyes fly open.

It is no dream!

You blink, wide, surprised eyes meeting John's burning, hungry ones with your mouth parted.

"Wai--th!"

Your words are swallowed by John's lips again. This time, it is his tongue sliding in, and every other thought fades.

"Now, now, don't move yet--"

You hear Tex's voice from behind, slightly muffled by his lips pressed against your hair as his knee rubs roughly almost aggressively against your pulsating core. Your last attempts to move away are thwarted by John's unyielding hold on you as you grapple for the last bits of your rational mind.

"Just let go, honey, you're almost there."

Tex's voice has never been so gentle before-- it has its charm, but also an edge of mockery and malice.

You moan further into the kiss, realising that John's lips are still on yours, but the thoughts are cut short when you feel yourself erupt. Your pleasure bursts and sparks rain on your veins. You vaguely realise yourself grinding against the moving knee, but that is a fleeting observation.

"Oh--Oh my--"

You gasp and shudder, whispering like a prayer as John's lips free yours, letting you gulp as much air as you can until your lungs throb dully and your eyes roll back. You are drowning, but also floating. You feel John's lips on your neck but make no attempt at pushing him, them away.

"There you go,"

Was it Tex?

Or John speaking?

You do not care at the moment - it's all too much, too good, too hazy. You can feel yourself seeping through the boxers, and you barely can bring yourself to be bothered, at least not now.

The warmth engulfs you as you continue to shudder, feeling the now slowed but precise movements of the knee as it prolongs your ecstasy.

Treedaddymcpuffpuff

”Looks like I win, Johnny boy,” Tex murmurs, licking the shell of your ear with that silvertongue of destruction. Win? They did make some kind of bet behind your back, then. Still assholes at the end of the day. Would it really be wise to bring it up when you’re snuggled between them, all sensitive and jellied, though?

“We’re still on that?” John asks, not seeming invested at all - more preoccupied with pulling your shirt up to rub your bruised tummy and ribs, wiping that scowl right off your face.

Tex presses something daunting against your bottom - oh, you are really fucked here - and helps John tug the fabric up higher until the seam teases your perked nipples. “Deal’s a deal.”

John caresses the tender underside of your breasts, wets your skin with tiny, teasing kisses. “Sure.” He could have at least shaved to limit the wicked rug burn, you think bitterly.

Tex tugs the boxers down over your ass, snaps the band against the bottom mounds and makes them jiggle for his viewing entertainment. “Oh,” he grunts. “I do love a good peach.”

“What’re you doing?” Your voice is slurred from sleep, whiny and throaty from the torment.

“I was gonna fuck you,” he explains, “but now I just have to have a lil’ samplin’ first.”

You look to John, eyes big and scared. He hums at you, coos and murmurs, gently fists the nape of your hair, pulls your head back and laves the column of your throat. Right over your pulse, he latches and sucks, and then hurts you for the first time. He bites you, soft and delicious, the tangy pain shooting straight to your cunt.

Tex is on the move down your back, suckling bruises into your spine and nestling his facial hair into the dimples above your plump globes. “Fuck, I think I found my new favorite thing.” He sinks his teeth viciously into your right cheek, and your hips immediately try and buck away from the sharp pain. John’s firm hands move to hold you in place while Tex takes time practically fucking gnawing on your delicate fatty tissue like you’re some kind of juicy steak.

“Hurts,” you whimper, nails digging into John’s chest, feet curling against his legs.

“I know,” John sympathizes. “Poor baby. I got you.”

Tex is clearly not in the mood for mercy, because, after a while, he unhooks from one cheek and goes straight to the other, delivering the same harsh treatment. When he’s finished, there a fat tears rolling down your face, accompanying a pathetic blubber.

“Oh, so you can dish it out, but can’t take it, huh little rattler?” Tex’s words are mean, but his big hands nicely smooth over the hills of your bottom, warming and calming the blossoming marks from his teeth.

John has not been idle - he’s working you raw, giving the same treatment to your neck that Tex did with your belly and hips. “Tex, how do you want her?”

Tex cradles the bottoms of your ass in each hand, spreading them apart, examining your puffy wet slit. “Back,” he says, surprising you by not making some sort of quip or snide remark - he sounds distracted.

They manhandle you onto your back with a pillow under your hips. John has your head in his lap and your arms tucked up under his thighs. You squirm experimentally, concluding that you are absolutely not going anywhere. He pulls your hair off your neck and face, fans it over his lap, kisses your forehead. Tex tugs your underwear down and gets a front row seat to the way you pulse and weep when John rubs his fingers outside of your shirt, circling your aching nipples but not touching them. It’s infuriating and you can’t help but whine his name, press yourself into his fingers.

John chuckles down at you.

Tex kisses your pubic mound, gathers saliva in his throat, opens wide and lets it drip down and mingle with your cum. “You are a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” He teases, looking up at you, face positioned right above your center. He gives your clit a chilly little blow. Your legs try to close, but it’s a useless attempt with his broad frame settled between them.

You’re not sure when John got the shirt above your breasts, but they’re on full display. Your attention goes from Tex to him as he licks his thumbs and rolls them around your puckering peaks. Oh that’s so much worse.

The sensation bucks your hips up so that Tex can flick his precise tongue over the tip of your slippery clit, and between the two of them all you can really do is moan and take it no matter how overwhelming it gets. You just hope they have a little bit of mercy left in their hearts for you, but that optimism is dashed once Tex cuddles his face into your cunt and makes you scream.

[unholyverse]

waterparks // marvin magazine issue #10

(full transcript under the cut)

Waterparks

WORDS by HOLLY SOLEM

PHOTOGRAPHY by DANIEL PRACOPCYK

Waterparks are places you go for fun; both pools and slides and the gloriously buzzy, pop punk band featuring members Geoff Wigington (lead guitar), Otto Wood (drums), and singer/guitarist Awsten Knight, whose neon energy matches his hair. Their music leads you down sonic chutes and up rainbow ladders with four albums, countless tours, millions of listeners and a recent signing with Fueled By Ramen, the label under which they are about to drop their highly anticipated 5th studio album. MARVIN had the good fortune of catching up with Knight—who is busy prepping for a European tour, a US tour and the release of the band's new album—to talk about all that goes into creating the bubbly world of Waterparks.

The new album titled Intellectual Property features eleven legit bangers filled with anthemic choruses. psychedelic experimentation and hooky melodies all polished to a sheen. There are hints of megalithic rock bands like Muse, inspiration from The Beach Boys and the pop punk sounds we have come to expect. But as for the "pop" part, this record goes in hard with collaborations with the likes of blackbear and songwriter/producer Julian Bunetta.

I love pop music and we got an offer to write with this dude, Julian, who has credits on 95% of One Direction's discography. I fucking love One Direction. I don't want to be dramatic but let's say I've got a top 60 favorite songs, I think four or five are One Direction songs. And Julian's written on all of them. I was just like, 'I want to do what I do but with him too.' And then I made "FUNERAL GREY", "BRAINWASHED", and "FUCK ABOUT IT", with him.

For this album, the band brought in more outside alliances than on previous albums, with Knight saying. "I think I was more open to [collaborations] on this album. Other people's opinions and thoughts and stuff like that. Normally, I don't really love writing with people that I don't know very well because it can feel very sterile. You walk in and they're like, 'what do you want to write about? You're like, 'oh fuck'—because it's a personal thing." And when it comes to getting personal, Knight is also realizing that to his surprise, the more personal he gets-the more vulnerable lyrically—the more universal the message.

I feel like I used to be kind of freaked out by [vulnerability], especially earlier, on album one. I was really nervous about it and it sounds so lame in retrospect but I didn't even want to do any acoustic songs. I liked burying myself a lit- tle bit behind a big instrumental. [The song] "21 Questions" for example. I sent that along with all the other demos to Benji because I wanted his opinion and he was like, 'this is one of the best ones.' Those wind up being the favorites, which seems counterproductive because songs are supposed to be relatable. And I never feel like I'm being relatable but I try to be less selfish with the writing. I want this to be for someone else.

When Knight refers to "Benji" he is talking about Benji Madden, one half of legendary pop punk duo Good Charlotte. Benji, along with his brother and bandmate Joel, manage Waterparks after discovering them on YouTube and DM'ing them on Twitter back in 2015. Knight received the news of the Maddens' invitation to fly to LA for a meeting while working as a babysitter who gave guitar lessons.

I called the guys and we're like, 'holy shit.' So we all went and bought swimsuits because…California. And yeah, that was it. After we met them, we went back to our hotel and were just like, 'what is happening? A week ago we were still passing out flyers outside of other people's shows. And we're right here, right now. This is the weirdest shit.'

A literal dream-come-true for Knight and the band, who eventually would make the move to LA from Houston while missing its Tex-Mex and Thai food, and of course, his family. But when it comes to the weather, he's all about California. He doesn't even mind the earthquakes. He was in a rooftop hot tub during one and actually found it rather exciting. For a man who has toured the world, there's a bright-eyed innocence and almost childlike wonder to him. His seeming lack of cynicism is as refreshing as freshly fallen snow which he admits he only saw for the first time not that long ago. But now, Knight talks about having stress dreams as he and the band get ready to embark on a European leg, followed by an extensive US tour.

Here's the thing, I like to play shows and I like to meet people. The other 22 hours of the day, I like having my space. I'm pretty particular, you know what I mean? I like my zone where I can sit and just do stuff. You go from peace and quiet and doing what you want all the time to sharing a small living space and a bus with twelve people. It's basically having twelve people in your living room for two months. And you're just like, 'ah, but the shows are great' as long as the shows are fun and everyone is having a great time, that makes it worth it to me.

He's also superstitious. Around his apartment there are crystals, there are obsidian and selenite wands in front of all the mirrors. He has a healer-type person come in and energetically clear his space, insisting he throw away objects that may have "dark entities" attached. "I'm luckier than people I know. They're like, 'why is the light always turning green when you go to it? Why do you always get the front spot at the store?' I'm like, it's because I don't split the pole, you know? Can't split a pole when you're walking. There's a bunch of superstitions. But I follow them and I'm crazy lucky."

In addition to music, he recently penned a well-received book of personal essays called, You'd Be Paranoid Too (If Everyone Was Out to Get You). He plans to write a novel next and has also started a clothing line called HiiDef. that fabricates small collections that sell out fast. His enthusiasm for the line is on par with music. "If everybody made the songs that I wanted to hear, I wouldn't have to do this. The same thing applies with clothing." Passion abound, he is all smiles when discussing plans for the future of Waterparks.

How do I get to the fucking moon? I think anyone who hears this album is going to love it. Cause I think it's incredible. I'm looking at the songs right now. I'm just like, 'man, straight slappers.' Even the last song, which I know wouldn't be a single or anything-that's probably one of the best accomplishments of a song that we've ever been able to pull off. I see this album in plaques on the wall. All right, we're manifesting now.

He names his goals out loud, as one is meant to do when calling them in, mentioning things like how much he'd like to play the Redding and Leeds Festivals at sunset. Then he pulls up the Waterparks US tour schedule online while musing, "I want one of those big "Sold Out" things across all the dates. It's getting there dude. Yeah, actually, it's going crazy right now." In real time, he seems to discover that the banners that cross nearly all of the show dates do indeed read, "Sold Out". And then it's clear. Awsten Knight is lucky. But luck is really about preparation meeting opportunities and he has definitely shown up to the game prolific and prepared. Five albums in, it's clear that Knight and Waterparks have only just begun.

@waterparks

[ducktracy]

You ever think about how daffy looks in 'Daffy Duck & Egghead'

MOST CERTAINLY!!!! i drew him a few times with that design eons ago

there are a handful of shorts that when i first discovered them i immediately hooked onto them and basically made them my whole personality. i posted every single thing there was i could post about those shorts in the span of days (and now it haunts me 5 years later because i didn't know what i was talking about then and i'm like "well i posted everything i could about that short which sucks because now i just want to say the same things but with the articulation i have now >:("). Book Revue was a big one and this one was another. i definitely feel there was a time where i was always talking about his design here... this was my icon on Twitter for awhile

he's so cute. i see why it didn't stay and i'm a bit glad it didn't (though i much prefer it to his design in Daffy Duck in Hollywood, extremely funny how Tex gradually eased away his cuteness). the blue looks great with the yellow beak though, and i am REALLY sad we didn't get to see more instances of Irv Spence animating Daffy (for reference, he animates the short's song number) because i seriously think that would have been something magical if it continued

i like how some poses of Spence's Daffy animation end up looking like something right out of an Ub Iwerks short. the spirit of Flip the Frog is trying to insert itself into this duck

very tangential, but since i'm thinking about Tex Avery Duck i'm yet again obliged to share the model sheet for Porky's Duck Hunt. can you imagine if he stayed this small forever, and how excruciatingly hilarious every single cartoon starring him would be. nothing changes fundamentally accept for the design and size difference. it would be magical

[gumeyyy]

|| WELCOME TO THE (not so) COOLEST EVER HUMAN BEING ON TUMBLR'S INTRO ||

Name: Gumey, with how many Y's you feel like writing (i mean, if youre speaking of my actual name, i am actually called Raquel, thank you!!)

Status: there might be someone outside your window, but youll just, never know.

Languages: Brazilian portuguese, English and currently learning spanish and a little bit of french

Pronouns + sexuality: she/her mainly but i really dont care what u use, neos, xenos, i dont really care what u call me!! Im a phlesbian 😽😽

About me simplified + hobbies: just another one of those emo nerds that tapes stuff to their wall ,'/ i like reading, drawing, painting, diy'ing (is that how its spelled??), I EFFIN LOVE COLOR THEORY, my favorite color is pink and thats why i am so cool, the most masculine people SHALL ENJOY PINK, totally fine if u like pink and you arent masculine BUT IF YOU WISH TO BE MASCULINE, THOU SHALL LIKE PINK (im not in the slightest close to masculine)

FANDOMS/INTERESTS:

Youtubers: Amazing Phil, Daniel Howell (obviously both of them are here, what'd you expect?), Markiplier, Pewdiepie, Saiko, Drama Kween, Louis McClung, FunkyFrogBait, Film Cooper, Jarvis Johnson, Chad Chad, Danny Gonzalez, Cyber Noop, Kurtin Conner, Drippy, Izzzyzzz, Tex Hs, Not Even Emily, Kurzgesagt, Vsauce, The Click, Manual do Mundo, Você Sabia, Ibibbishiboula, AcidMilk, etc

Series + films: Psych, Monk, Dexter, Scott Pilgrim, Gravity falls, Monster High, Ever After High, Garfield, House, Charlie the Unicorn, Salad Fingers, Inanimate Insanity, Animation vs Minecraft/Animator, Açafrão Bondoso, My Little Pony, Azumanga Daioh, Lucky Star, Invader Zim, Spongebob (i cant take myself seriously for this 😭), The Ring, Annabelle, The Nun, Heathers, Ride the Cyclone, Hamilton, Glitter Force, etc

Games: Undertale, Portal, Club Penguin, Steve's Parable, Fnaf, Animal Jam, Slenderman, Homestuck (does homestuck count as a game? I mean, it can be interacted but where would it fit in??), Sally Face, Pokemon, Minecraft, Papa's Pizzaria + other zipline studios Papa's games, Bad End Theater, Starry Flowers, etc

Music: My Chemical Romance, Mindless Self Indulgence, Never Shout Never, Hawthorne Heights, Taking Back Sunday, Sleeping with Sirens, Pierce the veil, Fall Out Boy, Panic! At the Disco, The All-American Rejects, Say Anything, Kittie, Paramore, Simple Plan, All Time Low, Green Day, Restart, Replace, Strike, Escape The Fate, Bikini Hill, Bratmobile, Mommy Long Legs, Red Aunts, Slutever, Avril Lavigne, Picture me Broken, The Offspring, Good Charlotte, Dance Gavin Dance, Blink-182, Evanescence, The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, Mayday Parade, Bring Me The Horizon, Nx zero, Pitty, Falling In Reverse, Get Scared, Jimmy Eat World, Sugarcult, The Used, AFI, Underoath, The Academy Is... (WAS/ref), Story Of The Year, Sepultura, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Cine, Korn, Desalmado, Surra, Scary Bitches, Bury Me With You, Chomp Chomp Attack!, Vampires Everywhere!, Farewell My Love, Brokencyde, Muse, Isles & Glaciers, Weezer, Cobra Starship, A Day To Remember, Brand New, Saosin, Scary Kids Scaring Kids, Senses Fail, Chiodos, Motion City Soundtrack, 5 Seconds Summer, He is We, SayWeCanFly, Sounds Like Harmony, Radiohead, Nirvana, Rob Zombie, Chico Buarque, Sex Bob-Omb, Cute Is What We Aim For, Matchbook romance, Joyce Manor, From First To Last, Silverstein, Bayside, Armor For Sleep, Thrice, Box Car Racer, Alexisonfire, Dashboard Confessional, Head Automatica, BOYS LIKE GIRLS, Finch, We The Kings, Cartel, Sunny Day Real Estate, Mae, Lovehatehero, The Postal Service, Funeral For a Friend, Hit The Lights, Hidden in Plain View, Dead Poetic, There For Tomorrow, Forever the Sickest Kids, The Get Up Kids, The Spill Canvas, (can you tell i went to my spotify playlists jist to list half of the stuff i listen to?) Etc.

[roleplayfinder]

About Me: She/Her. 25+. EST. I write on Discord (DMs or servers) or through Tumblr messages. I like to stay on Tumblr for plotting. I write in third person, past tense and around 150-400 words. Replies happen within 2-3 days usually. Sometimes daily, depending on how busy I am with work and RL. I typically do not double. I have no triggers but that doesn't mean I'm willing to do everything. I take things on a case-by-case basis. ❄️

What I'm Looking For: Various fandoms. Please be 18+ to interact!!! Write in third person (I don't mind the tense). No one-liners and preferably have a ~100+ word count. Replies within 2-4 days is ideal. But I'm fine with every 5-7 days. Just let me know if it's going to take longer. I'm only looking for canon x canon pairings. Mainly looking for MxM ships. Willing to take on a limited amount of MxF or FxF. I'm a lot pickier with what ships I do for those latter two, though. I don't mind writing NSFW/smut and wouldn't mind incorporating it into most of these threads (with any plot/smut ratio).

I'll just be listing my primary muses for each fandom (I might be talked into writing some others). Any muse in bold I especially would love to write as right now. We can discuss ships together. I have a lot of favorites, and I'm always to discussing new ones I've never given a chance before.

Baldur's Gate 3:

Abdirak

Astarion Ancunín

Cazador Szarr

Dammon

The Emperor

Enver Gortash

Gale Dekarios

Halsin

Ketheric Thorm

Nere

Raphael

Rolan

Zevlor

Doctor Who:

Delgado!Master

Dhawan!Master

Eleventh Doctor

Fifth Doctor

Fourteenth Doctor

Harry Sullivan

Jack Harkness

Rogue

Second Doctor

Sixth Doctor

Tenth Doctor

Game of Thrones:

Alliser Thorne

Beric Dondarrion

Daenerys Targaryen

Jaime Lannister

Margaery Tyrell

Petyr Baelish

Robb Stark

Roose Bolton

Sansa Stark

Stannis Baratheon

Thoros

Tywin Lannister

(AMC) Interview with the Vampire:

Armand

Lestat de Lioncourt

The Lord of the Rings:

Boromir

Celeborn

Elrond

Gríma Wormtongue

Haldir

Marvel:

Benjamin Poindexter

Billy Russo

Bruce Banner

Bucky Barnes

Carol Danvers

Frank Castle

Grant Ward

Lance Hunter

Loki Laufeyson

Matt Murdock

Nathan Summers

Andrew!Peter Parker

Phil Coulson

Ray Nadeem

Reed Richards

Tony Stark

Victor von Doom

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre:

Drayton Sawyer

Johnny Slaughter/Sawyer

Nubbins Sawyer

Tex Sawyer

If you'd like to work something out, please like this post, and I'll get back to you ASAP.

.

[nixie-writes]

Verosika my beloved!!!

I love her.

How do you think she (and Charlie and Angel?) would feel about an artistic girlfriend who likes to draw her doing like. Not even sexual stuff just mundane things. Cause that woman could look pretty untangling phone cords.

Help.

we found one of the simps. It's okay I simp for Verosika too, she's my Discord pfp

I think Verosika would be very flattered. She'd love to see your work and would consistently commission you to make more art of her with her posse and Tex. She'll pose while making her morning coffee just to give you ideas. She would actually pose while untangling phone cords just because you said she'd look pretty doing it.

Charlie would feel very humbled. She didn't feel worthy of being an artist's muse but she's very glad to be. When you ask her to pose or give you ideas she'll suggest things like checking in a new demon or a portrait with all the staff. She'd ask if she could use your art to promote the hotel.

Angel would be like "of course you draw me lol I'm irresistible" but secretly he's very happy someone likes him that much. He'd playfully pose while doing stupid shit just to see if you'd draw him doing it. He'd encourage you to post your work on the internet to garner exposure and possible commissions.

[patrickdiomedes]

Red Vs Blue/Dragon Age fusion ideas

the little tidbit from Veilguard about how spirits can fracture and each piece can become its own spirit is reminding me of my idle musings for a RvB/Dragon Age fusion. Blood Gulch/the Freelancer Project would've been something created by the Tevinter Imperium, an experimental project to hopefully help break the stalemate they were in with the Qunari. The Freelancer AIs would've been spirits created by fracturing a spirit that they managed to create as a copy of the original project director, Magister Leonard Church.

Alpha/Church=the original spirit, created though a fortunate accident and impossible to replicate, so Magister Church decided to try to splinter it.

Beta/Tex=Byproduct of Alpha's creation

Gamma=Deceit

Delta=Logic

Epsilon=Memory

Eta=Fear

Theta=Trust

Iota=Happiness

Sigma=Ambition

Omega=Rage

I'm aware that we've never seen some of those attributes as spirits/demons in Dragon Age, but there's no reason to think they couldn't exist. Each freelancer would've been either forcibly fused with one of the spirits, or possibly the people in charge managed to figure out how to contain the spirits so they wouldn't be able to take over, keeping them as an advisor whispering in the Freelancer's ear. The various enhancements the Freelancers had, like Tex's camoflage or Wyoming's temporal distortion, would've been either spells, or magical artifacts that non-mages could use.

[prpfz]

Hiya! 🕊 I'm a 21+ semi-lit to literate role-player casting a wide net for some of my favorite horror series with dying fandoms. As long as I can play as my favorite characters I welcome all OC's and crossover content. I also love AUs, multi-muse plots, and I prefer chatting OOC in between replies to keep me invested.

Below are all the characters I play. Over DMs I can give more information about possible ships, AUs, and plot ideas.

📞 Black Phone - Al Shaw(The Grabber), Max Shaw, Vance Hopper and Gwen Blake.

🎈It (2017) - The entirety of the Bower's Gang. Henry Bowers, Patrick Hockstetter, Victor Criss, Reginald Huggins, and lesser known book characters.

🪲 BeetleJuice - BeetleJuice- especially with AUs from the original script. (No BeetleBabes. I have nothing against it but I've gotten really bored with it in past RPs.)

🔪Child's Play - Chucky (Charles Lee Ray) but AU heavy with strong preference to human portrayal. Eddie Caputo, Andy Barclay, Glen and Glenda Tilly.

🍽 Texas Chainsaw Massacre - All of the original Sawyer brothers (Nubbins, Chop Top, Drayton) but particularly Leatherface (Jedidiah) himself. I follow the original timeline and ignore the remakes but I have a soft spot for Eddie "Tex" Sawyer.

Dead dove content is to be expected. The triggers present in the original series are likely to carry over to the role-plays. In particular I'd love to have some toxic relationships and someone open to writing smut. Bring me your most deranged characters or unwilling victims caught up in a killer's obsession!

give a like and anon will get back to you

[wttt-dirus-work]

Hii! I was wondering if I could request some Texas/Austin stuff with California headcanons? Your headcanons are always so much fun to read, thank you and have a lovely day/night! ^^

Aw thank you!

So, um, Texas an Cal.

I have to say they were my to go ship when i entered the fandom, but now i see them more as Enemy/tolerated friends?

Well, first they met when they were under Mexico. They were friends, until Texas became the republic of Texas and declared his independance from Mexico; whch initially broke their friendship (he never told Cal why, or even told him period). And Cal can hold a grudge.

When they both became part of the USA (bear with me, and sorry for any istorical inacuracity-im canadian not american lol) Cal was too high on the Gold rush to wanna be friend with that back stabber again.

Which lead to today, when they typically can't face eachother without hating each other.

BUT I think, that the states political views/values depends on how they let their politicians affect them.

Like. Texas himself doen't care about gay people, trans people, or abortion, but he has an image to share and his politicians wants him to do so (and piss off the dems). I think they both need to make their own mind about how they feel about that, and if the views they have currently of those political debates represent their population. Like, my aunt spend a week in San Antonio last summer, and she said they were so welcoming!

The media we see is not what the people are like! it's a generalisation,a nd i believe Texas isn't as bad as he looks! (Same for Cal, dude's an hypocrite, but if he could only recognized it, he could get better!)

So, for that long rant, I believe while I don't ship Texacali, it could be possible if they both do some introspection.

Now, to me, Austin is aware of Cal hypocrisy, and the fact that Cal has to represent over 40 millions of people (that's more than my fucking country, so cut him some slack). I believe Austin did some introspection and is the perfect person to help Texas to do some on his own (If Tex chose to at least hear him out). He's an amazing character who reflect the good and the bad of both side because he's stuck between them! He Got the majority of Texas who's red, and his own part who's blue! He's in the purple zone, and therefore can make them both (Cal and Tex) that they need to look at themselve and ask : Am I representing my people or the media verson of them?

So, I think Austin/Cal is more plausible than Tex/Cal on the romantic side.

But you didnt ask if i could see it, you asked for headcanons, so i apologize for getting sidetracked like that ^^

Now, couple headcanon!

Tex/Cal

Their favourite date is going horseback riding together! Texas got his own ranch, and Cal love gardening, so Tex has a greenhouse for California!

Cal can't make food to save his life, so Texas learned all his diet restriction and what kind of diet he's on at that time and makes food accordingly!

Cal adore using Texas as his muse when he draws/paint; I also headcanon that Texas can sew and do beading, and Cal can knit/crochet, so calm rainy night you can find them both working of gift for the other watching some old western.

Austin/Cal

Austin loves reading and camping, and Cal liked to do photography! They can spend a few days in the wild, be it the rockys or in plains; they like it. They're both swifties, and so goes to the concert when cal manage to get tickets; and days at the beach are awesome!

That's all for now, but asks are always open!^^

[birdieofprey]

Retrocity- What is something that elicits nostalgia from your muse? Is it a sound, a scent, an object, and what does it represent to them?

The smell of oil paints and canvas makes her think of art school, of meeting Alejandra for the first time. More commonly, whenever she smells any sort of tex-mex cooking, it makes her think of this taco place in Santa Barbara on Chapala Street called Lilys that has the most amazing marinated pork you will ever taste in this lifetime.

[canonrpfinder]

About Me: She/Her. 25+. EST. I write on Discord (DMs or servers) or through Tumblr messages. I like to stay on Tumblr for plotting. I write in third person, past tense and around 150-400 words. Replies happen within 2-3 days usually. Sometimes daily, depending on how busy I am with work and RL. I typically do not double. I have no triggers but that doesn't mean I'm willing to do everything. I take things on a case-by-case basis. ❄️

What I'm Looking For: Various fandoms. Please be 18+ to interact!!! Write in third person (I don't mind the tense). No one-liners and preferably have a ~100+ word count. Replies within 2-4 days is ideal. But I'm fine with every 5-7 days. Just let me know if it's going to take longer. I'm only looking for canon x canon pairings. Mainly looking for MxM ships. Willing to take on a limited amount of MxF or FxF. I'm a lot pickier with what ships I do for those latter two, though. I don't mind writing NSFW/smut and wouldn't mind incorporating it into most of these threads (with any plot/smut ratio).

I'll just be listing my primary muses for each fandom (I might be talked into writing some others). Any muse in bold I especially would love to write as right now. We can discuss ships together. I have a lot of favorites, and I'm always to discussing new ones I've never given a chance before.

Baldur's Gate 3:

Abdirak

Astarion Ancunín

Cazador Szarr

Dammon

The Emperor

Enver Gortash

Gale Dekarios

Halsin

Ketheric Thorm

Nere

Raphael

Rolan

Zevlor

Doctor Who:

Delgado!Master

Dhawan!Master

Eleventh Doctor

Fifth Doctor

Fourteenth Doctor

Harry Sullivan

Jack Harkness

Rogue

Second Doctor

Sixth Doctor

Tenth Doctor

Game of Thrones:

Alliser Thorne

Beric Dondarrion

Daenerys Targaryen

Jaime Lannister

Margaery Tyrell

Petyr Baelish

Robb Stark

Roose Bolton

Sansa Stark

Stannis Baratheon

Thoros

Tywin Lannister

(AMC) Interview with the Vampire:

Armand

Lestat de Lioncourt

The Lord of the Rings:

Boromir

Celeborn

Elrond

Gríma Wormtongue

Haldir

Marvel:

Benjamin Poindexter

Billy Russo

Bruce Banner

Bucky Barnes

Carol Danvers

Frank Castle

Grant Ward

Lance Hunter

Loki Laufeyson

Matt Murdock

Nathan Summers

Andrew!Peter Parker

Phil Coulson

Ray Nadeem

Reed Richards

Tony Stark

Victor von Doom

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre:

Drayton Sawyer

Johnny Slaughter/Sawyer

Nubbins Sawyer

Tex Sawyer

If you'd like to work something out, please like this post, and I'll get back to you ASAP.

✒