#star needs to shut up about immortals

[axeofsuns]

"immortality wouldn't suck because xyz"

I don't think you are comprehending how long FOREVER is

[axeofsuns]

Vote Hoenhime vote Hoenhime vote Hoenhime, dear mutuals who don't know wtf I'm on about, vote Hoenhime

Propaganda

Hamsuke: She is 200 years old. (Apparently giant hamsters live significantly longer than normal ones.)

[thecapricunt1616]

Coriander (c.b. one-shot)

Snippet (more BTC): “I thought you'd never ask. I’m gonna go to the back office and wait. If you think you know what I need, then come on back. If you don’t want to, we can just pretend this never happened mm?” you got up, making sure to sway your hips a tad more as you went to the back office. You pushed the door shut behind you and dropped your tote under the desk, sitting down on it and leaning back against the wall. He came in 2 minutes later, cheeks red, biting his lip as he opened the door and saw you sitting on the desk.”

♡ Chapter Inspo: Love, health, immortality, and protection. Tie fresh coriander with a ribbon and hang in the home to bring peace & protection. Add to love charms and spells to bring romance or use in ritual work to ease the pain of a broken love affair. Promotes peace among those who are unable to get along. Use the seeds in love sachets and spells. ♡ Summary: You are in a FWB situation with Richie, Mikey dies - Carmy comes home to run The Beef, and suddenly...you find yourself in a FWB situation with Carmy as well, what happens when Carmy makes you two official in secret so he can have you all to himself? ♡ W/C: 5.3K+ ♡ Posted Date: 05/29/2024 ♡ A/N: Hellooooo! Happy day 4/7 of the Capri 200 Follower Celebration Extravaganza!!! You can find said extravaganza ♡Here♡ this celebration will be going until next Sunday (06/02/24) so get your requests in! Here's another celebration ask on the books! This ask is from a sweet anon, ask can be found right ♡Here♡ - Thank you so much for your request! As you can tell by the word count I got very inspired! I hope you enjoy :D This could easily have a part 2 so if you want one, just let me know in the comments This is kind of a Richie/Carmy thing i've never written Richie before and I had a whole lot of fun doing so! ♡ Warnings for BTC: Swearing, FWB Relationships, Smoking, Usual TB trigger warnings, Asshole!Carmy (kinda), Angst, No real comfort to be found in the end, Age gap relationships, Rough sex, smutsmutsmut, No uses of Y/N, Reader not described (pics are for vibes only)

♡ 𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 ♡ ➵ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 ♡ ➵ 𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞 ♡ ➵ 𝘊𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 / 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘵 ♡ ➵ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 ♡

You had been working at The Bear since it was The Beef. 3 months before Mikey died, you were hired as a food runner. You’d met Mike maybe twice? Both times, the guy was high out of his mind- so you couldn’t say much about his character. 

Richie on the other hand, was flirty. He was handsome, he was funny, he had a huge cock. You were in your third year of college, Richie was smitten with your girlish charm, and you’d fucked those 3 months pretty consistently - until Carmy came back to Chicago. 

You’d been warned his ‘cousin’ was a big shot NYC chef, ‘Michelin Starred’ Richie said one night while fucking your brains out after a stressful shift as he smoked a cigarette in his shitty, dimly lit apartment. Puffs of smoke left his lips as your ass bounced against his hips and he rambled on about what had pissed him off today, 

“Ye’ sweetheart- fuck-“ he took a long inhale before continuing -  “mm’y’fuckin tight baby- shit-“ he stuttered as your pussy clenched around his cock firmly as your second orgasm washed over you, thighs shivering. “Thaaas it- huh? Gooood girl. Knew y’could do it babygirl” he kissed the dimple on your spine as you shivered, tendrils of smoke trailing up your back and over your hips. 

He then sat up, casually taking another drag, tightening his non-dominant hand around your hip so there would be little fingertip bruises once more over the yellowing hearing ones, and continued, his bruising pace getting rougher and quicker as he continued chasing his own orgasm. 

The meat of your ass and the skin of his hips made smacking sounds as they came together. Pathetic little whines drag from your lips with each rough kiss the tip of his cock gave your cervix as he just continued talking like he wasn’t using you like a fuck doll. 

“he uh, has a Michelin star- whatever that means? He’s a little prick. Guess that’s ahh-fuck- that’s why Mike left it t’him- he knows how t’make fancy shit- little fuckin��� Eleven Madison Park dickhead”  he grunted as he filled you up, spanking you roughly for good measure. 

“Good girl. Always take it like a little whore mm?” He puts out his cigarette in the ashtray. He pats your hip gently as he pulls out, collapsing next to you with an old man grunt that you always teased him for. “Ey’ sweet girl, Y’wanna rub my back since I fucked y’so good mm? So I won’t be sore at work tomorrow?” He pulled you close, kissing your neck, his stubble making you shiver as cum leaked down your beard-burned thighs. 

That was how you spent one to three nights a week since you’d started working at The Beef. 

Then, Carmy came. For the first 6 or so months, it was business as usual for you and Richie. Quiet spanks on the ass as you walked by him during rush as you brought food out to a customer, sometimes letting him fuck your face in the back alley as he went on about what an asshole Carmen was being that day. 

You just took it, the fighting, the bickering, the sexual tension. You were the go-between for the both of them, when they weren’t talking Richie would bug you to go tell Carmy what he needed to say. “Immature asshole” you’d call him at the end of the day as he knelt between your thighs in that same shitty apartment, sucking on your clit while his beard scratched up your thighs. He’d just chuckle into you, squeezing your thighs amusedly with his large hands. 

Then one day, you were in the dry storage, grabbing something for Marcus that was on the bottom shelf and heavy. You were bent over, trying to tug it out and the door shut behind you.  “Hey- sorry just gonna reach over you-“ Carmy. When you felt him press against your ass like that, his tattooed hand resting on your hip. You felt heat rushing straight for your core, your stomach flipping and fluttering.

Then, you started making moves. A brush of the hand here, a smile there, a giggle at one of his dorky jokes no one else bothered to pay attention to, of course, he noticed. The young piece of ass that used to spend all day giggling and shooting the shit with his older cousin was into him now. The first night it happened, you made sure to pick up a double on a day you usually didn’t go home with Richie, and while everyone except Carmy did their best to rush out the door as soon as they possibly could, you stuck behind. 

You went to the bathroom, fixed up your hair, and your makeup not enough to be noticeable to a guy that you’d changed, but enough to look fresh. You put on some more lipgloss, freshening up your body spray and hiking your tote bag onto your shoulder before heading out of the ladies' room into the back-of-house. You heard the swish swish of a scrub brush, and the plopping of water - and knew Carmy was still in there scrubbing something. When you turned the corner to see him on his hands and knees, muscular arms flexing as he really scrubbed that floor. You could tell there was something….about Carmen Berzatto. 

It wasn’t just the fact his brother died, it wasn’t this strange stoic seriousness he had at not even 35, it was something else. Dedication, maybe? But you weren't sure to what because not a day went by without referring to the restaurant as ‘a shithole with decent sandwiches’ - you knew he was just keeping it running because it’s what Cicero wanted and no one denied that man. But you wanted to see if that dedication or learning ability translated into the bedroom. “Damn- You could eat off that grout” you teased. His head popped up, blue eyes twinkling under the iridescent lights.

This damn family and their pretty eyes

“The hell you still doin’ here? Y’shift ended what-” he looked at the clock, “An hour and six minutes ago” he continued scrubbing at the tile with the tiny little brush. 

“Oh you memorized my shift schedule?” you teased, a small smile on your lips. You were towering over him, being sure to block his light so he would give you his attention once more.

“I make the schedule, yeah I know when my employees work” he looked up at you again “n’y’re in my light” he pushed his greasy curls out of his way with his dry hand. 

“Mmm- last I checked Chef Syd did the scheduling- unless…that changed?” you asked and he looked back at the floor, scrubbing over the same spot he had been since you came over here. 

He made a little ‘mm’ noise and was quiet for a few moments as he continued to scrub. “So why are you still here if y’not gettin’ paid?” he asked again. You crouched next to him, hugging your knees and he stopped, looking over at you. He could smell your perfume perfectly, your lipgloss glitter was shimmering in the light. He could very well near smell the mint coming off of your breath from the gum you had chewed an hour earlier. He swallowed thickly, blinking a few times how he did when he was confused he noticed and his eyes fan to your lips before back up to your eyes. “Uh-”

You cut him off “Cause I haven’t met you, Carmy. We haven’t talked, Why’s that?” you question with a small, innocent smile. It was true, he all but ignored you while he’d been here. The only time he spoke to you was when he absolutely had to tell you something or when he was assigning you your morning tasks when you first got in. 

“W-What d’you wanna know?” he asked, tongue darting out to quickly wet his lips. He was nervous. 

“Why do you ignore me for starts” you jet your bottom lip slightly out into a little barely there pout for added effect, “Tina asked me a few days ago what I did, so what did I do Carmy?” you ask gently. You knew it was because you caught him staring at you so often he thought you thought he was a creep, but you thought it was adorable how flustered he got when he’d been caught and quickly tried to make it look like he’d been focused on something else. 

“Nothin- nothin’ y-you didn’t do anything m’sorry I made you feel- what’re you-” he trailed off as you gently fixed his Saint Anthony chain so it was facing front, carefully slipping your finger under the loop and pinching it between your forefinger and thumb, adjusting the clasp to be at the back of his neck. 

“Sorry, small things like that bug me, I think little things bug you too, Carm” you said softly. His cheeks were getting pink, his pupils were widening. Your plan was working. “Is this ok?” you gently fixed the sleeve of his t-shirt over his bicep, the fabric deliciously stretching over his buff arm 

“Mhmm” he muttered, breath catching as your hand trailed up his shoulder and resting there. “Did you um- did you need something…” he asked, voice that delicious kind of soft you adored. 

“I thought you'd never ask. I’m gonna go to the back office and wait. If you think you know what I need, then come on back. If you don’t want to, we can just pretend this never happened mm?” you got up, making sure to sway your hips a tad more as you went to the back office. You pushed the door shut behind you and dropped your tote under the desk, sitting down on it and leaning back against the wall. He came in 2 minutes later, cheeks red, biting his lip as he opened the door and saw you sitting on the desk.

He blinked rapidly, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing “Jesus Christ” he muttered to himself, shutting the door behind him. “Y-y’re sure. Like- wait you mean- you mean you want me t-” 

“Do whatever you want with me, chef,” you told him in a sultry tone, watching him closely as he walked over. You’d assumed he’d be just like Richie, rough, unforgiving, and sometimes even a little mean, but the way he cupped your cheek was…gentle. 

“Are you sure you want this? M’y’r boss..I don’ want you t’feel like i’m…making you, ‘er somethin’” he ran his thumb over your cheekbone. He was so close that you could smell the cigarette smoke on his breath as well as the musky scent of the long workday mixed with his cologne. You were nearly put in a trance by it. In response, you gently rest your palm on the back of his neck, pulling him closer and giving him a gentle kiss. 

He leaned forward, resting his hand on the side of your thigh and kissing you back, his lips hesitant on yours at first but when he felt your tongue swipe his bottom lip, his hand moved to your shoulder and gently squeezed as he opened his mouth, tongue darting out to find yours. He moaned softly at your taste, his breath coming out in small hot puffs that fanned your upper lip as you explored his mouth with your tongue. His hand that was on the desk gently moved to your hip, giving a tentative squeeze. You grabbed it, bringing it to your breast and with your hand over his, guiding him to squeeze and massage it. 

He let out a little hum of realization and did as you asked, only able to do so much with a t-shirt bra and work shirt, he with trembling hands tugged at the bottom of your navy blue The Beef t-shirt, asking for permission to take it off. You pulled away, swiftly taking off the shirt and reconnecting your lips with his. Your hands made your way behind your back, unhooking your bra and pulling it off, bringing both of his hands to your breasts. You whine softly as he pinches and rolls your nipples between his fingers, the action making them even harder and perkier. He kissed down your jaw, nipping gently and sucking on the sensitive skin. 

Richie can’t know this happened 

“N-no marks babe- kay?” you said a bit breathlessly, hand trailing up to gently tug at his hair. He hummed in response, kissing down and mouthing over the hickeys Richie had left earlier in the week. You bit your lip as he continued to roll and tug your nipples kissing down your neck and when he finally got to your breasts you heard him mutter

“So fuckin perfect” before he took one of your perky abused nipples into his mouth, lightly sucking as you combed through his curls, taking out all the knots with your nimble fingers. With his other hand, he continued to massage your other breast, causing a moan to fall from your lips. 

“You wanna fuck me? Mm? Right here over the desk? You can go as hard as you want yea?” you told him, it was nice that he was spending so much time dedicated to making you feel good, but were confused why he hadn’t just…bent you over and gotten it over with by now like Richie usually did when you fucked at work. 

He pulled off with a pop, looking up at you with those wide eyes that had been darkened with lust. “Uh- Can I taste you..instead?” he asked shyly, resting his chin on your sternum gently, his hot breath puffing from his nose and tickling your chest. You raised your brows, looking at the clock - wasn’t he exhausted?! If he ate you out, that would be what - another 15 minutes on top of him getting off, would probably be another 20, so you both wouldn’t be getting out of there until 1:30 or so. 

Well, if it's what he wants.

“Sure honey” You got up, slipping out of the sweats you took the train home in usually, setting them on the desk to sit on and pushing your panties down as well after kicking off your Ugg slipper shoe-type things and sitting back on the desk, spreading your thighs for him and resting one of your heels on the edge. His mouth parted slightly, nearly dropping to his knees, his curls falling in front of his eyes but he didn’t seem to care as he kissed your inner thighs, almost enjoying his time getting you worked up. He gently sucked on your nether lip, groaning lightly at your flavor. Your mouth drops as you watch him, fully blissed out as he laps at your wet folds.

“Holy shit Carmy” you breathe, gently pushing his bangs back so you could see his pretty blue eyes once again. He looks up at you, sandy brown long lashes nearly touching his bushy brows as he connects his mouth with your clit, flicking his tongue over it and running his jaw back and forth messily, a mix of drool and your arousal running over his chin. “Wow feels so good - doin’ so good Carmy” you breathe, head falling back in pleasure and breathing picking up. He was really good at this. When Richie was in the mood (AKA his back wasn't hurting, or his knees, or his shoulder) he would give you the pleasure of eating you out, and he did it well, he always made sure you came when he did it, and you never had to fake it with him.

You weren’t going to have to fake it with Carmy, either, because holy shit - he was amazing at this. You felt that familiar tightening within’ your stomach within minutes. He took one of your thighs, throwing it over his shoulder to give himself a better angle, and ran his tongue down, slipping it inside of your pussy and moaning as you gush over his tongue when his nose runs back and forth over your clit, stimulating it most deliciously. Your thigh twitched, toes curling, and a sharp moan comes from your throat, biting down roughly on your lip. “God- god Carmy, I’m cumming” you warn, Gripping his curls rougher which seemed to edge him on, rubbing you rougher with his nose and curling his tongue up against your gummy walls, wet lewd noises coming from between your thighs. 

Within moments there was a fire of pleasure shooting beneath your skin as you cried out in ecstasy. Your eyes rolled beneath your lids, letting go of his hair and gripping the desk instead with a crushing grip as he worked you through the intense waves of overstimulating delight that ripped through you relentlessly. He finished with a chaste kiss on your thigh before grabbing your bra and helping you put it on as well as your panties, even finding the shirt you’d thrown and shaking off the dust from the floor before handing it over. “That was uh…really good, thank you” he wiped his chin and lips with the back of his hand, rubbing it on the back of his jeans. You shamelessly stared at his crotch and noticed the hard bulge in his jeans before looking back up at him.

“You don’t want to get rid of that? I can suck you off if you want I have a hair tie” you said, holding up your wrist to show him. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. 

“No- no you don’t owe me anything, I got what I needed don’worry. See y’tomorrow- make sure you leave through the back I already locked up the front” he said, leaving the office and closing the door behind him to give you some privacy. You sat in shock for a moment, blinking a few times. All he wanted from you was to eat you out? You’d never met another guy who simply ate you out and that was it - they’d always…expected something from you after, and of course, you gave it because you felt like they’d paid you a favor just by eating you out first even if you didn’t finish. You slip your work shirt back on, get up, and put on your sweats with shaky legs before slipping your shoes back on. 

It continued like this, the days you weren't fucking Richie, you were in the back office getting eaten until you nearly passed out. Until The Beef started getting renovated, then the days you weren’t getting your brains fucked out in Richie's bed, your thighs spread wide at odd hours of the morning on Carmens’ couch, some random cooking show playing in the background as he lapped at your pussy like a man starved on his knees in front of you after kissing down your body like you were a goddess to be worshipped. If you were quite honest, you liked this routine. It felt perfect for you, you knew where your feelings lay for both of the men, and it was a stable comfortable routine on both sides. 

For Richie, it was fun and flirtatious. Sneaky spanks when you came to visit and help him renovate the restaurant with Neil, rough makeout sessions in the back alley when he went out for a smoke, rough near bruising quickies in the soon-to-be walk-in freezer that hadn’t been set up yet, so it was a nice little private area you two could go. He’d even started stealing a kiss or two when you weren’t being sexual. He was protective of you, Carmy started noticing this. That was why a few weeks before the big opening, he had started being a bit more handsy with you. 

The two of you started spending a lot more time together, and you realized he was even opening up to you a bit more. He began asking to see you more often, taking you out with him when he had to run errands for the opening. When he took you with him to the restaurant supply store, he had his hand rested on your lower back, gently rubbing circles as he explained to you the difference between the bunch of different kinds of cutlery. You had been baffled that there were 11 different kinds of butter knives there and he explained to you the difference between them, as well as showed you which sets went together.

It was strange you were clenching your thighs together while a man chatted you up over silverware, but the way he guided your hand to hold them so you were doing it ‘properly’ when you picked one up to get a closer look, had your heart jumping to your throat. That specific encounter was the first time you’d been able to really fuck him, and also draw some dominance out of him as well. It wasn't even his day with you, he knew it - he very well knew this, but little did you know that was the reason why he did it. You rode him hard and fast in the back of his van in the parking lot, he’d made sure to move to a spot in the way back where no one else had been parked so the two of you didn’t get caught and thrown on a registry, of course.

So, that night when you had met up with Richie after he had made you dinner and bent you over the couch for your usual Wednesday night activities - by the first yank of your hips you squeaked, “Gentle - please, daddy, not too rough..” you were glad he was taking you from behind, because you couldn’t bare the confused sweet sorry look on his face. You never asked him to be gentle with you, of course he obliged- because it was all an act. Richie was a big softie, a teddy bear. He just liked to fool around and put on the big mean daddy act in the bedroom because it was fun for the both of you.t in the bedroom because it was fun for the both of you. But he would never really want to hurt you. 

“Wha’s wrong baby, mm? Why you hurtin’?” He held you up by your ribs, sweetly kissing your hairline as he thrusted slower and softer in and out of you, gently resting his lips against your forehead “was I too hard Monday? M’sorry my sweet girl” he rubbed over your breast gently as he continued his gentler strokes. His sweet girl. That caused your heart to sting a bit. You didn’t know that he liked you too, the same way you liked him. Unless it was just an act? You hope it was an act. 

“Yeah” you said, knees going weaker when he reached around your front and toyed with your clit, your hips bucking at the soreness Carmen had left you with earlier. 

“Yeah? Y’never been like this before sweetheart” he kissed over your neck, beard scratching at your skin. 

“Mm- s’okay- feels good- like it when it hurts like this” you rest your head back on his shoulder, closing your eyes and feeling a pit of guilt setting in your stomach. Would it hurt him if he found out you had started fooling around with Carmy? You hoped not, but couldn’t help but wonder. They were family. Most of all you would hope it wouldn’t make him insecure due to the much closer proximity Carmy and your ages were. You were so lost in your own head that you didn’t even realize he was finishing inside of you like normal moaning into your hair. 

“So good- such a good girl” he kissed your head. “go get cleaned up kid, gotta get outta here early t’day cus’ I needa go to Eva’s school play thing” he pats your ass gently and pulled out, leaving you draped over the arm of the couch naked from the waist down and cum leaking down your thighs. You shut your eyes for a moment, rubbing over your face before standing up and doing as he said. 

A little over a week later, Carmy asked you to go straight with him. Well. Not really, he asked you if you were fucking other people to which you gave a simple yes and he just said ‘oh…wish I could be the only one’ you teased him and asked if that meant you wanted to be together, just the two of you and he said yes. So, you stopped fucking Richie. You stopped letting him kiss you in dry storage - you stopped having your ass be available for slapping as he walked by. 

And man, was it hard. He looked like a sad puppy, a small pout coming to his lips when you turned your cheek causing him to kiss that instead of your lips. “ ‘ey-“ he turned your face towards him “where’s my kiss?” You just looked down at the floor, before turning and grabbing the bag of onions you’d been sent in there to get and saying 

“I don’t think we should keep doing this. We should…just work together.” As much as you hated to say it, you did. Then you left the dry storage, and Richie felt his heart crack slightly. Things with him felt way more real then with Carmy, but Carmy was the one who asked you to be his, so you just…went with who asked. You had thought that was the best choice. Even though you stomped on his heart that day, he still cracked jokes with you, and was the same sweet dork you worked with before you started hooking up, the sweet dork that made you want to hook up with him in the first place. 

2 days before the friends and family opening, Carmy invited you over to his so he could cook for you. You’d been able to have his cooking once before, when he’d had you come over right in front of Richie at The Beef, and held a spoon to your lips, a hand under your chin for you to try something he’d come up with. Tonight he was making his familys pasta, and when you’d got there you nearly jumped his bones when he was wearing a work shirt from The Beef. You’d never seen him in it before, he’d never worn it to work even though everyone else had to be wearing theirs.

 You had a joke with yourself that he knew how yummy and slutty he looked in those stupid plain white t’s so thats why he kept wearing them.

“Hey sexy” You’d said when he opened the door, standing on your toes to kiss him deeply. He hummed, pulling you inside quickly and shutting the door behind you both so no neighbors would see. He grabbed your ass with his palms, squeezing it and spanking you lightly.

“Hey pretty girl” he said, kissing your top lip messily “y’hungry, right? Dinners almost done” he carefully brushed your hair from your face, looking down into your eyes with one of his sweet smiles.

“Mm always hungry for the best chef in the worlds food” you mused, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck and playing with his curls “Why’d you never wear this at work, mm? Y’look sexy babe” you kissed his neck. He hummed, hands trailing up your back and palming over your ribs.

“Cause they’re itchy, and it’s laundry day” he said as you rubbed over his chest, grabbing at his pecks and squeezing at the flesh. He chuckled, brushing your hands “jesus someones handsy eh? He cupped your cheeks, angling your eyes towards him “food’ll burn, go wash up yeah? I’ll get y’plate ready” he pecked your lips and ran his hands down your front, grabbing your hand nd pressing it to his lips before heading back to the kitchen.

You followed as he said, going to the restroom and washing your hands as well as your makeup off with the makeup wipes that lived in his bathroom for you now, before going to his bedroom. You stepped out of your stupid waitress uniform, slipping on his white shirt that kissed just below your bum. You padded out to the kitchen, seeing him wiping the edge of your plates off with a paper towel, a kitchen rag over his shoulder. God, he looked so amazing in his element. “Hey” you said gently, going to hug him from behind 

“Hey sweet girl, just about done” he sprinkled some fresh parsley over the dish masterfully, before gently rubbing over the back of your hand and bringing it to his lips, kissing it. “How was the train?” he asked and you pulled away, walking over to his couch and sitting since he’d never bothered to get a kitchen table. 

“Okay, weirdo was playing a ukelele again” you plopped down, crossing your legs and looking over at the random dutch cooking program he had been watching from his station in the kitchen, “You speak dutch?” you asked, he chuckled and you weren’t sure at which statement. 

“No, I don’t, I just watch, and I know what they’re doin’ by the look usually.” he came over, setting a beautiful plate of pasta in your lap and sitting down with the small pot he used for sauce, that he’d mixed the noodles in half hazardly and twirled some of the noodles on the fork, taking a bite. 

Classic Carmy, serving you a Michelin Starred dish, and eating the leftover scraps. 

That was the night you really fell for him. Especially after he did the same thing that he did the first time the two of you hooked up, put you first. Even if he didn’t want you to touch him, even if he was too shy to cuddle you before you fell asleep. You really felt your heart crack open for him.

The night of friends and family, though, you may as well have been a stranger. No matter what you did that night to get his attention, he fully ignored you and snapped at you, and everyone, to ‘pick up your fucking pace’. You had never had him snap at you like this. All you wanted to do was go joke around with Richie, maybe pull him into the dry storage for a quick makeout - but you couldn’t, not anymore. You missed him. You missed your old man, as much as he despised you calling him that, you adored the way he frowned and spanked you in response to the name, telling you ‘it’s already unfair when we go out they think y’my daughter’ 

When you had find out that Carmy had been locked in the freezer - your first instict was to rush to the back of house, comfort him- tell him it would all be fine, but you knew you couldn’t do that, and it would piss him off if you did so. You were his well kept secret, and he wanted you to stay that way. You had found out from Syd, who was really the only one to know about your short-lived relationship - since Carmy seemed to be more open with her then he did with you - his supposed girlfriend. 

“He’s ok, he’s fine- look, just keep pace, ok, me and Richie will handle this - bring the plates from tinas station to table 11, ok?” she told you calmly, giving you a quick reassuring hug before whisking you off to do your job. You did as she said, putting on a smile and bringing the food out to the table, setting it down the way you’d been trained and telling them what was what before telling them to enjoy and heading back to the kitchen to pick up another round of food to bring out to an awaiting hungry group of patrons.

Three hours later, when the night was finally coming to a close- you decided it was a good time to go check on Carmy. All the guests had left, and it was just the staff at this point. You knew that the fire department was on the way since Richie had let everyone know they’d been called, and Syd was back there trying to calm him down. What you didn’t know, was Syd had told Carmy to hold on for a moment because she was gonna go tell her father goodbye and thank him for coming, so he had been left all alone in the back of house, in the freezer.

You walked in, hearing him rambling as you walk up, listening closely to what he was saying.

“Like- Like right? Right?” he chuckled a bit “W-what the fuck was I thinkin’? Huh? The fuck was I thinkin’, Syd? Like - Like I was gonna be in- “ he laughed a bit “In- i-in a relationship- er- er some shit? I-I’m a fuckin- a fuckin psycho- thats thats why, thats why I’m good at what I do, thats how I operate, Syd, you wanna be the best? I am the fucking best, because I didn’t have- any- any of this - this fuckin…bullshit! Right? I-I- I could focus, and I could concentrate, and I- I had a fuckin’ routine, an- and I had fuckin cell reception! An-” he paused. You felt your heart crack, tears filling your eyes,

You were bullshit to him.

He continued, “I dont need to provide amusement or enjoyment. I dont need to- to receive, any amusement- or - or enjoyment. Y’know? And I’m…I’m completely fine, with that. Because absolutely no amount of good, is worth how fuckin’ shitty this feels. S’just…a complete waste of my fucking time.” 

You let out the sob you were holding back, gasping a breath, shaking your head and with a trembling voice, you say, “I’m really sorry you feel this way, Carmy…” before rushing out of the kitchen, hot tears running down your cheeks. You grab your bag from behind the counter, slamming into richie on the way out of the restaurant and he stopped you, grabbing your arm. 

“Hey- hey kid” he said, and the soothing sound of his voice made you break down fully, starting to sob so hard you couldnt see straight, collapsing into his chest. 

“I’m sorry- I’m so sorry for being so shitty- I- I dont deserve you” you cried, hugging him tightly, “I have-” you took a gasping breath and look up at him “I- i’m done- tell Carmy that I’m done here….” you let go of him and rush out, quickly walking towards the train station the wind whipping your wet cheeks. You pulled out your phone, calling Carmy to leave him a voicemail. 

“Hey, uh…I don’t know why you fuckin’ asked me out- but uh- fuck you, carmy. Youre right- you deserve nothing- youre a coward, and an asshole. I hate you for making me love you” you hung up, shoving your phone in your pocket, not even caring the admission that slipped past your lips as you stomped up the stairs to the L platform.

Back at the restaurant, Richie storms into the kitchen, slamming his palm on the freezer door. “Yo- the fuck did you just do?” he asked, voice laced with anger.

“I-I don’know. I-I don’ know what the fuck she heard. Dunno” Carmy said, voice indifferent to the entire thing, which just made anger bubble in his chest at his lack of caring. Richie slams his hand into the door harder, making Carmy jump a bit.

“No- asshole, I said - the fuck did you just say, to that fuckin’ girl?” Richie repeated, getting louder now.

“Richie” Carmy said, sighing to himself.

“Richie? Richie What- Tell me! Tell me, What the fuck. What the fuck did you just say to that fuckin girl, Carmen” 

“Will you just shut the FUCK UP AND GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE PLEASE!” Carmy shouts, not having any part of being scolded when his fingertips felt like ice. 

“Oh- oh yeah, I’ll get y’the fuck outta there, Donna” Richie mocked, so angry he didnt care how deeply he cut in the moment.

“The fuck you just say t’me?” Carmy challanged

“I-” Richie sighed, knowing he just took things too far and dropped his head back in annoyance.

“N-no- Richie- What the fuck did you just say?” Carmy asks, louder this time, Pounding on the door when he didnt get a response. 

“Yo- cousin, cousin look - I don’t know why you gotta fuck up everything good in your life. That girl is nice, shes a good fuckin friend t’you” Richie explained, completely oblivious to everything that had really been going on. 

“Are you -” Carmen laughs “Are you fucking kidding me right now?!” he spits, the comparison to his mother causing fire to race through his veins.

“No- No i’m not, cousin, someones gotta tell you this shit, ‘eh? First fuckin friend after comin’ home you go ahead and make her cry?!” Richie scolded.

“FUCK YOU! Fuck you Richie!” Carmy yells, running his hands through his hair,

“Ohhh yea, here we go, fuck me, yeeeaaa Carm” he mocked him.

“Yeah! Yeah fuck you fuckin loser. You wouldn’t have shit without me. So fuck you!” carmy shouted at him, his breath coming out in large frosty puffs in front of him.

“Oh-” Richie chuckled, a twinge in his chest that Carmy was willing to cut so deep so quickly “Yeah- yeah tough guy” he mocked, voice getting meeker

“Yeah! Yeah! You- Or y’fuckin kid- fuckin loser - only reason you have anything is me!” Carmy roars, slamming on the door “so ye’ cousin, fuck you!” 

“My KID? Y’gonna talk about my KID? Well at least I have a fuckin kid! What d’you have other then a restaurant, jackass!” he yelled back.

“YEAH? I HAVE THE GIRL YOU BEEN FUCKIN’ FOR THE PAST YEAR, MORON. Why you think she dropped you so fast? Huh? You fucking idiot! She chose me- so ye’. I am the reason you have what you have AND I’LL TAKE WHATEVER I FUCKING WANT. FUCK YOU” He yelled through the door, kicking it with his chefs clog.

Richies mouth dropped, stepping back and feeling as if he’d just been stabbed in the heart. “What?” he said, believing his ears were playing tricks on him, how could Carmy do such a thing to him?

“Yeah- yeah. She chose me, and guess what, I fucked her because i wanted to show you I could. Y’fuckin prick” he sat down on one of the boxes of frozen steaks, rubbing over his face roughly. Richie raced out of the kitchen, telling Syd he was ‘done�� and quickly taking out his phone to call you. 

Back in the freezer, Carmens phone buzzed. He looked at it, seeing a voicemail from you that finally pushed through. When he heard your sad, broken voice, admit that he’d caused you to hate him by his behaviour made him chuck his phone against the freezer wall so hard that the screen shattered.

Never so badly had he ever fucked up, and by doing so he lost the best thing to ever happen to him.

[inotakumagf]

persephone’s descent

✶ gojo satoru x persephone!reader

word count ✺ 2.7K

summary ✺ no one knows what truly happened to persephone when hades dragged her down to his realm. no one’s even heard of the demigod who made the tedious journey to save her.

warning ✺ i don’t haaate the story of hades and persephone i just hate how modern interpretations of the myth make demeter out to be a crazy woman who is “ruining” their love & hades is somehow the nicest guy who has done no wrong ever when the homeric hymn to demeter makes my heart break. i like different retellings where it is more of a love story, but in the og myth he did kidnap her & force her to stay with him against her will. im gonna shut up now otherwise i’d go on and on if i had my way lol. also like i mentioned in the poll zeus is very much NOT your father in this 👍 i hope you enjoy, please reblog/comment i’d love to hear ur thoughts!

No one ever cares about your side of the story.

The tale of Persephone and Hades has been retold and romanticized a thousand times over, and each time it strays farther and farther from the truth. It becomes a love story about Hades’ adoration of Persephone, and their fight against her crazy mother’s attempts at keeping the two star-crossed lovers apart. Persephone becomes a doting wife and the millitant queen of the Underworld. Her kidnapping turns into a misunderstanding of the love Hades has for her. Or worse, some myth retellings claim that Persephone herself tricked Hades into taking her down below to his realm.

That’s not what happened. As if you’d ever go anywhere with him willingly. 

You’d never invited Naoya’s attention, not once. He wasn’t even supposed to make his ascension to the mortal realm. But he’d seen you bathing in moonlight from beneath his helm of darkness, watching as you flourish a field of irises. He’d been so taken by your beauty, eyes dragging along where moonshine reflected off of your skin. He decided then that he had to have you, and he dragged you down, down, down to his decaying realm. Away from your home, away from your mother, and away from all that you hold dear. 

Demeter had sensed the loss of your presence the moment you disappeared down into the cavernous Underworld. It felt like your life had slipped away from her that day. You find out later that she had punished the Earth for your loss, as she caused crops to wither and vegetation to rot with each passing day. 

You know she would have come for you herself if she could, but Zeus has long since forbidden the major Gods from acting directly against one another. Of course, being kidnapped by an Olympian God is not enough reason for him to intervene on your behalf, since you’re no major God yourself. 

In your immortal life, it’s impossible to remember how much time goes by in mortal standards, and it’s even harder to keep track in the Underworld. You spend most of your hours, days, maybe even years trapped in your cave of a room. You spend every second clawing and screaming against the rock walls, making sure Naoya has not a moment of peace from you.

He is easy to anger, and you’ve caused a nasty frown to grace his face anytime he looks at you. Still, he decides that he must show off his prize to his loyal court, because how many people can say they’ve captured the Goddess of nature? He has you sit on a smaller throne beside his own as he entertains members of his court. And of course, he is always offering you food. Everything from juicy pomegranate seeds to jeweled berries to plump poultry. 

Naoya must think you’re an idiot, as if you don’t know the one rule a visitor must remember when passing through the Underworld. Even to a God, the food will hold a piece of your soul hostage, as if tying you to the ground below. As a God, you don’t need food to survive, so all his obvious attempts are shot down. But you do need ambrosia and nectar from time to time, and you refuse to let him see how the deprivation of Godly food is getting to you.

You’re nursing a growing headache thanks to Naoya’s constant attention and the lack of ambrosia as you watch courtiers you hardly recognize kneel before the dais you sit on. They each have a ridiculously intricate gift for Naoya as they beg for his help with an idiotic political or social issue for their oh-so-gracious king to solve. Naoya asks for your input from time to time, not because he actually cares, but because he finds your growing annoyance hilarious.

A spirit bows in front of you on the dais. “Oh great King. I stand before you to ask you for your words of advice. You see, I have been in love with a woman for years. But it seems as though her heart has been captured by another man, and I believe she may marry him. How can I reunite with my beloved?”

Naoya taps his fingers against the bone of his throne’s armrest. “Hm. It seems you have quite the predicament. What do you think, darling dearest?”

You rub your fingers into your throbbing temple, muffling a groan of boredom. “Everyone gets their heart broken all the time. If you couldn’t tell this woman you loved her before she fell in love with the other man, maybe that’s your own fault. It’s not my problem, so why do I have to listen to your pathetic chatter?”

Naoya cackles loudly, pounding his fist against his throne’s armrest. “Aren’t you a romantic? Well, there’s your answer, lad.”

Naoya motions for the spirit to leave so that the next person can have their turn. But the spirit doesn’t budge.

“I never said she was in love with this man.”

Before you can ask what he means, the spirit throws off the raggedy cloak from his shoulders. As he does so, his form flickers until it solidifies into warm, solid flesh. You gasp. With the hood of the cloak no longer hiding the man, you instantly recognize his soft, white hair and piercing blue eyes as they meet your own. 

Naoya bellows, “What is this? A live mortal in my realm? I should have you strung and castrated, so that you may truly belong here, boy.”

Gojo Satoru points a long finger at Naoya in accusation. “You will release the Goddess of nature at once, or I’ll be forced to destroy you.”

Naoya nearly falls over in laughter. “Oh, I will, will I? And who do you think you are, speaking to the God of the Underworld like that?”

Satoru straightens his back so that he appears taller, and if you didn’t know who he was you would have thought he was a God himself. “I am Gojo Satoru, son of Zeus and champion of Nike. I act on behalf of Demeter, who demands you return her daughter, or else the destruction she has caused to the world above will continue to spread down until she destroys every corner of your so-called kingdom until there is nothing left of it.”

You don’t doubt Satoru’s ability to defeat Naoya, but the God just laughs in his face. That is, until the demigod pulls out his sword. You’ve never seen this weapon of his before. It’s so sharp, you swear you can actually see it cut the air into slivers. If you could guess, the weapon looks a lot like the work of Hephaestus himself. 

Satoru extends the weapon, pointing it directly at Naoya. “No? Then I will fight you and return the Goddess to her rightful home.” 

Naoya steps carefully off of his throne, unsheathing his Stygian blade. It’s an impressive, obsidian sword, but it dwarfs in comparison to Satoru’s weapon. 

Naoya hardly takes a step towards Satoru before the demigod has repositioned himself to the right, slashing his silver blade against the God of the Dead’s shoulder. Naoya blocks the attack, just barely. Their fight picks up after the first blow; Gojo presses his attacks forward in order to force Naoya to default to defensive blocks. Gojo’s strikes are fast and hard, constantly pushing Naoya back. He catches Naoya off guard, slashing his sword against the God’s face.

Naoya screams. “You insolent bastard. I’ll kill you for this.”

Satoru tucks his sword into its sheath. You want to scream at him to pull the damn weapon back out, but he just smirks at Naoya. “Nah, I don’t think so.”

He blasts a massive ball of electricity at Naoya, and you can taste the crackle of lightning on your tongue at the force of his power. It causes the cavernous roof above Naoya to crumble upon him. You know it won’t kill or even harm him all that much, but it will distract him for a few minutes. 

Satoru leaves Naoya under the rubble to leap onto the dais. He cups his hand against your cheek and soothes his thumb across your face. “Are you alright, my rose?” 

You press a shaky hand over his own. “I’m okay. Are you really here, Satoru?”

He laughs lightly, and you’ve never been happier to hear the sweet sound. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You blink in disbelief. “Because I’ve dreamt of this every night.”

His smile sobers up into a concerned furrow of his brow, cradling your face in order to press a kiss to the top of your head. Your eyes flutter at the warmth of his lips. 

“I’m here,” he promises. His larger hand presses yours against his chest, letting you feel his heartbeat. You love the speed of his heart, it’s just so unlike your own, so human. “But we really should leave before he collects himself, don’t you think, my rose?”

He takes you by your hand and pulls you deeper into the Underworld, until you stand before a tunnel that looks to lead up. Satoru ushers you ahead of him, keeping a hand at the small of your back. 

“An exit?” You ask, turning to face the demigod. “How on Earth did you find this?”

He grins. “Courtesy of the Messenger God. Even the Underworld gets deliveries.”

You frown. “Hermes just…told you about this?”

“For a price” he says, winking. Your stomach flutters at his casual flirtation.

A loud roar behind you caused your heart rate to spike. It’s easy to guess that Naoya has escaped, and the shout sounds entirely too close for your comfort.

Satoru rushes ahead of you, pulling you along behind him as he leads you away from Naoya’s realm as fast as he can. He leads you further up and up, not turning back as he hastens his pace. 

You stumble on the rough path, and Satoru looks back immediately, grasping you in his arms. “We can’t stop. Come, let me carry you.”

He sweeps you off your feet, and you have to clasp your arms around his neck to keep stable. You laugh into his neck as his hair tickles your cheek. 

The ascension is long, but Satoru doesn’t falter once. He just holds you tighter against him. When you're out on the surface, you suck in a breath as you finally see the night sky again. Satoru lets you down gently, and you crouch down to run your fingers through the dry, cold ground until lush grass and baby blue flowers sprout beneath your fingers. Tears fall from your eyes in joy. You’re home.

You straighten out, leaping right into Satoru’s arms. Without hesitation, he lifts you and spins you around. You can’t help but laugh in pure joy. Your arms wrap around your lover’s neck, pulling him into a sweet kiss. He deepens it easily, pressing himself against you. Your hands splay over his smooth cheeks, running your fingers over the smile stretching across his face. You nuzzle your nose against his, staring into his eyes as though you might slip away again. Something crackles behind you.

You don’t need to turn to know that your mother has arrived. You can feel her presence as if you share the same heartbeat. Satoru lets go of you so that you can hug her. You nearly sob at the feeling of her warm embrace. Demeter hugs you so tightly that you think you’d choke if you needed air like a mortal. She pulls back to stare at you, cupping your chin in her hand.

“My daughter has been rightly returned,” she announces on the breeze. You know her words will carry around the Earth, until the land prospers once more.

Demeter turns to Satoru. “Thank you, son of Zeus. You will be rewarded for your bravery. I can give you jewels, or a kingdom, or the strength of a thousand men.”

Satoru shakes his head. “I have no need for any of those material desires, My Lady.”

Demeter raises a brow. Knowing your mother, she might decide to smite him on the spot. You lay a hand on her shoulder and beg, “Please, mother.”

Demeter sighs at your pouting face. She scowls at Satoru, but she makes no move to kill him as of right now, which is good news. “Fine. What is it that you want, demigod?”

Satoru kneels before the two of you, dipping his head low. You are used to this reverence of his, but it makes you blush to see him like this after so long apart. “If I may ask, Lady Demeter, for one wish, it would be for you to allow me to ask for your daughter's hand in marriage.”

Your eyes widen at the statement. Satoru’s head is bowed, and you can’t see his face. All you want right now is to see his face.

As if reading your mind, Satoru looks up at you. His eyes find yours, staring at you with love that you know your face reflects back. You want to kneel into the soft dirt in front of him. You want to touch, to hold him. You want.

Demeter hums. “Dangerous, son of Zeus, to wish for such a thing. Do you know what you’re asking me?”

Satoru’s eyes never leave yours. “Yes, I do.”

“So you know that you are a mortal, asking to marry a Goddess that will outlive you by ions, lifetimes. You know that Naoya will curse you for such mockery of his power. You will live and die painfully, and your afterlife will be full of eternal suffering. You will never see the gates of Elysium, if Naoya can help it.”

“I know,” Satoru repeats. “And I accept my fate, as long as I can spend the rest of my life at the Goddess’s feet. Even when I die a mortal death, I will love and worship her from beyond my grave, endlessly. This is the fate that I want.”

Demeter considers him, for a moment. You know your mother, and you know the exact moment she makes her decision. Tears pool in your eyes. She looks at Satoru, who is staring at you. She looks at you, staring right back at Satoru.

“I will not grant you this.” For the first time, Satoru’s attention snaps to your mother. His eyebrows quiver, and his mouth softens into a pout.

“Please,” he says softly. 

She glances at you, and you turn to see the mischievous glint in her eyes. “No, I cannot fulfill this request. If you wish to marry my daughter, that is a gift she must grant you. But I will give you a gift of my own choosing.” 

She holds her open palm to Satoru, and a golden apple materializes in her hand. This, you were not expecting from your mother at all. You both know what this represents. Immortality. Godhood. You stare at Satoru, and he stares up at you. 

Your mother becomes impatient. “Well, son of Zeus? What will it be?”

He takes your hands in his own. “My rose. I cannot offer you a kingdom or power like Naoya can. I am a mere breath in your presence. But I can offer you my whole and true love. I can promise that I will always serve you, loyally. As your husband, and as your humble servant. Will you allow me the pleasure of marrying you?” 

He barely finishes by the time you throw yourself at him, nodding emphatically and you press kisses all over his face. Your knees are dirtied by the soft ground, but you don’t care when Satoru’s entirety surrounds you. You inhale deeply, pressing your nose into his skin. He cradles your cheek in his warm palm, pulling away so that he can admire you. 

“My Goddess,” he murmurs.

Demeter grumbles and you can practically hear the roll of her eyes. “Lovesick fools. Aphrodite certainly had her fun with you two.”

[starsfic]

The Monkeys of the Monastery and the Mountain

Summary: Azure Lion falls in love with Sun Wukong when visiting Master Subodhi. He also falls in love with Wukong's scowling shadow.

-_-

"Ugh, I can't believe I have to lower myself to this."

Azure Lion, steed of bodhisattva Manjusri and favored general in the celestial army, wisely did not speak up. This lord knew as well as him that he didn't have to do this. There were many other nobles in the Heavenly Court that were more qualified. This lord had just made a fool of himself at the Queen Mother's feast and just wanted to escape the inevitable gossip.

Azure couldn't blame him... much. He too wanted to escape the stifling atmosphere and all the noise of greedy nobles. If he didn't agree to "guard" this lord, he was certain that he would've stabbed either himself, the next noble who talked, or an unfortunate guard who crossed his path.

Although his choice of company only added fuel to the desire.

The clouds parted, revealing their location. The Cave of the Slanted Moon and Three Stars was a Taoist temple that clung to the side of a mountain with white walls and red roofing, subtle touches of the moon and stars here and there, like the stones on the front lawn they landed on.

The doors opened, revealing the master of the temple. Patriarch Subodhi, shifu and master to his students, walked down the stairs and came to a stop. He bowed his head. "Lord Xueqin," he said. "What brings you to my humble temple?"

"I'm here on orders of the Jade Emperor in order to check upon your teachings," the lord said, puffing up his chest. Clearly, he had noticed the lack of a full bow. "You are-"

"Under orders to not teach the forbidden ways of gaining immortality, as I have been for the past few centuries." The Taoist raised a brow. It might've been Azure's imagination, but there was a spark of panic in his eyes. "I am well aware of my orders. However, you did not need to bring a guard with you."

The lord raised a brow. "I heard what happened when Lord Fan visited your humble monastery and I just want to be sure that there are no incidents this time." Azure bit back a snicker. Everyone had heard about what happened during that visit. The fact that he spent months in his chambers and refused to go out in public without a veil was enough.

Patriarch Subodhi sighed, the panic fading from his eyes to instead be replaced by amusement. “I see. If that makes you feel better, then I welcome you both.”

Azure bowed at the waist. “It is an honor to visit, shifu.”

Subodhi did not respond, but he could see a smile tug on his lips as he turned and guided them inside.

The main courtyard was full of students, all dressed in simple grey training outfits, busy from sparring to reading to rushing to do what looked like chores. Women and men alike mixed, only marked by the fact that the women were allowed to keep their hair. One of those women met Azure’s eyes and bowed her head politely.

Azure bowed his head back before the doors to the shifu’s personal study opened. Subodhi stopped before he and the lord entered. “If you wish to wait outside, that is allowed,” he said to Azure. “We should not take too long.”

He was liking this man even more. Azure could hear the quiet offer. While it was tempting to watch Subodhi frighten this quivering noble, having never faced a foe that he couldn’t deal with via gossip, it also sounded boring to just sit there. The frightened spark in the noble’s eye sealed the deal.

“Thank you,” Azure said, giving another bow. He didn’t intend to stand outside the entire time. “It’s been a while since I’ve been allowed to stretch my legs and seeing your lovely monastery is a great excuse.”

The noble hummed, still looking terrified. Azure could see the gears thunking in his empty head. He would probably interrogate Azure on anything “suspicious” he saw. Azure doubted it. Subodhi simply nodded and led the noble inside, shutting the doors.

Azure began to walk. There was a side hallway, leading away from the main courtyard, and he took it.

The monastery was lovely, with several branching yards, most set up for training based on the sparring groups or meditation circles he saw. One led to a large herbal garden, where students tended the plants. A few were gathered around a large patch of what looked to be turmeric. “- get it,” a student said, holding a flower and turning it back and forth. “We’re all working with the same soil and supplies. How is Wukong’s stuff already flowering?”

“It’s Wukong,” another said. “He has a green thumb.”

“I know he does, but that doesn’t explain how time speeds up.”

“Again, it’s Wukong. Nature just likes him.”

“I would say it’s more than that…”

Azure walked away. While it was interesting to hear that nature apparently liked a very good gardener, that didn’t scream “Subodhi breaking the rules on teaching illegal immortality.” That just sounded like a possible affinity with the natural world or a spell to encourage plant growth. Shifty, but not illegal.

A set of large doors caught his eye. A guess made him reach out and push into the room, revealing it to be full of books. Ah, like he suspected.

Like many monasteries Azure had visited, the library was one of the largest rooms. This had to be the largest selection he had seen, though, drawing on many subjects from one glance. It wasn't a surprise, Subodhi prided himself on his knowledge and his desire to know more.

Azure studied the shelves as he walked past, taking mental notes here and there of certain books. Yellowtusk would love this library. He should recommend him for the next visit. If they waited for a century like they were supposed to, the collection would only get bigger. Azure turned the corner, still dwelling on the thought, and felt himself come to a stop.

His heart skipped a beat.

In the center of the library was a comfortable-looking sitting area, with many tables and pillows ready for someone to sit down. Large windows let in sunshine that illuminated the room during the day. However, it also illuminated the one person that sat in this room.

A monkey demon sat at the table, his golden fur lit by the sunshine, his long curls braided back. Several scrolls and loose paper were scattered around him. Golden eyes were focused on the scroll he read, one hand using ink to scrawl out notes. He wore the robes of a student, although Azure hadn’t seen any other demon students, the cuff of his writing hand stained with drops of ink here and there.

He was gorgeous.

Azure wasn’t sure how to react. He had thought people were pretty before, from soldiers who caught his eye to maids who attended the nobles. His dear sworn brothers Peng and Yellowtusk were beautiful in their own ways. But he had never seen someone like him.

It would probably be rude to just walk up and attempt to talk to him, but Azure’s longing nearly knocked him off his feet. He had the feeling that if he didn’t at least try to talk to this beauty, he would regret it for the rest of his days.

He stepped forward and cleared his throat.

“Hell-”

A tail whacked him in the face. Normally, he would brush it off, except the strike made him stumble back, caught off-guard by its strength as his breath rocked out of his lungs.

The monkey didn’t seem to notice that his wagging tail had claimed a victim. He hummed at whatever he was reading and then rolled the scroll up. Azure blinked at the ceiling as the monkey grabbed another scroll. Before he could unroll it, the doors to the library opened up.

“As you can see,” Subodhi sounded annoyed as he gestured to the library. “Nothing on immortality.”

The lord looked ragged. Azure was torn between amusement and concern- it had only been about ten minutes, if he was correct. What had happened in such a period of time?

“What about that?” the lord huffed, pointing at the golden beauty. “What is that creature? Why is it here?” He looked down and if Azure cared about his opinion, he would’ve been embarrassed. “Did it attack my guard?!”

The monkey looked up as Subodhi’s eyes went wide. “Uh, what?” He looked down and those beautiful golden eyes, like miniature suns, went wide. “Oh, crap, I am so-”

“It’s fine,” Azure rose up to his knees, raising a hand to hold the monkey’s knee. It may have been forward, but he didn’t care. “You were so focused. It was my fault for trying to interrupt you.” The monkey blinked and then smiled. It was so sweet and warm that Azure’s entire being warmed.

And then the noble spoke up.

"Is this your pet?" the lord huffed, eyeing the monkey as though he wasn't sure what to do with him. Azure felt his fur bristle protectively at the annoyed noise the monkey made as he stood, his brows furrowing tightly together and his teeth bared in a grin.

"No." Subodhi's words broke the staredown as he walked over, stepping between Azure and the monkey. He settled a hand on the monkey's shoulder and, like magic, the monkey relaxed. Not by much, but it looked better. "This is one of my students-"

"Sun Wukong," the monkey said, the name sounding more like a threat.

Azure's heart skipped a beat as he remembered the name, both from Subodhi to the students gathered around the turmeric. Sun Wukong. It was his new favorite word- it was spelled the same as the word for the sun and how fitting it was, for a monkey that glowed like the sun.

"Respect," Subodhi warned his student in a hiss. He turned back to the lord. "In any case, he is a special case and has proven himself to be one of my best students- don't get a big head about that." The last was a warning to Sun Wukong, whose frightening grimace had turned into a proud little smile.

The lord still eyed Wukong as if he was considering a threat. Azure stepped closer, but Subodhi stepped to the side, pulling Wukong with him. He wondered, for a second, if he imagined the nasty glare that the elder shot him before the man cleared his throat. "In any case, I believe it's best that you leave."

"Not until-" the lord protested.

"Is there anything else you honestly need to see?" Subodhi said, his voice stern. However, Azure could see his hand flexing in and out on Wukong's shoulder. Based on the wince that trembled the smaller's form, so could Wukong.

"If I may speak up," Azure said, stepping around Subodhi to hover on Wukong's other side. "I have been walking around the monastery and I have seen nothing that suggests Patriarch Subodhi has violated the law. While Wukong is a surprise-" That time, he was certain. Subodhi was glaring at him. "He's not a violation. He's clearly a good student based on the ink marks on his cuffs."

The lord huffed, glaring at the three of them. Finally, he nodded. "Fine," he said, like a toddler denied of a toy. "You pass inspection."

Subodhi bowed his head. "Thank you," he said, unwrapping that protective arm from Wukong to make a shooing motion with his swatter. The lord turned an interesting shade of red. "Now, please leave. You're interrupting my student's study."

The lord huffed again and stormed out of the library. Azure trailed behind, feeling Subodhi follow close behind. He glanced back and met Wukong's golden eyes before the monkey sat back down at his study spot. He probably looked weird with the smile he felt forming, but that wasn’t important.

I hope I can talk to you again soon.

-_-

Unfortunately, Azure didn't get a chance to talk to Sun Wukong before he left the monastery.

He didn't do it every day, but at least once a month, Azure would slip to Earth, conveniently near Subodhi's monastery. The first time hadn't been on purpose. Another celestial steed had gotten loose and was trying to take over a village. Azure and Peng had been successfully wrangling the cursing creature until Azure's eye caught a hint of sunshine. There had been a group of familiar uniforms, the front being Sun Wukong, vibrating so hard that about three students had to keep him in place.

The steed kicking him in his face was his own fault. He would give Peng that.

With the realization, Azure started hanging around the village and the mountain at least once a month to at least see the pretty monkey. He had good reason! Power-hungry demons stalked this area, interested in Subodhi's students. He was being helpful!

Subodhi didn't seem to get that. Every time they ran into each other, Subodhi's friendly look faded more and more from the first time. Azure made the mistake of asking about Wukong one time, and his hands were bleeding for days from shielding his head. It didn’t stop him from visiting.

He would just have to keep things quiet.

"You know that Wukong doesn't live here anymore, right?"

"Excuse me?"

The student who had walked up to him stared steadily back. "He got expelled two days ago. Apparently, for showing off the special lessons Shifu was teaching him, I guess? But he's not here."

Azure's heart sank. Two days ago. He had missed the perfect chance to talk to him, to maybe comfort him. Being expelled had to be hard, right? "I- Where does he live?"

"I dunno, someplace called Huago? All I know is that it's on the west coast and there's a lot of monkeys." The student hiked up the bag of groceries they had probably come for in the first place. "All I know is that he's not here, so you can stop stalking us." And with that, they walked away.

Azure didn’t realize he was moving until a shadow slammed into his face.

He stumbled back, the portal he summoned thankfully dissipating before he went back through. He looked around, realizing he was in the middle of a jungle. He was much higher than he expected- was he on a mountain? In the distance, he could see something shining, darting around a larger figure in armor. He knew that gleam, even when the power running through didn’t exist.

Before he could step towards it, another shadow wrapped around his chest, hard enough to crush his ribs, and yanked him to the ground. “I guess you were the celestial warrior Subodhi warned me about,” a voice said from overheard. Azure looked up and, once again, his heart raced.

Unlike Wukong, who was soft and glowing with sunshine, this monkey was hard and dark, all except his eyes. Those eyes gleamed with violent violet power. His clothes were a mess, ripped and torn and dirty, cuffs tight on his wrists. Chains wrapped around the muscle of his arm, the ends broken. It didn’t stop the fact that he was beautiful, dark curls cut to frame his handsome, blood-stained face.

Was it just those two, or were all monkeys so lovely?

The monkey clapped his hands and purple sparks darted out. When he pulled them apart, a staff like the one he saw Wukong wield sometimes formed, glowing and made of the same magic that held Azure down. Unlike Wukong’s staff, both ends were spiked. If he got hit with that, Azure was certain it would be nasty.

“I’m surprised you even had the courage to try and follow Wukong here,” the warrior said. “While the Demon King of Confusion surprised me, small fry like you don’t.”

And with that, the monkey dove down and Azure barely had enough time to escape his bindings.

It became a blur of fighting- dodge, strike, uppercut, taste your blood in your mouth, hit him back, don’t feel bad. As he fought and dodged, Azure wondered if sparring like Wukong would be like this. Was this warrior just as studious as Wukong was? They appeared similar far away and up close, save for the color of their fur and the color of their power, how far did those similarities go?

Azure found himself tumbling into the brush with one good strike that definitely bruised his ribs. Through the shrubbery, he could see the warrior tense, ready to follow, but a loud crash that sounded like boulders falling, the sound of several panicked monkeys, and a loud “MIHOU!” made him pause. He glanced back and then nodded before he disappeared, the shadows swallowing him up.

Azure waited before summoning another portal, this time focusing on the warrior. His portal was kind enough to drop him off in another patch of shrubbery so he was hidden from the scene.

The giant demon was collapsed on the ground, the air smelling of blood. Wukong was bathed in red, so much so that Azure’s fingers twitched with the need to grab him and clean him until he saw the golden fur. The warrior- Mihou, based on the yell- hovered next to him. It appeared the two were concerned about each other, talking over each other and reaching out and holding each other. A loud cry of a monkey turned their attention away from each other to the small, white-furred monkeys gathering around them. Wukong beamed, his smile warming Azure’s heart, as he reached down and scooped several up in his arms, allowing the rest to climb over him and Mihou. The warrior didn’t protest, his gaze so tender that it made him melt.

He didn’t realize it until then, but his heart had room for two.

He just needed to figure out how.

-_-

A few years passed and Azure finally felt it was time to make his move.

It hurt when Sun Wukong didn't recognize him when he offered his services and his brotherhood. But Azure brushed it off. The course of love never did run smooth- Macaque didn't seem to recognize him either, but he sometimes noticed him squinting at him, as if he thought him familiar but wasn't sure why.

Peng and Yellowtusk had their doubts about Wukong's leadership ability, but Azure was certain that his love could lead. His kindness to his people was far greater than the Jade Emperor's compassion towards the entire universe. He had his doubts about Macaque as a consort, but that didn't matter at the moment.

Especially not when he was presenting him with flowers.

"They reminded me of you," he said. It was true- the asters and plum blossoms reminded him of the color of Macaque's magic and his favorite fruit. In his opinion, this was a good test-run bouquet.

Macaque blinked and then eyed him as if waiting for a joke. Azure kept his face open and honest, hoping that Macaque would accept the gift. The shadow monkey finally hummed, taking the bouquet. "Thank...you, Azure, these are-"

A golden blur rushed between them and slapped the bouquet straight out of Macaque's hands. Both monkey and lion blinked as the bouquet disappeared into the distance before a larger bouquet of flowers, leaning towards red and pink, was stuffed in the former's hands.

"Macaque prefers it when I give him flowers," Sun Wukong huffed, crossing his arms with a pout. Azure opened his mouth, unsure of how to respond to that, before his love turned to his moon. His stance grew gentler. “These are the right colors, right? For the last big scene of your play?”

“Ye- Yeah, they are!” Macaque held the flowers closer. His eyes shone as he smiled and Azure felt his heart skip a beat. “I didn’t think you would remember what I said.”

“Pssh, of course! You’ve been working on that play for weeks!”

Azure relaxed in the sun, enjoying the sight of their smiles. This was just a hiccup. There would be plenty of time to court his monkeys of monastery and mountain.

[axeofsuns]

Real, real as FUCK,

Finished FMA

Can you guess who my favorite is?

[valkyyriia]

Day 3 - Take a Seat

Kinktober 2024 Prompt List | Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

Words: 1182 CW: Face Sitting, Cunnilingus, Overstimulation, Hands-Free Orgasm Pairing: Comte de Saint-Germain x Reader Prompt(s): Face Sitting | Intercrural Sex

Notes: This is I think my least favorite of the ones I’ve written thus far.

MDNI under the cut.

“Are you absolutely positive? I don’t want to crush you,” you said, nervously shifting your weight. You were straddling Comte’s stomach, both of you completely nude. You had agreed to the idea originally, but now that you were so close to actually sitting on his face you were having second thoughts.

“Ma chérie,” Comte replied, his long fingers stroking the plush flesh of your thighs. “If I wasn’t sure, I wouldn’t have asked. Besides,” he added, a mischievous glint in his golden eyes. “I’m an immortal vampire. You need not worry about suffocating me. Even if I were to die, with your taste on my tongue, I would die a happy man.”

You shuddered at the naughtiness of his words combined with his gentle reassurance. His words went straight to your core.

“Now come here,” Comte murmured, his fingers digging into your thighs and pulling you towards his face. “Let me taste you.”

You complied, moving to where you were lightly hovering over his face. He licked an experimental stripe through your folds and you gasped.

He hummed, dissatisfied. You could feel his hot breath coming out in puffs against you. “I told you to sit on my face, chérie, not hover over top of it,” he chastised, pulling you down onto his lips. You groaned as his nose brushed against your clit. He resumed licking, his tongue eagerly lapping up the nectar flowing from within you. Comte’s fingers dug into your thighs, holding you against his face.

His tongue prodded at your sensitive entrance and you let out a moan, reflexively grinding yourself down on his face. Comte’s nose pressed insistently against your clit, sending tingles of pleasure up your spine. Your partner groaned in response, the vibrations heightening your pleasure even more. Your thighs started to shake and you moved to lift up off of him, concerned you were smothering him, but Comte’s grip on your legs was like iron. He continued his ministrations; if anything, he increased his pace, licking and sucking against your cunt with the fervor of a man starved.

The stimulation was too much and you involuntarily ground against his face again, eliciting another pleasured sound from Comte. You looked over your shoulder and were met with the sight of his hard cock laying flush against the ribbed muscles of his abdomen. Its tip was swollen red and leaking. You had the passing thought that Comte may have been enjoying this more than you were.

You had an idea. You experimentally ground yourself against the vampire’s face, on purpose this time, and Comte moaned into your pussy. You watched him over your shoulder, seeing his cock bob, smearing precome along his stomach. Your core clenched on his tongue and you could swear you heard him growl into your pussy. Comte’s fingers were digging into your thighs so hard you were certain you’d have bruises in the morning.

That was it for you.

Your eyes fell shut and you came hard, driving yourself against his mouth. You rode his face, each wave of pleasure sending you crashing harshly into him. Comte eagerly lapped up everything you had to give and was practically begging for more with the way his tongue probed inside of you. The sounds coming from his mouth were utterly sinful.

Finally you tried to lift yourself off of his face, but Comte maintained his grip on your legs. His lips glided upwards, causing you to shudder as his nose brushed lightly against your clit. He sealed his lips around the sensitive bud at the apex of your thighs and he sucked hard, nearly causing you to see stars due to the overstimulation.

“It’s too much,” you whimpered, your thighs flexing and straining instinctually against his grip, but you knew better than to really fight him. After all, he was a vampire; you were just the poor human he had fallen in love with.

Comte got his way more often than not when it came to the things he tried to give you; be it clothing, material items, or the unfathomable pleasure a centuries-old vampire was able to provide.

Unable to move your overstimulated pussy away from his lips, you were forced to just sit there as he licked and sucked at your clit. It didn’t take long for another orgasm to come crashing over you, a keening cry coming from your throat. Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes and you shook.

Comte’s voice followed yours, albeit muffled by your pussy, and he lapped at your folds until you were writhing and shuddering against his face.

The vampire finally released your legs and you lifted yourself from his face, collapsing onto your back beside him. Both of your chests were heaving. You noticed with embarrassment the clear sheen coating his face as he licked his lips in satisfaction. Averting your gaze, your eyes trailed down his chest and noted the puddle of come coating his stomach, flooding the defined valleys between his abdominals, his cock still bobbing reflexively.

That sight was almost enough to make you want more.

Almost.

Comte laughed breathlessly. “See? I told you it would be fun,” he chuckled, reaching over to your bedside table and grabbing the towel you had left there earlier. He wiped himself down before reaching over and gently doing the same to you. You hissed and started slightly when he brushed against you. “Sorry,” he apologized, tossing the towel across the room. A problem for later.

Comte wrapped an arm around you and pulled you to him. You practically melted against him, your head against his chest, his steady heartbeat pounding in your ear. His fingers were lightly running up and down your arm in a clear contrast to the bruising grip he had on you not ten minutes prior.

“Was it too much?" Comte asked, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. You sighed and snuggled closer.

“Maybe,” you replied. “But I’d be okay with doing it again.”

Comte hummed. “I’m sorry for being so rough with you, chérie,” he apologized. “I always want to be kind and considerate towards you, but…”

You gently kissed his chest. “Mmm, it was a lot, but not a bad thing,” you said with a yawn. “I like it when you leave marks on me.”

Comte blinked and mentally filed that bit of information away for later. He chuckled again. “I’ll tell Sebastian you’re ill in the morning, so he doesn’t go looking for you. I imagine you’ll be quite sore. You can rest in bed.” He pulled you closer and brought the blankets over you both.

“Bonne nuit, mon amour,” Comte murmured. “Je t’aime.”

When Comte told him of your mysterious illness in the morning, Sebastian sighed.

What was the point in bringing you on as a housekeeper if you were always too ‘sick’ to do any work?

Oh well. Maybe you’d be back tomorrow.

He wasn’t counting on it.

Dividers by @/natimiles

Taglist: @natimiles @queengiuliettafirstlady @candiedcoffeedrops @goddesswitchmother @candied-boys

@fang-and-feather @faustianfascination @villain-hotline

[threepandas]

Bad End: After The War (Next ->)

The click of a button in a mostly quiet room. Machines humming as they churn an endless stream of data. Listening. Receiving. Filtering through the noise, for those bits of intelligence that might win us the war. The outpost was quite. As much as it could be, at least, on this god forsaken moon.

"Perimeter Check?"

More specifically, 'did you get your ass eaten by those horrifying eel-snakes? Because you promised not too, and I WILL be mad.' 'Cept, you know, these channels are technically recorded. Rather not have my snark On Record, thanks. So SUBTEXT.

The familiar, oh so melodious, demonic death screeching of abomination eels and blaster fire comes on comm. A symphony straight out of some sci-fi horror movie, act 3. The part where everybody's getting eaten. Except NOT, because this? This is just my life.

Though the eaten part is still a Very Real Risk.

Which Is FUN.

I wait. Hope I just caught Headshot at just a bad time. Not, you know, in his final moments. Ha ha... Nope! Not! Thinking 'bout that! He's immortal, I'm immortal, and we both live in a happy fun time fairy land of FUCKING WONDERS. Denial? Fuck yeah I know her! Best friend, that one. Gonna be my future kids godparent. Walk me down the aisle. We BESTIES.

There is finally, at long last, ominous silence. Dead or dying? Dead or dying? Which side, eels or Headshot, is Dead or-?

Click.

"Perimeter looks good. Bit of a mess near the east gate, though. We'll need to get the droids to shove some mess over the ledge. They tried to climb again."

Oh thank FUCK. Tension bleeds out of me. This post is hell on my anxiety. I send back the confirm. Slump back on my seat as I keep an eye on his tracker's dot, on the patrol read out. I fucking HATE perimeter checks. They aren't safe. But... well...

This universe? I'm pretty sure, it's an "all the serial numbers filed off" blatant rip off of Star Wars. Might be a fan fiction? Cause, while the troupes are familiar, the "characters", no one is where or WHO they should be. There are also other "totally not X" bits here and there, all of which confuses the fuck out me.

But what I DO know? Is that making a fuss about the safety and well-being of us peons? During this, the "totally not the Clone Wars"? While Evil Dick, Sith-y Pants the Obvious is in charge? GREAT way for our entire outpost to get "tragic casualties of war"-'d. So yeah, no thanks.

Keeping my mouth shut.

And, hey! At least they ate our complete asshole of a commander. Technically we SHOULD be getting a new one... but we were told to make do. Same with all the OTHER critical roles currently empty.

The DICK.

Like? I know he wants to drag out the war and maximize suffering for Evil Not-Sith, Off Brand Space Wizards Of EVIL Powers? But like? Fffffuck yoooou, dude. What the hell. Hope he stubs EVERY toe, always.

The Clones deserve better then this. The SECOND the war is over? I'm stealing Headshot. Fuck this "property of the state" bullshit. Just me 'n him, man. We could go explore the wilds. Or get him a beard and fake glasses. Clone? What clone! This is my BROTHER, Headshot. Our parents were gun-toting hippies. My names Moonrock. Fuck off, maybe. Keep walking.

The second I see him cross the base threshold, I switch over to Droid command. They can't hold my shift forever, but for a bit? Should be fine.

Jogging down the hall and sliding down a few ladders, I finally catch sight of Headshot as he leaves the staging area. Oof. That is a LOT of eel blood. The cleaning bots are cursing up a storm as they follow him. Even from the other end of the hallway... he smells... ripe.

I give him a second to lead the way and for the bots to work behind him. Then join in the little parade. Ah, eel goo. The third worst thing that could come out of going outside. Right behind losing a limb or dying. But hey! I restocked the soaps for ya!

"Doesn't change that it's on my everywhere, Commander."

Oooooh~ breaking out the COMMANDER are we? Is that SASS I hear? Snark perhaps? Why HEADSHOT! Such insubordination~! What EVER shall I do?

He snorts and suggest something anatomically impossible as he gestures to the shower rooms door. I tap it open for him. Goo boy that he is. Grinning I follow and find a bench where I can sit so my back is to him. It... used to be weird, to be honest, this level of living in each others pockets. But time and isolation has eroded a lot.

Clones don't really see boundaries like everyone else. Don't have the same taboos or unspoken social rules. After all... they're all the same gender. Were forced to live basicly in a breadbox with each other. The culture that developed reflects that. And I? Am more of a follower then a "type A". Not passive by any stretch of the imagination, just... eh.

I don't have the social outgoing-ness? I guess? To drag the culture of our base towards MY social norms as opposed towards his. It made him comfortable. I shrugged and went okay. Rinse and repeat. To be honest I was just glad he trusted me enough to SHARE.

Booting up my definitely-not-a-tablet, (which is of course, STUFFED full of various bits of sci-fi technology that only half makes sense) I once again try and connect to the wider army's mainframe. Nothing. I've BEEN trying for weeks now. But for some reason? We're cut off.

No new commands. No new forms to fill. No demands for information.

No UPDATES on what the FUCK is HAPPENING out there.

I'm... not gonna lie, getting nervous. We're a listening outpost. Some of our information is time sensitive. And our SUPPLIES are not infinite. Forget food, if we run out of AMMO? Those nightmare snake-eel THINGS will... Look, long and short of it? I've got an "empty" blaster shoved under my bunk. Two shots left. And compared to the slow, SLOW digestion and meat threshing teeth those horrors have?

At least it's FAST.

But I would REALLY prefer we NOT fucking come to that, you know? That someone would fucking PICK UP. Or? I don't know!? Notice we're offline? Whatever the problem is! The fact that we've gone dark is SPOOKING the fuck out of me.

Not to mention? That even BEFORE communication went down? The chat rooms and update boards weren't making a whole lot of sense. Lot of clone specific references that I didn't get. Memes, maybe? I don't KNOW and that's the part that's killing me. I had no way to CHECK. It all just... went dark.

We're still GETTING data. But? We can't seem to SEND it. Headshot and I checked. I checked the droids while he got the dish and other external devices. Clambering around the roof with his sniper rifle like a well armed, circus trained, mechanic. Nothing was wrong with the droids. And according to Headshot? Nothing was wrong with the dish.

After a while I gave up. Again.

Reminded myself to practice my meditative breathing. In... out... IN... OUT... do NOT trough your only Data Tablet. You'll break it. You can't REPLACE it. It might FEEL satisfying in the moment... but it's Not Worth It. Just listen to the sound of the running water. The quite of the room. Breathe... unclench your jaw, make your muscles relax, c'mon you can do this.

Fuck, I needed my anti-anxiety meds. But we were starting to ween me off them so I didn't go cold turkey when we ran out. It was fucking with my head. But, hey! At least I wouldn't run the risk of seizures! Or any suicidal ideation! No, just slowly building anxiety, in this, History's Most Stressful Outpost.

The shower shut off behind me. Leaning forward to grab a towel from the stack, I tossed it blindly over my shoulder. Heard him catch it. Wet feet slapping quietly against tiles as he walked forward, drying himself. From the feel of droplets and heat, looming just behind me? He was leaning over my shoulder. The man always did like to damn near boil himself in the shower.

"Still nothing? We've run out of D6 bolts. Not to mention your meds..." He commented, still drying off. I could feel the occasional brush of a towel. A bare arm reached over my shoulder to tap at the screen. "Have you tried...? Shit."

He tried several commands. Leaning over me, damn near cradling the back of my head against his bare chest. But nothing worked. Plopping his chin down on the top of my head, he casually wrapped his arm around my shoulders, leaning his weight on me as he considered the problem. The fans kicked in overhead, dehumidifing and hopefully preventing any sort of alien molds.

I told him to go put on some fuckin pants, before he frozen something he might miss off.

With an amused snort he stood and wandered over to the armor cleaner. Grabbing a new undersuit. Blacks went on, armor freshly de-goo-d, he called that he was presentable once more. I swung my legs over the bench. No need to stand, after all, if we're not leaving yet. Besides, exhaustion was a symptom of the withdrawals. Med changes are a BITCH.

Just as I was about to suggest anough brainstorming session, though?

Our comms both ping. LOUDLY.

That's the emergency signal from the control room. SHIT. I'm up and running before the sound even fades. Headshot right behind me. Not so much because he can't out run me, as he'd stop to grab his weapons as was bringing up the rear. Guarding my back. I prayed, PRAYED, this wasn't an attack. We were supposed to be a fourteen person team.

There were TWO OF US.

We'd never be able to hold the line. Would DIE here. Fuck, I didn't even have time to get that gun! I should have been carrying it. It had been too morbid. But... but...!

I slam into the control room. Headshot a half step behind. The droids frantically churning away. Okay. Okay! What's happening? A ship, big one, in orbit. Oooooh fuck. How Big? I ask. Am informed? "Wipe us from the face of the galaxy" Big. Ha ha! FUCKING FANTASTIC. Great! Merry fucking Christmas to me, I guess! Okay. Okay!

Let's DO this.

Get on the short range ship comm, (never thought I'd USE it but here we fucking ARE) and ask, politely, for them to Fucking Identify Themselves. (Because we have Big Guns and are NOT afraid to use um!)

There is a long tense moment. Then? Oh thank merciful FUCK. A Clone's voice comes on the line. General Spark of the 153rd, in pursuit, they're here to catch traitors and resupply if we need anything. Permission to land a few ships?

I. Could. WEEP.

Yes! Oh, ABSOLUTELY yes! Whoever they're chasing picked a REALLY stupid planet to hide out on, not gonna lie. They'll be picking their traitors up in PIECES. But? Never has a voice been more beautiful. Send Techs! You have FULL use of the outpost General! Welcome!

Setting the droids to navigating the incoming ships safely through landing, I all but DRAG Headshot towards the landing pad. People! Actual, real, PEOPLE! Supplies! Oh thank FUCK! We might be able to figure out what wrong with our relays! Get NEWS! And? That was a CLONE GENERAL!!!

That NEVER happens!

I can practically feel my self vibrating with excitement. Bouncing slightly on the balls of my feet, as the ships come in for a landing. The officers that roll out are all clones. Their armor more personalized then I've ever seen it. It's BEAUTIFUL. I can't help but lean over and whisper to Headshot, saying as much. Wondering if we can get him some of the supplies they must of used.

You know, assuming he WANTS any of um.

If not? Dibs.

His shoulders are shaking. Why are-? One of the officers thanks me for the compliment. Headshot you SON OF A SUBSTANDARD VAT. Was your SHORT RANGE MIC ON!? Why would you not-!? Bastard! Dead to me! Sorry general, I've never met this man before in my LIFE. Couldn't introduce if I TRIED.

Still! High ranking clones? We love to see it. I am THRILLED. It's been long over due.

Dooooesn't mean we should hang out in Eel Country though. Everybody INSIDE! Let's goooo. Nice and safe, where no ones getting eaten, m'kay? Thank you! And yes! I DO have a list of resupply needs! A LONG list. Starting with my meds, followed by ammo. Though honestly they're tied at first...

As me and the, now rather concerned, medic chat about the collapsing state of our highly rationed medical supplies? Headshot and the General are off to the side... talking about... something. Not sure. Probably not important, or he'd include me. I show the medic our "infirmary" and medical charts. Then get pulled away by the mechanic.

I barely get to SEE Headshot over the next two days. Forget sitting down. The only breaks I get? Meals and lights out. It's kinda awesome. Exhausting, yes, but? After so long isolated? It's a good type of exhausted. The sort where you feel like? For ONCE? You're actually being productive.

There are SO MANY eel burrows to scan? Potential landing sites? And all the MAINTENANCE? Dear merciful FUCK. Literally everything is out of date and cheap as BALLS. Held together with shoe strings and a prayer. But finally! FINALLY! Someone in budgeting GIVES A SHIT!!! Better equipment! Actual medical supplies! Real bedding! And best of ALL?

AIs! As in Actual, information sorting, artificial intelligences!

Because there literally hasn't been a REASON for humanoids to do this job for CENTURIES aside from a misplaced sense of superiority and distrust of droids! All WE need to do? Is stay on base and make sure THEY don't go rogue or break down from the extended isolation! Woooo desk job!

I'm gonna name um. They shall be my BABIES.

That said? None of this? Is very... Off Brand Sith-y. Little too "cares about their fellow man"-ish, you know? And... I'm not stupid. Excited as FUCK, for all the supplies and new changes... but not? Stupid. Blind.

They're keeping me away from the control room.

Keeping me out of important discussions. Sending me off on errands. All of which? SEEM important. ARE important, on the surface, but hide the fact that they are intentionally scheduled? Just as Certain Things Are Discussed. I am being... handled. Like a child. A fool.

When I confront Headshot? In our bunkroom, which we've shared for YEARS at this point. Slept just across from each other, so this lonely hell might feel just a little less empty? So when the dark thoughts creep in? That we might die in this God forsaken place, forgotten by the universe, left to ROT here, and wouldn't it just be easier to-? Someone there, so we won't. So we still matter.

He stands across from me. In OUR place. OUR room.

And FUCKING LIES.

......I guess I know where I stand, huh? And I know... I KNOW, I shouldn't feel betrayed. Clones come first, always. That's the party line. How they survived. I'm a Nat. There was always a power imbalance between us. I would always have been held just that bit further away then one of the brothers. Guess... guess it just finally happened.

I shouldn't feel betrayed. I have no RIGHT to feel betrayed.

But I do.

Headshot looks alarmed, hands twitching at his side, even as he tries to maintain his facade. Nothing's happing. They aren't doing anything. Right. Uh huh. His lie sits between us like a field of broken glass. The words, the arguments, I'd been looking for now seeming so useless. What's the point? He's made his decision.

I feel like crying. Don't want to talk anymore.

Good NIGHT, Headshot.

In the morning, I don't bother asking. I know he notices. Is waiting, restless, for us to continue on as we always have. We always check schedules after all. But what's the point? He'll lie. Instead I pull my armor on and go. Go to your brothers, Headshot. Whatever's happening here, I'm clearly not trusted enough to be part of it.

I just get out of your way.

There's a lot of busy work on my schedule, but honestly? The new AIs are learning to handle it. Instead, I head down to the new supply crates. Grab some bedding. A cart. Then head back. Pack up my shit. I just... can't.

Moving it all to a different bunk, I still have most of the day left to go. Could...? Probably? Check out if we actually DO have space rats? The droids have been reporting dust and noise in the basement, near the food stores. So likely vermin of some kind. Gonna be horrifying to find out what kind of vermin exsist HERE, but better then nothing, I guess.

Grabbing one of the better ration bars to shove in my face on the way to the gun locker, I count it a breakfast. Everyone's busy with a clone only meeting. Good for them, I guess. Not upset with General Spark or his men, I realize, as I check over the gun, no... just Headshot. Because he hurt me.

All he had to say was "I can't tell you." Or "trust me" and I WOULD have. But no. He LIED. To my FACE. And now? Now I feel like I'm waking around with shards of glass where my heart should be. Like I want to hit something. I need a distraction. So down to long term storage I go.

Normally? It's only droids down here. I have to ride a cramped little maintenance elevator lined with blast doors. You know, incase Satan's favorite pet somehow burrows in. The fuckers. It's also freezing. Which, I mean? Great for food storage, not so much for thermal regulation.

The level is eerie quiet.

Which.... huh. That's? Not right.

I reach for my comm before pausing. The hurt in my chest throbbing. I know I shouldn't let it get in the way of professionalism. Of protocol. The rules are there for a reason. To keep us alive and safe. But... God, I don't want to hear his fucking voice right now. I might cry. Say something I don't mean and regret later. You don't LAST long, isolated out in Hellpit, Nowhere, without doing a little soul searching.

Mortifying ordeal of being known and all that.

My hand drops. It's fine. I'm FINE. There's nothing down here. Or, well, should be nothing down here. We'll find out.

Slowly moving forward, I begin to check the stacks. I don't see any of the droids. Don't HEAR any of them. There should be at least thirty down here. But all I hear? Is the circulation fans. The sound of my foot steps. Something isn't right.

It's a loose, half melted screw in the path that saves me. At first I think it's a bug. But the quite clink when my foot nudges it is unmistakable. It makes me look sideways. There, a cleaning droid, cut down from behind. Tiny little mechanical claws still reaching out to claw itself to safety. Wheels shredded. The marks of a lazer blade are unmistakable.

The hiss-hum even more so.

I BARELY dodge.

Half my gun, simply sheared away. Molten slag dripping from the cut point, the battery already violently destabilizing ask it's nicked. I throw it, before I have the chance to lose a limb. The blast takes out a crate. I'm thrown. Barely roll in time to dodge the downward stab of the hissing blade. A brutal, magic-enhanced, kick sends me flying.

Straight through a stack of ration crates, into a wall mounted medical case. I land among the corpses of the droids. Each, a picture of terror and betrayal. I don't understand what's happening. The blades not red or black! It's blue! That's a not-jedi! Right?! Why are they!? Crates are lifted into the air. Threatening to smash down and bury me alive.

Can't move. Something twisted, badly, in my leg. My chest burning. Something cracked, I could feel it. I'm gonna die. Oh good, I'm gonna DIE.

"Wait! She's not a clone!"

I stare up into the face of the so called "good guys" and feel nothing but terror. Around me, the pieces of thirty droids I'd named and known, dead and dumped like trash upon the ground. Flower with his fussy need to have everything just so, Chirp who loved to sing, Mouse with the wheel I could never get to stop squeeking.

Nothing but Cannon fodder.

They died so afraid.

"Oh! You're right! Sorry! I thought you were one of those 'peating bastards. Are you okay? How long have they held you?" The Knight said. His Apprentice nodding eagerly.

My brain was static. Empty. Held? Slurs? W-what in God's name? I stayed down. Feeling small, lost, and confused. Pain rocking my body from being thrown around. The Apprentice, at least, seemed to pick up on the fact that I had no idea what the fuck they were on about.

"Ah. You don't know what's happened." She said sympathetically. It would be nicer, if she hadn't stood back while I was hurt, before they got around to asking who's side I was on. "The Clones betrayed the Republic. Took it over by force. They've made an empire. They killed the old Chancellor, who was Fallen, but then instead of handing the Republic back to the people? Kept it! Said we couldn't be trusted with it."

The last part was said mockingly. As though everyone and their brother hadn't been aware the Republic was on the brink of collapse. Corruption at an all time high. As though that same Republic hadn't been using the Clones as a SLAVE ARMY.

Slaves do tend to take exception to their chains, historically.

I wasn't really sure why the fuck they were surprised.

"Now come on, you can join the Rebellion. You must know all sort of information, from sitting out here, right? You can-!"

Click.

My helmet went full dark and internal audio only. Which was interesting because I still could barely move. But then bright light and sound, popped and cracked not to far away from my head. A flash grenade. And I finally, FINALLY? Remembered that all standardized armor? Comes with in built life support feeds.

Headshot's mystery meeting was in the command room... where my life sign readout would be. The life support feedback. Real time monitoring from me getting my ass kicked and WHERE.

A hand grabs the drag handle built into each armor, for EXACTLY this reason, and I feel my self pulled out of the danger zone. Can hear heavy, open fire. Shit. There goes our supplies. My helmet clears and I recognize the shoulder I've been careful thrown over. Headshot. He came.

He falls back at some signal I can't see. Straight to the elevator.

The shoulder under me is shaking, just slightly. Adrenaline, fear, anger. I can't tell. But... I... I'm...

"Don't." His voice is rough. Choked out through gritted teeth. His grip just carefully loose enough not to bruise. It seems to be taking everything he has. "You don't get to die. Do you understand me? You're not ALLOWED to die. Not now. Not ever. We didn't survive this long for you to leave me now."

He barely waits long enough for the door to open. Stride smooth and desperate as he races us towards the medic. I rest my head against his shoulder and breathe. Let myself be manhandled. Ha ha... a-at least? I know what he's keeping from me now. So there's that. Ow. Oh god.

The medic has to put me under. Bone fragments.

I drift.

Wake up, bandaged to hell and back, in ou-... in Headshot's bunkroom. Across from the empty bunk that used to be mine. Bed's softer then it should be, still smelling like Headshot. We haven't had the new sheets long enough. Knowing him, he probably stacked um.

The door opens. Headshot stalks in, dragging a cart behind him. His usual "pleasantly amused by life" expression nowhere to be seen. Instead? His expression is... blank. A determined, almost violent, edge to the set of his shoulders.

In silence, I watch as he unloads the cart. Bedding, knickknacks, the various bit of cobbled together wall art. All carefully stuck right back where it had been before. As though he had memorized the proper location of each and every piece. Even as he worked, with his back to me, every line of his body was daring me to be dumb enough to argue.

I didn't want too. I was just... just fucking tired.

Didn't like that we were arguing. If that was even what we were doing.

"Why?" I asked. Summing up everything and distilling it. Why didn't you just fucking TELL me? Why didn't you TRUST me? Why did you think I'd turn on you? Why would you lie? Why were we cut off? Was it REALLY a technical error? Why take the Republic? Why ANY of this?

Just... WHY, Headshot? Please...

"I refuse to lose you. When the war ended, you were going to leave. You said you'd take me with you... but honestly? That was naive. There would be no where safe we could ever go. We all knew that. We all had favorites." He finally stopped organizing my bed. Instead, smoothing down the sheet. Running both hands across it as he stared down, unseeing. "It was all so unorganized. Filthy. They treated us like DIRT. But we were... we ARE better. Designed to be superior. Stronger, smarter, faster. More durable. Why were we listening to them?"

"Then we found out why. Control chips in the brain. The nervous system. Carefully hidden, yes. But not carefully enough. You weren't authorized, you know. I'm glad. If you had been? I'd never have forgiven you. You'd never know you were dead before you died. But... I promise."

"I would have made it fast." His smile was a terrible thing. All broken edges and betrayal. Teeth upon teeth. A mania finally set free.

"Never thought those hypocrites would run here. Expect us to die for them. The happy little slaves. For the glory of THEIR Republic. You'll be okay, Commander. The General's agreed to stay until your back on your feet, just in case."

Headshot slides onto the bunk, sitting at my side, sweetly brushing hair from my face as though he hasn't lost his god damned mind. He's the picture of relief, now that there's no more secrets between us. Now that I'm injured and dependent on his help. Yet... it's teetering.

As though at any minute...

He could slide into some... unhinged state of mind. How LONG has he been on his last thread? Barely holding together? He leans forward and my mind goes utterly still. His lips pressed gently against mine. Chaste. Sweet. A warm, calloused hand, cradling my poor bruised cheek.

"I promise we'll stay together." He whispers against my stunned mouth. Eyes intent and mad, utterly loving. Like a strangers. "I won't let them seperate us. Not for anything. Now that it's done? We can be assigned anywhere. I'll take you with me. War's over, love. We're finally free."

Were we?

[mooncalf87]

Mastermind live watch ayy

Spoils under cut obv

Andr always calling Stella hot is so weird and off putting. Is that actually your sister or what. What is this.

ALL THE SINS IN ONE ROOM. IM LOSING MY SHIT. is that a note in lucis throne

OZZIE LOOKING AT ANDR WHEN HE CALLS STELLA HOT

VASAGGO I LOVE YOU ALREADY. im positive I spelt his name wrong but its okay

SPANISH BIRDIE YIPPIE

you can see Lucis throne behind Andr in this scene oh my god. It's just a note that says "brb" with a duck of himself and a bunch of spiderwebs I CANT

VASAGOS FULL OUTFIT. diva sighting I fear.

What does Vas watch over for thr family he. He is zesty and has a sexy voice and has a star magic platform. Yeah alright ru paul magic man

THEY DID NOT. BLITZ DID NOTHING

THE SCAR. HE GOT A SCAR. STRIKER GOT A SCAR. IM LOSING IT

Yeah okay fkr I swear. HAND NOTES WHAT.

Blitz ur digging your own gave here baby girl. Stfu

MOXXIE AKJAGSJAGJD

blitz shut up

YES BEE MY QUEEN. YES OZZIE YES DEFEND YOUR COUSINS WEIRD SEX DEAL MAN I love them so much

UGH MAMMON

Ozz and Bee raising their hands without a millisecond of thought. They barley even know blitz but they are standing their gound for him. Hey what if I just (bursts into flames)

Oh Vas is not gotta stand for this is he

Okay what is this weird thing between Levi and Mam. Are they not all siblings like I have been assuming for (checks watch) years

VEROSIKA AND FIZZ OUGH

Ough ought no my babys

This adorable "try some meditation 😩✋" guy. I love him

SATAN CREATED IMPS CANNON LETS FUCKING GOOOOOOOO

OH A HELLA NOVELA. THATS STOLASS TV ISNT IT. OH NO

USING LUCIS NAME YES THANK YOU ITS CANNON YES. I'm only 10 minutes in this post is gonna be really long isn't it

Oh stolas you better show up full demon form in thr most dramatic way. Please.

BLITZ JUST. ACCEPTING IT???? stolas pls bbg get your ass in here

YES. YES. YES. YES.

They way I am not okay and have to stop making this post. I will update this later I promise oh man

-

Alright. Okay. Alright.

Someone kill me.

SOOOOO stolas got stripped of his power for 100 years which means his immortality was also taken and his hair has already visibly gone a strip of gray so he will most likely die at the same time as blitz if they go of old age just gotta get that one out of the way

THEY STRIPPED HIM OF HIS POWER. HIS EYES DONT GLOW, HE HAS PUPILS. SOME OF HIS HAIR WENT WHITE. I'm so happy I can't even express this. I'm sad he isn't a powerful prince anymore but OH MAN.

OH. MAN.

them giving him white hair makes up for everything.

I need someone to talk to about this ep before I explode you guys don't understand im dming all my friends

[rayzay]

A lot of spelling mistakes, the plot is all over the place ngl.

Keep in mind English is not my first language!

Danny was immortal, he couldn't die. Well, he couldn't die by old age. His human form won't die naturally and it won't age either.

So, when all of his family, friends and just quite everyone he knew died, he was left alone. But his family and his two best friends still haven't moved on, Danny was their unfinished business. So, like a good normal family, they decided to haunt Danny! Which is cute, but also can be seen as something horrifying if you don't know the context.

So, 85 years later, Danny still changes last name everytime he needs to (so about every 4 years), jumping from foster family to foster family. He moved to state to state, never staying in the same state for too long.

And in 85 years, a lot has happened.

Here's what changed with the world :

Superheroes and metahumans/non-humans are way way more accepted in society.

A lot of big city appeared such as, Gotham and Blüdhaven in Jersey, Central City in Missouri, Metropolis in Illinois, Amnesty Bay in Maine, Blue Valley in Nevada, Coast City in California, Dakota City in well...Dakota. Fawcett City, Star City..etc..etc..

All of these have also something particular, they're home to a hero and said hero works for the JL, known as the Justice League.

Danny wasn't really interested in hero-ing anymore, after all, there was people literally paid by the government to do that, so why would he do charity work? Of course he'll help if there's a catastrophe, but he'll just help the civilians get to safety, that's all.

Life kind of sucked for Danny. He couldn't get attached by people too much because he'll know he's going to outlive all of them, so why even bother trying?

Danny needed to find a new place to stay, preferably a big city, and in a state he didn't appear this year.

Danny decides to pick Metropolis, it's one of the safest option after all, Superman does his work pretty well, and casualties and crimes rate are really really low there..plus, Sam kept pestering him asking him to meet Lois Lane. (Danny needed to do an essay about journalism for some reason, and he stumbled across Lois Lane Wikipedia page, she was quite the character.)

Sam instantly took a liking to her, she's everything she aspires to be.

Tucker, him, seemed interested in Lex corp, not in a “Oh, I'm so so fan of him!” kind of way, but more in a “His technology is one of the best in the world, he could easily rival against WE.” kind of way.

His parents and Jazz were guiding him, telling him what to not do, and what to do, sometimes they argue, sometimes they stay quiet, sometimes Danny tune them out, can't blame him honestly, if a psychologist was always nagging me, telling me what to say, and doing some unnecessary rant about whoever's is talking to Danny body language I would want to tune them out too.

But they're mostly trying their best..and Danny can't blame them for that.

His parents always did a “ability checkup test ” and it's basically Danny just flying around, shooting his blasts, doing a ectoplasm shield, duplicating...just testing all of his powers to see if they're all okay.

Which, they always are but his parents keep pushing him to do it, and he always agree just to make them shut up.

Danny found a new ability, something he deemed impossible to do, he can fly, he has his strength, his speed, his stamina and his reflexes but, with his human form.

But everything else that works with ectoplasm or his ghost core he didn't have.

So he was basically a less powerful version of him, which, sucks, but it's kinda cool.

His family were ecstatic and so was he! Plain old Danny could be more..but no, he has to stay low. Otherwise he's going to get found by Vlad, or worse.

Danny does something, extremely stupid, but fun for him.

He decides to fly in Metropolis, but just high enough so no one could see him! Even though Danny has the same powers when he's Danny Phantom, it's different, it's weird, he has his core to help him concentrate, hearing the frost in there soothe his nerves, and help him get focused.

But, it's different, he has his slow beating of his heart, which is quiet, really really quiet, it's drowning against the noises of the city

He can't focus he can't focus he can't-

Danny starts falling, which is okay because he can just turn into Danny Phantom and easily get out of this shitty situation, but noo, Danny had, and still has the shittiest luck ever.

Superman catch him, of fucking course.

[metashard]

Setekh and Zahndrekh in a tent getting drunk and learning to hate each other, and Obyron being the one protected for once. I wrote this scene a while ago but have no idea nor drive to expand it any further, and it's not big enough for a full fic, not does it fit into the Flufftomber collection due to CW: implications of sexual coercion. (508 words)

“Setekh.”

“Mm?”

“You do know that man is one of my warriors, yes?”

Setekh's eyes narrowed with hunger. “Are you offering? You could order him in here right now. I think I would-”

“All of him is mine.”

But good things never last forever, and Setekh's gaping fishmouth soon sharpened into a tight grin. “You fiend. I should have known a piece like that wouldn't slip by unnoticed.”

Zahndrekh brought his glass up to his lips and took a long, satisfied sip as he waited for Setekh to come up with a response. He appeared to have locked up, mouth still parted slightly with nothing coming out. So that's what it takes to make him shut up.

Make it convincing. “How could I? You've seen him. Like an old god carved from stone - he could pick me up with one arm and carry me across the drill yard without breaking a sweat.”

“Oh, you can't say things such as that, making me think of him sweating.”

“Dedicated. Blazingly competent. Loyal, both to his commander and to his squad. Even-tempered, both on the field and off it. Not smart, perhaps - I don't believe he can read very well - but clever and wise beyond what anyone expects of the average soldier. And he spends a fair amount of his free time working out, even after normal drills. He genuinely tries to be the best he can.”

“By the stars.”

“Beg your pardon?”

Setekh waved his hands at Zahndrekh's face. The gesture was clumsy with wine now; he might not have to keep the act up much longer. “You're getting all soft-eyed. Don't tell me you actually like this man.”

Zahndrekh struggled to close his own stuttering mouth now. “What can I say, competence is attractive.”

“So we're in agreement!” As if toasting some great victory, Setekh raised his glass to Zahndrekh before taking his next sip. “You know… hear me out. Have him summoned, and we could share him. Clearly both of us appreciate him. Why not enjoy him together? I know it's been a while since we-”

“I did say he was mine, didn't I, Setekh?”

“Which is why there's nothing stopping you from calling him here immediately. You're clearly thinking about it.”

“I've considered it. And my conclusion is ‘no.’ I'm not keen on breaking him just for one fun night.”

“What? He's just a warrior! They don't even properly court each other; do you think you need to woo him or some nonsense?” Setekh scoffed.

If he won't stop pawing at the cookie jar, put it out of his reach. “Considering I plan to make him my vargard, yes, to a degree.”

“... You cannot be serious.”

“I'm not keen on getting on bad terms with someone who will be responsible for my food tasters and guard patrols.”

“No, him? As a vargard? He's an Immortal. Surely you would want to take a lychguard. A warrior with pedigree, not a sandborn walking gun-mount. Does he even know how to handle a glaive?”

“I told you, he practices in his free time. I've seen him work with the glaive plenty.”

“I bet you have.”

[axeofsuns]

When your trying to find fics about a character you really like and you have to spend like 5 minutes sorting out tags about them being shitty and you've reduced the number of fics drastically

[mollymauk-teafleak]

but I'm more than a need

So. What happened was @minky-for-short told me about her idea for a painter Husk/model Angel AU and things spiralled from there. Enjoy!

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of drug use, alcoholism, mentions of sexual abuse

Please reblog and leave a comment over on Ao3 if you enjoyed!

--------

Angel Dust had expected this to be easy. Wasn’t it his job to be stared at?

When Valentino had told him his schedule was being cleared of clients two days a week for a ‘special assignment’, his tone had been sickeningly magnanimous, like he expected his star performer to fall to his knees and shower him with thanks at the prospect. And Angel would, if he didn’t know better. 

Being taken off the roster did mean a break from an otherwise endless parade of men with bad breath and bruising hands, reeking of the alcohol they’d needed to overcome their shame at wanting to fuck another man, a break from being so buzzed that he’d disconnect entirely from it all, not noticing how they’d hurt him until he came crashing down. But at least that was the devil he knew, intimately enough to know the taste of its tongue in his mouth. 

Time away from the brothel usually meant that Valentino had something much worse in mind.

So when Angel finally arrived at the address on the card, after trekking across what felt like ten fucking blocks from the spot Valentino had him kicked out of the car, and saw it was an abandoned looking brownstone on a shady street corner, he wasn’t surprised. That part of him that never learned to sit down, shut up and accept his shitty life told him to turn and walk away. 

But whatever was in that house, Valentino would be worse. So he’d gone up, knocked on the door and was thoroughly surprised when a paint streaked, grouchy man appeared, blinking like he hadn’t seen the sun in weeks and growling that Angel was late, did that asshole pimp not know that paint fucking dries? 

And Husker hadn’t stopped surprising him since. 

Angel still rolled his eyes at it. Of course Valentino wanted a fucking portrait of his favourite whore, the creep was probably going to hang it in his bedroom. It was so like him, wallpapering this old money aesthetic over the newly minted wealth he’d gained selling other people’s flesh. Angel wouldn’t even mind that Valentino had made a small fortune pimping him out, or how he spent it, if he didn’t treat him so cruelly. He’d signed on willingly, at first, believing the sugared words and promises of finally being free to fuck how he wanted without shame, of being able to drown the nightmares left over from the war in as many drugs as his body could take. But those promises had dissolved away to nothing on his tongue, leaving his teeth rotted and his nerves shot worse than ever. 

And now Angel’s pain would be immortalized in oils and hung in a gilded frame. 

But at least it would be a proper break. And it would be easy, all he had to do was stand there looking gorgeous, pinned under the gaze of an older man who never had a bottle far from his hand. No different from his usual job except he got to keep his head clear and his clothes on, if the costume Valentino wanted him painted in had enough fabric to count as clothes. 

And it was easy. But not for the reasons he expected. 

There was really only one reason actually and his name was Husker, Husk for short, an odd name but he hadn’t given Angel any other. At first he’d thought it was a good fit, the painter was grizzled, surly, his eyes hard and his tongue sharp, with hands that shook unless they held a brush or a bottle. He was a hell of a far cry from the rich businessmen and upper class bankers who paid for Angel’s time, who tried to impress him with gifts that Val would take and sweet words that didn’t soften their hands any, but apparently his paintings had once sold for thousands. 

Angel couldn’t possibly comment at first, the cramped little studio space had oddly bare walls, but when he’d gotten glimpses of his portrait, he realized just how great Husk must have been back in his day. In nothing more than rough sketches, he was making something almost beautiful out of Valentino’s slightly nauseating ideas. 

Which did beg the question, if Angel Dust was finding this so easy, why was Husk finding it so hard?

“You’re moving again, Legs.”

“Am I fuck…” Angel retorted with a grin, which of course meant he was, in fact, moving. 

“Hey, you want this to look like shit, it’s no skin off my nose,” Husk looked at him over the edge of his glasses, “I got no reputation to maintain.”

“Good look trying to get this to look like shit,” Angel lifted an eyebrow, brushing his hands down the vaguely Grecian drape of silk that was preserving no modesty. The freckles dusting his skin covered more. 

“Don’t underestimate how much I can fuck something up, kid,” Husk grunted, transfering his pencil to the corner of his mouth, picking up an ink brush instead, “I’ve had a lifetime of experience.”

Angel couldn’t help another grin, even as he tried to stay still. That was one of the things he liked about Husk. He didn’t try to be perfect, he didn’t hide his rough edges. 

The way his arm muscles flexed as he drew, looking unfairly sexy now he’d pushed his sleeves to his elbows, Angel liked that too. 

“Next question,” Husk whipped the brush back and forth across the sheaf of paper on his easel, “Think it was your turn, kid.”

Angel blinked, realizing how long he’d been quiet before Husk spoke. It was so easy for his mind to wander here, with the comforting smells of paint and paper, the soothing whisper of sleek bristles on canvas, the warm sunlight streaming in through the windows. And more than anything, the feeling of safety, knowing that quiet here really just meant quiet, come by honestly, not just waiting for the next blow. He’d been embarrassed the first time he’d dozed off in Husk’s studio, his body jumping at the chance for some real rest and shutting down without asking Angel to give the order. 

But after the fourth time of waking up on the battered sofa in the corner with a musty but cozy blanket over him, Angel had found it in him to stop caring. 

But he didn’t want to sleep now. Because as much as he wanted to pretend otherwise, he and Husk were on borrowed time, he was at the edge of this peaceful eye in the storm he lived in. 

The portrait was almost finished, colors starting to appear at Husk’s elbow as the first draft took shape. Soon Angel wouldn’t be needed in the studio anymore, he’d go back to the stage, back to the brothel, back to living under Valentino’s thumb. And Husk would go back to…well, nothing, by the look of his bare, dusty life. The thought made Angel’s heart ache. 

He pushed the thought away, refusing to chew on it. But he wouldn’t sleep away the rest of their time together, either. 

“What kind of music do you like?” he eventually asked. 

Husk chuckled at that, seeming to let his hands create independently, flying across the paper while the rest of him moved at a lower tempo, “Easy, jazz. I used to play when I was younger, actually. There was a club not too far from where I lived, I’d sneak out and go all the time. A guy there taught me, pretty sure just to keep me away from the bar. Looked old for my age back then…and now.”

“Shut up,” Angel perked up interestedly, “What did you play?”

“That’s two questions now,” Husk reminded him, smirking but he answered all the same, “Sax. Was a fun time but I ain’t cut out for being in a band, don’t play nice with others. Realized I was better at making art for the eyes rather than the ears.”

“Makes sense though,” Angel hummed, adjusting the angle of his arm as the silk started to slide, “You paint the way jazz sounds.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he blushed, realizing how dumb it sounded, like he didn’t know shit about art or music. Which he didn’t, but something about Husk knowing that made his face burn. 

But Husk’s eyes brightened, his wry mouth turned up in a genuine smile, “No one’s ever put it quite like that. But thanks.”

Angel had to roll his eyes at himself, just a little. He’d thought crushes were from a time he hadn’t known any better, another thing his hard life had calcified until he couldn’t make it work anymore, that real, genuine attraction had gone the way of imaginary friends and daydreams. But Husk had cracked right through to that giddy, naive part of Angel, he’d let it stretch and unfurl itself and fly. You could argue it was the part that had gotten him into so much trouble but, in Husk’s studio, it didn’t feel dangerous. It was fun again, simple, pleasant. So he let himself stare, he let himself get butterflies, he let himself blush and laugh and embarrass himself. It wouldn’t last, it wouldn’t mean anything but Angel had never been one for saying no to temporary pleasures. Especially ones that made him act like a damn fool. 

“You can ask me two questions,” he hummed with one of his best flirtatious smiles, “Seeing as I snuck an extra one.”

This had been their game for the last month and change. Husk had said he couldn’t paint a stranger, if he was going to put him on canvas then he needed to know him. The thought had got Angel’s back up so Husk had promised it would be an even exchange. He’d ask a question, Angel would answer it and then they’d trade. He’d even said that they didn’t have to be truthful answers, he’d understand enough from whatever lies the younger man chose to tell. 

And they’d started as lies, the standard sanitized version of his past Angel gave to any johns that wanted to fake like they’d taken him on some grand romantic date, rather than paid to fuck him in the tackily decorated back rooms of a downtown bordello. But, without even really noticing, he’d grown comfortable with Husk and the truth started slipping in. Now Husk knew more about him than anyone else left in the city and, Angel suspected, he knew just as much about the older guy. He could taste lies, thanks to his profession, and as far as his tongue could tell, Husk had given him nothing but truth, bitter as it was. 

“Always one to push it, aren’t you, Legs?” Husk chuckled, switching to a different brush, taking a pull from the bottle of amber liquid before continuing to paint. How he knew the difference between that and the water he cleaned his brushes in, without even glancing at them, Angel had no idea.

“You know it, sweetie,” Angel purred, recognising the color Husk picked up as the color of his own eyes, “Ain’t a proper game if you don’t try and bend the rules.”

Husk shook his head in amusement, choosing his questions without a pause, like he already knew which ones he needed to ask to make the next brushstroke perfect, “What was your biggest fear when you were a kid?”

“Before I turned thirteen? Spiders,” Angel wrinkled his nose, though there was an odd fondness to the nostalgic fear, “Nona’s apartment was full of them, I used to be frightened they’d crawl on my face when I slept. But she loves them, even named them all, the mad old bat.” 

“And after?” Husk’s brush hesitated and changed direction at the last moment. 

Angel gave a dry laugh, “Father finding out I was a pansy.”

Husk made a sympathetic noise but there was no pity in it, another point in Angel’s book. He sat back suddenly, frowning, “Come tell me what you think of this.”

Already? It hit Angel like a blow to the chest, enough that he staggered as he stepped off the little platform he posed on, enough that his mask almost cracked, “From your tone, I’m guessing you’re not happy?”

Husk gave a grunt, “Not me who needs to be happy with it…”

“Well it ain’t me either, baby, it’s Val,” Angel let the fabric fall, shrugged on a robe and came around to the other side of the easel. The sudden shock of color and movement on the other side of such a plain, gray nothing hit better than some highs he’d had. 

Angel didn’t know how to talk about art. He’d seen plenty of it when he was shipped out in France but he’d had other things on his mind then, it had all just been set dressing in this brand new world of dizzying highs and terrifying lows. 

So when he saw Husk’s work, he didn’t know how to describe the way it made him feel, he just felt it, in a rush like a wave that took him off his feet. It was the way he took moments in time and fixed them to the paper, turned them into something Angel could actually touch if he wanted, and made them so beautiful in the process. For someone who had so many gaps in his memory, parts of his life eaten away by drugs and pain and terror, it may as well have been magic. 

The painting was gorgeous, that wasn’t the problem. It was just a gorgeous painting of a vindictive, controlling pimp’s sex fantasy. 

When he first started working on this particular commission, Husk had asked Angel if he was really okay with what his boss had requested, showing him the list of demands with a knowing air, the older man fully aware of what answer was true and what answer he would get. And Angel hadn’t surprised him, glancing over what Valentino wanted and saying that whatever he’d asked for, Husk had better deliver. That’s how Angel had kept most of his teeth.

From the way Husk’s eyes had tightened, he hadn’t found the joke very funny.

But Angel knew what he’d see when he looked at the paper but an image in his own mind and something realized in ink and paint, brought to life by Husk’s clever hands, were two very different things. The Angel on the page was much truer to his name, he was angelic, pale skin glowing, freckles scattered across his skin like flecks of gold, eyes bright and blue and innocent behind flaxen hair. But he was a fallen angel, chains securing his hands to some part of the background that Husk would draw in later but, even without it, they looked inescapable, raw chafe marks in a wincing carmine visible below their cuffs. And the fabric looked somehow even less, like a rough hand was in the process of tearing it away to leave him naked and flushed. And there wasn’t a single scar on that perfect, porcelain skin. 

It wasn’t him. It was the role he was supposed to play for Valentino, the fantasy he was forced into. And seeing it in front of his eyes, he could almost feel the weight of those chains on his own wrists and, fuck, they hurt. 

“It’s exactly what he wants,” Angel said truthfully, making himself smile at Husk, “You’ve done a great job.”

But the older man’s frown just deepened, etching the lines around his eyes and mouth more firmly. Angel realized then that he wasn’t looking at the painting, he was only looking at him. 

“It’s shit.”

The sudden sound of the paper tearing away from the pad made Angel flinch but he couldn’t deny there was some catharsis in seeing it crumpled in Husk’s surprisingly strong fist. 

But he was the one who had to fight for his own misery, “Husk, no, it’s good! It’s really good, Val will love it.”

“You don’t,” Husk pitched the failed painting into the dented old furnace he’d light whenever he noticed Angel shivering. 

Angel opened his mouth but no words came out. It wasn’t so easy to lie to Husk as it was to lie to everyone else in his life. 

“That isn’t the point,” he finally managed, “Husk, honey, if you take any longer with this, he’s gonna start getting mad.”

Like it wasn’t already too late. 

He’d seen it in Valentino’s gaze every time he left the club for Husk’s studio, the building jealousy, the brewing sense of danger that Angel was so depressingly familiar with. They were meant to have been done inside a week but that week had rolled on and on, Husk getting to this point in the process, the moment where he should have let Angel go, and then starting over three times now. Every painting had been gorgeous, it had been lecherous, it had been exactly what Valentino wanted, and each one had ended up in the furnace as soon as Husk had seen Angel’s reaction. 

And if his boss’s simmering fury had just been directed at him, he wouldn’t have minded, the daydream was worth it. It was what he’d said about Husk that worried him. 

“It should be the point and I’ll fucking well tell him so,” Husk reached for the bottle again, draining it in one swallow that left his voice a smoky growl, “Valentino can get as mad as he wants, I ain’t scared of that up jumped pimp.”

Panic tasted bitter on Angel’s tongue and sharpened his words, “You should be. If you don’t realize how dangerous he is, you need to learn fast, Husker, because I’ll be damned if I let you get hurt because you stuck up for me. I’m not worth it.”

Husk’s eyes darkened, his voice softening, “You really believe that, kid?”

Angel realized he’d said more than he’d meant to, feeling more naked than he had when there was only a swathe of fabric between him and Husk’s gaze. 

“I have to,” he said eventually, voice trembling ever so slightly, “There ain’t another way through.”

Husk looked like he was going to say something, like there were some words pulling at the tip of his tongue, desperate to fly. But suddenly the fight went out of him, shoulders slumping, the words becoming a low groan as he pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“I need another drink,” he muttered, “Gimme a second…”

He went into the back room of the studio that served as his living space, that rickety, sagging bed and chipped wardrobe and lopsided bookcase apparently holding all he owned in the world. But Angel knew there were several bottles of whiskey under the bed, enough that he didn’t need to ask whether Husk had served in the war too. Only a soldier needed that much poison to hand. 

Selfish tears threatened to choke him the moment he was alone. He’d done the right thing, he knew he had, but it still hurt like a bitch. He let himself have a moment to almost cry about it before scrubbing his eyes with the sleeve of his robe and moving to the furnace. He’d fish out the draft, he’d tell Husk to use that painting and he’d be done with this. The daydream had been nice but it needed to end, before someone other than Angel himself got hurt. He could see that now. 

There were several balls of crumpled sketchbook paper in the furnace’s grating, he couldn’t remember which one he needed. He came up with a handful of them, as well as an annoying smear of soot on his fingers, pulling a face of irritation as he unrolled one at random. 

And felt his heart stop in his chest. It was a drawing of him but it wasn’t the one he was looking for. 

It was a quick, hurried drawing, like Husk had done it on impulse, something to keep his hands steady or to keep them off the bottle for just a little longer. Angel wasn’t dramatically posed, dressed up in silk, he didn’t look alluring or otherworldly, it was just a sketchy of him from the neck up. He was doing that grin he tried not to do because it made his nose turn up and his teeth look huge but the way it was drawn here, it looked…adorable. Natural. 

He looked so happy. 

It was dizzying, seeing the way somebody else could look at his flaw and find beauty in it. Not Valentino’s warped, fake idea of it but real, actual, honest. Angel didn’t think he’d known the difference before looking at this drawing. 

He knew what he should do. He should drop the sketch back in the furnace, pretend he’d never seen it. He should light it up himself, let that version of himself blacken and curl and become nothing, go back to Valentino and the devil he knew. 

But his hands weren’t connected to his brain, reaching for more balls of paper the way he reached for the next pill or line of white powder, the next bad idea that would be sweet in the moment then do him more harm than good. 

Some pages just had one drawing, some had a few. The sketch of him asleep on the couch was full body but around it were isolated hands, eyes, a smile, every inch of him noticed and practiced until it was perfect. Angel was smiling, he was lost in thought, he was yawning hugely, he was guarded and wary, he was alight with playful mischief. He could match the expressions with memories of the last few weeks, stories he’d told Husk or bad jokes he’d made. Things he’d said and done so offhandedly but apparently they’d mattered enough for Husk to commit them to pencil and paper. 

Finally, after pages and pages of careful studies of himself, he found the draft painting done for Valentino. Seeing them side by side, it was heartbreakingly obvious, like he held night in one hand and day in the other. How he looked to someone who wanted him and how he looked to someone who loved him. Who he had to be and who he wanted to be. Angel Dust and Anthony. 

Angel didn’t hear the footsteps behind him until it was too late. 

“I’m sorry, kid, I shouldn’t have stormed off like that, I…Angel?”

He felt his stomach drop, whipping around, arms already drawn to his chest in defense and eyes screwed tightly shut, “I didn’t mean to look, it was an accident, I’m sorry.”

But the blow he’d learned to expect never landed. There was no anger, no explosion, just a long pause where the only sound was the city outside the windows shifting into evening, oblivious to the two of them. 

“Angel…fuck, I’m sorry.”

Surprise made him open his eyes, Husk just leaning in the doorway, slumped like a man too tired to fight anymore. 

“I never wanted to put you in this position,” his voice was rough, heavy, in a way that had nothing to do with the drink, “I swear, those sketches…they were just be trying to get this fucking lunacy out of my system, I was never gonna act on it. I don’t want to be just another deluded old idiot leering at you like he’d got any damn right to.”

“Husker…” Angel breathed, unsure what to do, holding onto the pages of sketches like he was afraid someone would take them away. 

“I just…it’s been so long since I talked with anyone, since anyone wanted to hear what I had to say,” Husk ducked his eyes, wincing, “I shouldn’t have let you in, I should have known better but you’re so…” he shook his head like there weren’t even words but it was there on the page, “I’m an old fool, Angel. That’s all. I’m sorry, I understand if you want to leave.”

Angel felt the weight of the choice. Again, that hard learned fear was pulling at him, telling him what he should do, what was safe, what was smart. Telling him that he didn’t deserve it. But for the first time in his life, he was able to drown that voice out, his grip on the pages, on his hope, tightening. 

“I don’t want to leave,” he murmured, taking a step closer to Husk. 

The older man’s eyes widened, looking like he didn’t know whether to believe what he’d just heard, “What?”

“I want you,” Angel said it again, feeling the truth in it now, feeling it steel himself.

He put the sketches to one side, resting his hands on Husk’s chest, letting himself have what he knew now he’d wanted for so long. Maybe even longer than he’d known Husk. 

“Angel,” Husk’s own hands responded, settling on his hips like nervous birds, “You have a right to know, when your boss came to hire me, he…he offered me you. For a discount he said I could…have you while I worked. And I didn’t take it, I never would but I just…I need to know that this is what you want, not something you feel like you have to do just because I got a stupid crush on you.”

The news didn’t surprise Angel in the slightest, Val had used him as sugar on top of deals plenty of times before. What did surprise him was Husk’s mouth twisting in disgust at the idea, the restraint holding him back until he heard Angel’s answer. What surprised him was finding himself in the arms of a truly honest man. 

“Baby,” he smiled, as big as he wanted to, not caring how it looked, “Believe me, I know what a bad idea this is. I know what I’m risking, I know what I’m asking you to risk. But I’m here anyway, ain’t I? So I know how much I want this, how much I've been wanting you since I walked through your door.”

Apparently that was all Husk needed to hear. His hold on Angel became certain, pulling him that last inch closer until their bodies pressed together, “Then I’m yours, baby. For however long we got.”

The moment their lips met, Angel knew the answer was not long enough. He knew in an instant that he’d never get tired of the way Husk kissed him, of that taste of second hand whiskey and those strong arms around him, feeling safer than anything had for a long damn time. He didn’t hurry, he didn’t want to press forward into the next thing, he just reveled in kissing Angel like if it stopped right there, it would still be enough. Angel found himself nearly climbing Husk, gasping and whimpering in between hurried breaths, nearly screaming when the older man shifted and pressed his leg up between Angel’s. 

“Fuck me,” he moaned desperately, needing Husk more than he needed air, so much he as burning with it. 

“You got the kit for that?” Husk’s voice had become a growl, something Angel felt as much as he heard. 

“I’m taking the fact that you have to ask as a professional insult,” Angel smirked, only the promise of having this man inside him able to make himself let go. 

He scrambled for the bag he’d left in the corner along with his clothes, Husk dropping back on the sofa to wait, warm golden eyes never leaving him. With that gaze pricking pleasantly across his skin, Angel shed his robe, stepping out of the pool of pink silk and coming back to Husk wearing only a lopsided grin. 

“Fuck, look at you, baby…” his hands were as reverant as his gaze, both stroking down Angel’s narrow body, drinking in every freckle and angle and scar with as much adoration as he settled in the older man’s lap. 

“Now you,” Angel tugged impatiently at Husk’s suspenders, “It’s my turn to stare.”

“Ain’t gonna be half as pretty,” Husk warned, the skin on his cheeks darkening a little but he didn’t resist as Angel yanked down the collar of his shirt and pulled open buttons, kicking off his shoes and shoving down his trousers. 

Under the slightly bedraggled clothing, Husk had scars of his own. Everything about him seemed designed to contrast Angel, dark skin where he was pale, strong where he was wiry, thick black hair across his chest and down between his legs where Angel just had a dusting of gold down, the curve of a beer gut where drugs had left Angel nearly concave. 

He wasn’t pretty. He was fucking gorgeous. Angel had to drag a fist across his lips to check he wasn’t drooling. 

Husk’s blush only deepend but now he was grinning rather than looking anxious, “You have weird tastes, baby.”

“Guys who are nice to me? I know, I’m a hopeless degenerate,” Angel cackled, before pressing the small jar into his hand, “I want you to do it…”

“My pleasure,” Husk rolled his hips, letting Angel feel the press of his erection against him, beaming when it made him tremble and whimper hungrily. 

Even slick with Vaseline, Husk’s fingers were fucking big. Angel found himself squealing like a fucking rookie when his hole finally opened for him after a few coaxing strokes, burying his face against the curve of his neck as he pressed inside. But Husk knew his business and in a moment it was bliss and nothing else, making Angel cling to him so fiercely that there would be an impression of the other man’s dog tags on his chest when he pulled away. 

When Husk curled his fingers against that sweet spot inside him, the pleasure took on an edge of panic, almost too much between that blinding pressure and his cock trapped between the warmth of their stomachs, the pre he was spilling like a fountain making it slick and hot. 

“Gonna…fuck, Husk, I can’t hold it…” he gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders. 

“You say that like it’s not the aim, baby…” Husk purred smokily, tongue tracing the curve of his ear. 

“Not like this,” Angel begged, voice strangled as it had to shoulder past gasps and moans and pleas, “On your cock. Need to feel you, wanna make you feel good too…”

The arms around him became soothing, like he was being rocked, Husk shifting to give him what he wanted, “You do, baby. You do. You’re doing so good.”

Those words set his nerves alight as much as the fingers crooked inside him until Angel almost sobbed, “Please…”

“I got you,” the loss of the fingers was heartbreaking until he felt Husk’s cock press against his entrance, thick and hard and hot enough to burn, “Breathe, baby, you’re so tight, you gotta let me in…”

Those strong hands slid down to Angel’s hips, holding tight so he couldn’t force himself back and take him, damn the pain. It was slow, careful, but the reward was all the sweeter for it, Angel’s eyes nearly rolling back as he sat on Husk’s dick, feeling so full he didn’t know how he wasn’t unraveling completely. 

“Fuck…” Husk’s voice cracked, a hand sliding up to tangle in Angel’s hair, the other draping around his hips to keep him close. 

“As good as you imagined?” Angel panted, nuzzling at his shoulder. 

“Better…”

Husk rolled his hips like the sweetest music was playing in his head, purposeful, rhythmic, wanting Angel to feel every inch. At first Angel couldn’t even scream, everything in him utterly surrendered, every cell in his body devoted to chasing after that feeling. But he soon realized he didn’t need to, Husk would give it to him and give it gladly, as sure as the tide. He fucked into him slow but the pace built gradually, leaving Angel free to moan and shriek and beg. He couldn’t let Husk mark him, as much as he wanted it, but he could sink his teeth into him, sucking hard until he’d have something to look at in the morning and feel less lonely. 

Angel knew how to read people’s bodies, he knew they were about to fall. Husk throbbed deep inside him, his own cock was stiff as a board and trembling between their bodies. He wanted to beg Husk to hold on, to wait, just a few seconds more because even those would be sweeter than anything he’d ever get again. But he might as well have wished for the moon. 

So Angel did what he’d always done and took a hand in his own destruction. 

He moved his hips faster, grinding down hard on Husk’s dick and whispered in his ear, “Come for me, baby.”

Husk did, with a yowl like a cat in heat. Angel was a second behind, painting both of their chests and crying out his lover’s name, letting his voice shatter on it. They were both left ruined, gasping, only held together by the other’s arms around them. 

It was a long time before Angel trusted himself to speak, morning back to rest his forehead on Husk’s, “Will you draw me? Like this?”

Husk’s smile was warmth itself, “I’ll do my damndest, baby.”

It came out beautiful. Of course it did. 

Afterwards, when their lovemaking was just an ache in his hips and a slick feeling between his legs, Angel sat back in Husk’s arms and looked at the sketch like he was trying to etch it onto his brain. The pencil version of himself wore Husk’s shirt rather than his own, eyes heavy lidded, his smile crooked and blissfully tired, happier than Angel had thought his own face would ever look. 

Even if the moment had ended for them, he’d always have this. He had this proof that someone had loved him. 

“Can I keep it?” his voice was raw and shaky, “And some of the others?” In case I come to my senses and never see you again. 

Husk kissed the side of his head, squeezed his hand gently, like he’d heard the words left unsaid, ��They’re yours. But I’ll draw you better ones if you like? Ones that didn’t spend a few days in the furnace?”

Angel smiled up at him, seeing that some of the soot from his fingers had smudged on Husk’s cheek, “I think these are perfect the way they are.”

“Then they’re a good likeness,” Husk murmured, pressing the next kiss to his lips. 

Angel leaned into it, letting himself have another temporary pleasure, letting himself have a moment to not think about anything but Husk. What he’d do tomorrow, fuck, what he’d do in the next moment, he had no idea. But he wouldn’t think about it now.

“It is stunning, isn’t it, Angel? Who’d have thought the old drunk had some talent left clinging to him…”

Valentino’s voice was full of smug satisfaction and smoke, faintly red billows of it hissing from between his teeth and scratching at Angel’s nose. He didn’t flinch, he’d grown used to it over the years. 

“It’s exactly what you asked for,” he hummed in what would sound like agreement, looking up at the painting now slotted cozily into its new home on the wall of Valentino’s office. 

The frame was a tacky travesty, of course, gilded and overblown but he supposed the image inside was as well. Husk had delivered exactly what he’d been asked, once Angel had convinced him to. It was exactly like the draft piece that nearly ended up in the flames, just more polished and done in rich, sumptuous oils, his wanton blush more rich, his eyes shining brighter, his pose more tempting. Valentino was nearly salivating looking at it. 

“You’ve never looked more tempting, my dear,” he crowded Angel closer, voice almost warm though his hands were like vices on his shoulders, “In fact, I can think of no better advertisement for our little club, you’ll have the deviants of the city flocking to our doors just for a glimpse of this…and then they’ll pay through the nose for the real thing.”

“Yes, Valentino,” Angel hummed, not taking his eyes off the painting.

“I believe I’ll take Mr Husker up on his kind offer, now I know his talent hasn’t faded along with everything else. A few pieces like these in the hallway, my profits could triple…and with the discount he mentioned, well, I don’t know what you showed him or shook in front of him but the old fool’s half in love with you. Very nice work, baby…”

Angel shrugged, gaze still fixed on the painting, “Just a generous guy, I guess.”

“Don’t make me laugh, sweetling, you’re not good at it,” Valentino said curtly, “I want you on stage in ten. With how much time you’ll be spending in that studio, you’ll have to make it up to me. Double shifts for the rest of the week and I don’t want to hear you bitching.”

Angel flinched a little but he didn’t take his eyes off Husk’s painting, not even when the office door closed with a slam designed to put him on edge, “You won’t…”

Of course Valentino hadn’t noticed it. But it was the first thing he’d seen as soon as he’d stepped into the office after Val had called him in so he could gloat over it. Husk hadn’t let him see the final piece, just reassuring him that it was finished and that his boss would be happy with it. And now Angel knew why. 

Valentino didn’t look past the eyes, the beckoning gaze, the perfect body begging to be ruined. But Husk did. And that's why one of the chains in the links that bound the painted version of Angel was cracked. Almost all the way through, about to break entirely, if he just pulled hard enough. Valentino saw him chained but in Husk’s painting, Angel saw himself fighting and, against all the odds, about to win.

It was a nice dream. 

Angel turned away from the painting, thinking about where this had begun. It was supposed to be easy. It should have been easy, it was Angel Dust’s job to be stared at. 

But this was the first time he felt like he’d been seen. 

[nitrateglow]

Spooky Season 2024: 6-11

Targets (dir. Peter Bogdanovich, 1968)

Targets follows two parallel stories that eventually intertwine. The first involves elderly horror star Byron Orlock (Boris Karloff), disillusioned with his professsion and the real-world violence around him, and intent on retiring from film. The second involves Bobby (Tim O'Kelly), a disturbed young man obsessed with guns who goes on a murder spree. Both points converge at the drive-in premiere of Orlock's newest film.

Targets caught me offguard. The violence in the story involves a mass shooter and so it has a lot of real-world parallels. The killings are presented in a matter of fact way, without spectacle or blood geysers. It makes all of it feel more real and upsetting, especially since we've seen our share of Bobby-like killers over the decades.

My youngest sister watched this one with me and kept calling Karloff's character "Babygirl" and that isn't wrong. Though crabby and cynical, Byron is really charming and likeable. The arc he undergoes is really powerful, particularly as it pertains to his relationship with his secretary Jenny (Nancy Hsueh).

Though the tensions of the late '60s are a major part of Targets, it also deals with the gulf between the old school horror movies represented by Orlock and the more violent fare of the dawning New Hollywood era. I feel like there are just so many layers here. I really need to rewatch it. It's a fascinating movie and I would highly recommend it.

The Phantom of the Opera (dir. Dwight H. Little, 1989)

Modern singer Christine Day (Jill Schoelen) is sent back in time to a previous life as an aspiring opera singer in 1880s London. Her mentor is Erik Destler (Robert Englund), a disfigured composer who made a deal with the devil that left him immortal and embittered. He also has a habit of skinning people and then stitching the flesh on his ugly ass face. The opera management wants to build up another diva's career at the expense of Christine's. Erik doesn't like this. People start getting killed.

The 1989 The Phantom of the Opera is such a mixed bag, but I enjoy it anyway. The script is a mess. It frames the story with this weird time travel/reincarnation/isekai plot that doesn't add up to anything. It introduces interesting concepts-- like the relationship between Christine and Erik reflecting Erik's own deal with the devil-- without fleshing them out. Also-- and if Letterboxd is anything to go by, I'm in the minority-- I'm not crazy about Jill Schoelen's Christine, though I think that's more due to the way Christine is written than how she plays the role.

But then you have the glorious production design, stagebound but dripping in gothic candlelight and late Victorian grime. Best of all, you get Robert Englund's Erik Destler, one of the best onscreen Phantoms of all time.

I love how Englund's Erik is both an excitable schoolboy, almost squealing with delight while Christine kills it at Faust, and a violent, vengeful monster who doesn't take his will being defied lightly. I like the skin-grafting angle for the mask and that Erik ventures out into the London underworld at night. These are all fresh elements and I wish they could have been combined with a tighter, more focused script.

Still, this is a fun movie.

Murders in the Zoo (dir. A. Edward Sutherland, 1933)

A zoologist (Lionel Atwill) is pathologically jealous of his younger wife (Kathleen Burke), and so starts killing any perceived rival to his possession of her. Very pre-code violence ensues.

I'm going to be blunt: this movie did not live up to the hype. A lot of pre-code fans vouch for it as the nastiest horror film of the era. That is likely true. The first thing we see is a man getting his mouth sewed shut, a bit of nastiness that would shock in a recent film, let alone one from 1933. There are some gruesome killings throughout.

Too bad the story is sluggish and dull. There's a lot of corny comic relief that stops the action dead. The direction is flat. It's definitely not a movie I can see myself revisiting. There's barely anything there to sustain interest beyond the occasional creative murder-- no atmosphere, no anything.

Other than the murders, the only thing that stood out to me was Kathleen Burke as the tragic wife of the crazy zoologist. Burke is best remembered as Lota the Panther Woman in Island of Lost Souls. Her career fizzled out quickly, which is a shame because she has great presence and no shortage of talent.

The Black Room (dir. Roy William Neill, 1935)

In a Tyrolean town, an ancient prophecy swears that the ruling house will be destroyed when twins are born and the younger brother kills the older. So when the baron is presented with twin sons, he does everything he can to prevent the prophecy, such as sealing up the Black Room where the murder is supposed to occur. The boys grow up different as can be: the older brother Gregor (Boris Karloff) is cruel and sensual, abusing the locals and his own power, while the younger Anton (also Karloff) is gentle and kind. Despite his twin's sweet nature, Gregor is still concerned for his life and his continued domination of the town. He hatches a devious plan to cheat fate, but can he?

For some reason, I thought I had seen this movie long ago, but apparently not. What a delightful gothic story this is! It's filled with all the old school tropes played straight: an ancient prophecy, a lecherous nobleman preying on innocent maidens, a torture chamber filed with corpses, a dark and gloomy castle. There is a subtle sense of grim humor throughout, but it never descends into parody when it easily could have.

If you've ever doubted Karloff's capabilities as an actor, this movie should remedy that opinion. He plays two distinct characters, and at one point, gives a performance within a performance. All three performances feature their own unique body language, line delivery, and business. It's astonishing throughout.

Equally impressive is the direction from Roy William Neill. Best known for helming the Basil Rathbone Sherlock Holmes movies, his direction here is so dynamic and impressive, not in the least stagey or inert.

One last thing: for a post-Production Code movie, it has a surprising amount of violence and sexuality. Gregor is clearly using the local women for his sexual gratification before murdering them, and his interest in Marian Marsh's lovely aristocratic girl is 100% carnal. There's a pit full of corpses and we get to look into it rather than have its presence alluded to offscreen. It's all nasty stuff. It really feels like the filmmakers got away with a lot, even if it seems tame by modern standards!

The Bells (dir. James Young, 1926)

Innkeeper Mathias (Lionel Barrymore) hopes to become burgomaster of his village. He hopes endless credit and free drinks will sway the populace to support him, but this comes close to killing his business and destroying his family. Desperate, he murders a wealthy guest, destroys the body, and uses his pilfered gold to pay off all debts and influence his way to power. However, both the crushing guilt and a mesmerist (Boris Karloff) with mind-reading powers threaten to expose him.

This is one of those movies that has a great premise, but the execution is very underwhelming. The filmmakers waste a lot of time on the romantic antics of Mathias' pretty daughter and goofy comedy. It's like they were timid about leaning more into the gothic, distressing elements of this dark story and it makes the film drag.

Still, Barrymore is good, especially once he commits the murder and starts going all Telltale Heart. But the best thing in the movie is definitely Boris Karloff. He had been in movies since 1919 and it wouldn't be until Frankenstein in 1931 that he became a star. But it's safe to say, The Bells gives Karloff his first standout role.

Karloff's character doesn't show up a lot, but he is the biggest threat to Mathias' power. Though his Caligari cosplay is hilarious (for real, the filmmakers didn't even TRY to hide the Caligari influence), he has this creepy shit-eating grin that really leaves an impression.

Is Karloff enough to make this worth watching? Eh, I don't think so. There are far better silent thrillers you could be watching.

The Sorcerers (dir. Michael Reeves, 1967)

Elderly Professor Montserratt (Boris Karloff) and his wife Estelle (Catherine Lacey) use a mind control procedure on young stud Mike Roscoe (Ian Ogilvy). Able to experience everything he feels and to control his behavior if they wish, the two vicariously experience the thrills of Swinging London through their test subject. However, Estelle gets drunk on power and starts using Mike to engage in multiple crimes, including murder.

This movie was hyped to me, so maybe it's partially my fault I was so disappointed by the end result. With the exception of Estelle, the story lacks compelling characters. There's no sense of pathos to Mike's victimization and downfall because he's bland as hell and passive, a deadly combination if you want me to give a damn about your narrative.

Everything about this movie feels drab, both the visuals and the filmmaking itself. Big setpieces like the hypnotism scene or the telepathic motorcycle ride are supposed to be kinetic and exciting, but they just feel like the product of an enthusiastic amateur. I've seen low budget movies that have real personality and verve despite their lack of resources (see Blast of Silence), but The Sorcerers just feels cheap and uninspired in every way. I struggled to finish it even though it wasn't even an hour and a half long.

It's a shame because I like the central premise: two elderly people use this device to vicariously experience the fast life of swinging London. But it's done so poorly. It's hard to believe director Michael Reeves' next film would be the masterful Witchfinder General.

[insufferableprotagonistpoll]

Round 1

Propaganda why Charlie Morningstar is insufferable:

"Her entire personality was rewritten to be insufferable. She behaved like an idiot who didn't understand anyone or the problems they had. Her ideas were shit and so were her dramas."

"She was insufferable in the the Masquerade episode. It infanticided her so much, it ruined any enjoyment I might have had in her. She is supposed to be an adult woman trying to safe sinners meanwhile she acts and is treated like a toddler??"

"I know her whole character is naive and innocent. I even liked her at first. But with every rewatch I find her more annoying. She is waaay too naive and doesn't listen to anyone else's concerns like Vaggie's or Lucifer's, instead just believing everyone will listen to her. I might be alone in this, I just hate this archetype of naivety and innocence to this degree."

"Rich girl who doesn't consider other people's needs and boundaries until it gets too far. Literally builds an entire hotel to get sinners to heaven WITHOUT first seeing if her theory is actually possible. She tells Heaven AFTER it was built if they could offer some help or support instead of before it. Toxic to her girlfriend. Literally complains about having daddy issues when there's no issues to be found. Her father is depressed and although he doesn't like her hotel concept he never shoots her down for it. She acts like the world revolves around her rainbow ideas when literally noone cares. You being a princess means nothing to most people. Get off your high horse and learn what it means to be anything but princess of hell. The narrative wants us to sympathize with Charlie but gives us no reason to beyond Quirky™ and 'oh she's so nice' SHUT UP you're literally lying to the audience about Charlie. For all she claims to be, Charlie sure is a self-centered brat trying to live out some heroic fantasy with unwilling co-stars she forces to bend to her will."

Propaganda why Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way is insufferable:

"Everything"

"Mary sue

can't spell

can't shut up."

"Hi my name is Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way and I have long ebony black hair (that's how I got my name) with purple streaks and red tips that reaches my mid-back and icy blue eyes like limpid tears and a lot of people tell me I look like Amy Lee (AN: if u don't know who she is get da hell out of here!). I'm not related to Gerard Way but I wish I was because he's a major fucking hottie."

"She’s the epitome of insufferability and we love her for it."

[butchhamlet]

a scene-by-scene playlist for macbeth--one song for each scene. you know the drill by now. track list with rationale under the cut; special thanks to @blackcatarts for help with the selection :3 happy halloween season, y'all.

track list + rationale

act one

1.1 (the witches enter) - Everybody Wants to Rule the World (Lorde Cover) (feels self-explanatory, plus the vibe of it feels like panning in over a foggy battlefield)

1.2 (duncan finds out macbeth slayed) - Aneurysm by Nirvana (found this one on this macbeth playlist a while back and it has remained a macbeth song to me forever and ever; the manic energy fits the battlefield fervor here)

1.3 (macbeth and banquo meet the witches) - They by Jem (“and it’s ironic too // ‘cause what we tend to do // is act on what they say // and then it is that way… who are they? where are they? how can they possibly know all this?”)

1.4 (duncan names malcolm his successor) - Money Money Money by ABBA (he’s plotting! he’s planning! stars, hide your fires! look just trust me on this one)

1.5 (lady macbeth reads the letter & reunites with macbeth) - She’s Kerosene by the Interrupters (every lyric of this song is about lady macbeth.)

1.6 (lady macbeth welcomes duncan to her castle) - Silver Platters by Les Gold (“no need to be cordial // you could be immortal // if you take the risk // could you take the risk?” + “step out on the dance floor // this is what you asked for // such a pretty face // what was it underneath the mask for?”)

1.7 (the macbeths argue) - Fight For Me by AlicebanD (macbeths song of all time!!!)

act two

2.1 (dagger scene) - Disturbia by Rihanna (the supernatural begins to bleed into the world! will someone please direct a macbeth where this comes on during this scene) 

2.2 (post-murder argument) - Prowl Great Cain by The Mountain Goats (very macbeth song. placed here for “and i feel guilty, but i can’t feel ashamed!” & mention of sleepwalking & betrayal & prowling [cf. his line about tarquin in 2.1])

2.3 (porter scene, duncan’s death comes out) - Daniel in the Den by Bastille (“felled in the night by the ones you think you love // they will come for you” + “and for every king that died // they would crown another”)

2.4 (hey. don’t cry. duncan’s horses ate each other) - When He Died by Lemon Demon (literally a song about the world getting fucked up after a guy dies what can i say)

act three

3.1 (banquo gets suspicious) - Aha! by Imogen Heap (entire song about people pretending to be better than they are, including an actual serial killer. + “cost you to keep me quiet” with banquo…)

3.2 (the macbeths are fracturing) - The Horror of Our Love by Ludo (EXTREMELY MACBETHS SONG. here because this is the scene where they start to switch places, with him the one buying into violence as the answer & telling her not to worry about gory details)

3.3 (banquodeath) - Bury A Friend by Billie Eilish (rdj meme voice: he has murdered his friend)

3.4 (banquet scene) - Bird Song by Florence + the Machine (song about killing the witness and then being haunted by that witness and completely losing your shit trying to shut their ghost up…)

3.5 (hecate) - Hecate by Wendy Rule (i don’t give a shit about this scene i’m sorry. interpolation boooooo)

3.6 (lennox talks politics) - Dark Doo Wop by MS MR (foggy apocalyptic ones. “it’s all gone to shit // it’s out of our hands”)

act four

4.1 (double double toil & trouble) - Hot Knife by Fiona Apple (i’m a hot knife i’mmmm a hot knife i’m a hot knife he’s a pat of butter… you’re just gonna have to trust me on this one. my school’s macbeth had heavy drumming all through this scene and it’s associated with this song to me forever)

4.2 (macduff’s family is murdered) - Pretty Little Things by the Crane Wives (songs about pretty/fragile things being destroyed because of men’s betrayal… thinking about how lady macduff blames her husband for abandoning her to the wolves :( )

4.3 (malcolm and macduff) - All or Nothing by the Dream Masons (songs that are about both malcolm and macduff. the first verse especially is very malcolm, as a young prince stranded among enemies; the chorus is especially macduff-deciding-to-kill-macbeth-or-die-trying)

act five

5.1 (lady macbeth sleepwalks) - Tymps (The Sick in the Head Song) by Fiona Apple (LADY MACBETH GUILT SONG! “those boon times went bust // my feet of clay, they dried to dust // the red isn’t the red we painted, it’s just rust” w her imaginary bloodstains, + “i’m either so sick in the head i need to be bled dry to quit // or i just really used to love him // i sure hope that’s it”)

5.2 (the scots and english gather) - Marked Man by Mieka Pauley (songs i considered for 4.3 as well. they are coming to Get His Ass)

5.3 (macbeth preparing to fight) - For the Departed by Shayfer James (songs about knowing you’re about to get got but what does it matter when you’re already damned)

5.4 (the fucking wood is moving guys) - Kingdom Fall by Claire Wyndham (songs i almost put on the prior scene, for “i’d rather watch my kingdom fall // i want it all or not at all,” but eventually i placed it here because… well, we are watching the kingdom fall, my guy)

5.5 (tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow) - Drowning in the Sound by Amanda Palmer (okay, this is kind of because of “sound and fury,” but also it’s soooo macbeth act 5. “and the body is a temple but the temple is a prison and the prison’s overcrowded and the inmates know it’s flooded and the body politic is getting sicker by the second” + “do you ever feel like this should be officially the end? // and that you should be the one to do the ending, but you can’t?” + the inevitability…)

5.6 (scots + english arrive) - Lion’s Teeth by the Mountain Goats (song about trying to kill a powerful and tyrannical figure. also sounds like a fight scene)

5.7 (macduff and macbeth come face to face) - Bury Me Face Down by grandson (so obsessed with how firmly this guy would rather go down fighting than do literally anything easier)

5.8 (macbeth’s head presented, malcolm crowned) - King of the World by WAR*HALL (a new king is crowned after one dies by violence. fleance is still out there somewhere. the cycle of violence continues. this one doesn’t work unless you imagine the witches watching pityingly/sinisterly in the background)