#that's the sounds of all my fucks just withering away XD

[overlyenthusiastic-personalblog]

[quinloki]

Hii I was called so I'm back with another novel :') thank u anon but you're great at cooking without me lol! Ironically I think a lot of yanderes would be a bit softer to a monster than a human love interest, much more willing to try and compromise or meet you in the middle. Someone so unfamiliar with humans is expected to have more trouble with their rules- though truthfully, they're a bit infantilizing, assuming you understand far less than you really do. If you're smart, and very careful, you can take advantage of this. You don't emote the same way humans do so you're harder to read. It's a little(read: VERY) insulting how some people coo over you and insist you don't even know you're doing anything wrong, but perhaps it's best not to look a gift seahorse in the mouth... You get away with a surprising amount, testing boundaries. Huh? Leaving? You're going for a morning flight/swim, you've been cooped up all night. You want to catch a snack. Isn't that what Marco was doing too? What's "patrol," you thought that was a type of oil... take Marco with you next time? Oh, that's okay, you'll be just fine! Don't worry, you're very good at this and won't get lost- you can smell the ship from almost a mile away! Really, what are you all so worried about?

And of course the fuck part of monsterfucker. It takes them awhile to get to that- they know for the most part how not to break a human, but they don't know what your lines are or what it will do to you if they're crossed. What sort of courting customs do your kind have? What instincts, behaviors and traditions are they dealing with here? What kind of... anatomy? Do your kind mate for life? Are multiple partners possible? Do your kind have a breeding season, and if so, are you even capable of sexual attraction outside of it? If asked any questions about sex, you usually skirt around them, saying something like "isn't that sort of... rude..?" The one concrete thing they get out of you for awhile is one night when you're drunk. "Yeah of course I know how humans fuck. Most of my stuff is scavenged- I've looked through a lot of books and, um-" you make a wobbly motion with your clawed hands. "The... other books. The skinny flimsy ones with more pictures that smell like chemicals."

"... You mean magazines?"

"That sounds right. Anyway, humans are obsessed with sex they write it and draw it all the time. Of course I know." You pull a face. "A lot of it looks really uncomfortable." You don't elaborate. Everyone at the table shares looks with eachother.

XD I love it \o/

What a great little story you got going here. Keeping everyone on their toes because the point is to keep you, not break you, and if they keep you out of the water too long, maybe it would be really bad.

Maybe if you don't get sun light you will wither.

Maybe some innocent touch between humans is severely intimate for you.

Ah, I love the weight it puts on the yanderes /nod nod/

[lycanlovingvampyre]

MAG 197 Relisten

Activity on my first listen: Slow Tuesday at work.

BASIRA: "What’s down there?" JON: "I don’t know." BASIRA: "That makes a change." JON: "It’s… somewhere else." Yaaaay, somewhere else!!!

BASIRA: "Yes I do. You’re too close to this, and I need to make sure you aren’t going to do anything dumb. Situation like this, we can’t make rash assumptions. Right?" That is actually fair. Like I said many times, it's typical for Jon's character to perform poorly under stress. And sometimes he gets a bit impulsive.

ANNABELLE: "I thought you liked his voice?" MARTIN: "I do, when it’s his voice." Nawww...

MARTIN: "So why don’t you just tell me straight? It’s not like I’m going to run off. I’d only trip over my own feet and fall in, even if I tried." Martin already trying his usual charm to get what he wants^^

ANNABELLE: "Perhaps I was wrong about how well suited you are to us. I’m not sure you have the patience for The Web." That's the Lonely-influence. If we really go by the "The Lonely is a metaphor for depression" then it's only logical for Martin to have gotten irritable and short-tempered.

ANNABELLE: "A TV show. Reaching out into the homes of millions, giving the more vulnerable ones a subtle nudge towards terror. Probably something for children. It never went anywhere, of course. These things rarely do." Hmm, a bit stereotypical to assume children are the easiest people to manipulate, when there's a whole older generation out there, slowly withering away in front of the TV with almost no engagement and also no impulse to engage.

MARTIN: "Wait… Wait, hang on, is that him?" ANNABELLE: "Yes. I guess you’re better with the Web than we thought." MARTIN: "And – Wait, ha– No, uh… is that… Basira? He – He’s got Basira with him!" Web!Martin is back on the menu! xD

[MUFFLED AGITATION] [MUFFLED ANXIETY] [MUFFLED ANXIETY INCREASES TO MUFFLED TERROR] [MUFFLED SADNESS] [MUFFLED DEMAND FOR RELEASE] [MUFFLED POINT OF CONTENTION] [MUFFLED ATTEMPTED EXPLANATION, FOLLOWED BY MUFFLED SIGH AND MUFFLED AGREEMENT] [MUFFLED DOWNBEAT ACKNOWLEDGEMENT] [MUFFLED DISCOMFITED REALISATION] [MUFFLED DESPONDENCY] [MUFFLED WORRY] I love all of these...

ANNABELLE: "I didn’t. He came of his own free will." [MUFFLED POINT OF CONTENTION] JON: "'Free will,' she says, as we stand in the middle of her fucking web!" Ah, Jon is angry! I like it!

JON: "Martin, is this true?" [MUFFLED ATTEMPTED EXPLANATION, FOLLOWED BY MUFFLED SIGH AND MUFFLED AGREEMENT] BASIRA: "Told you." Why is Basira so set on both of them not really knowing each other? In MAG 177 she kind of mocks Martin for trusting Jon not to look into his head. And now she was like, what? "haha, told you your boyfriend wasn't kidnapped, he just left you"??? That conversation is not on tape right? I remember this “told you”, but there was no conversation in detail about this in MAG 195 or at the beginning of this one...

JON: "It’s inevitable." Well, now he's starting to sound like Agent Smith xD

ANNABELLE: "Of course. And knowing this, knowing for centuries you would eventually be trapped, doomed to starvation, what would you do?" [LONG CONSIDERED PAUSE] JON: "Plan an escape." Lesson 2: Plan your exit on the way in! (Me at every single social gathering XD)

ANNABELLE: "We found the one we believed most likely to bring about their manifestation. We marked him young, guided his path as best we could. And then, we took his voice." JON: "No…" Actually, right now Jon is taking this better that expected. He still sounds pissed, but not devastated. That'll come as soon as he had time to think about it... Also, I don't think Jon was the only one the Web prepared. In fact, it very much looks like it did a little experiment with Father Burroughs of MAG 19 and 20. They probably had a bunch of candidates but when it became clearer, that Jon could actually be the one closest to pull it off they started to focus more and more on him. After all, at first their influence was minimal, guided Martin to Prentiss. Only when that worked they delivered the lighter (and table) do take this further.  

JON: "Because for the Fears to spread into these new worlds, they would need to leave ours, wouldn’t they?" Like he said in MAG 164, "If the Fears are removed".

JON: "Leaving us behind in the process, freeing our world at the cost of others." BASIRA: "What are you saying?" JON: "We can pass them our apocalypse." [MUFFLED DISCOMFITED REALISATION] ANNABELLE: "Nothing so extreme. In these new worlds they would exist as they used to in ours, lurking just beyond the threshold." JON: "Until someone is stupid enough to release them there, as well." ANNABELLE: "Perhaps. Even the Mother cannot see the future. Only try to shape it." JON: "And so they spread through realities like a disease!" Jon, who ultimately suffered all the guilt from this, gets what this means for others in an instant. It's a very understandable trauma response.

ANNABELLE: "Jon would lose much of himself, the parts of him that are The Eye. But he would survive. And perhaps more importantly, he would remain who he believes himself to be. And you would end the suffering of all those others who remain here." It's so interesting to get into interpretations what these parts that are The Eye are supposed to be. Where do they begin and where do they stop? Is it simply memories or even parts of his personality? Is it physical, like his literal eyesight? Is there a higher meaning to "who he believes himself to be"? Is it just subconscious or can he actively influence this, in either a positive or, for Jon most likely, a negative way? Like his self-perception. Is all this also the case when he gets separated from The Eye through, say, being literally cut "free"? So many possibilities! (For fan fictions! XD)

ANNABELLE: "Many years ago a draughtsman made an unfortunate and egregious error on certain city planning documents. As a result, an unusually large and dangerous gas main just happened to be constructed directly below the building you knew as the Magnus Institute, in a place where it would be protected by the tunnels of Robert Smirke, unchanged by the world’s reformation. You need only ignite it." God, I fucking love how all of this was constructed! And that’s just one part of it...

JON: "Ignite it?" ANNABELLE: "Indeed. And it just so happens that the perfect tool was once delivered to you as a token of appreciation. Though you really do need to learn to keep better care of it. Somehow it always seems to slip your mind, doesn’t it?" JON: "What?" BASIRA: "Jon, it’s that stupid lighter of yours." JON: [Indignant] "My what?" [JON PULLS THE GOLD LIGHTER WITH EMBOSSED SPIDERWEB FROM POCKET AND FLICKS IT OPEN] JON: "Oh? ... Oh." Funny story: So while I was listening to MAG 196 and 197 I was texting with my sister, who got me into TMA. I was simultaneously already doing a relisten with my spouse and already picked up on a few things during that, and so I was talking to my sis about foreshadowings. She mentioned like "all the spider references... the lighter!" and I was like "oh yeah, the lighter... Anyway the web table-" And my sis continues to talk about web-influences, Prentiss, Jon going for a cigarette because of the lighter, oliver banks... and I answer "What? Huh... Somehow I seemed to have overlooked a lot of spiders..." My sisters already laughing saying "It's so funny, cause it's the running gag" (and I had no idea about the lighter yet at this point in the conversation). She'd already went on about "You have a few similarities, afraid of spiders since childhood, prematurely greying hair, somehow you always seemed to know stuff about people and I have no idea where you got these from... now you forget the lighter. It's so funny cause there is no way you're doing this on purpose, that's all natural" and I again proceeded to change the topic XD Started talking about the writing xD We've had such a good laugh xD Just scrolled back in our chat log to re-read it, always funny to see. Shortly after this conversation I got to this part in the episode with the lighter and I then texted her "Ohh, now they need the lighter!!!" (And there will be another gag with the lighter! So, to be continued xD)

ANNABELLE: "I’ve played my part to its completion. You get to decide how I exit the stage." MARTIN: "Jon?" JON: "Go!" ANNABELLE: "Very well. We shall not see each other again, Archivist. But I eagerly await your decision." Another excellent choice for fanfic writers to use for Somewhere Else!

All in all the entire multiverse thing is great for fan content. Basically everything could exist in canon! Catboy Elias is real and he can hurt you! xD

@a-mag-a-day

[redorich]

A favorite trope of mine has always been- getting to see another person’s past. Is it some kind of judgment thing by a higher power? Something like Freeze Day from SCTFOE? Person trapped in a nightmare and their nightmare is being projected? Who knows. All that’s important is after months of healing, some of the Hermits get to see exactly what Tommy went through. It shows short clips of him before being happy, the rise and fall of Manburg, Wilbur going insane, the festival, the withers, all of it. Just short clips of these things though. The last clip of the SMP is just Dream’s mask outlined by his green hood saying, “you’ll stay here alone with just me until you learn to be quite and respectful and not fight those who are in power over you. Even if you have to stay out here *forever*.”

This turned into a whole drabble smh xD

((btw @give-grian-rights helped me so thank you))

-------

The remaining hermits aren’t sure what happened. They have no way of knowing. There was a witch involved, Cub thinks, but what their fallen friends must have done to piss her off to the point of getting cursed is beyond their ken. Among those laid out are Cleo, Grian, Xisuma, Zedaph, and Tommy.

Scar and Cub work their Vex magic together to figure out that their friends are trapped in their worst memories. (Etho calls it a Demonic Hell Viewing Illusion, and False smacks him upside the head for the Naruto reference.) Holding hands with a victim pulls you in, but that’s what they’re counting on. Joe’s already wading through Cleo’s nightmare before anyone gets the chance to ask, and Impulse and Tango aren’t far behind doing the same for Zedaph. However, it doesn’t work for Grian, Xisuma, and Tommy; they were found already holding hands. They must have figured something out about the curse before they succumbed to it. All the hermits can do for them, for the time being, is hope.

Tommy, Grian, and Xisuma wake to the smell of sulphur and smoke. The ground is orange and littered with bullets. Grian grabs Tommy’s hand, and Xisuma grabs a discarded rifle. Tommy points his finger up at the top of a mound of scrap metal and dead bodies. There’s a nether portal, except the obsidian is whiter than quartz. That's where they have to go to get out of here.

All around them, demons lurch and shriek and hiss and all sorts of unholy behavior, bodily flinging themselves at the trio as though they know none of them can take the men on their own, and that just by dogpiling them all one of them will get lucky. Xisuma instantly snaps into a professional mode, the way he sometimes does when he's killing zombies but they keep social spawning. He takes up the lead with machine gun fire and grenades, carving a path through the crowd. Grian takes up the rear with a handgun. Neither Xisuma nor Tommy ask why Grian is so comfortable with a gun. They've got more pressing issues.

An imp gets lucky. It's just enough to crack the visor of Xisuma's helmet, and the imp instantly gets mowed down.

"I can't see," Xisuma rasps through gritted teeth.

"Then take the helmet off," Tommy says, cleaving through an enemy with a sharp piece of scrap metal. Grian breathes in sharply. As far as Grian's aware, Xisuma always wears his helmet.

Xisuma goes quiet for a second. "I suppose you've got a point."

The helmet gets dropped to the ground and demon limbs shuffle it away. They don't have time to look at Xisuma's wild brown hair, his purple eyes, the burn scars on his jaw.

They make it to the portal all in one piece. Xisuma takes one last wistful look at the Martian hellscape, then takes his friends' hands. They step through the portal together.

----

They step out of the portal into the foyer of a high school. Grian's eyes shutter.

"We'll be headed toward the roof, I believe," he says, staring dully through the spectre of a broken, bloody man holding a rope.

Tommy latches onto Grian's clammy hand to ground him as the three ascend stairs and traverse the dark, winding hallways. The ghost follows them. It isn't like Ghostbur-- it's, well, not vengeful, but it's not kind. The man named Gareth keens about Grian's sins, about a boy named Taurtis who Gareth hates, about mafia and yakuza, about his poor wife Jane.

On the last set of stairs, Gareth makes a wailing remark that causes Grian to bodily flinch. Tommy doesn't even know what the ghost said (he wasn't listening).

"Fuck off," Tommy says, "you're the shittest ghost I've ever met. Even my brother could..."

He trails off. This is not the way to fix things for Grian. On a hunch, he reaches into his pocket. Of course the object he's looking for is in there; it's his brother's coat.

He holds the object out to the ghost. "Have some blue."

Gareth warily takes it, dropping his rope. It floods periwinkle, then cyan, then dark royal blue. A weight seems lifted from the ghost's shoulders as he clutches the blue, mutters something about Jane, and leaves.

Tommy takes Grian's hand, then Xisuma's, and they go through the door to the school's rooftop together. They halt as one. The portal is there. Standing between them is a boy maybe Tommy's age, with a corpse at his feet.

"Sam," Grian whispers. "Taurtis."

The standing boy smiles, eyes obscured by a purple mask with a rectangular symbol on it, and flexes bloody wings. The corpse on the ground has blood all over its back, where wings once were, and broken headphones around his neck.

"Man, Grian, you really held out on me," Sam says. "This Watcher power really is something else--"

Sam topples over backward. His body hits the ground in front of the portal. Xisuma lowers his gun.

"He looked like bad news," Xisuma says.

Grian grimaces. "He was. Come on, let's go."

They once again step into the portal.

----

“Do you want to be a hero, Tommy?” Technoblade roars, “Then die like one!”

Their paltry little group of three gets no chance to take in their surroundings, to see what’s going on and where they need to go. All they can process is the legendary PvP champion, acolyte of the Blood God, Technoblade, unleashing Withers upon what once might have been a town.

Tommy yanks them into cover. “I don’t know where the portal is,” he hisses.

Grian squeezes his shoulder. “We’ll find it.”

Explosions rain hellfire down upon them from all angles-- not just the Withers, but TNT buried in the ground. They’re so close, they can see the man who set it off. And he must have, because he’s yelling about it, yelling about his L’Manberg and his unfinished symphony and begging his father to kill him. He’s wearing Tommy’s coat--

Bile rises in the back of Grian’s throat. Tommy wears his brother’s coat.

Tommy’s eyes are glued to the gleaming diamond sword that Wilbur gives to his father. He watches his brother die all over again, and he knows where he must go. He turns his back on his broken family and breathes.

“We need to go to the Nether,” he says. They nod.

The black portal is across the battlefield. They come across corpses more than once on their way, but ignore them. They can’t afford not to.

In the Nether, there is a rickety, dangerous pathway with no rails, made of cobblestone and obsidian and oak logs. Manic-depressive ravings on signs proclaim the path as the road to Logstedshire. Piglins try to knock them off to no avail, and ghasts blow up the bridge behind them as they run. On the other side of the Logstedshire portal is... actually not a hellscape, as Grian and Xisuma have come to expect, but a little village encampment. Nothing is blown up, nothing is amiss, except Tommy himself. And, of course, the figure they spot after they catch Tommy staring at it.

It’s Dream. The up-and-coming famous speedrunner who Grian faintly recalls killing once in MCC, which was apparently a big deal. The man approaches, and Grian realizes where he recognizes the mask from. It’s the same one that Tommy wears.

“Tommy,” Dream says conversationally, “items in the pit.”

Tommy’s hand wavers, reaches up to unclasp his chestplate, but Xisuma’s hand on his shoulder stops him.

“No,” Tommy says.

“No?” Dream parrots incredulously. “You know the rules. It’s for your own good. Armor in the pit. Tools in the pit. Friends in the pit.”

They all gasp, though for different reasons. Tommy’s eyes narrow. “Friends in the pit? You’ve never said that one before.”

Dream’s head twitches. “Friends in the pit. Friends. In the pit.”

The man’s voice is deeper than Tommy remembers. Something seems to resolve within Dream’s behavior, yet he keeps twitching. “You’re in exile, Tommy, you don’t need. Friends. I’m all you need. You were doing so good. I thought you learned to behave. I’m all you need. You don’t need friends.”

What happened to the eloquent poison that used to drip from Dream’s tongue like honey? He sounds like a broken record. All at once, Tommy staggers under the weight of the realization that this isn’t Dream. Somewhere underneath that horrible man that abused him is the real Dream, trapped in his own body and watching the dreamon that possessed him hurt his friends.

Xisuma’s gun makes an appearance again, but Tommy holds up a hand in a silent request for the admin to hold his fire. Tommy grabs Dream by the shoulders, removes Dream’s mask and then his own so that he can look the man in the eyes. “I know you’re in there, Dream. When I get out of this nightmare, I’ll save you. I swear it on my discs.”

Dream’s face twitches erratically. The movement spreads to his whole head, neck jerking. He raises straight up into the air, higher and higher, then explodes into a shower of items and no body. A white portal shimmers into existence.

“What the hell was that?!” Grian demands.

Tommy grins, taking the man’s hand and leading him to the portal. “I’ve got a friend to save.”

Grian snarls. “Tommy, he abused you. He’s not your friend.”

“That wasn’t Dream. It was a--”

“Dreamon,” Xisuma breathes.

Tommy nods. They walk through the portal together, and when they wake, holding each other close, they know they’ve got a mission. They can do it.

[thewheezingwyvern]

Heres a challenge. Pixie/fairy Dabi, or even angel dabi! Something uncharacteristic for his personality xD

Oooh Nons lemme tell you I had a blast with this one. Tickled my brain just write that I was able to just bang this out in a few hours. Gotta give a shout out to @trafalgar-temptress for  helping me brainstorm on this. Really helped me get my creative juices flowing juuuuuuuuust right.

ℍ𝕒𝕚𝕝 𝕄𝕒𝕣𝕪

Yandere!Angel!Dabi x F!Reader

Kinks/Warnings: Noncon (implied and groping), imprisonment, kidnapping, nudity

As you can see by the warnings this is dark adult content. Minors DNI.

The first time you had ever seen him, it was next to Shouto and the most striking thing about him was his eyes. Brilliant hued sapphires that were more vivid than the sky. Ethereal almost. But every time thereafter they seemed to glow a little brighter. A little darker. A little less holy in their shine. They were almost too much to look at, blinding as they were bathed in sacred light. Shouto especially. Even his feathers shone almost like mirrors catching and magnifying the moon’s rays until they were searing.

But Touya, his light was more muted. Still bright but easier for your eyes to handle. That should have been a sign to you, for the easier an angel is to look at, the farther from grace he has become. And Shouto’s older brother became easier and easier to watch with every passing meeting. By the time you learned the truth about him it was already far too late.

The first time he saw you, it was hatred that pulsed through him. Always the favored one, you were just one more pretty thing that his brother got to have. Another way that Shouto was “better” than him. Thoughts of murder curled in the front of his mind, watching your broken mortal body fracture beneath his rage until you were nothing but a splintered wreck for Shouto to see. Until he noticed that you looked at him far more than his perfect sibling. That was the single drop of poison that bloomed in the wine, steeping him in more greed, lust and envy than he had ever tasted before.

In a way, you were the final shove to Touya’s fall.

The crashing sound of tumultuous waves against a rocky face was the first thing to greet you when you woke. Brine and breeze drifted in and wrapped around your prone form huddled under a thin blanket. The air was filled with a moan, a mournful howl that seemed to be crying for you as you stirred. You were no longer at home in the safety of your own bed, that was apparent when you drew more into consciousness and found yourself curled on a pile of thick pillows. But the detail that struck to your heart that you weren’t home was what you saw first.

Golden bars inlaid with pearl. 

They wove intricately into a gorgeous dome, twisting into a cage to keep you confined as the ocean crashed in the background. Beyond the confines of your prison you could see the open mouth of a cave that you had been tucked away into, one that opened out to face the wide open sea. Even from your spot tucked back in the corner you could tell that it was far too high for you to risk jumping even if you did manage to escape your cage. Your prison should have been a dank, dark and wet place but there were braziers placed in various nooks, burning with holy fire to help sheath the cave in a warmth that kept it cozy.

Lanterns were strung into the roof, also flickering with sacred fire to help ward off the damp. There was even some chairs, a plush rug and an exquisite tapestry strung up on the far rocky wall. Had you not been locked up, silver shackles also twisted around your ankles to further trap you, you might have enjoyed this space as a little hide away from the world. There wasn’t much to do since you were alone and the cage was far too strong for you to force open on your own. So all you could do was wait.

When the sun was sinking beyond the line of the horizon, Touya finally appeared. A dark glee curled in his chest when he saw the sheer look of relief that washed over your face when you caught sight of him. Already he could taste the hope bursting from you, a sweet little treat for him to savor before he got to rip it from your grasping hands. You collapsed against the cage, fingers wrapping against the bars as you peered out at him with teary eyes.

“Touya, I’m so happy it’s you! I don’t know how I got here but I’m glad you found me! You have to get me out of here.”

“Don’t worry, Doll. I’ll let you out.”

Hope was also the thing that blinded you from the wicked glow in his eyes, the slow lap of his tongue across his lips at the thought of you realizing far too late that you were trapped by him when he held you against him. Relief was the next thing that blinded you when he unlocked the cage, completely glossing over the detail that he had the key in his pocket. Touya folded you up into his arms when you collapsed against his chest, sobs wracking your body, feathered wings arching to cover you. 

“Shouto must be worried sick!” you muttered into his chest, “How long have I been gone?”

“Two days. He’s losing his mind right now.”

Your face was buried into his chest so you couldn’t see the razor grin that had split across his gorgeous face. For good measure, he cupped a hand to the back of your head, murmuring soft comforting words to you as you quaked in his arms. It was important he savored this. It was going to be the last time for a long while before you would willingly touch him again. 

“Please take me home…”

Touya chuckled darkly, “Awww you don’t like it here?”

He watched you lift your tear stained face up, staring up at him with bewildered eyes. A thumb swiped gently at the stroke of your cheekbones before hooking down to trail along your jaw. Confusion mottled your expression before the first prick of fear flickered in your eyes. The way your mouth hung open made him want to kiss you breathless, crush you to him until you were pounding at his chest to let you go and even then go further.

“No! Why would I want to stay here in a cage?!”

“But you look so pretty in there, Dollface.”

The dark angel captured your wrists in his hands as you started to back away from him, hauling you closer. Fear burst even brighter in your eyes, your whole form quaking in his grasp. The sight made his cock twitch, breath panting ragged from his lips as you squirmed.

“T-Touya? This isn’t funny! Take me home.”

“Sorry babes. This is your home now.” the way all the hope withered in your eyes when you realized he was your captor had his blood running hot, “Poor little Shouto is just going to have to do without.”

Touya dipped his dark head down before he started leaving scorching hot kisses to your exposed neck. You trembled and thrashed but you just did not have the strength to break free of him. Just how he liked it. Roughly he whipped you around and pulled you back to chest against him, hooking his left arm around your arms to imprison them behind your back. A whimper escaped you as his free hand closed over your neck in a warning grip before sliding slowly down towards your collarbones.

“St-stop it! Touya, please!”

“God’s not here, sweetheart. So you don’t have to pretend to be so pure and innocent now. I saw the way you kept your eyes on me more than Shouto. He was too bright. Too pure for you to handle. Fact is, you craved a bit of darkness didn’t you?” he whispered wickedly into your ear, a hand groping at your right breast through the silky shift you were clad in, “My brother doesn’t deserve you and I’ve decided that I’m going to keep you. You’re mine now.”

A finger and thumb pinched your nipple through the silken fabric, pulling a choked cry from your throat. A rock hard cock rutted against the curve of your backside, summoning up his own groan of pleasure. At first he had wanted to steal you away from perfect little Shouto, the shining son, out of spite. To take away one of the things he wanted the most and wreck you. But the more time went on, the more Touya wanted you for himself. Why break such a delicious creature when he could just take you and keep you? It would stroke the wicked green eyed devil that had started to grow within his chest and also lash out the prodigal son.

“Touya please don’t do this!” you begged, a loud moan escaping you when his hand shot down to rub against your clit, “Ah-! Please! I-I won’t tell anyone if you let me go-”

The sounds of your begging unleashed a clash of emotions in him. On the one hand, hearing your voice break and plead him made his dick twitch against the curve of your ass. It was a delicious little sound and he wanted to hear more from you. But it also sparked a deep rage in him. Touya went through all of this trouble, stealing some of Heaven’s prized metal work to fashion a cage for you here. Spent months scoping out the perfect place to keep you so you couldn’t escape and no one could find you. He had even taken the extra steps to try and make it comfortable. 

“Ingrateful whore.” he snarled, tearing open your shift to bare your form to the seaside air. Any trace of gentleness he had shown before evaporated when he shoved you face first against the side of the gilded cage, “Take a good long look at this cage. Because this and me is the closest you’ll ever get to those pearly fucking gates again.”

You wondered where it had all gone wrong. Wondered how he could do something so awful to you and his brother. He was an angel, one of the holy ones, it wasn’t supposed to be this way at all. Shouto made it easy for you to forget that they could fall just like anyone else. That they could be fallible and prone to corruption.

Afterall, every demon is an angel that’s fallen from grace.

((Want to participate in Arcane April? Check out my post here about the event and send in your requests! One day left!))

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Tales from the SMP Presents: The Pit

Another Tales, another Kingdom Hearts comparison post! “The Other Side” is a mix between the soundtrack The Other Promise and the cinematic “Another Side, Another Story” (both of which come from Kingdom Hearts, of course), which evokes a very specific KH character that... yeah. So let’s get into it.

Karl gets stabbed by the king’s new general and finds himself back in the Inbetween. A cool new logo pops up as we enter the Inbetween, which actually is a... very typical example of a Kingdom Hearts world logo / intro card / name card? I honestly don’t know what it’s called, it doesn’t have a name, it’s just a thing that happens every time the character enters a new world.

Castle Oblivion is just one (1) example, but if you just look up “Kingdom Hearts worlds” and scroll a bit, you’ll see what I’m talking about, haha. This doesn’t really change anything, it’s just another little wink and nod to the Kingdom Hearts series.

... Except, of course, the fact that there’s a title placard for this world implies the existence of other worlds. Which we eventually find out is, in fact, true. Fun! There’s a number of associations I could make based off the aesthetic of the logo (the castle reminds me of Radiant Garden, etc) but honestly they’re not worth much without more information.

So, the Inbetween is vividly aware of Karl’s straying from “the path”. It makes a huge attempt to still be pleasant and “nice” and whatever, but we can tell quite obviously that there’s an undercurrent of threat under all those pretty quartz blocks and smiles :]

Speaking of the :] smile, the reveal of Quackity’s previous lore stream actually doesn’t push me to think that it’s directly related to him in any way. It’s not impossible that c!Quackity achieved such heights as... becoming? The Inbetween? Because he’s got reason to be invested in Karl’s powers and keeping him in line. But it’s a reach or long-term thing at best, honestly, so I’m shelving the Quackity-smile association until further evidence appears.

(I could go bonkers and say that this is the culmination of c!Quackity’s ascension after ripping Information out of Dream or even XD, but that’s well into AU territory, so it’s all just shrug emojis for now.)

Which, of course, leads to the question of who that smile actually is associated with, and I think as clear an answer as we’re going to get is... The Inbetween itself. Clearly.

There’s a lot of meaning I could take from that; is it associated with Dream or XD then? Or maybe is it tapping into Karl’s memories of c!Dream doing the :) thing and it’s appropriating that for itself? Why? To intimidate Karl into obeying it?

Mayhaps. Mayhaps!

Anyway, Karl goes up to the tree, and as he approaches, the video feed distorts as the game abruptly switches to a higher-level shader like BSL or something.

Now, I haven’t confirmed it, but the way the audio shifts makes me think it suddenly started playing backwards, too. It’s just the way it sounds; it’s got that... sucking effect that’s pretty typical of musical tracks played backwards.

Karl swims down to the hidden room, which is very dark now. There is a book that tells him to go up the ladder for a surprise.

Also, by the way, I’m back on my wither rose pot association brainrot, because I can’t help but notice that there isn’t one here. There was one in the previous Inbetween segment, but it’s gone now. Now there’s a new book with the :] smiley, which of course should set the audience on edge, since we just saw the first book use it in a... mildly threatening manner.

We know that in Dream SMP it’s a pretty common thing to use redstone as blood. Other characters have used it in bits, some more seriously than others, and I think that’s what this room is trying to emulate.

If I had to guess, I’d... hm.

A part of me wants to say that the blood is probably from the different versions of Karl wandering around. Nobody’s going to notice if a few abruptly take a swerve to bleed themselves out in a room or something, right? But that carries a lot of implications, namely that of control so perfect it borders on possession. So either the Inbetween can control Karls, or it has some other agent capable of dragging something into this chamber to bleed it all over the room.

Neither of those options are particularly nice, I’ll admit!

There’s no Kingdom Hearts associations here, by the way. Due to being so closely tied with Disney, KH is deathly allergic to portraying blood in any way lmao. Not so many messages carved into the walls.

Or painted onto the walls with blood, if that’s what that is. Color correction gets a bit odd with shaders, so I’m not saying anything for certain; the closed books don’t look enchantment-purple, for example.

What does catch my eye are the torches, which will later be the flickering lights that guide Karl to the portal. The fact that they are here makes me think that this was definitely the scene of either a battle or some other conflict between the two sides to this story (haha, get it, Another Side, Another Story, because that’s a Thing in KH—), or at least proves that an influence from The Other Side was here at some point in time.

Karl quickly gets the fuck out of there, and when he swims back to the surface the shaders/music switch back to normal.

Oh, and for all you people who like to point fingers at anything vaguely false and scream “that’s gAsLiGhTiNg!!!1!!111″ about it, here’s an actual attempt at gaslighting. Note the language used here: “Your mind seems to be playing tricks on you :]”. It’s explicitly trying to convince him not to trust his own senses and mind. It’s saying, let me think for you. And that is a very dangerous thing.

Wither rose pot exists again, yay. Definitely a Inbetween voice, this book.

More wither rose book, this time in the, uh, grand entrance hall? The lobby? Yeah.

This book basically goes on a spiel about how the Inbetween is so great for Karl (a declaration, by the way, rather than a hope) and says that he is doubting himself or being less like himself, which is odd, because what he’s really doing is doubting the Inbetween and the path it has laid out for him. In a way, by questioning the Inbetween, Karl is being truer to himself than anything else.

The malicious way this place frames its words becomes more and more obvious with each passing page; it again reminds him that it’s a place to be “feel at ease”, which is super sketch that it has to tell him outright rather than actually being that place. It continues attempting to gaslight him, telling him that his imagination is getting away from him and that he can’t trust himself or anything else but this “path”.

I’ll get back to the “path” thing in a minute, but I really want to drive home that this is the truest instance of gaslighting we’ve ever had on the Dream SMP. Nothing has ever so clearly declared that it must be trusted over the victim’s own senses, practically infantilizing the victim’s concerns and trying to make them think that their worries are just flights of fancy. Please, please keep this in mind any time you want to accuse a character of gaslighting in the future; not all psychological abuse is a form of gaslighting. Sometimes it’s just... abuse. It’s not any more or less worse than gaslighting, it’s just different.

Anyway, about the “path” that the Inbetween is so obsessed with. No idea what the fuck that’s talking about.

In Kingdom Hearts, the only paths that are really of import are is a specific character’s “road to dawn” (redemption without fully yielding his edginess, essentially) or the “paths” that characters take to traverse between different worlds. I really don’t think the Inbetween has anything to do with either of them, but I’ll leave the options there if you want to peruse the possibilities.

What’s more likely, I think, is that this is a vaguely more subtle version of control/possession. The “path” is just “whatever the Inbetween wants you to do”.

Our next book is from the other side, and is plastered nonchalantly but boldly against the wall with no flower pot or anything.

Karl picks it up, puts it in his inventory (which probably indicates that he’s keeping this particular route close to his heart, rather than whatever the Inbetween is trying to make him do), and then the video stutters and he teleports back to the main entrance.

There’s a new book. It’s spooky as fuck, and hilariously hypocritical.

The tone shift is immediate, of course, aided by the abrupt change in background music since he got teleported back here. (I can’t quite nail it down; I assume it’s a slowed KH track like the others, but it doesn’t quite ring any bells for me.) The way the Inbetween speaks through these books has changed too, though; it addresses him by name without any attempt to cover up its intentions with flowery softness.

It does a cool fun thing where it says that it knows more than Karl, and knows what’s right, and then goes on to say that those visions shouldn’t dictate his opinion on the inbetween. (I’m keeping an eye on that lowercase, by the way. Not sure if it’s a typo or intentional, since it’s still one word, but.) As though he should trust the Inbetween’s opinions of itself rather than his own brain? A’ight. Sure, Jan.

Again it tries to tell him that it’s safe here. The lying is getting more transparent now.

He puts this book back, the previous book back, and runs after a double of himself until the shaders and music glitch again.

Fun thing about shaders is that they make dark areas... much, much darker. Especially since we saw that Karl’s got night vision (the effect, for cinematic purposes) on.

The music has a few notes that again sound as though they’re being played backwards.

The book on the tree in this courtyard does not come with its own little wither rose pot, and neither does it seem to come from the Inbetween, since it’s telling him some awful things about these other versions of himself.

It confirms a few things about the mystery other selves, namely that they’re definitely condemned to walk the castle forever, but it doesn’t really tell us why this happens or why the Inbetween (probably) wants this to happen. What’s the end goal?

We’re probably a bit early in the story to figure that out, but they’re questions worth keeping in mind as this storyline progresses.

Karl gets teleported back to the main lobby, which looks very dark and spooky, though in the transition we do see a glimpse of that portal. There are torches around the wither pot book pedestal, and the audio really kicks into high gear with the creepy notes and the visuals get stretched and glitch quite a bit as he opens the book.

Funnily enough, the audio kind of reminded me of some pokemon encounter music, but I think that’s just because I’ve got those notes wired into my brain from years of playing those games. Anyway! The book tells him this is not a warning, and that they’re gonna fucking come for him to make sure he sticks with their path.

“We”.

Who is “we”? Is the Inbetween a collective? Is the Inbetween just part of a different whole? Maybe it counts all the different Karls as a part of it.

Either way, it’s creepy and threatening. Karl starts running; the screen glitches and tells him to follow the torches, which at first I was kind of leery about trusting, but the next series of words helped clear up exactly what side those words are on.

Also, you’ll notice that some other text kinda skitters across the screen before the English, like it’s getting translated. I think it’s Galactic, which is something different from the thing that Ranboo uses for Ender? I think Ranboo uses the Alien language thing or something? I’m not 100% sure on that, feel free to correct me and I’ll fix this portion.

It certainly implies that the speaker isn’t communicating in the server equivalent of “common”, however. Not sure if they’re translating into English or if Karl inherently understands it and it’s translated into English for the audience’s convenience, but either way, the other speaker might be linked to something completely different.

Karl runs on with encouragement and creepy music until he finally arrives at the portal, which is not barred off like it was last time. Thanks, whoever’s responsible for that!

The music dies for this final book.

The Inbetween’s last-ditch attempt to make him stay. It calls him silly a couple of times, and smiles at the end with a :]

Problem is, we and Karl already know that staying with the Inbetween will keep him from his friends. And the voice tells him to leave for his friends.

Karl looks around at this place that calls itself his sanctuary, and makes his decision.

He arrives at The Other Side.

The music appears to be drawn from parts of either The Other Promise or Roxas’ Theme, both of which are heavily tied to the character known as Roxas. The version that Karl uses is slower and lower, the same as with the Dearly Beloved track he uses for his Inbetween segments.

Honestly, I’m not as certain on this as I could be, because I couldn’t find the exact variation on Youtube and there are parts that could just be Emotional rather than Roxas-related, I’m not sure. I’ll probably come back and fix this if it’s untrue.

EDIT: Yeah, uh, it’s Ven’s theme, not Roxas’, but the world itself is still heavily associated with Roxas in naming themes.

For now, I’m going off the assumption that the decision to make both the name and the theme of this world relevant to Roxas is purposeful, which means I’m... going to attempt to explain who Roxas is and what his story is.

Oh boy.

To grossly oversimplify the situation, Roxas is a “part” of Sora who develops his own sense of identity, is betrayed, gets coerced into murdering his best friend, gets kidnapped, gets memory wiped, and then—when he gets his memory back and realizes he super hates his captors—is convinced by those same captors to give up his existence because he “isn’t a real person” and if he lives then Sora will never wake up. So he “dies” and becomes a part of Sora again until later.

(Sora, by the way, is asleep due to the events in Castle Oblivion, which you might recognize as That Place I Keep Associating The Inbetween With.)

He’s also a fan favorite lmao. Take from that as you will, and, I don’t know, flip through his wiki page or something. Can’t guarantee it’s all understandable though.

My point to bringing Roxas up is that his arc... kind of parallels Karl’s. He did his job working for superiors he didn’t really understand in a white castle, with the higher-ups trying to control him, until he realized he was losing his friend/s to them. At that point, he defects. I think this is the point that Karl has reached, in his own storyline. He’s pulled away from the thing that’s made itself known to him, and now he’s wandering down something that hopefully isn’t as awful as the beast he’s just left behind.

Roxas also doesn’t get his happy ending for a long, long time.

Let’s hope Karl is different.

Off the top of my head, I can tell you that the mood this world creates is very reminiscent of some areas that the Kingdom Hearts games explore in 0.2 (yes, zero point two, that is the number of that game. This fucking series, man), specifically Castle Town, in which the player character has to smack a bunch of clock gears to make time go backwards in order to proceed, which is fun. But no exact inspirations come to mind the same way that Castle Oblivion did for the Inbetween.

Until we get a better look at the interiors, I’m going to gently claim that this build is more original and doesn’t take inspiration quite as directly from a Kingdom Hearts source, so there might not be an exact parallel. There isn’t a black castle in Kingdom Hearts that I can think of, honestly.

Also, I will say that I’m going to take this episode as confirmation that the wither roses are associated with the Inbetween and appear next to books that come from / are related to the Inbetween, especially since The Other Side associates itself with a completely different flower: the white tulip.

Anyway, The Other Side tells him he’s home, and that they’ll explore more soon.

This... eerily parallels the Inbetween, which told him that he’s safe, and has lots to explore.

I can’t say that I immediately trust The Other Side, but neither can I say that I inherently distrusted it the same way I did with the Inbetween. We’re going to have to wait and see how this place behaves in future episodes to get a good grasp of it. Who built these places? Are they alive, and writing the books, or is there a mastermind behind them? We still don’t have a lot of the answers, but that’s okay.

For now, I’m content to know that Karl is away from the more obvious perils of the Inbetween.

It could still be a trap, but for now, it’s a refuge.

[dorki-c]

Metanoia

Characters: Dabi and reader

Relationship: Dabi X Pro-hero! Reader

Quote: “Metanoia”

Gift for: @glitterfreezed (Aka photoshop goddess) THANK YOU for being one of my very first moots on this crazy platform! I really hope you enjoy this one shot (as I spent way too much time on it XD) and for anybody reading this: GO CHECK OUT GLITTERS PLAYLISTS!! They are honestly amazing!

Tw: Kidnapping, Use of Guns, Slight nudity

Going on patrol lately has been boring.

Sure, (y/n) wouldn’t pass it up for helping little old ladies get across the road or helping itty bitty children find their parents within a crowd.

But besides that, there was little to nothing to do- no paperwork, no criminals terrorising the streets, or vigilantes on loose- the streets were cleared and scrubbed down from any crime lately.

It was strange.

Nothing has been the same ever since Kamino ward as well.

The moment you found out your lover was a villain; you took great lengths to create distance from him. Not sparing him a second glance or another phone call- let’s not forget you blocked his number- although doing these things made you seem like an asshole; you are a hero.

Heroes do not date Villains.

Its absolutely forbidden.

Though should you have stayed with him, something could’ve happened- he could’ve used you for blackmail, ransom, and maybe trafficking- as terrifying as it sounds, at least your far from your old apartment.

At least your away from that freak. That sadistic freakshow, with his stupid smirk and (beautiful) weird ass scars.

Luckily, the clock had ticked to the hour that announced your release from countless wasted minutes of scrolling through your phone as two feet laid disrespectfully on the hero agencies desk where nobody pointed out the blatant rudeness she was showing.

Even if she wanted to stay here, the female should get home soon. Even if there was no problem during the day, that doesn’t reassure that there will be trouble when walking through the evening.

Where you had the inkling of protection that is provided to you by your muscle memory, nobody should rely on themselves to do a simple task like walking home when there is such a thing as societies creepy-crawly insects withering across the nooks and crannies of cities and flooding the deepest rabbit holes with their sickening ideals.

Just thinking about them brings revolting nausea into the churning acid within the insides of your body as it screams out to stay aware of the footsteps you take, of the glances you throw out, and of your hands gripping the cheap handbag- that you bought on a whim from that one charity shop around the corner of the apartment building- when a hand of yours dipped inside the bag to grip the weapon that laid unaware of whose blood it could spill today.

The three walled mirror room moved down from whatever floor it was on and when opening the doors, a small (and annoying) ping was heard through the (also) small lobby area.

When approaching your apartment door with your guard up and one of your hands swiftly opening the rusted door handle allowing a small gust of air to run into the vacant apartment, the eyes of a human watchdog sporadically darted from one place to another.

Making sure she can securely (slam) open the door, the pro hero steps in one footstep at a time like one of the cliché spy movies before throwing her bag down and yanking the heavy weapon out of her bag.

Its matte black exterior elongated to show the vertical and horizontal bits and pieces of the weapon as (Y/n) rested one of her fingers on the trigger whilst fiddling with the safety lock to make it unlock.

Once unlocking the safety lock of the gun, she leaned it towards the ground, turned around for a brief second to retrieve the key from her apartment door, then kicked said door shut with the heel of her foot.

Even when she investigates her almost empty apartment three times without a peaceful resolve at the end, the female is already sitting on her couch scrolling through another apartment renting website for herself.

It’s pathetic.

She’s on the run from her ex-boyfriend because she knows that if she gets caught by him, there will be a low chance of her escaping from his grasp again. It was quite evident from his group’s little broadcast that if anyone “tries to catch us, you’re going to be caught first.”

What if that applies to people wanting to escape from them?

.

.

.

Stripping herself of the day’s tiredness, the female wore the loosest clothing within her wardrobe and ventured out to the shit-tip of her kitchen- the sink only had a few dishes in it, but, otherwise the trash looked like it got taken out once a year and there were so many letters scattered in piles over the counters.

Sighing at the sight, letting a hand of hers travel up her shirt to soothe an itch on her back, (y/n) shook her head at her own mess and still continued to go towards the fridge to dig through it in order to find the cheap- most definitely shitty- microwavable food she bought from the store only three days ago because to be completely honest, she’s saving up for buying a ticket out of this shit country and living in another one.

Ripping the film cover off of the food’s plastic container, she shoved her shitty food in the microwave and let the annoying beep sound through the apartment while (y/n) went into the small living room, grabbed some shorts that were sunbathing under the flickering yellow bulb and put them on in order to take out the trash.

When entering back into the apartment however, a flash of darkness alerted her body to go limp.

What was this feeling of restraint around her arms and legs? Moving one of her wrists- in an attempt to pull them out of the bindings- a harsh rub of a frictional material bit across the sensitive layer of the underside of your wrist, where it elicited a hiss to very subtly slip from your lips.

That seemingly helped beg a question in your curious mind. “Are my eyes covered?” Although when opening your eyes, a flurry of white blinded you causing a multitude of red freckles to dance across the pale illumination.

Whoever thought not putting a blindfold on you was a smart idea, it seems clear to me that they didn’t watch enough spy movies.

Okay, time to take a look of your surroundings.

First of all, Y/n glanced down to see if she had any major injuries- nope, the only thing missing from her body was her clothes and if that didn’t count as being kinky, then (y/n) doesn’t know what it counts as- along with her feet barely touching the carpeted floor, her ankles were tied to what she assumes to be a wooden chair.

Looking off to the side after shifting her gaze from her feet to her forearm her eyes picked out the surroundings behind her and the type of seat she was sitting in. Wow, whoever kidnapped you, really knows how to do it inefficiently.

Though, if they’ve used cheap ass rope and tied you up to a wooden chair- out of all the chairs in the world, they choose a wooden chair- along with forgetting to put a blindfold on you, they probably didn’t take any precaution when kidnapping you because the criminals probably have back up on hold.

Meaning there was more than one culprit involved and that they don’t expect you to get out of this area due to being outnumbered.

Moving your head upwards once more, the outlines of what seems to be a closet and a drawer were all that you could observe before some sort of jiggling sound was emitted through the silent room.

It wasn’t till the door opened that it revealed somebody that (y/n) didn’t expect. A hitch lodged itself like a six-foot down corpse where only grave looters would be able to find it. Was she seeing a ghost? Perhaps. Did she care? Maybe, however she was trained to not overreact in a situation like this.

“Well, look what we have here…” The metal contraptions that held the person’s tough layer of skin nudged a little in the direction of the muscle’s movement. “…A squirming itty-bitty hero.” The venomous hiss of their voice slipped real close to her ear as the lamp pointing obnoxiously into her right eye was turned off.

“So, this was your doing?” Snapped the hero as the villain sat down on her lap and gently grasped her chin- just like the old days- where his fucked up (handsome) grin shone brighter than the hero on her first debut. Dodging the question, the male let his weight lean onto the female’s thighs as she harshly craned her jutted out facial bone away from his hold.

“Oh, and it looks like your still as feisty as ever.”

“Yeah, I am. Got a problem with it, villain?” The hiss made the patchwork villain only recoil an inch backwards before narrowing his pupils at the nickname and gripping the very first thing his eyes land on, your neck, where the surface of his skin was smouldering to the touch.

“I wouldn’t say that if I was in your position.” He proclaimed as the slimming of her lips straightened out to a thin line, “Now, I’m here to offer you a position and…” From somewhere on his body, he pulled a gun- one of the many similar pistols that you hoarded in your apartment for safe keeping- then pointed it straight at your thinly protected heart where the brush of stainless chilled metal tingled the very fabric of your body.

“…it would be wise of you to listen.” Sure, a gun was pointed literally at her chest- lets not forget that she’s being forced into this position of unwillingness- but hopefully, some otherworldly deity will let (y/n) live one more second.

“Okay, good girl?” You’ve never committed to metanoia before, but at this point, you might as well.

[thecursedhellblazer]

At the Edge of Nowhere

(( So, guess who went ahead and scratched that crazy itch I got yesterday? Yep, Scotty did. It turned in a small fic instead of a drabble, since apparently I had more to play out than I initially thought, but...here it is. I took the chance to experiment a bit with the writing style too, while I was at it, ‘cause...why not? ))

(( I’m not really sure of where the idea came from, I just really wanted them to have interact, somehow, without inventing something too complicated. And this was the result. Also, it doesn’t mean that I won’t try to shove Five into John’s universe or vice versa at some point, but for now I’m good with this xD ))

(( Sharing just in case anyone is in the mood for some random oddity! ))

(( I even posted in on Ao3 if anyone wants to have a look at it there! ^^” ))

They sit side by side, watching the eternal sunset of Eternity stretching before them, swinging their feet past the edge of the Abyss, unfazed by the danger of its depths. The darkness seems to be threatening to suck them down, condemning them to an endless fall, and yet they pay it no mind, each of them far too interested in sipping and enjoying his drink.

The silence floods past them, over them, through them, carrying the whispers of their lives. However, for this ephemeral moment, they are given the almost unique chance to ignore them. It’s a rare gift, one that deserved to be savoured, like a fine well-aged vintage. Like the ambrosia that the ancient gods, legit and false, so much have lauded.

And so they sit, the Boy and the Fool, side by side, on the edge of the Abyss.

The atmosphere is almost companionable, as much as it can be when shared by two strangers who carry with them too much baggage. A past and a present that are too dark, too painful. There’s as much kinship and understanding between them as there’s mistrust.

They let the quietness linger for a while, listening only to the taste of the alcohol that coats their tongues, knowing that the stasis won’t last. Neither of them is good at keeping his mouth shut when something is making their skin itch.

“Th’ ‘ell ‘s a lad like yeh doin’ in such a place?” The Fool finally asks, turning his eyes away from the magnetic horizon and landing them on his unlikely companion.

The Boy scoffs. Why is it always the same old story with everyone he meets? “I’d watch my fucking tongue if I were you, young man,” he shoots back, with a withering look. “I’m far older than I look. And I’m older than you for sure.”

A half laugh rises with a small cloud of smoke, but it dies in the matter of seconds as the seriousness of those declarations settles in.

“Blimey. Yeh ain’t pullin’ me leg, are yeh? ‘Ow old are yeh s’posed to be den, mate?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding? Trust me, mate, I’m not. I’m fifty-eight. And I’m stuck in the body of a thirteen-years-old. There’s nothing funny about it.”

“Bloody ‘Ell. Fifty-eight n’ still a lad? Tha’s...insane. I dun envy yeh. Nay.”

The Fool shakes his head, but, despite the lingering astonishment, there is a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Tell us, tho. Woh’s yeh secret? I gots me diabolical trick to slow down agin’ n’ all, but it obviously ain’t workin’ as well as yehs.”

“I got stuck in the future for forty-five years and, when I finally figured out the equation to go back to my time, I missed a typo and...this is the result.”

“Soddin’ math. ‘S one o’ th’ bloody reasons why I ne’er managed to get alchemy rite. T’in’s keep blowin’ up in me face.”

“Sodding math indeed. Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

They clink their glasses together and go back staring at the frozen skyline. Two sets of blue eyes. Different shades of the iris, similar heaviness burdening them.

The Boy steers his drink with his straw, lips pursing pensively. “Speaking of things that suck, what is this place exactly? Am I dreaming? Or did I accidentally take some of my brother’s drugs and this is like the most boring trip in history?”

The Fool scoffs. “Gonna pretend tha’ yeh didn’t jus’ insult me too, together wit’ dis soddin’ place.”

His gaze wanders for a split moment, touching their motionless surroundings. “Ah, I dunno, mate. Could be yeh dream, aye. Could be mine. Or maybe we bot’ stepped inside another real wit’out noticin’ n’ ‘ere we are. Wouldn’t be th’ first time for me. Won’t be th’ last either.”

“I’ve never been in another world. I’ve travelled through time, maybe a bit too much, and I’ve rushed through the fabric of space but this…” The Boy waves his free hand. “This is new. It’s easier to think of it as a dream, so I’d go with that, if you don’t mind. The last thing I need is another headache.”

“Wohe’er works wit’ yeh, mate. I get it. At times, ‘s be’er pretendin’ life ain’t real. ‘S good for yeh mental sanity. Even if yeh got none left.”

The Fool takes yet another drag from his cigarette. Curiously enough, it doesn’t seem to be shortening, even if the ash falls down on his trench coat.

“One t’in’ I can tell yeh ‘bout dis place, tho. It ain’t somewhere e’eryone can visit. Yeh gotta carry some serious shite wit’ yeh to ‘ave stumbled in ‘ere. Do yeh?”

The Boy shrugs. “Maybe? I kept pushing and pushing, even after my father had told me not to and I ended up after the End of the world. I heard the bastard’s voice echoing in my head for the past forty-five years.” He makes his voice thicker for a moment. “I told you so, boy. I told you so. Asshole.”

A long sip from his drink, as if he is trying to wash away that intrusive voice from his ears, before he continues.

“I worked for this organisation that monitors the timeline for a while as a trained assassin. They made me into the perfect killer, a tool for their plans. I had my goals, though, since the start. I took their deal just so that I could go back to try to stop the Apocalypse and save my family. We ended up breakin the world anyway, so I dragged them all back in time to try again. Of course, all that shit followed us. Because it’s never that easy, is it?”

The Fool nods and the Boy can tell that his companion knows that sort of feeling far too well. It’s nice to be fully understood, for once. Even if the understanding comes from a nameless stranger he’ll probably never see again. Assuming that their meeting is truly happening in the first place.

“So...We saved the world this time but broke the timeline. And now my childhood home is gone and me and my siblings are stuck in a timeline that holds no place for us anymore. I’m still trying to figure out how that’s supposed to work. Oh, and that bastard of my adoptive father is hunting us down using the kids he adopted in our place. It’s a real mess.”

There’s bitterness colouring his voice, the embers of a fight that’s too stubborn to die just yet, but the exhaustion is stronger.

“Though, between you and me...All I really want is a decent nap and a dozen more drinks. Maybe get a dog too. Not necessarily in that order.”

The straw produces a light slurping sound as he takes the next sip. “What’s your story? You must have one too, since you’re here...wherever here is.”

The Fool tips his head, in a sign of acknowledgement. No comments follow the tale, and there’s no real need for them there, out of time and space.

“Grew up in me own particular version o’ ‘Ell. Me oul man was th’ fuckin’ opposite o’ ‘father o’ th’ year’...So, I ran in my teen years, still thinkin’ I coulda owned th’ world. Stuck me nose in e’ery bloody t’in’ tha’ was magic n’ occult. One nite I got too cocky and damned an innocent girl to Hell. Earned a bloody place wit’ me name down there too in the process.”

The voice that spells out the words is casual, but there’s something haunted in his expression, darkening his eyes.

“Spent all me life tryin' to make up for tha’ bloody mistake. Ended up messin up meself and most o’ me mates n’ th’ people who ‘ad th’ ‘orrible o’ puttin’ their faith in me as a result. Girl’s still in ‘Ell, th’ bloody Devil ‘imself gots an eternal grudge against me, I gots demon blood in me veins n’ me soz arse ‘s still damned. I might not be a professional like yeh, but I bet I gots jus’ as much blood on me ‘ands. N’ even more souls on me conscience.”

The ice clinks against the transparent walls as the glass is lifted. More sourness to wipe away the one that the words have left on his tongue.

“Nowadays, ‘s mostly me, meself n’ I. Me best mate, too, from time to time. No clue o’ ‘ow he survived bein’ by me side for so long. ‘M still tryin’ to make t’in’s rite, but...for th’ most I jus’ try to be there to do th’ bloody dirty job no self-appointed ‘ero gots th’ time to do. I might be lost, past th’ point o’ no return, but there are lots o’ people out there who aren’t yet. Th’ fuckin’ least I can do ‘s tryin’ to ‘elp ‘em, aye? Make dis soz existence o’ mine wort’ more than misery n’ destruction.”

A drag from his cigarette and there’s a small hand landing on his shoulder, in a brief pat, before he has finished sucking the smoke in. The light pressure says more than a thousand words could.

“Between you and me, tho...I could use a dozen drinks too. Maybe more. N’ a bloody vacation. To sod off somewhere, even for jus’ a day. Maybe take me best mate n’ dis other lad I know. Oh, he could use a break too, th’ poor sod.”

The Boy makes a sound of agreement and he is back stirring his drink. “What a pair we make, you and I. And I don’t even know you.”

“I ‘ear tha’ loud n’ clear, mate. Bloody loud n’ bloody clear. Woh’s tha’ yeh drinkin’ anyway?”

“What? You ne’er seen a margarita? Where the hell are you from? England or Mars? Come on, try it.”

“Oi, I know woh a fuckin’ margarita is, oul man. Yehs jus’ a bit...flashier than woh ‘m used to.”

“Special recipe. I perfected it myself.”

“Now, tha’s more like it. I like a bloke who can make ‘is own drinks. There. Yeh like g n’ t?”

The glasses pass from one hand to another and then they both turn to look back at the unchanged horizon, holding each other’s drink.

A moment to sniff the liquors, in unison, and then the Boy dips his lips in the clear spirit while the Fool wraps his mouth around the straw. The tastes mix in the silence and it’s a symphony of citrus and sourness, with just the right amount of sweetness coming at the end.

“So, what happens now?” The Boy asks, after a moment.

The Fool shrugs. “Ah, I guess we wait till all dis fades. Or till we do. ‘S always ‘ard to tell when it comes to dis sort o’ shite.”

A huffs, with the faintest hint of irritation. “For someone who’s supposed to know a lot about this stuff, you give the worst cryptic answers. I can’t tell if you’re that ignorant or if you’re just fucking with me.”

A nudge in a smaller, slender side and a sharp smirk. “Who knows, mate. Yeh guess ‘s as good as mine. Keep th’ drink. I gots more back where I come from. Consider it a safe trip back home present. I’ll keep yehs as a reminder.”

“A present from a guy I never truly met? And a reminder of something we didn’t even speak about?”

“Nay. Jus’ th’ memory o’ some peace n’ quiet in decent company.”

“Fair enough. I can drink to that.”

[livayl]

Tusks and Training

Aka- the promised bad-ass-Orc-warrior-woman-sneeze fic. xD You might know Azra from her previous story: https://livayl.tumblr.com/post/189575537427/tusks-and-comfort But you don´t need to read or know anything else to have fun with this one. :)

It starts out with a (hopefully gripping) fight that melts into an unexpectedly close combat. Which gets even more intimate when Arza feels irritated by the dust she´s covered in. No injuries or real harm done to anybody but a mention of blood. Also they´re a little rough because Orcs. Please only re-blog to other sneeze kink blogs, thank you! <3

The dry air smelled of  fights, dust and sweat. Heavily underlined with the ever present scent of slick weapon oil and this distinct metallic odor of thoroughly forged weapons one could almost taste. All distilled under the cruel, burning blaze of midday sun which honed the orcish warriors even further. It was a blood boiling, temper rousing blend and Azra loved every single nuance of it. Reddish clouds of powder wafted through the flickering summer air. Stirred from the auburn colored sand that was only a fleeting carpet to the bone breaking floor of the vast arena. Plumes of dust wafted upwards by fluent motions and blistering winds. They richly stuck to every inch of exposed, sweaty skin and coated ones lungs with every inhale.                                                                     Though slightly rusty in shade by nature it´s color had deepened richly with spilled blood and broken dreams over the years. Decades that had added a lingering, potent iron perfume deeply associated with battle, triumph and painful disappointment.

Azra fluently dodged a sharp, vicious swing of her opponents ax and met it with her own only a heartbeat later. The ringing clash of steel split the air as both Orcs forcefully leaned into the motion before parting to resume their hazardous dance once more. Despite her supreme height and muscle mass Azra was known to be swift and deadly on her feet. But so was her adversary.   The two orcish soldiers stalked each other with predatory agility, clashing and parting in a rhythm so refined it was as beautiful as it could be deathly.   As a sudden gust of parching wind swept up a new billow of concealing, sense numbing sand Azra took her chance to dive beneath an already low aimed blow. She managed to quickly kick her opponents legs aside with enough force to make the massive Orc stagger and than roughly tackled him towards the floor. She held him down with her whole body as her own ax came to rest right at his throat: The sharp, slightly curved blade did cut in just enough to draw a fine cut. A slowly withering stream of crimson trickled down his grayish, strongly muscled neck and spilled over the mirroring edge. Red beads glistered on the dangerously grounded weapon that had come to a steady rest despite Azras panting breath.

The attack had happened swift and with apparent ease but the female warriors body language spoke of an ongoing stress that had now lasted for several hard hours. Her muscle cords were clearly visible and strained under a gleaming layer of sweat.                                                                                                                     More than a few droplets were running over the rugged, scarred and firm landscape that was her body. They sprinkled the sand and left countless round, fast vanishing dots that accompanied the fewer blossoming red ones. Her luscious mass of hair had come loose and now cascaded down- enveloping both fighters in it´s dark shroud.   "You give up?" She asked. Her voice as well as her expression stayed eerily emotionless and blank. Steady and adamant as her grip.   Still tightly trapped in her oppressive grasp the other Orc could feel her weight as well as every shallow gasp for air stroking his heated skin. Scattered, salty beads of sweat that had first trickled over her body now dabbled his own. Her rival swallowed forcefully against the blade. A motion that made his adam´s apple bounce and forced the narrow cut open a bit more. The gash felt seething hot in contrast to the cool ax.

Just about to yield he stopped as he noticed a subtle change in Azras facial features. He was trapped underneath the other warrior with her face hovering right above his own and had a perfect view: Her nostrils, which had formerly merely pulsated in rhythm with her steadying breath, now started to crinkle open a lot further. They widened and flared backwards irritatingly- exposing her septum and it´s many glittering adornments.  The layered, fine argent rings shook slightly as her nose crinkled with a wet sniff. He could see the swollen and damp inner membranes of each nostril with every opening motion. Azras thick brows had drawn together deeply. A movement akin to frustration or anger that in truth must have been an answer to a fierce, unpleasant stimulation. He watched as her former piercing gaze slowly lost it´s edge while her black lashes started to flutter erratically. Against her will Azras mouth trembled slightly. Her upper lip curled back in a snarl that exposed a sharp row of fangs in addition to the already present tusks. That unusual display left the fierce warrior open and more vulnerable than the other had ever been privileged to witness. Now her breath started to quaver and deepen in an irregular pattern. Gasping deeply again for another reason than exhaustion. Stray wisps of hair danced around her chiseled and now grimaced face with each increasingly helpless hitch. He felt each breath stroking and tickling his skin as her leather clad chest began to rise and fall with irregular rhythm as well. Ready to be overcome by an urge entirely unfit for a fight. In truth the whole build up had probably happened very fast. Yet to him every subtle and then obviously growing sign of irritation had been a precious first and thus seemingly extended and stretched time.

Both Orcs startled out of their shared stupor at the final, deep and voiced gasp that crested in a sudden and rushed sneeze: "hhHH- HUHR-EIZSSSCH-ue!" Azra had tried to angle her head to the side but with their close contact it was impossible to spare him a rather different kind of baptism. He felt the fine mist coating his shoulder, neck and left cheek as well as the newly mounting urge to sneeze that made her body go rigid with anticipation. The defeated warrior watched as Azras head titled back and her neck strained with another enormous inhale. He managed to get a last glimpse into teary red eyes before they tightly closed. The sneeze trembled at the cusps of release a moment longer, trapped her face in a longing grimace. Then it caused her head to snap aside in a motion similar to a whiplash with a harsh sounding, almost growled sound: "HUHR-ERRSSCH-hah!" Again accompanied by a fine yet clearly visible cloud of spray and a full bodied shudder. Her hand had held his shoulder in an adamant grip before and now clenched deeply into him with barely suppressed force. He felt her claws pierce his flesh.  

These small discomforts aside- the conquered warrior could not remember a recent time where he had been equally thankful for years of hard training and discipline. Despite being almost completely distracted and undone by that sudden tickle: Azras weapon, still deadly nestled against his throat, hadn't even flinched while the rest of her body shook. It still pressed on firm as she recovered with some much needed sniffs. Then he felt the sharp edged pressure lift at once. "Ugh.... Fuck. I´m sorry." She mumbled and fluently moved back to first melt into a crouch and then rub at her still deeply blushed, slightly runny nose. He could see Azras many piercings move and wiggle with the massaging motion that was accompanied by clearly audible sounds of wetness. "Gesundheit. I assume the "sorry" is for nearly cutting open my throat?" He grumbled while sitting up- much less graceful but not really angry. Undeniably achy? Maybe. "No. For sneezing on your face." Azra replied. Fully standing, almost towering above him now. He could see her squint and twitch with leftover irritation as she extended a calloused hand to help him up. His likewise rough, sweat slick skin met hers as she lifted him to an upright position as well. Again, the intimate and close contact lingered for longer than needed.

"Those are some strange priorities you've got there." He countered with a wry grin that exposed his own impressive set of teeth and painted friendly wrinkles around is dark blue eyes. "Nooh- hhh- not really. Beheading is a common thing in fights and should be expected. Sneezing- iihhh-" She broke off and slightly turned to one side. He could see her profile beginning to contort with a beginning sneeze. Felt her shoulder brush against his own as her breath and grip on his hand tightened. And saw the annoyance as it left her with unfulfilled duty. "... Sneezing isn't." Azra finished lamely, voice thick and speech dulled with congestion. She now used both hands to rub over her face and audibly swollen nose. And somehow managed to look cute and absolutely miserable at the same time. "Are you unwell?" He asked, a tad bit worried now. The male Orc had not noticed any lapses or signs of weakness in their prolonged fight but knowing the other that did not mean much. "Nu-huuh-...." Her breath hitched behind protectively raised hands and teased her palms with stuttering flutters."No... Ugh... Just itchy... Hhh-hold on-" Azra then explained before turning away from him completely. He watched as her shoulders first tensed than rose and fell with another series of fruitless hitches that ended in a deeply vibrating, angry growl. It was strangely exciting and endearing to witness her in such an uncommonly soft, control-less state.

Both had now completely forgotten about their fierce training and weapons bedded to rest in the grinding sand. Utterly distracted albeit for slightly different reasons. He gently stroked sweat damp waves of midnight colored hair aside and kissed the soft parts of her shaved nape. "Let´s go and wash that grime off." His lips mumbled against her skin- words more hummed than spoken. It made her shiver with pleasure as tingling goosebumps blossomed all over her back. She felt his fangs and protruding tusks lightly scratch her and would have enjoyed the soft tease if not for the much more demanding one buzzing inside her sinuses. Azras mouth turned into a feral snarl with both rising need and kindled annoyance. "Fuuh--fucking shit!" She cussed as the growing prickle spread once more and forced tears into her eyes. It lingered for a few heartbeats, right on the verge of tripping from "almost" to "finally enough" only to draw back again- displaced by the surprisingly smooth lips against her neck. "Hold on!" Azra almost snapped, more sincerely and completely in command this time. "Sorry- I can´t focus on both. Wa-hhheh-haaiit a moment." She then added, speech already discordant but not unkind sounding. Arza halfway turned around and felt almost disappointed at the retreat of fondling and advance of... That cursed...Feeling...Right there.... Just a bit more... He watched as her body shook in silent, gasping struggle and felt something not unlike curiosity. Even anticipation as she used an outstretched claw and hooked it in one of her septum rings. And definitely shock while witnessing her yanking said jewelry down almost brutally. The harsh trigger caused an exploding stimulation, a mixture of exquisite tease and stinging pain. Azras eyes squeezed shut under desperately knitted brows right after while her mouth and nose opened for a deep inhale. She felt a building pressure rising through her lungs, straining her chest. Finally enough to fuel the much needed, throat scraping sneezes: "Huuuhr-RRRSSCHooh!- HAH-ERSSSCHH-ue!- HUH-EIZSSCHhah!" The finally released force had bent her almost in half while making her stumble slightly. Clearly audible throughout the whole arena, the rushed sneezes left both eyes and nose damp and her head finally cleared. Albeit more than a bit dizzy. She absent minded rubbed the space between her breast where a not uncomfortable pang still echoed the previous outbursts.  

"Huh.... Finally..." Azras almost moaned relieve was accompanied by a good humored chuckle and rewarded with a hard, passionate kiss. Now she would have much more attention left to revel in her victory as well as in the surely following and very eagerly presented prize.

[mxliv-oftheendless]

Ruining KISStory: A Filthy, Filthy Story About Benjamin Franklin

So in celebration of surviving my French midterm (my anxiety over it was through the roof for some damn reason), I decided I would post this crazy little thing for y’all! So in like, actual real life, Shane for a while did his own show called Ruining History, which I totally recommend for you guys to actually watch. So this is a spinoff of my KISS Unsolved AU, appropriately named Ruining KISStory (a name I’m super fucking proud of actually XD), in which our resident Queen of the Trolls Paul Stanley gives us his own creative spin on historical events. And yes, it’s going to be just as chaotic as Unsolved lol. Here’s the link to the original episode if you want to watch that first. 

And now, without further ado, enjoy!

Tag list: @cosmicrealmofkissteria​  @ashestoashesvvi​  @kategwidt​  @retronova​

[camera opens on Paul, who is sitting at a panel. A map of the world is hung up behind him. The sound of tuning violins plays in the background]

PAUL: Some people think history is boring. But I think Benjamin Franklin might have been in some weird sex parties!

[intro, then title card. Grand orchestra music plays in the background]

[cuts back to the panel; the shot has been widened so the entire panel is visible. From left to right: Vinnie, Gene, Paul, Eric C., Tommy. Labels showing their names come up on screen]

PAUL: So what do you guys know about Ben Franklin?

VINNIE: … Kites!

ERIC: Ethics?

TOMMY: Oh! He used the kite and a key and discovered electricity!

GENE: Oh yeah, we learned about that in school.

PAUL: Pretty sure every school tells that story.

GENE: He also helped Nicholas Cage find treasure.

PAUL: [gives him a withering look before turning away] Okay. [Tommy laughs]

[screen cuts away to a title card:

CHAPTER I:

THE AMERICAN OVERACHIEVER

screen then cuts to animations as Paul narrates, while inspiring music you would hear in a film set during the American Revolution plays in the background]

PAUL [voiceover]: Born in 1706, Benjamin Franklin is often thought of as the model American citizen. Throughout his life, he was… well, he was a lot of things. Seriously, a lot of things.

[a list of text boxes appears on screen next to a picture of a statue of Benjamin Franklin:

POLITICIAN

AUTHOR

SCIENTIST

CIVIC LEADER

POSTMASTER

MEDIA MOGUL

INVENTOR

DIPLOMAT

I COULD KEEP GOING BUT YOU GET IT]

PAUL [voiceover]: Beyond all that, though, he seems like the kind of guy you wouldn’t mind having a drink with. But, if you did spend some quality time with Ben Franklin, things might get weird.

[cuts back to panel; Vinnie looks intrigued]

VINNIE: By weird, do you mean [waggles his eyebrows] weird or just eccentric-weird?

PAUL: I mean [waggles his eyebrows] weird.

ERIC: [looks a little nervous] Oh no… I really liked Ben Franklin as a kid.

GENE: Well, he’s gonna ruin the history books for ya, Eric.

TOMMY: Oh is that why it’s called Ruining History?

PAUL: Yep!

TOMMY: Nice, I like that.

PAUL: Thank you. [cuts back to animation sequence]

PAUL [voiceover]: In the years during and after America’s fight for independence, Franklin spent much of his time serving as a diplomat in Europe. And it’s a good thing he did. Author Walter Isaacson has argued that America wouldn’t have won the war without Franklin’s excellent diplomacy in France. It wasn’t all politics, though. At the time, Paris was regarded as one of the most cosmopolitan cities at that time in history. And a wave of cultural enlightenment paired with a strong economy gave the upper class the means to… well… [music intensifies] have many crazy, crazy, crazy… crazy nights…

But we’ll get to that in a second! Franklin seemed to find himself right at home in this environment. To give an idea of his bohemian life abroad, here’s a curious morning routine he picked up during his time in France.

GENE: I bet it was, powder on the balls. [Eric laughs]

PAUL: [snickering] Powder the wig, powder the balls.

TOMMY: Powder the balls, get out on the street, and do something! [Vinnie laughs]

PAUL [voiceover]: While writing to a friend of his, Franklin described his habit of taking what he called “air baths.” Quote, “I rise almost every morning and sit in my chamber without any clothes whatever, half an hour or an hour, according to the season, either reading or writing. The practice is not in the least bit painful, but on the contrary, agreeable.”

[cuts to the left side of the panel. Gene looks uncomfortable, while Vinnie just gives a raised eyebrow]

GENE: I don’t know what it was about how people wrote during this time, but describing sexual acts in this kinda language makes it dirtier than it actually is.

PAUL: There’s nothing sexual about this.

VINNIE: There’s no sexuality here, Genie, your mind is just dirty.

TOMMY: Yeah, he’s just sitting around his house naked.

VINNIE: I mean if the hand just happens to fall…

GENE: Vinnie, I can’t believe I’m saying this to you, but guys—we don’t just jerk off on accident!

ERIC: I mean… I have no idea how to respond to that.

PAUL: I think some guys do.

TOMMY: Peter does.

PAUL: [raises an eyebrow at him while they all turn to stare at Tommy] … How do you know that?

ERIC: I could’ve gone my whole life without hearing that. [cuts back to the animation sequence]

PAUL [voiceover]: Franklin’s social calendar in Europe was full of invites to gluttonous but incredibly classy all-night ragers, where his status as an American statesmen made him a pretty interesting guy. The women of France allegedly couldn’t get enough of him. One account describes hundreds of women surrounding him, placing a beautiful wreath upon his head, and lining up to kiss him.

ERIC: That didn’t happen… right?

PAUL: [shrugs] I dunno, it could have happened.

VINNIE: That sounds like something you would do to your old grandpa, though.

[silence. Everyone on the panel turns to stare at Vinnie in confusion]

TOMMY: What?

GENE: So you’re saying, at family gatherings—

VINNIE: No! I’m just saying, that doesn’t seem like something you’d do to someone you wanna get with. Like, would you put a funny hat on them? No. [silence] I’m just saying, you guys!

[cuts back to animation sequence]

PAUL [voiceover]: Ben’s home life was, according to accounts, equally spicy. When famous painter Charles Willson Peale paid Franklin a surprise visit one afternoon, he spied the elderly diplomat with a young woman seated on his lap. [cuts to a sketch showing a man with a woman on his lap] This sketch of his is believed to depict the two. Kinda weird that he would sketch that, but hey.

[cuts to the panel; everyone is looking at their own copies of the sketch]

GENE: She seems to have a pretty good grip on his balls.

TOMMY: That’s a, a vice-like grip there.

VINNIE: They’re still wearing pretty much everything.

ERIC: Did you guys notice their eyes? Their eyes are open and they’re just staring at each other.

PAUL: Yeah, their eyes are pretty striking.

VINNIE: Yeah…

ERIC: They’re kissing, but it’s, it’s a little unnerving. Wonder why the guy would sketch this…

PAUL [voiceover]: Some historians have evaluated Ben Franklin’s habit of charming the elite women of Europe as a strategic ploy, suspecting that he hoped that they would speak favorably of Franklin and his case for American liberty to their policy-making husbands. But many others argue that he was just a vulgar old man. Author Albert Henry Smith wrote that Franklin’s, quote, “animal instincts and passions were strong and rank.”

VINNIE: [looks mildly disgusted] Well that’s descriptive.

GENE: [snickering]: Y’know, good old animal Ben.

PAUL: An animal…

GENE: Hey, hey: I’m an animal.

PAUL: [stares for a second, then smiles] Ah!

GENE: Ah! [high-fives Paul]

ERIC: Wait, if he was born in… when was he born?

PAUL: 1706.

ERIC: If he was born in 1706… then how old was he when all this was happening?

PAUL: He would have been… probably between his late 60s and early 70s.

[Eric’s face looks very shocked, slowly contorting into disgust]

TOMMY: Oh man, he was as old as my grandpa!

GENE: [shrugs] Hey, if it still works… [cuts back to animation sequence]

PAUL [voiceover]: Based on Franklin’s party-animal-rock-star lifestyle, it makes sense that he would be in the same social circles as some of Europe’s more notorious scoundrels; and so he was. So let us now turn our attention to a man whose life would soon intersect with Franklin’s: Sir Francis Dashwood.

VINNIE: [snickering] Very English name. [mock British accent] Sir Francis Dashwood!

[screen cuts away to a title card:

CHAPTER II

THE FANCY ENGLISH SEX MAN

lighthearted music plays]

PAUL [voiceover]: Born in 1708, Sir Francis Dashwood was the only heir of a wealthy merchant. He’s perhaps best summed up by one author’s description: “An enormously rich man with a genius for obscenity.” Dashwood’s primary interests were seemingly set in stone when in his formative years, he embarked on his Grand Tour, a traditional rite of passage during which wealthy young men traveled through Europe on a cultural odyssey. As Dashwood’s tutor put it, he, quote, “fornicated his way across Europe.” In one instance, he even seduced the Empress of Russia while claiming to be Charles the Twelfth of Sweden, a man who was, at that point, dead.

TOMMY: Wait, did she not know Charles the Twelfth was dead?

PAUL: I mean, if she got fooled by this guy, I’m pretty sure she had no idea.

VINNIE: This was the era before email and the Internet, so word traveled pretty slowly. Also, [laughs] I love how his tutor says he pretty much fucked his way across Europe.

GENE: Wonder how he got her to sleep with him…

ERIC: I don’t think we need to know the details, Gene.

GENE: Maybe you don’t.

PAUL [voiceover; tense music plays]: These travels also inspired Dashwood’s fascination with sacred rituals of the past. He wasn’t really a fan of the religious institutions of his day, but he was simultaneously fascinated with Europe’s rich history. So when he wasn’t womanizing, he was sauntering through dusty catacombs lined with mummified corpses, or sitting in old Roman ruins imagining the orgies of the past. So it’s this odd mutual appreciation for debauchery and sacred history that would lead to Dashwood’s crowning achievement and ultimately his friendship with Ben Franklin: the Friars of St. Francis of Wycombe. Or, as it was more popularly known…

[music reaches a climactic peak as the name appears on screen over burning flames. Paul reads the name]

THE HELLFIRE CLUB!

GENE: Oh shit.

VINNIE: That sounds awesome.

PAUL [voiceover]: Dashwood’s Hellfire Club was meant to attract the most depraved and intellectual men of the time. And over the course of its history, its lineup would allegedly include such notable men as the Prime Minister of England, the Lord Mayor of London, several of England’s greatest artists and poets, the Prince of Wales, and possibly, as evidence would strongly suggest, Ben Franklin. See, Dashwood was publicly known to sympathize with the cause of the American rebels, and he had exchanged letters with Franklin many times. Furthermore, Franklin actually visited Dashwood’s estate at West Wycombe for an extended period in July of 1772, and during his stay, there is a record of a club meeting taking place. According to one author, quote, “there seems to be no reason why Franklin should have gone to Wycombe at this special time unless he was a member. Only club members were allowed at Dashwood’s estate during club meetings.” So, keeping in mind Franklin’s likely involvement, let’s look at what he would have encountered during his visits with the Friars of St. Francis of Wycombe.

The members of the club reportedly donned white monk’s robes, and were each allowed to invite along, quote, “a lady of a cheerful, lively disposition, to improve the general hilarity.” These women also dressed up, wearing nun’s robes and masks to avoid an embarrassing run-in with a husband or acquaintance.

GENE: This is some freaky stuff.

VINNIE: [looks enthralled] This is awesome.

TOMMY: Eyes Wide Shut…

PAUL: [nods] Yep.

PAUL [voiceover]: The first location of the Hellfire Club was on the shores of an island in the Thames River. Shrouded in a thick grove of elm trees, the island was the perfect location for the not-monks to spend an evening with their dates away from the prying eyes of the public. It was also ideal because it was home to the crumbling remnants of an old medieval ruin built in 1160 known as Medmenham Abbey. Dashwood actually set about reconstructing the site, but since he had a flair for the dramatic, he asked that it still resemble a creepy old ruin. But he did install a few upgrades:

A series of stained glass windows depicting the club members in, quote, “indecent poses.”

A brilliant pornographic fresco that John Wilkes, who wasn’t known to shy away from vulgarity himself, described as, quote, “unspeakable.”

And an expansive library stocked with classical literature as well as, quote, “the finest collection of pornographic books in Great Britain.”

PAUL: So to help us get more immersed in what went down at a club meeting, I’ve provided for all of you the proper tools.

[everyone looks under the table and takes out boxes. In the boxes are black robes, 1700s-style hats, some with feathers sticking out, and Venetian masquerade masks that are black and a different color. Vinnie has black and gold, Gene has black and red, Paul has black and purple, Eric has black and orange, and Tommy has black and blue]

GENE: [as they’re all putting on their costumes] Man, you really went all out, didn’t you?

PAUL: Oh, just wait.

ERIC: I will say, I do feel more immersed in the experience now.

TOMMY: This is pretty awesome.

PAUL: Okay, now that we’re all dressed up, let’s get into the juicy stuff!

VINNIE: [looks incredibly excited] I can’t wait.

GENE: [laughs] You look so excited.

VINNIE: Because I am. [bangs rhythmically on the table] Get to the juicy stuff, Paulie!

[screen cuts to a title card:

CHAPTER III

THE DEBAUCHERY BEGINS

slow, tense music plays and animations show events as Paul narrates]

PAUL [voiceover]: In the cover of night, the hooded monks and their dates would arrive to the island on a red gondola. Stepping ashore, they were greeted by the far-off drone of the abbey’s organ and the ringing of a ghostly church bell. Outside the abbey, they’d come upon an ominous statue of Harpocrates, the Egyptian god of silence. [a statue of Harpocrates is shown with a finger over his lips, and a voice that sounds like Paul’s whispers “Shhhhhhut the fuck uuuup…”]

Once inside the abbey, Dashwood would pour his guests a special cocktail of brandy and brimstone, and they’d all raise their glasses in a toast to the powers of darkness.

VINNIE: This sounds fucking a-ma-zing! I love theme parties, and this is just, just fucking amazing. I wouldn’t stay for the sex, though.

GENE: You’d just be there for the theme part?

VINNIE: Yeah, I’d do all this, then when they start doin’ it, I’d just duck out.

PAUL: Also, before we continue, I was actually able to, to make this more immersive… [reaches under the table and pulls out a bottle of wine]

VINNIE: Ooooh, nice!

TOMMY: Is it the brandy and brimstone cocktail?

PAUL: [laughs] Heh, no, it’s not, it’s just wine. I also have… [reaches under the table and pulls out five silver ornate goblets] these babies! [passes them out]

ERIC: [looks over his in fascination] Wow, these are awesome! Where’d you get these?

PAUL: [laughs] The Wizarding World of Harry Potter. [Eric laughs]

GENE: Oh yeah, you took Erin there for her birthday a while ago.

PAUL: Yep, and I got these. [they all pour wine into their goblets and raise them in a toast] To Ben Franklin and the Hellfire Club!

PAUL [voiceover]: With the striking of a gong, the monks would move further into the abbey and file into the chapel. Here, it is suspected they practiced a black mass, in which a woman laid naked on the altar and the monks proceeded to drink sacrificial wine from her navel.

ERIC: We’re not doing that, are we?

PAUL: Oh no, we’re not doing that.

ERIC: Okay…

GENE: [laughs] Disappointed, Eric?

ERIC: No, I just—fuck you, man.

TOMMY: Would’ve been interesting.

PAUL [voiceover]: Now I should say, since I know you’re all wondering, it’s generally thought that the members weren’t actual Satanists, despite all these weird rituals. Some members actually found this aspect pretty boring. John Wilkes actually found the rituals so dull, that he once dressed up a baboon as a demon… bear with me… he locked it in a trunk, and he stowed it in the abbey. Then, when the members called upon Lord Satan to appear, Wilkes pulled a string to release the frightened animal. For a moment, the members stared in disbelief…

… And then they lost their minds.

[music grows chaotic as the animation shows the baboon leaping over terrified figures while screams are heard] The terrified baboon leapt onto Lord Sandwich—yes, that Lord Sandwich, the guy who invented the sandwich—causing him to allegedly shout, “Spare me, gracious devil! I never knew that you’d really come or I’d never have invoked thee!”

[cuts back to the panel, all of them laughing]

VINNIE: I love how, even among this weird society, there was that one guy who was like, “This society is dull!”

PAUL: Also, after this happened, the baboon jumped out the window, and they weren’t able to catch it.

GENE: [laughing] That’s hilarious.

ERIC: [laughs and waves] Bye, suckers!

TOMMY: Bye, Felicia!

PAUL [voiceover]: As the alcohol continued to flow, the monks and their guests might share dirty stories, or read from the era’s more popular works of pornographic literature.

PAUL: I’ve provided you all with a piece of pornography. These are all from a piece published in 1740 called, “A Dialogue Between a Married Lady and a Maid.” So without further ado, [gestures to Vinnie for him to begin] Vinnie?

[dramatic piano music plays as Vinnie starts to read, looking like he wants to laugh]

VINNIE: “There is between the thighs, just at the bottom of the belly, a piece of flesh… Underneath, hangs in a bag, or purse, two little balls, pretty hard, and the harder the better. They call them stones, and in them is contained that white thick liquor.” [he wheezes, then bursts out laughing, joined by Tommy]

GENE: “He took hold of that place which distinguishes us from men. At the same time he cried out, ‘O! I have a maid! A virgin to my share!’”

VINNIE: I love that they seemed to not know the exact words. [laughs]

PAUL: Well, it was a different time. They were more prudish, I think.

VINNIE: True. I’ve seen some stuff online that’s pretty vulgar. There’s this one person online who likes pugs that writes some naughty, naughty stuff. [looks at the camera smirking] You know who you are. I see you.

ERIC: Okay, my turn. “His member was stiff and hard as a horn. Just as he had finished…” oh God, why? “… my mother, who had heard me shriek, came into the room.”

TOMMY: “‘What a happy girl you are!’ said she. ‘Pluck off this smock, which I will keep for a relick, since it is stained with thy virgin’s blood.’”

GENE: [to Vinnie] I feel like we got the lesser of the four passages.

VINNIE: I dunno…

ERIC: You did! Mine and Tommy’s were pretty explicit. You just got a playful description of balls!

VINNIE: Hey, that’s pretty tame compared to some of the smut that’s out there today.

GENE: Fifty Shades of Grey? [Paul frowns and glares at Gene as the rest of the panel silently stares at him] … What?

PAUL: How dare you. [Tommy laughs] How dare you bring that crap into my show. [cuts back to the animations]

PAUL [voiceover]: With bellies full of drinks and minds full of smut, guests would start to pair off and retreat to any of the private cells, which were prepared and stocked with the, quote, “proper objects for lascivious activities.”

[cut back to the panel. Eric is slumped over the desk]

PAUL: [looks over in slight amusement] You okay there, Eric?

ERIC: I just… I don’t even want to know what they got up to.

VINNIE: [grinning and trying not to laugh] It seems pretty obvious to me what they got up to.

ERIC: I don’t want to—

VINNIE: [still grinning] They got some of that dirty rhythm.

GENE: [also grinning] They indulged in some sweet pain.

ERIC: Gene, no—

TOMMY: [just assume everyone is grinning widely] They went for a rocket ride.

PAUL: They rocked hard all night.

GENE: Took each other down below.

ERIC: Guys, c’mon—

VINNIE: Got some tough love.

TOMMY: Pulled the triggers of their love guns.

PAUL: Put the X in—

ERIC: STOOOP!

PAUL [voiceover]: After operating in secret for many years, the details of the Hellfire Club at Medmenham Abbey were recounted in a popular novel in 1760. It captivated the public’s imagination, to the point that tourists would line the shores to try and spot the sex monks arriving. But, not wanting to give up his elaborate sex parties, Dashwood bounced back by having an elaborate system of caves dug on his own private property a few miles away from the abbey, and it was here that the monks of the Hellfire Club continued to have their parties in total privacy. This new location, and the fact that it was gated from the public and accessible only to club members, lends further plausibility to Ben Franklin’s participation. As he once wrote in a letter, “The exquisite sense of classical design, charmingly reproduced at West Wycombe, is as evident below the earth as above it.” Author Daniel Mannix argues that Franklin’s letter must be referring to the underground caves, and also adds that, quote, “Franklin would have been shortsighted if he hadn’t joined the club. He was a diplomat trying to help his country, and the club gave him the entrée to some of the most influential men in England.”

But as the guest lists for secret societies are kind of hard to figure out, we will never know for sure if Ben Franklin really did attend the Hellfire Club. But his documented friendship with Dashwood and his time spent at the estate puts it well within the realm of possibility. And, if you’re left wondering if a sex club fits with Franklin’s moral compass, then let’s take one last look at the man’s true character with some passages from an infamous piece penned by Franklin himself titled, “Advice to a Young Man on the Choice of a Mistress.” This is a letter in which Ben Franklin encourages his friend to go after older women. It was written in 1745, a copy of it sits in the Library of Congress, and it’s kind of gross.

PAUL: And here to read us the letter, through the magic of theatre… [he turns and gestures off camera] Mr. Benjamin Franklin!

[the panel applauds and whoops, then they all start laughing as Ace walks in with a chair, dressed in 1700s style clothing with a wig that is long grey hair sewn to a bald patch, but we can still clearly see his real hair underneath. A text box appears on him as he sits down between Paul and Eric:

NOT A LICENSED BEN FRANKLIN IMPERSONATOR]

ACE/BEN: Tis I, Benjamin Franklin! Who by some extraordinary means, has come to a strange future time!

VINNIE: [has a hand over his mouth while he’s laughing] This is amazing.

PAUL: So, Ben, we’ve learned a lot about you and some possible details concerning your personal life.

ACE/BEN: Okay.

PAUL: But we still have a few questions. Guys?

VINNIE: Why did you enjoy the company of older women?

ACE/BEN: [reads from his paper] “Because as they have more knowledge of the world and their minds are better stor’d with observations, their conversation is more improving, and more lastingly agreeable.” Wouldn’t you say?

VINNIE: [shrugs and nods] Yeah, I guess.

GENE: Wasn’t he like, 70 years old when he wrote this later? How is he so young right now?

ACE/BEN: “Because the sin is less—”

PAUL: No, wait—

ERIC: [bursts out laughing]

PAUL: You have to ask him. He’s—He’s an old man.

ACE/BEN: I’m old.

GENE: Ben?

ACE/BEN: Go ahead, son.

GENE: Why do you prefer the company of older women?

ACE/BEN: “Because the sin is less,” my dear boy. “The debauching a virgin may be her ruin, and make her for life unhappy.”

ERIC: Huh.

GENE: Deep.

TOMMY: Do you have any more reasons?

ACE/BEN: Uh, yeah. [takes out another sheet of paper while Tommy and Eric silently laugh] “Because in every animal that walks upright, the deficiency of the fluids that fill the muscles appears first in the highest part. The face first grows lank and wrinkled; [cut to the left side: Gene is doubled over silently laughing while Vinnie is listening thoughtfully] then the neck; then the breast and arms; the lower parts continuing to the last as plump as ever. So that covering all above with a basket, and regarding only what is below the girdle, it is impossible of two women to know an old from a young one.”

PAUL: So… you’re saying, when you put a basket over their heads…

ACE/BEN: Yeah. I don’t know. [panel bursts out laughing]

VINNIE: You don’t know?! You wrote it!

ACE/BEN: History will tell. History will tell.

PAUL: I, uh, I think history has told. Do you have any final thoughts?

VINNIE: It was a different time, maybe stuff happened that you couldn’t do nowadays.

TOMMY: He got pretty freaky.

ERIC: I mean, it would be a pretty cool movie, but I wouldn’t really want to hang out with him.

PAUL [voiceover]: Well, there you have it, people! Ben Franklin; a surprisingly multi-faceted individual. History: it’s never that boring if you know where to look. That’s been Ruining History. Thanks for learning with us!

[mintchocolateleaves]

A/N: Am I coming back as meme trash with some crack based on this video? Yes. But I’m not alone! @detectivegeekshin created art for this too, so it’s alright! Does this mean we’re now the memers of this fandom?

It’s a zombie AU. Please enjoy it. xD

-

The streetlight is flickering.

Perhaps not the worst thing about this night, since they’ve already been chased halfway across Ekoda by half-alive humans. Shinichi hates the idea of calling them zombies, it seems too cliché. Why would he believe that the zombie apocalypse has finally occurred–

It’s probably best not to think about it. Shinichi just needs to keep moving, head towards the checkpoint that had been mentioned in the emergency broadcasts around the district.

“We’re almost there,” he says, finally, glancing between the three who’re part of their group. Hattori, having fought ‘zombies’ before when they’d been on a case together, seems slightly terrified, as if remembering how he’d ‘chopped’ someone’s head off.

Kuroba had started off worried, but somehow, along their travels towards the checkpoints, he’d gone from worried to exasperated. Then, to amused. Humour has started to tinge his eyes, almost as if he’s finding the entire thing amusing. On the other side of Shinichi, Hakuba looks like he’s one second away from a mental breakdown.

Shinichi lets out a small sigh as they turn to look at him. “We’re almost at that military checkpoint. Just a few more miles, a little further.”

The boys nod.

“Maybe we could hotwire a car or something,” Kuroba suggests, pointing towards one of the cars at the end of the street. The door has been left open, and so it doesn’t seem like getting nearer will set off any alarms. “You can drive, can’t you Kudo?”

Shinichi hums, acknowledging. He says, “I don’t have a license, but I know how.”

Hakuba flashes him a look that says this is outrageous. He must remember the fact that a withering, old age pensioner has recently tried to take a bite out of his arm though, since the look slowly fizzles away and is replaced with horror.

“We could perhaps overlook the lack of a license.” The blonde mutters, concluding that they have more important details to look into.

“Carjacking with a bunch of detectives during the apocalypse,” Kuroba mutters, shaking his head. “What kind of hell is this?”

Shinichi decides not to answer. Instead, he throws himself into a slow jog, making their way towards the car.

The… zombie… pulls itself up from the car bonnet when they’re a few yards away. Long, slick hair frames a face without any expression. The strands are silver, and Shinichi feels a bristle of terror run down his spine as he realises that the man is all too familiar.

“Not this fucking guy again,” Hattori growls, as they come to a stop. They’re a few feet away, and Shinichi takes the time to look at the man who ruined his life years before. He’d poisoned him once, and if Kuroba is right about the whole zombies thing, then the man can easily poison him again.

“We should kill it,” Kuroba suggests, shrugging his shoulders. “Do either of you guys have a weapon or something?”

“We can’t go round killing people Kuroba,” Shinichi protests, “that makes us no better than him.”

“I’m sorry,” the magician snarls, “but it’s a fucking zombie. Can’t we just stab him a little, so he’s doesn’t go around eating our eyeballs like it’s fucking takoyaki?”

“Shut up,” Hakuba hisses, “you’re not helping.”

The zombie lets out a snarl. Animalistic and feral, it makes each of them jump. Hattori squints, takes a second to break from the group, stepping towards the zombie.

Now that Shinichi looks closer, he can see that flakes of blood have dried beneath the zombie’s fingernails. The trench coat and the shirt the zombie wears beneath him is stained red. It’s all together, a chilling experience.

Hattori seems to ignore the fact that this is chilling, because he raises his arms up, and makes a noise that sounds like a mix between a strangled cat, and a lion’s roar.

At the confused squeak Hakuba makes, the Osakan turns back. He raises his shoulders into a shrug and turns back to the zombie. Then, he says, “Listen. It seems pretty animal like, ya know? So, how do ya deal with animals, ya prove to them you’re a bigger threat, right?”

“Hattori,” Hakuba breathes, and Shinichi turns just in time to watch his composure crack. Gone is the detective Shinichi met at a gathering on a private island, now, he’s face to face with the teenager Hakuba really is. “That’s what you do with things like bears. This is a fucking zombie, you imbecile.”

Hattori shrugs. Repeats what is meant to be a roar as he tries to intimidate the zombie. The zombie repeats the roar, tries to be act equally as intimidating.

Shinichi’s not going to lie, he’s quite intimidated.

“Hey,” Hattori turns back again, takes a step back almost intuitively as the zombie shuffles closer. “I think it’s mimicking me.”

“Hattori, quit messing around.”

The Osakan does not in fact, stop messing around. For a moment, he stills. Then – he starts to perk up as he glances at the shirt that is beneath the zombie’s trench coat.

Shinichi isn’t sure whether it is hysteria or disgust that rises up his throat. Either way, he is looking at an old t-shirt, frayed and covered in blood, with the face of Britney Spears on it.

“I have an idea,” Hattori says, and before Shinichi can ask what it is, he begins to croon Britney Spears, singing along to the tempo.

‘Oh baby, baby – how was I supposed to know?’

Hakuba’s lips purse. Kuroba squints, shaking his head as he looks at the scene. For a moment, there is no possible thought that Shinichi could think that would make sense of this.

‘That something wasn’t right here–’

“Hattori,” Shinichi breathes, “what are you doing?”

Beside him, Hakuba mumbles a quiet, ‘what?’ His eyebrows raised as he tries to fully understand what’s going on.

‘Oh baby, baby – I shouldn’t have let you go..’

Hattori lifts his hand up, as if to reassure them that everything is totally fine, and that he’s in control of the entire situation. Despite this, Shinichi doesn’t feel very reassured. The zombie, at least, hasn’t ripped them to pieces yet.

‘And now you’re out of sight, yeah.’

For a moment, it’s just Hattori singing. Then, the zombie starts to bounce its head, echoing the lyrics back in a croaky, almost demon-like voice. Perhaps the discovery of knowing that zombies can sing should have gone unknown. Shinichi doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to properly process the knowledge.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Kuroba shrug his shoulders, mutter ‘fuck it’ and take a step forward.

‘Show me,’ a chorus of two humans and a zombie echoes in the empty street, a croon of Britney Spears, ‘how you want it to be–’

Everyone has clearly gone insane. The apocalypse is here, and everyone is losing their mind, obviously. Because there’s no way that…

“What are you doing?” Shinichi hisses, only to receive a listless shrug from Kuroba. The thief even seems to be bouncing on his toes a bit, small dance moves as they continue to sing.

It’s completely outrageous.

‘Tell me baby, cause I need to know right now, because–’

The three seem to be so involved in the song that they don’t notice Shinichi as he turns to Hakuba, raising a hand and throwing it up, a silent question. Hakuba responds with a frown that seems to say that he doesn’t have a clue either.

‘My loneliness, is killing me.’

Kuroba breaks off, quite invested in the song and adds, “and I–”

‘I must confess, I still believe–”

“Okay,” Hakuba says, raising a hand up, as if trying to force the words out. He turns to Shinichi, makes eye contact for a few seconds before turning back to the two men and the zombie. “Did Kuroba drug my water again, or are they really singing Britney Spears with a zombie?”

Shinichi has no words. He simply shrugs his shoulders and tries to process what’s going on. He’s pretty sure, that he’s gaping – especially since both Hattori and Kuroba seem so intensely into their song, their arms jerking in some resemblance of a dance.

‘When I’m not with you, I lose my mind. Give me a sign–”

Hattori claps his hands along to the rhythm, tapping his foot. Since the zombie seems invested enough to sing the song, it almost seems like it would be unwise to interrupt.

So, Shinichi stays quiet.

‘Hit me–’

Even if his friends are fucking idiots.

‘Baby one more–’

The zombie crumples to the floor before they can finish the song. The air cracks with the loud burst of gunfire, a bullet penetrating through the skull. Blood does not spurt out, simply dribbles.

Not that they should have been expecting something different. It seems that the zombie doesn’t have a heartbeat, making bleeding unlikely. As long as it doesn’t fall face first, the blood will remain inside the body, keeping the virus contained.

Hattori and Kuroba both let out something not unlike screams. It catches in their throat, and maybe later, when they are telling the story to their respected girlfriends, they will leave this part out, but for now, the sound that emits from their mouths is nothing short of shrill.

Shinichi lets out a small sound too, an exhale of air that is mostly from adrenaline but also from shock. He zips around, just in time to hear Hakuba swear under his breath, staring across to where the sound has come from.

Sat on a motorbike, with a gun raised, a boy watches the four of them. He lowers the gun, clicks on the safety and then, very slowly, lifts up his visor.

Shinichi lets out a small breath. He knows those eyes, that androgynous figure. Not a boy then, but rather, a girl.

Masumi Sera.

[swishandflickwit]

Deckerstar — paper cut 1/1

Summary: In which Chloe makes Lucifer vulnerable, in more ways than one.

Ratings: General Audiences

Words: 666

Warnings: Post-reveal.

AN: Prompt from Mad Hat Dragon on ff.net—

If you are taking prompt suggestions, I would really like to see one where Lucifer gets a paper cut or something and Chloe is trying to deal with him whimpering and being a huge Drama Queen.

This was fun hahaha.

Also on: ff.net | AO3

Other writing

The Devil’s Lucky Number series: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI | XII | XIII | XIV | XV | XVI | XVII | XVIII | XIV | XX | [ XXI ]

He’d gotten paper cuts in the detective’s presence before, of course.

Many times then, and he dare say this instance wouldn’t be the last.

But what was the point in getting injured if no one was going to play nurse?

“Detective,” he pouted, assuming it would endear him to her.

(It did not)

“It’s a rather deep cut, actually! I mean, look at this mess, I’m bleeding all over my precious Prada!”

She sighed and, as they were walking across the precinct from the interrogation room, glanced at him askance.

“Tragic,” she deadpanned, though what he chose to hear was sympathy.

“Exactly! I knew you’d understand!”

She rolled her eyes then muttered, “What I understand is that the Devil is a huge wuss—”

He gaped.

“I beg your pardon—”  

“—who can’t handle a little blood!”

“A little!” he spluttered indignantly, hugging the gushing finger to his chest.

“Look, I’m sorry that I grabbed the file from you,” she interrupted before mumbling, “of course, if you hadn’t been spinning it like an NBA player spun his basketball while I was interviewing a potential suspect…”

“Hmph!”

“But it’s a paper cut,” she patted his shoulder. “It’s pretty common for us measly humans and easy to deal with,” she teased as she took her proper seat and he claimed the chair opposite her. “You’ll live.”

“Will I?” he implored. “Are you certain this doesn’t spell the end of my mortal coil?”

“You’ve survived a knife to the shoulder,” she reminded through gritted teeth, “and more than your fair share of bullets—”

“Most, if not all, of which I took for you,” he rebutted sweetly.

At that, she released another put-upon sigh. Then—

“Fine,” she groaned with an upheld hand. “Lemme see it.”

He could hardly contain himself from crowing.

“Do with me as you please, detective,” he purred, proffering his injured limb. “Or should I say nurse?”

She gave him a withering glare but dutifully inspected the damage.

It was still bleeding, which was expected. What he hadn’t expected was for her to stick his finger in her mouth and suck, her cheeks hollowed and her tongue laving upon the gash.

At once, Lucifer felt the oddest combination of disgust at the unsanitary practice and—arousal. It bloomed quick and stubborn at both his cheeks and… other places.

Totally lower, inappropriate places.

It didn’t help that Chloe kept at it while she scrambled for a tissue. His vivid imagination obtrusively supplied him with images of her tongue curled around a longer, thicker appendage and oh no—

There was a crude squick sound as she released him.

He chocked.

“Got it!”

She wrapped a paper napkin around his less spurting digit before turning to him.

“Why… are you so red?” she asked. “Is this a Devil thing?” she whispered worryingly. “Did the cut actually give you a fever?”

“There’s a fever alright,” he rasped before clearing his throat.

“No need to ring the alarm, detective,” he let out a hysterical laugh before snatching his hand back. “I’m all good now—thanks to you,” he said hoarsely, then bit his lip when her mouth parted alluringly.

Fuck.

“I have to go!” he bellowed, clambering clumsily to his feet. She followed, albeit remained behind her desk.

“Okay?”

“There’s something pressing,” he whimpered. “I must attend to.”

It was then her dumbfounded expression slackened to one of triumph.

“Want a hand,” her stare darted southwards, “with that?”

She leaned into him. His jaw dropped.

“You little devil,” he hummed admiringly. “Yes, please.”

“Too bad,” she murmured, a whisper away from bridging the gap between their lips. “Cause I don’t do wussies.”

She abruptly withdrew, and he nearly faceplanted atop her desk.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he moaned, flopping onto his pitiful plastic throne.

“Uh huh,” she remarked, nonchalantly returning to her paperwork as if she hadn’t just turned his head. “So long as you don’t expect me to play your nurse.”

He groaned.

There goes that fantasy.

AN: Ya'll, the fact that Chloe willingly had sex with Pierce in the evidence room of the bloody precinct really tells me a lot about her character that being our home girl is an exhibitionist. Just saying lol. Also, remember in S1 when Chloe would string Lucifer on one minute only to like, flat out reject him in the next? Remember that Chloe? I miss her. I miss my playful Decker so I'm resurrecting her here.

Also, sorry if from here on out the quality of these fics deteriorate. I'm finding that the closer we get to the S4 premiere, the more paralyzed I feel cause I'm just so. bloody. excited it's giving me tunnel vision so that all I see is MAY 8 then everything else just goes dark hahaha. I'm determined to finish, make no mistake. Just omg I'm sorry but don't be expecting classics from here on out. I'm just trying to get through the day till we reach the 8th XD

The Devil’s Lucky Number series: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI | XII | XIII | XIV | XV | XVI | XVII | XVIII | XIV | XX | [ XXI ]

[missfinefeather]

ARANEA: Shello? MEENAH: hey twerket 

I love the in jokes and pet names between them xD

MEENAH: you went after the blue nerds ring MEENAH: you wearin it now aint you ARANEA: I couldn't say, Meenah. ARANEA: I do like to wear jewelry from time to time, just like you. 

WHAT ARE YOU EVEN PLANNING?

I’m so confused, I was convinced Vriska was going to get the ring somehow, you just kind of came out of nowhere! 0.0;

MEENAH: aranea so kelp me god MEENAH: you need to take that shit off right now MEENAH: throw it in a volcano or somefin and just come home 

“I hate miss you! ):“

ARANEA: First, I would appreci8 it if you referred to me as Mindfang. 

So Aranea is basically being a bratty teen running away from home in a fit of rebellious angst, giving themselves a new name to sound cooler.

ARANEA: Has it occurred to you that it might have 8ecome a little tiresome for me to spend eternity as a 8oring no8ody while so many others got to play important roles in determining the f8 of reality? ARANEA: Heck, you were 8arely dead for two minutes 8efore you started assem8ling an army! 

I mean, she was failing at it until Vriska helped out...

ARANEA: I'm going to take over this session. ARANEA: And then I am going to make sure it never 8ears fruit. ARANEA: If I can stop this universe from 8eing cre8ted, then the young Lord of Time will never have hatched in the first place. 

Oh fuck... oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck

DON’T SEND US DOWN A DOOMED TIMELINE RIGHT NOW! OH FUCK!

Is this what John is going to have to change?

ARANEA: And as an ancient, highly experienced sylph, I wield an unprecedented a8ility to heal. ARANEA: A doomed timeline is really just an anatomical feature of a much larger organism. Like a capillary which comes to an end, 8ecause it has withered and died. 

...okay, I can see how this could work in theory...

But this is so going to fail...

And even if you salvage it, LORD ENGLISH WILL STILL EXIST!

ARANEA: And with enough time and patience, I am confident I can restore its vitality to such a gr8 extent, it will effectively take over as the alpha timeline, thus reducing English to a lost footnote of paradox space. 

I DON’T THINK YOU HAVE THAT MUCH POWER! EVERYTHING EXISTS BECAUSE OF LORD ENGLISH WHERE THE FUCK IS IT ALL GOING TO COME FROM?

GODDAMNIT!

MEENAH: not to blow my own conch but she is arguably the greatest deadliest most stylin badass who ever lived ARANEA: I am aware. ARANEA: 8ut there is no one who is in a 8etter position to deal with her than myself. ARANEA: After all, who knows you 8etter than I? ::::) 

Oh god, they are so banging...

I mean...

Okay, they’re probably just really close friends, otherwise, Hussie would just come out and say it.

MEENAH: im gonna miss you ARANEA: I'll miss you too, Meenah. 

):

MEENAH: bitch dont touch my clam