#unk............ <- fucked up

[maythray]

WHAT DO YOU MEAN IM AT GAME OVER

[chappellrroan]

this house is so fun when it's just us kids and no parents

[ii-zi]

Even when they ask, venting to people makes me feel like a tar pit lol

[lord-pigeon]

So it's been a while and I've come back to Elden Ring after some time of not playing it. Its kinda grown on me, tbh

Like I stand by my point the best games are Bloodborne and Sekiro, but like, I can safely say Elden Ring has outdone DS3 at least on the tierlist. Despite DS3 having my all-time favorite bosses and some iconic locales, in retrospect, it felt very cobbled together in comparison to Elden Ring's cohesion

I still refuse to call DS2 a Dark Souls game proper just because different director and it's so much more like a King's Field game it feels like an injustice to both their vision and the game itself to be like hurr durr Dark Souls 2 bad

Also I like pony, pony go brrrr

[yeyinde]

i would give you my life for marriage counselor!reader x price part 3, pleaseeee im begging you 😮‍💨🙏😮‍💨🙏

He fucks you in your office, for sure.

18+. extremely dubious consent. unk. condescending Dom!Price.

Petty, combative. Authority figures make him itch. But there's a sick thrill that goes through him when he sinks down into your chair, fully dressed with just his trousers undone, cock freed, and pulls you, completely naked, onto his lap. Makes you ride him as he sprawls out over it, too; his hand tight around your neck to keep you up, the other dangling over the edge, drinking from the sneaky stash of booze he finds after rummaging around your desk (all the while, he had you sitting on top of it, one hand rifling through your belongings and the other buried between your thighs, making you answer his inane questions as he tuts about how you're getting his cuffs all wet, not such a smart little girl now are you? soakin' his hand like that. needy little thing, more like.)

It's not his preferred position, but he likes the sight of you glaring down at him as he fills you with his cock. Unable to to do anything at all even when you're on top, in the dominant role. Reduced to a mess of a once smart, haughty girl. Biting your lip as he bucks into you. Trying to smother the scream, the plea—slow down, slow down, please, it's too deep—that trembles on your lip. Pride and this fickle, paperthin ideal of agency is the only thing keeping it all in.

You think you can take him. Handle him.

So, John gives you the reigns and leans back on your smart little chair in your smart little office. Accolades hung on the wall. Polished and mature. It's all so—

Adorable.

The contrast of it all feeds the monster in his chest that's been prowling around ever since you tried to boss him around. The mouth that once said you're not trying hard enough, Mr Price you need to do better now all slack-jawed and drool slick as he spears inside to the deepest part of you he can reach; the doleful glare swallowed by the shiver of your lids as your eyes roll back into your pretty little head.

Struggling to take him. Hesitating to slide down the thickest part of his cock, whimpering when he shifts his hips and makes you take him down to the root. Tears flood your lashline, gleaming iridescent like sunshine hitting an oil spill. Lips trembling as you jolt at the realness of it all—of trying to handle him like you said you could but quickly realising you can't when the heart of yourself starts to feel like a raw, open wound.

Yeah, he thinks, and brings the bottle to his lips. You look so much better just like this.

And that's what it's about, really. Control. Something you stripped him of when he marched into your office and you—younger, less experienced, less established—just looked at him, and said, sit down right there, Mr Price.

Well. You didn't say it, did you? No, you commanded. And Price doesn't take orders from idiots in office who think they're his superior, so why the hell should he listen to you, mm?

But he did. And now he's savouring it because this is quid pro quo. Something for something. His compliance (ephemeral as it was) for you.

Because the problem is that you riled him up. With your neat, clean office. Your smart suits. The unbidden air of authority—this condescending, sophisticated cloud that clung to the haughty tip of your chin when you talked to him. It all itched under his skin. Made his heart thunder with the urge to break—

(Claim, maim—sometimes he gets the two mixed up, the word eliding together under the malformed snarl in his throat. But you're tough, aren't you? He's sure you can handle whichever one ends up spilling out.)

He bites down on the little sliver of skin beneath your jaw—that small patch where his hand, still spread over the thick of your throat, doesn't cover—and groans, feeling you clench tight around him. Tight little hole barely stretched enough to take him without it aching each time he moves, tugging on thin, sensitive skin until he has to snuff the whimpers he can feel crawling up your throat with a squeeze of his hand.

It has the after making his head swim already. When he finally finished getting his due, breaking you in, he'll take you home. Let you rest. Court you good and proper until you're melting his hands, softened wax for him to play with and mould however he likes. And he will.

He saw the potential in you the moment he leaned in close—too close, his ex-wife will accuse him of later; you never get that close to me anymore, John—and saw the shift of your throat when you swallowed. The flex of your thighs as you squeezed them tight together. The little flutter of your lashes, eyes listing treacherously downward, so achingly close to submission that it punched the air from his lungs. Kept him winded even as you pulled yourself back together. Meeting his stare with a glare of your own. All fire, all teeth. But he'll enjoy filing your canines down until they're pretty and soft and round—

"mm, not so arrogant now, are you?" He pulls you closer, nips at the thrill of your pulse until he feels it thudding against his enamel. Rabbit-quick. Ferocious lioness purring at his feet. "S'all you needed was my cock, mm, to make you this sweet?"

He doesn't expect an answer, and can really only groan when you eke out a liquid, breathless, fuck you, John, content to let you lash out as much as you want, holding you tighter in the cup of his palm. Pussy clenching tight, tears dripping down your cheeks—he basks in it even as you claw at him, pawing at his chest with your teeth bared as you pretend this is your choice. That you're taking from him with each unsteady, furious roll of your hips. Pulling him in deeper. Letting the part inside of you that rages against this hew fantasy into reality; cobwebs of delusion thickening in the whites of your eyes as you shatter over him, on his lap, stuffed full with the thick of his cock, and play pretend in your head that he's just your throne—

Even as he kicks his heels against the legs of your own, planting his feet on your carpet, in this space you build yourself, driving inside of you until the webs shake, starting to come loose.

You—this free, willful bird—have been left in the wild for too long. And he'll spend the next two months building your cage, and when he's finally finished, you'll beg him to throw away the key.

"Told you, didn't I?" he growls, hand tightening around your throat. "You were in over your head, little girl. You should have listened."

(Freshly divorced—ink still wet on the paper—and he's already engaged. How about that.)

[password-door-lock]

It goes without saying that Unknown takes your phone away from you before he even gets you out of the apartment. It also goes without saying that he doesn't get a chance to look through it until he's brought you back to Magenta— after all, removing you without triggering the special security system or tipping that redhead off is a very delicate task, and Unknown must therefore carry it out in a delicate manner. As soon as he's in the intelligence room, with you on the floor beside him, he takes out your phone and begins scrolling through the contacts. He needs to know who has your number, who might reach out to you— deleting the RFA app, of course, is easy, but now he has to delete the contact information for the members in your phone.

Most of them, he finds, are listed simply by their real names. The actor is listed by his stage name, and that redhead is listed simply as the number 7, which Unknown finds laughable. It's a good sign, he thinks, that you put such little effort into recording that liar's name. Most of the other contact names in your phone are people he recognizes from his study of you, people you've called before or who have called you during the time that Unknown has been watching you. He's much less intimidated by these people than by the RFA, because he probably wouldn't have selected you in the first place if he thought that any of your friends or relations would pose a serious threat.

However, there is one name in your phone that really stands out to him. “Hey,” he says, immediately getting your attention. You look up at him with wide, trusting eyes, and Unknown can't help but feel endeared to you. It doesn't mean he respects you— in fact, it's hard to respect somebody who's making googly eyes at their captor without a care in the world— but at least he finds the behavior cute. “What's 'evil chocolatier who lives in the walls?'”

You snort. “Oh.” You're clearly trying to restrain your laughter, and Unknown is unsure how to feel. Are you laughing at him, or are you laughing at yourself? “That's you.”

Unknown doesn't know how to take this information. He's not angry. He has no idea what’s going on. “What?” He asks, trying not to stutter or stammer.

“Okay, so basically,” you start in on what he can already tell is going to be a painfully long story, “What happened was, a few months ago, there was, like, this Willy Wonka event that went viral online— ”

“Who?” Unknown narrows his eyes. He's understanding very little of what you're saying, and that’s starting to piss him off. It’s hard to maintain control of the situation when he doesn’t know whether his new assistant is trying to mock him or not, and it’s hard to stay calm when he’s not in control. 

“Hm,” you consider it, “Basically, he’s this book and movie character who owns, like, a weird fucked up chocolate factory where they break a bunch of labor laws? And child endangerment laws. And to be honest, I cannot imagine any kind of regulatory agency giving the green light to a single one of the products that he sells. Like, gum that turns you into a blueberry, stuff that makes you float around, et cetera, et cetera. You get it.”

Unknown nods. That follows. What you’re saying is weird and makes very little sense to him, but that much is true of most mass media produced outside of Magenta. “Okay,” he says, waving his hand for you to continue.

“Anyway, like I was saying, they had this event, right? They advertised the whole thing with fake AI pictures, and so it was really, really shitty when the parents actually got there after they had paid for tickets,” you prattle on, and Unknown tries his hardest not to be endeared— then he remembers that you belong to him, so he can feel however he wants about you. “Like, it was just some warehouse or something with a few cheap decorations? And basically, they had AI spit out the script for the actors to read, too, and the AI hallucinated a character that's not even in the original story, an evil chocolate maker named The Unknown who lives in the walls. That was around the time that you started texting me. And so—”

Unknown sighs heavily, cutting you off as soon as he gets the picture. It’s probably a good thing that you’re no longer serving as his informant within the RFA. It’s going to take ages to get any actual information out of you. “I've been using this name for longer than a few months.”

“I know, and it suits you way better than it suits that scary character with the Halloween mask,” you try to comfort him, reaching up to pat his hand. Unknown allows you to continue, only because he likes the feeling of your touch. “Anyway, I just thought it was funny, so I saved you like that in my phone. And then, you know, I just never changed it, since I was busy with the party and the bomb and all that drama with Jumin’s dad.” 

Unknown considers ordering you to change his contact name, but he finds that for some reason, he kind of likes that he's the only person left in your phone with a silly nickname. Granted, he's also the only person left in your phone, but he finds it cute that you gave a nickname to him and not to 707. “You can keep it.”

“You mean you're giving me back my phone?” You ask, incredulous. 

“Mhm,” Unknown says, “But these are the only two apps you can use, and every number but mine is blocked.” He shows you how he's restricted your use of the device to the phone app and the texting app exclusively.

“Well, wait a second,” you knit your eyebrows all cutesy, and you're lucky that the display is effective in encouraging Unknown to hear you out. “Can we video chat, too? I’m gonna tell you right now, there’s a very good chance that I’m gonna get lost in one of these hallways, and you might need to see my location behind me and stuff.”

Unknown curses under his breath, but he sees your point. It'll be better if he can see where you are when he calls you— maybe that'll stop you from doing something wrong. “Hm,” he says, snatching your phone out of your hand and changing the settings so that you can access the video call app as well. “There.” Now he hands it back to you.

“Thanks,” you tell him with what appears to be a genuine smile. Unknown isn't fooled, of course. You can't manipulate him into caring about you. But.... he gets the feeling you'll fit in better than he expected at Magenta.

[aru-loves-krishnaxarjuna]

behnchod, madarchod, baanki maagi,, bokachoda, you fucking hoe, rot in fucking hell, you brother fucker, motherfucker, gaandu, randi, saala, harami, bohot tez samajh ta hai apne aap ko? Bhosdika, bara, saale gaand choos tu apna, kindly f yourself

Tere krishna ne terko gaali dena sikhaya hai!?!! Where are hindu women's SANSKAAR??? Tum aurte khud ko mhan samjhte ho i guess u r bhramin that's why u have superiority complex. WhatsApp university se padhna chod or real world me aa jaa

Let's start with the biggest issue I have with scriptures in Hinduism and the casual misogynistic tone in the marriage department.

Ramacharitmanas 3.4.4 - "A woman who treats her husband with disrespect even though he is old, sick, dull-headed, *wrathful* or *most wretched*, she shall suffer various torments in hell (The abode of Yama)"

Vishnusmriti 24.41 -A damsel whose menses begin to appear (while she is living) at her father's house, before she has been betrothed to a man, has to be considered as a degraded woman: by taking her (without the consent of her kinsmen) a man commits no wrong.

Valmiki Ramayana 2/24/20 - - Ram said \*"As long as a woman is alive, her husband is her god and master to her"\*

Valmiki Ramayana 2/24/25 - "Even if a woman is interested in religious vows and fastings, in addition to being the best of the excellent; if she doesn't obey her husband, she will become ill-fated!!"

Matsya Purana 154.166 - "The husband even if poor, illiterate, and devood of fortune, is like a god to his wife."Mahabharata

Anushasana Parva 146.55 - Husband alone is the God for women

Srimad Bhagwatam 6/18/33-36 - "A husband is the supreme deity for the woman. The Supreme, Lord Vasudeva is situated in everyone's heart and is worshipped through the various names and forms of the demigods by fritive workers. Similarly, a husband represents the Lord as the object of worship for a woman. A wife should be chaste and obey all orders of her husband. She should very devoutly worship her husband as a representative of Vasudeva."

Sage Ashtavakra said:Women can never be their own mistresses. This is the opinion of the Creator himself, viz., that a woman never deserves to be independent. There is not a single woman in the three worlds that deserves to be regarded as the mistress of her own self. The father protects her while she is a maiden. The husband protects her while she is in youth. Sons protect her when she is aged. Women can never be independent as long as they live.

Oh ho! Now you are asking our SANSKAAR!? Ram sikhate hai ki maryada mein rehte kaise hai.

Krishna sikhate hai ki maryada mein rakhte kaise hai.

Listen you motherfucker. I don't need to be educated on this. You dare question our SANSKAAR? WE became like THIS to PROTECT OURSELVES. WE learnt SWEAR WORDS BECAUSE MEN STARTED TO USE THEM FIRST!!!

And women can never be independent, eh? Look around the fucking world will you, ot do you use braille to type?

First you make us like this and now question US? Atleast hum aurate apne aapko mahan sigma male to nhi smjh ti, na? Aurato ko tum log hamesha 'women ☕️' karte rehte ho, unko disrespect karte ho, rapists ko support karte ho, unke saath jo unyay hota hai usko supprt karte ho, and when we stand up for ourselves, us hindu women's SANSKAAR dissappeared!? THIS is the reason why women hate men now.

Tu Insta reels se sab kuchh learn karrna band karr aur apni aakhe charo taraf ghuma, bsdk.

We can be our own mistresses, and we will be our own mistresses. Idc what anyone thinks, i stand with my opinion. Agar teri Maa nahi hoti, to tu bhi janm nhi le pata gadhere.

You know Maa Kaali as well as Maa Adi Para Shakti, right? Did they need a man to fight? Or to protect them? They protected themselves, and fought demons, monsters just to protect their children. Yea ok i agree with the 'devoted to husband' part, but if her dignity comes in question, she WILL fight back!

[scekrex]

Hello! Can I request episode 8!Adam x Cannibal!Riader, where he is one of the ones protecting the hotel (Primarily to eat, obviously). At that moment, when Nifty pierces Adam with a dagger, Reader takes him to himself, first to eat him, but then, imbued with this angel, decides that a living Adam is better for him than a dead one. At the same time, Reader himself continues to joke about how one day he will eat his flesh :)

(I would like to apologize in advance for my English, I am still learning and therefore use a translator)

Okay first of all: you don't need to apologize for your english sweetface, you're doing great okay? And second I'd like to apologize that it took me so long to write it.

A kingdom of torment that never dies

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language, canon typical violence, cannibalism

note: not beta read bc fuck you

The smell of divine blood hung in the air, a smell you surely would not be able to forget. The golden liquid had painted the ground and while the corpses on the ground were tasting so much better than sinner flesh, it wasn’t giving you the rush you had expected to get out of it.

That was until your hand grabbed a hold of one of the flying angel’s ankles, a firm yank brought the woman crashing onto the ground. Your body was running on autopilot, high off the smell of divine blood and the sight of your next meal. The angel was screaming, trying to kick you. Her weapon was out of her reach, she had dropped it before her face had met the ground due to the surprise and shock your attack had caused. She flapped her wings, desperate to get away from you, but none of it worked out.

Fear had filled the creature’s eyes, but there was no mercy left inside of you, not when you felt so hungry. Your body’s instincts were strong, too strong for you to fight them off so the only thing you found yourself able to do was to give into them and feast. Your teeths unk down into the angel’s flesh, the scream that tore from her throat and sounded like her vocal cords were ripping apart sounded dull to you, muffled even. Every sound that was made sounded like your ears were filled with cotton, the only clear thought in your mind was that your body craved food more than anything. You were hungry, oh so desperately hungry and the taste that filled your mouth as you bit a chunk of flesh out of the angel’s leg which you had pulled up close to your face, leaving the winged creature dangling upside down, was truly something different. The angelic corpses tasted delicious already but feasting on one of them while she was still alive? That truly was somethíng different, it gave you the rush you had hoped for, made you feel like the king of the world.

But then her foot met your face, the impact was hard and sudden which caused you to stumble backwards a little. Your hand slipped from her ankle and she managed to escape - oh what a shame that your food got away. It was only then that you realized that the angels were not reforming, they were leaving. The portal to heaven shone bright on the blood red sky and you watched as your new favorite meal seemed to retreat. Your eyes drank in your surroundings. The hotel was destroyed, when did that happen? The angelic corpses on the ground were slowly dragged away by the other cannibals and just as you were about to grab one yourself and leave, you spotted the gleaming golden wings of their leader - so that was why they suddenly had been eager to leave Hell. Charlie and her friends had managed to take down their leader, without him the army seemed rather useless.

So before any of your friends was able to claim the first man, you made your way over to the golden winged creature to claim him as yours. You were aware that a cold corpse would taste less good than a warm one, yet you wanted to enjoy the taste and pride that came with eating the first man and therefore you decided to take him with you.

His blood smelled different from the others - no matter if dead or alive. He smelled tainted, impure and yet still angelic and divine enough to be roaming Heaven’s realms. Something about their leader was different, not only his smell but also the fact that his heart was still beating, you were able to hear it like a drum.

Beat - silence - silence - silence - beat - silence - silence - silence - beat.

It was slow, weak and struggled with pumping blood through Adam’s body due to the amount of wounds his body suffered from. If he would continue to bleed in the way he did, the tall angel would bleed out in no time. You knew that those pure creatures tasted better alive so you made sure to press fabric to his wounds in order to stop the bleeding - and surprisingly that worked better than you had thought it would. The bleeding stopped rather quickly despite the fact that a dagger had been pierced through his chest multiple times - a thing that made you wonder if the angelic healing process worked any different from the sinners’.

-

Dragging this gigantic creature home had been quite the struggle but you had managed it nonetheless and now he was resting in your bed, fogging the air inside your apartment - and probably the air outside of the building you were living in too - with the delicious smell of his blood. Oh how you craved to eat this man right then and there. But alive this man would be worth more - maybe enough to get you noticed and seen. He was the first man after all - he surely would attract attention and with attention a higher status would follow. So keeping him alive was the smarter decision long term wise.

A grunt came from the brunette - it was almost inaudible but your ears had picked the sound up despite that. Your head snapped to the side, eyeing as the first man slowly sat up in the bed he was resting in his hand reached up to hold his head in pain, he was seemingly feeling dizzy, not that you were able to blame him, he had lost quite a lot of blood.

“What the fuck?” the angel asked quietly, talking to himself, as his palm covered his chest. His chest, which was still covered in blood. A deep and hungry sounding chuckle vibrated through your body as you leaned towards the first man, making yourself noticeable, “A creature as fucking sweet as you might end up eaten after all.”

[thatdykepunkslut]

Hello mutual, do you have any punk band recommendations? I feel like a lot of the bands I’ve been listening to sound very similar lately

Yeah! I have many!

Hardcore:

Breakneck Flow Dr/unk (Drag Punk) Gel Limp Wrist Caustic Soda (Government Property is one of my fave songs) Crass and Silence Mill (both technically anarcho-punk but they're related genres)

(Idk what a good term for it is but these bands are pretty similar):

Lambrini Girls Maid of Ace The Oozes

Aussie:

Amyl and the Sniffers The Chats

Other:

Against Me! Tribe8 Dog Park Dissidents Destroy Boys Bangzz Mommy Long Legs Screaming Females The Muslims Cheap Perfume

I also have a playlist of mostly punk (it does have everything from hard rock to techno on it tho lol)

[st4rbe0m]

SUMMARY ▸ 20 years ago, a gruesome murder shook the town hard. A type of murder that should've never happen, much less in their quaint town. A lovely family killed in cold blood with an unforgiving axe wielding maniac - a mother, a father and a little girl. It's been 20 years down the road, hasn't it? Then why are these 11 teenagers stuck in a loop of the same day, being haunted by a little girl who died 20 years ago?

PAIRING ▸ Park Jongseong (Jay) x reader ; additional pairings between characters as well , multi chapter story

TAG LIST ▸ open!! send an ask to be added

WC ▸ 2.2K

WOULD YOU LIKE TO CONTINUE THE BODY SEARCH ?

▊ yes -> CHAPTER 3

▊ no -> CHAPTER 1

BODY SEARCH MASTERLIST

Kim Sunoo. Nishimura Riki. Park Jongseong. Uchinaga Aeri. Lee Heesung. Sim Jaeyun. Ning Yizhuo. Y/N Y/L/N. Park Sunghoon. Yang Jungwon. 10 teenagers. 10 minutes past midnight. 10 minutes since they’d found themselves mysteriously at the chapel of their school - none of them having memories of how they could have reached there. No, the only memory they had was of a set of jarring texts from an unknown number requesting that they find her. Who the ‘her’ in question was, was not revealed at all. 

“Guys, seriously, this is creeping me the hell out. Where are you guys going?” Giselle voiced her frustrations. Seriously, who the hell splits up like this? Haven’t they watched horror movies? “What’s your favorite scary movie?”, the teasing voice of Lee Heesung whispered into the shell of her ear, not only making goosebumps appear near her skin, but lurching her into a scare. Smacking him with a pout on her face, while the boy just laughed while clutching her hand, the couple that had been dating since the beginning of freshman year just walked behind trusted Park Jongseong, who was also trailed by Y/N and NingNing. NingNing’s nervous eyes kept flitting between Jay and the gloomy darkness around her, a contrast from her confident and approachable appearance at school. During the day, atleast. Who knew what night, this night, in particular could bring? 

“Sunghoon’s wandered off”, Jake mentioned. There was an edge in his voice as he said it, and it even made Jay’s eyes harden under the milky light of the moon. “We’ll find him guys. Let’s figure out what’s happening first maybe?”, NingNing chimed in. Biting her nails, she added, “Even the two underclassmen have wandered off somewhere, and so has Yang.” We’ll get them soon. 

“Look, there’s Sunghoon!”, Y/N said, her voice almost lost like a wisp in the wind. Luckily, Jay and Jake caught on to it, and turned their heads to where Sunghoon stood, in the middle of the soccer field. Motionless, yet slightly trembling. They jogged up to him, the boys yelling out his name. “Sunghoon, Park Sunghoon! Come here!”

Sunghoon turned around to the sound of their clamoring voice, pale skin having dewy drops of sweat beading his forehead. But perhaps, what was most characteristic about him, was the expanding patch of red on his crisp white school uniform. 

He opened his mouth slightly, yet no sound escaped him. He slumped forward while they looked at the garish scene before them. Because it was only the top half of Sunghoon’s body that had slumped forward, jaggedly dismembered torso falling forward onto the blackish grass. 

“What the fuck?!”. “Fuck!”. A scream. And just a gaping jaw. Those were all the reactions the 4 could muster up. With legs propelling them forward at insane speed, Jay and Jake ran to where their deceased friend lay, halting harshly when they saw that Sunghoon’s body wasn’t the only entity on that field.

“Who is that?”. It was Heesung who asked this time. He and Giselle ran over as soon as they’d heard the screams and shouts, and even Sunoo and Riki and Jungwon were running over to them. 

It was obvious who Heesung was referring to, but no way to answer. She looked about 9 years of age. A small silhouette of a girl. There were no discernible features on her face, and all they could make out was a mop of unkempt black hair, greasy and dragging till her ankles. 

None of them wanted to stick around for answers. Not when the little girl took a step forward, barefoot and crunching against the ground. That’s when they felt it, the extreme and spine-chilling bolt of terror. Each of them took off almost immediately, running into the school building, ready to hide in there then have to cross the girl who, despite her size, acted almost like a barricade against the school gate. 

Park Sunghoon was dead. Park Sunghoon was dead and she was probably next. That’s all Y/N could think of as she ran into the school, breathing heavily, trying her best to enter the art classroom, the room she was most familiar with. What Jungwon said while they were running is what plagues her mind.

“It’s happening. It’s the Body Search.”

What the hell even was a Body Search? And frankly she wasn’t planning to stick around here long enough to find out. If it was anything that required what just happened, she’d rather not know. There was a dead silence around the room where she crouched, keeping an eye out by the door. That’s when she heard it. 

Pit. Pat. The sound of two little feet approaching the room she hid in. Pit. Pat.

Pit.Pat.Pit.Pat.Pit.Pat. The feet were running. Running to where she was, ready to tear her apart. 

Her mouth opened, ready to scream, until a veiny, large hand covered her mouth. Wide eyed, she turned to where the hand emerged from. Jay. Crouched under the desk right next to her, he raised a slender finger up to his lips, to signal what she had to do. To be absolutely quiet. To survive. To think. Slowly nodding her head down, she turned back to where the door. In another time, in another situation, she would have blushed hard at what had just happened. But a near-death experience leaves very little room for crushes. 

The feet seemed to be distancing from them, making both Jay and Y/N feel a sense of relief. A relief, that was short lived. Not with Jake’s and Giselle’s simultaneous screams piercing the air. Abruptly getting up from their positions, survival be damned, the two made way down to the hallway where She saw a frozen Giselle, a Jake bleeding out at the landing of the staircase, neck bent at an angle and eyes slack. And Lee Heesung. A Lee Heesung who seemed almost suspended midair, until their eyes traveled down to where the jagged end of the wooden frame of a classroom door seemed to have been struck right through the middle of his chest, blood unceremoniously pooling down to the floor just below him. It’s when her eyes shifted to where Giselle was that Y/N let the scream bubbling inside her go. 

Because, standing with Giselle was a little girl, barely 9 or 10 years old. Matted black hair that reached her ankles, and a body covered in blood. A hand outstretched, that seemed to have passed right into Giselle’s mouth, and emerging from the back of her head - little fingers wiggling in her joy. It seemed that Y/N’s scream delighted her even more, because she gave a Cheshire-like grin on hearing it - pale, crooked teeth forming the most terrifying smile they’d ever seen. Grabbing Y/N’s hand and leaving no second to spare, Jay took off in the opposite direction. He wasn’t going to wait around to see what was to happen to them - in what creative ways this little demented creature could murder them in cold blood. His plan was to reach the chapel where it all began. 

Yang Jungwon was dead. Yang Jungwon was dead, and so were Jake, Giselle, Heesung and Sunghoon. NingNing and the juniors were missing. It was only him and Y/N he cared about right now. 

Sunoo’s panting hard, and his lungs prickle with the burn of exhaustion, as the adrenaline gives away. He’s running and he’s been running for a while now. He lost their senior NingNing a while back - the red smears at the bottom of the staircase led him to believe so. The low visibility isn’t really helping either. He can’t tell where the little girl is either, or where Riki or Jungwon disappeared off to. Run. Running. That’s all he can think of right now.

He reached the shoe rack, the little white cubicles creating a mosaic in front of him. The burn in his lungs has only intensified. “This is a good place to hide”, he thought to himself.

“Hyung!”

Sunoo jumps violently, organs violently lurching inside him. Still no sound of small feet, only Riki, glad to have found his friend in one piece still. Riki quickly sprints to where Sunoo has crouched, a little wooden cubby meant for storing the smaller sports equipment. Riki’s hands are desperate as they grab on to Sunoo - being alive meant something much more important right now. Riki was scared. The tsundere Riki, their class mood maker, a happy go lucky kid was scared right now, and a sense of despair and hopelessness hit Sunoo right in the heart.

But despair, or any emotion was cut short.

Pit, pat. Little red feet. Run. Hide.

Their eyes grow wide simultaneously. Pulling Riki closer by the arm, Sunoo prays with whatever finality he can muster. She must be getting closer, and it’s all he can do right now. Because no matter where they hid, she’d find them. Sniffing out their fear maybe - the thundering hearts and the tremors that shook in their bones.

It’s dead quiet now, and it makes Sunoo’s ears ring slightly. Everything held a bit of horror in it, including the quiet.

“Where did she go?” Sunoo barely mustered up a whisper.

“Do you think she left?”, answered Riki, in an equally low baritone sound, hoping for it to get concealed with the wind, lest they get discovered.

“We should head to the chapel-”

There’s a crash. That’s all that Sunoo registers. The speed and the totality of it was far too much for him to realize the rest. All he knows right now is that she’s here, there was a sound, and the space where Riki was is empty now.

There’s something dripping on his head. Where’s Riki? Where’s the Little Red Girl? Where’s Riki? Where’s the Little Red Girl?

He looks up to the source of the mysterious liquid dripping onto his head - only to lock eyes with Riki’s lifeless ones.

“Fuck, what the hell is that?”. Jay’s frustrated and scared. So fucking scared. His best friends are dead. “Do you think we might find answers in the chapel?”, the quiet voice of Y/N Y/L/N cut through in the frenzy in his mind. His childhood friend, whom he’d grown estranged from, had no idea what she was like now. But he knew who she was before - a daisy in a lawn. A force of nature that made the shy, new kid in the neighborhood Jay feel more welcome than he ever did when he moved to Korea from the States. She inspired him, in a way, to be the Jay of today. And she didn’t know that at all. Realising his silence, he cleared his throat and answered - “Well I hope. This is all madness.”

The medbay was silent as they sat there, trying to catch their breaths. The adrenaline was starting to wear off, and the exhaustion was catching on, considering their sweaty bodies and their panting breaths. 

“She’s here.”

Y/N says it with grim finality, while Jay still cranes his head to hear where the little girl could be? “How do you know?”, Jay turns to look at the teary-eyed Y/N. Sobs are sputtering out of her mouth now, faster as tears stream down her face. Alarmed by this new development in her emotion, he opens his mouth but Y/N cuts him right off. “Jay, I’m sorry. She’s behind you.” 

The alarm is harsh in its morning call. It’s blaring and blaring, and bleary eyed Y/N wakes up drenched in cold sweat. This isn’t right. 

“Your dad already left, so I’m planning to drop his lunch off at his office later. I made fried tempura prawns today, way too many I think. Share them with your friends, alright?

This isn't right. This isn't adding up. There’s something wrong. She saw all this happen, in a dream? No. That can’t be. Something’s wrong.

The bus pulls back and the cat yowls, and then students gather near its dead body. It’s wrong already, but she knows something is off when she makes eye contact with a certain Park Jay, who’s eyes mirror the same discomfort on her face. 

“What do you know then, Jungwon?”

They’re all huddled by the stairwell - All 10, seemingly alive considering the gruesome ways they all died last night. It was Jungwon asking the question, flanked by Giselle and NingNing on the other side. Jungwon is nervous too - glasses slipping on the bridge of his nose and wringing his hands around. Even the juniors joined them - staring hard. 

“Well. I’m not sure about this alright? But I’ve read some books about occult practices and hauntings before. Based on our situation, well.”

“Fucking spit it out.” Park Sunghoon harshly said, his body while seeming nonchalant against the railings, seemed to be shaking in some sort of feeling - fear, but also anger. Maybe the absolute bone-chilling realization that you’re repeating the same day.

“I think we’re participating in the Body Search!”. The words tumble out of Jungwon’s mouth in a nervous ball left for the rest to untangle. 

[sherbet-shivers]

Catch a Break

Series: T//he W//ire (my favorite series of all time, I cannot encourage watching this enough!)

Characters: J//immy M//cNulty (-centric) and B//unk M//oreland

Part 1/? (This was gonna be a one-shot but who knows)

Blurb: Self-indulgent fic where McNulty is overworked with a cold. Nobody asked for this but I love sassy, self-destructive fictional men.

Length: ~2k words

TW: cursing, contagion and alcoholism mentioned, light mess, cops (no spoilers)

**Please do not share to non-kink snz blogs — no need to drag vanillas into this! <3**

“Jimmy…Jimmy…JIMMY!”

McNulty startles half-awake, his office swaying like a damn boat while he blinks away the noir fuzz bordering his peripherals. He felt like shit. Cement had replaced his bones, making every step heavy from labor. Menial aches and pains had exploded into full on torture wounds by morning. It didn’t help that he had a headache and a ringing in one ear. Not to mention the fever that’d been creeping up on him since noon.

Fuck. If there was anything McNulty resented more than red tape, it was being sick. It made him a lousy detective, a lousy sport, made him feel lousy. It was too bad his nap hadn’t killed him, really; that or at least slipped him into a coma long enough to ride out this misery. He straightens in his seat and loosens his tie. The hellfire torching up his throat and sinuses had moved on to cooking up his insides. Ironic, given that he was shivering and shaking so bad.

“Jesus,” huffs an admonishing tone. McNulty doesn’t have to look up to recognize who it is. He knows that voice — or rather that tone — anywhere. “Who shit you out and left me on janitor’s duty?”

“Fuck off, Bunk,” McNulty grumbles. He’s congested when he speaks, drowning his consonants. A chesty cough escapes him as he snuggles back in his chair.  “What time is it?”

“Well it ain’t Happy Hour, but you smell like it.” It’s an unnecessary jab (although not entirely undeserved).

“I’m not drunk,” he slurs back uselessly.

“But you’ve been drinking, right?”

McNulty hesitates, then rolls his eyes to meet his partner’s stare, both judgmental and vigilant as ever. His silence speaks for itself.

“Thought so,” Bunk mutters. The detective saunters over to his own desk where he takes a seat on a twice handed-down office chair. The vinyl cushioning squeaks under his weight, deflating an inch or so. “Not that I’m one to judge; what with the state you’re in, a shot’s the last thing that’ll kill ya.”

“Poor choice of words given our business, don’t you think?” McNulty lazily jests. His eyes are already closing on their own again. He was exhausted, and too eager to fit in another cat nap or two.

“Fuck you, smartass; you know what I mean.”

Bunk gives him a bump on the shoulder to keep him roused. Concern, maybe? His touch lingers as he casts his friend a sideways look.

“Fuck; you really do look like shit, though,” Bunk declares upon reinspection of Jimmy’s face. He pulls his hand back slowly and rubs his fingers together like they’ve collected soot. “Motherfucker hot as Hell, too.”

“You’re not too bad yourself, handsome,” McNulty winks. The giggle that escapes him is whimsical, borderline delirious; undoubtedly tipsy on liquor and a fever of at least a hundred and one by Bunk’s estimate.

“How long you been sick for?” Bunk asks. McNulty shrugs, as expected.

“Dunno,” he lies, “does it matter?”

“Guess not,” Bunk follows, blasé. “I should know better than to think you’d give a fuck about-“

Suddenly McNulty breaks out in a coughing fit. It’s deep and chesty, only further evidencing his poor condition.

“-self-care,” he finishes.

He falls silent as he waits for McNulty to ride out the rest of his huffing and hacking. The damn fool’s face was turning red from effort, a contrast to its former pallor. Honestly speaking, Bunk would feel worse for the son of a bitch if it weren’t for the fact he willfully came into work bugged the past few days (spreading it four floors in either direction) even though he knew damn well he was getting sick a week in advance, at least. Jimmy was an idiot like that. Stupid fucker was so damn addicted to his job and the game that he often neglected the effects on people closest to him — himself included. No doubt it was his fault Bunk had to come in tonight; the damn office was short staffed and under tight watch after some jackass “accidentally” sneezed on Rawls. It didn’t take a detective to figure out who the fuck that could be.

“hHUH-!…HRRSH’huu!” 

Speaking of the devil.

“SH’ih-!…shit-!” McNulty curses breathlessly. A hiccup of air, another gasp, then- “hHD’ZSHH’hu!”

McNulty spreads his legs and snaps in half just in time to launch a sneeze between his own thighs. The desk  lamp catches mist in its light, repulsing Bunk further and prompting him to inch away. 

“Fuck! That’s sick, Jimmy,” Bunk groans, shielding his line of sight with a newspaper.

Jimmy shrugs and shakes his head.

“D’hHH-…d-don’t watch then-!” he manages before pitching another — “ihH’DSHH’h!” — towards the floor. He can hear Bunk cursing in the background, but since when did he give a fuck about etiquette; least of all in front of Bunk? Besides, he’d been waiting on a fit like this all day. He wanted to indulge in this relief while possible.

He concentrates on the itch; head tipped back, eyes firmly closed, nose wrinkled and nostrils flaring. Broken gasps of air escape the parting of his lips, and his eyebrows tug skyward, drawing attention to the sweat clinging to crows feet. He remains suspended like that for a moment. You see, this was the other issue he had with colds: they made him itch like crazy; but all the extra congestion meant his sneezes had a tendency to get stuck — no matter how badly they were needed.

Not to mention luck was rarely on his side even on a good day, and so maybe this was just another fabulous example of his crude misfortune. As expected, the promise of relief retreats away, leaving McNulty frustrated and teary eyed as he wipes his nose on his tie and suppresses a cough against his sleeve.

“Fuck,” he groans, collpasing back into his seat, head back and arms hugging himself. Beside him, Bunk slowly lowers his paper, grimace fading as he resumes observing his partner.

“Bless you. You uh, take anything for…this?” Bunk asks, gesturing vaguely towards Jimmy.

McNulty chuckles, opening one eye and hesitating to catch his breath. “What's with the third degree?” He’s joking, but Bunk isn’t smiling this time. His stare is oppositely stern and silently chastising. McNulty clears his throat awkwardly. “No, nothing,” he answers more honestly.

“Why not?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, are you unfamiliar with the drugstore? Or have you forgotten that’s where people traditionally get their drugs?”

McNulty petulantly shrugs, right on cue. “It started off as a headache and the sniffles a few days ago. Thought it was allergies, so I figured I’d just ride it out,” he explains. “Plus, you know I hate that CVS shit. All it does is knock you out; I can’t go around solvin’ cases and questioning witnesses without a clear head.”

“Right, because that’s what you’ve got alright-,” Bunk scoffs, “-a clear head. That’s why you’re passing out at work hungover with the plague; sneezing and hacking your ‘clear head’ all over the motherfucking place.”

McNulty pauses, locking eyes with Bunk in a private game of chicken he can’t win. They stay that way for half a minute, but seeing as how he can’t win, McNulty raises both his hands, wordlessly forfeiting from the argument. Instead, he opts for performatively conceding one hand to dig around his breast pocket, where he frees an aged, aluminum flask that squeaks when he unscrews the cap. With added showmanship he raises his flask in mock cheers to “Rawls’ speedy recovery” and takes a long, indulgent swig. The burn that follows is heavenly and momentarily suspends his chills, like a furnace in his chest.

“Look your concern is appreciated, but I’ve already got the strongest antidote to man’s ailments right here; what more do I need?” McNulty cheekily defends, adding: “Sides, FDA doesn’t recommend mixing antihistamines with alcohol.”

Bunk snorts. “You’re a fucking alcoholic, Jimmy.”

“Takes one to know one. Just be proud of me for choosing not to drive home tonight,” he smirks before swigging the tin back once, twice again. Christ, that hit the spot, and even better than usual. Probably partly in thanks to his mucked up senses, which inadvertently spare him from tasting his own bad decisions.

Bunk rolls his eyes. “Just shut the fuck up and blow your goddamn nose. Can’t understand a fucking word you’re saying.”

Bunk hurls a travel pack of tissues from somewhere off his desk and towards McNulty. The latter catches it (albeit barely) and as a token of appreciation, spares his company a witty retort. Not to mention he needed to blow his nose, badly — stupid thing was so plugged up, he felt like he’d been swimming in his own head.

He takes his opportunity to wipe the liquor from his lip before blowing, then massaging freely at his nose. Knuckling at it all day has made it sore, but it’s the only way he can squash the tickle roosting there, even for a second. While he’s distracted, Bunk rises to his feet again and starts towards the elevator. McNulty only notices once he’s grabbed a second tissue.

“Where are you going?” he calls.

“Break room.”

“Break room?” Blow, sniffle, repeat. “That’s on the second floor.”

“So?”

“So what; you j’huH’st-…!” Oh, fuck off. “hHI’SCHH’hu!! ih’ZSCHH’h!”

McNulty sneezes twice at the ground again, even though he has a tissue in his hands. Thankfully Bunk’s still got his back turned, saving his partner from another lecture.

“Bless you!” Bunk says anyway.

“hh’-!…HH’RRSCHH’u!” He manages to catch that one. Lucky too, since he’s pretty sure his nose is running. “Than’gk-,” he blows his nose, coughs, clears his throat, and tries again. “Thank you baby. So…you really just came up here to sixth to wake me up like a dickhead?”

Bunk pauses and pays McNulty a glance over his shoulder as the elevator doors hiss open and he steps inside.

“Why’s everything gotta be about you, huh?” he asks. He jabs a button with his thumb, then points the butt of a withdrawn cigarrillo back at McNulty. “But yeah; looks like I did.”

Bunk blows McNulty a facetious kiss, then smugly disappears behind metal doors that ding shut. McNulty makes sure to send him off with two middle fingers, and another uncovered sneeze in chorus with his rumbling descent. The further he goes down, the quieter it feels, reminding McNulty he’s alone again. Only once Bunk’s already reached ground does McNulty realize he should have asked him more questions (or at least requested he bring him back something from the vending machine — a pop-tart or something chocolatey).

Not that it was too late to go after him…and he should probably do it, he knows. Christ, when was the last time he’d even eaten anything? Or really slept for that matter? He couldn’t remember, which was probably a bad sign in and of itself. In fact, that nap and the shitty coffee he’d had this morning were the best sleep and “meal” he’d gotten in days, but neither were exactly enough to sustain him — he knew that. He knew he should go home, sleep in a bed, eat an actual warm meal, and really take a few days to recover in private…but where was the entertainment in that? Sure, all that would cure him quicker, but they wouldn’t do anything to directly solve his case, and that was his priority as far as he was concerned.

It was a selfish, obsessive, and short-sighted way of thinking; shamelessly self-destructive at its worst. But really, so were all his other decisions the majority of the time…weren’t they…?

McNulty shakes his head. Why was he even dwelling on this shit anyway? He just wasn’t in the mood for eating, he reasons to himself; not when he couldn’t cook or taste a damn thing. Plus he still had half a flask remaining and plenty of work to get done; a reality evidenced by the mountain of eyewitness testimonies and crime scene photos burying his desk. Getting serious again, he takes another long sip of booze, pockets it, then brushes a few case notes aside to clear a space. Searching among the clutter, he plucks a chubby manilla folder from the most recent pile, grabs a pen, then kicks his feet up on the clearing he’d made.

He’d take a break when Bunk came back, he lies to himself. Until then, it was back to homicide…

“hh’ZSCHH!!”

…and that.

[maintohthakgayibhaishaab]

im fucking fed up of my parents.... kab tak unke tantrums sehti rahu main??????

Im 22 and yet feel like my life hasnt even began

am fucking behaving more childish (stupid, nervous lil kid) than 10y/o me

[bandarrrrr]

Ok, so I really REALLY like your personality. You are a cute guy, going through a hard time, trying to make yourself proud and also fighting with yourself. You can't forget your past and that's totally normal. It is tough for some people to forget their past if it is really beautiful. But Its ok ik you will move on from this one day and be happy and proud of yourself. You will understand only you have got the power to heal you. Please, remove this thinking of killing yourself. What will be the result of it? Making your parents feel unworthy of themselves and making them think that unke wajah se mera beta chala gaya. So please, I request you, don't think about this shit. You are amazing the way you are and I think instead of regretting about your past, you should think about all the good memories you had with that person and be happy. Be happy.

Okay so sorry first of all because I genuinely don't know how to answer this ask!

I understand what you are saying and honestly I am trying to move on but it feels impossible to move on, I saw a future with that person and the way things ended wasn't the ideal one! My parents had an idea about her, they knew what she was for me and her leaving was just something that I could not take still now even though it's been 5 fucking months since we broke up. I have been trying to be less sucidal but recent fuck ups have caused it even more, I feel I am fucking unlovable and I just hurt the people I care for and I hate it, that is one of the reason I tend to isolate myself from everyone! I just hate everything about myself, seriously everything and I can't change it.

I am trying to change these things slowly but nothing works so yeah, I'll keep trying because that's all that I can do!

[shut-up-rabert]

If their invasion shouldn't be study then modiji should also remove aryan alexander persian specially british european invasions aadhe se zyada lord blah blah angrezo ke naam nhi yaad karne padege yaar😭 mughal courts were more than just singing and dancing...the architectures and the culture from purani dilli to agra lucknow and the rules and trading system to currency systems it was a huge part of history .... Even if they've eaten up our textbook ig one should still study the examples of how they've done it afterall it's history ....

Yaar Tu paagal hai kya?

The posts I made are against the abundance of, abundance of mughal history, not all of it. The chapters regarding their conquest, architecture etc. are still intact, (even though they too are excessive, have you read in that much detail about the trade and architechture of southern kingdoms and Rajputana? Pretty sure they had their fair share of buildings and trades aswell) unke yaha konse tarah ka mujra hota tha wo padhne mein kisi ko interest nahi hai, Anarkali thumak ke naachti thi ya jhhatak ke ye jaanna Cholas ne kaise pure south east Asia ko ek Indic Identity di, usse zyaada important hai? Nur Jahan pe Jahangir kitna fida tha ye MahaRana ke Mewar recapture se bada hai?

And fuck no, no one should have more than their fair share in history, it's not fucking okay to dedicate 80% of history books to people who did not rule 30% of your history at someone else's cost, and that too while hiding their atrocities. Their pastimes do not matter more than other ruler's actual policies. That's bootlicking, my dear anon, and no one wants to be a bootlicker.

Bro ek post to theek se padh nahi paya, mughal history badi padhi hogi🤐

[justawhimm]

you’re real

fandom: cyb//erp//unk 2077 summary: becoming a father never felt like his sort of thing. he'd never planned it, initially. so when ke//rry eur//ody//ne unexpectedly ends up pregnant late into samurai's run, he does just about everything to ignore the fact that the baby even exists. needless to say, that doesn't go amazingly for long. this series explores the births of his four children and some moments of his parenting style toward each of them.

chapters: 1/8

content warnings: transmasculine pregnancy, graphic depiction of childbirth mention of drug use, mentions of alcohol use, mention of smoking, mild mistreatment of a pregnant person, initial resentment toward unborn child

notes: So, I found out recently that Kerry has other kids. They're apparently marked as noncanon nowadays, but oh well! I love the idea of Kerry having much more of a clear, full, lived life. Especially given his rockerboy lifestyle, I think that likely involved multiple kids and multiple marriages. We won't get into all of that, because this is kinda just a kink account, but I'll at least get into all of this with Kerry's four kids. :) I started this particular chapter a while ago, but finally finished it for the sake of @monsterexer​‘s Mayternity bingo series. Ayyy finally posting content!

Current Year: Early 2007 Kerry's Age: 19

cross posted on ao3

Crop tops had become his top of choice of late. At this point, who the fuck cared? Kerry stopped denying and hiding shit a while ago. A thing of the past. And he wished people would stop asking about it. It wasn't that big of a fuckin' deal.

Maybe he'd just wanted some damn privacy for once.

But, now every night they were on full display. The little virus growing within his gut was a secret to no one, least of all his bandmates. (Now, anyway.)

Kerry felt prying eyes staring at him again as he rested his hand against the uncomfortable curve. Either Denny or Nance 'cause of their worry, or Henry 'cause of his terror. He was jittery and jumpy with practically every move he made now. Y'know, as if he was just gonna pop and the whole thing would be over in an instant. It was kind of true, he guessed. While not at his due date, he was within the range where it wouldn't have been weird if he dropped now.

Johnny was the only one who didn't have his eyes on him. Kerry was pretty sure the whole thing freaked him out a little. Yeah, yeah. Join the fuckin' club, choom. Kerry knew it was probably a good mix of things. Not telling him 'til the screamsheets knew, for one. That was a big one, given that they fucking lived together. He was also pretty convinced Johnny had touched his stomach at one point while he slept and the trojan gave him a little spook. He definitely didn't like making eye contact with it anymore, anyway. Whatever the reason, Johnny ignored the situation as much as he could. And when he did acknowledge it, he was just being an ass about it. God, fuckin' get over it already. Not like it was goin' anywhere at this point.

Looking up, Kerry finally saw that stoic look of concern in Nancy's eyes.

"Keep feelin' yourself up," she gave a half-assed attempt at keeping the mood light, crouching down beside Kerry and offering him a slight smile. Kerry appreciated it anyway, "How're you getting by tonight?"

Removing his hand from his rounded gut, Kerry shrugged listlessly. He'd been so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn't noticed until then that the green room was empty, save for them. How long had it been like that? He rested his back against the sofa he'd been sitting on. This fuckin' thing was so low. His stomach had dropped at least a couple weeks ago, and it'd only been getting worse since then. He had no choice but to keep his legs slightly spread to accommodate the trojan inside.

"Just as low as last night. Back aches somethin' fierce, but that's nothin' new."

"Sure you'll get through the gig?"

"If I could manage it last night, I can manage it tonight. I thought they were seriously gonna bust out last night." A false alarm happened not long before the show was supposed to end. False contractions, probably brought on by the stress he'd been putting his body under to keep performing while he was like this. They had three more gigs to get through and then he could purge this virus from his system.

"And you're feeling better than you did then?" Nancy asked, looking for proper verbal confirmation that he was okay to do this, and not just some vague notion.

"Yeah. Definitely." Absolutely fucking not. Kerry felt sick to his stomach, but he'd performed under worse conditions. Besides, he thought he was looking pretty damn good today. Why deprive their fans from seeing him? Especially if he was just gonna get bitched at for bailing on the gig when he wasn't even in labor. God, this whole thing was such a pain in his ass…

"Great!" Nancy patted his back for emphasis. "We're on in 30," she informed him.

"Where're the others?"

"Smoking outside."

Oh for fuck sakes… Guess it was important, but it was still annoying as hell. Kerry had been itching for a cigarette for ages, and them smoking in the same room as him had been driving him mad with the cravings. Needless to say, that'd had to stop.

"Help me up, would ya?" He requested, grumbling to himself. This was getting so damn old… She took hold of his arm, while his free hand would support his back. Using his legs and her strength, he'd get to his feet and immediately feel the weight of what was growing as it was shifting into his pelvis. If he was seriously gonna have to deal with this shit for 3 more weeks, he was gonna lose his mind.

With a small, weak smile and a nod of thanks, Kerry stepped (Yes, stepped! The next person he'd hear telling him he was "waddling" was getting a punch in the family jewels.) toward the mirror. Had to gussy himself up. Always had to do it himself, even when it led to his back aching all the worse because he preferred to do his makeup while standing instead of sitting.

Unpacking his small makeup pouch, he'd pull out his eyeliner, eyeshadow palette, and brushes. Brown eyes connected with the large curve of his stomach, cringing slightly when he'd witness and feel the slight movement from beneath stretched skin. Definitely running out of room… Then again, he'd been convinced of that for weeks now, that he couldn't possibly get any bigger. And yet here he was.

While his expression did relax as he started making himself up, his neutral expression of concentration contorted into a small scowl as he felt another sharp pain travel through the small of his back. His hand wouldn't tremble though. He kept applying, and just ignored it. The fuck was anyone gonna do, after all? Not like he could pop something for it. He'd already gotten the riot act about that, and really? He should be praised. Dropping smoking, drinking, and pills all at once? He should get a fucking award for that. All for this virus. …Fuck, they were getting low.

Kerry's gaze averted from himself in the mirror and back toward the door when the rest of his bandmates returned, reeking of smoke. The smell was a relief, honestly. It gave him a bit of something, at least. Looking in the mirror again, he'd finish off his eyeshadow and start on the eyeliner. Shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, he'd keep much of his focus on what he was doing.

"Not gonna have a repeat of last night, right?" Henry was the first to speak up, striding over to his side.

"Don't got a clue what you're talkin' about," Kerry responded with a distinctly facetious tone, not breaking eye contact with the mirror or closing his mouth as he ran the thin brush tip over his waterline.

"Good. Drink your water like a–"

Kerry paused to let out a pained groan and placed a hand on his stomach, causing Henry to instantaneously take a giant step back with a jolt. His eyes were wide with fright. The others had similar reactions. Nancy's first instinct was to join him at his side instead, while Denny's eyes went wide with surprise and a slight bit of panic. Johnny's expression was almost unreadable with his aviators covering his eyes, the only thing noticeable was his slightly agape mouth. Laughter bubbled out of Kerry no more than a moment later, using the mirror to look around at everyone and their faces.

"Jumpy bunch, aren't ya? Just scarin' 'im, I'm fine," he assured. A quiet collective sigh of relief came over all of them, though Nancy would be the one to send him an unimpressed stare through the mirror.

"Not funny, Ker'."

"Sorry Mother Nance. Promise not t'do it again," Kerry half-heartedly assured as he would go back to lining his eyes.

Things went back to normal. Their usual arguing, primping, and drinking. There were at least a couple of more sharp pains from his back, making the weight in his pelvis even more distracting. It didn't feel like it was going anywhere to him, though. It just felt like the pain in his back made the weight in his pelvis feel worse than it really was. It made sense to him, so nothing to get worked up about. With his makeup done, Kerry gave himself a chance to sit down in front of the mirror to rest his legs.

"5 minutes!" Someone from outside of their room announced. Denny and Henry began to stand, since they were ready and didn't exactly make the same cocky entrances as their two frontmen. Nancy would follow not long after, leaving Johnny and Kerry to compose themselves enough to get up and get on stage.

Kerry was almost certain Johnny was high on something. What, he wasn't sure. They didn't use in front of him anymore, or as much as Nancy could control that.

"You look miserable," Johnny would fill the silence, picking himself up and finally approaching the mirror to toss his hair around a bit.

"Happens when you can barely sleep."

"Yeah, heard you keep gettin' up last night."

"Thing was punching my bladder like a speed bag. Nearly pissed myself twice."

"So that was what that was," Johnny grinned slightly, looking over toward him, "Had no idea what ta think when I heard you running around sayin' "Oh fuck, oh fuck" over and over. Thought I'd have to call Nance."

"Nope. Just nearly made a disgusting mess." Another ache in his back. God, this was such a fuckin' pain. He grit his teeth and would breathe through his nose, putting his hand to his back once again. This show was definitely gonna be rough. "...Help me up, would ya?" Kerry watched him contemplate it.

"Yeah. Alright. Better help you up now so you can make it to the stage before we head back to the hotel tonight." Johnny stood there patiently as Kerry carefully turned in his seat, then offered his metal arm out to him. Kerry rolled his eyes at him all the while.

"Har-fuckin'-har. Even funnier the 50th time you've said it. Shut the fuck up, Johnny." Begrudgingly, he'd take hold of Johnny's arm. Abruptly, he was yanked up to his feet, causing Kerry to wince with the pain that came with it. Arm almost pulled outta socket, his stomach lurching forward… Definitely hadn't been pleasant.

"Ouch. Should a future daddy really be talking like that?"

"Not in the mood right now, man. Let's just fuckin' go." The pain evened out and he could let out a breath, absently stroking the curve of his belly. Glancing back up at him, he was relieved when Johnny let go of him without a word. Nothing else snarky to say, he guessed. Asshole.

He would follow Johnny out of the green room, intent on keeping up his pace so he wouldn't have anything else to bitch about.

It all started off great. Stepping onto the stage, everything was pushed to the back of his mind. None of it mattered. The bickering, the rumors, the worries– fuck it all. None of it held any weight on his mind. He was just there to play, to sing. They weren't going to have a repeat of last night. His waves and big smile told the crowd that. And if he'd been able to see them past the blinding lights, then clearly he would've seen that they knew it was going to be different.

His axe had been passed off to him on his way onto the stage. The strap seemed like it'd have to get looser and looser with each performance. Even then, he was still able to play. He wouldn't miss a note, even as that strange, sharp pain struck him again halfway through "Five Rings." It almost felt like the pain itself was making the trojan press down, further into his– nah. Didn't matter. Don't fuck up a single note, a single cue. He sang, played through it all.

With the end of the second song, he almost felt relief. A moment to breathe, and Johnny was taking the time to address the crowd. Good… good. He kept his hands on his axe to keep them away from his stomach, other than the occasional hand being brought up to wipe sweat from his brow. He was already feeling the heat of the stage lights. He could usually handle it well. It wasn't like poor Nance, after all. Head to toe in black, just absorbing all of that heat. She was a fuckin' trooper. No wonder why she went through so much water while they played.

"...and let's all welcome back Kerry Eurodyne after last night's dramatic performance!"

Forced out of his thoughts, Kerry immediately gritted his teeth and sent Johnny a glare. Oh, this fucking dickwad. It took genuine effort to get himself to speak through the pain. No one would ever be able to say he wasn't a damn good performer after all of this shit.

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that." He spoke into the mic with a level of feigned amusement to his voice. "Kid thought it'd be a hilarious prank ta make me think they were comin', so…" Kerry shrugged his shoulders, unable to really think past that. The pain was too distracting. Johnny started speaking again, but Kerry wasn't absorbing any of it. Shit, it was really turning into something wasn't it? This wasn't like last night. It felt worse. But fuck that. He wasn't gonna get laughed at. Kerry wasn't gonna turn into another fucking spectacle. He wanted eyes on him, but not for this.

It was fine. Just make it through a couple of hours and then he could promptly get bitched out by their manager again.

It would only get worse from there, but playing was so much easier than speaking tonight. Singing backup was fine so long as the pain wasn't peaking. His mind felt like mush in the moments following the contractions ending, though. It was becoming more and more difficult with time to pretend that he was okay. For now, though, he thought he was managing it… fine.

Fuck, what next? "Seven Virtues?" "Blistering Love?" He looked to Johnny for that cue for the start of the next song. Hearing the first note gave him everything he needed to know. All right. The money maker. "Blistering Love" was loud, full of power, one of their most popular singles for a reason. He'd also been playing it since he was 15, so it was way too easy to just shut his brain off and play it without a thought in his head. …Ah, fuck, speaking of head.

There was no way the trojan's head could be any fucking lower. It felt like it was practically right between his legs, like if he spread them any wider (impossible, because of the leather pants he wore) that it would just fall straight out of him. Thankfully, he knew far better than that. It just wasn't gonna happen.

What would happen, however, was a want to push.

But that wasn't possible. It couldn't be.

His facade would finally break, and Kerry's eyes would momentarily widen with terror. He knew some fans must've seen him, but no one in the band did, nor did anyone off to the side. No, this wasn't happening. There was no fucking way, right? His water hadn't even broken. It couldn't be… If his water hadn't broken yet, then it wasn't coming yet.

Yeah. Yeah!

He was okay. Calm the fuck down, Eurodyne and plaaaaay–ooooo, fuck, it hurt! Oh, fuck, yeah that– that was getting to the unbearable levels of hurting now. He'd been so locked in his own head that he hadn't felt the full pain surging through his back and gut through the last few songs. How the hell had it gotten so out of hand so damn quickly?! This was supposed to take for fucking ever. He was supposed to be in some pristine hospital paid for the suits, complaining to Nancy when the thing just wouldn't come out of him. This was so completely and entirely not that.

Oh god, what the fuck was he supposed to– low, low, low, low!

Kerry gave a short push to test the waters, squatting just slightly where he was standing. It looked more like he was trying to give his legs a chance to bend after having his knees locked for too long, especially as he was trying his hardest to avoid making a face with the effort. And god he hated that it felt good. Well, maybe not good. "Right" felt a bit more appropriate. Oh, this was fucking bad. Shit, how many songs did they have left? Too many. Way too fucking many.

He couldn't do this. No, oh fuck no. This "trojan" was about to make its grand entrance into Troy soon if he wasn't careful. He didn't have a clue how none of the others hadn't noticed by now. Had he just been flawless with everything he'd played so far? He'd get a big head about that later, but right now he was far more occupied by another big head. If he was doing amazingly well for apparently how far into labor he was in, he was pretty damn sure that he was about to ruin that streak of brilliance.

. . . Okay. Contraction passed.

He could do this. He could do this! With the dulling of the pain, his confidence resurged. Kerry straightened himself up and phoned in a big grin right on cue. This song was ending, and Johnny was queuing up for the next. Next should've been "No Man Anymore," from what he could remember. With the hand signal Johnny gave, though, and the abrupt beginning, this was definitely not that. Why the fuck were the playing "Archangel?" That wasn't supposed to be played 'til the last tour date! What the fuck was he doing? Looking to Denny from where he stood, she looked just as confused as him, but kept up her drumming like a pro.

So, what more could he do but to act on cue? With the end of the first set of lyrics, Kerry played the riff. His favorite from any of their songs thus far. All eyes were on him now, and he couldn't fuck this up. He played it up as best as he could in his condition, arching his back and gyrating slightly to the beat of Henry's bass. An instant regret as the pressure was really getting to the point of intolerable, even between contractions. This thing was on its way out. Impatient little asshole.

The next contraction came before the song could end, and oh fuuuuuuuuuuuuck he had to push. He had to. There was no denying it. This thing wanted out whether he liked it or not. His grin had long since gone, having dissolved into to a look that he hoped could be read as passionate concentration, or something akin to that. With Johnny's loud vocals and guitar taking center stage, he'd squat down slightly like before. Kerry backed off from the mic, but would still try to keep himself from grunting with the aggressive shove of a push he gave. C'mon, kid… fuckin' work with me here!

Then came a burn and that wide eyed look returned, this time bringing along an aggressive feeling like he was going to be sick. Oh, no. No-no-no-no-no-no! This wasn't happening! He pushed again, this time involuntarily. He was squatting more. Someone had to have noticed by now right? Please. Please– someone help h–

It felt like something exploded inside of him, and all at once everything was disgustingly wet. It wasn't like in the movies, where a wet spot just appeared and a puddle was clearly beneath him. Oh, no. These leather pants made it feel so much more disgusting. Soaking the inside and dripping down through each pant leg. His socks, his shoes: they weren't drenched immediately. It felt way too slow, feeling it as it seeped down further. Two small individual puddles pooled beneath him, as well, soon meeting each other to create one larger one. Kerry wouldn't even notice that "Archangel" had ended until he heard some of the gasps of the closest fans that noticed what happened.

He was suddenly all too aware of the sets of eyes that were on him, even without being able to see them all. Fuck, this was gonna be all over the screamsheets. No one was ever gonna let him live this down. Letting go of his guitar, he'd instead reach out to grip at the mic stand, as though it might be able to help him stay on his feet. Peering up slightly, he'd first be able to see that infuriatingly unreadable expression from Johnny. Not even an agape mouth this go around. With his eyes covered by those stupid fucking aviators, he looked downright unimpressed with what was happening. He was gonna kick this motherfucker's ass, whether he was pushing a human being out of him or not!

"C'mon Ker'," Denny's familiar, gentle voice was suddenly in his ear. It was similar to last night, where she, too, had been the closest to him and first to join his side. Except this time, he was quick to shake his head and turn the microphone away from his face. No, oh god no, he was not going to be making the entire venue aware of this!

"Can't move," he whimpered, "it's coming. 'M not fuckin' around, Den, it's comin'." With a hand on Denny now, a far more stable support, he'd squat down further and bear down once again. Denny's dark brown eyes would widen with her own panic, turning back toward Nancy. She'd been on her way over as well, with Henry practically frozen in terror back at his spot on the stage. Denny gestured for Nancy to hurry the fuck up, since she absolutely knew nothing about any of this shit.

Quickening her pace across the stage, Nancy trotted over and got to Kerry's other side. She worriedly took hold of his arm, looking him over.

"C'mon, Ker'," Nancy echoed, then gently began to urge him toward offstage.

"He said–"

"Nance, it's comin' outta me! Like, it's–" Before any further words could come out of his mouth, Kerry was frantically pushing again. Teeth grit and a groan of effort escaping him, her own bright red eye would widen with the realization. Oh, for fuck sakes! "–just get my pants off. It's got nowhere t' gooooooo with these things!" The burn was getting worse. Oh god, it was actually coming out. It was for real sticking out of him, what the fuck was he supposed to do?!

"I am not taking off your pants in front of–"

"Well I can't fucking move Nancy!"

"Johnny!" Nancy looked back toward where Johnny was still standing there, having made no move at all to do a damn thing. But, fuck. If Nance was calling him over, he knew he was gonna get a whole fucking earful of bitching if he didn't come over. And so Johnny begrudgingly sauntered over to approach Kerry at the front, moving the mic stand off to the side completely.

Kerry still couldn't see this fucker's eyes. Not like he gave a damn in that moment, not when he was once again bracing himself on his bandmates and pushing hard to try to get this thing out of him. Its head had almost nowhere to go. With him in a thong and tight ass pants, it was bound to hit the limit soon. And soon it was, as he felt resistance with the end of that push.

"Johnny, pull him off the stage. We're not doing this here."

"No! Nance, please!" Kerry was panicking, begging. "Its head is almost out, I swear t'fuckin' god. I need to–" Johnny pushed Nancy out of the way slightly, and suddenly Johnny's hands were on him. Arms hooking underneath his own, Johnny would start to drag Kerry off the stage. That was where the production staff started to scramble, trying to either get out of the way or figure out what they were going to do. They were all completely useless to Kerry.

Stopping far offstage, Johnny would stand him up again before starting to pull his guitar up from around him. It was handed off to a stagehand, while Denny and Nancy both were crowding him again. Henry had followed the rest of his bandmates offstage, but was staying a good distance away. He still wanted absolutely nothing to do with that. Behind everything else, Kerry could still hear the chattering of the concert attendees. None of that mattered, though. Absolutely none of it. What really did was just getting this kid out of him.

Standing up normally again, Kerry would begin his struggle in getting his pants down. They were wet, disgusting, and restrictive. Nancy was finally helping, taking charge of unbutton and unzipping the leather pants and shimmying them down his hips and thighs to the best of her ability. With the state of things, she knew better than to think they'd be able to get them down too far. Instead, she just focused on getting them down enough.

Getting them down to his thighs, Nancy still couldn't quite see the extent of everything. The offstage area wasn't exactly brightly lit, with nothing really being easy to see in this dim light. After she'd pull down Kerry's thong, however, she cautiously felt for a sign of something and oh god did she find it.

"I need a light. Someone– a light, before he–" Kerry would groan before she could finish her request. He was finally able to spread his legs some. God, this thing had really just been trying to come out in the most cramped place ever. With the spread of his legs came the feeling of the head slipping down further. So when he pushed, that would give it the shove it needed to come to a full crown. That sharp burn had Kerry gasping, then hunching over and groaning more before Denny would try to urge him to stand up straighter.

With Nancy on catching duty, Denny holding him up, and Henry being utterly fucking useless, that would leave Johnny to be the one to try to find a light.

"A light!" He'd yell from behind Kerry, probably at one of the stagehands. Someone shut the curtain that led to the offstage, while someone finally turned on a light. Coupled with that, Kerry would hear the familiar click of a flashlight.

"There we go… Kerry, you're almost there. Head's almost out. Are you still having a contraction?" Nancy looked up at him, but he could only barely see her past his stomach. He'd try to answer her question, only for it to come out as a pained groan as his body would involuntarily push for him. Nancy said something else, but none of those words would ever make it to Kerry's ears.

The pain was so much louder than everything else, like a siren blaring in his ears telling him to end this. He could barely even hear his own pained moans anymore. Dull nails would involuntarily dig into Denny's wrist. He would have to apologize to her for it later, but for now it would fall away from his mind as quickly as it registered.

The burning finally stopped all at once, eyes going wide and wondering if it was over. His thighs were wet all over again, while he heard more fluids splashed to the ground.

"Head's out."

Fuck.

"Breathe, Kerry. It's almost over. . . . No cord, so you can keep on pushing when you need to."

"Are you all just gonna stand there and watch?! Someone call a fuckin' ambulance!" Denny's own mother henning made Kerry grin slightly. Denny and Nance were so fuckin' good to him… Kerry panted out softly, resting his head against Denny's shoulder and closing his eyes briefly. A very short rest before his body reignited its urge to get this thing out of him.

Feeling one of the shoulders making its way out of him was probably even weirder than feeling the head coming. Second only to the feeling of the baby rotating to get itself out.

"That's it Ker'. You've got this." He heard from Nancy.

"I know it hurts, Ker'. Almost done. Just a couple more." He heard from Denny.

"This is takin' forever…" Johnny sounded almost worried. Like the amount of time it was taking was somehow indicative of how well it was going. Nobody tell him how some people spent literal hours pushing their babies out.

Kerry groaned once again with the peak of his current contraction. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Fuck, this was it!

"It's– Nance– it's!! It's out, it's fucking out!"

"I know, Ker'. I–" Another gush, followed by silence. There was relief. Kerry panted softly, eyes opening fully. A bit of sweat was burning his right eye, but he didn't give a fuck about that right now. No more than a moment later, Kerry heard a tiny cry. Panic really started swirl around them now. Not the band, no. Each one of them was stunned into silence, while the stagehands and general people amongst the production were trying to figure out just what the fuck they were supposed to do. None of them were even a blip on Kerry's radar right now.

Nancy scooted back slightly, lifting the newborn up so the parties involved could see.

She was small, with black hair like Kerry's. Apparently having not inherited his mouth or lungs, because her cry was quiet. Like the saddest thing had just happened to her and she needed an immense amount of love and comfort to assure her that everything was going to be okay.

"Holy shit," Kerry breathed, looking down at the blood covered babe.

That was his. That was the little… the little asshole that had made his life so much more difficult the last several months. Looking down at her, it was feeling difficult to shove that anger onto her like he had before. How could he? She was so little.

He knew he was going to get bitched at to hell and back for all of that, but whatever. That was a future Kerry problem. All he could do for now was just reach out and take his baby from Nancy, unable to pry his eyes from her.

"Hey… hey, I know... I know."

[milkhoney531]

I wonder how difficult it could possibly be to highjack some of the dead air here and illegally put up my own radio station to play songs that aren't country or classical music. (Not an exaggeration I check fm and am for 2 fucking days, most of the time it was just fucking static)

Like, I just moved here and no one knows I exist here yet so it would be easy to get away with. I could hunt around the various music bars and see if I can play some local unk and rock bands' music. Google for weather updates. It's mostly desert out here so I could tell scary stories or have people submit short stories for me to tell instead of going over traffic. Inform about random shit going on.

Idk. Toying around with the idea.