#viciously narcotic

[headlesssamurai]

“But she wasn't scared of the heat. She welcomed it. under her skin it was as if the cells were dancing. And further in, the blood.”

[gauloiseblue]

John Price as a arm candy personal bodyguard

General HQ | Part I | Part II

(Enemy to friend to lover AU)

Price first met his wife on a mission where he's investigating her under the suspicion of smuggling. She's an antique dealer, and sells any kind of expensive artworks, and for that reason, she gave away a lot of bribes for the transport.

She laughed at him when he confronted her about it, and told him narcotics have no value over the works of art she collected.

She didn't hide her hostility whenever he and his men came to her place, and wouldn't hesitate to whack anyone who's careless at handling her collections with her cane.

(She has a black cane, with a golden lion's head on top)

They didn't find anything that could tie her to the case, but that didn't mean her name was cleared yet.

If they couldn't find the drugs in the warehouse, then they must've been unpacked right after they arrived at the port.

It took months of negotiations, persuasions, pressures, and an expensive bottle of wine to get her to cooperate with them.

Since it had a tie with Las Almas Cartel, he needed to call Alejandro and Rodolfo over.

He was actually scared that his presence would hinder the investigation, because Alejandro's personality might clash with hers. To his surprise, they got along well.

"I like him, he's very honest." She said, "Unlike a certain man in your force."

Their relationship was so bitter that he, a man who rarely complained, ranted about her over drinks. It was bad that the whole team and some of the upper ups knew about their dispute.

Still, they maintained some sort of professionalism whenever they needed to get on the case.

After several months of investigation, they finally stumbled upon the first breakthrough, and that is the fine china. The cartel had smuggled the drugs through the import of high-quality porcelain.

She was stunned when he revealed it at the meeting, and stared at the papers in front of her until the meeting ended. She then asked for his audience, alone in her office.

To his surprise, she wanted to know about his opinion on the plan, before she gave him her own thoughts.

"If what you said is true, then I know who the man is—rather, it's a woman."

She proceeded to tell him her plan to trap the suspect, and the possibility of capturing her. He nodded and took her plan into consideration. They discussed it until midnight, and for the first time, they shared the same thoughts.

The operation went smoothly thanks to her idea of giving the culprit a false sense of security, in which she collaborated really well by getting into her role.

The woman turned out to be her right hand, who usually handled the transport of her collections. During the capture, she begged her to help her and played the victim card, before she straight up threatened her. She did it so viciously, that he felt a pity for her. Yes, he hated her, but she didn't deserve to hear those words.

At night, after clearing up the mess, he paid her a visit at the office. Despite the indifference that she showed earlier, she looked as if she'd been crying when he saw her that night.

When she saw him walking into the room, she quietly sighed. "It'll take a long time before I can find someone as competent as her. She's irreplaceable."

"You'll find them eventually." He mused.

"But it won't be the same." She said, "She was my friend, I trusted her."

He kept quiet, as he understood what she truly meant.

"I don't think you'd understand, John." She began, "I'd forgive her if she stole any of the antiques and covered it up with laughable excuses, but this?" She shook her head, "How could she be so stupid?"

"Money can turn people blind."

"I gave her enough to support her and her family." She scoffed, "I don't understand how it's not enough, she could've asked—"

She paused, as she decided to hold back mid sentence.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For not believing you."

"... It's all in the past."

She turned to him, giving him a slight smile. "I'm in the mood for bourbon. Would you join me?"

That was the mark of their affinities

On the last day of the mission, she bid him goodbye in person.

"Goodbye John, I hope we'll never see each other again."

To any person who's not familiar with her, it might sound like she still harbors a hatred for him. But if they looked close enough, they'd see a small smile on the corner of her lips.

"The feeling's mutual."

She let out an amused snort when he lifted his hat as he left.

From that point forward, they lost contact for over a year, and would stay that way if he didn't send her a postcard on Christmas.

If someone asked him why he did it, he wouldn't know why either. The thought of her just came to him when the first snow fell.

Days later, as he browsed through the newspapers stall, he stumbled upon an article written by her about the modern depiction of Christmas.

"... while it might’ve lost its meaning in a traditional sense, it still holds the very core of it; to celebrate the blessing of life… For those who wrote without return addresses, I hope happiness would find you still."

He still carries the clipping of it to this day.

The thought of her soon forgotten as he received more and more missions, until one day, his team was in shambles as they were branded as traitors.

That night, he arrived at her door—bloody, and dazed—with a pitiful disclosure; "I have nowhere else to go."

She didn't say much, as she stepped aside to let him in.

After all of his wounds were taken care of, he confessed to her about his current status.

"So you've become a fugitive?"

"Not just me, but my whole task force."

She then asked about his plan and what he'd do in the future, but he hadn't thought much about it yet.

"One thing for sure, I'm gonna clear my team's name on this."

"... I see." She mused, "In the meantime, you should focus on your recovery."

He ended up taking her office's sofa as his bed. It was stiff, but certainly better than what he used to have.

The next morning, he woke up with a jolt when the door suddenly opened. With blurry vision, he saw two men carrying a wooden desk to the corner of the room, before she appeared to give them instructions. After all the things was settled, she turned to him to announce that he could work in this room.

"You don't have to." He muttered, still half awake.

"Well, where are you going to work then? The kitchen?"

He couldn't find the answer for it.

"Don't worry, John, I don't expect you to repay me in any way."

And just like that, she left the room, leaving him dumbfounded by the turn of events.

[cinderella-ish]

Fruits Basket Personality Types Part 19: Saki Hanajima

Saki is such a fun character. The way she always wins card games with a dramatic card flourish is one of my favorite running gags in the series.

I've spent a lot of time with Saki while writing Bloom Within Us, and I think my view on her Enneagram might be one of my more surprising takes! Anyway, here's how I see her personality type!

Saki Hanajima's Enneagram

Wound: Saki was born with strange powers that always overwhelmed her when she went out in public. She was viciously bullied due to these powers, and blamed herself when a boy collapsed after she told him to die.

Wounding message: The world isn't made for weirdos like you. It's not okay to stand up for yourself.

Core desire: To belong, not to hurt anyone again, not to cause problems for her family.

Core fear: That she'll hurt someone again.

Defense mechanism: Saki withdraws almost completely, burying her emotions as much as she can so she won't accidentally hurt anyone else.

Strengths: Saki has a strong aesthetic sense, she's loyal, protective, funny, weird, and comfortable being her strange self.

Challenges: Saki doesn't show her true feelings to anyone except those closest to her, she's lazy, gluttonous, and stubborn.

When healthy: Saki is more comfortable with herself, she believes she deserves friends and her kind family, she's a loyal and caring friend, she's funny for her own sake, and she lets herself have fun.

When unhealthy: Saki is completely withdrawn, plagued by feelings of worthlessness, terrified of hurting anyone, and pushes people away.

Looking at all of this, here's what connects when I go back to the Enneagram post:

Wound: 6 or 8

Wounding message: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, or 9

Core desire: strongly 9

Core fear: 1 or 9

Defense mechanism: 5 and 9

Strengths: 4, 5, 6, or 8

Challenges: 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, or 9

When healthy: 2, 3, 5, 6, or 9

When unhealthy: 3, 8, or 9

Saki is an Enneagram 9.

Saki is such an interesting 9 because we see her both in a fairly healthy place (most of the series' current timeline), and a very unhealthy place (her backstory). It's such a striking contrast to see what she's like in each state, and it's such a joy to see who she can be when she's not so terrified of hurting or burdening others.

Nines live in the Gut center, and tend to underexpress Anger.

Wing

The Enneagram Institute calls 9w8s "The Referee" and 9w1s "The Dreamer."

I see Saki as a 9w8, because she's fairly comfortable with conflict as long as she's not afraid of losing control of her powers.

EnneaApp describes 9w8s like this:

Seek peace/conflict resolution through a strong, cooperative approach

Can explode with impulsive anger when self or others are threatened

Can be stubborn and defensive; can flip from placidity to aggression

Has a lusty side (sensually/materially); seeks comfort/habitual routines

More extroverted and sociable than 9w1; has a higher charge than 9w1

While I don't think this is a perfect description of Saki, I do think the second, third, and fourth bullet points are great descriptions of her. I also think she has a higher charge than the 9w1s we've seen so far (Tohru, Kisa, and Kureno).

Subtype

I see Saki as a SP 9w8.

EnneaApp describes SP Nines like this:

Attention fixated on secondary sources of gratification; denies emotional needs

Needs replaced with substitutes: food/TV/shopping/hobbies/substance addictions

Preoccupied with physical comfort, maintaining habits, and satisfying appetites

Anesthetize/narcotize the self - love to numb out/relax on one's drug of choice

Store up a supply of "love substitute;" the stash is a source of comfort/security

Appetite for the substitute is strongest when distracting from self-improvement

The rising interest in indulgence doesn't feel lazy, it feels exhilarating; insatiable

Gets along by asking as little of life as possible; seeks needs patiently & covertly

May have a love of the minimal and enjoy the repetition of known routines/rituals

May be physically slow moving; inclined to inertia: "built for comfort, not speed"

Like to collect objects/information; has trouble discarding and making decisions

Wants to be seen as kind/loving peacemaker, but underneath can be "hard as nails"

Strong connection to Six; may focus on fear/doubt of needs ever being truly met

I think this description connects to Saki's apparent lust/gluttony - the way she's always eating, loves aesthetically pleasing clothes, etc...

Tritype

I think Saki's Heart type must be 4, but her Head type is a little less obvious. She has elements of all three Head types (5, 6, and 7), being withdrawn and perceptive like a 5, safety-oriented like a 6, and an appreciation of material comforts like a 7. Ultimately, I think 7 describes her internal state more accurately than 5 or 6. This makes her tritype 4-7-9, "The Gentle Spirit." Here's the description from Katherine Fauvre's website:

If you are a 479, you are intuitive, innovative, and accepting. You want to be original, positive, and peaceful. Others see you as very receptive and ethereal. You are identified with the defense of optimism and possibilities. Secretly, you are shy and long-suffering and tend to hide your painful feelings and pessimism for fear of being rejected. You focus on what is new and giving meaning to your suffering. Others see you as gentle, tenderhearted, and lyrical. You are attracted to healing arts.

Saki Hanajima's MBTI

Here's how I see Saki's Type Dynamics:

Feeling: I think her Dominant process is Introverted Feeling. According to The Myers & Briggs Foundation, when Fi is exaggerated, someone might "carry the weight of the world on their shoulders, hypersensitive, pompous, feel sorry for themselves"

Sensing: Saki likes experiencing the world in a tactile, concrete way. I see her as using Extroverted Sensing.

iNtuiting: The Myers & Briggs Foundation website doesn't describe how the Tertiary process can look distinct from the Dominant or Inferior processes, but here's what Ni can look like at its best: "Can appear visionary. Connects unconscious images, themes, and connections to see things in new ways. Brainstorm internally with themselves. Trusts and relies on inner insights, which may be hard for others to understand."

Thinking: I think this is shown in Saki's tendency to be rather literal and think in black and white terms.

This makes her Type Dynamics Fi Se Ni Te, and her MBTI Type ISFP, "The Composer."

Here's how Truity describes ISFP:

ISFPs are gentle caretakers who live in the present moment and enjoy their surroundings with cheerful, low-key enthusiasm. They are flexible and spontaneous, and like to go with the flow to enjoy what life has to offer. ISFPs are quiet and unassuming, and may be hard to get to know. However, to those who know them well, the ISFP is warm and friendly, eager to share in life's many experiences. ISFPs have a strong aesthetic sense and seek out beauty in their surroundings. They are attuned to sensory experience, and often have a natural talent for the arts. ISFPs especially excel at manipulating objects, and may wield creative tools like paintbrushes and sculptor's knives with great mastery.

So, to summarize:

Enneagram: SP 9w8 (The Peacemaker/The Referee)

Tritype: 4-7-9 (The Gentle Spirit)

MBTI: ISFP (The Composer)

What do you think? Did I get it right or wrong? I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Next up: Arisa!

Fruits Basket Personality Types: Enneagram | MBTI | Tohru | Akito | Kyo | Yuki | Haru | Kisa | Momiji | Hatori | Ayame | Rin | Hiro | Ritsu | Kureno | Shigure | Kagura | Kazuma | Arisa | Machi | Kakeru | The Hondas | Kaibara Students

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Quartet of Death

https://www.patreon.com/empyreaniris?fan_landing=true

https://starr-fall-knight-rise.tumblr.com/post/182501791735/master-post

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1jzEIdDAB4omdO2JcQVMObfrhLJ5kX4ONmSsLypM1ks0/edit?usp=sharing

Adam’s vision burned red, fire roaring through his veins. The Steel Eye narcotic cocktail bled through his body like ink on paper dulling the pain of impact and clouding his brain with the smoky haze of war.

His heart clamored for freedom, battering itself against the cage of his sternum as he drove the point of his spear viciously through the throat of an incoming void creature. Inside his helmet, the Fealty AI called for blood, and the Steel Eye prosthetic gnashed its gears like the champing of predatory teeth. 

Beside him, he was vaguely aware of her.

Sunny, the saint of Anin, the goddess of war in her burning white armor spattered in gore. When she bellowed the entire battlefield trembled at her call, not even the roaring of artillery fire enough to drown her out.

And together they danced to a quartet of death: artillery fire, the clash of steel, the rattle of gunfire, and the cries of the dying. Overhead the battlefield was shrouded in a burning golden haze. The funnel of light that led to the Necritorium burned white hot unable to keep pace with the slaughter taking place upon its doorstep.

Fealty marked three targets, condemning them to death with ease and efficiency only born from machines. Adam charged over the ground, feet tearing at the churned earth. Target 1 lunged to the side, passing inside Adam’s spear guard and lunging for his side, but at the last moment, Adam engaged his shield, sending a spike of power down through his armor and into his forearm.

The shield appeared in a sudden eruption from his arm, bursting into existence just in time to deflect Target one’s attack. Target one bounced ineffectually off Adam’s shield, staggering back a step.

It would be the last step he took, as Adam dropped his shield and fired two rounds from a handgun into Target one’s chest.

Target one collapsed.

A red warning light blinked on his HUD, and Adam whipped sharply to his right just in time to deflect the massive spearhead aimed at the junction between his neck and shoulder. The blade glanced hard off the armor of his right forearm, bouncing ineffectually into the dirt. Target 2 was a massive Drev, almost as big as Kanan or Kazna. At only a little over seven feet tall inside his armor, Adam was a good three feet shorter than the Drev.

But that didn’t matter, as soon as he deflected the spear, Adam lunged forward, planting the boot of his Steel Eye prosthetic onto the Drev’s knee and thrusting downward. Target two screamed as its knee cracked and Adam was propelled upward grabbing it by the throat with his left hand.

Another surge of maker energy poured into his arm like a torrent, and with a sharp, thrust of his will, the glowing golden shield expanded outward and into the space below Target two’s jaw, slicing its face clean in half.

Adam kicked viciously forward, catching Target two in the chest, still flailing with pain and confusion as it was propelled backward into Target three. Both remaining targets hit the ground hard, and Adam stepped forward thrusting the leaf blade of his spear into target three’s open and screaming mouth. 

Target three choked and died on its last meal: cold metal.

Adam wrenched the spear from Target three’s mouth and only just had time to register the sudden warning light on his HUD as the enemy chopper dropped into position and leveled its machine guns. 

Adam was forced to prayer in the dirt by a hail of gunfire. 

Without a voicebox, Fealty couldn’t scream, but the sudden eruption of warning dialogues on his HUD was more than enough. Adam shouted forcing a burst of anima energy up and through his skin. The shield he erected was poorly constructed and folded after only a few moments. Bullets fractured against his armor, driving him to his belly.

The sky was filled with the continual shutter of muzzle flash.

And then.

The Chopper’s tail erupted into flame. The machine jerked sideways bullets tearing a stitch down through Target two’s body, ending it for good as it choked out its last breath upon the dirt. 

Atop a nearby pile of corpses, Etium cackled, the barrel of his chain gun obscured in a halo of muzzle flash.

The Chopper fell into a flat spin, and dropped, plowing into the carnage of battle, whirring blades ripping indiscriminately through both friend and foe. Etium’s laughter was cut suddenly short as a stray bullet, originating from somewhere in the crowd took him high in the shoulder, throwing him bodily from his pile of corpses.

A stray void creature, sensing an opportunity, leaped its way from the crowd and skittered across the dirt toward Etium’s unprotected body.

Adam snarled, charging forward.

But the Void creature was closer.

It leaped skyward casting a shadow of death over Etium as it blocked out the bloody red sky.

And subsequently erupted in a burst of anima energy as Krill came screaming over the edge of the hill. His warcry was cracked and horse, the panic evident in his screams. The creature was already dead, but he blasted it several more times before falling back to help Etium, flanked by Celex who had made himself busy ferrying the stupid to the afterlife, the stupid being anyone who came within fifty yards of Krill.

Battle function at 82% Fealty helpfully informed him just as another chopper swung low towards them leaving a path of death and blood in its wake.

Adam was about to ready his shield when Sunny appeared at his back, gone for only a few moments before Target one had appeared. He knew what she was thinking reading her intentions through the lines of her body. Sunny raced out before him, and he raced after her. The chopper, more of a shuttle, was coming in fast its guns whining like an eager dog.

Sunny batted aside another target, who Adam dispatched with the thrust of his spear, as, together they raced to the top of a small Knoll.

The gunship was coming around.

Sunny dropped to one knee.

The gunship marked them for death.

Adam lept forward, planting his foot on Sunny’s shoulder. She thrust upward mustering all the strength in her body, suit, and anima to throw him into the air. 

And there Adam hung, suspended in a tableau of smoke and fire, body parting through a vail of smoke as the light of hell burned down around him in shades of orange and red. His heart hammered as Anima energy erupted in a short burst around his body. With a sharp hiss, the engine of his jetpack fired, though the wings were tucked, and were it not for Sunny’s true aim he would have missed.

Even so, Adam shot forward cutting through the air like a missile, the front of his body covered by a cone of anima energy, which erupted in golden fire as he impacted the nose of the gunship, ripping straight through like a missile from nose to tail. The gunship jolted and fell as Adam shot out the other side. Shrapnel spread behind him like a pair of hellish wings as he fell from the sky and impacted the dirt, hitting hard and rolling to land on his stomach in a shallow furrow.

At that moment, a burst of artillery fire peppered the ground around him sending dirt and concussive waves of force up into the air. Through the rattling in his helmet, Adam looked up to find Queen Xanthia silhouetted against the burning sky at the crest of a hill, the tip of her spear dripping rubies and amber.

Her cape fluttered in a ragged tatter at her back for one stunning moment, before the artillery round plunged into the armor separating her shoulder from her neck ripping a diagonal of fire straight through her body. With a shout, Adam staggered to his feet, but King James was already there shouting in horror and rage as Queen Xanthia slumped in his arms.

Dead.

He roared in frustrated fury, the momentary lapse clouding his senses just in time for Kazna to appear at his back, spear raised.

Adam shouted again.

King James turned, but not fast enough as Kazna’s spear cut downward…

And was deflected viciously to the side. 

Caught off balance kazna turned her attention to the newcomer, a wizened old figure in shining silver armor, carapace blackened with age. Hijan lunged forward scoring a hit high on Kazna’s upper thigh.

Adam was still running.

Kazna sneered and lunged, plowing through Hijan’s defenses like a bull through plywood. The look on her face was one of glee, as she buried the head of her spear deep in Hijan’s belly. The old Drev staggered, orange blood spurting from the wound to cascade down onto her feet, but she didn’t cry out or clutch the wound or collapse. Instead, she drew back her armor first and drove the two impaling metal spikes straight up through Kazna’s jaw. Pinning her mouth shut.

Kazna jerked, violently withdrawing her spear and kicking Hijan in the belly. The old Drev’s spikes ripped their way from Kazna’s jaw, and then she was gone, vanished, over the crest of the hill.

Adam screamed, vision burning red as he engaged the jetpack for a second time.

The burst of energy wasn’t as much as it had been before, but still, it launched him forward, straight into Kazna’s chest throwing them both back over the hill to go tumbling down its shallow slope. Adam landed hard on his back Kazna on top of him dripping great splotches of blood down and onto the visor of his helmet.

But she didn’t waste time in taking advantage, and neither did Adam.

In unison, the two of them pulled back their fists before driving their spiked gauntlets viciously into the other’s bodies.

Adam, Imed for her neck, but missed, instead driving the points of his gauntlets into the meat of her shoulder. In turn, Kazna tore through his armor, raking a massive gash from the base of his chest to the top of his hip, not enough to eviscerate him, but more than enough it would have caused plenty of pain and blood loss….

That was if Adam could feel pain at the moment.

Adam sneered at her, throwing kazna back with a sharp kick to her stomach. 

It was his luck as just then, two other Steel Eye Soldiers appeared, as if from nowhere.

Kier Lindsay Caught Kazna’s right arms and Jane Caught her left arms. 

Kazna howled attempting to shake them off like an angry boar, but the two of them held on, baring down with the shrieking grind of gears and metal as their Steel Eye armor and exoskeletons held her in place, driving their feet a good two inches into the hard crusted earth.

Adam had lost his spear sometime during the fall, but he would not be denied this opportunity. He drew his hand back and drove the first of his gauntlet straight into her throat.

Once 

Twice 

Three times 

She gurgled and thrashed.

Orange blood spattered the front of his body, his mind was filled with an overwhelming glee as she choked.

And then, another barrage of artillery fire hit.

And everything…

Went…

Black 

[myhauntedsalem]

The Birdman of Alcatraz

Robert Stroud’s life story was first told in a book in 1955 and then in a movie starring Burt Lancaster in 1962 both entitled “Birdman of Alcatraz.” Both portrayed his life story while he served time for murder first at Leavenworth and then later at Alcatraz. Both portrayed him as a ‘kindly’ reformed prisoner who spent years studying bird diseases and how to cure them. But as usual this Hollywood glossy version reflected only small parts of the real truth.

Robert Stroud was far from a ‘model’ prisoner.

In 1909 Stroud shot and killed a man in Juneau, Alaska. Stroud pimped for a prostitute who was cheated by a “john”. This “john” had paid her $2.00 instead of the expected $10.00. Stroud angry, because he didn’t get his usual cut, went to this man’s residence and shot him five times and then took his wallet. He was tried and convicted of manslaughter and sentenced to serve twelve years at McNeil Island prison in Washington State.

Two years later at McNeil Island he stabbed a fellow inmate for being a ‘snitch’. He was tried for assault and six months were tacked on to his sentence. During this time he also viciously attacked a prison hospital orderly. This man had reported him for using intimidation and threats in an attempt to procure narcotics. In 1912 he was transferred to the U.S. Penitentiary at Leavenworth, Kansas—due partially to his ceaseless threats to other inmates.

At Leavenworth, in the spring of 1916 Stroud refused to give a guard his “number’’ which was a minor infraction. The next day a long awaited visit with his brother was cancelled because of this infraction. Stroud during the noon meal that same day in the prison mess hall asked this guard if he had reported him. When the guard refused to respond, Stroud pulled out a concealed knife and stabbed and killed him in front of hundreds of other inmates.

For this crime, he was convicted of first-degree murder. He was to be hanged in 1918. But his mother who had moved to Kansas to be close to him, desperately pleaded for his life. In 1920 President Woodrow Wilson commuted his death sentence to life in prison. The Leavenworth warden because of Stroud’s unpredictable and violent outbursts ordered that he be permanently placed in a segregation unit.

Stroud was an enigma because he had an IQ of 134, but he ate with his fingers, hunched over like an animal. His horrible personal hygiene presented a problem for fellow inmates and prison officials alike. It wasn’t until 1934 that he was formally diagnosed as a psychopath.

While at Leavenworth, he found an injured sparrow in the yard; he took it back to his cell and nursed it back to health. This started his interest in birds. This interest was his one and only redeeming feature.

The warden at Leavenworth used Stroud’s interest in birds to present a model of “progressive rehabilitation” to the public. Shroud played along because he had found a way to raise some money for his mother who was fighting for his release.

Over the next years he raised over 300 canaries, which he sold to visitors at the prison. Stroud’s scientific observations of the canaries he kept did later benefit the research on the canary species. He wrote two books on this subject. He also made a contribution to avian pathology. All of this endeared him to people in the field.

In contrast to this he allowed his birds to fly freely in his cell, which resulted in quite a mess, which he never cleaned up. The massive correspondence he began to receive also became a burden for the prison for each letter coming in and going out had to be screened—a full-time secretary had to be hired just for this purpose.

Prison officials finally fed up with Stroud’s bird business tried to shut him down. He had Delle Mae Jones, a bird researcher in Indiana, which he had corresponded with alert the newspapers and start a petition drive. A 50,000-signature petition was sent to the President. This worked for the prison even gave Stroud an adjourning cell for his birds and his research.

Jones became so close to Stroud; she moved to Kansas and formed a business in 1931 with him where they sold his bird medicines under the name “Stroud’s Specific.” It was widely debated at the time if these remedies were actually effective.

In 1933 Stroud discovered that there were plans to move him to Alcatraz, he knew he would no longer be permitted to keep birds. Stroud however discovered a Kansas law that forbade the transfer of prisoners if they were married in Kansas. He arranged to marry Delle Mae Jones by proxy, which infuriated the prison officials, who would not let him correspond with his new wife.

The first irony here was Stroud was a violent prisoner —this is one reason that the prison officials kept him from the general prison population.

The second irony was Stroud lost his business and birds when it was discovered that some of the equipment he had requested for his lab he had actually used to build a homemade alcohol still.

The third irony is his mother didn’t like Delle—she believed all women were bad for her son. Where once she had been a strong advocate for him, helping with legal battles etc., she now argued against her son’s application for parole, in fact, she became a major obstacle in his attempts to be released. She moved away from Leavenworth and had no further contact with him.

Stroud was transferred to Alcatraz in December of 1942. When he was transferred this note was placed upon the warden’s notebook page with his mug shot. Reason for transfer:

“In view of this man’s homicidal traits and impulsivity dangerous tendencies, he cannot be released in the general population…they feel that it would be possible to confine this man safely at Alcatraz…also wishes to call attention to need for eliminating the insanitary condition…from this man’s bird breeding activities here…Recommend transfer to Alcatraz.”

At Alcatraz, Stroud spent six years in segregation where he did have some contact with other prisoners, but as things worsened he was placed in solitary confinement in an isolated area of the hospital wing for the last eleven years he was at Alcatraz.

This double cell had no toilet so Stroud used a bedpan. One priest who visited the prison stated he went out of his way to avoid being seen as he passed Stroud’s prison door—even going as far as to duck down. He stated if Stroud spotted him he would endlessly babble on and on.

Stroud having access to the prison library began studying law. He petitioned the government stating that his long prison term amounted to “cruel and unusual punishment”.

Another contrast—Stroud was a fan of child pornography. He received many letters from people who were fans of his bird knowledge. Some of these fans were children. Prison officials confiscated a few letters from Stroud in response to these children that contained suggestive remarks.

In 1959, Stroud in poor health was transferred to the Medical Center for Federal Prisoners in Springfield, Missouri. In 1963 he died at the age of 73, the day before John F. Kennedy was assassinated.

To this day Alcatraz, a very haunted place, has one cell that is more active than all the rest—this is the double cell that Stroud lived in for eleven years in solitary confinement. Full-body apparitions are spotted in this area.

So Robert Stroud was a cold-blooded killer, but the general public because of the book and film “Birdman of Alcatraz” had a totally different picture of him. I remember seeing this film as a child myself and thinking how cruel it was they never released him. The public in general felt the same because after the release of this film, which Burt Lancaster won an Oscar for best actor, many people protested for the release of Robert Stroud.

One fellow prison inmate who heard about the public outcry for Stroud’s release stated: “They want Burt Lancaster to be set free not Robert Stroud.”

[weneverlearn]

George & Tammy & the Maggots

I'm not one to often offer up yet another internet opinion about yet another streaming series, as we have way too many of both.

I will quickly state that I thought the recent George & Tammy biopic (Showtime) was beautifully shot, wonderfully acted, and while apparently based on daughter Georgette Jones' book, The Three of Us, wisely paired the story down to the titular stars' love-ish story. The hazy cinematography, consistently vulnerable closeups, and lack of overdeveloping their pre-hookup life left it all as a narcotized dream -- not unlike how those two drifted through their beautifully damaged artistic and romantic life.

Unlike nearly every streaming series I have ever seen, I did not think George & Tammy was too long, though of course it could've used some editing here or there.

To a more pertinent point of my usual pursuits, one of the series top visual scenes was also an incredible use of a classic "Killed By Death" punk song -- something that happens numerically in the exact opposite proportion to how many goddamn streaming series are out there.

In the opening scene of the final episode, Tammy (played by Jessica Chastain) is seen running through woods and up to a stranger's house, saying something about how some men kidnapped and beat her. All the while the scuzzed-out keys, guitars, and cheekily sneer of The Maggots' 1980 SF punk classic, "Let's Get, Let's Get Tammy Wynette", chases down Tammy too.

It's the kind of jarring surprise the series definitely needed at that point (it is a mostly sad, morose tale and telling), and nearly knocked me off my couch. That, along with the generally excellent use of music all along showed this series had a stronger clue than most TV/streaming productions that still somehow rely on boomer-era hits or obvious current pop.

The story arc was at 1978, not only when Wynette was ensconced in the worst drug and husband abusive moment of her life, but also right when punk rock and a host of other modern musics were making her music irrelevant. The series did not delve into many pop cultural connections like that. Again, it was probably smart to stay in the insular worlds of the pair's personal heartbreak. But simply using The Maggots' track was a wild way to have the sonic world that was developing far past them creep into their dark bubble.

Now to my ears and assumptions, since I first heard "Let's Get, Let's Get Tammy Wynette" in the early '90s, I was a party to the era that critiqued the mid-century mores that Wynette's signature song -- the seemingly non-feminist statement, "Stand By Your Man" -- espoused. Right up to Hillary Clinton's famous 1992 supposed putdown of said song, Wynette seemed a relic, someone to be scoffed at, and The Maggots song did that most viciously, if underground.

I've always heard it as one of those proudly rude punk sentiments of the early days that aimed to severely offend, sarcastically suggesting killing the "Stand By Your Man" lady -- with a female singer no less, which gave an otherwise obscure, one-off 7" punk single more heft.

I'm old enough to remember, circa Clinton's comment, fans and industry types trying to defend Wynette and "Stand By Your Man," usually with pretty toothless justifications. To me, the song might as well have been from 100 years ago, and Clinton's comment was a societal no brainer. If anything, it seemed irrelevant to reference some old song; not to mention I kind of thought that taking that tune at complete face value -- when sung with such sad desperation -- seemed to be condescending to people's ability to digest the layers of an old pop song.

I never really knew much about the story of Wynette's involvement in her 1978 "kidnapping," which was later revealed as a hoax that her fifth fucking horrible husband, and songwriter of some of her biggest hits, George Richey (played creepily by Steve Zahn in the series) concocted to not only cover up having beat the hell out of her, but to then use it as hype for an upcoming tour. (Supposedly, details are still sketchy to this day, and disagreements about the story between Wynette's family and Richey remained past his death in 2010.)

The series does a good job of re-contextualizing Wynette -- historically a pop culture icon of spousal subjugation -- not only as a victim of patriarchal strictures, but as a drug addict making the usual fucked-up decisions.

In one quick small scene, as Wynette is heading through a throng of fans towards the tour bus, one female fan asks if women should really be like her songs, and always support their man, to which Wynette responds, "They're just pretty love songs, darlin', I wouldn't think about them too much." Chastain offers some brief, amazing facial expressions which show the many layers the better of all those depressing, drunken, violent, seemingly submissive country classics can contain, and that her thirst for stardom via repression has her questioning the same as that fan.

In its gauzy way, George & Tammy does make an argument for the complex, unexplainable, in-the-moment emotions of many old country songs, while not letting Wynette off for her terrible choices, of which there were just as many made as the legendarily self-immolating George Jones -- played, it must be said, incredibly by Michael Shannon who, admittedly, I'd watch read the phonebook.

Then I see this today, a comment below the above YouTube clip of "Let's Get, Let's Get Tammy Wynette":

"Found this post by one of The Maggots members: "yes the original maggots did put out an apparently highly collectable record in 1980 called "lets get, lets get, tammy wynette!!!" a song i wrote from the kidnappers point of view, after a bizarre "kidnapping" incident in the late 70s (later found to be an elaborate hoax concocted by tammy to cover up for her abusive husband kicking her ass...) no wonder she was pissed when this guy i knew asked her to sign a copy of it at an autograph session at marriots great america amusement park...she actually threw his record and started screaming, and they escorted him out, sans autograph...."

Nevertheless, be it feminist punk screed or silly playacting, whoever chose that Maggots track and got it into a major streaming series should be given an award, and should call me soon so we can collaborate on getting better songs into streaming shows. I mean how many more times do we have to hear "White Room," "I Feel Good," or "Firework"?!

[ghoulixirs6]

Alice Yuliya Izmaylov

NICKNAMES | ALIASES Ali / Aly  AGE Thirty-Six  GENDER Female  SEXUAL ORIENTATION  Bisexual OCCUPATION US Government Security, Zombie Killer 

HOROSCOPE Virgo - Loyal, analytical, kind, hardworking, practical QUOTE “It is amazing what a woman can do if only she ignores what people tell her she can’t.”

SPECIES Human with special abilities 

HOBBIES Fighting, Getting practice in with her weapons, napping when she can, martial arts, gun play, knife play  LIKES Beer, fresh water and food, finding supplies, killing the undead, finding ammo and new weapons, finding coins for her collection, shooting, whiskey DISLIKES Umbrella Cooperation, the undead, running out of supplies, company, baggy clothes 

FAVORITE MUSIC Rock, indie FAVORITE COLORS Black, grey, brown FAVORITE SEASON Winter - "Snow slows them down" FAVORITE DRINK Any beer or whiskey available. FAVORITE ANIMAL  Dogs - "Loyal creatures unless their undead"

RELIGIOUS BELIEFS "What God would let this happen?"

LANGUAGE'S English Russian THEME SONG Coal Chamber - Something Told Me FAVORITE SONG Disturbed - Down With The Sickness  MENTAL DISORDERS Was viciously tested on by the US Government - no known medical diagnosis MARITAL STATUS  Very fucking single - "Who has the fucking time?"  QUIRKS Carries around a journal, has a coin collection, swears a lot, bites her nails, supply count every night

Alice is always paying attention to the smallest details and her deep sense of humanity makes her one of the most careful people. Her methodical approach to life ensures that nothing is left to chance, and although she is often tender, her heart is pretty much closed for the outer world. She is often misunderstood, not because of a lack of ability to express, but because she won’t accept her feelings as valid, true, or even relevant when opposed to reason.  Alice is a strong character, but prefers conservative, well-organized things and a lot of practicality in her everyday life. She had an organized life before the outbreak and even when she let it go to chaos, her goals and dreams still have strictly defined borders in her mind. Constantly worried that she had missed a detail that will be impossible to fix, she often got stuck in details, becoming overly critical and concerned about matters that nobody else seems to care much about. 

Alice didn't know her parents, she was born and hooked on narcotics thanks to her Mother's addiction. She was only four hours old when they took her away from her parents and gave her medical help before putting her into the foster system. She bounced from home to home, but she knew what she wanted in life and that she wasn't going to let her broken childhood effect her. She pushed forward, pushed for what she wanted. She kept her head down, tried to make a future for herself and was never stuck on one home, everyone gave up on her in the end.  When she was eighteen it was then up to her and not the foster system. She found herself an opportunity with the US government, they didn't tell her what the position was, but they did tell her she would need to train hard. She trained with knives, swords, guns and martial arts and boxing. She had to train four hours every single day without fail, and she did it without complaining. She found an apartment close to the building she trained in that the government funded. She lived there alone until she became close to a man she trained with. They started dating in secret in which he often stayed at hers, as soon as she got the secret job, in the secret facility for the government, she fell pregnant and he left her.  The government understood her situation, and waited till she gave birth to her daughter, Valentina. She was born deaf and Alice spent all of her time off work with her daughter. But work soon came back around, and Valentina was looked after by the government who provided care.  She became a high-ranking Umbrella security operative, she joined a deep cover operation by members of the US law enforcement to reveal the company's illegal viral research data to the world. This plan ultimately failed when her co-worker, Liam stole the virus samples with the intention of getting rich on the black market and leaked the virus into the lab to kill the research staff in the confusion. Both Alice and Liam were knocked unconscious when the security system released noxious gas and were rendered amnesiac.  Infected after escaping the Zombie-infested facility, Alice was taken away by Umbrella for testing. Enhanced by a T-virus infection; cured and re-infected, Alice became the test subject of an Umbrella research project granted with superhuman abilities. She hunted down where her daughter was situated, killed anyone who stood in her way and is now surviving, just her and Valentina. 

[xwesley]

their  typical  conversations  were  stupid  enough  up  to  the  point  where  wesley  is  sure  that  if  an  outsider  were  to  hear  the  pointless  shit  they  talk  about,  they  would  lose  brain  cells.  wesley  is  sure  that  even  he  loses  brain  cells  after  every  interaction  or  hangout  session  he  has  with  tristan,  but  he  doesn’t  have  many  brain  cells  to  begin  with,  so  it  was  all  part  of  the  charm.  he  doesn’t  think  he  knows  another  person  who  would  so  willingly  go  along  with  his  poorly  thought  out  ideas  or  psychotic  behavior  –  tristan  was  really  the  realest  for  that.  or  maybe  he  was  just  really  fucking  stupid  or  both,  but  either  way,  wesley  is  beyond  ecstatic  to  be  going  on  this  ridiculous  adventure  that  could  easily  get  them  into  a  lot  of  trouble,  or  worse,  injured.  the  alcohol  and  narcotics  they  had  taken  earlier  aren’t  making  him  think  of  the  consequences  though  (  not  that  he  ever  does  ),  the  only  thing  he  can  think  about  is  how  he’s  going  to  spray  paint  something  much  better  than  whatever  tristan  would  spray  paint  despite  not  having  an  artistic  bone  in  his  body.  at  least,  not  when  it  came  to  drawing.

instead  of  giving  the  man  a  solid  reply,  wesley  blew  a  raspberry  in  his  direction,  as  if  they  were  in  the  first  grade,  then  proceeded  to  flick  him  off.  it  was  all  in  good  nature  though,  the  idiotic  smile  that  came  onto  his  lips  afterwards  showing  that  much.  ❝i  really  thought  you  were  going  to  spit  it  out…  quitter.❞  he  teased,  referring  to  his  clearly  sick  expression  when  swallowing  the  alcohol  reluctantly.  wesley  has  never  spit  a  day  in  his  life,  so  he  clearly  couldn’t  relate.  after  all,  spitters  are  for  quitters,  but  that  could  just  be  his  whore  like  tendencies  calling  out  to  him.  ❝that  applies  for  artists  too?  i  thought  that  was  just  musicians.❞  he  meant  magicians,  but  he  was  too  drunk  to  correct  himself  now,  too  drunk  to  care,  too  drunk  to  come  to  terms  with  the  fact  that  basically,  musicians  are  artists  as  well.  at  his  following  question,  wesley  grabs  the  ladder  while  tristan  is  climbing  and  shakes  it  viciously.  ❝nah,  i  think  it’s  just  the  right  amount  of  wobbly  –  you’ll  be  fine!❞  as  if  the  other  should  take  his  word  for  it,  but  he  does.  then  wesley  is  climbing  the  damn  thing  that  was  basically  looser  than  a  baby  tooth  minutes  away  from  falling  off,  but,  he  wasn’t  thinking  about  that,  like,  at  all.  once  they’re  both  up  there,  wesley  sets  the  bag  down,  sloppily  opening  it  to  reveal  a  bunch  of  spray  paint  cans,  ready  to  use.  ❝fuck  the  man,  and  his  son  too!❞  he  shouted  after  tristan,  never  on  to  be  able  to  help  a  gay  pun,  taking  another  swig,  before  setting  the  bottle  down.  ❝this  is  such  a  view  man…  look,  you  can  see  the  trash  bags  piled  up  one  on  top  of  another  from  here!❞  he  pointed  from  afar,  a  typical  new  york  city  site,  truly.  ❝dude,  dude,  dude…  let’s  play  some  soft  rock  music!❞  he  doesn’t  wait  for  his  friend  to  reply,  beginning  to  play  his  underrated  favorite  from  red  hot  chili  peppers,  don’t  forget  me,  through  a  mini  speaker  he  had  forgotten  he  even  packed  in  there  to  begin  with.  ❝not  aloneeeeeeeee,  i’ll  be  there,  tell  me  when  you  wanna  go!❞  he  sings  to  the  beat  of  the  iconic  anthony  kiedis,  surprisingly,  managing  to  hold  a  tune  despite  how  under  the  influence  he  was.  it  would  always  be  the  drums  for  him,  but  he  could  sing  decently,  at  least.  grabbing  a  random  spray  paint  color  with  his  left  hand,  he  removes  the  top  and  starts  spray  painting  something.  ❝let’s  promise  not  to  look  and  then  when  we’re  done…  we  show  each  other  the  masterpieces  we  have  created,  deal?❞

                        the  idea  probably  wasn't  the  best  but  tristan  thought  it  was  a  great  idea  .  something  to  pass  the  time  instead  of  sitting  around  at  either  his  place  or  wesley's  while  high  off  their  asses  .  it  wouldn't  be  𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌  if  they  weren't  out  doing  some  𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐂  or  𝐈𝐃𝐈𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐂  thing  that  more  than  likely  made  no  real  sense  .  but  that  was  part  of  the  fun  ,          (     part  of  the  adventure  .     )         besides  ,  it  wasn't  completely  uncommon  for  tristan  to  come  up  with  an  idea  like  spray  painting  a  billboard  .  there  was  something  exhilarating  about  doing  things  that  were  against  the  rules  and  he  figured  ,  they  weren't  hurting  anyone  or  anything  ,  so  why  not  ?  it  helped  that  wesley  was  𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒  right  there  and  rearing  to  go  when  it  came  to  any  of  the  ideas  that  tristan  had  .  both  males  having  that  effect  on  each  other  .  it  also  helped  that  they  were  always  on  something  when  they  were  around  each  other  .  how  could  anything  seem  like  a  𝐁𝐀𝐃  𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐀  when  they  were  both  out  of  their  minds  on  anything  they  could  get  their  hands  on  ?

      when  wesley  jumped  in  front  of  him  ,  tristan  came  to  a  halting  stop  before  bringing  his  hand  up  to  his  chest  .          ❛      you  came  out  of  nowhere  !     ❜        a  lie  ,  obviously  .  wesley  had  been  by  his  side  the  whole  time  they  were  walking  up  the  beautiful  field  of  flowers  but  that  was  besides  the  point  .  it  really  was  amazing  what  you  could  get  when  you  put  two  idiots  together  . . .  believe  it  or  not  . . .  two  idiots  equaled  some  of  the  most  𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐃  type  of  interactions  known  to  man  .         (     who  would've  thought  ?     )         but  that  was  just  part  of  the  charm  of  tristan  and  wesley's  friendship  .         ❛      shuddup  !  keep  walking  and  stop  dribbling  all  over  yourself  !  you  fucking  animal  !     ❜         tristan  responded  to  wesley's  claim  that  he  was  stopping  when  they  had  a  mission  at  hand  .  tristan's  mind  too  occupied  ,  just  as  wesley's  was  with  everything  in  their  systems  and  the  excitement  of  whatever  task  they  had  at  hand  to  really  put  together  why  he  had  stopped  in  the  first  place  .  reaching  over  ,  tristan  slapped  wesley  against  the  arm  before  grabbing  the  bottle  of  alcohol  from  him  and  taking  a  long  swig  .  chocking  a  bit  ,  he  pulled  the  bottle  away  .  almost  spitting  it  up  before  swallowing  it  back  down  . . .  he  was  a  man  of  culture  . . .  and  you  couldn't  go  and  waste  𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐋𝐘  𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃  liquor  .  as  they  continued  to  walk  ,  nearing  closer  to  the  billboard  .  tristan  held  onto  the  bottle  as  he  looked  at  wesley  .  an  amused  look  ,  almost  even  𝐄𝐗𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐃  about  the  ideas  wesley  had  . . .  when  really  . . .  emojis  probably  weren't  the  most  inventive  thing  in  the  world  but  in  that  moment  ,  tristan  felt  as  though  wesley  was  an  artistic  genius  .            ❛     part  of  the  fun  is  the  𝐌𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐘  ,  wesley  .  you  have  to  wait  to  see  what  i  create  .  an  artist  never  tells  .     ❜         unsure  if  that  was  even  the  truth  .  they  reached  the  ladder  of  the  billboard  and  tristan  began  to  climb  up  .  looking  down  at  welsey  ,          ❛      is  this  thing  swaying  back  and  forth  or  is  that  just  me  ?     ❜          to  be  fair  ,  the  billboard  he  had  chosen  wasn't  the  best  or  most  stable  thing  in  the  world  .  looking  like  it  was  made  more  than  seventy  years  ago  .  shrugging  ,  he  continued  to  climb  up  .  reaching  the  top  ,  he  put  his  arms  out  .          ❛      wooooo  !  fuck  the  man  !     ❜          tristan  yelled  out  for  no  apparent  reason  .  just  because  . . .  who  didn't  want  to  yell  out  to  fuck  the  man  while  on  a  billboard  that  although  chipped  away  ,  was  some  kind  of  ad  about  finding  christ  or  whatever  the  hell  it  was  .

[melis-writes]

For a blurb!!! Victoria has to sit on michaels lap while they are out at an event or something, she try’s to stand up and Michael stops her and says something like “wait a minute sweetheart” cause he got HARD 🥵🥵🥵

Another blurb request has entered the inbox!! 😳🥵

"Next time make it an official event, huh?" Sonny grins, eagerly looking at the fine selections of wine placed before him.

“You’re tellin’ me, brother.” Lorenzo pats Sonny’s shoulder, raising up his wine glass. “While the rest of us are all about casinos and—“ he glances around the table, omitting the word ‘narcotics’, “—other frivolous pursuits, my brother’s dominating the wine market as a side hustle!”

Sandra rolls her eyes, shaking her head at your brother Matteo. “These two will both get drunk every wine tasting if you listen to them.”

“And maybe I’ll have somewhere to sit next time?” You chuckle, gesturing around you at all the filled seats.

“Darling—“ Michael murmurs softly, just about to rise from his seat.

“No, it’s okay, baby.” You beam back at him as chatter continues over the dining table. “I want you to sit and enjoy it at least,” you place your hand over your tiny baby bump, “it wouldn’t make much sense for me, would it?”

“You won’t miss your wine for nine months, hmm?” You can swear to yourself you saw a faint smile over Michael’s lips.

“I know you enjoy some at times.” You plant a gentle kiss over his cheek before your eyes dart down to his lap and up back at him. “And besides…” Noticing that nobody else is paying attention to the two of you, you caress Michael’s cheek—trying not to let the arousal growing within you take over at the scent of Michael’s cologne lingering around you. “I’ve got a nice seat right here.”

Michael locks eyes with you at the sexual joke, gently clasping your wrist and pulling you to his lap. “Sit.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Blushing and pleased to see his reaction, you sit over Michael’s lap but shift to the side so it appears as if you’re sitting over his thigh to everyone else at the table.

Adding a cut for the smut themes below. 🤤👇🏻

Michael places his hand over the side of your thigh, noticing the hem of your skirt slightly riding up as you shift on his lap to sit closer to his crotch.

“This one is a replica of a family favourite with a sweeter edge and less aged. Care to give it a taste?” Matteo holds up the next bottle of wine proudly as soft cheers come from the table.

You continue listening in on the conversation between your brothers as another bottle of wine is popped open and poured in each and everyone’s glass.

“Mm, Sicilian grapes.” Tom eyes the wine bottle being passed around eagerly. “This one’s going to get my vote for sure.”

Not as interested in the conversation at hand over the wine tasting as he thought he’d be, Michael’s eyes glance down to his lap and towards the foot of the table where he notices your bare thighs crossed over one another with your heels loosely dangling off your feet.

“Victoria,” your brother Matteo calls out to you as he gestures to the wine bottles over the table. “Don’t worry, I’ll age these for next 9 months for you to try, huh?”

“So considerate.” You laugh back.

Michael holds up his finger to the waiter from the table, gesturing he only wants a very small amount of wine to taste in one gulp whereas Sonny takes the bottle from the other waiter’s hand impatiently and begins pouring half of into his glass.

“Thank you.” Although remaining perfectly calm and focused through appearance, Michael’s erection begins to tent up in his dress trousers—a slim fit in his three-piece suit rather than the looser cuts he’s used to wearing.

Michael takes a sip of the wine, letting it linger over his lips.

“Oh, fuck! Mm! Yes!” You whined loudly and was barely able to clutch onto the rim of the sink as Michael viciously pounded you from behind. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, Michael!”

Michael sets down his glass and grips the edge of the tablecloth so harshly his knuckles turn white.

You remain distracted by the banter at the table while all Michael can think of is how he’d love to be tearing off your skirt, throwing off your heels and running his hands in-between your thighs before burying his face into your pussy.

“Ohhhhh!” You threw your head back in pleasure and tugged on Michael’s hair as his tongue greedily suckled over your clit.

“What do you think, baby?” You turn back to face Michael, noticing an intense look in his eyes. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes.” Michael’s erection throbs almost painfully against his trousers.

“Here, honey, I know you like lighter wines.” Just as you’ve gotten off of Michael’s lap and beginning to reach across the table, Michael’s eyes widen at his erection fully showing through his trousers.

“Sweetheart, wait a minute.” Michael pulls your hips back down to cover his erection, and this time you sit directly over it.

Holding back a gasp, you glance back to see just how badly Michael’s been throbbing. Peeking at your skirt riding up and feeling your heart skip a beat in arousal, you gladly sit back down on Michael’s lap.

“We’ll be the last ones to get up or we won’t get up at all.” Michael murmurs against the nape of your neck, gently brushing aside a curtain of your hair.

“What are you gonna do about that?” You blush, whispering back.

“Don’t tease me, Victoria.” Michael murmurs, eyeing your ass. “You know I can’t get my eyes off of you to begin with.”

[dustedmagazine]

T54 — Drone Attacks: Expanded and Remastered (Ally)

Drone Attacks ~ Expanded and Remastered by T54

“Julie K” is, perhaps, the money track from this retrospective, capturing the droning buzz, the rocketing propulsion, the echoey romantic ache at the heart of this short-lived Bunnyman-into-Bailter Space-ish post-punk outfit. We get it twice, maybe three times on this expanded reissue, first as it appeared on the 2011 Drone Attacks EP, second in a rougher, more abrasive and distorted live studio version and third (possibly?) in a demo experiment in pure sonic texture called “Julie’s Last Wish” which may or may not be related to the EP cut. The song is a glorious, guitar-blaring grand gesture, touching Sonic Youth’s feedback-addled transcendence and cutting it with a 1980s new wave infusion of melody.

T54’s Joe Sampson would go on to found the jangle-popping Salad Boys, whose 2018 This Is Glue sat that year at #3 on my year-end list. I confessed, “Always weak for NZ lo-fi and equally a fan of the early R.E.M., so of course I fell for this buzzy daydream of a record.” But here, with bassist Sam Hood and drummer Matt Scobie, the noise is louder, the pop is shrouded shimmering layers of dissonance. T54 sounds like certain Clean songs, and so did the Salad Boys, but oh, my lord, they are different Clean songs. Think “Point That Thing” live, versus a nice, well-behaved “End of My Dream.”  

“CR Model” is, if anything, even more fuzz-crusted and frantic than “Julie K,” its soft, slanting vocals skittering uneasily over a roiling bed of clash and distortion. It also gets two airings, and the second is even more viciously serrated than the first.

A few of the songs that T54 tries out live in the studio appeared a couple of years later on the band’s sole Flying Nun record, In Brush Park from 2013. “Oh Nina” saunters fuzzy and unstrung through lyrical banks of jangling haze, a reasonable precursor for the Salad Boys sound that would emerge a few years later. “Life Is Swell,” too, has a noddy, hypnotic lilt to it, the drums gathering for a thundering gallop under fragile vocal melody.

The demos are, on balance, less concerned with song structure and more interested in sonics. “Le Snack” hazards some wild, spiraling guitar experiments. “House Music” is definitely not house music, in the Chicago dance sense, but a twitchy, narcotic exploration of two-note guitar licks and drifting abstract vocals.  

In Brush Park got a bit more attention than Drone Attacks, given its Flying Nun association, but even so, outside of New Zealand, most people missed T54. This expanded version of the debut EP is a fine way to catch up, and well worth your time if you like the harsher, dronier sounds of Bailter Space and Sonic Youth.

Jennifer Kelly

[headlesssamurai]

‘‘ A language unspoken burning between them in strident moans and silent heat. She wanted to take him until the frosts melted, and the leaves returned to the trees. She wanted to consume him entirely – drink him into her very soul like some elysian draught of smoldering light. ’’

[allyvampirelass29]

Killing Time

A HEROES Fanfiction By: Allyssa J. Watkins

He loved that he could touch her, even from across the room, that as long as she was in his sight, she was never gone from the reach, the caresses of his mind. Sylar turned his head towards his shoulder, and felt the weight of hers, the silkiness of her wispy curls, as he grazed the air, yet felt the fluttery sensation of her hair. The soundproof glass between them, kept him from saying what he needed to say, kept him from possessing that flooding power in hearing her breath quicken, and knowing he was the cause. But he could watch his effect on her through the one way glass, her head turning towards his phantom projection, and as she clinged to the air around her, he just knew....... As smoothly as he could turn a phrase with his silken tongue, his talented fingers were far more eloquent.

He smiled as he watched her own delicate hand reach up, search the air, and he felt his whole body seized with chills, that irresistible feel of her thumb stroking his dark brow over and over, and the tension in his back slowly released with his exhale. "God, I love when you do that," he spoke to the glass, and felt her melt against his hand as he placed it gently on her shoulder. To anyone watching, it would look like he was touching his own shoulder, but it was definitely hers, he could feel the feminine curve of it, and he imagined the tiny freckles dotting it like stars.

His heart panged, as he watched her lips move, speaking to the air, and he imagined the music of her laugh, as he watched it soundlessly. He'd give anything to know what she was saying to him. "You're a doll, Ally," He whispered painfully to the glass, releasing his hold, to edge himself closer to it. He watched her eyes shift from happy enchantment, to sudden fear, when she couldn't feel him anymore. "Hey, no, don't be scared I'm right here...…" He whispered, tapping on the glass, like he'd done every day since they'd been captured. If he hadn't been dosed up with enough brain paralysis to kill a baby elephant, he'd have shattered that glass by now. But with his powers leashed, and his body considerably slowed, all he could manage was the tapping, the weak reach, the projected touch. He couldn't save her, but as long as he could feel her, there was hope.

"Don't cry, no, Baby. Stop, you're killing me." The tears stung Sylar's eyes, as he watched her hug her knees, and sob quietly, her hair catching the light and veiling her face. He felt the pain of his own tears stoke the fire, the anger inside him, and using all of his strength he pounded the glass with his fist, harder and harder, over and over, his sadness becoming pure rage. Again and again, he watched his knuckles bruise and then heal, melt back into perfect skin. So he hit harder, the glass shuddering beneath his relentless attacks, and still, Ally could not hear him, and didn't so much as look up from her desolate sorrow.

"You're only making it worse, on the both of you." The Senator's voice was the match thrown into the dangerously full gasoline barrel, and Sylar hurled his whole body against the glass with a seething, animalistic yell.

"That glass, just this one piece, cost 20 million dollars, Buddy. You'd better believe it's bulletproof, blast proof, and 100 percent SYLAR proof. If I'd had the funding, you'd be in a box of the stuff right now. Wasting good drugs on you, makes me sick."

Sylar's eyes smouldered, his dark brow slanted, screaming murder, and his mind burned black with threats, too many to pick just one. Torture beyond anything he'd perpetrated before, horrendously bloody acts that would give even himself, nightmares. But his lips could only utter three words after the energy syphoned off from his intense physical exertion, and he felt his body fading, with the single, desperate plea still on his lips.

"Let. Her. Go."

"Can't do that friend."

It was all Sylar could do to steady his breathing, his heart pounding relentless against his chest with wounded rage, that wild, almost primal hunger to kill, and for the first time in months, he actually felt relieved Ally couldn't see him, blinded from the monster he was about to become. His very soul burned with bloodlust, the sleeping danger awakening. The killer emerges.

"SAVE IT!!!!" He snarled, nostrils flaring as he fended off the invading drugs that chained up his powers, his anger yanking on the mental restraints with an unhinged force. His forehead still rested against the glass, as he turned it slowly, methodically, toward the door, his eyes flashing with obsidian fire.

"Save your damn campaign speech, Senator, I am so not your friend. You play the benevolent leader, Mr. All American with such shocking deception. You put on a tie and a fake smile, and you HIDE behind that door and enact the horrors that you speak out against. As much as I love cruel and unusual punishment, you've just lost my vote. You're a monster, Nathan, you're worse than me, because at least when I kill my own kind, I don't pretend to care. I don't pretend that I'm going to save them."

The silence that followed was deadly in of itself, a cold void spreading through the sparse, empty room but when Nathan finally gave the order, it was edged with a severity that even Sylar had never thought capable of him.

"Open the door."

"Sir, we'd strongly advise against engaging the hostile."

"Oh yes, be a good boy, Nathan, and listen to your pathetic excuses for bodyguards. You've never experienced HOSTILE, until I've got you alone, locked in a room with me. You're going to need more than fancy drugs, and a twenty million dollar piece of glass to save you. You can use all the confiscated narcotics you want, if it'll make you feel safe, but I don't need my powers to kill you."

"You really think I'm scared of you?"

"No, Senator, I KNOW you are. But by all means, open the door...…. Let's play."

"Please, you've been so heavily sedated, hell, you should have OD'd twenty times over by now. You couldn't kill time."

"Haha that's good, I like that...… Killing and Time are my two favourite things. Even high, I can still do more damage than you can ever do to me. Whatcha gonna do, Buddy? Send me to death row, can I request the chair, that might be fun.”

"Don't you get it, Sylar? You're on Death Row."

Sylar froze as a red dot appeared on Ally's bare shoulder, as she sat, hugging her knees, and a low growl escaped from deep within his chest, his fingers starting to tremble.

"Alright, easy, white flag!" He fumed, throwing up his hands. "Fine, I'll play nice, just call off your sniper."

"Back against the glass, hands on your head, you son of a bitch."

"You're making me miss Bennet with that kind of sweet talk. Good times......" He snickered, turning his cheek inward playfully, brow raised, his eyes intensifying.

"Shut up! I'll shoot her, I swear to God. It's amazing, really, how many ways you can shoot a person and still keep them alive, just long enough, so that they feel each agonizing moment."

Sylar wasn't laughing anymore. He tentatively backed into the glass, and interlaced his fingers, as he put them behind his head, taking one last glance over his shoulder, and he didn't start breathing again, until the red dot threatening her pale skin, disappeared.

There was a loud mechanical sound, and the door slowly opened, as Nathan strode in, surprisingly unaccompanied, and it took every bit of Sylar's resolve not to tear into him on sight.

The young, square-jawed Senator regarded the tall, dark, and dangerous man before him, as though he were approaching a rabid animal, looking at him sideways, with great disdain.

"What now, Nathan, come to pat me down? You gonna rough me up a little?" He looked over his shoulder at the brown haired girl, her hands searching the glass in front of her with stricken eyes. He almost reached out to put his hand where hers was, when he remembered she couldn't see him. "You even think of doing that to her, I'll kill you. Nobody touches her, got it? Nobody but me."

Nathan's eyes narrowed as he ventured closer. "I'll do whatever the hell I want with her. She's the property of the United States Government now, you both are."

Sylar smirked at him, flexing his bent arms behind his silken head, his dark eyes dancing. "So, I'm like an acquired weapon of mass destruction?"

"More like Enemy of the State, an apprehended terrorist. Congratulations Gabriel, with a little help from the FBI, you no longer exist. There is no Gabriel Gray, meaning I can do whatever I want to you, hold you without trial, kill you without cause."

"So do it." Sylar snarled, his eyes snapping back to cold and impenetrable. "Kill me, Nathan. End it. Be the hero, everyone thinks you are. What are you waiting for?"

Nathan laughed without feeling, the hatred between him and Sylar rising like a scorched heat. "You think I won't do it? I was an officer of the United States Navy, I know HUNDREDS of ways to kill a man, and I'm pretty sure, you only know, the one." Nathan swiped his finger mockingly in front of Sylar's face, and Sylar smirked back, his gaze deadly.

"Just because I have my favourite weapon, doesn't mean it's the only trick up my sleeve. If you were going to kill me, you would have done it already. No, I'm going to kill you, Nathan, for doing this to me, to HER. I'm going to kill little brother, and Ma, and only after you're out of your head, seeing their bloody mangled bodies, their heads viciously ripped into, I'm going to make you beg me to kill you, and only then, will your little Superman charade end."

"You dressed up in my brother's face and tried to kill me, you SICK bastard!!! Who does that!? Did you really think I wouldn't retaliate?  You tried, and you failed. You used someone I loved against me, and you still lost. Don't be surprised when I do the same, go dark, and I follow through for the win."

"Look, I get that you're pissed, I know, I ruined your little ball and tricked all your big, fancy Senator friends. You want blood? Take it. Take it all...…. Torture me, kill me, bring me back, just to kill me again, maybe I deserve it, maybe I don't, do whatever the HELL you want, even let Peter get his, but don't punish her for my sins. My blood for hers. You already have me, you don't need her anymore, so, please...… let her go. You do that, and I might just let you live."

"Look at me, Gabriel, look right into my eyes. Never gonna happen."

Sylar could feel his skin prickling with the chills coursing through his body, the coldness of a killer, creeping into his dark features, his voice like ice.

"I said...… Please."

"No deal. You see..... I'm not going to do any of that to you, Gabriel. Because I know that whatever punishment I inflict, government sanctioned or otherwise, nothing is going to hurt you worse, nothing is going to make you behave more than the constant threat of what could happen to her. Why do you think I designed the glass so that you could see her, but she can't see you? Because I want you to see it, what I do to her, every time you get out of line. You so much as look at me a way I don't like, I'll take action, and it won't be me, hurting her, it will be you, your hand. I don't want your worthless blood, hers is so much more valuable. I'm going to take as much as I need to replicate that power, increase it enough to protect entire armies. This is a whole new level for our military, and on behalf of the United States Government, I thank you for your generous contribution."

Sylar's rising anger chilled into paralyzing fear, and he shook his head incredulous. "You're insane. She doesn't have enough electricity for that kind of scale, or enough blood for such rigorous testing...…You'll kill her."

Nathan smiled, his teeth gleaming, looking every bit the congenial politician. "If that's what it takes. I guess, we'd better get started." Nathan made a motion with his hands, and Sylar dropped his arms, failing to hide the abject horror flooding his eyes, feeling sick.

"What did you just do? She's- She's an innocent girl!!!!!"

"Wrong. She WAS an innocent girl. You stole her innocence. YOU ruined her, and got her all mixed up in the MURDER plot of a US Senator!!! She'll PAY for your sins, because they're her sins too, she deserves what's coming."

Sylar shook his head, his brow pulled back, as he sank desperate to his knees. "Nathan, listen to me, she didn't know, I swear!"

"Ever hear of guilty by association?"

Sylar whirled his head around, just as two fully equipped S.W.A.T. members stormed into Ally's side of the room, one of them roughly tackling her to the ground, the other taking a long needle from a cylindrical container.

"NOOOOOOO!!! Nathan, GOD, Nathan, don't do this, I'll do ANYTHING you want, I'll kill whoever you want me to kill, I'll be a damn saint, just don't- Don't hurt my girl." Sylar's tears streamed freely now, his chest so tight, he couldn't get air to his lungs and they burned, as he watched with blurred vision, Ally screaming without a sound, fighting back and sobbing. He bristled as the one holding her down backhanded her across the face, and felt his own jaw sting with the assault.

"Not My Baby...…. Don't hit her, don't hit my baby!!!!" Sylar's voice was hysterical, failing to suppress his sobs, his emotions heightened because of the drugs. Nathan had never seen him like this, and he liked it. He liked it a lot.

"You want it to stop? Fall at my feet. Beg like the pathetic creature you are."

Sylar started to scowl, his lip quivering with both rage and pain, an emotion swathing him that was more dangerous than anything he'd ever felt before, Self Sacrifice. 

"Never."

"Hey Tom, I'm going to need you to bleed her." Nathan spoke calmly into his earpiece."

"Like HELL you are!!!!!" Sylar's rage burned through the pain, engulfing him and Nathan in the catching flame like wildfire, as he hurled himself at him with murderous intent. But the drugs had dulled his reflexes, and Nathan slammed him hard into the glass, grasping his jet black hair, and holding his forehead against the glass, as Sylar struggled against him, growling.

Ally was still fighting hard against her attackers too, but they overpowered her, one of them returning the needle to the container, retrieving, instead, a scalpel and silicone cup. Sylar released the full force of his scream into the glass, feeling the vibration against his lips, the sound reverberating through the room, echoing through the entire space, as the blade sank into Ally's pale skin, dark red blood trickling down her forearm, into the waiting cup.

His body couldn't take it anymore, between the drugs and the horror he broke...…. Sylar sobbed bitterly, and Nathan loosened his hold on the back of his head, letting him fall, helpless, to the ground, legs crossed, looking like a frightened little boy, instead of a cold blooded killer.

"You really do love her."

"Please," Sylar breathed the single word, his voice frail, his eyes sincere.

"Fall at my feet, and I make it stop."

Sylar gritted his teeth, his cheeks shiny, wet with tears, the image of Ally's silent scream haunting him, begging him. He couldn't take it. He'd been compromised, and it terrified him what he'd do if it meant keeping her alive. Sylar got all the way down on the floor, revolted by the utter degradation, hating Nathan, and even more, hating himself.

"Hey Guys, that's enough for tonight. Get the girl bandaged up, and get the sample to the lab."

Nathan looked down at Sylar like he was a loathsome thing, an insect on the floor, and Sylar held his breath, as Nathan stepped directly onto his fingers, digging his heel in. 

"Look at you, The Big Bad Wolf...…. Now, you're just a whimpering pup. I own you."

Sylar had to bite his tongue to keep his scathing response from escaping his lips, and he seized up, his back arching, as he felt the pin prick in the back of his neck, a new rush of drugs flooding his system, his eyes going blank.

"Sweet Dreams, you Psychopath."

Sylar passed out on the floor, unable to fight off the heaviness of the newly introduced drugs mingling with the lingering effects of the ones previously administered, his mind paralyzed, and his body exhausted. Nathan strode out of the room, and the mechanical sound echoed through the space, as the door locked itself behind him. The lights died, darkness washing over Sylar's still form, his arm outstretched.

Silence.

Then.... the intercom crackled, as someone turned it back on, a bit of feedback, and a voice filled the room.

"Sylar!? Sy? Baby, can you hear me?"

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

[jasperwhitcock]

“Bella, be sure to call me when you get there, okay?” Jacob said with a smile on his face. “Okay. I will,” I whispered with a grin. With one last look of my boyfriend’s face I turned around and started walking. I felt guilty for lying to him but I have no other choice. I told him I was going to Florida to visit Renée for a couple of days but that was far from the truth. I was headed to Alaska to find Edward. It had been years since he left me in the forest, but my heart still yearned for him.

send me an ask with the first sentence of a fanfic & i’ll write the next five

I couldn’t help but feel as though I was a horrible person. All this time later, and here I was, still taking advantage of Jacob’s incomprehensible devotion with no signs of ever stopping. I needed him too much. Would I ever stop hurting him?

I was despicable.

Even though I was keeping my fraudulent agenda a secret for now, my behavior was still inexcusable. But wouldn’t it hurt him more to share my attempt if it was futile? If I was going to cause the greatest person I’d ever known – my personal sun – more pain, I wanted it to be for something.

The hole in my chest throbbed with the ache that my selfishness was causing further destruction to those I loved. And yet, still, it longed for the narcotic fulfillment of seeing his face again. At least once more.

Of course, Jacob knew. I could see the suspicion in those dark, loving eyes. But he cared so much for me, he let me lie to him. And I cared too much for my insanity, that I lied. I would never deserve him.

Did I imagine the flash of anger and anguish across his beautiful, tan face as I turned away from him or was my guilty conscience manufacturing even more hallucinatory visions?

This is why I had to go. It was a preventative measure. Eventually, my lunacy would spiral out of control, and I’d cause irreparable damage. Though I would always be broken, I had to find a way to give Jacob the best version of myself that I could, shattered, fragile, and no good as it may be.

Whereas I was no good, he was too good. Far too good for me, far too good for anybody. I wished I could give him the happy, open, and fully loving silly girl that he should have, but she was gone.

She had vanished when he had. When he left, it was as if he had taken her with him, and left behind a fragmented shell of a person. Like the falling of snow, dissipating in the ocean or the falling of rain, dissipating in the warmth of my cheek or the the falling of love, dissipating in the absence of him, the person I had been had dissipated just as he had.

I loved Jacob with all that I could, but there was no denying a part of the splintered, weathered love left behind would always belong to the boy from my biology class with the strange eyes and the untidy bronze hair.

I needed to see him again. I knew the love I thought we shared was long gone, an excruciating echo of the past that gnawed only at my beaten up, empty chest. Of all the questions I had, I wouldn’t ask for more love. In those few months, I had received more than I had ever imagined, and I was grateful enough to have experienced that, even with how it had eradicated me when he took it away. In the months that followed, I received even more love than I deserved from my best friend. So I wouldn’t ask for more love. I had had my share. My story was over.

What I needed from him was the confirmation that he was real.

Of course, I knew that he was. It had been something I had been absolute about, something I knew with complete positivity. Jacob proved this when he too transformed into a supernatural creature. Laurent proved this when he threatened my life, nearly ending what was left of my sad, miserable existence. Victoria proved this when she danced around the edges of Forks, lusting for my blood in revenge.

But I cared little for the existence of vampires and other monsters. I wanted to know that Edward – the hole in my chest viciously responded in agonizing violence at the thought of the name – existed.

To see his unchanging face once more – the beautiful, hard, stone granite – would be freeing. Maybe then I could truly move forward. Maybe then I could say goodbye. A lovers’ funeral.

At least, I was banking on freedom. I couldn’t afford more unraveling. 

Just as I had followed him into the forest, blindly searching for him, I was uselessly following the only clue that I had, blinding hoping: some address I shakily scribbled in my chicken scratch handwriting onto a piece of paper folded in my pocket, creased in a million ways from all the times I had read it.

[windamongthetrees]

Hi, I accidentally saw your blog and thought that since it's empty, I can send request. I liked your story with Kankuro so so much!!! But could you write a story with Hidan?I have a thought where s/o and Hidan have already met in the past, as enemies, and s/o was a victim, and then she meets him again, takes her revenge, but everything turns out that they fall in love with each other?Could you write a story like this? Thank you so much <3 <3 <3

I am so glad that you liked the story with Kankuro. I hope I was able to write what you asked and the story with Hidan you will like too!! 

__________________________________________________

"Hey, pretty girl, what are you doing after your shift today?"

"Oh, men..." - you thought wearily, looking at the small group of drunks who were trying to flirt with the waitress who served them. The sweet girl smiled affably, but harshly suppressed any attempts to disrupt the "client – visitor" relationship on the part of the over-indulged guests.

"What an abomination..." - flashed through in your head, when the drink in your cup suddenly ran out, and the long tube began to make whistling sounds.

"Damn!»

Instead of a sweet drink, your thoughts ended as another customer entered the bar. He was a tall man with short gray hair and a black cloak with red clouds. Your eyes narrowed. You knew very well who was ordering breakfast and cheeky smiling at the waitress.

It was Hidan. Hidan from Akatsuki. The fucking bastard who almost killed you two years ago, but out of pity threw you under the door of the bar. All of a sudden, the old scars that littered the body began to ache all over. Your rage increased as Hidan moved to sit across from you.

At first, you thought about hitting him, but after a moment's thought, you realized it wasn't necessary. Judging by the way the bastard looks at right in your eyes, he doesn't remember that he once tortured you, suspended above the ground in a basement.

Besides, you were wearing plain, inconspicuous clothes. Easy sacrifice for someone like Hidan.

You began to look at him, trying to figure out if the killer had changed in any way or not. And to your misfortune, you noticed that he was perfectly preserved, in contrast to his cloak, was torn in one corner.

The waitress came over and placed a plate of food in front of Hidan. The girl placed a mug of drink next to it. As soon as he picked up the chopsticks, the food began to disappear instantly. It is worth saying that watching this mercenary drink or eat is quite a thankless task.

"What bad manners mercenaries...," you said through gritted teeth.

Only then did Hidan pay attention to you again.

"What's wrong with you, baby?" he demanded.

You thought for a moment. You could have just walked away. The bastard wouldn't follow you in broad daylight. And since he just arrived in Konoha, it means that he had some urgent business. Most likely, he would forget about you as soon as you left the place.

But then you came up with a very creepy idea. And you answered.

You leaned over the table and stared into his eyes. "I don't like you, pig.”

"Say it again!"

"What, are you deaf, big guy?" I said you're an uncultured pig!

The place was dead silent. Everyone, including the staff, stared dumbfounded at the swearing couple. Someone from shinobi already tensed, expecting that mercenary now will arrange a massacre.

However, to everyone's surprise, the blushing Hidan suddenly chuckled. He got up from the table and said:

"Don't leave the village this evening"

Then he left after paying for the food. Without anyone noticing, you made a triumphant fist gesture.

Sometimes between missions, it was possible to find a day or two to relax and unwind. Usually, shinobi used this time unhurriedly, with relish living every minute of free time. And you did it. And only then did Hidan appear. His task to have completed: the black cloak looked more worn than usual, and there were several new notches on his face. But the short hairstyle remained in perfect order. How he found you didn't matter to you. You had come to another apartment prepared for the night with Hidan. You knew that he would not refuse because people like him always need to vent their energy after the task.

It was the perfect moment.

You both barely spoke and knew where this was going. The bright light was replaced by a soft gloom. Hidan's passivity suddenly disappeared, replaced by his more animal nature. You didn't resist. You enjoyed it as much as any other girl who found in such a situation. Because you knew it wouldn't be long.

You took them two hours to satisfy each other, and then they were lying next to each other. Silently. He was looking up at the ceiling, his hands behind his head. You were looking at him, running your finger over his chest.

"You know, you're weird," you began softly.

"Why is that?" he asked without taking his eyes off the ceiling.

- Well...you're a brutal killer. But you seem so weak and inattentive.

"What are you talking about?" – now Hidan interested, propping himself up on his elbows.

At that moment, you attacked.

With a deft movement of your hand, you plunged a syringe filled with sleeping pills into your partner's neck and injected the entire dose at once. Caught off guard, Hidan didn't have time to do anything. Only at the very last moment did recognition flicker in his closing eyes, and words of curses burst from his lips. But they immediately fell silent, in an inescapable narcotic dream.

You threw off the blanket and pulled out a bag full of your weapons from under the bed.

You didn't sleep a wink for several hours, trying to enjoy the process, but at the same time not to attract unnecessary attention to yourself. You finally let out the rage that's been building up inside you all this time. The dream of retribution found life in the smooth movements of a surgical saw and a kunai. This is the real orgasm you've been waiting for, enduring the company of your enemy. This is the pleasure you've been craving since the morning at the bar. You didn't hold back, trying to enjoy every moment of the night. Because you knew perfectly well that with the first rays of the sun, your pleasure will come to an end. Several months have passed since then.

You forgot all about Hidan and what happened that night. Now you were walking through the Konoha market accompanied by your friends. This activity did not bring you much pleasure and you fell behind a little, getting lost in the numerous tents and narrow streets.

And it would have been a normal morning if something hadn't caught your attention. You stopped, cautiously peeking into a narrow alley between buildings, where surprisingly no one was and cautiously entered it, not forgetting to put your hand on the belt where the kunai was hidden.

As soon as you were far enough away from the street, a man in black suddenly attacked you from behind.

A swift blow knocked the weapon from his hands, a dull, numbing pain hit his stomach, and a hand gripped his throat in a steel grip. You have slammed into the wall with such force that your vision went dark for a while.

"Well, dear, don't die, it's too early," said a familiar voice.

When consciousness began to return, you saw the impudent face of Hidan, viciously baring his teeth in some strange anticipation.

- Let go of me, you bastard! – you hissed, trying to free yourself, but only provoked your abuser.

With a jerk, Hidan lifted you off the ground, squeezing your throat like a pair of pincers. Your breath caught in your throat, and you began to gasp and squeak in frustration. Tears welled up in your eyes. Hidan's face was suddenly incredibly close to yours. He looked into your eyes for a very long time.

"How harmless and sweet you are right now," he said grinning. "You will be mine now"

You expected everything, but not this.

All the same sharp movement Hidan pulled you to him and brazenly bit into your lips. He kissed you for a long time. And when he stopped, he kept looking into your eyes. His grip loosened completely and he put his arm around your waist. Then you stood on your toes and bit into him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

The Bad Guy (1)

Bucky x fem!Reader

CHAPTER 1: THE FAKEOUT

Series: A Bad Guy ruins Bucky’s day. But turns out it’s the bad guy he needs to seek help from after all. New York may not have changed much for him, but there are certain things he is discovering to be quite new!

Chapter warnings: swearing.

A/N: @writing-prompt-s​ once gave a prompt last year that stuck with me…I don’t remember the exact wordings but it had something to do with the reader/writer being the villain having a crush on the hero, always finding excuses (or crimes) to meet them. One day they are getting their ass beat and you decide to jump in and save the day. This one is same but with a liiiiiiiitle twist

Word Count: There are times I wish I was a llama. or a cat. Now is one of those times.

“You can do it. You. Can. Do. It. You’re the man. You’re the freaking man. Yes. Yes. You got it. You absolutely got it.”

“You okay, man?” Bucky had to ask.

“You absolutely don’t got it. I can’t do it, man. I’m outta here.”

Bucky grabbed Scott’s arm before that guy could rush back to the SUV they had come in. As much as he wanted to kick this sweaty ex-thief out of here, he knew the plan wasn’t going to work in Scott’s absence. He needed a guy to make him seem legit. At least that’s what Natasha had told him.

“Calm down,” Bucky reassured the man who was sweating tennis balls by now, “you just need to show the ID. Natasha has taken care of the rest and I would be doing the talking. Okay?”

Scott was half-listening by the time Bucky had finished. “Huh? Yeah! Yeah! Cool cool cool cool cool cool cool!”

Bucky could empathise on some level with Scott. After all, it was weird for an ex-con to visit a prison as a fake lawyer while trying to get a felon out of there under the noses of the authority. 

The plan was pretty simple. Arrange a meeting with that woman whom Bucky had met earlier, gain her trust, get her out of jail under the pretence of getting her to help with an unsolved case and find out the location and identity of the people behind the theft of Tony’s precious painting.

Simple.

Then why was Bucky’s back feeling so wet whenever a humid wind blew at the opening of every rusty door in the maximum-security prison?

The room was covered in cameras in all corners. To Bucky’s satisfaction, Natasha already told him and Scott they did not record any conversations for lawyer-client confidentiality- so any conversation that was about to happen was going to stay between these three. The musty smell of the room was somehow familiar to both of them, bringing mixed feelings to the surface- to which they barely had time to react when a figure in orange jumpsuit walked in, forcing all their attention on it.

“Hey boys!” You greeted the party, already recognising Bucky from the rendezvous you two had a few days ago. “Ay!! You’re that beat cop no one listened to that day!”

Bucky did not know how to react to that. He was not really expecting their interaction to go this way. Scott, on the other hand, was a little relieved to have your attention glued on anyone but him.

“Oh, right! I told you we’d be having the conversation after I get processed,” you added with a tone of realisation, “Wow, I didn’t know you were so into that robbery!”

You dragged the chair out with your leg and sat on it, legs spread wide- keeping comfort over societal mannerisms. Resting your cuffed hands on the table you gave a knowing smirk to Bucky, who was trying to figure out what exactly was going on behind that viciously delicious smile. “Or is it something else that is intriguing you?” You raised a brow. "Did I use that right? Intriguing you? Something that you're intrigued by?"

"That sounds better," Scott blurted out, regretting it the very second because now your suspicion-filled eyes were all for him.

"You…" you narrowed your eyes at Scott, making the man sit straight in his chair.

"He's my lawyer," Bucky was quick to dive in, "I mean, he's the lawyer we-I... he is interested in represen...He’s a lawyer." For the first time in his life, Bucky was glad Scott and Sam had forced him to watch Law and Order.

“...ok...kay.”

"Scott. Scott Lang," he introduced himself, bringing his hand forward for a shake.

“You have the eyes of a thief,” you stated while Scott’s hand was still in the air, making the poor man slowly take it back while his pale face looked at Bucky with an ‘I told you so’ expression. “No wonder you’re a lawyer.”

Next moment, you slumped into the chair, looking a little offended at something Bucky did. Or so he thought. “Did I hurt you?”

Bucky blinked at you before his brain smacked his accelerating heart to give something instead of just sitting there. “I’m sorry?”

“Did I hurt you the last time we met? I get that I have some kinda...powers but I don’t just throw them around. We could have had a conversation over some prison coffee. You didn’t have to bring your friend here.”

It took three seconds at minimum for Bucky’s brows to shoot up and his lips to crack wide in a smile. “W-what? No! He’s not here for me. He’s here for you. We’re getting you out of here.”

It was hard to put a word into the expression you just gave. Your eyes shifted between the two men while your open lips were shut and your face tilted a little towards the door.

“Uhhhhh-” was the only thing coming out of your mouth till your body got up from the chair and your cuffed hands pressed together towards your company- “listen, cop guy...man. I really meant it in a casual way when I said we’ll ‘talk later’. I don’t really know how much you’ve read into this. I mean, I would say ‘at least buy me dinner first’ but I am kinda scared as to where that might lead us. Good, God! Now I’m wondering what would you have done if I’d said something more like ‘hey, let’s f-”

“NO!” Bucky nearly jumped off his seat, his hands over the table trying to stop your words from coming out from a safe distance. “I’m not getting you out of here because I like you-” he stopped right when he heard himself, watching your curious eyes witness his mouth play him like a ten-cent flute- “no, I mean I like you but not in that kind of...what I mean to say is I know why you tried to steal that painting. I found out from my sources that these paintings are being used by this new mafia around the world supplying narcotics and codes on the trafficked girls and boys to their buyers for bids. And I was hoping you could help us catch the people behind the...painting.”

Bucky was cursing himself right and left, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks at nearly messing it up. Why did she have to be this accurate? His inner voice mocked him before smacking him in the head and calling him a jock.

“I don’t know if you remember but I was caught by you guys while threatening the New Yorkers.”

“While you were trying to help Ste-Rogers. Captain Rogers. And no one caught you. You surrendered yourself.”

“I hate cops. I can’t work with them.”

“You won’t be working with them. You’ll be working with us. Me and a couple of my friends.”

“I don’t work for free. And before you put a price tag on my work, remember that I am inside this prison because I want to stay here. For now.”

“How about a date with Steve Rogers?”

“Dude, you can’t put a price on my-wait what?”

“I’ll ask him to go out with you if you catch those sons of bitches.”

Maybe it was the serenade playing from somewhere inside the prison. Or maybe it was the sun strolling in from the windows. Or maybe it was the mention of his best friend that made your pupils go wider, your fingers work over the skin on your arm, doodling some invisible hearts with a bitchface before you straightened from the table and the sound from your cuffs nearly made Scott fall off his chair.

“I don’t work with supes. They disgust me. Especially Tony Snark and his redhead sister and that C-grade Legolas. I’m out.”

“We won’t be working with them. But I can pull a few strings to get you that date. I promise. And I’m sure Steve...Rogers would be more than willing to go out with you if there is one less bad guy walking out on the streets.”

“...you better not be joking about this-”

“James Barnes.”

“James. Because if you are, I will drive a monster truck into your house, take away your pet and fuck your mother till she forgets her own name.”

“My mother’s dead,” he was quick to add while Scott gasped at the audacity of this bitch- you; you were the bitch.

“Your girlfriend, then,” you simply shrugged. Bucky’s brain straight away flashed to a two-second fantasy of you and Natasha in her room, on her bed.

“Bold of you to assume he has a girlfriend,” Scott chortled till he could see Bucky’s Winter Soldier parts staring at him with all the coldness.

.

It wasn’t in his nature to give a place to bad things inside his Bucky heart. It definitely wasn’t in the now peaceful Winter Soldier’s nature to peek from inside Bucky and stare with stars in his eyes at the woman coming out in her shirt and jeans topped by a leather jacket. She’s bad, his mind kept ringing the gong, real bad. And when that wasn’t enough, she put on those aviators to shield her eyes from the harsh noon sun, walking towards him with the strut that said she was woman enough to grab someone by the balls if need be. You’ll get yourself killed by a woman, Barnes, his mind went off again.

“No, I won't,” he muttered out loud.

“What?” Scott asked.

“What?”

Bucky tried to ignore him, his eyes stuck on you as you came and stood by them.

“Keys,” you ordered, watching Bucky fish his pockets without breaking eye contact and handing the keys of the Land Rover to you. “Let’s go.”

Scott grabbed Bucky by the arm to pull him closer. “Dude! She has the keys!”

“...okay? Why are we whispering?”

“Wh-What are we gonna do if she tries to do something...evil!”

“Like what?”

“Like I don’t know, throw us off a cliff! Or drive us into a wall. Or worse, go over the speed limit in the city!!”

“Relax! I’m here,” Bucky reassured before opening the door to the back seat of the car for him. “I got you.”

Hopping in and sitting next to you, he noticed for the first time how you smelled like a pleasant mixture of spring and citrus.

“What cologne is that?” you called out from nowhere while turning on the engine, turning to look at Bucky.

“Uhhh….it’s an aftershave. For men.” He nodded, cursing himself instantly for adding that last bit. Of course, it’s for men, you twat!

“Smells nice,” you complimented before turning out of the parking spot.

“I’m glad you’re on board with this,” Bucky stated, trying to undo the mess he made a few seconds ago, “I wasn’t trying to overstep when I-we decided to get you to help us out.”

You chuckled, shifting gear.

“Oh, sweetheart! One, I loved this isn’t an automatic. Those are for weak testicled-babies. And two, you clearly misinterpreted me in there. When I said I was not expecting you to bail me outta jail for a date, I wasn’t grossed out by it, darling. I liked it.” You leaned a little closer to Bucky- having a glorious view of his pupils go wide like oceans with endless pits- to end him with one last whisper and wink. “In a very kinky way.”

And just as the car swerved out to the wide road, Scott could feel the air leave his lungs. “What have we done,” he whispered to himself, questioning all that was about to come.

[swampgh0stt]

for @yuckwhump‘s 29 Day Whump Challenge

Day 3: Loved One Killed || Drugged

rewritten scene from an Ace Lives AU rp with @razzzmatazz where Ace joins the Revs post!timeskip & is in a relationship with Sabo. I chose to go with both prompts as well! They worked so well for the situation.

Among the Revs is a Wendigo devil fruit user known as Valery, who has taken quite obsessively to Sabo & worms his way into his & Ace’s relationship. But he would rather keep Sabo for himself. 

tw: character death, implied noncon, drug abuse

The last thing Sabo remembered coherently was the drink Valery had given him. There was the faintest taste of salt, too subtle to worry over. But now that his body started to feel heavier, weaker, Sabo also felt the faintest sense of panic buried beneath the new sensation of paralysis that quickly overtook him. “Valery…” His lover was not too far away, just on the bed with Ace! 

But Ace wasn’t looking much better either. 

“What…” His words were slurred. The world started to slow down around him, or maybe he was the only one who slowed to an unbearable rate. “What was… in that drink…?” 

“Like it?” The other Rev in the room sounded so calm despite his chief’s predicament. He always sounded so calm, casual, like tragedy was the norm that he thrived in. “It’s called rohypnol.” As he spoke, one of his hands moved to tangle those long fingers in Ace’s hair. The pirates head was tilted back carefully to bare his neck for their shared lover. 

“You… drugged us?” He felt his body giving out, slumped back against the chair he settled in to. Valery had promised a wonderful night for the three of them, and preyed on Sabo’s voyeuristic tendencies when he suggested the blonde watch while he fuck Ace. “I didn’t…” He knew Ace would never consent to the use of drugs, but the protest was simply more demanding than he had the energy for. That was not to say he didn’t try! The words just… wouldn’t form.

“Val--” His words gasped out. This must be some terrible mishap. In all their time together, the other Rev had never once hurt them! At least, not in any way that Sabo remembered. Despite his narcotized predicament, he felt no fear for Ace’s well being. Choosing to trust a monster would prove fatal. 

But Valery had always been clever and hidden away the true nature of his devil fruit. Why alert anyone to his being a Wendigo, when he could simply play himself off as an elk and nothing more? What harm was a cervine? As long as it assisted in his smuggling routine, there was fuck all anyone should worry themselves over. He preyed upon that, banked upon it. And it paid off too. Now, Valery had the object of his obsession drugged and watching on the chair, while the pirate who he held so much disdain for was limp and at the mercy of his whim. Ace had no pity from Valery though, who regarded him with nothing short of disgust. His survivor status after the Paramount War and his withdrawn nature made the wendigo want to hunt, to maim, to torment.

Like a Predator.

He announced his intentions just as casually as he would relay his report updates for the day: “I have no use for damaged goods.” A golden pair of eyes half-lidded as they stared down upon Ace’s form beneath him. 

Sabo didn’t expect what came next. The tall and lanky form of Valery changed before him, into something larger and gray, furred, with an elk skull upon his head and glowing golden eyes. His fingernails had sharpened to claws that he suddenly and viciously slashed through Ace’s neck with. In the heat of the moment and the throes of his paralysis, all Sabo could do was gasp in surprise. He felt himself panicking and begging deep down, but it was too far buried beneath the drug’s influence. His violet eyes watched in a haze as blood seeped from the corners of Ace’s mouth, as his pirate lover choked on his own breath. Red splashed on the bed sheets, which Sabo knew would remain forever stained with the reminder of his failure here. 

The reminder of Ace’s death.

He could afford tears at least, as his eyes locked on the dying form of the pirate on the bed. “Ace…” The name left his lips with such anguish. He fought hard to move, but there was nothing to be done. Not until Valery decided to saunter over and move the blonde himself. He was cruel in everything he did, all too eager to drop Sabo down on the bed beside the fallen pirate. “Ace-” The Chief gasped out again, and struggled until he laid across the pirate’s chest. 

Already, there was so much blood. It smeared across Sabo’s skin and clothes, stained his very soul. He would never wash this away, ever. “Please…” What did he even beg for, at this point? He couldn’t even grab on to Ace to comfort him in his last moments. “I’m sorry.” 

The wendigo wasted no time in mounting him where he lay. Clawed hands seized his Chief’s hips in a bruising grip. The smell of death and rot hung on him, inescapable as he leaned close to whisper in Sabo’s ear: “You’re mine. Don’t ever forget it.” 

All Sabo could do was sob as the wendigo slowly began the process of peeling off his clothes.