#Sound of Metal critique

[thrashntreasure]

Ep48 Evan, Cowgirls Get the Bruise… w/ Gareth Owen! (West End!)

Party on Wayne! Party on Gareth! As in our special guest, multi-award winning Sound Designer Mr. Gareth Owen! Fresh from a nap during tech-year of MJ the Musical, this acclaimed technical wizard joins us to share his audial expertise in reviewing Guns 'n Roses' "Live '87-'93" album, before sharing the cheer about 'Bring It On'! Plus, Evan goes on a cheerleading deep-dive (or would that be tumble?), and we discuss Foley, Audiences, Theatre Acoustics, Wayne's World, and more! Given our illustrious guest has mixed sound for both Metallica AND Andrew Lloyd Webber, putting him at the exact centre of our silly concept! www.twitter.com/GarethOwenSound

[topgun-imagines]

Pay Attention

Requested: no

Summary: Ice needs something to fiddle with. Braiding your hair seems like a good idea.

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: none

Pairings: Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky x fem!reader

The multi-platform classroom was noisy as you and the other Top Gun students filed into the room. Being one of the first in the dimly lit room, you sat between Chipper and Maverick. You placed your feet on the metal bar in front of you as you doodled on the corner of your notebook page.

Your peace only lasted a few more moments before Chipper pulled your notebook away making you roll your eyes. He drew a tic-tac-toe board before marking his spot and handing it back to you wordlessly. With nothing better to do you joined in on the game. Other students entered the room while you and Chipper played, the row behind you filling as Hollywood, Wolfman, Iceman, and Slider all piled into the row, leaving the rest of the class standing behind them or seated on the stairs.

“Damnit,” Chipper mumbled as you smirked, crossing your win on the board just as Viper, Jester, and Charlie walked in. The room quieted down once your instructors made it to the front. You grinned as Chipper rolled his eyes, flipping you off as you turned to face Viper as he began speaking.

In the row behind you, Ice pulled his pen out of his uniform pocket and began twirling it expertly around his fingers.

The lesson began as Jester pulled up the flight simulations that each pilot had submitted, Viper beginning to lecture Maverick on his. Charlie hopped in as well, critiquing the pilot for his risky maneuvers that if done incorrectly, would surely get him killed. You paid little attention as the blonde instructor in front of you flirted with Mav. Ice shifted behind you, sitting up in his chair and no doubt smirking at the interaction.

Viper switched from Maverick to you, commenting on how it was a perfect example of a textbook maneuver. You took notes on his and Charlie's comments which were significantly shorter than the ones they had for Mav due to the fact that your plan was way less likely to get you killed.

A noise sounded from behind you, causing you to glance back to see Ice’s gold pen rolling down the platform and up to the front of the room. Snickers erupted through the class which were soon silenced by a harsh look from Viper. Ice groaned quietly as his pen clattered on the floor, ignoring the stares of the other aviators and flipping Slider off when he teased him.

Everything went back to normal and the lesson continued on. You startled slightly when you felt a warm breath on your neck. “Can I play with your hair?” Ice whispered, pressing his lips to the shell of your ear. You nodded slightly, trying your hardest not to draw attention to you and Ice. The pair of you had been dating for a while, first meeting in the academy before you ran into each other and reconnected a few years ago. While neither of you had said anything about your relationship, everyone could tell the connection the two of you had. No one dared to say anything, however. Except for Maverick.

Ice straitened again and reached his hands down. He pulled the elastic out of your hair and began running his finger through it. It was soothing to have him play with your hair and you knew he felt the same. Your blond pilot was always fiddling with something whether it be a pen or his aviators he always had something in his hands. It helped calm him.

Focusing on the lesson, you noticed that Viper had moved on to criticizing Hollywood’s tactics, leaving only two people left.

Ice’s fingers moved through your hair skillfully. He brushed out a few of the knots, being careful not to hurt you or pull too hard. You leaned back into his touch, Ice leaning forward slightly to make it easier. His fingers were gentle and deliberate as they moved through the soft brown strands of your hair. Chipper heard your quiet hum as Ice began scratching your scalp and turned to look at you. He grinned at you when he saw your relaxed face along with Ice’s hands in your hair.

Your eyebrows furrowed when you felt Ice begin to separate your hair into three sections, smiling softly when you realized what he was trying to do. Ice knew how much you loved when he braided your hair, always offering to when you struggled with it. He was good at it too, managing to make it better than the last each and every time.

Out of the corner of your eye, you checked the clock, noting that there was only about 20 minutes left of the lesson.

The pilot behind you began braiding your hair, his long, skilled fingers weaving it together, expertly. Your hair was long, meaning that it would take Ice at least 15 minutes to properly braid your hair like he wanted to. Not that he was complaining.

Viper and Charlie continued to lecture you on the plans that each of you had submitted. They finally came to the last group which you could tell would take a while. Their plan was worse than Mavericks. Viper droned on about how their decision was reckless and foolish, a decision that would surely get them killed and destroy their plane.

You closed your eyes, relishing in the feeling of Ice’s fingers gently pulling your hair into a tight braid. He could win a medal for this. You thought as he secured the end of your braid with the elastic he pulled from your hair earlier. While Viper and Charlie were busy scrutinizing the pair in the row behind Ice, he leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to the back of your hair, pulling back but leaving his hand on your shoulder.

“Class dismissed.” Viper called. You were startled, opening your eyes and moving away from your boyfriend’s soft touch.

Gathering your notebook and pencils you stood with Chipper, ready to make your way out of the classroom. “I thought you came in with a braid?” He commented offhandedly.

You rolled your eyes fondly at the person you considered to be one of your best friends. “Well then, you obviously don’t pay much attention.” You teased your RIO. Chipper grumbled something colorful under his breath in return.

The pair of you were just about out of the classroom when you heard Viper's voice behind you. “Kazansky,” He called. You watched your blond pilot turn toward your superior. “Next time, try to pay attention,” Viper tossed Ice his pen as the latter gaped at his superior. You and Chipper snickered as Ice let out a stuttered ‘Yes sir’.

a/n: Thanks for reading! This is just a short (but hopefully cute one) Hope you enjoyed! Requests are open

[sunnasweet]

Sienna and The Scientist

We've gone from Androids to 🥁🥁🥁 aliens! This one's a little weirder than my last post but such is life.

Literotica summary: Sienna is experimented on by an alien anthropologist.

Critiques are always appreciated I'm trying to improve so that one day I can write an actual novel!

5.5k words, non-con-ish?, oviposition, alien x female reader

Sienna woke with a headache and the smell of ammonia.

Her eyes fluttered open, just barely cracking her lids before they widened at what she found herself looking at.

A white padded room. It wasn't just the cold tile that gave Sienna the chills. She was staring at a prison cell. Every corner had a camera pointing at her, there was a twin bed and a metal sink that had a toilet bowl protruding out of the side.

If the room wasn't enough there was also the fact that she was stark naked, stark naked and shaved. What was once her pussy covered in soft tufts was now completely bare. She rubbed her thighs together and could feel the way her cunt lips rubbed together from the movement now that there was no friction or barrier.

Sienna shook her head, she had bigger problems than her naked pussy.

"H-hello?" she rasped out, "someone?"

She stood and did a full 360, all around her were squares of padded white. No door, not even a gap to suggest one.

She stared at the cameras. Not only was she naked but she was being recorded naked, she banged on one of the padded blocks, and when that did nothing she shouldered against it.

She paced around the room before shouting, "Hello?" she waved her hands, "I know you're watching me!"

She waited for a response.

Nothing.

Sienna began to feel restless, she shouldered the wall once again and hissed when she sunk into the wall. She banged her fists against the material, which was just as useless as all her other attacks.

She walked around the whole square box of the room, looking at everything, which was to say–not much.

How did she get here?

Sienna sat on the bed.

She tried to retrace her steps but the thing was, Sienna had no recollection of the events that led to this room. She could remember her name, her birthday, and the leftover Chinese takeout she ate for breakfast that morning but not anything that happened within the past few hours.

Sienna wasn't going to last long. She was already going insane–she could feel it, that familiar craze you feel in the heat of the moment when you think a man is following you but instead just passes you by.

She started calling out for help again and there was nothing but the echo of her own words. With panic and a twisted gut, tears sprang to her eyes. She pulled at her hair.

She was already breaking, Sienna was not the final girl.

It was so typical really, to be kidnapped. If it was going to happen to someone, of course, it happened to her. She was the weakest link, she could admit that. She didn't do cardio and she didn't lift weights. Her thighs jiggled and her belly was soft.

So sick of her own breathing, Sienna decided to test a theory.

A stupid theory, her brain chimed in.

She looked at the camera, "please let me out," she begged.

She stared off for a moment, one second–two, then three.

Nothing.

She crawled back to the floor, crouched down, planting her palms on the tile. Then. Unceremoniously, craned her head back and slammed it onto the surface.

Sienna groaned, and then she did it again. The pain was agonizing and she could no longer see straight. She was pretty sure her forehead was bleeding. But the sound of the hiss of depressurizing made it all worth it.

Whatever she was here for, it wasn't to be tortured and murdered which made self-mutilation a no-go. She was merchandise.

Sienna tilted her head and nearly blacked out but she saw there was now a long door-shaped hole in the wall.

She almost grinned at her plan to get her kidnapper's attention succeeding until something inhuman stepped through the door. Her eyes bulged. She must have been hallucinating. Green, pale green skin, tall and lean. Four arms. She had just bashed her head into the floor, there was no way what she was seeing was real.

No, it was walking closer, and…and it was talking.

"What do you think you're doing?" hissed the creature.

Sienna gaped like a fish. He spoke a different language, all clicks and hisses, and yet somehow she could understand him!

What the hell was going on?

Sienna scrambled away but she was weak on her feet and stumbled, she was going to pass out. She wiped her nose and realized it was bleeding.

"Let..lemme go." she slurred.

The four armed being moved closer to her. It was prowling forward, baring its sharp shark teeth at her. Holy shit.

Sienna's eyes rolled back and her face fell forward.

-

The second time Sienna woke, she was strapped to a table and staring at her reflection. There were panels of mirrors on the ceiling. She craned her neck and her eyes widened. She hadn't been hallucinating, there was a tall green…something, staring at her.

"You're awake."

"I–"

"That wasn't a question." the creature spoke, once again not in her native language but somehow her brain translated the words for her.

"W-who are you? Where am I? What am I doing here?" she questioned rapidly.

The green being stared at her, she almost thought he wasn't going to answer but–

"You're in a laboratory," he said unhelpfully, "I am the scientist assigned to you, and you are here as my test subject."

"A… laboratory?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"You are on the planet Zorkis."

Sienna's eyes bulged further and her heart rate spiked. She knew that not only from the pain in her chest but because of the incessant beeping of a machine she was connected to. She practically choked on her spit.

"I"m on another planet?" she asked genuinely. Because. Frankly. It was very hard to believe, but then again she was staring at a green 4-armed monster. So what did Sienna really know?

She wasn't getting home, that's for sure.

"This is correct." The alien scientist responded.

Sienna started to struggle against the leather straps horizontally draped over her body. The alien calmly watched her seemingly not caring that she was attempting to escape.

"You will not get out of those." the alien spoke, "not even I would be able to escape those straps and I'm far stronger than you are, pet."

She gasped.

Pet? Is that what he had just called her?

"I'm not your pet!" she hissed, "Let me out of here! Why are you doing this? Huh? Why me?" her voice was getting shrill and she was exhausting herself.

The alien gave a very human shrug, "Why not you?" she swallowed. "Besides…" he trailed, one of his long fingers trailing up her calf, "You're the first human to ever try to self-mutilate so soon," he says like that's a good thing.

It made her interesting.

He was fascinated with her.

"What are you testing me for?" she croaked.

"I've been assigned to learn about your reproductive and mating habits," he said lowly. Reproductive habits? Oh no. No. No. No.

She shook her head, "You can't do that. You can't." she said, the panic once again building up within her.

"I can and I will." he paused, pulling his finger away from the leg he had been stroking. "You see my species has gone through a plague very recently. Nearly half of our population was decimated and we need to rebuild our numbers if there's any hope for the new generation," he explained. "So we have been searching all over the galaxy to find a successful host body. Humans fit the bill."

Sienna stiffened.

No.

No, no, no.

She was going to have a panic attack or throw up or both. Sienna had been brought here to be some sort of baby maker? No way, she couldn't–she wouldn't.

"Now," he spoke, "I am Dr. Xorad and you will address me as such. I will be responsible for you during your stay."

Her ears perked at his words, "My stay? You're going to let me go home at the end of all this?" she could deal with that. Pop-out some half-alien, half-human baby, Whatever it took to make sure she was good to go back home. Fine. Sure. Awesome.

"No." He said, crushing her hope. "You will likely never return home to your home planet but if everything goes well you will be assimilated into my species' society."

Sienna gasps, "No!" she shouts. "Please don't do this, please let me go." she was trembling now, her hands fisted and she began to wriggle around again. "Let me out!" she demanded. "Let me out right now!"

The alien–Dr. Xorad did not respond to Sienna's tantrum, instead, he merely waited until she once again exhausted herself. Sienna breathed heavily.

She was restless but all of her fight had been yelled out of her.

"What are you going to do?" she asks direly.

"I'm going to give you an ultrasound," it says, "then I am going to draw your blood." the way Dr. Xorad speaks makes it all sound so clinical though she was unsurprised that he was unsympathetic to her cause.

"That's it?" She asked nervously."

"No." Sienna's stomach twists.

She licked her lips, "You're a doctor? You've been to medical school?"

"Medical school?" the alien asks, picking up a squeeze bottle, "What is medical school?" Oh god. Was this a translation error or had he really not been given any formal education?

The doctor snaps on a glove and then squeezes a sizable glob of cool blue goo on her stomach. He spreads it around and she shivers.

"It's a place you go to learn to be a doctor," she explains.

"Oh."

"So, did you go to a place like that?"

"No." it says, "Zorkis has no such thing."

She inhales, "Zorkis?"

"The planet we are currently on. My home. Your home."

Before she could say this was not her home, he was gliding a probe over her naked belly. Dr. Zorad seemed very focused on what it was doing.

It didn't wear a lab coat which is what made a doctor in Sienna's mind. In fact, it was completely naked like her. He had a defined torso and nice biceps but where his cock and balls should be was Barbie doll smooth. His thighs were thick and his legs were digitigrade with 3 clawed toes just like the amount of fingers he had. Though she supposed it didn't matter considering he had four arms.

Those arms worked in tandem. One hand was gliding the probe over her stomach, another was scratching at his angular jaw and a third was holding some sort of electronic tablet. She had no idea how a person–or–not person, but an alien, could control four limbs simultaneously like that.

"Do not worry however, I have plenty of experience." he rattles, "I have studied under a mentor for many years. I worked by his side until his death." Oh.

Oh.

"You have a gender?" she asked curiously.

Dr. Xorad paused. "Yes." it–they, spoke stiffly, nostrils flaring. "I am a virile male.

Sienna's lips thinned. "Virile" is not something she cared to hear, nor did she like the fact that this being was a man–male, whatever. What was clear however was that she had bruised his very human-like male ego from her ignorance because he seemed downright icy instead of cold. Speaking of cold….

"Did you shave me?"

"Yes."

Oh.

She shivers.

An alien shaved her pussy.

"You didn't shave my head," she remarks.

"I was informed it was ornamentation for your kind and it would cause you distress if I did." the monitor beeped. One of Dr. Xorad's hands wrote something down on the clipboard.

"Well, if you didn't want me distressed you should have locked me in a padded cell or strapped me down to this table," she says. He looks at her, his black eyes boring into her soul. Finally, he shrugs.

"Maybe not." he merely says.

"I mean why did you have to shave my…?"

"For better access." Sienna made an outraged noise.

"It is easier to see now."

"You're a sick bast–Oh!" she gasped as he pricked her with an IV needle. "Ow." Sienna could've sword she saw an upturned curl on his lips when she was startled.

"Mm." the doctor hums and Sienna sighs.

What was she going to do? How was she going to escape this? She did not want to be poked and prodded at. She didn't want to be tested or assimilated into and she certainly did not want to play human incubator.

"Am I your first human test subject?"

"First and only," he responds as her blood goes up, up, up into the tube, and fills into a blood bag. "It's my job to research you personally."

"But there are others?"

"Yes, and you will meet one soon."

"Just one?"

"For now."

Sienna was beginning to feel nauseous. There were more humans here? How many? The look on Sienna's face must have been obvious because Dr. Xorad freely offered up. "You could be quite happy here. Our older humans have adapted very well, pet," he said in a way she could tell was trying to be reassuring.

"I'm not your pet," she says flatly.

"Then who are you?" he asks.

"Sienna." she offers.

"Sssee-en-nah." he hisses. "It is nice to meet you. You will learn soon that I plan to treat you very well." Sienna eyed him wearily. She didn't want to be treated well, she wanted to get the hell out of there.

Dr. Xorad turns around, pressing some buttons on his machines before saying, "You've come up all clear. No pregnancies, no illness, and no abnormalities." Sienna was surprised. Could he seriously test her blood that quickly? Just what kind of alien tech did they have? Dr. Xorad turned back to face her. "Now we can get started."

"W-what?" she stammered. That sounded way too ominous for Sienna's liking. "I thought that was it…"

"No. Those were merely tests to make sure you were fertile and healthy," he says straightforwardly. Fertile. She was nothing but a baby-maker to this male.

Sienna was snapped out of her depressing thought when one of her straps was unbuckled. He lifted her sleeping wrists above her head and then cuffed her there. He did the same thing with the strap on the bottom, cuffing her ankles. She was spread apart. Finally, he got rid of the middle strap altogether.

She began to hyperventilate.

"Stop," she said.

He did.

"Yes?" he looked down at her. His bottom hands were absently rubbing her ankles and it was distracting.

"I don't want this." she croaks. She wanted to kick him off was what she wanted. "I have a family." Lie. "and a boyfriend." Lie. "A future." Another lie.

Sienna Smith was a 25-year-old shut-in with no friends, a dead mom, and a no-show dad. The only time she left her small studio apartment was to go grocery shopping or to work. She didn't entertain co-workers and she certainly didn't entertain men. If it weren't for her therapist–who would be getting a hefty phone call when she figured out a way home–she'd go through life talking to someone less than twice a month.

"I will be careful," he said soothingly. It didn't help. "I have seen many demonstrations in the following weeks. I know what I am doing."

"Demonstrations…of what?"

He moved his bottom hands from her ankles to her calves, rubbing his palms over her up and down.

He spoke gently, "Human mating." What. "I understand this topic is very taboo to your species but there will be no judgment here in my clinic." her stomach dropped. He was going to fuck her?

She grimaced. She was in for a terrible ride.

"What is the problem?" he murmured seeing her face, he spoke…different than mere moments ago. Instead of the clinical stoic anthropologist he now sounded..kind. Caring. His eyes were looking–which you had to pay attention to or you'd miss it–straight between her legs. Her face heated.

"I–oh!" he was leaning forward now, stroking the tops of her thighs. Sienna squirmed.

"Good." he purred. "This is good." Oh god.

She tried to close her thighs but had no such luck due to her restraints. She could just barely bend her knees inward and that was her only range of motion.

Sienna looked back up to the doctor and gulped. He looked transfixed. She glanced at the ceiling and that's when she remembered the mirror panels. All forcing her to watch this happen to herself.

Somehow watching it from the reflection made it feel more intimate than impersonal so she closed her eyes.

His hands were inching closer and closer to her bare newly shaved–sensitive pussy. She bit her lip and breathed out. Oh god. Oh–

"God!" she gasped out when his knuckles stroked up the seam of her cunt. "Ahgn." her hips wriggled and she strained against her bindings.

"Good," he murmured once more. "This is a good reaction." it seemed like he was talking more to himself than to her at the moment. He dipped her fingers inside of her labia and was met with slick. She whimpered.

His hands were working in tandem. The bottom pair were in her pussy and rubbing her hip and the top pair were travelling up her belly to the valley between her breasts before squeezing them.

"These will grow when you are heavy with my young…" he murmured and her heart stopped.

"Y-your young?" she gasps, "I thought you were my doctor…?"

"I am pet, but I will also be the male who inseminates you."

Sienna couldn't focus on that piece of information at the moment, not when he traced over her clit and her hips bucked.

"Found it."

Sienna laughs then moans. Maybe he wasn't so different from a man after all. He circled her nipples the same way he circled her clit and her eyes rolled back while her hips tilted.

"Mmm…yeah." she moaned.

He glanced at her face, "Positive response…" he murmurs, "Next step.." he slowly edged the tip of his finger into her cunt. She groaned and he slipped the entire digit inside–knuckle deep.

"MMfh!"

"Good…" he said to her, "you are doing very well." he praised and she shivered, maybe this was unlocking a new kink for her. His praise seemed to get her into the moment. When had she started to get into this?

Her eyes were still closed but it wasn't easy to forget that this was not a human doing this to her. Not with his four hands stimulating her everywhere. Her thighs splayed out. She was pulsing around his single finger and it felt amazing when he curled it upward.

Another squeeze to her breast, "Do you want more?" he asked.

"Yes…" she moaned without hesitation, "Please yes."

When she was rescued she wouldn't include this part.

At her acceptance, he prodded her with another finger, but he prodded her excellently. His two fingers curled and his other hand started circling her clit fast at the same time. A noise that couldn't be described as attractive burst from Sienna's throat.

She pulled against her restraint and he chuckled.

"Easy pet," he murmured.

"Aghnn, please untie me!" she begged. He eyed her, his eyes flickering between her contorting face and what was going on between her legs. "I should…"

She whimpered, "please? I want…I need to touch you."

Dr. Xorad's eyes widened. It had not occurred to him that was even an option or possibility. He kept her legs strapped to the table but unbuckled both her wrists.

Immediately, Sienna's hands began to reach for the doctor's.

She held them against her breasts and showed him exactly how she liked to be caressed here as she panted, squirmed, and whined.

"Doctor…" she moaned, "I need more.." she whispered, "More please."

"More?"

"More…" she whined.

He looked down at her. There had been another thing he wanted to try…but every lesson he had learned on human reproduction advised against it until a deeper bond was formed with his assigned charge.

Still. Dr. Xorad could not help himself. He unstrapped her left leg, draped it over his shoulder, and gave her pussy a lick.

"Ye-ES!" she hissed. She bucked into his face, nearly sobbing. It had been so, so long since she had someone else touching her. Years of masturbation just wasn't the same and at the age she had finally gotten around to doing her firsts, it wasn't exactly great.

Dr. Xorad removed his fingers and replaced them with his wiggling tongue.

"Doctor!" she gasped. He let out a rumble in response, his head buried between her legs. She was spread and ent open, the last restraint was on her right ankle and she didn't even care that she was nearly free.

All she cared about was enjoying this for as long as possible.

Her eyes opened and she watched as Dr. Xorad ate her pussy from above. His back muscles flexed and his ass looked tight. He was groaning from between her thighs.

He pulled back, "I should be recording this session," he said quietly, giving her clit an opened-mouthed kiss. "You're being an exemplary charge. This would have been a very informative document to have." Sienna agreed.

Dr. Xorad was doing a wonderful job at licking Sienna's weeping pussy. She could feel her own slick running down her slit to her ass. The fact that she was hairless made it even better. She'd never been bare before but she felt so much more sensitive shaved like this. Everything was hypersensitive.

Sienna was overwhelmed by all 4 of Dr. Xorad's hands, her breasts were being groped, her pussy licked and clit rubbed. She was going to explode soon. Her hips were thrusting to meet his tongue inside her cunt. God help her but she was going to cum because of an alien anthropologist.

"Doctor!" she called again, her voice high and shrill. She could repeat nothing else but a combination of expletives, his name, and god's.

"Because you're being such a good girl–" he pulled back and she nearly cried, her hips were still humping the air, her pussy pulsing on nothing. He looked down at her, captured for a moment. She could feel tears welling in her eyes.

"Please." she croaked. "I need you!"

That seemed to do the trick. He wordlessly nodded and was now holding a squeeze bottle of some sort of gel that reminded her of the ultrasound goo. He goated his gloved fingers in it, then, he was fucking her again with his fingers. Something was happening inside. She felt warm, tingly, and filled.

She screamed, her inner walls contracted against her own volition, she was twitching and she held onto Dr. Zorrad's shoulders for dear life as she jolted up to a sitting position. Her eyes closed, squeezed tight and her toes began to curl.

She was clenched so tightly, panting and wailing until it all relaxed and warmth filled her abdomen, then, she was gushing.

Dr. Xorad had just made her squirt with his magic fingers and magic gel.

She was crying. Full ugly tears as her hips met his fingers thrusts.

He was right beside her, soothing her with praises, telling her how good she was doing but she wasn't crying because she was in pain or distress, she was crying because this was the best orgasm of her life.

He was guiding her through her orgasm, inserting and curling his fingers inside of her and hitting her g-spot over and over, his thumb rubbed over her clit at the same time and he had gone from groping her breasts to stroking her face. It felt..intimate.

Especially with all his crooning into her ear.

She was gasping, her body still pulsing as she sucked his fingers deeper into her

channel. He let out another rumble.

"Very good," he hummed.

Sienna was spent. She looked at her body from the mirrors above her and she was splayed out loosely, her limbs limp. The doctor ran a hand through her hair and muttered something she could not discern.

He unstrapped the other buckle on her right foot, then, dragged her forward so her bottom half was hanging off the edge of the table.

"What're you doin..?" she asked, lifting her head and her eyes widened.

Dr. Xorad did not appear to be as sexless as he appeared. In fact, currently, there was a slit opening–pulsing as she watched him dip his fingers inside, teasing something out while he lowly hissed. She watched as his fingers stroked the inner walls of his slit. It reminded her of her own pussy, wet and pink on the inside.

Instead what emerged was his cock. Long and already hard, completely hairless like the rest of his strange body. One of his hands stroked himself root to tip while the others were positioning her once again.

"Ohh..wait I don't think I can…"

He stood between her legs, rubbing his lubricated cock against her sloppy slit. She whimpered, her eyes rolling back.

"Fuck it…just stick it in," she said plainly. Her body was trembling with anticipation and the aftershocks of her first orgasm.

He grunted in response and nodded. But before he inserted himself inside her, he fingered more of that magic gel inside her pussy and she was whining again. Her pussy pulsed on nothing and she already felt close to orgasm.

He slid inside her in one ruthless motion.

They both groaned out.

"So tight." he hissed, "You already milk my cock."

"Mmmm…" she had no words for him, she was too busy enjoying the ridges of his cock inside her that she hadn't noticed. She bucked when one of those ridges rubbed her g-spot.

He bent over her and began to thrust, out slowly then in hard. Their skin slapped together and she could feel not only the gel mixing with her fluids, but his as well. This moment cemented Sienna as the weakest link.

But if being the weakest link meant getting fucked like this she didn't care. She was ruined. She was addicted to Dr. Zorad's fingers and cock, with–preferably–or without the gel.

She was making an awful keening noise in the back of her throat, a whine that reminded her of a dog begging for a bone. Tears were still trailing down her eyes and she was sure her face was scrunched in the ugliest ways.

Sienna did not think about being sexy for Dr. Xorad, she simply enjoyed what he was giving her and he seemed to have no complaints. In fact, he seemed to be having a wonderful time if the groans above her were any sign.

He lifted her legs, pushing the backs of her thighs so the tops pressed against her belly, her calves rested on his shoulders and Sienna screamed at the deep reach he now had.

"Oh, yes, yes!" she gasped, "Please keep fucking me, doctor!"

He gave her what seemed to be a pained smile, "I don't think that is the problem, pet." she moaned. "It's stopping I fear for." he thrusted, once, twice, three times–and then there was a warm watery liquid being sprayed inside her. She yelped in surprise.

He had cum and given her absolutely no warning.

When she expected him to stop however he didn't. He was still hard and still pounding at her pussy like a madman.

"Mmm, what's happening?" she moaned.

"I..hngf, I am quite built up," he spoke, his brows were furrowed and he was giving her fast shallow strokes now. "I predict I will need to ejaculate 4 times before we can complete this session."

"4 times?" she questioned bewildered, then her back arched and she could feel the familiar ache in her abdomen, "why so many?"

"I cannot fertilize you until I am completely spent," he explained clinically. The air whooshed out of Sienna. She remembered her purpose here. Baby-maker.

"Wait–" she spoke panicked, still breathless any whiny, "You can't do that! I don't want to be pregnant!"

He stroked her cheeks with his top hands, "Calm now, pet." he crooned, "I assure you I will take very good care of you during your gestation."

"But doctor!" she wailed, her legs were locking again and her thighs began to tremble, "I-I don't want–Ah!" she screamed, releasing once again. Pushing his long cock out momentarily before he forced himself back in. He groaned and once again she was filled more with that cool watery substance that leaked out of her along with what she produced.

Sienna's eyes rolled back and all the fight in her had vanished. She was far away from this room now. Far away from Dr. Xorad and only concerned about her aching pussy that still craved another release.

She laid there limply while Xorad kept pushing. Her body jerked, being shifted up and down as he worked above her. She could do nothing but take it.

There was a gentle squeaking sound mixed in with everything as the metal examination table she was on was completely covered in their fluids and her skin was rubbing against the material.

"Nearly there, pet," he murmured. "This will all be over soon."

She wasn't sure if she wanted it to be over.

"Then you can take a nice rest."

Oh.

Well, that did sound nice considering her eyes were beginning to fall heavy. Of course, she couldn't sleep. But she could do little more than whine and slowly roll her hips to meet Xorad's.

His top hands were squeezing her breasts and teasing at her nipples while his bottom hands gripped her thighs. He did all the moving for her, pulling her back and forth on his cock. She was like his personal fuck toy.

From everything she had heard about the experiment, baby, and assimilation, that statement seemed to be far more accurate than she originally thought.

Another blast of watery liquid flooded through her and she groaned. Dr. Xorad momentarily collapsed atop her. His head resting on her chin. She absently stroked his bald head.

He purred.

"Turn for me," he murmured, seemingly tired in his own right as his voice was turning lazy.

Sienna had no idea what that meant until he was pulling out of her. A gush of fluid came out when was unplugged.

He gently moved her onto her hands and knees and Sienna wasn't so sure she could maintain this position for very long but she had always liked doggy more than missionary so she would try.

"I've seen humans do it this way as well." he says, running a hand over her ass, squeezing it, "Is this suitable for you, pet?"

"Yes…" she sighed, "It's very suitable."

"Good."

She nearly fell face forward when the examination table began to lower. She looked around and realized Dr. Xorad had pulled a level so his cock could be at an equal level with her hole.

Neat.

He aligned himself with her, then, slid home. She moaned roughly, backing up against him, impaling herself. She rocked back and forth on his cock and he began to breath heavily.

"This is not how I saw it done," he murmurs.

Sienna moaned, "This is how I like it." she arched and unarched her back, controlling the pace this time. She was steady and a little weaker than usual but she felt more awake now that he was so deeply buried inside her.

"This will be good for insemination," he seemed to be thinking the same thing, "my eggs will be buried deep inside you."

"Shuddap." she slurred. He was ruining the moment for her.

"Hm." he hummed, not seeming to be offended but not amused either.

They moved together.

"Pull on my hair." she murmured, "I like that, and…grip my hips."

Dr. Xorad did exactly as she asked and Sienna moved faster, the alien behind her groaned. Praising her in his hissed language. It made Sienna feel like she was more than mediocre at sex, it made her feel like a pornstar.

She didn't mind fucking an alien so much.

At least not until he started bucking against her and dug his sharp nails into her hips.

"Oh!" she exclaimed.

He growled with a thrust. Moving so fast against her she could barely even feel him inside because of how slick she was. The only thing that told her he was still inside were the ridges that scraped against her inner walls

Finally, something seemed to snap in the doctor, he let out a long drawn-out hiss and he slumped forward. He was pressing against her back as he let out a high whine. He was cumming again, but this time it was not the watery liquid she had grown familiar with.

This time, she filled her up in a completely unnatural way.

She was being inseminated.

It was overwhelming, the eggs he was talking about putting inside her were pulsing in their own right and she could feel them travelling inside of her. They rubbed and scrubbed around her walls and her eyes rolled back as she too slumped forward.

She fell belly first against the table, twitching as she was being impregnated.

"That's it, pet." he slurred, "you're going to be a wonderful host."

Host. Dear god, what had she done?

[lilyrizzy]

silly little something about max & daniel watching 'how to build a sex room'. day 6 of the 12 days of maxiel advent calendar for @catofthecanals289

"I think this lady thinks she is much more kinky than actually she is."

It's winter break, which means they are in the middle of the rare collection of lazy weeks, that feel both endless and never quite enough. During this time they can be normal people, can spend days getting tanned- or sun burnt, in Max’s case- and evenings lounging on sofas, cuddled close despite Australia's scorching summer, can drink a beer and watch crappy TV.

Like, 'how to build a sex room.'

Max's head lifts from where it was resting on Daniel's chest to give his scathing review of Melanie, the British host who is strangely obsessed with floggers. The rest of his body stays tucked securely underneath Daniel's arm, where it belongs.

"I don't know baby," Daniel says, shrugging only one shoulder so as not to jostle Max around. His fingertips trace patterns across the top of Max’s pale arms, imaginary tattoos Daniel would like the idea of putting there, if the idea of defacing Max’s skin wasn’t worse. "There are like, different levels of kink I guess."

Max snorts, apparently unimpressed by Daniel's reasonings.

"This, of course, I know," he says petulantly, "but why is she always pulling out her metal butt plug like it is the wildest thing ever. I know even people who are not gay use those. Martin does."

Daniel laughs at Max’s idea of not kinky being his world famous DJ friend, who must have a shag in every major city. The sound bounces around the ranch’s living room, the entire house having become an echo chamber of happiness recently, their giggles never too far away.

"Well, not everyone can be as wild as you, Max Verstappen," he says easily, watching Melanie reveal another sex dungeon that must have a few too many clichés for Max’s liking, if the way he wrinkles his nose up at it is any indication. "Not everyone can be as lucky as me, I guess."

This seems to please Max. Enough to have a pink flush spread across the top of his cheekbones, and for him to watch the remainder of the show with significantly fewer critiques. It gives Daniel time to ponder.

Butt plugs, spanking and handcuffs were all things he didn't try until his late twenties. Until Max, really, until he had someone in his bed enough nights in a row that it felt safe to bring up ideas of what he might want or like, outside of head and a good fuck. Things he’d been worried would be too strange, would say something about him to strangers he wasn’t quite ready to say to himself.

Max, on the other hand, had been shameless. Since the very first time Daniel had braved a conversation starting with, ‘don’t you think it could be fun to try,’ he had been willing and ready for any of Daniel’s wants, but he’d also wanted in return. Had opened his eyes to a whole new collection of Max’s desires only for them to become Daniel’s too.

It is one of the thing Daniel loves so much about him. Not his kinkiness, but how he is never ashamed of being anything other than wholly himself.

"I still do not understand why there is the room," Max half mumbles, his voice bringing Daniel back to the TV. His lips catch on Daniel's nipple as he speaks. Its too hot for t-shirts. "Can these people not just be kinky in their bed?"

Daniel hums, considering. Then, thinking back to comments both their sisters have made-

"Maybe it's hard," he suggests, "like if they have kids and stuff."

Then again, because he's feeling brave-

"Maybe we'll be commissioning Melanie to build us a whole sex house, you know, when we have little terrors."

Max's breathing catches; Daniel sees the way it stops and then shudders out from his chest in one long exhale. When he rolls his head back to look up at Daniel again, his cheeks are pinker, but his smile softest one he knows how to curve his mouth into, reserved usually for their nieces and nephews.

"Okay," is all he says, like it really is that easy. Daniel still remembers realising years ago and with a shock, that for them maybe it could be. "A sex house, for when we have babies. I'm holding you to that promise."

“Deal,” Daniel says, holding this his hand up for Max to shake. The awkward angle of it while cuddled together makes them both laugh again, and Daniel can’t resist letting the laughter linger by tickling Max’s side.

There are no more serious questions to ask about their future that they don’t already know the answer too, deep down. Some things in life have been a given to him since Max Verstappen joined Red Bull Racing; he was going to be a world champion, Daniel was not, and they were going to spend their lives loving each other in spite of that. Whatever each of them wanted that life to look like, the other would be on board.

There are some things Daniel doesn’t know though. Some things he has to ask. Like-

“Can it be cowboy themed?”

[eagerbby]

can i call you - e.m

paring| Eddie Munson x female reader

synopsis| The year is 1999 and Eddie Munson might, quite possibly, be absolutely head over heels with a girl he met on the internet. What could go wrong?

an| this is set in the late 90s, Eddie is 21 in this as is reader. basically just a little idea i had floating around in my head. could definitely be a series if anyone wants it to be one, let me know!  

warnings- 2k, not much to warn about for part one

Part 2

“That was Korn with Blind, here on 99.3 Metal Shop. If you’re just tuning in; we’re glad to have ya. Going back almost a decade, here's Metallica with Master of Puppets.”

“Fucking Metal.” Eddie grinned, tuning the volume knob on his radio up, the first chords rumbling through the white walls of his room. He pops the tab of his beer as he bangs his head along with the music. It was another lonely night, stuck in the small cage of his room. He’d tried to get Gareth and Jeff to hang, maybe go down to the quarry and get high, but alas both boys had plans that didn’t include hanging out with their older buddy. 

So here he was, spinning in his desk chair, a chat forum open on his black spray painted monitor. The CPU whirled loudly from under the desk but Eddie could barely hear it with the heavy guitar shredding coming through his radio. He was about three beers in and a half a joint down, the edges of his vision becoming hazy in his intoxication. 

Eddie’s ringed pointy finger rolled over the trackball on his stained mouse, flicking the screen up and down and up and down. Again and again until Eddie sighed and threw his head back. He shouldn’t be waiting for you. It was a Friday night, you probably had better things to do instead of sitting at your computer chatting with some strange guy on the internet. Although, Eddie hopes you don’t think about him like that. The two of you have been talking quite regularly for the past three months. It had started randomly, you personally asked him on a horror movie forum for some movie suggestions so he gave you his favorites -The Shining, Maximum Overdrive, My Bloody Valentine- and you had watched them all, giving him such detailed critiques he was kinda surprised you’d taken his suggestions. A week later you sent him your AOL name and told him to add you so you could chat more. He jumped at the opportunity, so intrigued by you in such a short time.   

It was a little awkward at first, with Eddie trying to play it cool because you were so different from the girls he had gone to school with and you were a little reserved, not too sure how much you wanted to share with a stranger online. But the relationship had blossomed, grown into a friendship without either of you really trying. You loved his corny jokes and he could listen to you for hours talking about your cat and your poetry. You’d even let him read a little bit of it, blessing him with the most beautiful prose Eddie had ever read before. He wasn’t much of a poetry guy, but you were turning him into one.

Eddie leans forward after a brief war in his head, debating if he should just bite the bullet and shoot you a message first. Maybe you didn’t see he was online yet? Quickly he pulls up your AOL log and types.

HellfireMaster- What’s your favorite scary movie?” 

He hit the enter key and tapped his foot anxiously. A minute or two passed with no response. Eddie groaned deeply, rubbing his hand over his face. This was stupid. 

Eddie pushed back from his desk, the wood banging off the wall with the force of it, and strolled over to his bed, flopping down on the disheveled sheets. He laid there with his hands folded on his chest, staring at the slow turn of his ceiling fan. He can’t remember when his crush on you started, but it was eating him up on the inside. He doesn’t even know what you look like for Christ-sake and yet you have him wrapped around your finger.

There’s ping from Eddie’s computer and he shoots up to his elbows at the sound, big doe eyes locked on the computer screen with excitement. He wastes no time jumping from his bed, tripping over dirty jeans and piles of crumpled paper from his last lyric writing session, over to his desk chair that groaned under his weight as he plopped down in it. Eddie’s grin rips at the corners of his mouth, wide and excited, little dimples forming by the edges. 

PrettyiNProsed- I don’t know.

HellfireMaster- You have to have a favorite.” 

Eddie bit his lip as he waited, knee jiggling with anticipation. 

PrettyiNProsed- Is this where you tell me you’re watching me?

Eddie chuckles at that, the tapping sound of the keyboard mingling with the bass from some song he wasn’t even listening to. Scream was your new favorite movie. It had taken some convincing on Eddie’s part seeing as you had heard how horrible it was from some friends, but after watching it -while Eddie watched it at the same time and you live reviewed it- you couldn’t believe you had waited so long. 

HellfireMaster- I could be. You just never know…

PrettyiNProsed- I bet that would sound more convincing over the phone, huh?

HellfireMaster- Maybe, but someone doesn’t want to do that yet.

It’s true, Eddie had been slowly slipping talking on the phone more and more into your conversations. He couldn’t help it, curiosity was killing him. The thought of finally hearing your voice was starting to consume him. It lingered in the back of his mind as he worked, as he held his campaigns, at band practice, even hanging out with his small group of friends. It had hurt his feelings when you’d all but blown him off the first time, quickly saying goodbye and logging off, but Eddie didn’t let that deter him. When he wanted something he’d work his ass off to get it.  

PrettyiNProsed- Hey! I never said I didn’t want to.

HellfireMaster- You never said you did though..

PrettyiNProsed- Don’t get all grumpy on me now, Eddie. 

You didn’t even have to see him to know he was pouting about it and Eddie loved that about you. That you could read him so well like you understood just who he was. It was a rare thing for him to feel so seen and he thinks maybe it’s because, with you, he isn’t Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson. He was just Eddie, he didn’t feel like he had to play a part.

Focusing back to the computer, he cracked his knuckles and began typing back.

HellfireMaster- How was your day, sweetheart?

PrettyiNProsed- It was okay, getting better now as long as you don’t go all dark and brooding on me.

PrettyiNProsed- Think you can handle that, sunshine? 

Eddie felt like a fucking idiot, smiling at his computer with his cheeks flushed red and his lip sore from his canine repeatedly sinking into it. You always did this -using these cute nicknames that he’d probably scoff at if they weren’t coming from you. He really did have it bad and for a mysterious face behind a screen at that. 

HellfireMaster- Oh, I can handle it. 

PrettyiNProsed- Good. I’ve been waiting all day to talk to you.

God if that didn’t send his stomach swirling with butterflies. 

HellfireMaster- You have?

PrettyiNProsed- Yes! Guess why!

HellfireMaster- No, just tell me.

PrettyiNProsed- Ugh, you’re no fun!

HellfireMaster- Just tell me, princess! I don’t like waiting.

PrettyiNProsed- Sucks for you then!

Suddenly that green dot next to your name was red, signaling that you’d gone offline. Eddie’s eyes bugged, his teeth clenching tight together as his nostrils flared. You’d logged off. He couldn’t believe it. You’d never done that before and this wasn’t the first time the two of you had joked around like that. You always took his jokes and dry humor in stride. Had he upset you? Eddie doesn’t think he could live with himself if he had. You were the only thing making him get up in the mornings, you know other than his job down at the tire shop, if he lost the brilliant light you had brought into his small little world he’s sure his life would metamorphose into a miserable stream of wake work sleep until he inevitably died alone.

He might be a tad bit dramatic, but still, he needed you. 

Another ping has his eyes darting to the screen.

PrettyiNProsed- Are you ready to stop being a brat, big boy?

Eddie blanches at your words, his cock twitching to life to his dismay. Big boy. Fuck. Why did that stir something inside him? His calloused fingers hovered over the keyboard until he slowly started typing. 

HellfireMaster- I’ll do anything for you to just tell me.

PrettyiNProsed- Ohhhh, anything you say?

You were flirting with him. Eddie pressed his palms against the stubbled skin of his cheek, more in awe than shock, because you’ve never openly flirted with him before. You were sweet and funny and wickedly smart, but you always seemed to just skirt right past his flirty words, usually playing them off in a sweet dismissal. But tonight was different, you were starting it. Eddie adjusts his semi hard cock, grimacing at how dirty he feels popping a semi at two simple words. 

HellfireMaster- Whatever the princess deems suitable.

PrettyiNProsed- Hmm, so many options, but I think I want you to beg for it.

Fuck, Eddie thinks with a helpless moan. You must be in a mood tonight and Eddie thinks it might just kill him. Eddie was not a beggar, but he’d fall to his knees and grovel if you as much as asked him to. Which you kinda were right now.

HellfireMaster- Please. Oh please my dear, sweet, princess, please take mercy on my pitiful soul and tell me why oh why you’ve been waiting to talk to a simple peasant like myself.

PrettyiNProsed- You really poured it on thick there, Eddie. 

PrettyiNProsed- But I’ll take pity and tell you because I liked it, also I just have to tell you what I got!

PrettyiNProsed- I went to the mall last night and bought two things.

Eddie chuckled at this, running his free hand through his bangs as he finger typed.

HellfireMaster- Two things!! Wow, I think you have a problem there sweetheart. Impulsive spending. 

PrettyiNProsed- Hardy-har. Would you like to know what I bought, asshole?

HellfireMaster- Of course I would, big spender.

PrettyiNProsed- Well first I went to this really awesome record shop and bought that Dio album you suggested.

HellfireMaster- Shit, you got Holy Diver? What’s your favorite song?

PrettyiNProsed- Well, I’ve only gotten halfway through it, but I really liked caught in the middle!

HellfireMaster- That’s my girl! 

Eddie doesn’t think as he types it, as he hits send, in fact it only hits him what he’s said when you don’t respond back for a minute. Shit. Maybe that was a little forward. You aren’t his girl, you were his friend, maybe even best friend at this point but definitely not his girl. Not yet at least.. He’s starting to type an apology when your next message comes in.

PrettyiNProsed- You wanna know what that other thing was, Eddie?

HellfireMaster- Yes

PrettyiNProsed- I bought a receiver for my room.

HellfireMaster- A receiver? 

PrettyiNProsed- Jeezz, Eddie. I bought a phone for my room!

Eddie froze midway to lighting his cigarette, the unlit stick falling from his lips to his lap as he gaped. 

PrettyiNProsed- I didn’t want to talk to you in the living room, my parents probably wouldn't be too happy if they knew I was spending my time talking to a stranger on the internet instead of focusing on my college courses.

HellfireMaster- Can I call you?

PrettyiNProsed- Not tonight, I’m exhausted, in fact my bed is calling my name. But I’m free tomorrow at 6 if you wanna…

PrettyiNProsed- You still wanna right?

PrettyiNProsed- Eddieeee??? You still there??

Eddie’s elated, fists punching into the air as he spins in his chair. Tomorrow night. He’ll finally be able to hear your voice. His begging had really paid off this time, which was such a sudden change he couldn’t quite believe it. But that didn’t matter. Nothing else did right now. Tomorrow he’d finally hear you say his name, hear your laugh, be able to really talk to you. He couldn’t wait. 

HellfireMaster- 6pm. I’ll be waiting! 

PrettyiNProsed- I’ll send the number tomorrow, gonna make you wait till then.

HellfireMaster-  Tease

PrettyiNProsed- Hm, I guess I am.

PrettyiNProsed- Goodnight Eddie, don’t go getting into trouble before I can hear your voice.

HellfireMaster- Me? Trouble? Not ever, sweetheart.

PrettyiNProsed- Yeah, I’m not convinced. 

HellfireMaster- Sleep tight, princess. 

Eddie logged out, a blinding smile on his face, his stomach fluttering with angry little tornados. He shut his computer down, turned off the radio, and crawled into his bed. A click of the string on his bedside lamp and he’s engulfed in darkness, the only light a white moon beam peeking through his blinds, and Eddie lays on his back with his hands folded over his blanket covered chest still smiling like a love sick fool because tomorrow night he’ll be in this same spot but with the phone pressed to his head, you voice filtering through his ear like a melody. 

Eddie falls into a dreamy sleep with the thought of you and your voice calling his name. Finally.     

[f0xgl0v3]

How does one Elias Bouchard hold his Pipe/The overall murder scene

Tw this like entire post is about the proper way to hold a pipe if you wanna effectively hit someone with it several times repeatedly :3 also spoilers for MAG 80

Guys I am simply a writer and this is just for writing and thought experiment purposes, none of this shall or should be applied to real life and it’s just for the haha extended sounds of brutal pipe murder-

What has come to my life-? I’m talking about Elias Bouchard and how he holds the Pipe to murder people- I, there will be actual Percy Jackson stuff soon. Maybe talking about Camp Jupiter and armor and gear and stuff or something however,

Everyone draws Elias with really weird hand positions on the pipe-? That’s a weird thing to say and the art is fantastic but if your beating someone with a Pipe then there seems to be a way I always thought in my head-

Let’s, for the sake that I’m halfway through season 4 consider the only Pipe murder I am currently aware of would be Jurgen Leitner’s, we can work with this. Elias is standing over him at the other side of a desk while Jurgen is seated I believe-? There are a couple ways we can go about this,

1) Elias hits him while they both are in the neutral position at the desk

2) Elias walks over to Jurgen’s side during the conversation and hits him then

3) Jurgen stands up from his chair and then Elias hits him.

I have had to listen to the sound clip so many times for this- I- okay. So, the beginning of the murder still is Jurgen talking, I think audibly a bit worried. I’d like to make the assumption that while Elias is like “bird stuff always a risk about death” that is when the pipe is revealed, Jurgen is taking the moment to try and reason with him and I think 2 and 3 are the most viable due to the sound they use. In 1’s scenario Elias wouldn’t get enough strength in that first swing (due to the desk being in the way, and Elias most likely having to lean over the desk to try and get a strong strike.

Then, the sound- I believe Elias initially hits Jurgen from the side of the head, think like the same ‘row’ that your temples are on, that vague side of the head. Jurgen is heard with a grunt by the first hit; we don’t hear him fall or anything (which makes me suspect it could be a situation of Elias walking over to the other side of the table) and it doesn’t really sound like Elias moves where he hits very much- continuing to strike that original spot; otherwise we’d likely hear the crunch of bone. Am I making the assumption that the sound design would include the crunch and that I would know what hitting a skull with a metal pipe is, oh yeah totally.

Now, that settles how I think this entire thing played out, Elias revealing the pipe as he walks over to the side, Jurgen looks up in old sad man still seated and is trying to reason with Elias, maybe he even attempts to get up and that is when Elias strikes in the right side of his head (just what makes sense to me, it could be the left either it wouldn’t matter much) and repeatedly hits there 11 times (yes I counted the strikes we hear, no I don’t have anything better to do with my time because I’m putting off writing a script) before like dipping or whatever.

Now, the pipe posture if you will. I see so many drawings of Elias’s hands like this,

Raised, and for all intents and purposes from an art sense it’s rad. It’s a dynamic pose and stuff, and of course this is not a critique on artists (who are way better than me) and how they want to draw this fictional man hold his pipe. However this is my brainrot talking on the ‘hey I think this is how he’d get the most effective swing’ because I’ve listened to two seasons back to back and I no longer have a brain.

But; Elias Bouchard wants the most bang for his buck so to speak. I think holding the Pipe like the tried and true baseball bat would provide this. Elias holding it like in my very bad diagram is good if he’d want to poke or stab someone with the pipe, but it’s really effective if you can get that swing in. So yeah, baseball style; hands together near the end of the pipe and over a shoulder or even over his head if you want to be silly with his posing.

Uh, haha okay. I’m sorry but the rot is all consuming and I’ve been thinking about him a lot, also like Peter Lukas and a bunch of the other sillies but this kinda- forced itself out while I was looking at art of the scene. I, uh, :3 that’s all. I like thinking about the mapping and layout and planning of scenes like these and how the visuals might’ve looked if there were visuals. I promise I probably won’t make any more posts like this for a solid while (however, talking about Bryce Lawerence and my thing in SoN are-imagining that he was the one to kill Gwen… maybe.)

[the1975attheirverybest]

Education

Lesson #6: Mistakes happen

A/N: This was meant to go out earlier. sorry. ONLY TWO MORE TO GO.

Warnings: kinky smut

-----

Amelia felt her breath hitch in her chest at the sight of him. Across the room, she spotted Matty walking into the party space  of the hotel, in his signature leather jacket, his curls slicked back, a faint smile dancing on his lips as he spotted someone — a sound engineer from the studio, probably— and went over to say hello. He leaned forward to give his friend a hug, the chain around his neck sparkling, like a shooting star, underneath the warm glow of the party lights. She thought back to the last time that she’d seen him, the memory of him, naked, on top of her, rushed back to her mind like a current, making her knees wobble. He wasn’t wearing any necklaces then. She would’ve felt the cool metal against her bare skin if he’d worn one. Must be a new addition. The US always did bring out his edgy side. 

Her eyes couldn’t bring themselves to look away from him. He looked good. And she’d missed him. Her hand reflexively raised to adjust the sleeve of her dress. There was nothing wrong with it. 

“Don’t do it, love.” A voice whispered into her ear. 

Amelia jumped, startled at the intrusion. She turned around to see Charli giving her an admonishing look. “Remember what we talked about? C’mon, you need a drink.”

Before Amelia could protest, charli had grabbed her wrist, pulling her along. 

She thought back to the conversation that Charli was referring to, her heart sinking immediately. 

She’d spent the first two days following the release of those pictures of Matty and his model pal, pathetically sobbing in various corners around her apartment. Nights were especially difficult. Time seemed to slow down when everyone else would go to sleep and she was left to her own devices. Without people to distract herself with or errands to keep her schedule busy, her mind would inevitably find its way back to Matty. She would indulge her emotional masochism, scrolling through her phone for photos she’d taken of him throughout the years. It hurt to look at him. Up until now, he’d been a grounding presence in her life. It was impossible not to feel good around him. He was kind, and gentle, and one of the funniest people she knew. His boyish laugh always made her feel warm on the inside. Despite everything that he’d been through over the years, and even with his life growing increasingly public, his privacy shrinking little by little, he’d somehow managed to remain the same sweet and innocent young boy that she’s always known him to be. It was awe-inspiring to witness. He’d put on a front— flippant, sardonic, larger than life, keenly aware of each and every person watching him— moving from dispensing cutting critiques of culture to making dick jokes, giggling at himself and making references that felt like inside jokes between him and every single fan in the room. No one could see that and deny the maturity, resilience, and self-control that it took to make it all feel so effortless. And yet, in perfectly ordinary moments, sitting across the kitchen table from him, jet lagged and sharing a packet of stale cookies that he’d found in his carry-on, she’d look into his red-rimmed, sleep-deprived eyes, and he would smile at her— and just like that, the myth would melt away and he’d be the same idealistic young kid who gets moved to tears by great music, or the stories of fans discovering the band for the first time, or if he thought for a bit too long about the series of contingent events that had to happen in order to bring him and his three band mates together nearly two decades ago for his whole life to turn into what has now become. 

  she could no longer see any of that when she scrolled through the photos. The face that stared back at her was that of a complete stranger. She felt like she no longer knew him. She’d concocted this intimacy, this history, this idea of him. It was merely the fact that his soft way of being in world tended to make everyone around him feel special. It wasn’t difficult for him to forge connections with people, even fans who’d met him for two minutes, on the streets, and asked for a quick photo, could attest to this. Matty always addressed everyone like he knew them. Like they knew him. She was no different than complete strangers across the world, scrolling through their own phones, taking in whatever aspects of his life had been made public, and piecing together an idea of him in in their minds.

The realization that she had no idea what was going on inside his mind all this time did nothing to free her from his hold. It was easy enough to tell herself that he’s just a guy: deeply flawed, perpetually horny, and riding the waves of his new infamy straight into the beds of various beautiful, rich, and sexually experienced young women just for the hell of it, whenever he wasn’t around. Whenever he’d take too long to call, or text back, she'd remind herself of all the things that she found infuriating about him, all the flaws that proved him to be emotionally immature and impulsive. She'd reduce him to the worst version of himself and remind herself that she wasn't unique in that regard. If she wanted to be with an emotionally stunted man child who passed the time by sliding into the dis of women a decade younger than him, she'd go on any dating app and have her pick.Finding an equally attractive man to replace him with while he was busy gallivanting around the world wouldn't be hard, but deep down, she knew that this abstract idea of the man-child-rockstar that she could pin all her grievances on and flick away like a fly in order to regain her self-control was unfair. It wouldn’t hold up to the reality of him when, sooner or later, she found herself in the same room with him again. Matty's undeniable. And that broke her. 

On the third day of carrying on her routine of crying around the apartment and marinating in self pity, her scrolling through old photos was interrupted by a text notification. 

Charli: George says you’re mad at him. I’m sorry he can be such a guy sometimes. We should hang out. Just us girls. 

She’s still fuzzy on the details, but the text eventually led her to George’s place. Charli pouring the wine and sampling through the variety of chocolate boxes she’d picked up on her recent trip to Europe. George hovered between them, occasionally attempting to interject, but always shot down by Charli’s reminder that “no one’s asking you.”

“I’m a fool. Just say it. I’ve been foolish.” Amelia admitted as she handed her glass over to Charli for a refill. 

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, babes- oh, this bottles officially deceased- hold on, let me get a new one.” Charli scoffed and stood up, walking around the kitchen to try and remember where she’d hidden a particularly good bottle that she didn’t want George to ‘waste' on the wrong occasion. Boy troubles, especially Matty troubles, seemed the right occasion. “Look, I love Matty, I do. He’s a sweetheart. One of the most talented musicians I've ever met... But he’s a mess!” She’d located the bottle, stifling a laugh as George realized that she’d hidden it out of his reach. “You need someone who’s - mature. Who knows what he wants.”

“Matty’s mature!” Amelia yelled out, snatching the bottle out of Charli’s hand and popping it open. “It may not seem like it sometimes, but he’s the fuckin best.” She poured herself a drink with a dramatic sigh, the conflict draining her. 

“You’re not actually meant to drink that right away, you're supposed to wai- okay you’re just gonna- alright you seem like you need it, so, just… my point is, he’s not ready, yet. He’s in a new girls bed every week!”

“I love him.” Amelia simply stated, the confession came as a surprise to her. but it was true. She could sit here and debate what kind of person Matty was, or what qualities of his would make him a good or bad partner, but it really only came down to one thing: she was in love with him.

Her words hung in the air, feeling even more loaded by the silence that followed. 

“Uh-umm…” George cleared his throat awkwardly. “Have- have you- I mean...does he know that?”

Amelia shrugged. 

“Amelia, darling, I hate to say this, but" Charli gave her a look that Amelia recognized as pity, "babe, you don’t know him well enough to love him.” 

“The fuck I don’t!” Amelia yelled out into the room, slapping the kitchen table assertively. 

Charli giggled, “I like drunk Amelia.”

“I know Matty. I’ve known him my whole life. I mean, he rolled me my first joint and taught me how to smoke it.” Amelia’s reminiscent gaze looked past Charli, into the distance. 

“You needed to be taught how to do it? That’s kind of sweet, actually.”

“Then the boys made a whole thing of it. Like how innocent I was, or whatever. So, I overdid it a little. To prove a point. Anyway, I...got hungry and lost in a grocery store.”

Charli laughed.

“And by lost I just mean I was so high I couldn’t  find the cash register. Matty came and got me.”

“Aww-“

"he might have been laughing all the way through, and he definitely filmed the whole thing on his phone and sent it to all of Dirty Hit, but still. He came to help me…he also still has the video. Blackmails me with it from time to time.” 

“Sounds about right.”

“I know him. I do." She repeated firmly, "I know that he works hard to remain aware and grateful for the life that his work has given him. I know that he cares so much about people. Even people that he doesn’t know. I know- I know how stubborn he was back when he first started dabbling with drugs- I mean, he never said anything cuz he hid it for quite a while- but- I know him well enough to know that he must’ve been scared. He's not as rough as his exterior sometimes suggests. I know it must've been difficult. But he’s Matty, so of course, he rationalized it to himself. And I know that he’s proud of the band now- how much they’ve grown. I was there, I watched him pick up the pieces of his own life after every set back or break up or relapse, or whatever. I saw all that. I know the great things that he’s capable of.”

Charli sighed. Considering her words carefully, she looked more seriously into Amelia’s eyes, her hand sliding across the table to hold Amelia’s, “I know. But what I’m trying to say is that you’ve always liked him. And because of that, you’ve always kinda- like- seen him through rose-tinted lenses. The way he’s behaving right now? That’s not someone who is ready, or even looking, for a relationship. He’s treating you and the women that he rotates through as if you’re all the same. He doesn’t know how to be alone. If he has a day off, he reaches for a distraction. If he has an inkling of a desire, he’s looking for the fastest possible way to fulfill it. Diving head first into something like this could affect your friendship.”

Amelia was silent for a moment, letting Charli’s words wash over her. In theory, everything that Charli said was true. But the reality was much more complicated than that. Matty wasn't blind to his own shortcomings. For fucks sakes, he makes his shows about them. But it’s one thing to know your blind spots exist, another thing entirely to try and fix them. She understood that writing the show, making the album, all of that was Matty’s way of trying to fix things. Looking for answers. Yet, he continues to indulge himself in the meantime. How was he supposed to find anything new if he’s too busy going through the same cycles?

“What about you, George?” Amelia turned around. “What do you think of all this?” She gave him a nervous smile. 

George took a deep breath. “Oh, me? I think….I think you’re both right-“

"Oh, don’t be a coward George-“

“No, no, listen. I think you’re both right. I think it’s possible for Matty to be both things at the same time. And I think talking about him can only get you so far. Talking to him, on the other hand, might help.”

Amelia knew he was right. "mhm."

***

“New dress?” Matty whispered as he tapped her shoulder, seamlessly sliding into the small group of people that she’d been in conversation with. Amelia turned instantly to look at him, his smile making her face tingle. 

“No- umm- it’s not new.” She scanned the room for Charli, she wasn’t strong enough to do this on her own. 

“Well, I like it. Suits you.” Matty’s hand trailed down her arm as he spoke, pausing at her wrist, and lightly brushing her skin. 

“You- uh- you’re back. Howww- was LA?”

“Oh, you know- Sunny, warm, too cheerful- wanna go sit down somewhere?” His fingers intertwined with hers, he squeezed her hand in his. “Looks like your drink could use a refill, we could-“

“N-no!” She spoke too quickly, feeling guilty when he looked disappointed. “I- just mean we’re with people. It’s rude.”

Matty shook his head, laughing softly. “ who cares. Let’s go.”

***

“You ever done it in a bathroom?” Matty asked, an eyebrow raised, as soon as they were no longer within earshot of other people. 

“What?”

“Hey, I’ve been gone a while. We’re overdue for a new lesson.” He giggled. “Have you ever fucked someone in a public bathroom?”

“No, of course not. Sounds unsanitary.”

“Look around you, darlin,’ this hotel’s obscenely expensive. It’s a label event not a college stoners house party. We could eat off the floors of the bathrooms here.” As he spoke, Matty looked around the room for signs or directions to the restroom area. 

“Don’t musicians do cocaine in bathrooms?”

“And they fuck, too.” He nodded. She felt his arm around her waist, pulling her along as he sped up, no doubt, spotting the right hallway. 

The door slammed shut behind them. Matty waisted no time in pressing her up against it, his lips quickly attached to her neck. With one hand holding her waist, his other roamed along the door frame to find the lock, snapping it closed to insure their privacy. 

“Shit- I’ve missed you- missed this.” She let out, unselfconsciously, making him moan in agreement. 

Matty’s head gradually dipped lower and lower, moving from her neck, to her collarbone, to the top of her chest, leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses along her skin. 

Amelia hadn’t realized how long it’d been, or how much she'd needed him, until she felt his touch again. Light as a feather, but always precise, intentional. Like he knew what reaction he wanted out of her and he knew exactly how to get it. His instincts always seemed in tune with her body. He noticed things. Little details that happen in the blink of an eye, like the difference in her moan when his lips touch just the right spot between her ear and neck. Like the way that her entire body comes alive when he’s making her feel good, touching her just above the hood of her clit. Like the rhythm she likes, not quite gentle, but not too harsh. Enough to leave a tingling feeling behind. She liked feeling the place where his fingers had been in the aftermath, liked feeling sore and knowing that his hands had done that to her. And he knew that she did. 

At this rate, it wouldn’t be too long before she’d be ready to melt into a puddle at his feet. 

She flinched when she felt his hand leave her hip bone and dip lower, hiking up the skirt of her dress. His eyes snapped open, his lips, reluctantly leaving her skin for a moment. “You- uh, you alright with all this?” He was panting, breathless.

“Mhm, please don’t stop now.” She whispered, hotly, her breath against his skin sent a rush through his body. 

Matty grinned, her reply egging him on. “‘Please’ ? We’re already begging, are we? At least you’re remembering what I’ve taught you.” 

She pressed her lips together, silencing a yelp as the pads of his fingers circled her clothed center. “Oh my god, Matty-“ her words interrupted with an involuntary moan. 

“Relax for me.” He whispered. “Close your eyes, breathe, yes, that’s it.” He placed a chaste kiss to her cheek. “Let me take care of the rest, you just- focus on feeling good.”

His fingers against the fabric of her underwear were steadily building friction, the pressure in her core rising. 

“It’s been a minute." he mumbled, seemingly thinking out loud. "what if I’m off rhythm? What if your body  doesn’t quite feel pliable anymore?”

She whined in response, her hips thrusting forward to meet his hand. 

“Oh, is that so?” The smile palpable in his voice, everything about the motions of his fingers told her that he hasn’t forgotten a thing. “You’ll just take anything, then? Any touch at all?” He moved the crotch of her underwear to the side, finally exposing her bare skin. She felt him slide his finger along her slit, blushing when he'd sensed her wetness. 

“Hmm, it’s almost like I was never gone.” He grinned, reveling in his effect on her body. 

His now wet finger found the spot just above her clit, exactly where she likes it. 

“oh my FUCK!” She gasped, biting her lower lip. 

“Hey, hey,hey..what’d I tell ya? Breathe, darling, you’re holding your breath in, breathe for me. Don’t want you to cramp up.”

She found it dizzying how effortlessly he went from taunting her to cooing, gently, guiding her through the intensity of the moment. Her head was spinning, foggy and flooded with him. 

“Ma- oh god, that feels so-“ she felt herself sinking and surrendered to the overwhelming sensation, resting her head back against the door, her eyes closed, lips apart and mumbling incoherently. 

“So wet for me,” Matty whispered, “god, I can’t not fuck you like this. It’d be wrong not to.” He slipped a finger inside of her, slowly and firmly. 

She screamed, a flood of pleasure hitting her, head to toes, she buckled at the knees, no longer able to control her body, but Matty’s free hand quickly pinned her in place, stopping her from falling to the floor. 

“S-sorry, I-“ she stuttered, her shaking hands grabbing onto his biceps to steady herself. 

Her eyes fixed on his lips, she could hardly see anything else. Not that she wanted to. His lips looked perfect, pink, wet, she desperately wanted to kiss them but she barely had the strength or presence of mind to command her body. It was completely under Matty’s influence now. 

“I have a better idea.” Matty whispered, pulling away. she was too caught up to hear a word he'd said, only knowing that the heavenly sensation he’d given her had suddenly disappeared. She cried out, letting herself be moved around by him. 

“Okay, I need you to bend over now. Against the sink, okay?”

Her body moved as Matty directed, like clay in his hands, but deep in the back of her mind, she realized this position put him behind her. She was no longer able to see his face. They’d never done it this way before. She wasn’t sure how to feel. 

“Good, good, now move your legs apart just a bit more. Perfect. Hold tight, alright?”

She understood why he wanted her bent over like this as soon as he slipped his finger back inside her, suddenly reaching the perfect spot, an electric current jolted through her body. 

“Ohhh, yes, yes, yeah right there- fuck- iiii-“

“How’s that, my love?” It was the finger curling inside her and the other rubbing her clit that sent waves of pleasure crashing over her body, but it was his words, his cooing ‘my love’ to her that completely overtook her brain. For the first time in her life, she felt her mind come to a complete stop. Not a single thought, worry, or concern. She wasn’t even processing the sensory feeling of the world around her. She couldn’t think of a single sound, touch, sight, or smell. All that was there was white, hot pleasure. Her body convulsed, matty spoke (but she couldn’t tell what he’d said), and she felt herself scream out his name as her body shook between him and the sink. She was vaguely aware of the metallic taste of blood in her mouth, and the feeling of Matty’s hand pulling tightly at her hair.

“I didn’t say you could stop. Cum again.” He demanded. She wasn’t sure that she could stop even if she wanted to. He’d gotten a hold of that sweet, soft spot deep within her, her body trembled again as a second orgasm hit her, Matty’s grip on her hair grew tighter. Blood gushed into her mouth. 

Over the sound of her own panting, and the ringing in her ears, she heard Matty suck on his own finger, pulling it out of his mouth with a wet pop. “You taste amazing.” He placed a gentle hand on her hip when she attempted to stand back up. 

Her brain still felt scrambled, she couldn’t form any coherent thoughts or sentences. She turned around, her hand on Matty’s shoulder for support. 

“You wanna sit down for a moment?”

She wasn’t listening, her hands, still shaky, were fumbling with the buckles of his belt. 

“Amelia, hey, no, wait.” 

“Uh-umm” she started at him blankly, her mind looking for the right words. “You don’t want me to- to umm…” 

“Not here. Not now. don't want to hurt your knees, plus, I think you should slow down anyway.”

Her face fell, her grip on his belt loosened as she did her best to focus her hazy brain on his voice and take in his words. 

“I’m fine.” She whispered, her hands finally letting go of him. 

“Let me clean you up before we get back out there.”

***

Amelia's foggy brain raced with silent fear. she'd never felt so disoriented before. She felt everything intensely. the lights felt blinding, the air grazing her skin, the sound of the music filling her head. Her every sense was heightened, triggering an unexplainable sense of anxiety, as she walked by Matty's side, the inches off space between them felt like miles. He felt so far away, she had this inexplicable need to be with him, near him, even though she already was. why won't he hold her hand? is he not feeling the same way? does he not want to be near her as much as she does? Was their interaction over now that he'd finger-fucked her in a hotel bathroom? Was she supposed to take the hint and go her own way?

She saw Matty smile as a man, from the other end of the hallway, headed towards them. He seemed to recognize Matty and Matty recognized him. She watched them exchange greetings and begin a conversation that she was too overcome with anxiety to follow. She felt a burning in her chest; a raging jealousy. She did not want to split Matty's time and attention. This stranger had overstepped, intruded on what was supposed to be a private moment, between her and Matty. Tears welled in her eyes, and before she knew it, she'd grabbed onto Matty's arm, burying her face into his side.

"Amelia, you alright?"

To her surprise, though Matty was thrown off, he made no move to pull away. She heard him mumble, excuse himself, and walking away with his arm around her waist.

"Hey, look at me, he's gone, it's just us now. Look at me, Amelia, I need to see your face." He paused, pulling them both into a quiet corner, leaning against a wall. "Hey, what is it, Mia, talk, please."

She was too overwhelmed. Every time she tried, no thoughts came to her mind and no words left her lips. The longer that she remained silent, the more she could see fear in Matty's eyes.

"Sorry- umm, I don't know what came over me." she finally mustered. watching his face relax as he heard her voice. "Guess I've missed you more than I realize...god that was embarrassing." Matty smiled at her confession, making a quick-witted response, but in the back of his mind he wasn't sure if that was the full extent of her strange behavior.

"Let's get a room upstairs, hmm? What do you say?"

***

Amelia had clung to him through the elevator ride, running his hands down his body and kissing his neck. Matty's hands had held her waist steady, his head thrown back. "fuck- you're so good at that- maybe I should go away to LA more often."

He groaned, disappointed, when the elevator bell dinged, announcing their arrival at the right floor. Amelia giggled, unbuttoning his shirt, one button at a time, as Matty squinted, reading the room numbers on the walls to find theirs.

They were hardly all the way inside before Amelia returned to kissing on him: his neck, his chest, on hand playfully stroking his right nipple while her mouth kissed and bit on the other. Matty had no idea where this new-found initiative of hers was coming from, but it all felt too good to question.

"shiiittt- Mia, your tongue feels so-"

"tell me something," she whispered, kissing down his chest. "did you sleep with anyone while you were away?"

Matty was caught off guard by her question. he opened his eyes, watching as she looked up at him through her lashes. "what?"

"while you were gone" she said in between kisses, "did you have sex with anyone?"

His head flung back, again, Matty struggled to make sense of what was happening. the fact that the blood was rushing south in his body did not help either. "uhhh..." He swallowed harshly almost losing himself in the feeling of her touch, "y-yeah, was I- umm, not supposed to?"

"how do I know what you are or aren't supposed to do?"

Finally collecting himself, he pushed her body away from his. "what's happening right now?"

"I don't know. I was trying to kiss you and you stopped me." Amelia shrugged, a blank expression on her face.

"I guess- um- I had wondered if- you'd like to slow down, maybe? I could call down for room service. Get us some drinks? some dinner?"

Amelia stood on the tips of her toes, kissing his lips. "no drinks." she whispered. "no dinner." she unbuckled his belt.

***

"right. How's that?" Matty stepped away, admiring his handiwork.

Amelia was not amused by this turn of events. Somehow, she'd found herself bound, using the decorative ribbons that had been wrapped around the hotel towel set, and Matty's vivid imagination, her arms were now tied together, behind her back.

"We're gonna have to be really careful though. If your arms start to feel numb, you've got to let me know. Right away. Do you understand?"

Amelia nodded.

"alright, then." Matty resumed his place on the bed, sitting opposite her, with his back against the headboard, his lengths spread on either side of her. "go on, then, as you were." he gestured.

Amelia hesitated for a moment. Sucking him off with her arms tied behind her back wasn't going to be easy. She wouldn't have nearly as much control. But she desperately wanted to please him. To be a good girl for him. to make him feel good.

"Don't make me ask twice, Mia."

She bent down, her lips wrapping around his tip, slowly taking more and more of him.

"That's- it- fuckkk- good girl."

The praise was more than enough to spur her on. Soon enough, she was drawing the filthiest moans from his lips, holding her breath as long as possible, to get his hips to behind needle thrusting into her mouth. Her back had begun to feel sore, and she was running out of breath. When Matty thrusted his hips particularly harshly, he hit the back of her throat, causing her to gag for breath and pull away.

Matty watched her heave and gasp for breath, her own drool running down her chin, tears on her cheeks. His hand on the back of her head pulled her back onto him by the root of her hair. She hardly had a moment to squirm or cry out, before he bucked his hips to meet her mouth, shoving himself all the way into her. "Perrrr-fectt. Yes, shut up and take it like a good girl. thats it, keep going –fuckkkk."

with his hand over her head, adjusting her pace and position whenever he pleased, Matty was in bliss, and it wasn't long before she felt her mind slip back into that dizzying haze.

She felt tears roll down her face as Matty pulled her off of his cock and helped guide her onto his lap. As he helped her sink down onto him, she realized, somewhere in the back of her mind where thought were struggling for coherence, that she'd never ridden a guy before. In fact, she had no idea how to do it. But that's what all this is for, right? Matty showing her how to do things. Was she meant to bounce on her knees? move back and forth? There was no way this would be fun for him. And he's definitely experienced fun. Other girls had probably given him mind-blowing orgasms before. Better than he'd ever feel with her. She stared, blankly, at the top of her chest. Where she desperately wanted to lay her head; to wrap her arms around him and feel her chest against his. But she couldn't even touch him with her hands bound and behind her back. She couldn't adjust her position either, or control her movements, she felt isolated and far away from him. She was literally sitting on top of him but could barely feel his body against hers. this wasn't how it was supposed to be. none of this felt good for her, and she was sure it didn't feel good for him either. panic filling her chest, she began to lose her breath.

"r-re-red. Matty, please, red. I- I don't- I wanna stop. I said red that means it's over, it's stop. Please I want to stop,"

Matty's neck snapped forward with a loud and painful crack. "wait?" his eyes widened, " yes. Of course. We're stopping. Immediately." He put his hands up in the air where she could see them. "I- umm....Not touching you, okay? but-I would like to. If- if you'll let me? hmm? to-untie you. Nothing else, I promise. May I do that? please?"

He sprung into action as soon as she nodded, his shaky hands making it unnecessarily difficult to undo her ties.

"How-how do your arms...i mean, are you okay?"

Amelia used her now freed limbs to roll herself off of him. When he offered her his hand to help steady her, she slapped it away, and jumped off the bed, hearing him hiss when she separated her body from his.

"Amelia wait- where are you going? Please let me-"

she slammed the bathroom door shut, startling Matty enough to rock the bed.

What, the fuck, had just happened?

[dracodazaii]

Culmination Of Resentment

Team Neutral Critique Of HOTD Characters

A metallic clang sounds out beneath as heavy breaths echo throughout the room, encompassed with a silent terror.

An eerie absence of speaking only highlights the abnormality of the situation.

Until a voice finally shouts out, breaking the short moment of silence which were once dictated by pause of confusion and pain.

“How dare you?”, raged the voice with an authoritative voice bellowed out in distress.

“You preach on and on about duty while your dastardly son lurks into the night to claim the dragon of the women whose funeral we are attending! And you dare to attack me, your future Queen!”

Rhaenyra yells out her anger with the fury culminated from years of resent upon the girl she loves and hates both equally with passion.

Alicent Hightower; the Green Queen.

Her once-bestfriend turned rival as betrayal struck the Targaryen in her girlhood prime.

“You sit upon your throne beneath my naive coward of a father while you and your beastly father cower upon his body to feast like crows and spread rumours about me! Have you forgotten who betrayed who first? You snidely chat with your oathbreaker of a swornshield while forgetting that both he and you gained your position due to the Targaryens you despise so much!”

“I on the other hand haven’t dared forgotten how you snuck into my fathers bedcambers in your mother’s dresses, indecent for an proclaimed virtuous maiden, on the night of my mothers funeral.”

The crowd of white-haired onlookers begin to murmur as if reassessing their evaluation of the Queen of most holy and devout beliefs.

A dark-skinned man lurking in the corner of the Velaryon-Targaryen crowd stirs in anger.

Jealously in his eyes as he recalls his lovely daughter Laena who had lost her chance to be Queen to this miserly women and lost her life, only to have herself be disregarded at her own funeral.

Alicent screeches with anger “I was a maiden at my wedding! At least I can say that unlike you who lost herself in the thralls of brothels and sworn-shields, married to a sword-swallower birthing pug-nosed bastards!”

The retort blares out within the crowd as an onlooker of Velaryon heritage rages at the disservice done to his house, being reduced to a brown-haired unlawful child as heir to his house, ancestry desolated by a whoreson and his rogue of a mother.

“Enough of this!”

“ Alicent!”

“Rhaenyra!”

“Your feud has gone on too long. We are family! The bonds of our house must stay strong as our kingdom depends on us! Put aside your petty grievances!” King Viserys, the near-skeletal figure of a man clamours, fury moving his decaying body to stand with power.

“Our son has lost an eye and you’re call this petty! Your beloved daughter has called for the torture of your son and yet this matter is petty! How dare you!”

Alicent held his gaze, eyes bewildered in shame and wild in anger.

“You are the beginning root of all disservices done to us all! You wanted a son for heir but only from your precious Aemma. Whom you butchered like a pig for your heir for a day. You married me, the daughter of your friend. The age of your daughter!”

Viserys attempted to look down in shame but ceased as his eyes laid gaze upon Alicent, reminded of the once-youthful gaze in her eyes, turned erratic with this culmination of anger seeping through her.

“Then only named Rhaenyra heir out of shame and guilt, yet continued your mistakes of the past with your new family! Do you even remember our children’s names or are you too busy crying over your Aemma and playing with your Valyrian model to do so!”

The children, beaten and downtrodden look to their kingly ancestor, both brown-haired and white-haired alike glance to him with a judgement in their eyes. New-found for the grandchildren who have only regarded Viserys as a loving paternal figure, re-evaluating their thoughts on the shameful man.

A figure moves to the forefront of this moshpit, beridden with emulsing wrath towards all central individuals.

“Talking of sins, duty and respect while you desecrate my daughter’s funeral with this insolent feud!”

Rhaenys Velaryon stands firm in position, outrage fuelling her as she disregards the broken household in front of her gaze.

“All standing here have done a great disservice to my daughter and are debasing her further now. You’re son thought to claim my daughter’s greatest companion on the day of her remembrance!”

“And You!”

“Fornicating with your rogue of an uncle on his wife’s funeral, your own cousin and the sister of your husband!” Rhaenys snapped while the crowd of individuals loudly muttered.

Her husband stood beside her, towering over the others, portraying a tall statue of a man while his beloved wife let out her sequence of grievances.

“Cease the conversations now Viserys. This matter is finished and the Royal Household is to vacate Driftmark immediately.” Corlys commented in a calm yet commanding tone.

The children begun to cry, overwhelmed with the events unfolding and ushered out by their rageful yet tempered down mothers, focused on their children.

[stesierra]

Since I'm trying to share something every day to motivate myself to write again, here's the first chapter of one of my adult fantasy books. At one point I loved it but I had a critique partner read the whole thing and now it embarrasses me. So this is probably terrible but give it a chance maybe? Trigger warning: magical seizures.

Please tell me if you want to be removed from the taglist. Or added, I guess.

Stitches and Memories

(WHY DID I PICK SUCH A TERRIBLE TITLE?)

Chapter One

The 4th Day of Spring, 502 King's Rule

Antea didn't spend her thirtieth birthday celebrating with the few people who called her acquaintance. She spent it dying. Again.

A normal woman wouldn't be on the floor of her bathroom, occasionally spasming hard enough to slam her head into the wooden tub. All she was doing was reliving her first kiss at age seventeen. It was just a memory. It was just a memory, brain, get it together.

But her brain did not get it together. It flooded her with memories of the boy's pink lips -- too wet and too large -- at the same time as it slammed a pickax through her eyes over and over again. She'd blacked out too much to see the room around her, but she felt it when her legs spiked straight and slammed her into the wall. She came away with splinters in her arm and cheek.

"Shut up over there!" her neighbor bellowed from the next apartment over. "Keep pounding on the walls and I'll report this to the constables!"

He probably would, too, the bastard.

In her mind, the boy drew back and beamed at her. The memory ended there, but the pickax didn't stop for another twenty minutes.

When the agony died down, she dragged herself over to the chamber pot and threw up.

When she finally eased her eyes open, a partly digested pasty stared up at her. The pounding on her door registered then. Thump. Thump. Thump. The sound raised dread in her heart. Only one type of person knocked like that in Drazen. With that terrible implacability.

When she wrenched the door open, hinges squealing, a broad man in green stared down at her over his posh black mustache. Some seamstress had embroidered his doublet with the king's symbol, a golden lion biting its tail. The gold thread was real, which meant she'd gotten an up-city constable somehow, which was deeply unfair since she lived in the slums.

He frowned at her. She could guess what he was seeing: a barefoot, brown-skinned woman who had just grown out of being pretty, wearing a dress that had been mended too many times. Her golden hair was mashed in a nest on one side of her head. She smelled of a few days of sweat and dirt.

Her black hair had turned metallic gold when she was eighteen. No, she didn't know why. There was a lot about being eighteen that she didn't know.

She bowed deeply. "May I help you, sir?"

He said, "I've had a noise complaint here. Pounding on the walls. Disrupting the peace."

"I had a fit of convulsions in my bathroom."

He frowned at her, his whole face drooping. "We have had a lot of complaints about these convulsions."

Antea resisted the urge to wrap her hands around his fat neck. "Yes. That's because it's a medical condition." And it was true, even if they weren't the normal sort of fits, not normal at all. As far as she understood it, normal people with convulsions thrashed around less and passed out and sometimes forgot the whole thing. She wasn't normal. She was awake through the fire in her head and every twitch and spasm, and she remembered everything.

The constable leaned in close. "Have you been praying for healing?"

"Yes."

"If I go and check your records, will I find you tithing regularly to at least one of the gods?"

"Yes," she lied.

"Because if I check and you haven't, then you aren't really trying to be healed, and you will be held wholly responsible for remaining ill."

"Which entails?"

He sniffed. "After all this commotion, I would think eviction, at least."

Her rentals always ended in eviction, but she had hoped this one would last out the year. "Sir, the Stag God teaches mercy to the infirm and poor. Seeing as I'm both, I would be most grateful for your understanding."

"There are many such deserving citizens in Drazen. But with your extensive record--"

"Of what? Running into walls in the night? That's not even a crime."

The man straightened to his full height, towering over her like the Eagle God over his foes. "If a constable of the law says you have committed a crime, then you have. Gather your things if you have any. I will speak with your landlord, and it will go poorly for you if you are still here tonight."

Antea sagged against the doorframe. "Yes, sir."

He smiled at her, wide and smug. "Oh, and remember the curfew."

It took all her willpower not to punch him. She turned sharply instead and shut the door in his face.

She didn't have much to gather. Her ragged haversack weighed nothing when she slung it over her shoulder. Her leather shoes were hiding under the bed. Even though the seams on the sides were giving way, they covered her toes at least. One change of clothes and a wool blanket lay on the mattress. The blanket served as a blanket, but her extra dress was her only pillow. She wrapped one inside the other and tied them to the bottom of her haversack.

One last thing remained. A letter. When she'd moved in, she had shoved it under the mattress where she wouldn't have to look at it. She pulled it out now and thought about throwing it on the fire. It would burst into flames, burning fast and hot, the dry paper shrinking into black curls before they crumbled away into white ash. If she burnt the letter, she would never have to read those words again. The pain in her head might always be with her, but that pain she could leave behind.

She read the letter. It said:

"My beloved daughter, I write this for my own sake, for you will never read it. Forgive me. What I tore from your mind was necessary, but with that wound, I know that I have killed you. May the gods have mercy on my soul."

She ran her fingertips over his signature. Then she put the letter in her bag and walked out of the tenement never to return.

--

It was two hours before the doleful tones of the curfew bell would ring across the city, two hours for Antea to find shelter for the night. She didn't have the coin for an inn. She had just paid the damn landlord the next month's rent money, not that he would ever consider a refund. If she asked he would laugh in her face, and the law would be on his side, too, like it always was.

With no other option, she headed for the nice part of the city. Not the nicest because that was up near the royal castle and the queen's spire, and people like her weren't allowed there. No, she went to the parts frequented by merchants and the new rich, where no one would care that she was there.

In the dimming light, the nice quarter was all faded stone edges and empty streets. Even the rich had to follow curfew. But even in the twilight, the library stood out as the biggest building in the district. Pilgrims that followed the Crow God visited from all over Ritalia. Its marble facade was hidden under red leather prayer offerings. When it rained the entire building stank like a wet dog.

She slipped between the leaving patrons and headed for the front desk. Zoren, the head librarian, raised his eyebrows at her. He was a pleasantly overweight man in a long black robe, with large spectacles sitting on top of his bulbous nose. The blue mage light beside him shone off his bald head. "Antea? This is quite the departure from the norm. What's going on, then?"

She flushed and hiked her haversack higher on her shoulder. "I got evicted. I was wondering--

"If you can sleep in one of the back rooms tonight?"

She nodded.

The librarian's voice was gentle but unyielding. "If we were caught housing people in a building not zoned for it, we could get into a great deal of trouble with the constables."

"That's a no?"

"I'm sorry, Antea. Good luck finding shelter tonight."

She bowed to him and slumped out of the library. But she stopped on the front steps and straightened up. She wasn't giving up that easily. The constable who had evicted her thought he'd catch her for breaking curfew, and that he'd see her locked up and the key thrown away. But Antea had planned for this, even if she had hoped the day would never come.

All her worldly possessions on her shoulder, she walked half a mile to the Shrine of the Gods.

The Shrine of the Gods was not one shrine but many, all marked by white marble columns that thrust up from the city streets. At its base, each pillar bore the painted statue of one of the gods. When you approached a statue, you were isolated from the others by head-high circular walls around each column. They carved out a little bubble of space so that it was just you and whatever god you had chosen, and anyone else who wanted to pray had to wait in line. Those lines sometimes stretched out for miles, but at this time of night, every statue she passed was alone.

An overnight vigil was the one thing the constables couldn't complain about. She wouldn't get any sleep that night, but she wouldn't end up in jail.

Antea paced around, refreshing her memory about which god's statue stood where. There were thirty-two gods to choose from. Some of them were so minor no one worshipped them, but the Shrine represented all gods. Leaving one out just because they were as popular as moldy cheese was unthinkable.

Antea picked the Dog Goddess because she'd always been fond of bitches, and who didn't need a little guidance in their lives? She sat cross-legged on the braided wool mat spread out before the goddess's marble toes. The Dog Goddess stood in two forms next to herself. One was a rearing limer with floppy ears, painted black and brown, the other a small-breasted naked woman, painted with dark skin and white hair. The woman's hand was outstretched in benediction. It shone white at the tips, the details of her fingers worn smooth from the touch of too many worshipers.

Antea leaned close and said, "Hi."

The goddess did not reply.

"It's been a while since I talked to one of you gods. I'm not very pious, I know."

The dog statue of the goddess had its head tilted as if Antea had done something peculiar.

Antea drew her knees up to her chest. "It's funny, you know. I used to be very pious. Ready to do anything any god asked of me. Thirteen years ago." Thirteen years ago, she'd been a lot of things.

In the twilight, the goddess's expression looked sympathetic, but Antea had had twelve years to learn how little the gods cared.

She said, "I think I'm supposed to ask you for a gift. It's traditional, or something."

Someone passed by outside, and Antea forced herself to stay relaxed. Go away. She was communing with her god, like a good little citizen. Go away.

She stayed silent until the footsteps had faded. Then she said, "So, demanding things. I can't think of what I want. I mean, I want to be healed. But you've all said no to that." Thousands upon thousands of prayers, all unanswered. She'd even tried the gods no one prayed to anymore. And nothing.

Beyond the shelter of the shrine walls, the constables were ringing curfew. They'd start searching the streets soon, looking for beggars and troublemakers and other unwanteds. People like her who hadn't been smart enough to hide out at the Shrine. She needed to look prayerful, but it was early enough spring that the nights were still cold. Surely it couldn't hurt to pull out her blanket and cover her lap. The devout didn't have to freeze, did they?

"I'll ask for food and a place to sleep. That's nice and humble, right?" She undid the ties at the bottom of her haversack and yanked her blanket loose. When her spare dress clung to it, she stuffed it in the bag. And the letter fell out and fluttered to the stones.

Antea froze. She stared down at where it lay, heavy with its words. When she sat back down, blanket hugged against her chest, her movement bumped the letter a few inches away, but it didn't disappear.

She buried her face in wool and said, "You can't be serious. That's not a reasonable suggestion."

It wasn't, but the Dog Goddess wasn't suggesting anything. Antea was just talking to herself again. If the goddess had actually been present, the statue would have lit up with bright light, perfectly white the way mage lights never managed. Antea had seen the gods answer petitioners before. She used to watch her father-- Never mind. Forget it.

But she didn't forget it in time. Stabbing pains made her squeeze her eyes shut.

Someone cleared his throat behind her. She spun around, and the headache and the motion nearly made her vomit.

A Shrine worker stood there in his modest tunic and apron, both glowing white. He bowed his curly head and said, "You're here very late, daughter."

Antea kept her head high and clasped her hands together on her lap. "I'm keeping a vigil."

"I thought that perhaps that was the case. We do permit vigils, despite the curfew, but I must ask what you pray for tonight. The constabulary has us keep records, you see."

Of course they did. And if she didn't tell him something worthy of a goddess's guidance, he would call the constables. And she couldn't say she was asking for healing because the Dog Goddess wasn't a healer.

The letter lay innocently on the stone beside her. She picked it up and held it in her hand. Words flowed from her lips as if someone else was doing the talking. "My father hurt me and left me for dead, twelve years ago. I don't know what happened to him after that. He never came back to the city."

The worker's brows lifted, and his lips pursed as he took a step towards her. "That is... troubling. What guidance do you hope the Dog Goddess will grant you?"

Antea slumped, letting the letter trail against the ground. "I just... I need to know why. Why he did it. But he's the only one who knows, and there's no way I could afford a passport to even leave the city, much less to go to all the places he might be. That's why I've never found him."

The Shrine worker nodded. "That is a difficult problem, and one I fear I cannot help you with. But keep your vigil, daughter, and perhaps the goddess will grant you her wisdom." He swept his hands in a sign of blessing, and he walked on.

Antea let her breath out in a rush. She shoved the letter back in her haversack with shaky hands and wrapped herself up in the blanket.

"Close one, huh?" she said to the goddess's statue. "Maybe give me some guidance if you feel like it. Because I would like to know what he ruined my life for."

The goddess's statues stayed dark. If the goddess intended to guide her, it wouldn't be directly.

She sighed and rocked back and forth. "I know I'm very stupid. What am I hoping for? To remember? Trying to remember makes it worse." Even remembering something near to that day threatened to tear her mind apart.

The cloudy heavens overhead split and spilled out a thousand stars, winking and sparkling like candlelight seen from far away. Her brain throbbing with its usual rhythm, Antea sank down in her blanket, shut her mouth, and closed her eyes.

@anonymousfoz

@moremysteriesthantragedies

@elizababie

@sm-writes-chaos

@bellascarousel

@palebdot

@Hyba

[a1bx]

A "What If Uzi Died Instead of Nori" Fanfiction

This a first final draft of the opening scene of a new fanfic to post on AO3. I don't expect this to garner much attention in tumblr, but if you see this, please give comments and critiques! I feel like the ending was a little bit weak, and I have no beta readers...

---

"Mom! Check this out!"

Nori slowly turned from her desk to see Uzi hopping around proudly, holding a gun-looking thing in her hands. Nori sighed internally. That thing was the likely culprit to Nori's charge deprivation; That loud welding noise last night was constantly pulling her off sleep mode. And it was probably a new invention of Uzi's that Nori most definitely doesn't approve of...

She shook it off and smiled. If it would make her daughter happy, then she would entertain the idea of what kind of weapon her little girl had come up with this time.

"What have you got there?"

"My latest weapon!" Uzi began to wave the gun around, pretending like it was some sort of sword. 

“This cool-as-heck railgun!”

Nori stifled a yelp as the barrel whizzed past her head several times. She kept her smile though. The last thing she wanted was for her daughter to stop sharing these things with her. 

She loved seeing Uzi be with her…

But she was still quite uneasy about it! It's not every day your child makes something this... dangerous. Her eyes twitched a little when the barrel approached her again. Nori noted to herself to let Khan show Uzi some gun safety sometime soon, or at least how to keep the barrel pointed away from anyone.

Uzi smiled proudly back at her mom. "Pretty awesome, huh?"

"Sure, Uzi..." Nori reached forward, carefully pushing the barrel down so it wasn't pointed at her face. "Just... Please, try not to point that in anyone's direction, okay?"

Uzi stared blankly.

"Oh right... sorry, Mom." She said, tittering. "I forgot, heh heh..." Uzi set the railgun down on her desk carefully.

"Well... what do you think?"

Nori leaned forwards to inspect it a little. She didn't want to encourage the thought, but... "I can really tell how much thought you've put into making it a lightweight. The design itself is very sleek..." Nori did genuinely admire the craftsmanship. Khan really has been rubbing off on her daughter, hasn't he? She chuckled a little. 

"Although I am surprised you made it violet... and with stickers?"

Uzi crossed her arms and huffed. 

"Hey, I think it looks cooler that way! Don't ruin it for me!"

Nori shook her head, cupping a hand over her mouth and chuckling into her palm. "Well, I wasn't implying anything!"

"You're literally laughing at me!"

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are!"

"So, what if I am?” Nori gave her daughter a playful smack. Uzi stumbled theatrically as a response, before retaliating with an onslaught of light jabs aimed at her mother. Nori held up her arms in defence, laughing softly.

“As your mom, it's my job to bully you for impractical aesthetics!"

"Bite me!" Uzi exclaimed, now giggling. "As your daughter, it's my job to make fun of you for being lame!”

Nori gasped in mock horror. "How dare you?!" She grabbed her daughter by the shoulders, and Uzi squirmed in response, still laughing. "That's it, you're grounded!"

"What?! No!" Uzi cried out, trying to worm out of her mother's grasp. "This is injustice! I didn't do anything wrong!"

"Really? Did you do your homework?"

There was an awkward silence before Uzi’s eyes hollowed, displaying underlines.

"Ah! There it is!" Nori laughed, pointing a metal finger at the lines. "The proof I need!"

“Mom!! That’s cheating!”

Nori laughed again. Uzi was smart, but could never outwit her mom. Well, not yet, anyway. She awaits the day her little genius finally pulls one over on her… but in the meantime, Nori couldn't help but have a little fun with this.

"Yep, it's true. You are grounded. That's also for making me stay up all night with all those sounds, you little gremlin."

Uzi grunted. "In my defence, I was working on something awesome!"

Nori rolled her eyes, playfully pushing her daughter away. It was times like this Nori wished she had a popcorn bucket. These kinds of shenanigans with Uzi were more entertaining than old human movies… and the "definitely-not-pirated” anime Uzi always wanted her to watch? Speaking of, she should really introduce Uzi to some new stuff.

"Well, I hope it's worth giving your poor mother a sleepless night."

"Sorry... But hey, I promise it's good." Uzi picked up her railgun and smiled. "It's going to blast some murder drones' heads off."

Nori chuckled, but it lacked warmth. She still has to care for the safety of her daughter. Just imagining the thought of her little girl facing a murder drone made her—

"Don’t go, please...”

Those words came so suddenly. Too suddenly.

Nori’s eyes hollowed. Something was crawling up the back of Nori's processor. An awful feeling, weighing down on her entire being as she blanked out for a moment. She couldn’t let the cracks show through though, even if just a little bit. 

Her teeth clenched, and Nori swallowed hard. She forced that feeling down.

Uzi maintained her grin.

“Go where?" Uzi asked. "Oh…! Outside? I mean… Yeah. I'm definitely planning to take this bad boy outside once it is fully done, but—”

Nori flinched.

"I SAID DON'T GO THERE!"

There was a clattering sound that caused Nori to blink. Her eyes glanced down to see her hands grabbing onto Uzi’s wrists tightly, with the railgun now discarded on the floor.

A few moments passed before Nori looked up to see Uzi staring right at her.

For the first time in a while, fear was etched into her little girl’s face.

“...M-mom?”

Stop ruining everything.

Nori let go of her daughter's wrist immediately.

Uzi clutched her wrist, looking down at it while rubbing it gently.

No... She promised would not lose control again. She could not bear to hurt anyone again, especially not her own daughter. Uzi did not do anything wrong. Uzi was only being herself. 

And this was just supposed to be some fun teasing.

"Did you not like what I said…?" Uzi looked up, her eyes void of their usual cheerful light. Her tone of voice seemed too frightened to hide its waver, almost sounding like she was about to cry.

A painful static suddenly blared inside her. 

Nori stumbled back, grabbing her head.

A good mother wouldn't do this to their own child.

"Mom!"

Nori's optics widened as she saw her daughter scramble to take hold of her.

"Are you okay?!" Uzi asked.

Nori is okay. Nori will always be okay when Uzi is around.

"I... I... " Nori stammered, “I’m so sorry, Uzi.”

Nori hugged Uzi. Uzi did not reply, but Nori had her daughter with her. Nori wasn't alone. Everything was okay as long as Uzi was here. Nori wouldn't lose her, right? Uzi was her everything, her reason to live for, her ray of hope when everything turns dark. It would destroy her if she could never see those sweet purple eyes again.

In her presence, Uzi will always be safe.

A smile formed as Nori looked up to her daughter’s face again. 

Her visor was completely shattered on the right.

On the left, her remaining purple eyelight flickered weakly.

Everything will be okay…

"Uzi…" Nori smiled, “We can still fix this..."

She pushed the shattered glass away with her foot.

Nori was still okay…

Her eyelight darted around.

"M-mom… What is happening?"

Uzi was still there…

Nori held her tight. "I... I don't know, but we'll be okay."

Uzi's head fell forward, hitting her shoulder.

Uzi…

“Mom… Why…”

Uzi looked up at Nori, before her light flickered out.

Uzi... it still hurts.

"Why did you kill me, Nori?"

[helix-studios117]

Halo Reloaded: TV Show

The bustling heart of the Marathon Infinity's cafeteria is filled with the aroma of rehydrated eggs somehow always battled to a stalemate against the scent of industrial-grade coffee, the day's entertainment was in full swing. The room, usually a cacophony of clattering trays and grumbled complaints about MREs, had transformed into a makeshift theater. Its audience: a motley crew of Spartan-IIs, lounging in their sleek, almost-too-tight compression suits, and marines, whose fatigues seemed to have absorbed as much grease as valor, were united in their rapt attention to "SPARTANS," the galaxy's guiltiest pleasure.

"Man, oh man," a marine muttered, his eyes wide as dinner plates as an actor, decked out in a Spartan suit so shiny it would give the sun a complex, executed a leap that defied physics. "If I tried that, I'd need a new pair of knees."

Beside him, Kelly, her arms folded in a way that suggested she could bench press a Warthog if she felt like it, snorted. "Cute jump. Reminds me of my warm-up routine."

This elicited a round of snickers from the table, a sound that mingled with the crunch of someone bravely attempting to masticate the cafeteria's excuse for bread.

Just as another impossibly muscular Spartan on screen began a monologue about the "heart of a warrior," the room's metal door slid open with a hiss that sounded suspiciously like it was judging everyone's life choices. In strode John, fully armored as if he’d just mistaken the cafeteria for a warzone. Or perhaps he knew exactly what kind of warzone a cafeteria could be.

The remote control, previously the subject of an intense, silent battle of wills, was suddenly the hottest potato in the room. It flew from hand to hand, each marine trying not to be the last one holding it when the music stopped, so to speak. The channel switched with a speed that would make a Covenant Elite nod in respect—goodbye, dramatic reenactments of Spartan heroics, hello, galactic weather report.

"Nice timing, Chief," Fred said, a grin in his voice that his face couldn't quite make, given the situation. "We were just... um, studying... atmospheric conditions. Yep."

John paused, his helmeted head turning so slowly you'd think he was auditioning for a role in the next horror vid. Then, from within the confines of his helmet, a sound emerged—a chuckle. It was a sound so rare and unexpected that it might as well have been a unicorn tap-dancing across the table.

"As long as it’s not predicting rain on the parade, we're good," John’s voice, modulated but unmistakably amused, filled the room.

A collective exhale, sounding suspiciously like relief, whooshed through the cafeteria. Chairs scooted back as everyone relaxed, the threat of a Spartan critique apparently averted.

John made his way over, armor clanking with each step, the sound a stark reminder of the difference between the person and the persona. He pulled up a chair with the ease of a man who regularly bench-pressed fate itself.

"You know," he started, the casual tone almost jarring coming from the galaxy’s most decorated supersoldier, "I caught a bit of that show once. They got my armor color all wrong."

"That’s your beef with it?" Linda chimed in, leaning back with a smirk that could cut glass. "Not the part where you single-handedly arm-wrestled a Hunter?"

"Wait, that wasn’t a documentary?" another marine piped up, the mock seriousness in his voice drawing a round of hearty laughs from the group.

Just another day on the life of the UNSC...

[thee-horny-thicky]

The 141’s Music Taste

A/N: The genres and artists I’ve selected were chosen through the lenses of a Black American, and I have no clue how popular they are in the U.K. However, given that these men have traveled the world, I doubt that really matters. Anyway, enjoy :)

Captain John Price:

Now, I know he’s canonically only in his late 30s, but I imagine him loving oldies. And when I say oldies, I mean songs older than him. Blues, jazz, and classic rock have his heart. After a mission, he loves nothing more than to kick back with a cigar and whiskey, with some Ray Charles or Louis Armstrong playing in the background.

The only modern genre he really likes is R&B, largely due to how much the aforementioned genres influenced it. And by modern, I mean the stuff around during the early 2000s.

Also, despite his love for old music, he cannot stand classical. It gives him a headache and irritates him to high-heaven.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley:

I see a lot of people headcanon that Ghost is a metalhead. It’s an obvious choice and honestly makes sense. However, given his past, I believe that he’d have an aversion to metal. He might not be opposed to the classic rock ‘n roll sound, but metal? That’s a no-go.

I imagine him loving music that centers around self-expression and conveying what the artist has gone through. It grounds him and helps him feel a little more human. Thus, I think that he’d love blues and rap above all genres.

He especially loves 2Pac because of how often he talked about the social issues around him, even if Ghost himself can’t relate to the bulk of them. He just likes that 2Pac used his fame to talk about what his community was going through, and he loves his versatility.

R&B is another genre he regularly listens to, and I can even see him dabbling in pop. And by pop, I mean Lana Del Rey esc music. Also, as odd as it may seem, I can see him really liking Melanie Martinez.

Johnny ‘Soap’ McTavish:

Soap’s the metalhead of the bunch. He can give you an in-depth critique of all the famous bands and has a list of underground metal artists he adores. Due to being a part of an elite task force, he rarely gets a chance to see his favorites, so when he does, he buys a ludicrous amount of merchandise to commemorate the show.

However, though he’s a metalhead first and foremost, he can vibe with any music he can dance to. Beyonce’s Renaissance? He had it on repeat, playing it so much, that his bunkmates were too annoyed to even tease him. And after a particularly rough mission, I imagine he’d turn to a softer-sounding genre like R&B.

But don’t play anything too slow around him, because he will complain. And opera? It makes him murderous.

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick:

Gaz was the only one to willingly listen to Renaissance with poor Johnny. I don’t know why, but I can picture him being a big Bey fan, his love for her going all the way back to her Destiny Child days when she was his celebrity crush. Play any Beyonce song, and he’ll be able to tell you the name of it within 2.3 seconds. And since he grew up during their domination, he’s also partial to the Spice Girls.

Prince and Michael Jackson are two more of his favorites, and he even managed to get Sosp hooked on them.

Now, he does also enjoy more ‘masculine’ music, the primary example being ‘90s gangsta rap. However, I imagine him preferring genres like R&B, pop, melodic rap, and neo-soul. And unlike Ghost, his pop music doesn’t need to have a sad girl or sad-core lilt. No, he’ll be fine jamming to Britney Spears, Dojo Cat, and Dua Lipa.

If you can’t tell by now, R&B is basically the only genre the 141 can agree on. Rhythm and Blues is a very versatile genre, allowing every member to enjoy it despite their varied music tastes. And honestly, I’m kinda obsessed with them blasting it during missions.

[jo-dracona]

I went to a summer camp that was focused on horseback riding through the mountains of kananaskis when I was younger.

And what a beautiful experience that was. Gorgeous mountains and calming lakes, splashing around the base of a small waterfall with new friends. Sitting by that lake and having my mind go quiet all on it’s own for the first time in my life as I focus on the sound of the birds around me.

Clear skies and trail songs and simple but satisfying meals after long days in the sun. Even in the cold rain it’s incredible.

And the horses, incredible animals. So full of personality, and many of them so sweetly patient with us kids. Patient as we learned to get them to lift their hooves for picking, as we struggled to get their buckets of grain feed hooked up for them to eat before a ride. Patient as we learned how to hoist their big heavy saddles onto their backs, blankets and pads and all, when their shoulders lied above our own. I always revelled in that feeling of sheer strength and competence, to get that big construction of leather and metal all the way up there.

And I loved the smell of the barn, with all the saddles on their posts, the blankets placed on top to air out between rides. It smelled like effort and wood and leather and I loved it. When I couldn’t go take out the hay to the feeders with the others because I started to get hives from it, I volunteered to sweep the barn. I was in there for what felt like eternity, practically meditating. Quietly getting to know every odd nook and crevice of this rugged place, surrounded by that handsome air.

And the next day I went back into that barn with satisfaction, proudly hoisted up my horse’s saddle and marched over to his post, ready for another day on trail. But instead we did some movement exercises before we left, to work on control and critique the way we hold our reins.

They had us walk our horse forward into a small circle of pylons, turn them around in a tight circle and then walk back out and stop. This was harder than it sounds based on the other campers’ attempts, though all of them did really well on their second go around. But I calmly got up in the saddle, took the reins, and guided my horse in a tight circle without bumping a single pylon or having him step outside them. We nailed it. I kept it cool, but I was soooo… I was so proud of myself and my horse. I felt so skilled and confident in a way I never had before.

And the rugged jeans I wore and all the plaid I brought along. I was not the only one in plaid by far, but I did not wear as many tights as everyone else. And I loved to put on my boots, the ones with just enough heel for the stirrups. And I loved doing up the straps of the saddle as carefully but efficiently as I could.

I loved the mountain views and the beauty and joy of the freshwater, I loved feeling rugged, I loved feeling competent and worked, I loved the smell of the summer air and the sweat and leather and wood of the barn. I loved to get the dust out of my horse’s coat in the morning with that big thick brush with hard smooth strokes and a flick.

That camp made me feel more like a man than I knew. I wish I could’ve revelled in it the way I would now. I wish I had volunteered to chop the wood like I had wanted. But I did always carry the most logs back to our campfire, and filled with pride when I looked at the light red marks on my forearms from the scraping bark.

Now, if only I liked hats.

[formosusiniquis]

Water is wet, the sky is blue, and Eddie Munson is a music snob.

Sure, he listens to more music than Steve even knew existed. Sure, he can curate a playlist that gets you from Korn to Disney without it feeling jarring. Sure, he can give you a full college quality lecture on the history of modern rock and metal and how it can all be traced back to the blues.

But he’s also the same guy who brutally eviscerates anything that even approaches popularity. He’s watched Eddie drop bands the second their music starts making radio play because it’s a short trip to an album that’s been engineered in a lab for maximum radio play.

An educated music snob is still a snob is the point.

But the rest of their friend group is also a collection of snobs and bitches, so when Eddie suggested they do a Spotify Wrapped viewing party it quickly became an annual tradition. They all make sure they have the night off when the Wrapped drops, meeting up at Steve’s house where they spend the night stuffing their faces and roasting each other for the music that made up their soundtrack to the year.

Eddie the Snobbish is of course the most vocal critic.

“Girl in Red, Buckley, really? There is such a thing as leaning too far into the stereotype.”

“Get fucked, Munson, they’re my number five.”

“And your number two is Hayley Kiyoko, but she’s actually good so I kept her out of it. Honestly, it’d be faster to just shout from the rooftops that you’re queer.”

“Yeah, yeah, wait ‘til we get to you, Eddie.”

“I drew 7 so you’ll have to wait a little bit longer.

It goes like that all night. Eddie makes at least one comment about each person’s wrapped as the night goes on. But then everyone takes at least one crack at the others. From listen time to top genres nothing is safe and nothing is sacred. Sometimes the only comment needed is the sounds of nine other people shrieking in laughter because Accidentally in Love from the Shrek 2 soundtrack cracked your top 5.

“Seriously, Sinclair, the rest of it is so good!”

“I refuse to be critiqued by the same man I caught singing Nickelback last week.”

“Damn, seeing the family resemblance between you and Lady Applejack now.”

Sometimes his mockery is flavored like concern.

“William, the top .05% of Mitski listeners? Do you need help? Should we call your mom? This feels like a cry for help.”

“She’s classically trained, musically a genius. Sorry, we can’t all spend our time listening to Ozzy struggle through a basic melody.”

And Eddie isn’t afraid to get other people in on his snobbery.

“Ten bucks, Stevie, your little Dusty has Weird Al in his top 5.”

“I don’t make bets, I know I’m going to lose. That’d be like saying ‘I bet he’s going to have Neverending Story in his top 5’, it’s practically guaranteed.”

Robin’s not as afraid to get involved, “Five bucks, Neverending Story is his number 1.”

“Oh you’re on, Bucks, no way it’s not a parody.”

They’re both wrong, deciding that neither is out the money, and Steve wishing he had gone ahead and bet when it turns out to be a movie instrumental. “He can’t listen to music with words when he’s building shit, and he’s always tinkering with something in his room.”

“It was from the Neverending Story soundtrack, I still think that means I win.”

“Absolutely not.”

It’s always a big moment when it’s finally Eddie’s turn, he’s the whole reason they had to start drawing their places at random. He spends so much time talking shit about everyone else’s music taste that by the time his turn rolls around half the group is ravenous, a pack of feral dogs snarling at a feast before them,  ready to give him a taste of his own medicine.

The earliest bits are the most boring. The strange emotion tags are always a little jarring, though no one is surprised when spooky makes its way onto Eddie’s. It’s a little concerning just how much time Eddie is clocking on Spotify, “Over 40,000 minutes, Eddie, that’s almost an entire month.”

“How come your math is never that quick when you’re adding up your damage, Henderson?”

And then Spotify helpfully announces that Eddie Munson's most played song of the year is Head Over Heels by Tears for fucking Fears, clocking in at 267 plays. 

It could go without saying that all hell then breaks loose, but then not saying it makes it sound like a regular amount of hell is breaking loose. And not the kind of hell that can only come from a room full of people who show their affection through ruthless teasing and mockery finding a massive hole in the armor of someone who had spent most of their friendship unassailable.

It’s mean. It’s targeted. It’s the standard brand of teasing that this group is built on.

It would be a lot funnier if Eddie, someone who is normally pretty good about taking the same kind of shit that he deals out, didn’t look like he wanted the floor to swallow him up.

The jokes all reach a logical end. The kids have a killer’s instinct when it comes to weakness, but they’re soft where it counts, and there’s not a joke in the world that’s still funny when it’s being laughed at instead of with.

And Steve, normally the first to tease Eddie about his dad rock playlist can’t think of a single thing to say that isn’t going to come out, “Why was your day with the most listens right after the weekend trip we took for my birthday?”

That wasn’t going to be, “Do you want this the way that I do?”

The rest of the reveal is standard, nearly 19 hours of playtime does put Tears for Fears in the 5th spot of Eddie’s Top Artists but no one comments on it. Steve doesn’t even make fun of Eddie for being the only person under 40 to still listen to Metallica.

Because he’s finally found something to say that isn’t going to come out, “Do you know someone else who only listens to new wave or do listen to that song and think about me?”

“I’m going next.” Eddie finally, finally, makes eye contact with him instead of staring out into the middle distance. Maybe his announcement does sound more like, ‘let me say it back.’

“Steve, you drew last. Nancy’s next.”

Nancy, who knows him uniquely. Knows him in a way that no one, except maybe Eddie one day, ever will. Nancy cuts through the bullshit decisively. “Steve can go next.”

“No appreciation for the rules, why do we even have them?”

Steve does not give a single shit about his wrapped outside of it being a source of amusement for his friends. His taste in music is as close to nonexistent as it gets and, really, if he’s going to listen to something he’s probably going to pick a book over music if he’s by himself.

Except this year.

The teasing is a little tamer now. Normally, Steve is happy to take the brunt of it. 

From Eddie picking at his lack of taste. “Pick a genre, Steve, god.” 

To the kids joining in because they want to impress Eddie, “Can you even listen to the playlist without getting whiplash? I Will Survive to Part of Your World, jeez.” Nevermind that they’re both basically power ballads, and Wheeler can mock but I Will Survive was the soundtrack to his break up with Nance and sometimes he wants to be both nostalgic and angry-sad. 

This year is quiet, like they’re worried they went too far with Eddie and now they’re afraid to take shots at their other favorite babysitter.

It’s fine. Steve has pretty much unfailingly had one song playing at any point anymore. Maybe it took him a little longer than April, but he knows without a doubt what his top song of the year is going to be.

Eddie takes the armchair for Wrapped nights, he’s the meanest normally and says he wants to be out of the direct line of fire of any noogies or Robin’s lethal elbows. It means Steve has to reach to kick the side of the chair to make sure Eddie is watching.

Rainbow in the Dark was Steve’s number one song this year with 171 plays.

And maybe it would be appropriate to say that all hell breaks loose once again. Steve wouldn’t really know, too busy staring at Eddie. He’s in the eye of the storm now, while chaos breaks out around him Steve can only wait to see how Eddie reacts.

Wonders if that pink blush is because Eddie realizes that the day he repeated it the most was right after he heard Eddie play it for the first time. Fell asleep to it playing on repeat, thinking about Eddie’s fingers and Eddie’s smile, drowning out the sounds of fireworks that still trigger panic.

"It makes me think of you," Eddie, brave and shy and only hiding part of his face behind his hair, answers the only question Steve needed answered.

"Yeah," he agrees, hoping it sounds less like a breathless demand for reassurance and more like, 'listening to this song all year was the closest I could get to imagining what it could be like having you.'

"Yeah." And Steve hears, 'I  still expect to be wined and dined, Harrington.' Maybe because it's the kind of silly request Eddie would make, or maybe he just likes giving the people he cares about everything he can.

"But seriously, Stevie, why the fuck is Careless Whisper in your top 5? It should be a crime for Dio and George Michael to be that close together."

[wolf-in-a-trenchcoat]

A little one-shot I tried to write and probably failed. I had motivation to write this, but most of it was at like, 3-4 am? I just wanted to write Izzy getting his ass handed to him by a bard (Frenchie) with very little swordsman skills. That's a lie, I have a headcanon Frenchie is actually really good with a sword, just prefers more... manipulative tactics or close combat tools, and by extension likes to make opponents think he's a clumsy idiot who can't hold a sword. (Turns out, he can and will rip you a new one)

Same rules go for this one, btw! Critique- both good and bad- is invited and urged. I want to better my skills.

Inspiration: conversation regarding server members and how they got together ❤️ also me wanting Izzy's ass whooped (an Izzy enabler, apologist, and lover)

○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○

Israel Hands doesn't lose duels.

That's what he had been thinking as he stepped up on deck with his rapier drawn and twirling languidly as he let the weight become an extension of him again. It was a part of him, his identity and his being- "born to wield a blade" he had been told many a time in his life.

It was how he lived as long as he did, how his captain used him. A sword, right hand man, the like. First mate. Izzy's near permanent scowl remained as he heard the shuffle of feet and a small mumbled curse as the sharp clatter of metal on wood made him turn to face his opponent- the damn bard that resided with the Revenge crew.

Izzy scoffed in appallment. He didn't know how this crew lived as long as they have. He had previously assumed the deft fingerwork this man had while playing a mandolin would extend into holding a sword, but he was proven wrong.

"Pick up your fuckin' sword."

"Right... yeah. Sorry."

Izzy's eyes follow the bard's hands as they reach for the sword, lifting it up and testing its weight in his grip before giving a couple aimless swings. Another scoff leaves Izzy, a look of disgruntled judgement on his face now. He couldn't believe he would have to duel this atrocious example of an opponent.

As they took their places, Izzy a few paces from the bard, they get into their stances. The one thing that caught Izzy off guard slightly was how firm the man's posture became, the excitement glimmering in the warm chocolate depths of his eyes. Like he was preparing for this moment. Like he was waiting forever just to have this chance.

It was the bard that moved first. Their swords meet, Izzy easily parrying then slipping aside and taking his own offense. The opponent blocked, and the clash of metal on metal sounded like angels singing in his ears.

Izzy relished the song, and lived the dance that came along. How the bard kept up was beyond Izzy, but the effort brought savage focus to his face. Well, what Izzy had thought it looked and felt. His heart raced, the singing of the metal cacophony nothing more than music as the men viciously danced around the deck.

°°°°°°°°°

Frenchie wasn't exactly sure what had let the idea of challenging Izzy to a duel into his mind.

When he had initially approached the first mate of Blackbeard, Frenchie was sure that he'd have his head bit off by the man. Based on his experiences with people like that, he couldn't let them off the hook. An odd interaction where Frenchie had gotten irritated at Izzy being a petty asshole while the bard was trying to do daily care for his mandolin had lead to an aggressive "I challenge you to a duel, you spiteful ship goblin" and a very calm and very ominous "Challenge accepted".

Now here they were, on deck and Frenchie basically fighting for his life.

He hasn't picked up a sword since some time before Stede, to which he laid down arms and settled for his original plan- playing music to keep the time. Though, this duel wasn't much different than any other song and dance, he learned quickly. Each step was specific, him returning blows almost like it was second nature. He didn't know how he had been able to fend off Izzy for so long- he was sure his demise was imminent.

Unless Izzy was going easy on him?

The look on the man's face said otherwise- he looked thoroughly pissed, but that was an constant thing and any change from it was most likely the end of the world. Frenchie's arm came up to block the overhead swing Izzy tried to land, and the taller man ducked lower and shoves Izzy back with a pretty heavy shoulder hit to the torso. The shorter man stumbled back, Frenchie following up with a slash towards Izzy's abdomen.

It was blocked easily.

Another back and forth ensues, sweat beading on Frenchie's brow as the adrenaline wore off and he began to falter. Izzy came in hot, like a blazing fire as anger fueled each movement. It honestly had Frenchie enthralled and how fluid the older man moved.

Dancing, is what the bard akinned it to. An idea sparks, and his own offense became more focused on keeping Izzy's blade with his own. Each step was like the makings of a dance when Frenchie moved, as did Izzy in kind. Swords met, feet step into another mirrored position, the noise of clashing metal like their own tune.

°°°°°°°°°°

It was glorious.

The bard has clearly impressed Izzy, and the older man could feel his lips pull into a genuinely entertained grin. That was, until Izzy let the realization that this fucking bard could've done so much more than sit and play music this entire time during raids.

Their dance was broken when Izzy attempts a punishing slash to Frenchie's abdomen as a comeback to his previous attempt towards Izzy, the bard bringing his sword up in response and pushing Izzy's blade up and over in a strained arch, then to a clattering slide across the deck. The look on the bard's face was that of surprise, yet it was returned with Izzy's own- then clearly spiteful anger.

Before it changed to... pride?

Izzy was proud of this man, even as Frenchie raised an ever-so-subtly shaking sword tip to the first mate's throat. Izzy could easily continue this fight, but something in his being tingled with anticipation, like he could get something more from this. A small smirk settled on his lips as he heard the unsure tone in Frenchie's voice.

"Do you yield?"

"I... yield."

The look on the bard's face was near priceless. It almost made Izzy bark out a laugh at how seriously shocked Frenchie was to have bested Izzy Hands.  He actually enjoyed this look on his face. While he'd usually be more than furious someone had beaten him in a single round, this was an odd exception. His eyes meet Frenchie's, and for a moment, he felt a flutter in his chest.

"Best two out of three?" Frenchie offered, breathing coming in slightly labored. His hand had steadied slightly more in the pregnant pause of the victory, a cheeky smile now gracing his face. Another flutter.

Izzy accepted as the bard lowered his sword. His gaze follow the man as he went to retrieve Izzy's rapier, handing it to him. Izzy returned the smile with one of his own- and he took note of the subtle flush of pink across Frenchie's face.

"Two out of three, then. Don't expect to have the same luck this round. I won't go easy on you now that I know your level of experience."

He raised his rapier to Frenchie's blade, the sharp shink of metal on metal signifying his further acceptance. And with that, another round began.

To say Frenchie lost would've been a lie- it had appeared to the crew Izzy was talking out of his ass when the bard won the next two duels, albeit with more difficulty each round than the last.

[black-arcana]

Every Lacuna Coil album ranked from worst to best

(Image credit: Cunene)

9. Shallow Life (2009)

Lacuna Coil’s fifth album was meant to be a critique on superficiality, but it fell flat musically. Missing the nu metal crunch of predecessor Karmacode and stripped of the opulence that characterised the band’s earlier material, Shallow Life meanders. Though it’s not a complete car crash (Spellbound is an obvious standout), it’s slim pickings.

8. Dark Adrenaline (2012)

Dark Adrenaline isn’t a terrible album; it’s just an unremarkable one. Meaty opener Trip The Darkness and a cinematic Intoxicated provide the highpoints amongst more generic, forgettable fare. There’s still little here we haven’t heard from the band before, however – plus that truly horrible cover of R.E.M.’s Losing My Religion misses the mark in every way. 

7. Broken Crown Halo (2014)

By the time Lacuna Coil released their seventh album, it felt like they had made the same statement at least three times in a row. The last release to feature the long-term members Cristiano “Pizza” Migliore  (guitars) and Cristiano “Criz” Mozzati (drums), Broken Crown Halo packs more grit and punch than predecessor Dark Adrenaline (Cybersleep and frequent set-closer Nothing Stands In Our Way are the highlights). Yet, there’s still no doubt by this point: the band were treading water. 

6. In A Reverie (1999)

Dreamy, doomy and gothic, Lacuna Coil’s debut has aged very well. Circle, To Myself I Turned and Glass Veins have lost none of their majesty and, while the Italians’ approach at this point is clearly indebted to Paradise Lost and The Gathering’s 1995 album Mandylion, Cristina and Andrea’s serene/raw vocal attack set this bunch apart right from the start. A promising beginning.

5. Karmacode (2006)

By the mid-2000s, Lacuna Coil had nailed their ethereal goth ways. So, it was a surprise when they changed gears with fourth album Karmacode, introducing a more mainstream, chunky, nu metal-flavoured sound with focus on melody. The move sacrificed much of their splendour and atmospherics, and tracks like The Game and Closer feel a tad too simplistic, but elsewhere, the band proved they had mastered a hook. Their excellent cover of Depeche Mode’s Enjoy The Silence broke them to an even bigger audience, too.

4. Unleashed Memories (2001)

Lacuna Coil’s second album is an elegant, slow-burning gem. You need to work a little harder to get under the surface of these songs, but once you do, there’s an abundance of gorgeous charms to discover. From the sumptuous and dignified Heir Of A Dying Day to a towering To Live Is To Hide, the still very Paradise Lost-influenced When A Dead Man Walks to the ornate Cold Heritage, the band were evolving at pace.

3. Delirium (2016)

In their post-Karmacode period, Lacuna Coil had settled into a safe, predictable groove. Then, with eighth album Delirium, they changed their methodology once again. On its release, tracks like Broken Things and Blood, Tears, Dust were dark and dripping with claustrophobic tension. They were startlingly heavy as well, helped in no small part by vocalist Andrea Ferro putting in some of his best guttural vocals to date. Foreboding, haunted and cold, it was the sound of a band renewed.  

2. Black Anima (2019)

Lacuna Coil’s most recent album finds them in fantastic form. Picking up where Delirium left off, the band have only continued to get heavier, leaving the generic, featherlight melodies of their mid-career slump far behind. Packed with atmosphere and highlights in Sword Of Anger and Layers Of Time, it’s not as stark as its predecessor, while the Exorcist vibes of Veneficium are definitely something they should lean into in the future. Whereas Cristina’s piercing vocals are dependably great, pushing her voice to new height on Reckless, the biggest surprise is Andrea,: unrecognisable from the band’s early days, his bowel-rattling vocals takes the band’s stylings to an ever more twisted realm.

1. Comalies (2002)

Comalies is the moment everything came together for Lacuna Coil in terms of aesthetics and sound, but also songwriting, which took everything up a notch. It was led by two excellent singles: the celestial Swamped and Heaven’s A Lie – which marries an earworm chorus with glossy, apocalyptic grandeur – and broke the band on MTV.

The opus is also a trove of emotionally-charged gems, with Daylight Dancer, Humane, Tight Rope and Entwined all deserving a place on a countdown of the band’s best songs. In 2022, Lacuna Coil celebrated the album’s 20th anniversary by rearranging and re-recording it for a retrospective, Comalies XX, adding a heavier, more ferocious slant to the tracklist. It couldn’t hold a candle to the original, though, which remains a goth metal classic – not to mention the band’s undisputed masterpiece.