#i was looking for a church with a parking lot and i was struck by how nice the light looked even from google

[folerdetdufoler]

one word, nine letters

Isak is heading into the end of his second year at Nissen with his best friend Jonas by his side, and his trusty study buddy Sana helping him with his grades. He lives at home with his mother, Marianne, in a house that is too big for them. Isak's father left a couple of years ago in a drawn-out separation, and his sister Lea is at university in Germany. But he's fine with that. He takes care of his mother, and his mother takes care of him. They're both focused on school, since Marianne is a professor at the university and Isak is Isak. The only other thing of particular interest in his life is driving a car, since he'll be getting his license shortly after turning 18 in June. He drives Marianne around the city when she needs a chauffeur, and waits for her in parking lots while she runs errands.

That's where he first sees Even, in a parking lot, outside of a church. Even doesn't see him, but that doesn't really matter. Isak sees him first, and the search for a name, a friend, a story, begins.

playlist by @in-wonder-underground

part of the 2022 skam big bang! rated T, 14 chapters. read a new chapter every friday from now through september.

[silkscream]

𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐞 (𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭)

ੈ✩ pairing: eddie munson x reader

ੈ✩ summary: still you sit with him in a church parking lot, acting like you’re not falling for it. (until you do.)

ੈ✩ warnings: smut (18+), fingering, slight dacryphilia, drug use, (protected) high sex, car sex, a little blood, not edited

ੈ✩ wc: 4.6k

Hawkins was always unpredictable – you knew this – from rumors of Satanic rituals to alien conspiracies to government experiments on children. Tonight, however, it's the weather that annoys you, the inklings of autumn teasing your bare legs despite the fact that it’s the middle of July. It doesn’t particularly help that the midnight rendezvous you’re making tonight is taking place in a church parking lot, of all places. The cool, late summer breeze seems to trickle into your pores to make your insides shudder. Sighing, you walk forwards, eyes scanning the stained glass windows high above you.

When you open the door to Eddie Munson’s striped van, he salutes you with two fingers nestling a Marlboro red. With something in between a sarcastic smile and a grimace, you return the gesture.

“Munson.”

“Y/L/N,” he nods. You roll your eyes as you shut the door behind you. With an exhale, you pick the skin of your cuticles until it stings, wincing when the skin breaks.

Uncharacteristically, Eddie’s radio plays a low reverberated hum of dream-pop chords from the speakers. When you turn the knob of the stereo, you can’t help but grin when you hear Cocteau Twins’ “Sugar Hiccup”, Elizabeth Fraser’s nonsensical drawl lowering your blood pressure instantly.

“Thought you didn’t like this shit. When I put this on you were like, what’s the point of writing a song that’s fuckin’ unintelligible?” you tease, poking Eddie’s arm. 

“I still think that,” he rolls his eyes. “It’s your cassette. You left it here.”

“And you’re still listening to it.”

“Yeah, whatever, princess.”

You’d never admit that maybe you left your cassette in his van on purpose, just so you could have a possible excuse to see him again. Your love-hate relationship with Eddie manifested after Chrissy’s death – you and Hawkin’s notorious alleged cult leader formed an unlikely friendship after you’d testified in court about Chrissy’s whereabouts. You weren’t necessarily her best friend during senior year – Hell, no one would believe you even if you claimed that – but you had gotten close with the blonde when you’d tutored her. Besides Eddie, you were the only one who knew she was interested in drugs to escape her weird spouts of psychosis. 

Now, a year later, you might call Eddie a friend, if smoking together and listening to music in his van every few months counts as a friendship.

“So, Sativa or Indica? I’m also out of my usual shit because that, uh, Valley dude that’s friends with Byers bought out everything that was good. So lucky for you, I could do fifteen for an eighth instead of–”

“I’m not here for weed,” you interrupt.

To your surprise, Eddie laughs. The bastard laughs at you.

“What?” you cinch your brows.

“I’m not selling to you if it isn’t weed.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Because.”

“Because, why, Manson?”

Eddie sighs with defeat and looks everywhere that isn’t your direction. You can tell that you’d struck a nerve from how his jaw locks, a small vein in his neck pulsing just slightly. You feel guilty immediately. “Told you not to fuckin’ call me that.”

“S’a joke, Christ. No one actually thinks you’re a cult leader, y’know,” you mutter, crossing your arms. 

“Half this town still does. Even after I got acquitted,” Eddie continues. 

“You won’t sell to me because of Chrissy, isn’t it?”

He stays quiet.

“Eddie.”

“I just don’t want you messing around with that stuff, okay?”

“Have you gone Catholic or something? How incredibly chauvinist of you. Is that why we’re parked in front of a fucking church?”

You hate that your face is turning warm from your boiling blood – of all people, how could Eddie fucking Munson be so evangelical about drug use when he was the one providing for half of Hawkins High? The thought of him viewing you as any sort of damsel made you livid. As if you weren’t dealing with a shitshow of a summer already.

He twiddles his silver-lined fingers, thumb rubbing anxiously over the pendant of a skull on his middle finger. It isn’t that he has a new moral superiority over your drug habits, but lately, the nightmares have started back up again, and every night when he goes to sleep, Chrissy Cunningham sits in the passenger seat where you are currently. Sometimes she overdoses on K, sometimes Vecna gets her before Eddie even makes the right turn to enter his trailer park. Sometimes when Eddie claps his hands in front of Chrissy’s gray eyes, he blinks once, and to his horror, you’re in her place.

Your hand grasps the door handle next to you. “Okay. Fine. I can get what I want from someone else–”

Before you open the door fully, Eddie’s quick to hunch over you and shut the door with an amount of aggression that surprises you. For a moment, you think that he glances at your quivering lip. 

“Don’t,” he warns. “Another time, okay? I’ll give you whatever, just not now. Just do it when I’m around, okay? For your own damn safety.”

You stare at him blankly. “Sativa.”

You watch as he climbs dextrously over his seat to get to the back of the van, which is full of blankets and pillows – a new addition from the last time you’d been in it. 

“You sleeping in your car or something?” you raise a brow as you watch him, cheek leaning on the headrest of your seat.

“Henderson’s idea. We went to a drive-in the other night,” he murmurs mindlessly. “Pretty cozy, actually. You think I could pass as a Woodstock hippie with this set-up?”

“Totally,” you utter. 

It’s strange how you’d known the boy for a little over a year – really known him, at least, compared to sharing physics senior year with him – and yet watching him lick his rolling papers as your favorite album plays feels more intimate than it ever has. The way Eddie’s slightly shrunken Hellfire Club shirt reveals his dark happy trail makes you feel like a lecherous predator just for watching. When your eyes fall on the array of bats on his forearm, he brings you back to Earth as quickly as you’d left it.

“You wanna smoke or not?”

“Mhm.” You nearly trip on your way to the back of the van. So much for meticulousness. Cross-legged and sweating slightly from the stuffiness of the vehicle, you lean against pillows that are propped up against the side door. 

He notices your scent immediately as you move – amber incense and something woodsy. He always wonders why you’re still so timid after all these encounters, but he knows that once you take the first hit of the joint you’ll melt like an Indiana sunset. It isn’t that Eddie likes you better that way, it’s just that he likes the way your laugh sounds. And you tend to do it more when you’re high. 

He hands you the finished joint and lights it for you. You inhale and hold the smoke in your lungs with a bated breath, exhaling a cloud towards Eddie’s star-stricken face. It’s there again, that small giggle coming from your mouth that makes something bloom in his chest more than he’d like to admit. 

“What’re you laughing at, raccoon eyes?” he smirks. 

“Nothing,” you stifle a laugh. “Just… the fairy lights make a nice touch.”

You point to the battery-powered string of lights strewn behind Eddie, dangling Draculas illuminated by a dull yellow. 

“You’d look way hotter with raccoon eyes. Isn’t that what those KISS guys do?”

“I’m already hot,” Eddie protests. 

“Okay, but how ‘bout this—“ you rummage through your bag for your charcoal-black eyeliner. Before you can even point it toward the boy’s face, he flinches, swatting your hands away.

“Oh come on, pretty boy!” you whine.

“You’re gonna poke my eye out with that thing!”

“I won’t!” 

The two of you wrestle your arms together, with him gripping your wrist tightly whenever you try to touch his face. When he squeezes your forearm with his other hand, you forget how to breathe.

“Okay, okay, fine.”

“Thank you,” you coo, clasping your hands together in excitement. 

You have the cadence of a child, a feral glint in your eyes as your mouth turns into a grin full of wolf teeth. He only lets you because he wants to be close to you, wants your soft hands on his face. It’s a rarity for him, these fleeting touches – but now that Eddie’s fully high, he craves them like a child fiending for candy. There were other times like now, times when your girlish whimsy would have you combing your fingers through his hair absentmindedly and innocently until you snapped to your senses. Eddie always hated when that happened.

He lies back lazily against the pillows, bare knees spread so that you can get closer to him. The look on his face is deadpan, feigning annoyance and eyelids fluttering once you so as much as attempt to draw a black line under his bottom lashes.

“Hold still!”

“Make me.”

Your eyelashes flutter in rapid succession at his declaration, eyes narrowing with a hint of a smirk on your lips as you combat his challenging gaze. You’re not giving in. Not yet, at least.

“Shut up.”

It takes a few minutes, but the results are worth it. Eddie blinks at you with his brown doe eyes, which look even bigger with the smudged black eyeliner you’ve managed to get on him. 

“Am I as fuckable as Bowie now?”

“No one is as fuckable as Bowie. Not even you,” you snort, taking another hit from the joint. 

“So you agree. You think I’m fuckable.”

You give him a knowing look, small smile hiding from the debauched imagery creeping into your mind. You’d be lying if you claimed that you didn’t think about him that way, but you’d rather die than tell him that. 

He takes the joint out of your mouth, which is now slightly ajar and salivating as you scan his face and the smallest hint of a tattoo adorning his collarbone.

“Speaking of fucking, uh, Gareth has, like, a level five crush on you. Did y’know that?”

“Please. He makes it incredibly obvious.”

“You gonna go for it?” You notice the way he licks his lips in anticipation of your answer. You smile and shake your head. 

“Aw, c’mon! Kid’s still a virgin.”

“Oh, so you wanna pimp me out?“

“I didn’t say—”

“Mhmm. Right.” 

The joint’s nearly done when Eddie realizes he’s been staring at your face like the way someone examines a painting – really looks at it – for the first time. Reveling in all the details – the slope of your nose, the shape of your lips, your huge pupils blinking right back at him. 

“What would it take for you to fuck Gareth?” Eddie asks. His voice is suddenly lower, the raspy husk from his voice muddling away from clarity. 

“Christ, you’re really wingmanning so hard right now. Okay, so theoretically, I fuck him. What else? You gonna film it, too?” you slur. 

It’s him who’s quiet now. Eddie doesn’t want you to notice his flushed face, which he’s claiming in his head to be from the summer heat and lack of air conditioning in his car, but he’s also fully aware that this is one of the cooler nights in July. But why does he feel like he’s fucking sweating? And God, the imagery of you actually fucking Gareth is pervading his brain right now, short-circuiting it in a way that makes him feel embarrassed, and he thinks that maybe he should count to ten and stare out the window so that he can —

“Earth to Edward,” you snap at him with your middle finger and thumb. 

It’s Eddie’s turn to blink rapidly, averting his eyes. He rubs his temple like he has to contain a headache, but really, it’s dizzying lust that feels out of place. Especially with you right beside him. You’d never think that Eddie Munson was one to be shy around you, of all people, if at all. But between the sexual innuendos and the stupid banter, it’s like you’re seeing right through him. Needless to say, he doesn’t know how to hide his emotions at the moment. Certainly not when he’s high as a kite.

You think that maybe if you move just a few inches, something inside you could explode or bloom or coalesce completely. Any closer to Eddie Munson’s face and you’d be redistributing matter without a care in a world, but the cautious nature inside you screams instead. God, didn’t you arrive with a chill down your spine from the dip in temperature? Yet now, your synapses are on fire. All without being touched. 

Your body seems to move in its own volition, but slowly. A hand combed through dark, frizzy locks. Your fingers caressing the length of his jaw. Your breath haphazard like you’re splayed out like a desperate, dying animal with your insides on display. 

It’s like a glass breaks when it happens. You aren’t even aware of who does it first.

You take surprise in the confidence of your body pinning his down while his tongue explores the inside of your mouth, his hands gripping the exposed flesh above your shorts. You inhale sharply like you’re drowning until what comes out of your mouth descends into something like a laugh that’s swallowed by him.

Your desire is white-hot, blinding. You don’t realize how deeply you’ve got your claws into Eddie Munson’s shoulders until he lifts you up a little higher so that you’re properly straddling him, the warmth of your core pulsating from the severity of every sensation hitting your neurons. This weed is fucking strong, you think, with your brain blissed out to oblivion. 

Your bliss is interrupted when he curses into your mouth and flinches slightly, pulling away from you with wide eyes. 

“You bit me,” he chuckles lowly, wiping the crimson off his bottom lip.

“Oh, fuck, I’m sorry,” you stammer. “I– that’s not something I do, um. I think I got carried away.”

“It was hot.”

Before you can respond, he locks his lips with yours again, this time grabbing the back of your neck with his strong, slender fingers. It’s messy, his newfound frenetic desire for you that had been bubbling up in his system for months and months, only to overflow the moment you got into the backseat of his van tonight.

He pulls away, a trail of saliva following his mouth as he grins. You’re too busy looking at him like you’re in a trance to think about anything else, certainly not when his silver-adorned fingers are touching the base of your throat.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he rasps. 

“Tell me more,” you tease, though whatever provocation you’re going for is swapped for vulnerability the moment Eddie’s mouth descends down your throat and latches onto your exposed collarbone, teeth and all. 

“So fucking hot… and sexy… and… shit,” he murmurs as he suckles lovebites on the curve of your shoulder. “Gareth’s gonna be fucking pissed at me when he finds out.”

You’re about to reply, make something of a self-deprecating joke to distract yourself from the fact that you’re sinking right under Eddie’s spell, but of course, the bastard sucks into your skin in a way that makes you glitch. You can’t even speak – all the sensations you feel from his mouth on your collarbone alone elicits a moan. He smirks into your skin.

The ache in your body is so viciously raw that you’re dreading the moment everything bursts. You realize you’re high enough that your usual fight or flight dissipates the moment you feel Eddie’s warm tongue on the side of your jaw.

Every touch feels electric. Your body is a forest fire.

Your blood is pumping hard, hot, and the way Eddie pulls back to admire the pinkish marks on your neck makes you nearly carnivorous with want.

“I need more, Eddie.”

More. Every cell in Eddie’s body screams more. He’s been teasing you, yes, but he doesn’t realize how onboard he is with more until he sees the salacious lust on your face, just barely muted by your virtuous eyes. He wants to devour you, he thinks. He doesn’t know that you were the one sharpening your fangs first.

“Whatever you want. Tell me.”

“Touch me.”

“Gotta be more specific, baby.”

“I don’t know,” you desperately mewl, burying your face into his shoulder. “Anywhere. Everywhere. I just need you.”

It almost sounds like a prayer, which nearly causes Eddie’s brain to malfunction from his disbelief. You – who’s always sarcastic, giving him the hardest time in a way that makes him want you more – begging for him as you grind against his lap. He must’ve died and gone to heaven.

“You’re sure about this?” Eddie murmurs. “You’re not too high, right?”

“I’m sure,” you huff, pouting. “You’re taking too fuckin’ long.”

He chuckles, grasping your waist with his hands as he grins at you with admiration. Your big moon eyes, your delicateness on top of him – all of it makes him fucking insatiable and he hasn’t even had a piece of you yet.

“Let’s take these off then,” he titillates, hands eager in pulling off your shorts. You beat him to it with such quickness that he has to double-take when he realizes you’ve so swiftly discarded your t-shirt as well, leaving you in your black lacy bra.

“Oh, shit, for me?” His hands touch the sides of your bra, fingers dancing around the clasp on your back.

“No, y’just got fucking lucky tonight. Your turn now.” Your hands roam the length of his toned stomach, which was already on full display from his Hellfire shirt that nearly served as a crop top. In a frenzy, Eddie discards both his shirt and his cutoffs, and before you can even get a word in about the growing length underneath you, his mouth is on yours again.

He tastes like weed and cigarettes and cinnamon. You love him like this – desperate and frantic, eager to have his skin flush with yours. His kisses only exacerbate in intensity as you take the liberty to reach into his boxers, your hand palming his shaft with such a fervor that it makes him groan.

Eddie’s quick to match your movements, fingers already clumsily coaxing themselves into your wet cunt while the two of you kiss like you’re fighting, like you’re competing for who gets the next bruise. 

You don’t even notice that he’s unhooked your bra until he stops his frantic kissing to suck on your nipple. You moan at the sensation, throat raw from all the smoking. Your mouth keeps letting out sounds that you can’t even recognize as yourself. There’s no time to react considering the depth in which Eddie’s fingers are inside of you, rubbing along your spongy walls until your legs start to vibrate.

He’s so aggressive with his hands like he’s trying to prove something. The heat in your core that brews begins to thunder into something unfamiliar. It’s too good, this electric feel, and it doesn’t help that the skin above your breasts is starting to flame a livid red just from Eddie’s lovebites.

He pulls his nipple from your mouth as he strokes your insides harder, head tilting curiously as he watches the expressions on your face change like a supercut. He knows you’re nearly there from the sudden entropy of your body.

“C’mon, baby, you can do it. You’re almost there, right?”

“Y-yes,” you whine.

“Good girl. Cum for me, okay?”

“J-just like… that… oh my god…. oh my god,” you stutter. “Eddie, fuck!”

You dip into convulsion as you screw your eyes shut – the phosphenes in the pitch-black of your vision exploding like fireworks. The high takes over you like a tidal wave until you’re out of breath, chest heaving up and down. You have to physically remove his hand just so you can even attempt to calm down.

“You look so fucking good when you’re cumming for me, Jesus Christ.”

He watches you with a doe-eyed expression, his hand in yours as you raise it to fit into your mouth. Delicately, you lick off your own taste. Just from watching that, Eddie feels like he might cum soon.

Without a warning, you decide the next order of operations, pussy landing flush against Eddie’s hard cock softly and grinding against his length.

“Jesus,” he croaks, eyes lulled in an opium trance as you kiss the swell of his throat. He can barely focus – barely misses wherever the fuck those extra condoms are in his bag – shit, where were they?

After a blind rummaging with you still on top of him, he finds one and rips the foil from his teeth.

“This is– you’re sure?” he checks in with you cautiously, his face florid and hot with sudden apprehension as if you aren’t sliding your wet cunt against his lap at this very second. You nod as you twirl a curly strand of his hair between your fingertips and he rolls the condom on.

As you lower yourself, he groans in tandem with your borderline pornographic moans, and slowly, you grind against him. 

“Oh, my God…” you moan. The thickness of him seems to be hitting every sensitive spot inside you to the point of you nearly seeing stars. Your iron grip extends to your claws as you dig into the bare flesh of Eddie’s shoulder blades, which flex slightly from the way he moves your body on top of his with his strong hands. Throughout your desperate mewling, he guides you on his lap while you cry out. He covers your mouth with his palm after a succession of your cries.

You gasp like a wild animal struggling despite your fervent stamina. You ride him like you’re trying to dominate him, but the sensitivity of your wet cunt nearly blows you overboard. At this point, you’re a lost cause until he grips your thighs tightly as you hover above him slack-jawed and soft headed.

Another mewl and Eddie thinks he might just come undone underneath you – but he doesn’t want to give you that satisfaction.

Within seconds, he switches positions, has you pinned against the blankets and pillows flat down so that he’s on top of you. You’d let him smother you if he could.

Eddie thrusts into you as his hands latch onto your shoulders. The sweat of his brow drips down the side of his face, adorning the glow radiating through him. After a slight sweep of his long curls, he has his hands tangled in your hair as he fucks into you, thrusting slowly but fully. 

“Eddie, fuck!”

“Shit, am I hurting you?” he asks you with frantic concern. He wipes a finger down the length of your cheek to chase away a stray tear. “I can be more gentle.”

“I like when it hurts,” you reply in a rushed manner. “Fucking… need you.”

With that encouragement, Eddie’s hips snap back to yours. He grunts with an animalistic inflection, head bowing into your shoulder as he picks up his pace.

“So fucking– tight,” he exhales. “Fuck. God, you’re so– fucking—”

Tears start springing from your eyes. The weed makes your body infinitely more sensitive, and now that he’s finally inside of you, you feel like you’re in the fucking rapture.

Even from all the overwhelming pressure, you beg for more just from your rapacious movements, arms crossed over his back with your nails digging into his flesh. 

He pouts when he sees your tears, wipes them off gently with the pads of your fingertips but your makeup smudges like a pornstar’s. With a grin, he peppers you with chaste kisses across your teeth despite the depravity happening below each of your hips, a burning candle on both ends as he hikes up your leg with your knee swung over his arm to thrust into you at a deeper angle. The blurred charcoal under your waterline makes you look gorgeous, he thinks, like an angel fallen out of heaven, Lilith banished from the Garden of Eden.

“It’s too much,” you gasp, eyes nearly rolling in the back of your head.

“You wanna stop?”

“No.”

He chuckles at that, sloppily kissing you down your chest. He has the sudden urge to turn you over, take you the way he wants, but the blackened tears on your cheeks make him want to treat you delicately despite the ravenousness of how he’s currently ramming into you. You insist on more, begging through hushed whimpers and limbs lumbering like a ragdoll’s. Just from seeing your wanton face, he thinks that this is intimacy, this is real, and having you in any other way would somehow break the spell. He needs to hold you this close and flush to his chest so you don’t disappear.

“Eddie–” you choke out.

“Mm?”

“Wanna be– on top,” you say breathlessly, and he slows the roll of your hips at the same time your hiccuping moans descend into smaller gasps. With his hands on your hips still, he sits up and leans backward while you stumble on top of his, knees nearly giving out because of how your legs feel like jelly. 

God, your thighs are burning just a bit, but the delicious roll of your hips has his cock hitting your g-spot so much deeper than before – as if that was even possible. 

“Holy shit,” Eddie groans, jaw slack with saliva glistening on the fullness of his bottom lip.

“S’feel good?” 

“Don’t– don’t stop, baby,” he rasps. It’s him who’s begging now, and Christ, he can’t get a break. Not when you’re hovering above him, riding his cock like that, tits bouncing right in front of him. He reaches out of you, massages your nipple with his thumb until his palm cradles your neck delicately.

Experimentally, he slaps your ass hard enough to leave a mark, and your sharp-toothed grin has him falling apart. Eddie’s brain is a total haze, neurons firing and melting with the soundtrack of Cocteau Twins still ringing through his ears with honey-dripping reverb. He’ll have to listen to the record again when he’s alone later, high and horny with thoughts of you. Eddie doesn’t think he’ll be able to get you out of his head after tonight.

He’s teetering on the brink of orgasm, especially when your lewd moans are getting louder with the aggressive way you’re grinding against him, thick cock hitting the hot spot inside your walls repeatedly until something blooms in your stomach.

“‘m s’close, Eds–”

“Keep going, baby, you got it,” Eddie praises. “Let go for me.”

Your thighs are burning still, heedless now as the elastic inside your core finally breaks. He groans when he feels your walls tighten around him and within seconds, he whimpers – actually whimpers – as he floods you. The frenzied sensation of your shared orgasm blend together, an amalgam of hot wetness, of stomach butterflies wielding pickaxes, of dripping, molten desire.

He softens inside of you and with an exhale, he touches your face just to remind himself that you’re real. With a smile, you kiss his knuckles, his rings, his fingertips, until you suck on his thumb gently.

“Fuck, y’gonna make me hard again,” Eddie indicts, mouth raw and red from all of your lovebites. 

“Is it ‘cause you made me cry?” you tease. “Sick fuck.”

“No, ‘cause you’re fuckin’ you,” he grumbles. “Kinda wanna keep you here forever, now.”

“That’s a completely normal thing for someone who’s not a cult leader to say,” you chuckle, lowering yourself down to Earth as your body fits into his like the missing puzzle piece. As you listen to the throes of his rapid heartbeat, his hair tickles your cheek softly.

“I think you’re the cult leader. Y’put subliminals in that cassette, yeah? Got me all high to seduce me?” His black-rimmed eyes are wide, eyebrows raised as he taps your nose playfully.

“You fucking wish, Munson.”

𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐚 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬!

[apomaro-mellow]

Demon!Steve & church sex

The devil walked into Hawkins one day and he wore blue jeans and an even bluer shirt. And he seemed intent of taking Eddie’s soul all for himself.

Eddie saw him for the first time on a Sunday. Eddie was across the parking lot, counting bills in the back of his van as he waited for Jeff to be done with church so they could get on with their day. As the congregation dismissed, out walked the newest talk of the town, Steve Harrington. As he shook hands with some of the other members as they walked out, the noon-time sun glowed atop him, as if God himself was giving his shiniest golden boy the most perfect halo.

It was at that moment Eddie decided to have nothing to do with him. 

So how did it end up like this?

If Eddie was the sort of astute person to look back and reflect on his choices, he might’ve figured out the past three months had been a strange courtship between himself and a church boy. Of going from ‘there’s no way he’s flirting with me’ to ‘there’s no way he’s doing it on purpose’ to ‘holy shit is church boy in the closet?’

Those were thoughts he had before this moment. Not now. Not when said boy’s tongue was down his throat and he was grinding deliciously into Eddie’s lap in one of the pews.

“It’s a Saturday, so no one will be here until the evening service”, Steve had said earlier when he pulled Eddie inside.

There was definitely an insane part of him that thought he might burn up the second he touched holy ground. But the flames didn’t start until Steve started to kiss him and even then it was an internal burning.

Eddie’s hands were on his hips, guiding his movements as they both threatened to soil their pants and if this was the sorta thing Steve’s god looked down on, he was ready to get struck by lightning so long as he got off first.

He bit Steve’s lip and the other let out a small whimper and pressed even closer to him.

“Shit baby, you that desperate for me?”

“I’ve had my eye on you since I got into town”, Steve confessed, hands running down Eddie’s chest.

“Really? Well don’t I feel honored? Lil Church Boy gonna fall from grace to be with me?”

Then Steve smirked. “You see me like that too, huh?”

Eddie raised a brow. “Should I not? I see you coming out of this place every Sunday.”

Steve’s hands slowly sunk into Eddie’s hair, reaching up to his scalp. “What if I wasn’t that good and holy?”

“What if?”, Eddie chuckled. He was pretty sure anyone who could get hard in god’s house couldn’t be all that innocent.

“I’m saying what if I wasn’t a servant of God? But of someone else?” Steve had paused in his grinding while he talked but he started up again, slower now as he looked into Eddie’s eyes.

Eddie’s hands went from his hips to his ass to make him move faster and harder. Steve moaned his name and leaned in to kiss him again. This time Steve bit his lip, enough to draw blood. When he pulled back he licked his lips and Eddie saw that there were fangs in his mouth now.

“What...what are you?”

“I’ve already told you.”

“Shit...” Eddie breathed out as Steve dove in to leave marks against his neck. He could feel more than see the horns growing on his head. A clawed hand scratched lightly at his chest. “I guess a normal person would have second thoughts about this.”

Steve hummed. “But you’re not normal, are you? You’re the town freak.”

“Is that why you chose me?”

At that, Steve pulled back and looked at him with the kind of vulnerability he didn’t expect from a demon. Like this was an actual human coming out to someone they cared about.

“Eddie Munson. I was made for you. For me it was not a choice, or even a question. It was always going to be you.”

Eddie’s eyes glanced at the figure of Jesus on the cross.

Steve held his face in his hands. “And what has he done for you? Except ignore everything you’ve ever endured?” His hand raked across Eddie’s chest again and then slipped into his pants. “My master has great plans for you Eddie. A fate that is worthy of you.”

Was this what insanity felt like? Because tripping on a banana peel and hitting his head was the only explanation for the current situation. Steve had been the sweetest temptation. Someone Eddie had wanted with his entire being but knew he could never have. Knew he could never even touch. Not only was he touching and being touched, but something about great plans? For him? The idea was intoxicating, even if he didn’t believe it. He could let himself for a moment though, couldn’t he?

Then Steve was sliding down until he was kneeling down in front of him. He had released his cock and was staring at it like that was the holiest thing in the room right now. When Steve started to suck him down, Eddie felt like he understood worship for the first time in his life. This little devil, his own personal devil if Steve was to be believed, looked positively enraptured with every taste he got.

Eddie let his head fall back. It was hard for his brain to keep up when Steve’s tongue was swirling and he let out small sounds that were echoing in the empty church. Blindly, he reached out to grip Steve’s hair, fingers brushing the ridges on his horns.

A demon.

He was getting a blowjob from a demon.

He had talked about a master earlier. If all this devil and angel stuff was real then-

“What’s your master want from me anyway?”

Steve took a moment to answer. And even when he pulled off to speak, he gave Eddie’s dick a few kisses and licks, like he couldn’t get enough. 

“When the time comes, you will be his general as he wages his war on this world.” Steve was still stroking his cock. “When you give your soul over, it will be set.”

“And what do I get?”

“Power, respect.” Then the little minx gave him a meaningful look. “Me.”

Eddie let out a shudder of a breath. He couldn’t even pretend to not be affected. But he still had questions. And Munsons didn’t sign anything without reading the fine print. Not even Steve humping his leg would distract him. It just made him slow to reply.

“What happens if I refuse?”

“Then I will disappear. And it will be as if I never existed.”

It’d be hard to forget the erection pressed on him right now. “Wh...what happens to you?”

“I just told you.” Steve played with the tip of his cock. “Without you, I have no role to play. No use for my master. But if you accept, you will be my master.”

Eddie stood up suddenly and pushed Steve to the ground. Fuck everything, he really was custom made for him. He relieved Steve of his shirt as they kissed and rubbed himself off on his jeans. Those needed to go too. His hands went to his ass again when he felt a strange bump.

“What’s that?”

“I think you know”, Steve grinned.

“Go to the altar and show your master.”

Steve moved and bent slightly as he pushed his pants down, a tail revealing itself. “Look at you...” Eddie said as he walked over. He pushed Steve to bend even more until his cheek touched the tablecloth covering the altar. Steve preened when he felt Eddie curl the end of his tail around his finger, reveling at finally being touched the way he was supposed to. Temptation was hard on the tempter as well. Months of trying to lure this man to his destiny. And finally, he had taken the bait.

Steve moaned out loud when he felt a tongue go inside of him and he pushed back, hungry for more. When he had come into being, he had been given a vision of the creature Eddie would become. Coming to the realm of humans had been difficult because all he had wanted to do was pounce Eddie and give himself to this man. To spread and offer his body to the one he would call master.

Just as his eyes were rolling back and he was getting close, that tongue retreated and he let out a whine. But then Eddie turned him around and lifted him onto the altar.

“You’re really going to be mine?”, he asked.

Surprisingly, Steve found that he was a little short of breath. This was really happening. He wrapped his legs around Eddie’s waist and pulled them flush together. “I’m already yours.”

The irony of fucking someone on the altar wasn’t lost on Eddie. Actually, he was getting off to it. Even without the whole demon element to it, he was sliding his dick into the prettiest boy in Hawkins and after this, no one else would be able to have him.

Steve had been told that when a contract was sealed, he would get a vision of the fate that had been decided. He had expected to see Eddie, standing over mountains of corpses, ripping apart his enemies, defiling angels, and setting the world ablaze.

But all he saw as he clung to the man thrusting in him was Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

“Eddie”, he moaned out in a breathy voice, claws tearing lightly into the worn vest he wore. 

“I gotchu baby.”

Steve didn’t know what that vision meant but he knew in his heart it would come to fruition. He wanted it to. He clenched around Eddie, making him curse under his breath.

If Eddie had doubted the made-to-order thing, this proved it. He’d fucked other guys before but it literally felt like Steve’s body had been crafted to fit around his cock. Everything about him was Eddie’s wettest dream. From the hair on his chest to the moles that dotted his body and invited Eddie to count each one with his mouth, Steve was perfect. And he was his.

“Mine”, he growled into Steve’s skin.

“Yours”, Steve said as he pulled at Eddie’s hair. He let out a cry when he felt him cum inside of him, completely claiming him.

Eddie felt Steve’s own cum like a brand on his skin and knew he belonged to this devil just as much. And if that meant he became a ravager of worlds then so be it.

@intergalactic-president-awesome

[ominouspositivity-or-else]

midwestern gothic

It's snowing again. It snowed yesterday. It snowed the day before. It's supposed to snow tomorrow. The weather man's hair is gray. He says that it has always been February. You must have counted the days wrong. Your calendar says it's June.

The basement of the Catholic church has a Stephen King book on the lending shelf. It's a beaten up copy, and some old church lady has gone through and blacked out parts in thick sharpie. There are pages with only one word visible. The pages are yellow. The name in the cover is accompanied with a funeral card. "Rest in peace" it reads. You do not think that someone who took Stephen King's most offensive scenes to the grave with her will be able to rest peacefully.

The basement of the Lutheran church smells like coffee. "It smells like coffee," your uncle says, "Church basement coffee." "I know," you say, because you're in the church basement. "It smells like death." He smiles at you, and raises his styrofoam cup towards you. The coffee smells stronger on his breath.

Jerry's is never open past ten on the weekends. One time, driving past at midnight on Saturday, the windows were full of light. There were no cars in the parking lot. You are struck with the memory of all the taxidermied animals on the walls.

"That's how we made it in the great depression," you say, when your friend asks why you made such a brown looking food. "We're not in the great depression now," they answer, as though they can't see the eyes of your dead great grandmother in the window, looking at you with a friendly and menacing look, "Why do you make it like that?"

The sun is hot. The sun is burning. Your skin is cooking, your flesh is sizzling. You were not made for these temperatures. The world took too long in training you to survive the cold. It never taught you how to brave the heat. You set foot on the sand. You feel your skin begin to melt. You run.

The last berry is sitting in the bowl. No one will touch it. No one will look at it. It is invisible to every eye. Your littlest sister reaches for it. You slap her hand like she's reaching for a hot coal. That berry does not exist. No one will touch it. No one will look at it. It is invisible.

You're sitting on the boat in the sunshine. The water laps lazily against the side. You look down into the water, and you see a shark. You pull back, staring up at the clear blue sky. You look down towards the water again. There are no teeth. The shark is gone. It's a freshwater lake.

There are twinkies in the glove box of your car. There is a shovel in the trunk. There is an ice scraper in the pocket of the door. There is a pair of thick, warm mittens in your bag. They have been there since winter. It's October.

Your grandfather is telling you about the fish he caught in his ice house. No one was around to see it, and he threw it back. It sounds like the shark you saw last summer. Everyone laughs. You do too.

You go out to visit the ice house. The sun is starting to set. You'll have to drive back in your grandfather's truck. It's been on the ice all day. You open the door, and the black and white fish-camera screen shows you the relics of frozen plants, and a northern swims right by the camera. It's tail swooshes. It has an almost human look in its eye. You think it knows who you are. It probably wants to eat you.

Hockey is on in the background. Your grandmother is drinking a beer. She's talking about her parents. They have been dead for 20 years. She's cursing about them. She shouldn't speak ill of the dead. No one tells her to stop. You don't want to listen. You sit there. The only alternative is to watch the hockey game.

There are forty-five dear in your front yard. They see you. Their glowing eyes blink in the darkness. They stare. You shake your fist at them through the glass of your window. Their eyes glow red. Something horrifying lives within them. You don't want to know what it is. There are forty five deer. They continue to eat your flower garden.

You do not smile for three days. You make seven people cry uncontrollably in front of you. The other three you interact with call you names behind your back. Your parents give you a talking to about your attitude. The lady at church tells you, "Some of us have been thinking about how we need to maintain a really welcoming and upbeat attitude for newcomers to our parish! Being rude and impolite really won't attract anyone to our parish, and I have seen some people just be generally downhearted when they come to church. It's an issue. I think I'll go bring it up with the pastor. He'll get it out to everyone." You plaster a smile on your face. No one says anything. You're supposed to be polite.

It takes you seven hours to get to your grandma's house. There are no hills for the entire drive. In the winter, the stretch of highway is the only thing that keeps you sane. People went mad on prairies like this, your mom says, to a car full of quiet people. Nothing but the sky and the grass and the wind and their one-room houses. You believe her. You can see the images of buildings on the horizon, always the same distance away.

There is a cemetery in the center of a farmer's field. A church used to be there, someone once said to you. They tore it down, but kept the cemetery. You wonder why they have respect for creation but not the creator. You wonder what made them tear the church down. You wonder if anyone visits. You drive past that lonely cemetery at night. You think you see someone staring at you from behind the chicken-wire fence. You look away.

There is a sign on the side of the highway, written in ominous letters. It comes into focus as you drive by. Best place to buy knitting supplies in the whole state! You don't believe them. You see the sign five more times. Then they get worse. Come to our store. We need you at our store. We know who you are. We have yarn for you. We know where you live. Each one gets more threatening. Stop at our store. The last one reads, and so you pull over at the correct intersection. You buy five bags of yarn. The lady behind the desk is smiling. You smile back. You cannot feel your lips.

All the kids at school hate you. You'll never tell them. They cannot know.

The Kwik Trip has a nasty bathroom. Theirs are usually so clean. You feel sick. You walk out and tell your mom you need to go to the identical gas station across the street. Her eyes flash. She buys her soda, and you drive across the road. The gas station is identical in every way. The displays are the same. The candy is in the exact same spots. They have the same magazines. The man working at the desk is the exact same one. This bathroom is clean, though. You buy another soda and leave. The bell rings to announce your departure.

The city is different now. The lights are too bright. The smell hangs low. The crime is higher. You don't feel safe walking outside at night. You think about the wolves that used to live here. You hope they haunt the streets. They deserve to.

Someone shot up the big city Walmart yesterday. They're closing down. You hear a disappointed church lady tell her friend that she doesn't know where to get her radium, anymore. All the good places are going out of business. "It's those stupid kids," she says, "And all the theft. I wish I lived in Kewaunee." You are too caught up on the "radium" thing to question the name of that town.

Your boss is angry. You can feel it in the air. It vibrates around you like a jelly, stifling and crushing you, pushing your lungs into your chest. She smiles at you as you clock out. "You're fired" she says, her eyes trying to commit a crime. Her lips do not move as she speaks. They are frozen in her "customer service" smile.

You dump things into a pot. You do not read the labels. Everything sounds the same. Everything tastes the same. You have not touched your spice rack in three years. You have not ever smelled cardamom in your life. You do not know what chili is supposed to taste like. It's all the same. Everything is the same. It all tastes like hotdish. You eat it like it's the last food on earth and you're starving.

[angel-of-unrest]

The Prodigal Girl's Return

The minute I turned into the parking lot, a debilitating wave of nostalgia hit me. It made my heart hurt, and I parked quickly, stepping out of my car and looking up at the building in front of me in a dazed reverie. 

The church was smaller than I remembered it, though I guess the last time I was here, I was much smaller. A thousand memories danced around me, and I was only standing in the parking lot. 

Irrational fear gripped my heart as I slowly walked towards the front door, as if the moment I stepped inside, I would erupt into flames. As if I would be struck down the second I crossed the threshold. 

How dare I return to the Lord’s house, after all these years?

And yet, as I opened the doors and stepped inside, there was no fire. There was no grand disaster to end me, to send me down to Hell where I surely belonged. There was only the sound of the door closing behind me, and my heavy breathing to cut through the silence.

The church was empty, like I hoped it would be. I didn’t want anyone to be here right now. They didn’t need to see me like this, cowering in the chapel doorway as if some invisible monster was around the corner.

Slowly, tentatively, I took my hand off the doorknob. 

I began to walk, with fearful trepidation.

My mind shut down, letting muscle memory guide me into the chapel. 

To say that it looked exactly the same as I remembered it would be overstating my memory; it wasn’t exact. But it was similar enough to make me choke back a wave of nausea.

I found myself wandering down the aisle, feeling like a ghost stuck between two worlds. There was an ocean between me and the girl I was last time I was here, and I could hardly even begin to process the crushing onslaught of memories that came rushing back to me. 

The whole room glowed with an otherworldly familiarity; comforting, but tainted with something else, something darker. The high chapel ceilings were painted white, accenting the intricate stained-glass windows that lined the walls. The carpets were the same shade of weird gray-green that I remembered, matching the cushions on the pews so perfectly it was almost hard to separate them. And the pews; I found myself unconsciously running a hand along the sides, tracing them as I made my way towards the front of the room. 

I was already blinking back tears, and I hadn’t even gotten to the altar. My feet stopped me before I could, and I slipped into one of the pews, welcoming the familiar embrace of the hard wood and scratchy upholstery. And for a moment, everything was still. 

That’s when I began to cry.

The air around me felt thick, and my tears fell with the weight of every sin I had committed. Just because I felt no remorse for my actions didn’t mean that the fear of Hell hadn’t been drilled into me, hadn’t burrowed itself into the very fiber of my being, as if to ensure that I would never be free from the cross I was shackled to at birth.

Yet, as I cried, I felt the building welcome me. Despite every disdainful remark, every venom-soaked platitude I had spit at the church, it still somehow felt like coming home. 

And in that moment, I had lived and died a thousand times in that room.

I am not sorry. I refuse to apologize for who I am.

I shouted inside my mind, and the building listened. An air of comfort seeped into my skin, relaxing the muscles that had been tense since I arrived. I might’ve been praying, but at that point I wasn’t sure. If I was, I don’t think it was to God. I think it was to every iteration of myself that walked within these walls. Every bright-eyed kid who was given more pressure than they ever deserved, every child who knelt at that altar in a casual state of anxiety. 

If God was watching me, he knew. He saw the mix of anger and sorrow and fear in my mind. He didn’t need me to tell him how his disciples wronged me. He’d seen it all, and that would have to be enough. 

The sound of my sobs echoed around the room, and I almost worried that somebody passing by was going to hear me. That they were going to come inside to find an adult woman, weeping in an empty church.

Stained-glass filtered light settled like a blanket over me, and slowly my tears dried up. By the end, I was crying more in emotional release than in sorrow. 

I understood that the cocktail of emotions in my mind would never fully be gone. Just as the fear of Hell had burrowed into my bones, so too had the melancholy that tainted my memories. Blissful ignorance was something I’d long since grown out of, and I couldn’t ignore the actions of the institutional church any longer. What once brought me so much joy now delivered only feelings of confusion.

And yet.

Sitting in the church I’d grown up in, the confusion was quieter, as though the ache in my chest was momentarily subdued. I felt something running through my bloodstream, and it took me a moment to even recognize the feeling. But eventually, I figured it out.

Peace.

It had been so long.

-------------------------

I wrote this imagery piece for a writing contest like two years ago and I posted it on one of my older blogs, but I hadn't gotten any pictures to go with it until recently so I hope y'all enjoyed!! :)

Also fun fact, the Google Doc for this was called "Vivid Traumatic Memories" which I thought was funny lmao

[madphantom]

New Susan's Hell Sprint snippet droppedddd

Diary of Paul Killarney, November 17th, 1994

Rory was a curious man.

Not just because of the way he looked - tall, gaunt, like he hadn't slept or eaten in weeks, perhaps formerly handsome but now merely a ghost of himself, walking with a noticeable limp and smoking outside the church with his red hair hanging into his sharp face and the trinkets on his belt clinking in the cold November breeze, like some sort of ageless washed up rockstar. It was the entire way he was.

He had a profound melancholy to him that seemed to transcend time and reason, like a character from a fairytale that had inexplicably found itself in the dullness of everyday life in reality. His beringed fingers clicked and his teeth shimmered in the pale sunlight. They were oddly long, the canines pronounced; I noticed this when he approached me before the funeral, held out his hand and politely smiled at me. The smile reminded me of a snarling fox.

“You were her husband, isn't that so? My condolences,” he said, and his voice chased a shiver down my spine. It sounded like long forgotten childhood memories. “Susan was a wonderful person. The name's Rory. I'm an old friend of hers.”

I shook his hand. I would've imagined it to be cold, but to my surprise, it wasn't. “Hi. Paul. Uh, I am. She…mentioned you a couple times. Said you met in this village back in ‘73.”

Rory tilted his head while I withdrew my hand and put it in my pocket. “Yes, indeed. She was here after her aunt, whom I knew quite well, passed away. We were the closest thing to neighbours we could get back then.” He chuckled melancholically. “The house was out in the woods, an hour or so away, and I live over there.” He pointed between the fading orange trees. “The house there on the edge of the forest. If you squint you can kind of see it.”

I squinted and saw a cozy looking house against the fir trees, the overgrown wire fence before it mostly broken down. An old green car was parked in the driveway. “Oh yes.”

Just then, we heard a bark, and I groaned internally. The Dog had probably freed himself from my sister again. Ever since Susan passed the beast has been unmanageable. I didn't realize what a problem it could become one day that he only listened to her.

The Dog came running around the corner and I prepared for a lot of wrestling and trying to get a hold of his leash, but to my surprise he very calmly pranced up to Rory, and once he had knelt down to pet him, put his heavy head on the man's bony knee.

“Hello there, good boy,” Rory whispered. “Who's a good boy? Who's a good boy? You are!”

“Wow, he doesn't usually act like this,” I commented and Rory glanced up, a big smile on his face. “We've met before.”

How old is this dog?, I wondered, but didn't ask. Honestly, for now I was just glad to have found someone the beast didn't scare half to death.

During the service, the Dog was as if swapped out. Calmly he lay under the bench Rory was sitting on, only whining a bit every now and then. But something else struck me as peculiar, something I had not expected. My sister's dog was going crazy.

It started when we entered the church and she uttered a low, menacing whine as soon as the doors closed behind us. The whining soon developed into a quiet, but steadily louder growl, which, after a few minutes, began to be interspersed by barking. It was at this point that my sister hurriedly left the church to get the dog away from the service.

I was at a loss. Peanut was a kind-eyed, well-behaved dachshund that had never been noticeably disruptive and an angel at family gatherings. Our dog - or, rather, Susan's dog, since he had always made abundantly clear he only accepted one master - was a man-sized shaggy three-legged German shepherd that looked like he ate babies for fun and acted like a werewolf on cocaine. And this, frankly, scary beast was now sweet as a lamb, as if the brain behind those too-intelligent dark eyes understood who or what the funeral was for.

Can you tell I'm afraid of this thing? I don't want to be alone with it.

Throughout the service I kept glancing at Rory. I wondered what he thought, but that face was impossible to read. I wondered whether he regretted something, but all he did was sit there, beringed fingers occasionally clicking onto the wood of the bench in front of him.

The truth is, I had known about him. Susan had kept a photo of him in her wallet, all scratched up and faded, but she had never ever left the house without it, except on the day she had left for good. It was her talisman, her lucky charm. And she had told me, way back when I'd met her, that she would never love me like she had loved a boy in the fall of ‘73. And I had accepted that, because at least I got to have her in parts, if not whole. I loved her. That was all that mattered to me. The other man seemed like nothing but a distant fairytale.

But now here he was. Like a forlorn prince. And I felt sorry for him.

[kings-speaks]

An Ex-Catholic’s Wager, or No Binary Can Hold Me, Including the Binary of Belief/Unbelief

Two years since the last time I stepped foot in a church, my friend asked me, “Do you still believe in God?” What an interesting question.

There is nuance to belief, I wanted to tell her, And belief Is not the same thing as worship.

Like Pascal, let me lay out my wager. Belief and unbelief, my lack of worship; Even when I gain I lose. God is, and is, and is, and is not

A church pew, a forest, A father, a stranger, an asshole, A street corner, a far-away star. I believe in four choices.

Choice One: If God is like the god of my childhood, Then he can eat my entire ass and balls. I was raised to love a god who hated me,

Raised to love the sting of fear, To breathe in the incense and the candle smoke And feel the hunger Lightheaded inside of me, and call that holy.

I was raised to love pain, To pour myself out onto the plate to be a sacrifice, And I would walk, knowingly and gladly, into hell Rather than worship that thing that almost killed me.

And I think I’d be right to. If the god of my childhood exists, He’s an abusive asshole, And I want him to lose my number.

Choice Two: If God is like the god of my adolescence, Then God is a complicated, numinous, And multivalent thing

Shining through the cracks In our universe like a star. God is the contradictory, diverse Infinite That we're all already looking for.

The capital-t Truth, A sun with a thousand different planets, A star with a hundred thousand points, And what I’m doing now

Isn’t any better or more imperfect a way to worship God Than anything else. If the God of my adolescence exists (in any comprehensible way), Then he knows why I had to leave.

Choice Three: Or maybe the Truth really is multivalent. Maybe God isn’t just one thing, And there are as many different spirits

In the wild, teaming universe As there are blades of grass, Not one path but a thousand thousand, curling Through the rich, wild

Insect-bitten and overgrown forest. Maybe each tree is holy, And the river that sings does not sing With another god’s voice, but with its own

And the gods are just as many and as different As anything else. If God is just one of many, Then I choose a different path.

Choice Four: And if God does not exist, Then all we have Is this one life, right now, that we’re living.

There is no perfect life, No perfect Truth besides the stuff in front of us. Doesn’t that make us The most important fucking thing in the whole universe?

Doesn’t that make every person And every empty parking lot and street corner Unbearably precious? And brief?

If there is no God, then I won’t Spend my one life on my knees, Small and waiting to be struck down. I’ll spend it as whole as I can be,

And happy.

[wafflebloggies]

the long con - part 5/7

a Don't Feed The Muse/Captain Disillusion crossover story. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

*

“Huh, he’s not picking up-”

Alan was interrupted- and terrified- before he could even lower his phone. As the ringtone went dead in his ear, the Captain drew in a sudden, sharp gasp and cried out, an agonized sound Alan had never heard from him before, and just as suddenly let go of the yoke and grabbed his head in both hands, doubling over as if he’d taken a heavy blow right between the eyes. Alan’s natural alarm and concern for the Captain become somewhat overtaken by circumstances in the next couple of seconds, as the shuttle, lacking direction from its pilot beyond an unfortunate knock from one of the Captain’s elbows, veered over to one side and launched into a high-velocity heartline roll, the dark clouds outside twisting into a crazy spiral against the windshield as it hurtled blindly into the night.

Alan screamed in terror, the Captain in terrified pain although if the two sounds could have been layered on a spectrum analyser there would have been very little difference to spot between them. Alan’s seatbelt was very carefully and neatly clipped on two buckles across his chest, and it held him safely in place. The Captain didn’t usually bother with silly safety devices contrived by people who couldn’t even withstand ten Gs, and the centrifugal force of the shuttle’s roll tumbled him into the air and over Alan’s seat like a bright yellow ball in a lottery machine.

With nothing else to do and every other reasonable thought that might have told him not to driven out of his head, Alan lunged across and grabbed the yoke. As his hands locked around the chunky black-and-yellow grips the spin stopped, but the upside-down-ness did not. A lot of the systems cluttering the holographic HUD were lit up and screaming, and although the view was still completely dark with thick cloud and rain that seemed to be falling upwards into nothing, there seemed, to Alan’s horrified perception, to be a lot less airiness to the nothing, as if most of what he was looking at was finite and very, very solid.

Various small bits and pieces that hadn’t been fixed down clattered past him, pattering against the windshield as the shuttle screamed onwards. Somewhere on the ceiling behind his seat, the Captain was struck in rapid succession by a dog-eared old Rand McNally, Alan’s phone, and the little plastic hula Beakman that usually sat on the dash, and although he could barely see with his hands clamped across his face, his realization of the severe nose-down tilt of the ship spurred him up, grabbing blindly upwards for the back of the seats.

“We’re in a dive! Pull up!”

“I can’t!”

“Stop us being upside down, then!”

“I can’t! I don’t know how!”

“Do that twisty thing I do!”

“The twisty thing?”

“Yes!”

“The one I hate??”

“Yes!!”

Alan, with a high yipping noise of distress, shut his eyes and violently crossed his hands across one another, one upwards, one down. The yoke span a full hundred-eighty-degrees in his grip, hit its endsprings with a savage thump, snapped back to level.

The shuttle corkscrewed through the clouds. The cabin revolved one final time like a funhouse barrel-room and returned to a blessedly upright orientation, and the Captain plummeted into the passenger seat on his head. Alan dragged back on the yoke with all his strength, and, through eyes open barely a slit, saw a single haunting glimpse of street-lights, trees wreathed in the dim white midnight glow, parked cars, a church spire looming up close like a ghostly vision- before it all rolled away through the clouds and the shuttle soared back up into the inky sky.

Alan slumped in his seat, murmuring a string of several words that his grandmother would have thrown a juggling pin at his head for saying within her earshot. His fingers were so tightly locked around the grips that every knuckle felt like a skin-tight steel ball as he tried to untense, tried to breathe.

The Captain pulled himself up and opened an eye, a glove still clamped across his nose and mouth. A thin stream of black was winding its way busily down his chin, dark against the chrome. His face- the human part, the differently-real part- was white as a sheet.

“Well done,” he mumbled, slumping back in the seat.

Alan started, risking a frightened glance away from the flying clouds.

“Oh, no. Sir, we have to get you to some kind of medical help- you’re delirious.”

“I’m not-” The Captain made a frustrated noise and dug through the scattered mess in the footwell, the litter of small objects dislodged from everywhere else in the shuttle, until he found a Kleenex. He cupped his nose with it in both hands, stemming the inky trail and mopping it quickly away.

“I’m fine, Alan. It’s just a nosebleed. Well- that, and you’ve broken the alpha timeline. It’s not a problem, I just need to take five to adjust.”

“I broke the what?”

“Oh, don’t freak out, it’s no big deal. You’re okay.”

“Sir, I am flying a spaceship,” said Alan, as calmly and evenly as he possibly could. He was gripping the yoke in both clenched hands, as if it was a wild animal that would burst loose and maul him if he gave it a moment’s leeway, and his eyes were so wide that he looked as if he was trying to grow at least four others by sheer will. Sweat was beading on his forehead. “That is, by definition, me incredibly not okay. I have very severe car anxiety. That is why I bike. There are a lot of things that look like alarms flashing at me and I don’t have any idea what any of them do. I’m- I’m- I’m dealing with a lot right now.”

The Captain tried to focus on the HUD, managing to open one eye above the wad of Kleenex, which was soaking black at an alarming rate. He reached out to tap an alert that was blinking urgently on the main holographic overlay, but his wavering index finger missed it by about an inch. “It’s a shuttle, not a spaceship, and you’re doing great, don’t worry about it.”

“Okay, now I’m flying a space- shuttle, all of the above, and you just gave me a compliment. I- I don’t think I can take much more of this, sir. Can you, I don’t know, yell at me? Tell me I’m doing it wrong? I think I’d feel a lot more normal.”

The Captain winced and swallowed, forcing his other eye open. “You know, Alan, all jokes aside, I’m starting to feel like there’s a fundamental problem with our rel- PULL UP, THAT’S A WATER TOWER.”

Alan pulled hurriedly back on the yoke. He leaned back a little easier in his seat as the shuttle lifted into the clouds, and let out a deep, shaky breath. “Yeah... that’s better.”

“Okay, that’s it. Out of my spot, go on, shoo-”

Flapping as if he was herding a flock of geese, the Captain flurried Alan out of the pilot seat and back across to the passenger side, taking the time to surreptitiously fasten his own seatbelt as Alan scrambled gratefully for his own. He blinked, shaking off the last of his disorientation, then swung an impatient hand across the console, bringing up a glowing, transparent overlay and typing rapidly, one-handed, still cupping his nose in the other.

“Don’t- don’t tip your head back like that, you’ll make it worse,” said Alan, worriedly. “Just pinch and lean forwards-”

“Try calling him again. It’s going to take a while for DRONUS to get a lock on, but there’s an array at Avon Park I can probably use to boost the signal.” The Captain pushed the overlay to one side as it began to resolve into the familiar grid of a map, twisting as it zoomed in on a tangle of long interlaced highways, county borders, landmarks, roads. He reached for the yoke, looked sideways at Alan over the Kleenex, hesitated.

“How G-force-resistant are you feeling right now? Just a rough ballpark.”

Alan winced and leaned back, checking his belt, bracing himself in the seat as he reached for his phone. “I’m gonna say… three? Maybe three and a half.”

The Captain snorted, flicked a few switches. On the map overlay, a set of cross-hairs cycled and re-centred themselves around a blinking yellow dot. “Pfft, okay. Hang on to something, Maverick. Here we... go.”

The dark clouds blurred. The bright neon bars of the readouts leapt skywards, and Alan’s stomach rolled slowly upwards to somewhere between his lungs and pancaked there. He clung to his seatbelt, gritting his teeth and shutting his eyes tightly as the invisible giant’s hand of gravity pressed his body ruthlessly back into the seat.

Obedient to its programming, the Captain’s mixtape swelled, synced perfectly with the acceleration, as the shuttle hurtled into the night.

*

It was dark, terrifically, absolutely dark. Maybe there were lights somewhere up on the road, but here in the wet darkness Mark could see nothing, not a light in the silent dashboard, not a sense of the space in front of him or the buckle of the belt strangling him across the chest. He had no idea where his phone was, or if it was even still in the car. He couldn’t see Anthony, and his own terrified breath and the racing of his heart in his ears drowned out every other sound.

“Anthony. Oh, God...”

He put out a hand and felt Anthony’s shoulder, his arm, his shirt already wet from the rain dripping through the windshield. The glass had to be broken, he could smell splintered wood and grass and he was afraid of reaching that way in case there were shards, but he spidered his hand out as far as he could, disoriented by the darkness, the tilted nose-down angle of the car. Water, metal, warmth from the dash, Anthony’s hand limp by his side. Mark tried to feel motion, life, anything, but his fingers were wet and cold and he could feel nothing except his own thundering pulse. He felt up to Anthony’s mouth and thought, tried to believe, that he could sense breath, but he couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t be sure.

“God, please...”

Now, on the wrong side of the ditch, the merciless lens of his mind’s eye was bright and clear. Locked in this breathless darkness, his body trapped and his mind running loose, he could see everything with perfect, painful lucidity. He could see that Anthony, his perspective that much less tangled up in everything that was happening- one step removed- had only been trying to help.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Mark was barely aware that he was speaking out loud, of the words tumbling out of his mouth, a breathless, weak litany that sounded nothing like his own voice, made alien by terror and desperation. “Anthony, this is all my fault. Anthony- Anthony, please wake up. Please be okay. I can’t-”

He struggled against his belt again, but the clip was stuck tight, The strap wouldn’t budge. He fought it as hard as he could, tore uselessly at the plastic and metal and webbing until he subsided, panting, his hands raw and throbbing, his heart pounding through his ribs.

I can’t lose you. I can’t lose you too.

He found Anthony’s limp hand again, and thought it felt colder. The rain was getting harder, dripping from unseen branches, from the deranged angles of the broken glass that he couldn’t even see. It had been a minute since the crash, or twenty, or an hour. It might as well have been years, in this black, dripping cocoon.

Mark swallowed, tasted blood in his throat, coppery and sour. Rain spattered down, streaking his clouding glasses, catching in his eyelashes and sticking his hair to his forehead in soaking strands.

A buzz in the dark. Another.

Light.

Out of the footwell, out of the curve of the seat suddenly defined out of the darkness, his phone was ringing again.

Mark reached a shaking hand down towards the bright rectangle. It felt as if he was moving through molasses. He grabbed, fumbled, almost dropped it out of reach. A jolt of pure dread ran through his whole body, but he managed to get his fingers to respond properly and pulled the phone to him, the urgent buzz running up his hand like a livewire as he touched the rain-spotted little screen.

In the flare of the screenlight, blue-white and dimmer than dim but brighter than a sunrise to Mark and just as unthinkably, unbearably welcome, he could see Anthony. He could see the wet curls hanging down over Anthony’s face, how they trembled in a gentle, regular disturbance.

He was breathing.

*

Afterwards, Mark found that his memories of the next couple of hours were strangely fragmented. He was convinced that he hadn’t passed out at any point, and he certainly hadn’t slept, but events seemed to fall in on top of each other as if they were cards in a poorly-built house, so scattered that only a rough order remained, a puzzle of bits and pieces and a sense that everything had happened all at once, and continued happening for an unbearably long time.

(hi, Mark? This is Alan, um, Alan Amelik, we... what? Oh, my God...)

He remembered the voice on the other end of the line, but he didn’t remember what he’d said, the rest of the conversation, if there had been one, after he had managed to answer. He didn’t know how much time passed after that, how long he spent in the dark, quiet car, held fast in his seat by the belt that had probably saved his life, listening to the voice, watching Anthony breathe.

He remembered an incredibly bright yellow-tinted light, falling across the broken windshield in a blinding lowering wash and picking out the crumbled glass around the frame, scattered across the dash, like hard specks of gold. There was a tangled pause, strange sounds and breaking branches and what sounded like a distant argument-

(don’t move them! let me-

oh, they’re fine, they still have all their pieces-

sir, you don’t know anything about humans’ pieces! let me see-)

-and gentle hands had checked him over before something with startling strength had reached impatiently across him and pulled his seatbelt apart with a ghastly crunch of plastic and metal. He remembered that, he remembered giving in to gravity and half-falling out of the tilted car onto his feet that couldn’t hold him, collapsing into the wet grass, because that was the last part that had made much sense, for a good while.

Because then there had been the spaceship.

After a certain point, Mark felt that his mind had decided that it didn’t need any more input right now, thank you. He was aware of the concepts, he wasn’t resistant to the idea that there was a spaceship, as fantastical and unlikely as it would usually have been, but like water slipping from feathers the reality and sense of what was happening failed to make any impact on him. There was another blank, eventful and an age long but completely empty of detail-

-and then the ship was humming through the rain, scudding along just under the clouds, he could see a scrap of the sky from this dark cool place that felt like the back of an SUV, that he would have believed was just an SUV if it wasn’t for the fact that he’d climbed into it and seen it hunching over him on its landing gear like a stocky, aerodynamic yellow-and-black alien insect, just like he would have believed that there was only one guy called Alan Amelik who also went by Captain Disillusion if he hadn’t found himself sitting on bristly black interior carpet behind two seats occupied by two people who could have been twins, if it wasn’t for-

Mark didn’t care, just then. He sat with Anthony, Anthony lying quiet in the recovery position in a safe flat place between a bunch of stacked odd-shaped equipment trunks with a blanket on him and Mark’s balled-up sweater as a pillow, and counted the pale lines of neon, the only light that filtered back from the controls. He sat, with the bristly carpet poking into his legs and Anthony’s hand warm in his, Anthony’s pulse in his palm against his. Someone was talking, but it wasn’t Anthony, so Mark let the noise go by and counted lines and then-

A hurried, antiseptic blank, a flood of light, a lot of new voices asking endless questions, his own low, even, monotone voice answering them. The part of him that could think was pretty astonished by how calm and coherent his responses were. Someone gave him his sweater back. Someone else gave him a bottle of water. Very little else made an impact on the bright blurry procession of time, until things went quiet again and he was once again sitting by Anthony’s side, this time in a low-lit side-room somewhere, rain pattering against the dark window. Anthony had a thing on his arm and a dressing over his eye where a shard of glass had caught him. They’d given him something, and whether for some predictable medical reason or simply because Anthony was built like a willow twig and there was barely anything to him, it had knocked him straight out. It seemed a long time to Mark before he moved, half-opening his eyes.

“Mark?”

Anthony’s voice was slow, quiet, a little loopy. He moved, squeezing Mark’s hand.

“Mark, were we... in a spaceship?”

“You’ve got a minor concussion, Anthony,” said Mark, gently detangling his fingers, pulling his hand out of reach. “Your parents are on their way, you should be good to go by the time they get here. You’re gonna be okay.”

“...Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” said Mark, trying to sound convincing, but he needn’t have worried. Anthony was already out again, his hand relaxing against the crunchy white hospital pillow.

Mark sat back. He thought he knew how he should feel, but instead he felt flat, blank, aware of the room around him and his place in it but somehow apart from it, apart from Anthony, listening to the dim endless undertones of sound around him. Faint intercom sounds, feet squeaking on tile, the rush of an elevator, voices passing the door. The soundscape of the hospital was so familiar to him from his experiences of the past year that it was hard to hold on to a sense of place and time, to know who he was going to see when he looked back to the bed.

On the wrong side of time, of his choices, of every chance he’d had to turn back, he could understand that his best friend, kept in the dark but still guided by his simple and instinctive way of reaching for the heart of things always, had only been trying to preserve a scrap of something normal.

This small good thing they’d built together, a port in a storm.

All Anthony had been trying to do, flying blind as he had been, all he’d ever been trying to do was keep something good back from what must have looked, from where he stood, like the slow-motion shipwreck of Mark’s whole world.

Mark found himself thinking of the awful winter of his parents’ divorce, how it had been like a bitter current dragging everything along in its wake, tainting everything in its slow leaden flow. How Anthony had been there for him, always ready to drop everything to cheer him up, to give him all he had, without a thought, space and normality and his own cheerful goofy comforting self. The movie marathons he’d set up, the time they’d stayed up all night watching all the Star Wars movies back to back, how Anthony had made sure to find versions of the old ones that hadn’t been fucked around with and how they’d torn the new ones to pieces until Mark’s stomach had hurt with laughing and he’d forgotten, for the time he’d forgotten, everything hard and sour.

He put his face in his hands, smelling harsh hospital soap and feeling hot skin and stubble and the hard cool lines of his own glasses, and tried to breathe, tried to centre himself. Tried to think.

“Anthony?” When his friend neither moved or responded, Mark lined up his fingers on the edge of the bed’s metal rail, speaking quietly.

“It’s been a fun trip, huh?” He huffed, a dead sound that had nothing to do with laughter, put his head down again. Anyone taking a passing glance through the doorway might have thought he was praying, hands neatly placed, shoulders drooping under an invisible weight.

“You would be so much better off without me, Anthony. You wouldn’t be here. You- you’d’ve had a better weekend. You’d be running a YouTube channel with someone who wasn’t a total-”

His voice shook, broke.

“I’ll put it all back,” he said. “I’ll fix it. I promise. Anthony, I promise. I’m never going to lie to you again.”

[iamheadphones]

June 10, 3027

The engine’s roar died down as she turned off the car. As she exited the jeep she was struck by the sun rays. She squinted her eyes and held a hand out to block it. “Probably need to get sunglasses while I’m here.” She muttered to herself as she checked her back pocket. To thankfully feel the familiar bulge of her wallet. She locked her jeep before walking off into the abyss of the mall. Her phone vibrated in her pocket as she walked through the parking lot. Though she didn’t check it until she made it to the sidewalk. Opening straight away she could see it was from her mother. A quick face I.D and the message stated she was waiting for her in the food court. She groaned slightly knowing the food court was a bit further than she was parked. She entered the closest entrance before taking a left turn into the mall. Continuously  walking through the centered booths, and variety of stores. Eventually reaching the food court. It was as crowded as ever. Most people were in fact eating with a few just chillaxing. A few seconds after looking around she quickly laid eyes on a woman in line for chick-fil-a.  She rolled her eyes as she walked over to the woman. She was around her height. Had the same tan skin, and star mark on her right cheek. Her hair and eyes were darker though. As she approached the woman, she began to smile brightly. “Marina mija” She said as she got in line with her. Once she did she was engulfed into a giant squeeze hug. “Hi mom, how are you doing?” Marina asked as she pulled out and the line moved up. The two followed force as her mother began to answer. “I’m doing well. I'm so glad you came to have lunch with me. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. You cut your hair shorter. Oh I loved it when it was longer, but this is also very lovely too. Oh my gosh it’s soft.” Her mother exclaimed as she messed around with her hair. “Thanks mom.” Marina said before her mother removed her hands from her hair. Her mother’s eyes downcasted to her clothes. “Mija, what are you wearing? It's a hundred degrees outside. Not to mention your bra straps are showing, and why are you wearing those shorts if you’re wearing clean clothes.” Her mother beckoned to her entire outfit. “Because it’s negative a hundred degrees here, and I have no clean clothes.” She replied back as the line moved up once again. “Well then you should perhaps wash them.” “I live in a house with twelve other people. We all have to share a laundry room. Besides, I'll wash clothes tomorrow.” She replied back as her mother nodded. “Alright, anyways I’m so glad you took time off work to have lunch with me.” She sighed as her shoulders slumped. “I have a night shift mom.” She said as her mother shrugged. “Right and you work at a bar.” Her mother said as she shook her head. “No, I work as a security guard at a Catholic church.” She answered as her mother looked at her. “I thought you hated the church?” The line moved up and they were two people away from the register. “No I don’t hate the church I just merely dislike it.” She replied back as the next person beckoned for the register. “Hi welcome to Chick-ful-a, what can I get you.” The man behind the counter asked. “I’ll take a chicken salad, fruit bowl, and a medium water.” Her mother said before turning to her. “I’ll take a ten piece chicken nugget with three packets of ketchup, medium fries, and a large doctor pepper.” Her mother shot her an odd look before shaking her head. “Will that be all?” The man behind the counter asked. “Yes, that'll be it.” Her mother answered. As the man rang them up before her mother paid for it. “You know you should watch what you eat, you might end up quite fat like me."

[disappointmentthemusical]

TLDR; if there is to be a liberated america, we must first liberate the south, and it must come from within

yesterday, i met a man who reminded me of my grandmother's late-husband: white, southern, more than likely racist. he was trying to sell my brother a vintage desk. while he guided us around the warehouse, we kept up conversation, and he told us about himself: he'd worked in the business for 40 years and was native to the city. been there since the 60s, seen it grow.

the state's been on an upward trek since the civil rights movement, he said, when our democratic governor struck a deal with bobby kennedy to get an IBM plant nearby the capital. things have changed, all right. people want good quality desks and cabinets and such, they see how good the antiques are, but they don't want to pay for it. the state's furniture industry's died out.

i'd gone to another warehouse for a sale a week prior about an hour east of the city. small town, but one of the biggest in that part of the state. the region is part of the Black Belt and probably averages at a 50-50 split of white and Black, though there are towns where you'd be lucky to scrounge up more than a handful of whites. i was guided through the grass lot next to a church to park my car by several Black teens and men, and then i pushed through crowds of white folk to look for discounted lampshades.

I saw a homophobic cartoon this morning. it was two panels: the left depicted a horde of homosexuals waving the rainbow flag, wearing ski masks and holding weapons, saying, "we're not hurting anybody!"; the right had an overall and trucker hat-clad man leaned back on his porch sipping a beer, and behind him hung the confederate flag. "same," he said. i have the suspicion that this cartoonist has neither met a real life gay person nor stepped foot below the 39th parallel.

a few weeks ago, i discussed with my brother the recent "return to tradition" within the folk and country genres. the left wants to take the music back. no more talk of blind patriotism or nationalism – real country music's about class struggle and being anti-establishment. we listened to a song from a prominent face in the movement. it was distasteful. the message was clear: capitalism is evil; but there lacked an understanding of the nature, the art of genre. add to it the put-on accent and the physical styling that was apparent faux-queerness, the over-three-minute song felt like something a middle school drama teacher from seattle might put on because it was "thought provoking" while remaining taboo enough to feel illicit because it kind of sounded like her understanding of country music.

perhaps she's not wrong, though. if you turn on the country radio, you'll hear men who don't actually talk like that and wore boat shoes up until their agent bought them a pair of fashion boots talking about standing for the flag and "god bless america"; talking about living small and being grateful for the little they have.

what little is there to be grateful for? are we to be grateful for the fact that our economy largely remains in 1865? perhaps we are grateful that propaganda over the last 150 years has allowed for the rest of the nation to peaceably ignore the violent struggles of the majority of the nation's Black population because only poor racist white people live here?

"if you don't like it, then leave." leave my home? why should i? this is where i'm from. it's where i live and grew up. why can't i love it and not like it at the same time? if there's to be change, it should come from the people who live here, not the ones who think they know what it's like because they like the way luke bryan sounds.

[sanjosenewshq]

Kyiv Residents Attempt for Sense of Normalcy Amid Continued Russian Kamikazie Drone Assaults

KYIV, Ukraine – The chilling buzz of Iranian-made Shahed drones. That sound has develop into a part of the brand new regular in Ukraine. Russia has unleashed a wave of drone assaults throughout the nation. The US is now getting ready new sanctions in opposition to each Russia and Iran, whereas hypothesis is rising that Russian President Vladimir Putin is about to open a brand new entrance within the north. It is a sound that everybody in Kyiv dreads to listen to: the buzzing of gradual, low-flying drones homing in on their targets. Since Ukraine’s profitable assault on the Russian bridge to Crimea, the sound the drones make has develop into more and more widespread throughout this nation.   Explosions reverberated throughout Kyiv on Monday as a brand new wave of Russian kamikaze drone assaults hit the town. Ukrainian forces declare to have shot down a number of of the drones, whereas others struck residential areas within the metropolis heart.   In the meantime, there have been experiences of as much as 9,000 Russian conscripts arriving in Belarus, boosting hypothesis that Russia is getting ready to open a brand new entrance in opposition to Ukraine within the north, presumably with the assistance of Belarussian forces.   Ukrainian President Volodomy Zelenskyy warned the outcome would solely be extra Russian physique baggage. “Hundreds of Russians are dying, and their lives imply nothing to their president,” Zelenskyy stated. “They’re thrown into assaults with ‘anti-retreat forces’ at their backs. And once they die they’re left to rot, not even counted. They don’t have anything to stay for, and so they lose the lives given to them by God so shamefully.” “As soon as the air raid sirens cease, the residents right here in Kyiv emerge from their basements and shelters and go about their enterprise, striving for some sense of normalcy even amidst the continued assaults by Russia,” CBN Contributing Correspondent Chuck Holton stated. “Final week, a missile landed right here subsequent to this kids’s playground, however it hasn’t stopped the youngsters from popping out to play. It is the brand new regular for folks right here in Kyiv and throughout this nation.” “I feel folks simply stick with it as regular as a lot as they’ll,” Chris York, a Kyiv resident advised CBN Information. “Such as you stated the missile on Monday, one in all them hit simply up the highway there however the visitors is already going.  “Within the park right here, there are folks busing, shopping for coffees,” York continued. “You should buy meals and sit and drink a espresso within the park. And there was an air raid siren nearly 10 minutes in the past, as quickly as that is over, folks simply come out from the metro or the shelters and so they simply stick with it with what they’re doing. It is all you are able to do actually.” Church buildings have been full right here on Sunday with the devoted praying for an finish to the battle. And in Kyiv’s central sq., a drummer led folks in an impromptu reward and worship service.   “Ukraine is profitable the warfare,” York defined. “I feel you take a look at what’s occurring now. Russia annexed or stated that they have been annexing territories a few weeks in the past and proper now, Ukraine’s already liberating fairly considerably massive areas of that. So, I completely consider they’ll win and they’re profitable. It is only a case of how lengthy and likewise a case of what Putin decides to do within the meantime.” ***Please join CBN Newsletters and obtain the CBN Information app to make sure you preserve receiving the newest information from a distinctly Christian perspective.*** Originally published at San Jose News HQ

[kingofrandomthoughts]

Four Walls

More than twenty years ago, I was sitting in a bar with my buddy and a random thought hit me. It struck a chord will never stop sounding. From a conversation in passing, I was reminded of it today.

I don’t want to live my life inside four walls!

I refuse.

I remember that night like it was yesterday. I was sitting there taking in the sights and sounds of the room. Another Steve seemed to know every pretty lady in the room and the place was packed.

A great saxophonist was tearing it up, playing the song “House of the Rising Sun”.

The kitchen was cranking out rib eye steaks and baked potatoes. Liquor shots were being downed faster than they could be put up. Cold beer was the silver bullet that instantly settled all scores from their long days before. The faces in the crowd were laughing, telling jokes and telling lies.

This converted church had become the perfect temple to unwind and get their weekend on.

I got up to walk around the room and see who I could meet. I loved the pictures on the walls that I could see in every direction from the center of the room. I walked over to see photos from Christmas, Halloween, St. Patrick’s Day, and any other holiday they could think to celebrate. What I saw on the wooden walls hit me like a brick wall. The same faces were in every party of the year for years and years and years. It rocked me to my core.

Here was a glimpse of a life spent and for me, it was just beginning.

I’ve been in every type of bar and club in cities and states from coast to coast. I'd worked in plenty. There are those frequented by Ferraris and Bentley’s (picture I took of valet parking lot where I last waited tables)

and filled with the beautiful and the “see and be seen” crowd

The gangster clubs

(sorry, photos don't get taken at these ones)

and the last true biker bars

make you watch your six, watch your mouth, and cautiously proceed with who you speak to and what you say (most recently in a Russian mob hangout)

The upscale, alternative, and hipster spots have a cool vibe.

The neighborhood dives with cheap beer and bad karaoke (well mostly) are a great way to go.

Sometimes you need to dance the night away. I love going out to almost any place and I'm an extrovert, completely in my element.

If I were tall, dark, and handsome, I'd be in serious trouble. I have no trouble finding plenty.

This place was just another bar in another city, kind of in the middle, full of professionals who weren’t broke but weren’t rich, and liked to party hard as often as possible.

As I got to know so many of them, it was obvious they deserved their party. They all worked hard every day, doing difficult work that really mattered, and here they are to pack away the stress in a lock box, unravel the madness that is the life they lead, if only for this night at this time. This reality is not lost on me. They have my respect and appreciation, and I’ve got their beer.

But still, regardless of the why, I can’t shake the thought. I don’t want to be just another picture on a bar’s wall. Especially the same four walls. I don’t want to live my life in any four walls. It’s no different than those cubicles in the offices I worked, where I had a radio to pass the time away, potted plants to attend, office buddies to chat with, and family pictures on the desk.

That pilgrimage past the endless rows of cubicles and offices

to get to the windows was essential more than once a day, almost a sacred ritual. I just needed a look at the world flying by,

outside this place where time seemed to stand still. Just like this bar, where I hungered for more than a few good laughs, a badly needed beer and meal, and to see where the night takes me.

It doesn't have to be grandiose or one in a million, but it must be yours and yours alone.

I served dinner to two astronauts who’d been in space, one who spent half of year on the International Space Station

and another who’d been off the planet for almost two months.

His twin brother spent a year. Talk about your sibling rivalry.

Trust me, it doesn’t have to be a "giant step for all mankind" to still be something to change your life, a life that is different in every way from everyone else on earth.

Henry David Thoreau said, “The masses of men lead lives of quiet desperation.” Is he right? It doesn’t have to be.

If someone wants to sit in that place with the same people telling the same stories, I support and respect that decision. It’s every one of ours to make but it can’t be mine.

I want more.

I want to...

talk for hours with the hottest women in every room (even the mob boss’s girlfriend who was flirting with me; I didn't know).

I told you I have ADD and this blog is about random thoughts.

I want to talk and laugh, at least until we're done talking,

and race fearlessly towards fun and adventure.

I want to sail the Greek Isles,

feel the sun on my face as it rises in Africa,

and see it set on the Roman Colosseum (and every place like it forever).

I can do more than just toss coins in a fountain, casting a hopeful wish.

I want to close my eyes listening to Handel’s Messiah in the Sydney Opera House,

sip wine in Paris at a sidewalk café, letting "La Vie En Rose" cast its "magic spell",

dive the Great Barrier Reef while swimming with sharks and jellyfish in the world’s best aquarium,

race a Formula 1 car

and bobsled an Olympic track faster than the wind,

hang glide over the ocean just like a bird,

jump out of perfectly good airplanes,

explore the tide pools of the Pacific coast with their urchins and crabs (I really miss this),

and the deceptive beautiful but deadly wonderland of the Amazon

(but definitely not alone; that seems dumb)

and lounge blissfully on a glass bottom boat as the bio-luminescent algae shine in New Zealand,

hike to the rim of an active volcano that broke the sky in Hawaii,

and chase penguins at the bottom of the world in Antarctica.

You know as well as I do exactly where I'll be, trying not to feel like a Popsicle, curled up under a foot of blankets inside the little house.

But I'll be there. No books, articles, photos, or movies.

No I won't be in that bar listening to stories about days just like mine.

I'll be partying in the Sky Bar on the top of those towers in Singapore

and eating at the Michelin restaurant stalls on the street,

watching the fireworks on New Year's Eve in New York City, with the Statue of Liberty as a backdrop.

I'm making true stories so I won’t have to tell lies.

I don't have to imagine.

My dreams are coming true and I'll be working on the next ones.

No regrets.

I want to make today my backdrop and I pave the next road of dreams and of life

I sure as hell don’t want that life to be spent inside four walls.

[neonponders]

I’ve never written Murder Boyfriends before, but @cuepickle ‘s art is just so lovely and powerful.

Based on this and this 💗 💜 🖤 (impending smut ahoy)

• • • • • • •

I just want to help, he’d said.

I just want to make things right, he’d said.

Steve said a lot of things. But he moaned incoherent words and exclaimed sounds he didn’t want anyone else to hear when Billy Hargrove steamrolled into his life, his feelings, and his goddamn morals.

Billy Hargrove wasn’t...right. He was twelve different shades of wrong, punctuated by Caribbean blue eyes and decorated with bronzed waves and curls. Steve knew he had a superiority complex, but he hadn’t known it was this bad.

Thing is, if he’d known, Steve couldn’t guarantee whether he’d change anything. Because knowing Billy Hargrove is a murderer would also mean Steve knew what his lips tasted like, and their softness against his neck.

All Steve had known was that Sheriff Hopper was missing, and his parents, being the upstanding white people that they are, deferred nearly every inconvenience to the police. And the police answered, because fat wallets keep their lights on, like everyone else.

But the Sheriff’s phones kept ringing. And maybe Steve had his own complex after so much time with Nancy, because he parked out front and strolled right into the Sheriff’s office.

The secretary wasn’t there.

Neither were the two deputies.

Steve tucked himself between the desks to pry apart the window blinds. Their cars were still here -

Steve’s head rotated at a sound he knew. He knew it in the way a memory piqued but he couldn’t place where or why. He followed it into the chief’s office...where Billy Hargrove sat at the desk - Hopper’s own chair - and ate a crisp apple from the strange pile in the waste paper basket.

“Billy?”

“Hi, Steve,” he smiled. Ankles crossed on the desk. A perfect, violet crescent framed the side of his eye. An indigo shadow rested in the inner corner of the other one. Either way, Steve’s first red flag was that he ached with concern more than itched for the nailed bat in his trunk.

“What happened to you?”

Steve thought the guy might choke, the way he tipped his head back to laugh while chunks of apple sat in his mouth. Naturally, it took him some time to chew and swallow before he said, “I finally stopped being afraid. And I started being responsible. Not the way he planned, though.”

“Hopper?” Steve frowned.

Billy did not answer immediately. He licked the apple like it might drip juice and beckoned, “Why don’t you sit down? I want to see you.”

The only lights on were in the main room where Steve stood. Ghoulish, fluorescent bulbs while Billy sat in shadow and vague, evening light hatching through the Chief’s window blinds. There was some kind of irony there: Steve in the fake, green-tinged light, and Billy in the natural...honest darkness.

Steve peeked behind him, surveying the room but finding no warnings apart from the negative space where people should be.

He stepped into the office -

“I’ve always liked looking at you.”

Steve paused on the carpet. Billy had said it loud enough to hear, but with enough air in it that Steve couldn’t tell if he was drunk or hadn’t meant to say it aloud. Then he tried to sit in one of the chairs -

“Over here. Sit on the desk.”

“What?” Steve blinked at him, suddenly very aware that the light gave Billy full view of his face but Steve only got the glow in that dark blond hair.

A strong leg pushed Billy away from the desk. The apple tumbled onto its pile of brothers, discarded as he pat the desk. “Sit right here.”

Steve shook his head all at once, beginning to backpedal out of the room. “This is weird.”

“No shit. This whole town’s weird. I’ve been reading some personal files in this room. I guess the Chief thought he was being smart, but...I’ve been hiding my whole life. I know where people hide things. A lot of things make sense in this place, now. The rat pack Max hangs out with. And you. A lot of things makes sense about you, Steve.”

Steve shrugged and his hands clapped against his thighs. “Okay? You’re not special for seeing my report cards.”

Billy’s features froze, but only for a moment, and then laughter burst out of him. “Steve, please sit down. God, I wanna touch you.”

Steve Harrington is a simple person. He’d officially been single for far too long, struck out every time he faced a woman - and a couple guys who were too scared or oblivious to do anything - and he just...

He wanted.

He wanted to be touched and if Billy was offering - Hot Stuff Hargrove, Baby Doll Eyes Billy - then Steve couldn’t help but take. He’d been so patient with everyone. He waited for Nancy to be ready. He accepted defeat when everyone walked away from him with rolling eyes or obligatory smiles.

Billy...talked. He talked and talked. He’d always been a talker; on the basketball court, barking orders as a lifeguard. Always talking, or letting his radio talk for him.

But Steve sat on Hopper’s desk and felt the warmth of Billy’s palms seep through his jeans. He held onto Steve’s calves as he talked. Talked about terrible things. Broken plates and abandoned things. Being the abandoned thing. Being the broken thing. He talked for hours before finally fucking Steve on that desk.

He’d started slow. Just unbuttoning the jeans and then leaving them alone. It would be another half hour before he took off Steve’s shoes. Every time Steve looked behind him - as if asking for someone to come in, to interrupt, to break this dark dream Billy wove around him - Billy said, “Look at me.”

“I’ve been looking at you, Billy.”

A small smile twitched on his lips. “Good.”

It would be another hour before he said, “I think my dad killed my mom.”

Less than a minute before he added, “He had it coming. Feel bad for my step-mom, though. But she was a screamer. So was the tall deputy. Things can finally be quiet now.”

Steve sat very still as arms circled around his pelvis and Billy just...hugged him. Pressed his face against Steve’s soft belly and inhaled his scent. Warm laundry and Steve Steve Steve.

He couldn’t be sure how things evolved into sex. Steve was already trapped in Billy’s web, so all he had to do was decide, to give the web a pluck and Steve felt the vibrations.

He planted his hands on the desk, lifting his ass for Billy to wrench the jeans and underwear off in one go. They got stuck on Steve’s feet, bunched up so Steve had to figure it out himself as Billy pressed himself over top of him.

The green desk lamp fell with an ominous clank.

Steve finally got a leg free and wrapped it around Billy’s ass the same time teeth found his neck. The warning bells that had been ringing since he got here felt far away; church bells too high over the town to actually make a difference in the goings-on.

Billy marked him up like he had paperwork to sign. Steve’s deed was his, and Billy moaned and grunted with every sigh he wrung out of Steve. Every squeeze to his waist made him moan, and he outright whimpered when Billy licked up his neck. For how much Billy gripped, bit, and sucked, he moved surprisingly gently below the belt.

“Gonna get lube later,” he said in that way again, traveling down Steve’s body as his thoughts escaped into the air. “I’m going to have your ass every which way, Harrington.”

Steve could only gasp as his tongue shoved inside him with no preamble. “I-I-I didn’t shower - ”

A guttural, breathy hum ricocheted from Billy’s throat and into Steve’s chest, knocking Steve’s head back like a rock on the way there. Billy’s stubble and gross wetness made Steve feel filthy in the best way. His cock lay heavily on his abdomen, spurting precum every time Billy’s hands squeezed the backs of his thighs.

Steve came like he’d never been touched in his life. His breathing picked up and he rutted against Billy’s face twice before making a mess of his shirt.

Billy took his slowly fading erection into his mouth, jerking himself off almost violently in a matter of seconds.

When Steve stepped outside, the air smelled like the sunrise even though only the faintest bit of blue had begun to dilute the darkness. And as the sun rose, Steve had never felt worse. It was like seeing a demogorgon for the first time, but instead of minutes, it stretched into hours.

People were dead.

Presumably Chief Hopper too.

Billy, he...he...

He showed up to Steve’s house with a smile and freshly laundered clothes. Steve had showered but looked like he hadn’t slept in a month. Billy only tipped his head back toward his car. “I’ve got two bank accounts freshly inherited. Let me buy you lunch.”

Steve wondered if Dustin’s comic book villains drove Camaros.

Billy bought him lunch. Bought him a chocolate milkshake too. Steve didn’t want to think about his ability to swallow those down so easily. Or how he interacted with the waitress like he wasn’t covered in red and brown love bites delivered directly atop Chief Hopper’s desk. He didn’t want to think what having all of Billy Hargrove’s attention on him did to his squirming...pleased...insides.

He didn’t want to think as Billy fingered him in the backseat.

They didn’t even fit back there but Billy moved with what felt like the strength of three men. It was arousing, being manhandled like that; any fear Steve ought to have held in his gut tapped its disapproving toe outside of the vehicle. The way Billy sucked behind his ear, gripped his hips so he could slot himself right in between Steve’s legs and rut his dark pink erection against Steve’s...

The way he bought Steve more milkshakes.

And a fresh tire rotation because his car veered to the left.

And filled him up in the darkness of Steve’s bedroom, making Steve bounce on his cock as he licked the taste of him off his lubed up fingers - 

“You haven’t even kissed me yet.”

It just...came out.

The husky lust cleared from Billy’s eyes when Steve said that. Terror must have filled Steve’s eyes because Billy gently cradled the side of his head.

This is it. This is how I die. Wanting a freaking kiss from a psycho -

“I thought you’d be the one to do that.”

Steve blinked vacantly at him. He could feel Billy’s heartbeat inside his ass and the guy just smiled -

“King Steve. Never thought you were shy - mmph.”

Billy’s bravado melted against Steve’s mouth. He hummed as he felt Steve’s precum on his belly, soaking them both with what he did to him, did to Steve and all of his flawed moral systems.

Steve pushed Billy onto his back with his kiss, tongue desperately tasting and exploring his mouth as his fingers laced behind Billy’s neck.

Until Billy reached up and pulled Steve’s hands apart, just enough for the bases of his palms to sit on both pulse points.

Billy did it himself: made his cheeks go pink and his chest flush red. But Steve made his ass slap against Billy’s thighs. Made Billy’s jaw go slack and his orgasm slow. Made his eyes water and his chest heave when he could breathe again.

Maybe that was his chance. His chance to make things right.

But with an empty Sheriff’s office down the road, and still no one the wiser, Hawkins wasn’t living by any sort of right anymore. The only right that Steve knew, was Billy’s hands making him feel powerful and precious.

[reidsmemory]

Echo

Spencer Reid

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: Y/N is abducted while working a case and the team has to find her before it’s too late.

Genre: Fluff with a touch of angst

Warnings: Mention of death of minor character, torture

not my gif!

The team had been looking into case that had targeted girls with Y/H/C hair and Y/E/C eyes. All had looks strikingly similar to you and if anyone were to see either one of the victims in a room with you, they would say you were related. You all had been on the case for about a week now and you were still no where close to catching this guy. 

     “Agent Y/L/N,” a voice called as you whipped your head to face them, “these came in for you,” the officer was holding a bouquet of red roses with a small white card on the top of it. 

      “Do you know who these are from?” you asked as he shook his head and walked away. 

      “What does the note say?” Emily asked as the whole team had watched the interaction. 

     You opened the envelope and read the note as you furrowed your brows, “echo.” The team looked at each other with puzzled faces, “what the hell is that suppose to mean? Have we already dealt with this unsub?” The rest of team began theorizing as the same officer walked up to you again.

     “Agent, we’ve got someone that say he needs to speak to you.”

      “Can’t they come here?” Hotch asked, getting defensive.

      “He says that he won’t go into a place of justice, whatever that means,” the officer began to lead you as the rest of the team followed. You began walking towards the entrance of the station as the officer looked around for the mystery man. “He was just here,” the man spoke. 

      “Spence,” you spoke out as your boyfriend looked to you before you collapsed on the ground. You head hit the flooring as a ringing sounded in your ears as well as their being two of everything. Two Spencer’s holding your head, two Hotch’s yelling and pointing fingers, two lights blinding you from seeing anything. 

     What felt like hours later you were being lifted onto a bed. Two men had arrived with an ambulance as shouting and yelling was all that was heard. “Are you family, sir?” the first responder asked as Spencer opened him mouth and closed it again, “I didn’t think so, you all can follow in cars.” The man said as his colleague gave him as weird look as the both of them lifted you into the ambulance as the rest of the team rushed to get their keys and get into the SUVs.

     The ambulance sped off as the sirens wailed and your team rushed to the cars. “What in the fresh hell?” Derek said as he looked at the tires on one of the SUVs. “My tires are popped, what about you, Hotch?” 

     “Same here,” the raven haired man said. 

     “It’s a set up,” Reid spoke as fear flooded his face. 

***

     You awoke in a cabin where you had been tired to a chair and had a gag on your mouth. Your vision still hazy and your thoughts even hazier. 

     “Oh good, you’re up,” a male voice said from the corner of the room. You tried to get a good look at him, but he stayed in the shadows. “Ben Cyrus,” he said as you furrowed your eyebrows. The name sounded so familiar, but you couldn’t quite remember where you had heard it before. 

      “Who are you?” you asked as the man chuckled. “Let me go, I’ll talk to my team and we can work this out.” He scoffed at your words and began to walk towards you. 

     “Ben Cyrus. He ran the greatest church known to man and you,” his face was hardened and his eyes had a crazed look in them, “took away our faith!” He struck his hand across your face as a burning sensation filled your cheek. 

     It all rushed back to you. A few year back you, Prentiss, and Reid had all gone undercover in a cult-like church. The leader, Benjamin Cyrus, had been suspected of child abuse and sexual harassment and the government had wanted the BAU to get involved. 

     “I remember,” you said as the man smiled. 

     “Good, Agent,” he grabbed a chair from the side of the room and brought it over to sit across from you. “Now,” he started again, “you might not know me. My name is Joey Cyrus and I would say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but I’d be lyin’,” he studied you as you did the same.

     “What do you want, Joey?” 

     “Well my daddy would be nice for one, but I don’t believe you have the power to do that. So you’ll do just fine,” he got up from his chair and walked over to the bag that you had seen from the corner of your eye. He dumped the contents on the ground in front of you and a spill of tools came out. A hammer, pliers, a baseball bat, a few knives, and other things that could do damage. “Let’s get to know each other.”

***

     Back at the station, Spencer was frantically trying to figure out who had taken you and why. The note on the roses had been laced with a medicinal herb that had knocked you out and the ambulance had been found in a ditch on the highway with all but one of the first responders on it. The medics had been killed in a brutal way that even made Spencer sick to his stomach as he thought about what this guy was doing to you.

     “Reid,” Hotch’s voice broke his train of thought as he met eyes with the older man. “Go ahead, Garcia.”

     “Alright. Our mystery medic is Joseph Mulgrew , he moved to Utah just a few years ago and before that he has been off the map,” Garcia told the team. “This guy, he’s like a ghost. No records of his name anywhere else and no former address of any kind.”

     “Did you say Mulgrew?” Spencer said as the team looked at him.

     “Yes I did Doctor, what about it?”

     “Look up Joseph Cyrus,” Spencer told her as they heard the taps of Garcia’s keyboard. The team looked at him for an explanation, “Benjamin Cyrus, he was an unsub we had.”

     “Yeah,” Emily started, “he was that guy that ran that church and...” she trailed off as the team got the gist of what she was saying. 

     “He was Charles Mulgrew before he made a come back at the church. It could be possible that he has unknown family, considering what he was really doing all those years,” Spencer explained, “Garcia, how old is Joseph?” 

     “He is 27 years of age and the good doctor is right. Joey here changed his name like dear old dad and oh...” Penny trailed off.

     “Penny?” JJ asked.

     “Joseph has been in and out of jail and juvie for as long as I can see. Charged with assault, petty theft, and oh my. Domestic abuse filed by his ex-wife who looks a lot like our Y/N,” a sounding on their tablets was heard as they opened it and saw a woman very similar to you.

     “But Spencer and I went undercover too, why would he pick Y/N?” Emily said as she immediately started to solve the puzzle, “you think it’s because of the looks of the ex-wife?”

     “I think so,” Rossi mumbled, “Penelope pull up the most current address to Joe and anything that could be used to store Y/N.”

     “I’ve got a home address and a storage unit and they have all been sent to your phones! Go crime fighters and get our princess back!” Penelope told them.

     “Thanks, Baby Girl,” Morgan hung up the phone.

     “Reid with me and JJ. Rossi, Morgan, and Prentiss take the storage. We’ll have to use squad cars until the SUVs are fixed so lets go get Y/L/N,” Hotch ordered as they all nodded ad went to the parking lot. 

***

     You muffled your screams and grunts as Joey had began to carve into your stomach. He laughed as you clenched your teeth and held your hands in fists, surely four crescent shaped cuts were to be found on the inside of your palms if you opened them. “You son of a bitch,” you struggled to get out as Joey wiped the knife off on your pants. 

     “Don’t you talk about my mama that way, girl. I’ll make sure you regret it.” You received at blow to the side of your face. You spit out the blood that formed in your mouth as Joey began to take the other tools out from his collection. “These look nice, don’t they, girl?” He held up a pack of cigarettes and a lighter as he popped one in his mouth.

     “Those things kill,” you said remembering Spencer tell you countless facts about the ‘cancer sticks’ as both of you had nicknamed them. “On second thought, why don’t you just keep smoking them.”

     He laughed, “you are a firecracker. My daddy always said the young ones are.” He stroked your hair as you tried to move back.

     “Your dad was sick in the head and you are too,” you spoke with such tenacity. 

     He looked at you blankly, “I thought I said you don’t speak of my family like that,” he took the cigarette from his mouth and stuck it on your exposed collar bone. 

     You grunted as he held your face in free hand. He leaned into your ear and whispered, “I want to hear those screams, girl.” He press the cigarette into your skin further, finally inciting a small scream to slip past your lips. “Good.”

***

     The team had arrived at both locations and there was no sign that you were there. Spencer paced around with his hands in is hair as the rest of the team was now even more worried than before, if that was possible. The team had no idea where you could be and if you were even alive. It had been at least 13 hours since you had dropped in the lobby and it was eating Spencer and the team alive.

     “You have nothing?” JJ asked Garcia over the phone,.

     “No, i’m sorry. I’ll keep looking and-” she was cut off by Spencer who had just had a revelation. 

     “Garcia, make sure the jet is ready. I think I know where Y/N is.”

***

     On the jet Spencer had explained the note and how it read ‘echo’ as saying that Joey might want to recreate the explosion at the church and now the team had touched down in Colorado where they got in SUVs to go to the church’s location. 

     A swat team followed them along the dirt roads that were bumpy and the night sky that was dark. The sun was starting to rise in the distance. Spencer remembered you always saying, ‘the same beams but a new day,’ and that made him the tiniest bit hopeful that they would find you in this new day. 

     The church came into view as they could see it was now a smaller wooden building. “What the hell,” Morgan said from the drivers seat as he say the building, “this guy built up a whole new structure to what? Avenge his father’s death?” The car came to a stop as the team hopped out of the car and Hotch began to go over the plan with the others.

     “From the front-” he was cut off by a ear piercing scream that came from no one other than you. Spencer looked at his boss in worry as Hotch returned the look and started again, “let’s go.”

     Joey drove a knife into your stomach as you screamed loudly. He left it in your body and quickly grabbed another knife from the ground. “You have got to work out your daddy issues another way,” you told him as he dragged the new knife down the side of your face as it cut into your skin. 

     “You wanna try something different, girl?” You immediately regretted your words and recalled Spence always telling you that your smart mouth was going to get you in trouble some day. He began to unbutton the top of his flannel, but quickly stopped as he heard footsteps in the distance. You heard them too. 

      “Spencer!” you yelled as loud as you could as Joey came over to you and cut the ropes on your ankles and arms as he quickly grabbed you and put a knife to your neck. 

      From the front of the house Spencer could hear your cries as his ears perked up as his heart rate grew faster and Hotch nodded as Morgan kicked the door down. The team moved through the structure and finally Spencer came face to face with you, “Y/N,” he said as you locked eyes with your boyfriend and smiled lightly, despite the situation at hand. 

     “Joseph, put the knife down,” Hotch told the man as the knife just dug deeper into your skin. 

     “I don’t think so,” he took grip on you and made it tighter. “You killed my family. He never did anything but help people in need of his guidance.”

     “Your father ruined the lives of young girls,” Spencer said matter-o-factly. 

     “No! He did them a favor, he gave them the greatest gift he could,” Joey said as he began to move his hand without the knife a bit more. You furrowed your eyebrows as you tried see what he was hold and finally saw a small remote concealed in his hand. 

     You moved your eyes to Hotch’s and blinked rapidly. You just hoped he would pick up on the Morse Code and get everyone out of the building. 

     “Let’s just talk this out, Joey,” Hotch started, “JJ get everyone out, I want to talk to Joey alone.” JJ furrowed her eyebrows at the man but he gave he a stern look as she understood and began to move the team out. 

     “No! Bring them back!” Joey yelled, “or she dies.” Spencer looked at JJ as she tried to get him to leave the building, but he refused to move so she quickly called Morgan who grabbed Reid as he struggled against him.

     “I can’t leave her!” he told them and Morgan ignored his pleas and called a couple SWAT members to help him with the genius. 

     “As much as I like her, I’ll do it,” Joey said as he continued to watch the men and women exist the building. “Bring them back!” Joey yelled as his grip on you faltered for a second which you took advantage of as you got out from his grasp and struggled to take the device from his hand. 

     “Go!” you yelled at Hotch but he jumped in and started to help you as the three of you wrestled and quickly the device was flung across the doorway to another room. You all freezed before you grabbed Hotch’s hand and dragged him towards the back of the building. 

     The team waited outside for Hotch and you as Reid screamed at Morgan, “you have to let me go back in there!”

     “You can’t Kid, you heard Hotch!” Morgan yelled back as the rest of the team cringed at the fight. “I know all of us want to go back in there, but we can’t! You gotta understand that, Kid!”

     “No! You don’t understand!” Spencer screamed, “she’s all I have! I didn’t even get to tell her that I love her! That I have been in love with her since that stupid dinner at that Thai restaurant in California!” 

     “That was two years ago...” JJ mumbled.

     “Yeah! Two years! I’ve only been with with her for a couple months now and I haven’t even told her!” Everyone’s hearts pained as they heard Spencer’s cries and saw the liquid that dripped down his cheeks. “I can’t-”

     All head turned as the house exploded a safe distance away from them. The orange flames roared as the team had their mouths’ open in shock.

     “No,” Rossi and JJ whispered at the same time. 

     Morgan’s grip on Reid was gone as he watched the flames and turned to Emily who had had disbelief and horror over her face. 

     Spencer’s mind raced a mile every second and now his mind was completely blank of everything but you. Your face, your smile, your eyes, your lips, your laugh, your touch, your everything. Spencer ran towards the flames as the team yelled after him. 

     “Spencer,” JJ’s voice breaking as she leaned into Rossi’s embrace. 

     “Kid. Come on, don’t do this,” Morgan called as Emily just watched in disbelief with a gaping mouth and teary eyes.

     Spencer didn’t care about their calls, he needed to find you. He scanned the firery rubble for any sign of you or Hotch, but there wasn’t any. Just ash and fallen wood covered in sweltering heat. “Y/N!” he yelled out, “Y/N! Hotch!” Spence continued to look through the wall of intense heat and for a second he saw a delicate hand reach up through the burning wood. “Y/N,” he whispered to himself as he began to walk through the blazing fire that threatened to burn his body and ruin his lungs. 

     He moved a piece of wood off of where he saw your hand and saw you and Hotch laying side by side. “Guys!” he screamed at his friends, “help!” The team gave each other confused faces before coming over to Spencer. JJ gasped as she saw your form next to Hotch’s as tears of joy spilled from her faces. Her and Emily joined hands as they worked to get the wood off of you. 

     “Medic!” Rossi yelled as people began to rush over to help. 

     Morgan and Reid worked to get a big piece of debris off of the two of you. Hotch’s eyes opened and he immediately looked to his side where you had been, holding his hand tightly. He coughed violently as the medics lifted him up and brought him to the ambulance. You blinked a few times and saw Spencer standing over you. 

     “Hey, can you hear me?” he asked as you gave him a thumbs up and he laughed at the simple gesture. He brought you up for and embrace as you struggled to keep your eyes open. The medic came over to you and began to carry you away as Spencer and the team followed you and Hotch to the ambulance. 

      “Can I?” he asked one of the nurses as she nodded and he climbed into the ambulance and held your hand as you drifted off to sleep.

***

     When you woke up, blinding lights had been the first thing you saw. The second was Spencer who was asleep in a chair next to your bed, his head resting on the bed and his fingers interlaced with your own. You blinked a few times and saw the rest of the team in the room with you. Hotch was in bed identical to yours, but he was up and had his eye focused on the TV in front of him. By his side was JJ and Morgan as the conversed with each other in hushed voices. Penny was writing in a card with a sparkling pink pen as she handed it off to Rossi who smiled lightly at her. Emily was just outside your room as you saw her talking with a nurse or doctor; rather it looked more like arguing.

     Derek glanced over to you briefly as he then turned back to JJ and then back to you. “You’re up,” he said quietly, a contrast to his usual booming voice. Everyone looked to you as you smiled.

     “You gave us quite a scare, Y/L/N,” Hotch said as you laughed quietly which then turned into a cough. 

     “Em! Get a nurse or doctor!” Penny exclaimed as Emily rushed and called a nurse in the hallway. JJ got up from her seat and made her way over to your bed.

     She examined your face before hugging you tightly. “God, you can never do that to us again,” she chuckled as you rubbed her back. You felt a few tears fall on your shoulders as JJ pulled away and wiped her cheeks. “He’ll be happy to see you,” she gestured to Spencer.

     “Glad to have you back, kiddo,” Rossi told you with a smile, “you need anything?” As soon as he said that a doctor walked into your room and started to go over your condition.

     “You are very lucky, Agent Y/L/N” she started, “you have a mild concussion and that wound on your abdomen will take some time to heal over. You received first and second degree burns all over your legs, arms, and torso, just like Agent Hotchner. Your eardrums are very fragile and I recommend no flying for at least 3 weeks. Your face has some minor bruising and cuts that should heal over time.” She set her chart down. “The both of you should be able to leave in a few days time, but for now just relax.”

     “Thank you,” you said as she smiled.

     “Dinner will be up in a few minutes,” with that she left and Morgan was seen grinning widely. 

     “What?” you said.

     “She didn’t mention one thing.” You furrowed your brows at his words and he started to rub his head which just made you more confused.

     “I have a concussion, you’re going to have to actually say it.” He laughed at your words.

     “Do you think pretty boy will like the new haircut?” he asked as it finally clicked and you ran your fingers through your hair. 

     “Oh my, God,” you said as everyone laughed. “Oh my, God!” you repeated as Emily handed you a mirror and as you brought it up to your face your jaw dropped. Your hair was cut in jagged parts, but none shorter than your chin. The team laughed as you continued to gape at your reflection.

     “Some of your hair ended up burning off, just a bit,” Emily said as you looked at her with wide eyes. She laughed as you began to laugh too and soon everyone joined in as you all smiled at your stupidly, funny haircut.

     Spencer rubbed his eyes as he saw your smiling face and immediately hugged you tightly. “Thank Goodness,” he whispered as he pulled back from the embrace. “Why are we laughing?” he asked as you gestured towards your hair and smiled widely at the tall man.

     “Is this gonna be a deal breaker, babe?” his cheeks flushed at the nickname.

     He laughed a bit, “no, I still love you,” he said as the team froze at what he said as did he.

     “Awh, I love you more, Spence,” you told him without skipping a beat as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

     “Even if you do kinda look like David Bowie,” he said as you opened your mouth and smacked his arm playfully.

     “Spencer Reid!”

[todaysdocument]

Letter from Lutiant Van Wert to her friend Louise about her work as a nurse during the Influenza epidemic, and about the rest of her life (pp. 1, 4, 6, 7), 10/17/1918

“So everybody has the "Flu" at Haskell?” 

File Unit: Contagious Epidemics, 1904 - 1941

Series: Subject Correspondence Files, 1904 - 1941

Record Group 75: Records of the Bureau of Indian Affairs, 1793 - 1999

Transcription:

(Copy)

                                                                         231-14th St. South East.

                                                                         October 17, 1918.

Dear friend Louise:

     So everybody has the "Flu" at Haskell?  I wish to goodness Miss Keck and Mrs. McK. would get it and die with it.  Really, it would be such a good riddance, and not much lost either!  As many as 90 people die everyday here with the "Flu".  Soldiers too, are dying by the dozens.  So far, Felicity, C. Zane, and I are the only ones of the Indian girls who have not had it.  We certainly consider ourselves lucky too, believe me.  Katherine [first e was struck through] and I just returned last Sunday evening from Camp Humphreys "Somewher in Virginia" where we volunteered to help nurse soldiers sick with the Influenza.  We were there at the Camp ten days among some of the very worse cases and yet we did not contract it.  We had intended staying much longer that we did, but the work was entirely too hard for us, and anyway the soldiers were all getting better, so we came home to rest up a bit.  We were day nurses and stationed in the Officer's barracks for six days and then transferred to the Private's barracks or hospital and were there four days before we came back.  All nurses were required to work twelve hours a day--we worked from seven in the morning until seven at night, with only a short time for luncheon and dinner.

[page 2] 

-4-

I was so tired I never took special notice, but I thought I had my own bag.  When I opened it to get out my comb and powder--behold!  There was a kit-bag fully equiped and a knitted sweater in it, plus a few other trinkets'.  I knew then, whose aag I had, so checked my suit case and started out to look for this soldier and exchange bags, as I thought he had mine.  After walking around 45 minutes I began to despair of ever finding him and started back to the Ladies room and I came upon him sitting in one corner.  I recognized my bag right away and went to exchange.  He was simply so tickled to get his bag back he almost squeezed the life out of my hand when he shook it.  I had my card and destination tacked on the handle fo my bag, so he found out where I was going without telling him--and as fate would have it--he was going to D. C. too, so we traveled the rest of the way together.  He is a perfect gentlemen, and sure treated me nice on the way.  Since I am located here, he has been down to our house twice to see me since I came back from  Camp Humphreys, and he sure wants me to come down to Potomac Park as a nurse.  He is not what one would call "handsome" but he is certainly [underlined] good-looking [/underlined], and on top of all that--he is a CATHOLIC.  Sure like it for myself too.  All the girls have soldiers--Indian girls also.  Some of the girls have soldiers and sailors too.  The boys are particularly crazy about the Indian girls.  They tell us that the Indian girls are not so "easy" as the white girls, so I guess maybe that's their reason.

[page 3]

-6-

A lot of the girls from the Office here go out to sell bonds but some of them dont make much of a success.  One of the Indian girls, named Cathryne Welch, went out last week to sell bonds and she sold so many that she got escused  from the Office for the rest of this week to do nothing but sell bonds.  She is a very pretty girl--a high school graduate and one year normal.  She has two brothers in the army--one is a Captain and the other a Sargeant.   Maybe you remember seeing Capt. Gus Welch's picture in the K. C. Star--well that is her brother and he "over there" now.

     All the schools, churches, theaters, dancing halls, etc. are closed here also.  There is a bill in the Senate today authorizing all the war-workers to be released from work for the duration of this epidemic.  It has not passed the house yet, but I can't help but hope it does.  If it does, Lutiant can find plenty of things at home to busy herself with, or she might accidentally take a trip to Potomac Park.  Ha! Ha!

     It is perfectly alright about the sweater.  I dont expect you to be able to get it while you are quartined, but will still be glad to have it if you can send it as soon as you are out of quartined.  It is rather cold in Washington, but not cold enough to wear winter coats yet, and my suit coat is a little too thin, so I figured out that a sweater would be the thing to have.  Sometimes it is cold enough to wear a wrap while working, but of course it is out of questio[n]

[page 4]

-7-

to work in a heavy winter coat.  However, send it whenever you find it convenient to do so, and I will settle with you as promptly as possible.

     Well Louise, if you are not dead tired of reading this letter, I'll write another like it some other time.  There is still a lot I could tell you about D. C., but it's nearing lunch time and I want to be right ther on the dot, as I always am--to be sure.

     Write again whenever you fine it convenient to do so--always glad to hear the Haskell news from you.

                                            Sincerely your friend,

                                            (Signed) Lutiant.

Address same as before.

[kingsuckjin]

Ungodly Beast 3- epilogue

✞ Pairing: Devil! Jungkook x reader

✞ Genre: horror, fluff idk anymore

✞ Synopsis: You need to end this hell on earth.

✞ Warnings: death, gore, mention of burns, blood, talk of heaven and hell, the earth is on fire (I have to say that your child dies but it will all be okay, I promise it’s alright and it’s not as bad as you might think, just trust me.)

✞ Words: 2.3k

✞ A/N: I would put links here for the past two parts, but lately tumblr has been doing this thing where it wont let this fic show up in the tags if I put in links or tag anyone. They're on my masterlist though, I’m just very sorry for the inconvenience.

"Go my child, end this. Take all the power you need, and if you succeed I'll return the favor."

The flames around your bare feet had to be searingly hot, but they didn't hurt you, it didn't even singe or dirty the white you wore. 

The grass of the park was no more, and what lie under the flames was dry, scorched earth. The leaves had been burned from the trees, the trunks of which still smoked and trailed upwards towards the starless night sky. Glowing orange embers and ash fell all around you like some kind of twisted blizzard.

As you walked you saw the melted remnants of the playground you use to take your son to.

So this was hell on Earth.

It was just a shell of familiarity and home.

On your walk you could hear the sounds of police sirens and fire trucks, but it was much too late for them, everything was on fire.

Buildings, shops, offices, either up in flames or ash on the ground. You saw a car in flames explode, thankfully no one was in it.

There were people. People lined the streets, crying, confused, scared and burned.

An old man was laying on the street, his wife crying over him. She was so hysterical she didn't even see you approach, but when she did her jaw dropped at the sight of you, she begged you for help in another language, one you knew only bits and pieces of before and studied in your free time, but you now fully understood.

You said nothing as you looked over the man's burnt face before placing your hands over it, covering the freshly burnt skin. You closed your eyes and let your head fall slightly.

"My child, I will let you heal him, I will let you give the people hope. But you must hurry to find him before he causes anymore irreversible destruction. Stop him, and put the rest in my hands."

You nodded in agreement and opened your eyes and moved your hands. 

On lookers had gathered around you, both the woman and the man thanked you, but you had to go.

"Don't worry, just pray." You told them. You knew they were looking at your wings folded against your back as you walked on.

As you passed Namjoon's burning church you could see him clearly in your head, on his knees on the floor between the pews on prayer as he realized who was just outside right before it went up in flames.

You didn't go inside, it was too late for him, but you knew Jungkook and your son had to be close, you could feel it. You could see their trail of death, torment and destruction.

You closed your eyes and you brought on the rain.

The crack of thunder rolled through the sky before the downpour started, and though it rained around you, you remained dry. It was all you could do in an attempt to end the suffering of the people at the hands of this fire for now. You also wanted to prevent the risk of them making things worse when you found them.

To attract them you began to sing quietly, you sang the song in the language that Jungkook had sang to your son when he was just a baby. Though the lyrics didn't translate well, it was a song about peace and silence and it was in the world's first language. Even back then, you supposed, that parents just wanted their babies happy and they wanted to do right by them. You remembered Jungkook saying when you first met him that that was something he never understood, and still seemed not to.

You couldn't bring yourself to be mad at him, you pitied him. You pitied his lack of understanding towards humanity even with all of his new emotions. He didn't get to grow from a child, he didn't have surroundings or figure to help shape him. He couldn't never be a parent because he never had a parent figure, he was never a child, Jungkook just was. He had just been Jungkook all at once since the birth of time. He only knew being cast out of heaven, he only knew lies, he only new bitterness, revenge, and power. Jungkook only knew destruction and couldn't handle when you had created something for him, given life to something that was partially made from him. Jungkook wanted to own you and your children just like he owned the souls in hell. Even if you give a person emotions who wasn't taught right from wrong or how to be there for people, or how to not be selfish, they might feel guilty. However, they've already become set in their ways seeing as it's all they've ever known. It wasn't Jungkook's fault that he was given this eternal cold life, he never asked for this.

You understood vastly more than you did before, there was no fooling you now, you saw absolutely everything but one way you saw before never changed.

You loved Jungkook. You knew he would've loved you if he could've from the start. You were his soulmate, His Lilith, his reason for not being allowed to have emotions in the first place in fear of producing the Antichrist. Nothing could stop destiny, you knew this now. No matter what god took or gave to him, nothing could've stopped this. Even now as you found Jungkook holding your son's hand as he burns someone alive, this was destiny. Just like Noah's ark, god can cast out and call forth, he can teach lessons or make people forget.

So here you were, and here he was, in the middle of this burnt street. Neither of them saw you yet, but they were doing what destiny called for.

"Jungkook." You spoke his name for the very first time, catching both their attentions. 

"Mommy!" Your elated son tried to run to you but his father stopped him as he was stuck staring at you.

"You're…" his voice was almost inaudible with the roar and crack of the fires that were too big.

You unfurled your white wings from behind your back and stretched them out.

"You're home." 

"Mommyyy! Mommy back!” Your son yelled happily with a big smile on his face as he began struggling against his father and slipped out of his grasp. Your son ran the half of a block down the street and you could now see his horns were much larger now, and his eyes were black. His father screamed for him and began to run after him, telling him not to touch you.

You knelt down and let your child run into your open arms. You wrapped them around him and let him fall limp.

"I love you, everything will be okay." You told him as you picked him up and laid his body on the sidewalk. Much like a cross or holy water, your body itself could destroy anything Unholy, you were blessed from god himself, you were an angel.

"No… no! What did you do to him?! What did you do to our son?!" Jungkook screamed at you making the fire around you only burn more angrily.

"He felt nothing, God will return him to me." You stepped closer to him. "I came for you too."

"No. You're home, bring our son back and come home!" He demanded but you were no longer easily swayed.

"This isn't my home anymore, look what you've done to it." You answered calmly.

"I made this for us, I did this for you." 

You watched as blood began to leak from his eyes and mix with the water from the rain. 

"I know, I know you did. I know that there's no length you wouldn't go to for me, even your son. You mean well, you just don't understand. Just know I would go through any length for you and our family, and that's why I'm here. We both went through great lengths, we've both been through a lot, so come to me."

"You're tricking me, you're going to kill me…" he with his narrowed eyes aimed at you.

"You're in pain, Jungkook. It doesn't have to be that way. God still has time to fix this little isolated incident." 

"And hell? What happens to hell when I'm gone?" He asked. You felt he was about ready to give in, you knew it took everything in his power right now to not come to you and hold you.

"I think that's what destiny wanted all along,  no more hell. We were meant to be together Jungkook, and it's finally time. I'm not tricking you, I could never do to you what you did to me. Let's go get our daughter and son, let's be a family let's-" 

He began to walk towards you, falling to his knees at your feet and looking up at you.

"I don't know where I'll be going, but I'll follow you anywhere" you watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed nervously. "I just want you and my family, I want everything to be okay." 

You lifted your hand to his cheek as you looked down into his black eyes and brushed away the bloody tears from his cheeks only to leave red marks of your own. You had burned him with your touch, and he had flinched but didn't outwardly complain.

He stood and his face came just millimetre from yours.

"Just do it." He whispered before pressing his lips softly to yours.

You brought both of your hands up and placed them on his face and in a split second he went limp against you.

You struggled to gently lay him down on the pavement.

"I'm done. It's done. Fix it, please." You spoke out loud.

"Rest now my child. You've been through so much."

The sky began to grow brighter and brighter until it took over everything and you had to squint to see anything at all.

You were struck with the sudden urge to pee, but you were just too tired underneath your warm sheets. You groaned as you tried to go back to sleep but the feeling became almost unbearable.

You moved the blankets, sat up, and swung your legs over the bed, immediately feeling your back hurt. This action must've woken up the baby inside of you because you began to feel the heavy kicks from inside of your belly.

"I'm going, I'm going." You nagged at the unborn baby as you waddled towards the bathroom. "You better not kick me in the bladder again, girl." You warned.

When you were done you headed to the kitchen with new priorities, you smelled food. Lately just the thought of anything food related had you salivating and reaching for anything edible you could get you hands on, but that's just what being seven months pregnant did to you.

You walked through the doorway just in time to see a few pieces of scrambled egg fall onto the floor.

Your son looked down at it from the stool against the counter he stood on and so did his dad.

"Uh oh." You son said as he looked at you, holding a plate of the eggs.

"Morning darling. We're definitely not making a mess in here." Jungkook lied with a smile as you assessed the damage the boys had done to the kitchen.

"As long as you both clean it up I see no mess." You joked.

"Mommy! Breakfast!" Your son held the plate up proudly, spilling more eggs onto the floor, lucky Jungkook decided to take the plate away from the tiny little version of himself before picking him up with the other arm.

"Tell mommy good morning!" He placed the plate on the table before bringing your son over on his hip. Jungkook knew it was hard for you to bend over now a days.

Your son gave you a wet kiss on your cheek before his father knelt down with him.

"What about baby sister?" His father asked him.

The boy was careful as he gave your belly a hug and pat and told it good morning.

"Morning." Jungkook gave you a quick kiss on your lips before wrapping his arms around you.

"We missed you." He whispered into your ear. "You slept in late, must almost be time for her." He let you go so you could all sit at the table.

"I'm excited, but dreading having to through giving birth a second time. We missed church again because of me, didn't we?" 

"Father Namjoon understands you're too pregnant to function at the moment." He jokingly assured you. "I'm excited for her to get here already. I'll be right there with you, and little bub gets to spend time with his grandma. It's all planned out and you have nothing to worry about. Oh, by the way, I finished putting the crib up in the nursery finally." Even as he spoke about mundane things, there was a sparkle in his soft brown eyes as he looked at you, there were so wide with excitement and wonder, a trait he passed to your son. You would never get enough of him, you hadn't been able too since you met in grade school. You even found yourself missing him deeply to the point of tears during college. When you saw him again one night at a bar, the two of you just couldn't help it. You were confident that was the night you made your son together. You were once again inseparable as inseparable gets. He just stayed over every night after that night, which was good because you didn't want him to leave anyway. You were married just three months after that night at the bar. He wanted everything you wanted, he was the man you had always dreamed of, you had never loved any other person the way you did him. You had always had a connection with him, one you felt went far beyond when you met him as a little wide eyed boy asking to be friends. You knew, both of you did, that you were soulmates.You had always had been and always would be, in this life, whatever lives came before this, and in the next.