#Adventure Friends Cavalcade

[meekosthemeparkphotos]

Raya

#Raya #Raya and the Last Dragon #Characters #Disney Characters #Adventure Friends Cavalcade #Disney Adventure Friends Cavalcade #Cavalcade #Parade #entertainment #Frontierland #Magic Kingdom #theme park #Disney #Walt Disney World #WDW

[journey-to-the-castle]

Adventure Friends Cavalcade by disneylori

#adventure friends cavalcade #disney characters #characters #walt disney world parade #disney world parade #disney parade #parade #magic kingdom #walt disney world #disney world #wdw #disney #aladdin #flickr

[waitingonavision]

Which Bruno in Disney Adventure Friends Cavalcade are you today?

photos by smallbeephotography/sparksgavilan on instagram!

#encanto #bruno madrigal #disneyworld #magic kingdom #wdw #disney adventure friends cavalcade #stuff i've posted #top left bruno is a mood #i make that face a lot irl haha

[gravehags]

meet me in the woods

Pairing: Cirrus x f!Reader (Regency AU)

Rating: Explicit, 18+ ONLY MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Tags: plus size reader, regency au, ghouls as highwaymen, stripping, oral sex, fingering

Words: 3,445

Summary: You are a well-bred, polite society girl. Until you're not.

a/n: this whole thing is @terzosbignaturals fault tbh (enjoy)

divider by @ghuleh-recs

“Do try to sit up straight, dear, you look so…so portly when you slouch.”

Obediently you straighten your shoulders as the carriage jostles the three of you around. 

“Perhaps I look portly because I am portly, my lady,” you say quietly, not without a bit of venom. You would never dare speak back to your guardian directly, so subtle comments must make do. Lady Catherine’s face sours and her thin lips purse as she regards you with a withering glance but does not respond. Lord Richard sits next to you, snoring and completely oblivious to the conversation as well as your presence on the whole. That was nothing new, the man practically lived in his smoking room, never once sparing you a thought. You were perfectly content with that, enjoying being ignored far more than being under the constant scrutiny and cruel words of the woman sitting across from you.

Ever since your parents died many years ago, you have been raised (perhaps a generous term) by these two members of the social elite who are allegedly distant cousins. You spend most of your time alone, wandering the estate gardens and reading your novels, ever dreaming of adventure and romance. Your guardians have, of course, brought reluctant suitors around to woo you, but you have been unmoved by any of their paltry ideas of romance. No, you much preferred bundling up in your bed at night with only a candle for company, clinging to the pages of a gothic horror novel borrowed from one of your friends - a scandalous thing that involves a sinister countess seducing her chambermaid. So desperately you wish to be desired darkly, deeply and you find immense comfort and pleasure in every dramatic, lust-filled word.

Your eyes have become unfocused as you gaze out the window and you barely notice the cavalcade of dark horses that stampede past you, causing the carriage to come to a halt. You look to Lady Catherine, who looks more annoyed than anything, as she pounds on the ceiling to alert the driver of her irritation. There is a prolonged silence and you feel anxiety twist in your gut when suddenly the door of the carriage is wrenched open.

“Well, well, well, and what kind of treasure do we have here?”

The figure looks…well…dashing is the only way you can put it. Tall, swathed in a long black coat and breeches tucked into black leather riding boots. Their face is obscured from the nose down by a black kerchief and on their head sits a dramatic feathered black hat. Lady Catherine opens her mouth to squawk indignantly at the intruder but they simply roll their eyes and motion to someone behind them. In the meantime the figure offers you a gloved hand and, with no better ideas at hand, you take it. When you step out of the carriage you see a group of more than half a dozen figures, also masked and in black, standing at attention either on horses or on foot. One of them comes forward with a length of cloth and the mysterious figure climbs back into the carriage to gag Lady Catherine with it. Lord Richard barely stirs with an inelegant snort and immediately falls back asleep, deaf to the muffled cries of his wife.

The group of what you can only assume are bandits continue to stare as the leader re-emerges from the carriage and slams the door shut behind them. They’re taller than you, and have you pushed up slightly against the side of the buggy with their arm resting above your head. They’re close enough you can smell them - something sweet akin to violets but also plum and leather - and the scent makes you dizzy. They bring a gloved hand up and run a finger along your jawline, giving you a lascivious once over that makes you flush from head to toe.

“Treasure, indeed,” they say, fingering the green velvet of your spencer jacket. The others around them chuckle and nudge one another as your eyes dart around, unsure of where to look or what to do.

“W-who are you?” you ask quietly, and the leader makes a dramatic gasp with a slight fainting motion.

“She speaks! And even her voice is just as lovely,” a few of the bandits chuckle and they give you a wink.

“We are highwaymen, my treasure,” there is something about this voice, while not familiar to your ears it sounds unusual.

“We don’t have anything of value,” you say in a rush, fidgeting with the muslin of your gown. “I mean…Lady Catherine might,” you admit softly. The leader’s eyes crinkle - they clearly must be grinning underneath the mask - as they regard you. “Please let us go.”

“‘Please,’” the leader murmurs. “So polite. Such a well-bred young woman. Allow me to ask you a question - do you want to be let go?”

You think back to your gothic novels and the thrill they give you, as well as the feeling you are experiencing at the apex of your thighs. If they let you and the others go…then what? A lifetime listening to catty comments from one of your guardians and absolute ignorance from the other? A lifetime of finding some horrible little man Lady Catherine has chosen for you to marry and being stuck bearing his many children? The thought makes you feel nauseous and it must show on your face because the highwayman slides a finger under your chin and lifts it so you are looking at them.

“No,” you whisper, after a beat. “No, I do not want to be let go.”

The figure leans in close to you and runs a hand over your waist, inhaling deep.

“You’re mine now,” they breathe before gripping you by the arm and pulling you over to the largest black steed of the pack. Elegantly, they mount the horse and gesture for one of the other bandits to assist you in climbing up and situating yourself in front of them on the saddle. The way their warm thighs frame yours and their eyes trace along your exposed stocking-clad calves makes you shiver in anticipation. All at once they let out a piercing whistle and everyone mounts their horses and leaves the forested area. As the stallion begins to gallop, you briefly look backwards at where your guardians have been left behind. You want to feel guilty, to feel disgraced at what you’ve done. But quite frankly, you can’t bring yourself to care.

Good riddance.

You ride for a great long while, your somewhat-captor’s arms woven around your waist and gripping you tight to them. Their chin rests on your shoulder and you can hear them breathing in your ear, even over the thundering of hooves. What a sight all of you must make, you think, as you traverse the countryside like a pack of devils. The exhilaration of the situation, the wind in your hair, thrills you and your face splits open in a smile. For the first time in your whole life you feel free.

Your companion must see your wild grin because their grip tightens around your waist and they bring their hips flush against your behind.

“Enjoying yourself, my sweet?” they call into your ear, only just loud enough for you to hear over the pounding gallops of the horse.

Briefly looking over your shoulder you nod, face flushed from both the wind and emotion. When you turn your head back around, you feel droplets begin to fall onto your cheeks and you hear the figure behind you let out a curse.

“We still have a few miles to ride,” they say, spurring the steed on with their heels, “Hope you don’t mind getting wet.” There’s a vaguely lascivious note to their voice and once again you feel a twinge between your thighs.

It takes about five minutes but suddenly the dark sky opens up and begins pouring down upon your group. You’re all riding as fast as you can through the forest when in the distance you see a large rock formation. As you get closer you notice there is a massive opening in the rock that leads into a dark, dark cave. You’re shivering by the time the riders stop at the entrance and dismount, soaked to the bone and barely able to move. Your companion dismounts swiftly and reaches up to remove you from the saddle. The other masked bandits stand around and watch as they carry you, as a groom carries a bride on their wedding night, into the mouth of the cave.

It’s not quite as dark in here as you originally thought - the walls lined with many torches and fires providing warmth to the dank space. The highwayman continues to carry you through the wide, weaving tunnel as if you weigh nothing. You feel so…so delicate in their arms, a sensation that you were entirely unfamiliar with. When the two of you turn a corner, you’re brought into a secluded area. The ground is covered in luxurious cushions and rugs, a large, thick fur tucked underneath. They set you down on the surprisingly comfortable surface and with a flick of their hand, remove both the kerchief covering their face and their hat.

Your jaw drops open.

Her hat.

The woman that stands before you is breathtaking as she loosens her silver streaked dark hair from the queue at the back of her neck. The coat comes off next and reveals a white blouse and, you note with your cheeks flushing deep, she wears no stays. Black fabric strains tight around rounded hips and long legs. 

You’re staring. And she notices.

“You’re not bad to look at yourself, my dove,” she coos. “Let’s get you out of those damp clothes, hmm?”

When she kneels down at your feet, staring deep into your eyes, you feel lightheaded. Carefully she unlaces your boots and removes them one by one. Fingers slipping on the buttons, you shed your drenched jacket, leaving yourself in equally wet white muslin. The rain has soaked through to your dress and now the material clings to your skin and stays. Her eyes travel across the swell of your breasts and her lips curl into a sinister toothy grin that makes you burn inside. You don’t know what to do now as you cannot reach the buttons on the back of your dress, but she seems to anticipate this and gestures for you to flip over onto your stomach. Slowly, she runs a hand over the curve of your backside and along your spine until she reaches the buttons and deftly undoes them, shedding you of one more layer. Shivering you turn back over, now only your stays and chemise separating your body from her intense gaze. Your fingers start to move towards the laces at the front of your chest but you hesitate.

“What’s your name?” you ask quietly as she scoots towards you more.

“Cirrus,” she answers simply. It’s unusual but it suits her and you quite like it. You tell her your name in return and you enjoy the way her lips and tongue wrap around it.

“May I?” she asks with a little half smile, hand gesturing towards the front of your stays. “You’ll catch a dreadful cold if we don’t get all this off you.”

Blush returning, you nod and her fingers begin tugging at the knot and laces until the garment falls open. Your thin, damp chemise fights for its life as it clings to your breasts and Cirrus licks her lips.

“Beautiful,” she breathes, eyes roaming over your form. “One last thing.”

Her hands reach down to the hem of your chemise, inching it up your body until it comes off over your head and is discarded behind her. When you’re fully exposed to her, wearing nothing but your white stockings, she lets out a ragged breath.

“Treasure the likes of which I have never seen before,” she murmurs, fingers running down your belly. Your mind harkens back to that salacious little novel you loved to read under the cover of night and the way the countess would touch her chambermaid. You feel a rush from between your legs and you bite your lip as your eyes dance upon Cirrus’ features. 

“W-what are you going to do to me?” you ask, cheeks heated and thighs clenching.

She lets out a dark little chuckle as her hand hovers over your body, twitching in their obvious desire to touch you.

“I told you,” she starts, leaning back, “that you’re mine now. And I am so very good to my treasures.”

“Oh?” your voice comes out higher than you would like.

“Mmm,” she hums as she throws a leg over your body the same way she mounted her steed. As she straddles your waist, her hands come up to tangle in your damp hair and brush her thumbs against your parted lips.

“Would you like me to be good to you, my sweet?”

She continues to thumb at your cheekbones while looking deep into your eyes, her gaze illuminated by the many torches that surround the two of you.

“No one has ever been…good to me,” you confess, understanding her double entendre. You are, after all, a good society girl. The only touch of a lover you have known is your own, late in the night when all were asleep.

“A damn shame,” she says, leaning her face down to yours, “And yet, I am so very glad that I have you all to myself now.” In an instant she slots her lips against yours and you jump from the contact. Her kiss is slow and languid, clearly delighting in the lack of urgency presented to the both of you. When she teases her tongue along your lower lip you let out a little whimper and she takes the opportunity to plunder your mouth. As she continues to hotly kiss you, you wind your arms around her neck to bring her in close. Her hand slides up the side of your body to cup at your breast, thumb flicking your pebbled nipple. When she breaks the kiss you let out a pathetic little whine that makes her grin as she slides further down your body.

“Such a needy thing, hmm?” she says before wrapping her lips around your nipple, causing your back to arch sharply. Your hand slides into her loose hair to push her against you and she lets out a rough chuckle around the bud before lightly nipping it with her teeth, causing your hips to buck upwards. When she pulls off of you and leans back, the pout on your face makes her throw her head back in a laugh.

“Wanton little creature!” she crows, as you continue to glare up at her, “they had no idea what lay beneath your surface, eh? All those simpering idiot suitors you undoubtedly had - they could never pull these sweet sounds from you.”

You shake your head as she idly palms your breasts in her beautiful hands. 

“Darling girl, I’m going to make you scream,” she promises, once again lowering her mouth to you. The pleasure that seeps out of you as she laves at your other breast makes your back arch once more. Slowly, her body continues to slide down and she places tender kisses over the curves of your belly. When she settles between your legs, she grins with all her teeth. Hands grip at the fullness of your thighs, fingers slipping underneath your stockings to feel the soft flesh there. Her breath dances across your mound, stirring the hairs and she nuzzles into your leg.

“Tell me what you want,” Cirrus asks, fingers tracing the veins in your leg.

“I…I don’t know,” you say honestly, blushing furiously.

She chuckles against you, placing a kiss to your inner thigh that makes you twitch.

“Do you want me to devour you?” she says, licking a stripe along the slit of you that wrenches a sharp gasp from your throat. “Do you want me to fill you up like no man ever could?”

“I–I…yes. Yes, please.” The confession leaves your lips in a rush, desperate to feel her mouth on you once more.

Gently, Cirrus uses two fingers to spread you open and what she sees clearly delights her.

“Mmm sweet girl, so fucking wet for me and me alone, aren’t you?”

Her fingers trace along your clitorial hood, forcing a whine from your throat.

“Yes,” you breathe, your hips unconsciously making little circles. “I need you, Cirrus. Only you.”

The words cause Cirrus to let out a feral growl before she slides the flat of her tongue along your bud. She hungrily laps at your slick, circling your clit before dipping down into your entrance for more. You’ve never felt anything like this before - none of your meager attempts at self-pleasure could compare - and you tell her so. Your confession spurs her on as she continues to assault your cunt with her tongue, sliding in and out of your entrance. It’s divine, and if she continued like this you could die happy but you need more.

“Cirrus,” you whine as she wraps her lip around your clit and sucks, “fill me up. Please, I need more.”

Cirrus smiles against your mound and places a chaste kiss to it as she pulls back to rearrange herself. When she brings a single, long finger to tease at your entrance your hips thrust forward.

“Next time I’ll use my cock,” she promises as she slowly slides the finger in. “This will do for now.”

Her mouth returns to your clit and you spasm around her finger as she crooks it inside you. All of a sudden your eyes roll back at the sensation, and grinning, she adds another finger. With both of them hooked inside you, brushing that spot you’ve never known before, she flexes her fingers as she sucks at you. As her fingers piston in and out of you, your hips jerk upwards to meet her thrusts, desperate to feel more of her. When she adds a third finger, stretching you deliciously you keen and clench your fingers deep in the fur rug. She’s relentless, ruthless as she brings you closer and closer to the edge, lips locked around your clit and fingers fucking into you. Your breaths become more and more shallow, gasping for air as you feel something build in your pelvis that spreads throughout your body. Suddenly your hand flies to grip at her hair and she growls at your tugging, fingers moving even faster. You’re calling her name, swearing your undying love to her, swearing your body to her as she brings you over the edge. All of a sudden your back bows off the cushions and you throw your head back, a loud, lingering moan exploding from your lips. She continues to work her fingers and mouth on you through your climax, relenting only when you beg her to stop. As your breaths heave from you, she draws away from you and removes her fingers. You’re loath to lose the feeling of being so full but when you see her appearance, you’re filled with a simmering desire. Her hair is a mess from being in your clutches, face sopping wet from the nose down and a vicious grin on her face. Not breaking eye contact with you she wipes her face on the back of her sleeve before crawling up your body and settling beside you.

“Cirrus,” you breathe, only now calming down from your high, “that was…I’ve never…”

She chuckles and pulls a blanket at your feet over the both of you, drawing you into her warm embrace. The space is surprisingly cozy despite being deep within a cave.

“My girl,” she murmurs, kissing your temple and wrapping an arm around your waist. “Thank you for giving me the honor of ruining you.”

You want to roll your eyes and give her a look, but she’s right. As if you could be with anyone else after…after that.

“What now?” you say quietly, toying with the sleeve of her blouse.

“What do you mean?” she asks, leaning away to look at you. “I told you you’re mine. I always mean what I say.”

Suddenly, you’re filled with a rush of warmth that starts in your belly and spreads to the tip of your head down to your toes. You think of your old life - your horrible guardians, stodgy suitors, boring balls - and you grin.

“Never pictured myself as a highwaywoman’s mistress before,” you say, tucking your head into her. “I quite think it will suit me.”

#cirrus x reader #cirrus x female reader #cirrus x f!reader #cirrus ghoulette #the band ghost #the band ghost fic #rachel writes

[dovithedarklord]

Age of Mosters - Chapter Sixteen

Pairing: OFC x Simon "Ghost" Riley, OFC x König

Tags: Slow Burn, Slow Build, Enemies to Lovers, Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, POV First Person, Not Beta Read, Medical Inaccuracies, Military Inaccuracies, AFAB OC

Trigger Warning: The story will contain violance, blood and smut in detail. Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

...................................

Author's Note

The small team uncovers interesting clues, and Leona has the opportunity to get to know the new helpers during action.

Hello! :D

I apologize for disappearing, but I was forced to move and the last few weeks weren't exactly easy because of that:') But now I returned and I'm back to posting more regularly!

I have a lot of trigger warnings for today's chapter, please take it seriously! TW: Blood and gore, death, violence, mentions of rape, mentions of abuse, mentions of violence against minors, torture, body horror.

All this brutality has a purpose, but we have to suffer it through first to be able to see it!

Have fun!

I.M.L. - Infected mammalian lifeform. I.H.L. - Infected humanoid lifeform.

if you're interested you can find the story on AO3: Chapter Sixteen

......................................

Stormy wind blows the cool raindrops falling from the dark clouds in my face, and I'm only fleetingly aware of how the bony fingers of the dry branches sticking out of the wild vegetation dig into the straps of my uniform, as I cautiously advance towards the target despite the increasingly hostile siege of the weather. Once there was a vineyard of poetic beauty here, where people retreated from all the hustle and bustle of everyday life, and could immerse themselves in comfortable relaxation and enjoy every expensive drop of the wine sold at a price of gold, away from the big cities. However, fifty years of desolation have left nothing but an overgrown jungle of vines and an endless sea of weeds that envelop them in a suffocating embrace. But this abandoned garden still serves a good purpose, because it benevolently hides all the members of our small team heading towards the huge building resting in the middle of the large estate. And we need all the kind help of nature, because even this can hardly cover the two huge men at the head of our group.

It can't be denied that after our little trio arrived at the scene of our latest adventure, the matters started moving surprisingly quickly, after the Hunter, König, shared with us all the juicy information that he so sweetly extracted from the unfortunate gang member, who they seemingly pulled out of nowhere. After explaining the coordinates, he offered the plan at least at such a fast pace, putting the whole action together with the kind of practicality that can be expected from a member of a KorTac-like, well-oiled machine. And although the fast progression of events meant only positive news for us, but I know that I wasn't the only one who had mixed feelings and came to the rather suspicion-filled realization about what financial motivation lies behind our new team's enthusiasm.

And despite the professionalism with which my two companions move together with our new helpers and their hardworking soldiers, even through the curtain of the pouring rain, I can easily make out the tension that sits in the jacket-covered shoulders of MacTavish, who strides in front of me. Maybe I would think him crazy if he wouldn't be in a flap regarding the success of our mission, since the peace of our already fragile life depends on it, but I have the sneaking suspicion that for once it's not just our operation, twisting into increasingly complicated subplots, that is responsible for the uneasiness that lingers in him and his masked bosom friend.

My bright eyes are inevitably drawn to the huge figure, who cuts through the tangled cavalcade of overgrown plant life as if it were nothing more to him than a few unruly blades of grass, breaking down the army of twigs in front of him with a few careless movements of his long hands, as he moves forward with the purposefulness of a bulldozer. It’s not an exaggeration to say that the man with a rather German-sounding name and dressed in a strange hood successfully planted the sounds of caution in my mind from the very first moment, because even though he is now an ally to us, it wasn't by chance that Shepherd hired another SSS-class fighter to play babysitter on our mission overflowing with sensitive information. The old bastard wanted to play safe by giving Riley a playmate from his own weight group, and if there is even an iota of truth to my intuition that the two mercenaries will also include a very open ear for us along with their helping hand, then in addition to finding the serum we also have to make sure that they don't stab us in the back and inform the old man about every breath we take. Because that would be the logical step if the leader of the colony wanted complete discretion. That he silences us, who know an embarrassing amount about his rather criminal dealings. And who else would be more suitable for this chore than two killers abundantly loaded with credits, who present just the right challenge to my partners.

It's enough for me to glance at the masked Hunter, who is lurking not far behind the guy who resembles a smaller yeti, and his hand clenched on his weapon says enough about how comfortable he feels in the newly established set-up. Of course, those who are in deep shit shouldn't be picky when fate takes pity on them, but I can understand why this terrifying man is still troubled by the fact that the big boss has given us friends who would be able to give him a hard time too. I know that these thoughts have crossed his mind as well, and that is precisely why he remains in his colleague's heels like an ineradicable shadow. Because he wants to be the first to cut his throat if he tries anything even remotely suspicious.

During the raging storm, the few minutes seem like decades until we reach the end of the rows of grapes, and the line of a beaten stone fence appears in the wind-torn, knee-high grass. I obediently follow the Scottish Hunter, who kneels behind the low wall on the muddy ground, and almost immediately takes a closer look at the remains of the hotel stretching out in front of us, that once served as the site of expensive vacations. I have to admit that the bastard who leads the separatist group has pretty good taste, because even though all that's left of the once-luxurious comfort is a battered, empty skeleton, it's still just inviting enough to be suitable for hiding. But what’s perhaps even more remarkable is that, according to König, these people chose the imposing hideout not only because of the nostalgia that reminds them of the prosperity of the old days, but also because even though this den is located right in the middle of the red zone, yet it’s conveniently far from any well-known nest. Of course, this mystery could easily be explained by the fact that such a wandering troupe gains a lot of useful experience when roaming in the wilderness, but they have avoided danger too skillfully so far for it to be a mere lucky coincidence. At the head of this gang is someone who, like Valeria, has just enough experience to avoid the watchful eyes of the authorities and the sharp claws of mutants. Terribly interesting.

"That's the back door. We'll enter there." I hear the voice thick with an accent on the radio that breaks through the rustle of the wind, and I only peer at our hooded tour guide from the corner of my eye. And I'm once again reminded of the sheer size of the hired Hunter, because even though he shrunk himself down to the smallest possible size to the best of his capabilities, his broad shoulders still peek out spectacularly from the cover of the fence. And unlike Riley, whose enticingly massive measurements fill me mostly with excitement, König's stature plants dozens of sinister thoughts in my skull. My masked companion has also been blessed by nature and the kind genes of his species with a figure that commands authority, but our new mate surpasses even that. And I can't shake the suspicion that he uses this magnificent physique with the efficiency of a living weapon, which I have no problem with as long as he doesn't want to test his unparalleled skills against us. I warmly advise him not to do this, because due to the sea of crap that I experienced in these last few weeks, my stimulus threshold has decreased just enough to kill him after the first bad movement. Even if I have to be smart about it.

"It's not that heavely protected." Comes the curt observation from Riley, and now I direct my eyes toward the target in front of us instead of studying our new teammate, because it would be timely for me to dedicate my brain capacity to the mission as well. And at first glance, the whole place exudes a deceptive desertedness, but I dont let the apparent immobility mislead me. Because I immediately understand what the masked man saw so keenly. It's enough to observe the dark figures appearing through the cracks of the boarded-up windows to know that, although the vagaries of the weather are in our favor and there are no more guards than necessary, but inside it’s not certain that we will be so lucky. The task is made even more difficult by the fact that we have to catch the main bastard, because based on the information forced out from the weakest link, none of his subordinates was sufficiently informed about the group's business affairs to be able to spill wherever our stolen serum may be.

"Let's go." König immediately takes the initiative, and even before he would wait for his idea to be acknowledged, he springs up and jumps over the stone wall with such ease, as if our improvised hiding place, which is at least waist-high for me, would be nothing more than a small inconvenience that can easily be crossed.

However, there is no time to hesitate, because as soon as the man, burning with the fever of readiness to get into action, takes the first few meters on the quite open field covered with overgrown grass, he is almost immediately followed by Horangi and his stern-eyed men, leaving us no chance to wait around either. And all I need is a quick glance at the masked Hunter swinging over the wall to know, that the leadership role that his new colleague arbitrarily seized for himself is not really to his taste. Because although he doesn't voice his displeasure with a single word, I have observed him just enough to recognize the tension in his heavy steps. He has enough sense of duty to endure frustration for the sake of our goal, but I know that this charming patience won't last forever. And I have a feeling that this whole impossible situation is getting on his nerves enough to lure his less diplomatic self out of him. He will work together as long as he has to, but not for a minute longer. What a rosy outlook.

Just as MacTavish moves next to me, suppressing a tired sigh under his breath, and nimbly leaps over the fence after his bosom friend, then I finally pull myself together and throw my weapon on my back to swing myself to the other side, following the Scotsman. We cross the few narrow meters that separate us from the building at lightning speed, and I thank the increasingly fierce storm, because we would otherwise be embarrassingly easy targets even in this short distance. And the fact that the surrounding area of the structure is so easy to keep an eye on raises the suspicion in me again, that it could only have been designated as a temporary accommodation by someone who had enough experience to know what difficulty the long grassy wasteland poses for a curious wanderer trying to get close to it. And this makes me more and more curious as to who might be at the head of the separatists, because all their actions so far indicate that they aren't just a simple criminal.

In front of the beat-down entrance, the soldiers wait for the instructions of their leader, who, when he is sure that we have arrived successfully, opens the door without a second of delay and charges forward with decisiveness, raising his weapon in front of him, closely followed by his Korean comrade, who lets us know with just a wave that we'd better follow their example, if we don't want to fail prematurely by waiting around in the doorstep. Although I'm not particularly impressed by the behavior of the two men, but based on the expression on the faces of my two friends, I can be sure that they do not share my lack of interest. This may not be the first time they have had to work with strangers, and maybe it wouldn't hurt their egos to not be in control of the whole operation, but it's all the more likely that they will be at least as comfortable tolerating this treatment from Shepherd's men as if someone were pulling their teeth out. And I strongly hope, praying to any higher authority listening, that this whole circus doesn't turn into a dick-measuring contest in the middle of a world-shattering event, because even Riley, who keeps his cool very skillfully, won't tolerate it without saying a word.

My boots land on the worn marble floor with a wet thump, when, at the end of the line, I cross the threshold into the embrace of the dark little corridor, and my nose is hit almost immediately by the musty smell of mold spreading on the damp walls. Despite the late spring weather, the whole place radiates an unfriendly coldness, and as the intrusive caress of the breeze blowing through the vacant building penetrates my soaked clothes, goosebumps erupt on my back instinctively. The huge house looks lifeless enough to fool the less experienced travelers, but my eyes aren’t the only ones who notice the mud-covered footprints on the dirty stone, which spread along the hallway shrouded in darkness. According to this, these bastards are tough enough to kill civilians, but they prefer to hide from a small thunderstorm within the four walls, even if they voluntarily let the attackers into their dwelling by doing it. I wasn't wrong about these thieves being cruel, but far more stupid than it would first appear.

We start silently towards the depths of the hotel, and the hooded man leading the way guides us to the source of the dull light coming from a distance, dictating a slow but all the more determined pace, with such a soundless softness compared to his height, like a predator scouting for prey. And his caution soon pays off, because as soon as he reaches the end of the passageway, a guy dressed in ragged combat gear appears in the small room before us, who notices the danger coming towards him too late. Because when he breaks away from his deep conversation on the radio and glances towards us, König ia already in front of him with impossible speed, crossing the distance between him and his victim with three wide steps with his long legs. And before the bandit could react, and would be able to open his mouth and alarm his companions, by then, a huge hand already lands on his face, and swallowing the startled shock, which crawls there with instinctive speed when he realizes that he has fallen into the grasp of a giant. But he doesn't even have time to understand what is happening, because with the momentum with which he galloped towards him, the Hunter rams the criminal, frozen in stunned terror, against the nearest wall just as easily. And even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to do anything about the attack, because as suddenly as it came, his attacker ends his life as quickly. The crack with which the helpless man's skull splits open when it meets the concrete is stomach-churning, and the once cream-colored plaster is turned into a grotesque painting by the bloody pieces of brain tissue bursting from the shattered bones. And I have to forcefully fight the stomach acid gathering in my throat, when an eyeball appears for a moment from between the gloved fingers, staring blankly at me before falling to the ground with the lifeless body, as it's released by its killer. But perhaps it enhances the discomfort in me even more when our new teammate turns towards us with such cold calmness, shaking off the shattered pieces of slimy meat stuck to his glove, as if he had not just crushed a person's head with his bare hands, but had just swatted a naughty fly.

And even though I know how powerful Hunters are, I can only drive away the surprise mixed with disgust on my face with great concentration, because this ruthlessness surpasses everything that my dark little mind has thought possible until now. It was definitely a successful way to silence someone, but even I can see that it wasn't about efficiency. Because, when he fixes his gaze on his men emerging from the corridor, and takes in the respect and fear that appears on their faces, even I can see the satisfaction with which his back straightens. And I don't need to know this brutal man to understand, that he eased the hunger of his own self-confidence with this gruesome but spectacular stunt.

And when I, behind Riley and MacTavish, wander into the small hall leading to what may be the staff passageways, I have the opportunity to observe the grim expression slowly taking shape on their faces as well. Perhaps they also feel that this presentation didn't only take place so that the soldiers know their place, but also carries an unspoken threat, with which their colleague lets them know that it would be advisable for them to behave well, because someone has joined their company who will be able to cause them problems even without activating his ability. Shepherd… you dirty fucker. You want us to remember that help can disappear quickly if we don't play by the rules. How awfully smart.

"We split up here. One team goes upstairs, the others search through the ground floor." König turns to our small group, still maintaining the noble task of managing the mission, gesturing with one hand to the stairs opening from the back of the place, and then to the corridors on both sides, facing each other. With his tall figure, he easily stands out from among us, as he quickly scans his men, looking for any brave volunteer who would not agree with his proposal. And when he only receives a curt but obedient nod, he turns towards us to find our trio, and his eyes settles on me inexplicably quickly, zeroing in on me with embarrassing speed. And this isn't the first time since our not-so-distant meeting that he has found me so enthusiastically. Ever since he stepped out of that cramped container used for interrogation, he discovers me from time to time again, as if there would be a fucking magnet stuck on my pretty little body, drawing his attention to me as soon as I'm within range.

And although every single one of my facial muscles melts into the determined mask of expressionlessness, as his gaze sinks into mine, a visceral uneasiness awakens in my stomach. Because although I knew from the first minute that we had to be on guard, since probably at the end of Shepherd's leash made of money they are only allies for us until their master orders them otherwise, but he slowly makes it very clear that both his demonstration of strength and his behavior serves as a warning. And it doesn't make me happy at all when I come to the painful realization that, unlike my two companions, I would have a harder time defending myself if our cooperation took a rough turn. I know that he can't harm me right now, since the success of the mission is too important for that, but the little voice in my brain tells me that I'd better watch out for him, because it doesn't mean anything good that he is keeping an eye on me so readily. I could chalk it up to the fact that, being a good Hunter, he is just afraid of the physical integrity of a valuable Extreme, if I'm so exotic, but I can't get rid of the small fleeting intuition that this is about something else. And I don't like the curious glimmer in those sky-blue eyes when I stubbornly raise my head. No matter how big you are, you will need a lot more than that to scare me.

"You're goin' upstairs with Soap." Riley suddenly speaks, thus breaking me out of the tense stare-down duel that I'm unconsciously engaging with the behemoth man, and I turn with the greatest joy to the masked Hunter, who lingers on his colleague for a dangerous moment, before turning his hard gaze on me. "Stay alert." He leans closer, covering us from the audience with his back, and even this small act speaks quite eloquently of how much trust he has for our new teammates. And I can't blame him for that, because even though we need all the help, none of us lost our minds from gratitude. Especially not him, who runs circles in his head similar to my paranoid brain, probably because he has too many bitter experiences behind him to be naive. He knows too, how sensitive this alliance is.

I only hold his gaze for a heartbeat longer, and that's enough to see the weariness lurking in his dark eyes, next to which my trained little senses recognize the tiny little light that seems quite concerned even to my mind struggling with colorful imagination. And after the busy events of the past few days, I don't necessarily feel delusional anymore when it occurs to me, that he will be worried not only about his bff, but also about my safety, when he starts his lonely journey in this ex-resort that has become a crime den. And this lures a faint, but still naughty little curve to my lips, with which I silently tell him that it will take a lot more than a couple of lowlife thieves to make me bite the dust. Unfortunately, no one gets rid of my mean little person that easily. Although I have a feeling that this caution is not for the criminals who roam the walls…

But even before I could come up with a particularly witty answer for him, a hand lands on my shoulder and directs my thoughts, which have strayed into inappropriate side tracks, to their owner. And as my Scottish friend bursts into my field of vision, clutching his gun, he motions with his head towards the stairs leading upstairs, showing quite obviously that it's time for us to get to work before the gang realizes what surprise is being prepared for them in secret.

"Come on, lassie. There are bastards we need to put some holes into." He reminds me, and the serious expression, that has been stubbornly clinging to his features since the beginning of our current outing, softens from the tiny line of the cheeky smile that moves to his stubble-framed mouth. And although it's possible that the circumstances of our alliance have made him more cautious, I know that he has by no means forgotten the many horrors, some of which he owes to the outlaws who loiter here. Even if our adventure in the city is not their making, the bloodshed caused in the research institute is, and I know the man well enough to know that the possibility of paying off some of the many painful promises is responsible for his enthusiasm. And I won't stand in his way for a minute.

"After you." I gesture with one of my hands towards the path leading up, thus handing over the stage to the Hunter to let him turn into the tour guide, if he is already buzzing with such energy. And he immediately seizes the opportunity, raising his assault rifle in front of him, to bid farewell to his masked bosom friend with a last meaningful nod, and head towards the stairs. And I obediently close up behind him with my weapon pointed forward ready to attack, glancing back at Riley once more before disappearing into the maze of spiraling steps. And perhaps it means nothing to an outside observer, as he raises his head and follows the progress of our little duo with unbroken persistence, but my senses, which are desperately quick to notice every small twitch of his, quickly discover the small wrinkles that appear around the painted skin around his eyes. And I can understand from this, that he is parting from us with an anxious heart, but he is much calmer when he can put a safe distance between us and our helpers who are slowly organizing themselves into smaller groups. He would rather be alone among the wolves than expose us to the same danger. And the unpleasant nervousness awakening in my stomach only hopes that the two mercenaries won’t feel like turning against us right now.

But before long, the small gathering disappears from my vision, as the steps continue to turn towards the upper floor, and we are swallowed up by the narrow staircase. The sound of our soaked boots is blessedly absorbed by the worn velvet carpet that runs along the stairs, thus enveloping our silently sneaking pair in a dangerous silence. And the higher we get, the stronger the suspicion gets in my head, because we get to the top floor too easily and undisturbed, as if no one had taken up residence within the walls of the abandoned facility. And although the massive building offers plenty of hiding places, these wretched vermins don't know they have guests, and this silence is far more ominous than what my paranoid mind can bear. That's why my fingers instinctively tighten around the grip of my gun, preparing to pump the very first suspicious shadow full of ammunition.

MacTavish pauses only for a moment at the end of the staircase to cautiously peer out from behind the wall looking for the enemy. And when he is certain it's safe to proceed and no unsuspecting gang members have appeared to attack, he gestures forward with his gloved hand, and I understand his silent request even from the small gesture and follow him as he steps out into the wide corridor framed by carved wood. Once upon a time, it was probably a fortune to pack this tasteful covering here, but now the thin cracks run along them like a spiderweb from the moisture and the iron teeth of time, replacing the former luxury with a ghostly atmosphere. However, it attracts my attention much more, and it also makes my Scottish friend wonder, where to go on the dark road, because each of the two paths opening towards the wings of the building has the same chance of hiding valuable targets.

But I don't have to think too much about where we should head next, for the man precedes me in discovery, and I merely raise one of my eyebrows in interest, when he closes his eyes and sniffs the stale air, like a hunting dog looking after the wounded prey. Although there is already a sassy comment on the tip of my tongue about his methods, he turns his head to the side surprisingly quickly, staring with such intensity at the dark corridor opening on the right, as if he really would be hot on the scent. His super-senses probably recognized the stench of the gangsters lurking between the walls quite accurately, because after flashing his blue eyes at me meaningfully, he sets off across the worn carpet with such determination as if he had actually found his prey.

And it soon becomes clear how effectively his abilities developed by nature detect the enemy, because as we get further into the narrow pathway, the faint noise of our steps is accompanied by the characteristic, soft murmur of human speech, which although doesn't uncovers the topic of the discourse, but reveals that there is more than one person waiting for us on the other side. A gloomy, gray light greets us as soon as we reach the end of the corridor, and following the Hunter's example, I lean against the cool wall, listening to the fragments of words drifting in our way. One of the members is probably wandering closer to us, because the conversation he is having with his friends is gradually becoming more audible, and although I don't know the context, I don't like what I can finally understand from it in the least.

"Take the bitch to the boss in two hours. Until then, do something to wake her up. She must be awake." Murmurs the deep male voice, and the disdain in his tone fills me with disgust without even knowing who he could be talking about so kindly. It's not only the tone that helps plant frustration in my brain, but also the fact that there are civilians here, probably not of their own volition, because it only makes our task more difficult. Because the whole mission quickly progresses from the initial capture of the main scum to hostage rescue. And it's clear from the muffled cursing coming out of MacTavish's mouth that he isn't particularly excited by this unexpected development, and if I have to judge only by the clenched curve of his jaw, then his already not-so-rosy mood is only getting worse.

Based on his steps, the guy barking out his instructions gets closer to us, and when he comes into view at the mouth of the corridor, he stares at the two of us in puzzlement. But, when he could reach for the pistol resting on his belt, my friend with the mohawk springs into action, and cuts the throat of the man with a knife taken from his vest with deadly precision, before the guy would have the chance to alert what a pleasant new company his gang has got in our person. Like a waterfall set free, the blood gushes out of the wound, and with wide-open eyes, desperately gaping, he tries to press his palms to the slit, but the crimson liquid escapes unstoppably between his fingers, and my stomach tightens from the metallic smell. But it's more of a reflexive response than true hunger, and my eyes instinctively fixate on the delicacy that slowly drenches the man's jacket, then draws a dark puddle around him as he sprawls on the ground with one last choked gasp. And luckily for this wretch, because of my self-control and Riley's surprisingly nutritious blood, I don't feel the insatiable urge to crank up his agony with a nice little snacking. 

"We're goin' in. On me." MacTavish says, gesturing towards the room with his head, and I nod, adjusting my finger on the trigger, giving him the kick-start to push forward with the determination of a true professional. And when he steps into the spacious room bathed in light, then, without hesitation, he aims at the scumbags that are hanging out there, immediately putting a bullet in the head of one of them, as soon as he jumps up to honor the surprise that we give them.

And emerging from behind his strong figure, I launch myself into the attack, and thanks to the many hours spent with suffering on the shooting range, it's much easier for me to shoot the big guy standing guard in front of the double doors on the other side of the hall, who, thanks to my clever little ambush, falls down to the pale blue tile with a pained scream. However, there is no time to pat myself on the back for my magnificent performance, because much sooner than that, another volunteer charges at me, swinging his knife at me to try to reshape my face. But the lack of coordination in his movements gives me enough time, and my body acts much faster. I bend down to get out of the way of the blade, and taking advantage of his surprise, I point the barrel of my gun at his stomach, so that I can reorganize his internal organs with my bullets at friendly close range. Warm blood splashes on my face, but it doesn't affect me one bit, because it gives me much more satisfaction to see him stagger backwards, with genuine shock on his face, like a wounded animal. I don't feel an iota of guilt, because they didn't show a shred of compassion when they were playing hide ans seek with the defenseless staff in the research institute. Fate gives everyone what they deserve. And I don't even want to deny that it fills me with great pleasure to be able to contribute to its vendetta.

It's all but a few minutes, and all the stray sounds of our incipient fight die down, leaving nothing but the angry pattering of the rain on windows stretching up to the ceiling on the side of the room. The Scottish Hunter finishes off the last bandit as I straighten up and turn around to see how many enemies he has left me. He effortlessly pulls out the knife from the head of a bald man, which he could have sunk into his skull up to the hilt with an impossible force, and then, wiping the blade with a careless movement, steps back, allowing the lifeless body to fall into the empty pool in the middle of the room. And as it lands with a dull thud, it kicks up decades old dirt that has gathered in dirty stains on the dried, mosaic-like tiles.

"There is something behind the door that was worth being protected." I conclude as I take a look at the unmoving criminals spread out on the floor, quickly counting all eight that have got together so intimately in this cozy little hall. And since I suspect that they didn't gather among the remains of the indoor swimming pool because of nostalgia for the past, therefore they could only try to hide something very interesting behind that door, in front of which now lies the still corpse of the humongous gang member I shot.

"Probably the hostages." MacTavish notes walking beside me, his blue eyes fixed on the tastefully crafted solid wood entrance, slowly sliding his knife back into its pouch resting on his shoulder strap. And there is no mistake in his assumption, because it has already come to light that at least one person is being held captive in this magnificent shithole. But even if a dozen defenseless civilians were locked up here, far fewer armed guards would have been enough to keep them in check, especially if they were so weakened that life had to be breathed into them by force. They were trying to protect something else with such fearful concern here.

"Fewer people would have been enough for that. There is something else there." I cast my significant gaze on my friend, and he turns his head to me with his eyebrows furrowed. But as our eyes meet, he understands without words what I'm getting at. If something very important, say a super-secret chemical created by the government, is buried on the other side, then it's very reasonable for a bunch of guards to stand by, vigilantly waiting to see if someone comes to retrieve it.

"Let's go." The Hunter sets off with renewed motivation, and I follow him with no less vigor, because the knowledge that the end of this fucking parade overflowing with chaos can be within arms reach makes my steps much more faster. We cross the room briskly, so that when we reach the threshold of our next goal, I step over the bloodied man lying there and smooth my hand on the doorknob, glancing expectantly at the Hunter. And when he pulls himself together with his assault rifle raised and nods towards me, ready to attack, I push the door open with a decisive movement and let MacTavish charge forward, who rushes past me immediately.

But as I enter as well, and the spacious suite is revealed to me, I'm greeted by nothing but silence and a multitude of unknown crates, which are piled next to each other in rough irregularity, covering the space of a room that was once worth a fortune. And I don't have to tear any of them open to know what's in them, because the smell of gunpowder permeates the air like a disease. Lowering his weapon, the man with the mohawk ventures further into the room, opening one of the large boxes with bewilderment, and when I catch a glimpse of the metallic shine of the almost untouched rifles in it, I'm overcome with confusion similar to my friend's. I expected to find a couple of questionable, but all the more valuable items, but the absence of the hostages, and especially the lack of the serum, raises a series of dangerous questions in my head. Why was it necessary to protect stolen firearms so enthusiastically? Of course, I understand that goods have to be protected, but they can't just walk away, can they?

But when a disapproving grunt-like voice erupts from my Scottish companion, I quickly understand what could have needed such an awful lot of protection besides the rifles. As soon as the first bag full of white powder is found in another opened box, it becomes very obvious that these bandits got their hands on everything that could be used to bring in even the smallest amount of credits. So it's not so surprising that they were willing to cross the wilderness teeming with mutants and slaughter a whole group of unsuspecting researchers for the sake of profit. Of course, that still leaves one question open. Where are the civilians?

But I don't have time to dwell on that, because a roaring bang shakes the building out of nowhere, sending fine plaster dust from the ceiling into my rain-drenched hair. I smooth the damp dirt from my face with the back of my hand, smearing the drops of blood there, only glancing questioningly at MacTavish, on whose face suddenly the apparent gloom deepens, as if he knows that this noise can only mean trouble. And without a doubt, it does, because when he rushes to one of the boarded-up windows and peeks through the gap, he reaches for his radio in the middle of cussing.

"Ghost! What the hell is goin' on there?" He shouts into the device, and his deep voice is filled with such tension that I'm becoming more and more curious as to what his clever eyes could have seen in the yard that caused such concern on his face. But, as I walk towards him, a small, tormented whimper pierces through the chaos that has arisen, which reminds me more of the cry of a tortured animal than of a human being. And that instantly distracts me from the man and the troubling goings-on outside, as the uncomfortable pull in my stomach automatically directs my eyes to the single door on the side of the room.

"We found the target. It's a Hunter and he resists." Riley's hoarse baritone sounds in my ears, but the weight of the information doesn't reach my consciousness due to the noise of the alarm bells going off in my brain. I don't even register as the Hunter, hearing the new information, bursts out in colorful insults, because my legs instinctively take me towards my discovery, and with each step, the soft, muffled sobs become louder, which another voice tries to shush to silence.

"Woods, we have to go!" My partner suddenly calls out after me, but I don't even listen to his urging, because I'm already in front of the unknown entrance, and before he can inquire further about what the hell I'm doing, instead of rushing to the aid of our team with him, I already lock my fingers onto the doorknob and turn it without thinking, opening the wooden panel with a sudden movement.

And the blood freezes in my veins when I see what awaits me beyond the doorway. The light coming from behind me eerily paints the dim little bathroom, and licks at the figure of two strangers clinging to each other, backed into one of the corners. The boy, whose dirt-darkened face is smeared with lines of fresh tears, can't be more than fifteen, but a thousand years of pain and fear are concentrated in his eyes widening in alarm, as he curls up shivering in the embrace of protectively intertwined arms. The bony hands clenched around him bear the angry contours of several old wounds and dozens of seemingly new bruises, and even in spite of this, the woman, trembling, but all the more determined, pulls her protégé's body, weak from malnutrition, to her chest, saying with every cell that she will protect the poor kid even with her last breath. And as my eyes slide down to her ankles, where the thick shackles have rubbed spots blooming in black and purple, and then my gaze moves up and takes in the brownish scales of dried blood on the inside of her thighs, my stomach is clenched with such force by desperate rage that I can only forcefully hold back the scream that threatens to burst out of my throat. Because it doesn't take much logic to deduce who is held here in such high esteem when a Hunter is the leader of the whole fucking group.

"What the hell..." Comes the shocked question from MacTavish as he suddenly appears next to me, both of them flinching in fear at the man's voice. The boy starts to cry with renewed force, and the horrified sob that escapes from his chapped lips squeezes my insides as if someone had hit me in the stomach full force with a hammer. And this instinctively makes my hand reach back and motion to the Hunter to back away, and without taking my eyes off the pair I crouch down, laying my weapon on the ground with such caution as if with each movement I risked them disappearing into the shadows stretching behind them. And without a doubt, they would most likely want to do that, because the utterly distrustful look with which they follow me the entire time reveals that there is nothing else in this world that they wouldn't expect to hurt them, for they have already experienced so much misery.

"It's okay, you have nothing to fear. I'm a Healer too." I point to myself, and I try with every fiber of my being to move tenderness into my voice, which is difficult not because I rarely had to practice it, but because of the rage screaming in my brain, since I would rather gut the bastard who was capable of doing this. "I want to help. Don't be afraid."

And although the terror eases for a bit, with which they press themselves into the musty walls, but as the boy timidly pulls away from the woman a little, his bare legs emerge from under his outstretched T-shirt, and thus every desperate inch of his nakedness is revealed, then something quite terrifying, hot feeling flares up inside me. Because when I see the hand-like marks on his narrow, bony hips, the sure knowledge that the sick bastard who brought them here hasn’t spared any of them settles into my mind with a cruel force. And when my gaze, darkened by recognition, meets the woman's silent, distraught eyes, I can read from them that the horror that unfolded before me is only the tip of the iceberg. Fuck.

⃰

My legs take me almost automatically through the labyrinth of the unknown base, and even I'm surprised by how quickly I rush out into the yard, finding the familiar hangar and continuing my journey there. But my brain is too busy to have the energy to praise myself for my excellent orientation skills. Because every single nerve cell of mine is woven through with that icy rage that has nested itself in all the corners of my body like an infectious disease. And even if I wanted to, I wouldn't be able to overcome the destructive storm raging under the surface, because I still vividly remember what kind of injuries I discovered on the bodies of the two Healers when I finally treated them after we returned to the KorTac base with the separatist leader in our hands. The mission ended with a rapid success after the minor complication, and the knowledge that we are one step closer to finding the serum should cheer me up, but I felt their trembling under my own hands when I supported them out of that damned cesspool. And it isn't difficult to imagine what kind of treatment they received, if the boy was already clinging to me with fear when MacTavish tried to give him a coat. I saw in my mind's eye every single bone that had just been fused together, every single scar and bruise, and also the wounds that one can only suffer when a beast cannot command its fucking dick and stucks it into everything, it doesn't matter if the hole it found, what or who it belongs to.

I stare straight ahead as I enter the vast space of the hangar, and I'm only vaguely aware of how readily the soldiers passing by move out of my way when they see the frozen expression on my face. At other times, it might fill me with morbid joy to see what effect I can have on my environment, but now only one goal guides and directs me towards the container resting in the corner. I want to show that fucking sadistic bastard with my own hands, what kind of torture can drive a man to the point of begging for death.

But when I get close enough to the large metal cage, a strong figure appears in front of me almost out of nowhere, and it takes me a second to realize who is standing before me through the fog of fury raging in my head. The Korean man holds out one of his camo-clad hands in front of me, causing me to halt and take a deep breath, trying to muster every last spark of my self-control before I would jump on him with an inarticulate yell and help him stand aside.

"You can't go in, there's an interrogation going on." Horangi declares firmly, and even though I can't see his face, I can sense from his accent that he is very serious about his statement intended as an instruction. And maybe it's not customary for them to allow simple Healers to interfere in the busy work of the Hunters, but right now I don't care in the least what traditions and rules they keep here. Because my patience is hanging on by a thread, and every single obstacle that stands between me and my victim dangerously stretches my tolerance to the point of snapping.

"If you don't get out of my way, I'll kill you." I inform him without a flinch, and I flash my eyes at him with such a significant warning that even a brainless idiot would be able to understand that I'm one step away from sending him to the other world. And in any other case, maybe with my sharp tongue and brilliant mind, I would come up with a good little ploy to trick and manipulate him, but this isn't the point where I feel like wasting my precious time on such things.

He examines me silently for a moment, and I can almost hear the battle of arguments in his head, with which he considers how much it pays off for him to stand in my way now. He also knows that if he wanted to, he could easily overpower me, but I know that the murderous temper in my eyes promises him enough trouble if he insists on following the protocols. And it seems that my aura has become sinister enough to make him come around, because he steps aside with a staged sigh and folds his hands in front of his chest, turning his attention back to guarding instead.

"They don't pay enough for this." He grumbles almost to himself, shaking his head in resignation, but apart from the sounds of his complaining, does nothing to keep me back in my little action. And I only give him one last fleeting glance, and then without any further hesitation, I tear open the door perhaps more violently than necessary, because the anger pulsating in my muscles removes all caution from my limbs.

As the small room opens up in front of me, all eyes are fixed on me almost at the same time, my presence interrupting the important conversation spiced with violence that they are currently having. My senses catch the grimness with which Riley turns towards me, and if I were a little calmer, I would stop to analyze the force with which his fingers tighten around the knife clutched in his hand, as he studies the motionless look on my face more closely. But even though the Hunter attracts my attention, I can only focus on one person now, and he sits in the middle of the room on a battered chair with such superiority, as if he weren't surrounded by three mountain-sized men trained to kill. And even though König slowly grasps a hammer in his hands, which can mean nothing but pain to him, he has the strength to put a cocky grin on his face. And suddenly it becomes quite obvious that, in spite of the beating they gave this scumbag, they still haven't managed to get him to talk. Never mind. I'll handle this.

"Woods!" MacTavish turns to me, and from the concern in his voice, I can sense quite simply that now he doesn't want me to witness all this bloody fun in the least. And certainly not because he wants to spare my sensitive psyche from watching someone being tortured for information, but because he saw exactly the effect it had on me when I had the opportunity to admire the handiwork of this separatist bastard on his two victims.

Without a sound, I close the door of the interrogation room behind me, and it seems that our prisoner is slowly realizing that a new guest has arrived at the party organized in his honor. And as his eyes glide over me, and I discover in them the disgusting hunger with which such sick fucks usually ogle at their prey, then the anger pulsing inside me spreads to my limbs like lava. Because the first reflexive thought that pops into my mind is the body of the two Healers shaking with terror as this pair of filthy eyes stares at them from the threshold of their prison.

"You finally brought a hottie here!" Exclaims the bandit cheerfully, not even noticing how the masked Hunter takes a threatening step towards him because of this small remark, perhaps hoping that this will be enough to shut this idiot up. But it seems that although he is running a race with wisdom, unfortunately, it's still faster than him. Because if he had any sense, he wouldn't raise his head like an alpha male, and he would know what a tight spot he was in. "This is an Extreme! I've never fucked one before... Come here baby, let's talk!" He whistles to me, as if he was just trying to lure a dog to him, and there is no doubt that he doesn't regard my kind as more than pretty, useful little animals.

"Shut the fuck up!" MacTavish gets angry on my behalf, and shakes the leader of the separatists with such anger that the chair cries out with wild creak. And other times, I would feel the warmth rising in my stomach at my friend with the mohawk trying to protect me and my honor, but this turn of events awakens such a worrying joy in me that even I get scared for a minute. And I can clearly perceive the confusion on the face of the Scottish Hunter, when a seductive smile appears on my face suddenly in place of the icy anger, as I stroll closer to the stage with comfortable steps, where I will show the performance of my life.

"It's all right, Soap." I carelessly wave to the aforementioned person, and I can tell from the arch of his worriedly furrowing eyebrows, how much my mood, which took a one hundred and eighty turn, fills him with doubts.  But soon he will understand what's going on, he doesn't have to be afraid. "You want to talk to me? You're in luck because I've been waiting for this opportunity. And now that you're sitting here all tied up like a gift... It all feels like a fucking miracle." I note, slowly running my hands along the line of my breasts hidden in my T-shirt, and the gaze of the captured criminal follows the path of my mischievous little fingers with such diligence, as if he were hypnotized. And it's likely the case, because it doesn't even register to him how unnatural is the carefree airiness with which I bypass a grim Riley, and with which I push König away with a soft touch, who, despite our brief acquaintance, backs up to the wall of the container without question.

"You have good taste, baby." The man grins with satisfaction, and it's easy to read from the superiority prevailing on his features that he really believes this to be true. He thinks he is a real jackpot, and I fell in love at first sight and danced in front of him, perhaps in the hope that such a big and strong Hunter boy would finally grace me with his attention. Because it's ridiculously obvious that according to his beliefs, a Healer is born only to serve. How cute.

However, when I arrive in front of him and lean forward, my hands slide onto his thighs, and my fingers sensually squeeze the flesh under the blood-stained fabric, then I see uncertainty run through his mind for a second. But that little spark that would prompt suspicion doesn't last long, because as I kneel between his legs tied to the chair, the two little brain cells that might still be functioning in his head go silent with alarming speed. His pupils dilate almost magically, and it's pathetic how his mouth hangs open as I slowly start massaging the tortured muscles with my palm. How terribly stupid.

"Why don't we play a little, hmm?" I ask softly, giving him a lustful look from under my eyelashes, conveying innocent longing to him with every cell, as if I had no greater desire in this world than to play with him. And it's true. It's an insignificant detail, that he and I are thinking of different kind of fun.

"Now?" The first recognizable wrinkles of doubt appear on his forehead, when reality suddenly penetrates the sensual images dancing in his fantasy. And I have to forcefully suppress the laughter that rises in my throat when he fixes his gaze almost shamefully on the Hunters who have retreated to be the audience. As if the sense of embarrassment had revived in him for a moment, and he would be disturbed by the witnesses, before whom he acted so confident a minute ago. But I don't allow him to sink into this wandering fear, because as one of my fingers travels up to his face and redirects his concentration back to me, I press closer to him, making sure that every inviting inch and curve of my body comes into contact with him.

"Don't pay attention to them. I'm a little shy, but I'll make an exception for you." I purr sweetly, smearing the blood that escaped from the cut across his face with my thumb, as I stroke the damaged skin almost soothingly. I can hear the air getting stuck in his throat as I slowly raise my crimson-painted finger to my lips and clean the delicious liquid with my tongue. How awfully simple.

"You're a little whore, aren't you?" That disgustingly amused grin returns to his face, simultaneously throwing aside any sanity that might have lurked in his head. But I don't blame him for being frivolous, because I know exactly what qualities genetics has blessed me with, and I've managed to sweep my victims off their feet many times with this and my perfectly honed manipulation. After all, what kind of predator would I be if I couldn't lull the vigilance of my prey?

I capture his gaze with unceasing enthusiasm, as I pull away from him to sit on my heels, and the disappointed moan that escapes from his mouth is pitiful. But I won't leave him anxious for long, because I grab his tattered shirt and release it from the grip of his pants with a firm movement, so that my nimble little hands can find their way to every unprotected inch of his stomach. And as my palm smooths over the hot skin, I feel how willingly it shivers under my gentle touch, like a real bewitched idiot.

"You like that, hmm?" I hum sensually, and when my curious energy slowly creeps into him through my fingers, goosebumps rise up under my hand as he closes his eyes accompanied by a sigh full of pleasure. And this is the number one mistake that a smart person would never make. They would not lose sight of their enemy, who, although approaches him with nice words and even kinder gestures, still wants his fall. But one learns the most from the lessons they suffer on their own skin. And now I will teach him wisdom that he will never forget.

In my mind, the intricate network of blood vessels weaving through his body appears, and my practiced little skill doesn't need more than a few seconds to find those extremely interesting little veins and arteries that will now play such an important role in pleasing this big boy. And as the slow wave of my energy causes the blood to start flowing out of the sensitive body part, I direct my eyes with the keen attention of a snake in ambush on the man caught in my claws. I don't have to be disappointed, because even I can feel in my fingertips how the typical tingle that is so characteristic of malfunctioning circulation appears in his muscles. And this disturbs his self-absorbed intoxication just enough, because his eyebrows meet with such incomprehension, as if he had just woken up from a deep sleep.

"What…. what's happening?” The disoriented question breaks out of him, and he fixes his gaze on me suspiciously, as if he would already start to suspect that he didn't quite get the entertainment he signed up for. And I no longer feel the need to continue my masterful performance, which he has so stupidly fallen victim to so far. And when the seductive mask slips off, and a cruel smile crosses my face in its place, I can almost see foreboding flashing into that weak mind of his.

"You may start to feel weird down here because I'm directing the blood out from your little friend." I note simply, as if I were stating a completely self-evident fact, and the stupid expression that appears on his face was worth all the pretense I had to show. His eyes widen almost comically, as he stares at his lap with such shocked dismay, as if he would hope that this moment will dissolve into the bizarre image of a terrible nightmare. But no. The mouth-watering feeling is very real, as after the blood slowly trickles away under my blessed ability, a numbness mixed with pain awakens in that tiny little tool of which he is so fucking proud.

"What the hell are you talking about?" He blurts out, and although he still wants to look very stern, I can hear his voice cracking with recognition. Now he can start to notice this unpleasant spasmodic feeling quite sharply, which arises as a result of my vile little activity, and which causes a dull ache to creep into his groin. And there is no more charming sight in the world than this stupid meathead sinking into despair. "Stop it, you sick bitch!" He snarls at me, emphasizing all his threatening aggression, but unfortunately, he doesn't seem dangerous as he begins to strain wildly against his unbreakable shackles. Because although he may be a Hunter, and he has increased strength and endurance, the chains prepared by my friends were invented for bad boys like him.

"Oh, what's wrong? I thought you wanted me to play with your dick..." I pout with fake sadness, cooing to him with such contemptuous disdain, as if I were just trying to reason with a hysterical child. And from the small tantrum he throws, which causes him to try to tear his hands out of the thick handcuffs amidst loud grunting, he seems no more than a overgrown baby. "Oh, my bad. I forgot to tell you that I like it rough." I spit, putting an edge imbued with caustic sarcasm in my voice, and there is nothing charming in that grin that flashes all my teeth, which I twist on my mouth.

He would try to speak, and maybe he would swear at me with some very macho harshness, but as I speed up the adventurous migration of blood from his cock with another burst of energy, a tortured moan erupts from his throat from the sharp pain that surely penetrates him by now. Small drops of cold sweat surface on his forehead, and I almost feel sorry for him from the look of terror on his face. But that's not enough. Because although he's slowly realizing what a sadistic little game I've lured him into, I still don't see the despair I'm looking for.

"Maybe I should make blood clots in your veins. You know what happens when a part of your body doesn't get blood, right? No nutrients, no oxygen..." I dwell on the endless possibilities, tilting my head curiously, and even he, with his small brain capacity, can understand what the consequences are when the tissues are left without blood supply. And, as he comprehends that neither his physical strength nor his ability to intimidate will get him out of this situation, then dread glides through his features with such a spectacular fastness that it's a joy to watch.

"Please don't..." He begins to plead, and the hoarseness that moves to his voice from the panic bubbling up in his throat is music to my ears. And when I see the first glistening pearls of tears in his eyes, the hatred burning in my stomach swells with contented joy, because the visceral desperation that takes shape on his face is quite wonderful. And the sugary-sweet smile that curls up the corners of my mouth at the sight of his misery may even seem sick, but this bastard deserves every moment of suffering, because there is so much pain stuck to his hands that no amount of shame and agony can wash away. And I'm not afraid to become ruthless and mean to help him taste what it's like to be truly defenseless and helpless.

"Oh, no, no, no! Don't cry! This is fun! It's like an experiment!" I lean closer to him, caressing his belly with mocking tenderness, and he jerks under my hand with reflexive speed from the delicate gesture. Shuddering, he tries to pull away from me, as if he wanted to merge with the back of the chair, but it's futile to think that he will be able to escape from this difficult situation. I enjoy it too much. "If we wait long enough, it will fall off! Or even start to rot! But don't worry, you'll still be able to get laid! Maybe you'll be able to fuck yourself with your own dick!" I continue my musing with unhinged glee, watching as his teeth clench with painful force, as his sanity and self-respect clash for dominance. And when a choking sound escapes from him, with which he tries to stifle the silent sobs shaking his chest, then I know I've broken him.

"Please, please... I'll do anything, just don't..." He whimpers, and a thick vein on his neck pops out from the effort he uses to force these pathetic words out of himself. I know he'd rather bite his own tongue for stooping so low, but he is just the kind of cretin that can be led on by a trick like that. He gets rid of every ounce of self-esteem in an instant with his plea, no doubt hoping that a pretty woman like me might have enough compassion to take pity on him. But he picked a fight with the wrong person. Because the circle of those who can create such tender feelings in me is very narrow. And of course, nasty pests are not among them.

"If you want me to stop, then start talking." I willingly offer him the obvious solution, and when he looks at me wild with desperation, I can see the long series of thoughts going through his head, with which he tries to process what I'm asking of him. And there can definitely be important information in that ugly little head of his, if even when he is up to his neck in a stinking pile of shit, he vacillates about whether to share it with us. "Because the clock is ticking." I remind him, imitating the rhythmic clicking of the hands of the clock with my index finger, and I can feel him twitch with increasing tension under my hands with each small tap. A suffocating minute passes as I stare unblinkingly at him and drum with unbroken enthusiasm on his bruised stomach, sending the blood further and further away from his jewels with each movement. And now the tears are starting to flow in rich streams on his face, which is almost purple in color, mixing with the sweat, which is slowly covering every inch of his skin from the pain caused by my little game.

"I don't have the serum!" He finally surrenders, almost shouting his confession, as his mouth opens wide with a tortured whimper, when I continue my treacherous little activity just to be sure. "I sold it to a guy named Rat! He has his network in Colony No. 2, he said he'll hand it over to his customer there!" He spills the info eagerly, and even though every word is raspy with the aching pulsing with even force in his lap, the obedience with which he surrenders to my will is music to my ears. And suddenly I'm filled with intense pride from the knowledge that I could be of such great help to my friends who are shrouded in eerie silence leaning against the wall, and that I got the information out of this asshole that had become our prey, which they didn't manage to beat out of him. Each vermin requires a different approach, it seems. And I'm lucky that not a prouder and smarter person is the head of Vultures, because it wouldn't have been possible to back anyone other than him into a corner so easily by threatening to make his junk fall off.  

"There you go! It wasn't that hard, was it?" I pull my hands out from under the sweat-soaked textile, patting his thigh with such belittling tenderness, as if I wanted to praise a dog that performed a clever trick. And the relieved sigh with which he finally calms down a bit is quite sweet, and as soon as a breath of his confidence returns him, and he fixes his eyes on me expectantly, then I simply push myself away from him to stand up, turning my back on him to head for the interrogator's door without any further discussion. And now, for the first time, my undivided attention is diverted from my prey long enough for me to catch the expression on my companions' faces, and from the way MacTavish's brows furrow in bewilderment and dread, I have to forcefully suppress the outline of a cheeky smile that wants to curve at the corner of my mouth. I forgot that even though I had already entertained Riley with my slyness, the Scotsman hadn't yet had the chance to witness my questionable tactics.

"Hey! What are you doing? You said you would stop!" The leader of the separatists finally comes to his senses, and I just glance at him over my shoulder. And although I know that the trauma of the two Healers won't be nullified by my little revenge, it cannot be denied that the stunned distress with which he gapes at me, dispels the anger gnawing at my insides. And I wish that the two of them could see how deep a hole such a freak can crawl into, if sufficient methods are used to help him back to the edge of the abyss. But maybe it will give them a little joy to know that the bastard, who so indulgently laid his filthy hands on them in every way imaginable, will be forced to live out the rest of his pathetic life with his dick rotting away like a useless leather hose in his pants.

"It's a shame that I'm a filthy liar." I shrug my shoulders with noble simplicity, telling him with every inch of me that this is no longer my problem. And from my periphery, I can clearly see how my masked companion coks his head to the side in interest, and as our eyes meet, I see the dark little sparks in them when he realizes how freely I used the strategy that he presented to me so kindly during Valeria's interrogation. I've learned from the best.

"You dirty little bitch! Once I get my hands on you, I'll gut you! Do you hear me?!" The criminal indulges in his scary threats, and every muscle in his face tenses with rage as he spits his curses at me. And when I only raise my head with a pitying look, he loses himself in his rampage with such vigor that the chair he was enslaved to begins to shake amidst wild creaking. But no matter how hard he struggles, no matter how hard he tries to tear his hands from the chains, a D-class fool is unable to perform the same magic tricks my friends can do. Because my Scottish friend and his bosom friend would have already folded bows out of the metal by now. How utterly sad.

However, it seems that our new helper gets bored much sooner with this ridiculous interlude, in which our prisoner sinks more and more violently by the minute, because König appears in front of him so quickly, and grabs the separatist leader's throat without any warning, that every sound of his angry protest boils in his throat in a second. And he doesn't even have time to react, for the Hunter lifts the guy up by the neck along with the chair to then throw him to the ground, and as he lands on the floor of the container, the chair breaks into pieces with a tortured crash. And even before the outlaw could collect the thoughts of opposition in his brain, dulled by surprise and pain, his attacker makes sure that he stays where he had so kindly laid him down.

König's foot chruses on his victim's chest like a press, and an interesting hissing sound leaves the throat of the man lying among the pieces of broken furniture, as his mouth slowly opens to shout, but only a forced groan comes out. And although from the hooded Hunter's perspective, it all seems nothing more than when someone methodically tramples on a bug, I know how much strength it takes to coax this sick sound out of someone. The morbid sight lasts just a second longer than it should, just long enough for the halfwit writhing on the ground to feel how fleeting and senseless end his life has came to. And it occurs to me that there is no hesitation in this, only pure cruel pleasure, because as the protective wall of our prisoner's ribcage gives way with a sudden crackle under the heavy boot, even though his face is covered by the loose fabric, I see the satisfaction flash in the cold blue eyes, with which he watches the foamy path of the blood gushing from the lips of his prey stretched out in the dirt.

And I know that I'm not imagining those cheerful little wrinkles that appear around the skin covered in dark paint, as he turns towards me, towering above the now motionless dead body, and our gaze intertwines. And because of this, the restless voice in my head warns me to be careful in a tenth of a second, because I can't think of a good explanation for why I discover the invisible line of a smile around his eyes emerging from under the textile. What the hell?

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #cod #johnny soap mactavish #cod ghost #simon riley #john price #captain price #kyle gaz garrick #johnny mactavish #captain john price #john mactavish #ghost call of duty #ghost mw2 #cod mw ghost #ghost cod #ghost simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost #simon riley ghost #simon riley x reader #simon riley x oc #cod könig #könig #könig call of duty #könig cod #könig mw2 #könig x reader #könig x oc

[d-criss-news]

Suddenly Seymour! See an exclusive first look at Darren Criss and Evan Rachel Wood in Little Shop of Horrors

The "Glee" and "Westworld" alums star in the Westside Theatre's off-Broadway production through March 31.

After her biting performance on True Blood and violent Westworld adventures, Evan Rachel Wood is no stranger to a bloody good time — but now she's the one in danger of being bitten.

The Emmy-nominated actress just made her debut as Audrey in the Westside Theater's ongoing production of Little Shop of Horrors alongside Emmy-winning Glee and The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story star Darren Criss as Seymour, and EW has an exclusive first look at the new costars in action.

The Westside's award-winning off-Broadway production kicked off in October 2019 with Jonathan Groff as Seymour and Tammy Blanchard as Audrey, and has since seen a cavalcade of stars step into the roles. Recent Seymours have been Gideon Glick, Jeremy Jordan, Conrad Ricamora, Skylar Astin, Rob McClure, Matt Doyle, and Corbin Bleu. The roster of Audreys include Lena Hall, Maude Apatow, Joy Woods, and Constance Wu.

“The casting of this show has become one of the greatest joys of our lives,” Little Shop producers Tom Kirdahy, Hunter Arnold, and Rob Ahrens, said in a statement in December when Wood and Criss were announced as joining the cast alongside Bryce Pinkham as Orin the dentist and Stephen DeRosa as Mr. Mushnik.

“The fact that in year five, we continue to attract talent like Evan Rachel Wood and Darren Criss is a testament to Howard Ashman’s and Alan Menken’s Little Shop of Horrors being one of the finest achievements in musical theater — and to Michael Mayer’s perfectly and joyously staged production," the statement continued. "As two of the most daring, enticing, and dynamic stars of their generation, we cannot wait to see the magic that real-life friends Evan & Darren bring to their roles.”

Loosely based on the 1960 black comedy movie The Little Shop of Horrors (starring Jack Nicholson as Orin!), Ashman and Menken's Little Shop of Horrors follows the bloody misadventures of a well-meaning florist named Seymour as he attempts to raise a snappy, tough-talking, man-eating plant named Audrey II. Their musical premiered off-off-Broadway in 1982 before eventually hitting Broadway proper, then then became a movie starring Rick Moranis and Ellen Green in 1986.

#darren criss #entertainment weekly #evan rachel wood #little shop of horrors #little shop of horrors bway #press #feb 2024

[activatebutterflyshield]

More of me running my mouth about music as inspiration except this time its just Dear Wormwood

Prelude. Prelude. PRELUDE. This is probably just a music nerd thing but its so perfect. Despite my horrible understanding of music theory, a prelude is usually the first piece of music that is meant to represent the succeeding and usually longer movements in a single work, but they could also stand alone. The Prelude to Dear Wormwood works as both. It starts out quiet before building up with just absolutely amazing wordless vocals and its just so great folks. Its a summary of the whole album in a minute and nine seconds its amazing folks

Okay Bitter Water. The first time I heard this one I thought oh, its a metaphor for alcoholism. Yes, it can be a metaphor for alcoholism, but it is also so much more. In the broader context of Dear Wormwood its an acknowledgement of how bad a relationship is and that the singer, the victim, feels like they can never escape it, but it can be so much more folks. It can be a about a love lost, with the one who lost the love pining and wasting away without their soulmate. Said soulmate could be a part of the griever themself. It can be so much. Its also a banger but thats a given for the whole album. “terrible fire of old regret is honey on my tongue” is also eternally amazing this whole thing is poetry mates

There Beneath. Calm and flowy and existential kind of but I make a lot of things existential and where were we? But also the line “I saw the morning lead a cavalcade” is bloody amazing. Its such a great and poetic way to describe the breaking dawn, the rising sun, the beginning of a new day and so many other things mates its amazing. Like a veteran adventurer recalling the times when their friends got them out of hard scrapes or something idk

In the Blue Hours of the Morning. It’s a nice waypoint, a chance to catch your breath before the next song which I will go off about but this bit is really just like its title. The time before the cavalcade, when theres still enough light to see by yet its so calm and still and not quite awake yet

Exeunt, which is. It is. Well, exactly what it says on the tin, an exeunt, which is a stage direction for when an actor goes off stage, but its also the most poetry ever. Everyone loves “Fluttering your lashes like ashes and ember” and rightfully so but everything in that song is so bloody strong. “Crocodile eyes I have seen how you hunger”???? “No I cannot trust what you say when youre grieving”????? Like its such a powerful song with all the musicians going ham on the everything and then the lyrics and then the context? Its great its just great

Caesar. A calm follow-up to the headbanger that is Exeunt, but its no less amazing. Im just drowning in symbolism for this one mates. Not only is the morning back and breaking over a palisade but also historical references!?! The backlogs of random anecdotes and stories are tickled awake by the “Look to the sky where the sign will be shown” bit so much like it aint even funny. Its a reference to Constantine the Great, who saw the symbol of the Chi Rho and went on to become roman emperor with it painted on his shields and its so much potential in just three stanzas

This Will End. Fellows this one just hurts. Its so bloody sad and yet such a strangely jaunty tune like the singer has just accepted their sad life and Im always like no! It can get better! You just gotta try a bit! Mates! Im bleeding out!

Pale White Horse. Ohhhhhhhhhh I can get so deep about Pale White Horse but so much of it is about WWI and the Spanish Flu Epidemic and other stuff I do not care to dredge from the depths of my historical brain fluids but its so great as a thing about war and trauma and abuse and so much other stuff just like recognizing someone doing something terrible and that can be either interpreted as oh thats conformation that they were always terrible or oh goodness thats not possible why no why are you like this you are not like this right and there’s no in between. And both hurt!

Where Is Your Rider. Enough metaphors to fill a graveyard (hey Crane Wives fans. Hey. Did you get it? Eh? Idk I thought it was funny) and then some but also oooooh the lines just go so hard sometimes. “But these bones never rested while living / So how can they stand to languish in repose”???????? Like mate youre dead but youre still going to push on and keep on fighting mates it hurts it hurts too much there are too many characters and situations and just stray thoughts I can peg to these two lines alone help

Soldier, Poet, King. Need I say more? Yes, I need to say more. Everyone above and below knows how bloody legendary this song is but take this as a sign to listen to it again. Its just that good. Someone once tired and broken who has found support and is coming back to finish the job they couldnt finish on their own is just oooooooooooooogh mates. Also funny ha ha DND party. Two sides of the same polyhedral dice. Probably a d100 with all the nonsense I can drag out of it at this point.

Dear Wormwood. The album namer. UGH I cannot get enough of this one. Just some of the lines in this one mates. “And in my hour of weakness / You were there to see me fail”???????? “I know who I am now / I know who I wanna be / I wanna be more than / That devil inside of me”??????????????????? Its just so perfect and so amazing and it gives you a warn hug and it punches you in the gut and it helps you up and gives you hot tea and the works mates its just so great

Danse Macabre. One last instrumental. A Danse Macabre was usually a piece of art with people dancing next to skeletons, representing the inevitability of death and the equality in the grave and so many other sad and mopey things but also its just such a fun jig. It really does feel like a bunch of spooky scary skeletons jamming on their graves. And that’s a one liner I never thought Id need to write.

Thus Always to Tyrants. Bloody hell this is the perfect ending song. The singer immediately starting off with “Let me die, let me drown, leave my bones in the ground”, proclaiming themselves free of the worries and pains they started the album with, singing as the blazing sun rises that yes, they are, if not happy now, then at least better now, and that anyone who threatens that will face the new and improved them is just ooooooogh. Mates. If theres one song you need to listen to if you somehow made it to the end of this thingie without also being obsessed with the Oh Hellos, its Thus Always to Tyrants. But please listen to the whole of Dear Wormwood first. It makes the impact so much better.

#me running my mouth #the oh hellos #dear wormwood #i just needed to get out. some. not all. of my thoughts about this bloody legendary album #im gonna do more #probably #theres so much i can say about. uh. most of the songs i listen to regularly #if theres gonna be another one then itll probably be through the deep dark valley #or maybe that one about coyote stories ive already started but that thing is more specific and also sad to read since its about sad stuff #like climate change and capitalism and such #but it will be finished eventually

[cantsayidont]

Winter 1942–1943. DC's other "Trinity": At the same time Superman, Batman, and Robin were appearing together on the covers of WORLD'S FINEST COMICS, Wonder Woman, the Golden Age Green Lantern, and the Golden Age Flash shared the covers of DC's other big anthology book, COMIC CAVALCADE. As with WORLD'S FINEST, the characters didn't costar in any of the stories inside (although Wonder Woman, Green Lantern, and the Flash did appear together in the contemporary Justice Society of America stories in ALL-STAR COMICS), but the covers suggested they were great friends, showing them playing sports, fishing, or delivering presents on Christmas.

Superman and Batman had teamed up in the ADVENTURES OF SUPERMAN radio show between 1945 and 1948 and in a 1947 issue of ALL-STAR COMICS. However, having them actually costar in the lead story of WORLD'S FINEST COMICS beginning in 1954 was largely the result of a reduction in that book's page count from 52 to 36 pages, which didn't leave space for separate normal-length Superman and Batman features. Wonder Woman and her two former costars didn't follow suit: Green Lantern and the Flash had disappeared by mid-1951, and even Wonder Woman was no longer appearing in COMIC CAVALCADE, which had become a funny animal anthology in 1948.

In the early 1980s, Roy Thomas's ALL-STAR SQUADRON, set in 1941–1942, paid homage to these charming COMIC CAVALCADE covers, showing Diana, Alan, and Jay putting on exhibitions together at war bond rallies and the like.

#comics #comic cavalcade #frank harry #e e hibbard #golden age comics #wonder woman #green lantern #alan scott #the flash #jay garrick #justice society of america #jsa #earth 2

[ufonaut]

i feel like so many people miss the nuances of the role doiby dickles plays in alan scott’s historical gaycoding and this isn’t a complaint as much as a plea to look at the bigger picture, which is not that of alan & doiby being written as a couple (a reading i don’t personally subscribe to) but that of alan prioritizing close and intimate relationships with men over even an attempt friendship with women and that of doiby’s possibly unintended function as a sounding board for all the ways alan stood out.

unlike the average 1940s sidekick, doiby did have a life of his own to an admirable degree and often had an equal part & say in the adventures he and alan shared -- that is precisely why it’s vital to note that while doiby was alan’s only friend, the reverse was not true and doiby was often seen in social clubs, union meetings, at family reunions and sometimes even on dates with women. in that regard, 1940s green lantern comics were clearly not entirely devoid of hetereosexual romance and doiby did indeed often show his attraction to women to alan’s utter confusion. looking at doiby simply as an extension of alan does neither of them any favours when the fact that doiby was ostensibly straight is a necessary aspect of understanding why alan’s complete lack of romance & attraction to women in the 1940s is so unique even in his own comics and not just in comparison to other superheroes of the time (all of which did, indeed, have longtime girlfriends or recurring girl fridays).

some brief but notable examples that come to mind are:

all-american comics 1939 #71, in which a mad scientist creates a woman specifically made to be irresistible to all men. alan’s immune, doiby’s not so lucky!

the second backup in green lantern 1941 #13, where doiby falls in love with a ditzy debutante and alan’s at the end of his rope.

there’s many other identical examples throughout his various 1940s runs and though it’s certainly just another piece of the puzzle along with moments like comic cavalcade 1942 #12′s apparent visit to a gay bar and -- indeed -- alan’s relationship with doiby as the most significant of his life, i feel it’s a piece that often gets lost in fan spaces and that’s certainly worth looking at!

#alan scott #doiby dickles #green lantern #u can reblog

[arrthurpendragon]

If you think the Multiverse is mad already...

Thank you, @arrthurpendragon, for sharing this promo for my growing community of MCU OCs.

How does the redheaded avatar for the most famous Irish battle goddess and her cavalcade of immortal, mutant and magical friends fit into the world of the MCU multiverse?

Follow the adventures of Kari MacOrish as she tries to find a life for herself that won't upend the lives of Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson or those closest to them.

Watch as her oldest friends--Devnet Casey, Enya Sun and Minerva O'Malley Harkness--try to keep Kari and the greater MCU 616 (or 199999) universe from imploding with the help of The Avengers and any other heroes they can find.

And what will happen when those heroes figure out all those Karis out there are not variants after all?

Madness indeed!

Masterlist

#fd: marvel #oc creator promo #oc fanfiction #oc fanfic #oc fic #ocappreciation #ocapp #original character

[broadcastbabe]

We can’t help but grin from ear to ear. Our red-light district LARP is more thrilling than expected. Turns out sharing our sex lives in full view of tourists and local strangers is just the boost our relationship needed…deserved. 3 cities, 3 nights seemed a modest practice run for our first trip. We had a few contacts in each city and they hooked us up with various entrepreneurial folks that agreed we could use their storefronts, back alley niches on their property and stages in the high-end clubs for our little performances.

We started in Amsterdam and found a comfortable front room exposed to the street for our sexual exhibition. We had no intention of offering services to onlookers, just a free show as we played and plied each other with all sorts of pleasurable penetrations. I believe we almost exhausted the combination of fingers, tongues and orifices, not to mention a few toys that transported us to oblivions we will revisit with our souvenirs once we return home. We were so exhilarated by the response, and myriad offers of money to join us, the sex was almost secondary… almost. We booked ourselves for an annual visit, with the distinct possibility we might employ some audience participation in the future.

Hamburg was next, and we decided our frilly lingerie from the night before, would not satisfy the freakier tastes of Deutschland. Full leather, latex and nipple clamps for our freakier friends was the right call. We gained a new appreciation for this fashion choice as we watched the response from our voyeurs. The location was down a short dead end alley, lit only by the scarlet of a porch light we performed beneath. We were rougher and more demanding with each other, which pleased those in the crowd that prefer a bit of pain with their pleasures. I’ll remember the almost constant groaning from men that serenaded us as we took turns being coaxed toward spectacular orgasms. The fresh air was exhilarating and we gathered an overflow crowd as we writhed in response to some of the most outré sexual behaviors we have ever tried.

The final night of our trip takes us to a subterranean club in Copenhagen notorious for orgies. We are to be interstitial entertainment in a small enclosure that separates us from the onlookers indulging themselves during our performance. To our surprise it is less peep show than expected and more of a petting zoo. The audience is encouraged to sample the feeling of our aroused gooseflesh and add their chaste caresses to the mix. Though apprehensive to the idea at first, a group of strangers’ added stimulations seem a next-level experience not to be missed. Dressing ourselves for the intriguing unknown, we decide to split the difference and harken back to both previous nights. Lacy lingerie for above the waist coupled with leather harnesses and thigh-high stiletto boots with spurs below, offer a little something for everyone and a way to gauge and engage the largest swath of participants. Fully clothed in non-descript floral frocks, we watch the enthusiastic sexual cavalcade from our designated area, waiting our turn for the spotlight. The action is arousing and edifying, with all sorts of peccadillos on display. There are unique crossovers between couples and groups, all affectionately hungry and adventurous. Our own arousal is escalating as we watch and imagine our role in tonight’s show. The music changes and we are subtly illuminated to focus the reveler’s attention. Undressing each other slowly, we begin with a sensuality to fan the embers. Our kisses are long and consuming as our dresses slip to the floor to reveal the best of both worlds. Almost immediately, I feel an unfamiliar hand on my rump, polishing its plump globes. Judging from your flinches, someone else’s exploratory hand is traveling from your ankles to the inside of your thighs. We lean into it by widening our stances and murmuring of our exhilaration to each other. We sensed this interactivity would be more than the club owner promised as ‘chaste’, but there is no turning back when it feels so beyond imagining… and the number of touches keeps mounting. We do our best to satisfy each other, yet the mosh pit that envelops us has its own mind toward group gratification. We lock eyes and try to stay connected, but as I succumb and you acquiesce, our bodily responses to the onslaught of sensations wins out… and soon, we are but puppets cumming over and over again in their knowledgeable groping hands.

The night is one for the record books and forever after we both sigh and shiver in the remembering. A mere mention often kickstarts an arousal that must not be delayed or denied. If there is no back alley or darkened porch to share our secretive cravings, we head home to our own bed to reimagine the glories of an evening we became travelers, and not just tourists.

#girlz #lingerie

[meekosthemeparkphotos]

Bruno

#Bruno #Bruno Madrigal #Encanto #Characters #Disney Characters #Adventure Friends Cavalcade #Disney Adventure Friends Cavalcade #Cavalcade #Parade #entertainment #Main Street USA #Magic Kingdom #Disney #Walt Disney World #WDW

[butchdykekondraki]

Babe. Babe.

Welcome Home. Tell me and Verna about it.

We're both fronting, saw it on your blog, became fixated. Tell us. Please.

It's so cool???

- Quackity 🎲

im about to have a category five autism moment

welcome home is a website art project with elements of puppets, retro tv shows and lost media it features a total of eight characters; >poppy, who is described as "“Perhaps the most frantic, frazzled, and feathered neighbor in Welcome Home, Poppy Partridge is the resident chicken so-to-speak. From a sprained beak to sunburnt feathers, she always thinks about the worst outcome of a pleasant situation. Then again, it never hurts to have a neighbor with a band aid on hand.”" she is a big bird esque character with multicoloured feathers and who lives in a colourful barn-style farmhouse

>wally who's excerpt reads "“Wally Darling is the friendliest neighbor in Welcome Home, perhaps even the best painter too. With a smile like his it’s hard to disagree! Always eager to make new friends and show them around the neighborhood, Wally is happy to lend a helping hand. But you knew that already, didn’t you?”" he is a yellow-skinned feller who is consistantly seen with a smile plastered on his face with tall, blue cinnamon roll shaped hair >eddie, who's short reads "“Reliable, kind, and ever determined, Eddie Dear is the best mailman Welcome Home has ever had, albeit the only one. Despite being a bit of a clumsy and forgetful fellow, Eddie loves his job and always manages to deliver everyone’s mail right on schedule.”" eddie has orange-yellow skin and is the most human looking of the characters despite his bright pink/red hair >howdy, who's description reads "“Howdy Pillar is Welcome Home’s friendliest and happiest shopkeeper! This colorful caterpillar knows his store like the back of his hands, which is impressive considering how many hands he has. Charismatic, quick-witted, and remarkably jolly, Howdy always seems to have whatever his neighbors need with a price that just can’t be beat!"" he is a catterpillar-esque human with red and yellow striped antennae sprouting from blue hair. he also has green skin and four arms which i think is neat :-) >barnaby, who's quote reads "“A goofy layabout with a love for jokes, Barnaby B. Beagle is Welcome Home’s funniest neighbor. Always ready with a joke on hand or even a silly observation, this big blue beagle always knows how to have fun, much to the dismay of some of the grumpier residents.”" he is a fat plush-like dog with colourful spots lining his body, multicoloured paw pads, a short nub tail, and two large ears that dangle on the side of his head >frank, who's detailing reads ""Arguably the smartest neighbor in Welcome Home, Frank Frankly is the resident bookworm with an expertise on butterflies. Despite being the grumpiest and greyest of this colorful cavalcade of neighbors, it’s good to have someone so organized and matter-of-fact amidst the bunch. After all, he enjoys being frank, even if it means being Frank, whatever that means! He is Julie’s best friend.”" he has grey skin, red cheeks, a yellow nose, and short black hair and is constantly frowning >julie, who's excerpt describes her as "“Undoubtedly the cheeriest neighbor a puppet could ask for, Julie Joyful is Welcome Home’s happiest resident. Amidst such a rainbow of brightly colored neighbors, that's really saying something! Upbeat, silly, and always ready to play with her friends, there’s never a boring day in Welcome Home while she’s around. She is Frank’s best friend.”" she has light-pink skin and blonde hair that consistantly changes how it looks and a small orange nose >sally, who's described as " “The most rambunctious resident in Welcome Home, Sally Starlet shines above the rest. She’s a fire-cracker who is willing to let her imagination run wild in the name of a new adventure, albeit at the occasional expense of her more cautious neighbors. Thankfully, she’s got a good head on her shoulders and perhaps, one could even say, a sunny disposition to match! “" she has two rows of sunray-like spikes and resembles the sun, with orange/yellow skin and a red nose. also her colour scheme is mostly warm and i think it's neat :-) that is like. about it lol. nightmind has a much better explanation ^_^

#[jay] #im so fucking feral about them u dont even KNOWWW

[wildtexascowgirltravel]

Adventure Friends Cavalcade Disney World Orlando Florida Magic Kingdom

#youtube

[samsdisneydiary]

5 Fantastic Things to Watch This Weekend (September 8, 2023)

From our friends at D23 It’s a veritable smorgasbord of entertainment from around the worlds of Disney this weekend—everything from classic animation to Jedi adventures and live-action situation comedy… with a certain mermaid’s debut on Disney+ thrown in for good measure! So kick back and relax with a cavalcade of fantastic things to watch. But don’t forget to tune into the most fantastic thing…

View On WordPress

#Little Mermaid #Disney #What to Watch this weekend

[anneitsnobigdeal]

MISTIFIED STARTER CALL & INFO- Anne Boonchuy

Man, there's SO much in Amphibia(the show, not the world- but also the world)that we could explore with this event. Unfortunately cause I'm a dumdum there's only a few days to get the starters from this uncapped event starter call out there, so we'll have to pick and choose. Let's have some fun tho! Info on Anne's data imprints is below. Beware of spoilers, go watch Amphibia.

RESIDUAL DATA IMPRINTS:

The 13th birthday: A day many kids dream about!  Come witness everything that went down with Anne’s first steps into teenagedom…steps that would bring her stumbling into a world she could’ve never imagined…

Wartwood: This one might be more of a locale-based memory; little flashbacks occurring at different places in town where they happened, but overall it’s just nice for a tour!

Battle at Toad Tower: An old friend threatens a new family. Years of a complicated childhood come to a head in a dramatic standoff for the fate of the innocent. Whatever the result was to be, things would surely never be the same again…

Confrontation at the Castle: What was to be the end of a long, hard journey became a cavalcade of emotions and explosive tension. Friendships were betrayed. Revelations were made. True colors were revealed. 

SENTIENT DATA IMPRINTS:

The Plantars: The froggy family Anne stayed with while she was in Amphibia! There’s the energetic and adventurous Sprig, the rowdy and handy Polly, and the dramatic and old-fashioned Hop-Pop. They came to see Anne as their own in a pretty short time, and they’re sure to be just as hospitable to you as they were to them! May come individually or all together. Not hostile…though Polly can be kind of bloodthirsty.

Sasha: One of Anne’s two childhood friends. A girl used to having control of her situations, able to sweet-talk her way to the top and fight tooth-and-nail if that doesn’t work. She wound up in Amphibia with the toads and became a high-ranking commander in the army, fueling her drive to take further control. Luckily she’s only recently begun to realize just how lonely it can be losing friends on her way to the top. Her ire is still easy to draw, though. Potentially hostile.

Marcy: Anne’s other childhood friend. An incredibly intelligent girl and self-identified nerd, she approaches every unusual situation with intrigue and enthusiasm…enthusiasm that’s sure to lead to her getting into some kind of accident due to her overwhelming clumsiness. Winding up with the newts in Amphibia did her wonders, becoming an advisor to the king and Chief Ranger in the Newtopian Knight Guard. Hopefully she doesn’t get too wrapped up in her own head andmake any incredibly selfish decisions. Not hostile. 

King Andrias: The monarch who has ruled Amphibia for centuries. Though he wears an amicable face before all his subjects, he seeks to carry out his predecessors’ legacy of conquest, both of his own world and all others. The only thing standing in his way is a certain 13-year-old Thai-American girl and her friends… Hostile.

#isola starter call #isola rp ad #isola event: mistified rerun