#SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I DON'T WANT TO HEAR YOUR GARBAGE ASS MUSIC!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[dangoarts]

living with roommates is fun /s

#sorry long rant in the tags #mmm yeah i'm gonna cover it a bit more i'm using my violence pass of the day #basically tldr people are loud and it's pissing me off #ok it's probably adequately covered let's start the rage fueled screaming #SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I DON'T WANT TO HEAR YOUR GARBAGE ASS MUSIC!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! #I WANT TO HEAR MY SILLY BLORBO REMIXES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! #literally i can hear the WORDS and THEIR WORDS through the goddamn WALLS #granted the living room is right next to mine but does common sound courtesy not exist #i'm walking on damn eggshells to be as sound conscious i can when i'm on call because i KNOW i get loud when i'm excited #and on the rare occasion i play video games without headphones and on the tv #i keep it QUIET!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! because i'm COURTEOUS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! #every time i raise my headphone volume it seems like they get louder to match #i am SO GLAD they're moving out this semester #goodbye it wasn't a pleasure #tw vent #cw vent #personal vent

[wuiwuikiui]

what are some of your hottest vsynth takes

hi this is a lot of negative and complainy stuff have fun.

illustrators in the community are absolutely tossed aside.

you dont need to use voice synth programs to be a huge vocal synth fan.

utau isnt hard compared to most vocal synths. all voice synths are hard and have their own learning curve. it's just a matter if you want to learn it.

kikuo isnt unique, like at all. its more like combining 3 different styles (edm, orchestral, and like music box sounds???) into one song and the songs where he doesnt use like all three or more are good but like. i wouldnt call them unique. particularly salty abt this bc there was this one person that would never shut the fuck up about how unique kikuo was when its like... yeah kinda mid.

female utau voicebanks sound bad. i dont know what it is they just sound like dog doo doo a good 70% of the time. male ones almost always pop off- worst case theyre a little flat and plain.

utau and pre vocaloid 5 are better than any ai ever.

ai voicebanks are weird. i get it. theyre really cool and impressive. however, they don't give off what made vocaloid unique back in its day. there's a few ai vbs that are "robotic" (kafu, kevin, uhhh) and theyre honestly the best ais out there. for realistic vocals- best ones are stardust and solaria.

with that being said uncanny > realistic > robotic

i hate vocals that are extremely choppy and robotic like defoko sorry girlboss.

the project diva franchise sucks ass. i dont think this is unpopular, but i literally cant play the pc ver of mega mix bc the audio doesnt work with RAZER HEADPHONES. like the best gaming headphones out there and i have to play it with my headphones unplugged or it sounds like its from splatoon. even the older games are kinda meh, like dont give them rooms and talking man- just let me tap tap button chart.

meiko is actually so mid. im so sorry i dont understand the appeal to her voice. both deep and when its squeaky.

almost all english voicebanks (with exception of a couple of ai vbs) are garbage. and i know its bc the language is harder to replicate blah blah blah phonetics blah.

talkloids are annoying. the only good one is that one of shuu and ruko on miku day that i saw on twitter. funniest shit. you can hear the happiness in their voices.

bring back the cevio colour series.

proseka en was the worst thing to happen to the vocaloid fandom in 10 years.

proseka > project diva

friday night funkin was the worst thing to happen to utau. ever.

9zero is cool as fuck. he sounds like GARBAGE- but oh my god you know what this means- were getting closer to true rock synths.

vocalo changer is lazy. with that being said. i love it. as long as the person that creates content with it acknowledges it as lazy, have fun.

they/them pronouns for any voice synth character is so fucking real. do it more.

creep-ps music slaps so hard. both old and new.

ikus og vb is better than her remaster

dont get mad at p's for moving on in the music industry. voice synths are a hobby. not an industry material.

people that literally interpret the vippers bios are the worst people and need to fall over.

#ruko is a dilf

[impaladolan]

Capture - Grayson Dolan [1/-]

summary: a typical morning run leads to a new life of monstrous things you’d never want to speak of in front of your own mother.. ;)

warnings: not exactly smut— but some bdsm elements, swearing, and a kinda short little chapter for this soon-to-be series!

YOUR rapid breaths aligned with the pattern of your feet created a musical rhythm for your excessively beating heart to follow, your lips muttering numbers that you really didn't know why you were counting. You could see your breath in the shallow light that cascades from each lamp-fixture littered with moths and flys that linger still in the early midst of the morning. The exuberating feeling of the cool air entering and exiting your lungs each moment was what you lived for. Though it was the very first task of the day, it was all around your favorite. To wake up around four in the morning and run a couple miles before six o'clock made you feel on top of the world. And it never feels better than it does in the fall season, where the autumn leaves decorate the ground beneath you and the air frigid but nice against your rosy cheeks. You always dread when the winter came, needless to say that you've fell a time or two on the slippery sidewalks of New Jersey in the middle of January. But that didn't stop you, though your tailbone suffered for a month or two.

But this morning's air felt different.

You couldn't necessarily put a finger on it, but it just had an off-putting feeling that made the hairs on the back of your neck rise.  Maybe it was the obnoxiously loud barking dog yanking on it's bound chains or the screeching pussy cat settled in a tin garbage can, it all just felt eerie and ominous.

Subconsciously, you decided to take a breather break and have a seat on a nearby bench. Your chest rose and fell at a quick pace, much like your running, as you sat yourself down, soon to study the area around you. Tame Impala soothingly played through the earphones engulfed by your ears, a soft humming of the lyrics coming from your own mouth as your breaths began to steady. It was incredibly nice out, with barely any wind and a chilled atmosphere surrounding your active body was the perfect mixture for the start of a day. It felt almost too nice..

Yes, you appreciated the lyrics and productions of Tame Impala's songs, but if it weren't for those soft rhythms, you would've heard the obvious crackle of a broken, stepped on stick not too far behind you. You would've heard the soft breaths that heaved and hoed around you. Even the ever so quiet chuckle of a presumable man's presence hidden in the creeping darkness. So when this dark figure approached your sound persona, you had no clue. It came to you as a surprise when the sudden pressure of a cloth clashed against both of you airways. Only out of fright did you largely inhale the calming scent that made your eyelids droop. You faded in and out of consciousness, remembering the little details you could grasp at the few times your eyes were open. One moment you felt as though you were quite a bit taller, maybe thrown over a giants shoulder. And another, where the cushiony seats of a fine smelling vehicle wrapped you in a warmth you didn't know your body needed. But after hearing the faint click of a seatbelt, your body was limp and useless, so your eyes permanently shut out of fatigue and tiredness.

-

It feels like a dream, it has to be a dream.

To wake up in such a beautifully furnished room surrounded by a puffy duvet and comfy pillows laid beneath your head was far from what you last remembered—which wasn't much at all. You remember waking up, getting dressed and heading out for a run, as usual, but the rest was too foggy and it made your overbearing headache worsen. So instead of focusing on how you may have gotten in such a lovely room, you exchanged your thoughts to where your are in the meantime. It was no secret that you were definitely settled in someone else's bed, distinguishably a man's since the colors of the room were neutral and gray. Tall glass windows that cover the entirety of the wall on your left where showcasing the glimmering rise of the sun, but it wasn't very bright considering the drowsy overcast that hung around.

It kinda fit your mood, actually.

But nonetheless you needed to figure out how to exactly leave the nice comfort of the mattress you were sprawled across. Though, the attempt to leave was absurd. Your limbs ached as much as your head does, which is a great amount, and it felt near impossible to even lift your head in the slightest. So with a sigh of defeat, you retire back to your former position, except this time there was the view of the unmoving ceiling.

Contrary to your aches and pains, your body jolted upward when the loud, intrusive sound of a heavy door opening invaded the large space around you. You didn't dare look to your right, towards what could be the reason you were in such a place. The spaced out footsteps that smacked against the marble flooring, due to lack of footwear, became near and you just couldn't resist the slight opening of your eyes.

Low and behold, an angel of a man stood before you, with a sheepish grin and a button nose. He was shirtless, thankfully, but his lower half was covered by a pair of dark sweatpants that nicely shaped his long legs for him. His chiseled abs and biceps that were proudly on display almost seemed like a magazine cover, even his narrow jawline contributed to beauty. You suddenly felt your eyes widen and your body heat rise extremely quick. Oh god, his glossy hazel eyes that scoured your sleep-ridden face made your core almost want to explode. Your cheeks turned red by the immediate aroused thoughts that clouded your brain. Never did you ever think you'd find a capturer so handsome..

"Morning, sweetheart.." And his voice, ooh, it cut the air with a deep masculinity that you weren't even sure if you could handle any more of it. It took a second before you could finally come to your senses and realize that this man could possibly be the one that had taken you when you were off guard and oblivious to the plans of someone or some man.

You briefly coughed before announcing, "I'm not your sweetheart, sir.." It felt weird talking, almost foreign. Your throat was dry and scratchy while your mouth was the same, it was hard to even move your tongue, but you managed your sassy remark. "Not sir, Daddy." He corrected with a stern look. In an instant your entire face was engulfed by a dark red that made your eyes water with surprise and shock.

Daddy?

You've never thought to call anybody this absurd name, not even did you call your own father daddy. It never occurred to your liking, but this struck different. The way his lips formed the word and how his voice rasped made your body fall into a spell of tinglings and your core had never ached so bad— you were in need to at least touch it, or relieve the consuming pain it withheld. "Excuse me?" Your shivery voice belted, though it contrasted against your lingering thoughts and bodily needs. "You heard me, sweetheart. If I hear you call me anything but Daddy, you'll be ruined and punished. Understand?" He was stern and sexy at the exact same time, and your head was in a whirlwind. While one part of your wanted to bolt up and slap him, the other majority wanted to test him, maybe actually make him punish you.

"Oh, but sir? I'm not exactly sure if I do understand.." Oh god, the fury that came across his face when the lack of a name was present in your little sentence. You almost thought he'd kill you right then and there, but the tightness in his jaw slacked and a smirk rose on his lips. A scream was caught in your throat when you felt his large hands lift you out of the overwhelming comfort of the duvet, and sprawl you across his knees with your ass fixed high up in the air. At that moment, you noticed the black, silky nightgown you've never seen or purchased before, that clings to your body quite nicely. But the thought vanished when the same pair of hands lifted the ends of the gown and scrunched it all the to your chest. You gasped when his fingers lightly touched your regrettably soaked folds before he pulled the matching black silk thong down your slightly shaking legs.

"It's clear as fucking daylight. Maybe you need a lesson on how to actually fucking listen to instruction, yeah?" He growled while his hand clutches your right ass cheek with a firm grip. His anger had only increased the slippery mess that your core withheld, but you could never admit to that. "I'm quite sure I know how to take fucking instructions S—A-aah!" The pain of an uncalled smack against your ass silenced you from any snood remark you could muster. "Better shut that loud fuckin' mouth of yours before it gets you in some more trouble." He seethed, repeating his actions, but the harmful truth to it was that you, in fact, enjoy the pleasureful pain he was proceeding with, one slap at a time until both of your cheeks were a rosy red and your nipples were sharpened to their farthest extent. God, you never wanted to be fucked more than you do in this moment.

But he had other plans.

Although, the plans didn't exactly involve you. He roughly picked you up and laid you back onto the bed, the sight of your hazy eyes and the longing look on your face almost made him want to fuck you right then and there, but he sadly restrained. He swiftly walked away, to where he presumably came from in the first place, but he stopped mid-step to turn around and demand one last thing.

"Don't you dare fucking touch yourself, sweetheart. Or you'll be sorry you even came by those flimsy fingers of yours." His last words had you feeling worse than before and made you want to "break the rules," because whatever he would do to you would be ten times better if he were mad, right?

to be continued...

(masterlist)

#dolan twins #dolan twins smut #grayson dolan #writing #dt #ethan dolan #ethan grant dolan #ethan dolan smut #dolantwins #grayson dolan smut #smut #wrote this at 3am #;) #love you 4 reading this :) #capture #gray #dtfan10m

[klaineanummel]

eighteen going on extinct 11/20

Kurt Fabray just wants to relax after a tough week at school, but that is shown to be impossible when he realizes that his absent father has once again blown into town. Not wanting to spend more time around him than necessary, Kurt goes to his old babysitters house, the one place he feels safe when his father is in town. While there, he stumbles upon a secret he knows he was never meant to find out - one that could change the entire course of his life.

An AU very loosely based on Mamma Mia.

Hello everybody!!!! I'm so sorry that it's been so long since I posted. My wifi is super spotty right now, and will continue to be for at least the next two weeks. Because of that, I'm posting two chapters today (chapter 12 will come shortly after this one) and I might post one tomorrow, since I don't actually know when I'll be able to post again after that (potentially not until November 7 or 8, but I might be able to squeeze a chapter in in-between). 

Warning that you're not going to be happy with Quinn in this chapter, but I hope you will try and be empathetic as well. Abusive relationships, even if the abuse is emotional and not physical, are difficult, and people in them don't always make the best decisions.

I hope you enjoy, and I'll see you in a bit with chapter 12!

Previous Chapter |  Read on AO3 

Monday morning dawns bright and early, and Kurt is surprised when he opens his bedroom door to find his mom sitting on the couch, a large bowl of cereal in her lap.

“Mom?” he asks, taking a cautious step toward her. “What are you still doing here? Shouldn’t you be at work?”

She shakes her head. “Called in,” she whispers. “I couldn’t… the thought of being there…”

“Hey,” Kurt says, hurrying to her side. “It’s okay. I get it. Last night was rough.”

Her eyes begin to water, and Kurt pulls her close to him, though he makes sure to keep his burnt hand (covered in an old strip-cloth bandage to keep the numerous burn dressings – which their next-door neighbor miraculously had – in place) elevated and away from her body.

“He was just drunk,” his mom says, though Kurt isn’t sure if she’s speaking to him or to herself. “He was just drunk.”

“Exactly, mom. He was drunk. After he specifically told you he wasn’t going to fall off the wagon again.”

“I provoked him.”

“No,” Kurt says, shaking his head. “No, stop right there.”

“It’s true, I did.”

“No, it’s not, and you know it. He’s the dick, not you. Remember what you told me last time he got drunk? That I didn’t put the beer in his hand or shove it down his throat?”

She shakes her head fondly and smiles up at him despite the tears in her eyes. “Why did I raise you to be so smart?”

“Rookie mistake?”

“That’s gotta be it,” she says, leaning back in close to him. “How’s your hand?”

Kurt doesn’t get to respond, though. The door opens slowly, and the sound of boots walking in rings through the apartment.

Puck peeks past the wall separating the living room and the kitchen, and Kurt feels his jaw tense.

“Um. Hey.”

“You,” Kurt hisses, but before he can say anything else, Quinn is out of his arms and running at Puck.

Kurt hopes more than anything that she will slap him across the face and force him right back out.

Of course, that isn’t what happens.

“You came back,” she says, throwing her arms around Puck’s middle and hugging him close.

“Of course I did,” Puck says, his own arms coming around Kurt’s mom. Kurt’s stomach turns at the mere sight. “I was… Fuck, Quinn, I was so stupid last night. I don’t know why I said that. I don’t even know why…” He shakes his head, then pulls Quinn away from him so they’re looking into each others’ eyes. “It’s the last time, okay? I’m never going to get like that again.”

“I’ll help you, okay? Just like last time. I’ll help you get better.”

“I’m so fucking sorry, Quinn,” Puck says, pulling her close once more.

Kurt can’t watch any longer. “Hello?” he calls out, standing up. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Puck takes a deep breath, then brings Quinn to his side, keeping an arm firmly at her side. “Kurt,” he says. “I’m really sorry about last night. I was out of line, both before and after I got drunk.”

“That means nothing to me,” Kurt says. “Mom, are you fucking kidding me? You’re just going to forget everything he did? Just like that?”

“Kurt…” she pleads.

“No, it’s okay, I get it,” Puck says, and fuck this suddenly super-understanding guy. Kurt wants to rip his throat out. “He’s angry. It’s fair. I wasn’t nice to you, or to him. But I’m going to change.”

“Did you fuck a therapist or something last night?” Kurt bursts. “Mom, you’re not seriously buying this, are you?”

“Kurt, he’s being sincere,” she says, but Kurt doesn’t want to hear it.

“Yeah, just like he was being sincere when he was apologizing for fucking my second-grade teacher. Just like he was being sincere when he apologized for taking our rent money and skipping town two days later, fucking off for a year-and-a-half. Just like he was sincere when he apologized for only sending one child support check a year for the past eighteen fucking years. Mom. He’s always goddamn sincere when he apologizes, and then he does the same thing all over again.”

Puck’s jaw twitches, and Kurt points to it instantly.

“See? He’s so fucking sincere, but he’s dying to deck me right now.”

“Kurt!” Quinn shouts. “Your father is not dying to deck you.”

“Oh, so he’s my father again, huh?” Kurt scoffs. “You know, fuck this. I’m going to be late for school.”

He goes back to his room, ignoring their murmuring as he goes. They manage to leave him alone for as long as it takes for him to change, but as soon as he’s shoving his shit into his backpack, his mom is knocking on his door and peaking in.

“Kurt, can we talk about this?”

He turns around, shoving his backpack onto his bed forcefully. “It’s never going to stop, is it?” he asks. “You know I finally thought you were realizing what a piece of shit he is. How he pits us against each other, always tries to make it him versus me. I thought you were finally realizing how you always fucking choose him, and that maybe that isn’t okay. But turns out all it takes is a couple of ‘I’m sorry’s’ and soulful puppy dog eyes, and you’re back in his arms like you’re fucking sixteen again.”

“Kurt, you don’t understand,” Quinn says, shutting the door behind her with a silent click. “He made a mistake.”

“He made a thousand fucking mistakes,” he says, arms raising in the air. His eye catches on his bandaged hand and he waves it in front of her. “How about this, huh? How about the fact that he fucking lunged at me and I burnt my goddamn hand moving away from him?”

“That’s not how that went, Kurt,” she says, keeping her voice far too calm.

“Oh, right. So, I just fucking backed up against the burner for no reason, because I’m that stupid.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Well, whatever you are saying, I don’t want to hear it,” he says. “I’m tired of this shit.” He shakes his head. “I’m going to Finn and Rachel’s after school today.”

“Kurt --”

“No,” he says, turning around and zipping his backpack up, then slinging it over his shoulder. “I need some time away, from him, and from you.”

Her eyes fill with tears, and she reaches forward to him. “Kurt, please.”

“Stop, mom,” he says, dodging her attempt at contact. “Just stop. I get it now,” he shakes his head. “No matter what happens, no matter what you say… you’re always going to choose him.”

“Kurt,” she pleads, but Kurt is done.

He pushes past her out of his bedroom and out into the living room. Puck is still standing there, staring down at his nails like he can’t wait for this all to be over. Kurt scoffs. Yeah, he thinks, sincere apology, my ass.

“You,” he says, pointing an accusing finger at the man. “You better smarten the fuck up.”

“Look, Kurt, I told you I was –”

“No, you look,” he spits. “You somehow got the most amazing woman in the world to love you despite the fact that you are a literal piece of human garbage.” He can feel his mother’s eyes on him, but he refuses to look back at her. “You better start to treat her fucking right, or I will actually beat the shit out of you; even if the test proves that you are my father.”

Puck doesn’t say anything, seemingly stunned at the threat of violence. Kurt is a bit stunned himself. He’s never considered himself a violent person before, but right at this second, staring up into the eyes of the man who has ruined and continues to ruin his mother’s life, all he feels is the urge to punch.

He pushes past Puck before the man can regain his sense of speech, walking out of the apartment and letting the door close with an audible slam. He hurries down the hall and down the stairs, wanting to get out of there as soon as he can.

Somehow, he ends up at the bus stop earlier than he usually would and has to wait a good fifteen minutes before the bus rolls up. He jumps on, slumping into a seat near the back entrance, as per usual, and shoving his backpack beside him. He bounces his leg to the music in his earphones, anger flowing through him.

He’d texted Finn about the situation as soon as he got to the bus stop, but he hasn’t heard back from him yet. He guesses the man is preparing his lessons for the day, so he doesn’t mind; he just hopes he gets it in time to tell Kurt if it won’t work.

A couple of people glance at his hand as the bus fills, but Kurt just sneers at them. Whatever. He’s already been the topic of the school’s useless gossip mill for the past few weeks. Might as well give them something else to talk about.

The bus finally reaches Blaine’s stop and the boy gets on, flashing his bus pass with a small smile before heading right to where Kurt is sitting. Kurt pulls his earphones out of his ears, already feeling his spirits lift a little.

“Whoa,” Blaine says as soon as he sees Kurt. “What – Your hand!”

“Yeah,” Kurt nods, pulling his backpack onto his own seat. “I burnt it pretty bad.”

“On what?!” Blaine takes cups Kurt’s injured hand gently between his own, as though his touch alone will help to heal it.

“Stove,” Kurt says. “I’m going to have a wicked scar.”

“What in the world happened?” Blaine asks, hands closing softly over Kurt’s, cradling it in his warmth. Despite everything, Kurt can’t help but smile.

“I got into a fight with Puck while I was making supper,” he says. “He moved toward me aggressively and, like a moron, I backed away right into the lit burner.”

Blaine tuts, shaking his head. “You’re not a moron. I’d be scared, too, if an angry man was advancing on me,” he brings Kurt’s hand up to his lips and presses a kiss over the bandaged palm. “There,” he says, grinning. “All better.”

“Thank you,” Kurt says, missing the warmth of Blaine’s hands as soon as he takes them away. “It feels better.”

“Well, that’s what I’m here for,” Blaine replies with a wink. “Seriously, though, are you okay? Burn aside.”

Kurt shrugs, hugging his backpack closer to his chest. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I’m obviously pissed as hell at Puck, but I’m also kind of pissed at my mom.” He frowns as the words come out of his mouth, almost tasting wrong. “I hate that,” he says. “I hate being mad at my mom.”

Blaine puts a hand on his shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Kurt glances around the bus, shaking his head. “Not here,” he says.

“Oh, so we’re putting a stop to all the deep talks on the bus?” Blaine asks, voice lilting teasingly. “Because I was really excited to tell you more about my childhood on the bus ride home.”

“Guess you’ll just have to tell me at lunch instead,” Kurt winks.

Blaine chuckles. “Only after you tell me why you’re mad at your mom.”

Kurt presses his lips together for a moment, then nods. “Deal.”

By the time lunch time rolls around, Kurt is ready to pull his hair out. People have been staring at him and whispering all goddamn day. They keep staring at his bandaged hand and then turning to their friends and mumbling to each other.

He’s sick of it.

“I fucking burned it,” he snaps at a couple of freshmen, who instantly turn bright red and look away.

“Rough day, huh?” Blaine asks as he walks up to Kurt’s locker. If anything, his being there only seems to make people turn to each other and whisper harder.

“Would have been better if people didn’t keep whispering about me right in front of my goddamn face,” he says, loud enough for everybody doing exactly that to hear.

“Oh, yeah,” Blaine says, a fake smile appearing on his face. “Apparently you’re hot news again.”

“My stupid hand, right?”

“A little,” Blaine replies as they start to walk down the hall. “I’m part of it, too.”

“Really, now?”

“Yep,” Blaine’s smile widens. “Apparently you’ve officially hit rock bottom, going from the Incredible Scott Smith to little ol’ me. So far I’ve heard people whispering about how I’m not as hot as, or as smart as, or as athletic as, or as rich as, or as good in bed as their all-powerful overlord.” His face becomes even more manic, eyes expanding impossibly. “I don’t even want to know how they figure the last one.”

“Christ,” Kurt rolls his eyes. “So, I went from not being good enough for Sebastian to being too good for you? What the literal hell.”

“I know, right? How fun is this school?”

Kurt snorts. “Why do you think you’re my only friend?”

“Not for my looks, brains, athleticism, money, or sexual abilities, that’s for sure.”

They find an empty classroom and head inside, falling into two desks at the far side of the room.

“It’s so goddamn stupid,” Kurt says. “Like, why does anybody even care about me? Sebastian’s gone, they can leave me alone now.”

“Apparently not,” Blaine shakes his head. He opens his lunch bag, then stops and gives Kurt a look he doesn’t like at all. “Actually, before I forget, I need to tell you what people are saying about your hand.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Kurt rolls his eyes. “Fine, lay it on me.” Blaine looks apprehensive, so Kurt just says, “Blaine, I’d rather hear it from you then from one of the dipshits on the football team. Just tell me.”

“Yeah, so,” Blaine clears his throat. “The rumor going around is that your mom caught us in bed together and got so mad she broke your wrist.”

“What the fuck, that doesn’t even – the bandage doesn’t even reach my wrist how do they—” Kurt stops, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to calm the fury rushing through him.

“Thank you for telling me,” he says through gritted teeth. “I’m glad I heard it from you, because if I heard anybody else talking shit about my mom like that, I would have decked them.”

“Really?” Blaine asks, something crossing his eyes that makes Kurt instantly feel guilty.

Kurt sighs. “No,” he says honestly. “I’m not actually the violent type. I mean, I did tell Puck I’d beat the shit out of him if he didn’t start treating my mom better, but he evokes a special kind of anger inside me.”

“Right,” Blaine says. He doesn’t look fully convinced.

“Seriously, I talk a big game, but I can’t fight for shit. Sebastian was so upset when he found out his ‘bad boy rebellion boyfriend’ couldn’t even throw a punch.”

Blaine narrows his eyes at him for a moment, then asks, “Have you dated anybody other than Sebastian?”

Kurt freezes. “What?” he asks. “Why?”

“Sorry,” Blaine says, pulling his sandwich out of his bag. “That must have seemed random. I just… you never talk about any other ex-boyfriend’s. Just Sebastian.”

Kurt ponders the question for a moment, brain still trying to catch up with the shift in conversation. “I never actually thought about that,” he says. “I, uh. I guess I haven’t. Not really.”

“Not really?”

“Yeah, like, I’ve gone on dates, or whatever, but never anything serious until Sebastian.”

Blaine stares down at his sandwich, picking at the crust. “Did you love him?”

Kurt’s throat dries. He swallows thickly, and his heart starts to pound. “I thought I did,” he says.

Blaine nods, picking at his crust a little bit more. Then, he looks up, smile just a little bit too wide to be real. “Well, I guess I have my work cut out for me, huh? As your Rumor Boyfriend and all that. Everyone already says you must be constantly comparing me to Sebastian, and now I know you loved him…”

“I thought I loved him,” Kurt corrects quickly. He sucks on a cheek, deciding if he should say anything, then decides to fuck it all and says, “Those rumors are correct, though. I do compare you to Sebastian.”

Blaine’s entire face falls. “What?” he asks, voice cracking. “Are you serious?”

Kurt nods. “Yep,” he pops the ‘p’. “Like, for example, every time we have a conversation, even if it’s about you, you always end up asking me how I’m doing, or how I’m feeling. Then after those conversations, you follow up. You actually care about all the shit going on with my family. Sebastian never even asked to meet my mom.”

Blaine’s face brightens slowly as he seems to realize what Kurt is saying. “So, I’m the winner in these comparisons?”

Kurt scoffs. “Are you kidding? You’re like, the champion. Sebastian has nothing on you.”

“Even though you thought you loved Sebastian?”

“Thinking you love someone and genuinely liking someone are two totally different things,” Kurt says. “Blaine, you and I are friends. That’s not something I could ever say about me and Sebastian.”

Blaine raises an eyebrow. “And the hot thing?”

Kurt rolls his eyes, though he can’t stop the smile creeping up his lips. “Okay, you’re pushing it.”

“What about the sexual prowess thing?” Blaine wiggles his eyebrows. “Am I better in bed than Sebastian?”

Kurt raises an eyebrow. “Well, I wouldn’t know, but I’m guessing yes.”

Blaine smirks. “He was that bad in bed, huh?”

“Oh, no,” Kurt shakes his head. “Sebastian was awesome in bed.” He shrugs, going for nonchalant. “I just have a feeling that you’d be way better.”

Blaine stares at him with wide eyes and parted lips as he says it, and god, Kurt likes him so much. If it weren’t for Blaine’s stupid no-dating rule, he’d kiss him.

He glances down at Blaine’s lips, then up to Blaine’s eyes. He catches Blaine looking at his lips as well.

Fuck.

Should he kiss him?

Blaine leans in a little, and Kurt feels the pull, leaning forward as well.

Before their lips can touch, Blaine pulls away. “So, um, tell me about the issues with your mom,” he says, voice higher than usual.

Kurt pauses where he is, hand clenching into a fist where it sits atop the desk. He takes a deep breath, then sits back up, levelling Blaine a hard look. “What about my mom?” he asks, all too aware of the bright blush coloring Blaine’s cheeks.

“You said you were mad at her, too, not just Puck. Why?”

Kurt shrugs, trying to diffuse the awkwardness lingering around them. “Puck got really drunk last night, and when he came home he told mom she had to choose between him and me. She said she didn’t want to, but that she’d choose me if it came down to it, so Puck left. Then this morning he comes back, feeds her some sob story about how he’s going to change, how things will be different, whatever, nothing we haven’t heard a million times before,” he rolls his eyes. “And the moron fucking believes him. She just ran into his arms and basically told him none of it mattered and that she’d love him forever and ever no matter what.”

Blaine lets out a low whistle. “Wow,” he says, deadpan.

“Pretty much,” Kurt says. “So I told her I was going to stay at Finn and Rachel’s for a bit,” he says. “Well, if they’re okay with it. I haven’t heard back from Finn yet.”

“If you can’t stay there, I’m sure Burt would take you in,” Blaine says. “At least for a night or two.”

Kurt smiles thinly. “Thanks,” he says, though what he really wants to say is, “And do you think you could stop teasing me with the implications that you want more than just friendship with me if we were under the same roof at night?”

“Anyway,” he says, ridding his mind of the thought, “I’m just annoyed that my mom keeps falling for the same dumb shit over and over. And I’m annoyed that she drags me into it. She knows Puck and I don’t get along, that apartment is like a toxic waste site, but she refuses to do anything about it. She’ll never kick him out, even when he pulls bullshit like last night.” He shakes his head. “You know the worst part? For a minute there, I actually thought she’d changed.”

Blaine tilts his head a little. “How do you mean?”

“He was being an asshole when I burned my hand, and so she told him to either get me some ice, or to get out. He didn’t get me the ice, so she made him leave. She’s never done that before,” he looks down at his bandaged hand. “Didn’t matter, though. She still fucking took him back, like it was nothing.”

“Maybe it isn’t nothing,” Blaine says. When Kurt raises an eyebrow at him, he hesitantly continues. “I mean, I don’t know your mom, but from what you’ve told me this was clearly an important step forward. Maybe… I don’t know, maybe she’s realizing she’s been wrong all this time to keep him in your lives, but she’s still trying to cling to their relationship?”

Kurt sighs, slumping in the chair. “I really hope you’re right,” he says. “But even then, I don’t know if she’d ever actually get to the point of kicking him out of our lives,” he stares past Blaine, out the window. A few red leaves blow by. “I just hate how it’s come between us. I hate that she’s always putting her desire to be loved by him above the well-being of our family.”

Blaine nods pensively. “It isn’t fair to you,” he says.

“No,” Kurt agrees without hesitation. “It isn’t.”

He finally gets a text back from Finn by sixth period, informing him that he is always welcome in their home. He asks what happened, and Kurt texts back that he’ll explain later, and then apologizes for not being in contact more since they came to his house.

Finn, of course, tells him that it’s no problem. Because that’s just how Finn is.

He finds Blaine after last period so they can walk to the bus stop together, even though Kurt is going to have to cross the street and take the bus coming the opposite way to get to Finn and Rachel’s. Blaine pouts about how he’s missing out on more deep talks, and Kurt hates how cute it is.

He waits for the bus with Blaine, knowing the one on the opposite side of the road won’t come for at least ten minutes after the other bus leaves. Blaine tells him about his annoyance with his lab partner in Chemistry as they wait, then promises to text Kurt about how terrible the bus ride is without him.

He keeps that promise, and Kurt has to stop himself from grinning when every new text update from Blaine comes in. Blaine is always sassier in his texts than he is in person, and Kurt loves it.

They keep texting until Kurt arrives at Finn and Rachel’s house, when he begrudgingly tells Blaine that he’ll probably have to step away from his phone for at least an hour as he fills Rachel and Finn in on what’s been going on.

From: Bowtie Blaine

Fine, but I’ll miss you.

Kurt isn’t sure whether to grin or groan. Blaine and his mixed signals are going to drive him crazy one of these days.

           From: Kurt

           Careful now. I’m going to start thinking you like me.

Blaine’s answer comes in a flash, and it makes Kurt’s heart ache.

           From: Bowtie Blaine

           I think you know by now that I do.

He pockets his phone, arriving at Finn and Rachel’s house. Despite wanting to follow this rabbit hole, maybe even bring up the almost-kiss from lunch, Kurt knows he should be present for the conversation about to follow.

He rings the doorbell and Finn answers in a second, pulling him close and wrapping him in his arms. Kurt closes his eyes as Finn’s familiar scent envelops him, and wonders if this is what it feels like to be hugged by a father.

“Alright, you,” Finn says, putting his arm around Kurt and dragging him into the house. “Tell me everything that happened, okay?”

He sees Rachel peeking out from the dining room, a bottle of water in hand. “I think you mean us, Finn,” she says, glaring at her husband. “Tell us everything that happened.”

Kurt smiles as Finn sticks his tongue out at her, letting the man lead him into the dining room. There’s a plate of fruit on the table, as well as a bowl of chips and a couple of cans of Coke. Kurt’s stomach warms at the sight of it, as well as the thought of Finn and Rachel going to the trouble of preparing this for him.

“Seriously, Kurt,” Finn says as they sit down, Finn beside Kurt and Rachel opposite them. Finn’s hand comes up to Kurt’s shoulder and squeezes it softly; comfortingly. “Tell us what happened.”

Kurt just shakes his head and says, “Every-fucking-thing, guys. Every-fucking thing.”

Chapter Twelve

#klaineanummel fic #klaine fic #klaine au #klaine #fic: egoe #multi chapter

[dstrt1xn]

"You want paper towels with that?"

Based on another prompt from @ivebeenonthissitetoolong

TW // horror, gore, blood, grotesque violence, murder, mentions of sex, 18+ content

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I hate road trips. There, I said it. I fucking hate them. Sitting still that long? Sharing your space with so many other people that you end up uncomfortable as fuck for hours on end? Listening to other people's music? Eating garbage gas station food? Being right in the middle of stupid, petty arguments whether you like it or not? Root canal surgery without novocaine sounds like a better time.

"Sure, quintessential mom-friend on 'roids. But who the fuck is ever going to need that many?" Elza is asking, sitting almost ass-backwards in the front passenger seat of Cipher’s car.

"You know what, drink as much as you did last night and you might," Gore replies, making a small show of stuffing a thick stack of paper towels into her bag.

"I maintain I was roofied," Elza says, turning back to face the windshield.

"And I maintain you're an idiot," Cipher speaks up from the driver's seat.

Their masses and masses of curls are piled haphazardly under a beanie that's barely staying on their head. I have a bet going on with myself that, before we stop for the day, it's going to finally lose its grip on their skull and go flying out the window they insist on keeping open. I offered to loan them a headscarf before we left this morning, but they only ignored me to look aesthetically miserable in artfully shabby 'travel' clothes spattered with paint so everyone who sees them knows they’re an artist.

Every goddamn second that passes brings me closer and closer to throwing myself out of this hearse. The only reason I don't is because I know I won't die.

“Oh, fuck off, Ci. Not my fault you were batting zero all night. There is such a thing as overconfidence, you know.”

Elza says this loud enough for everyone to hear, as though hoping we’ll all agree with her and get into it with Cipher. None of us are that stupid – or that bored. Cipher also doesn’t take the bait. After all these years, you learn to pick your battles. Anyway, Elza always wins with the Republicans. Her apple pie accent and cornsilk blonde hair get them hard or something.

“At the risk of making you all play tarot with me, are we there yet?” Mona gets off her phone long enough to ask.

“You bring those cards out and I set them on fire,” I threaten, and she knows I’ll do it. Fucking game never leads to anything good.

“Not to agree with Satin, but you bring those cards out and I’m setting you on fire along with them,” Cipher adds.

“But that is agreeing with Satin,” Mona points out.

“I hate it here,” I grumble and flop over onto my stomach just as the pain in my back starts getting unbearable.

“Two more hours,” Gore interjects, sighing loudly.

“And what’s our cover again?” Mona wants to know.

“Traveling gospel choir,” Elza throws over her shoulder. “Actually, do you think it’ll hurt? I know it’s not technically a––”

“So, it won’t hurt,” Cipher shuts down her nerves. Another point of pride for them is us succeeding. We don’t have anything close to a hierarchical structure or anything, but they are the closest thing we have to a leader, and, as such, usually get the most flack from those below. “And Mode is stocked up, right?”

In the rearview mirror, Cipher tries to make eye-contact with the aforementioned, but they’re out cold on Don’s shoulder, who is sleeping with her head tilted against Mode’s. Can’t blame them, but, fuck, do I wish that were me. I just can’t sleep when I’m this damn hungry.

“We filled up their stocks at the last Hillsong venue,” I answer before dropping my head onto my folded arms.

The conversation devolves into something stupid again and I pretend to be asleep in the hopes that I might actually get a few minutes. No such luck, of course, and I end up relistening to the only playlist my phone will play without service for the nth time today. Kurt Cobain being a pine-y, whiny bastard at least gives me something aside from my current situation to be pissed at.

______________________________________________________________

“Every time we go with the Christian girl group cover, Satin looks like the Mary-character in a nativity play,” Elza snickers, looking me up and down.

“You’re just jealous that my dress is hot and functional. At least I don’t look like Gabriel,” I fire back, a wry look on my face as I scoff at her crown of perfect blonde curls and the white cape trailing behind her.

“Fuck off and die, Sathanas. We all know you’re the most useless one here. Anyone can do what you do. It’s boring.”

“So is your general cuntiness, but we tolerate it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m here to do my job, and listening to you bitch and moan is not something I get paid enough to do.” I leave with the most insincere smile I can muster.

Near the entrance, a man has come out to talk to Cipher. I go to join them, itching to get inside and get to work. For the others, this is very much a job. They don’t particularly enjoy using their gifts. Well, not anymore. Used to be, we were our gifts. We didn’t exist in any physical sense aside from the effect we had on people being perceived. But then Cipher had to go and run their mouth… Well, it’s been a while now. We know what’s expected of us, and we get the job done. I just know that it’s much more of a chore for the others than it is for me. An argument can be made that I’m the reason imagining it just stops doing it for murderers – and that argument would be correct. I’m grinning to myself when I roll up to Cipher’s side.

“You genuinely are such a beautiful group of girls,” the man says, looking at me like I’m something to eat.

Next to me, I feel Cipher’s revulsion at the man. I take their hand, conveying that I’ll make this disgusting little insect of a male specimen suffer for misgendering them. They squeeze my fingers before letting go and stuffing their hands back in the pockets of their super tasteful white suit.

Behind us, the others have caught up.

“Oh, I see you’re all here. Lovely. I’ll go notify the stage crew. Feel free to enjoy the festival in the meantime.” The man smiles as he leaves, but none of us miss how his eyes linger just a little too long on Don, like he isn’t quite sure what he’s looking at.

This guy is so getting it slow and painful.

“Just like we practised, ay, Satin?” Mode adds, like they’d read my mind.

The smile in their voice is infectious.

______________________________________________________________

Who the fuck is ever going to need that many?

Well, right now, I would fucking kill for more. That is, kill again. Thank fuck we’re demons because this dress is never going to white again otherwise.

“ASMODEUS!”

The shout comes from Mona, who is supervising a fight to the death over who deserves to get into heaven more. She’d spotted a prudish lady come charging at Mode with a lethal-looking broken crucifix. Quickly, they kick it out of her hands and then grip her by the chin. Their lips find hers and in no time flat the old hag is a shiver, gyrating, obscene mess on the ground. Two men come to relieve her of her clothes.

“Special delivery!”

I turn to find Cipher hauling the old man from earlier up to me by the collar of his shirt. When he tries to squirm out their grip, they drop their face, revealing their True Visage. Of course, to humans, this is repulsive, Lucifer has always been the most beautiful of us. It stands to reason their virtue would be pride.

“Now, you’re just spoiling me,” I smile, the smell of the man’s terror making my stomach growl despite having eaten more people than I can count.

“I know the human experience hasn’t been fun for you. You’ve always enjoyed being a demon so much more. So, let me show you a good time while we’re here. You deserve it.” Cipher winks at me.

If I’d been anything other than the embodiment of pure hatred and wrath, I probably would’ve found that charming. As it is, the gratitude only hits me after I’ve torn the man’s arm from his body and started sucking on it like a sugar straw. His screams make my toes curl.

Up onstage, Abadon is radiating darkness like an aura. She’s the one we have to thank for tonight’s success, because if it hadn’t been for Don keeping most of these parishioners sluggish, we wouldn’t have nearly the numbers we do. No can question that she is an absolute queen tonight, despite the unfortunate body she’d manifested into on earth. No one does sloth quite like a trans woman waiting for a patriarchal society to realize her worth.

The man is a welcome snack as watch Mammona and Belphegor drive Mona’s fighters into a vengeful frenzy. I tip a leg at them in acknowledgement and they smile, causing their gifts to intensify, which causes the men to put their all into murdering each other. Greed and gluttony are such a potent combination.

A slight rumbling in the ground is music to my ears. It means our ride home is almost here. I wonder if we can take Cipher’s hearse with us. As long as I don’t have to spend hours and hours in it, it is very comfortable. The whiplike sound of a crack that seems to tear the world in half silences all noise for a moment. I step aside just in time to miss the abyss ripping open in the fairgrounds.

Elza has no such qualms. She gently nudges (by which I mean insults viciously) her charges towards the edge. The women are insane with envy, digging their nails into one another’s faces in a blind compulsion to make everyone they see look as ugly as they themselves feel. It’s genius.

“Having fun, Beelzebub?” I ask, popping a dismembered thumb into my mouth.

“No one more envious than people conditioned to believe wanting what someone else has is mortally wrong,” Elza practically sings, eyes sparkling and smile radiant as three women topple helplessly, still shredding one another, into the great darkness at our feet.

“You want paper towels with that?”

Gore stands at my elbow, holding out more paper towels for me to attempt cleaning up with. I only smile and dab at my blood-soaked lips daintily. As she reaches into her bag for a few more, Elza and I laugh at the tortured screams emanating from inside.

#horror #prompt #writing #my writing #tw // horror #tw death #tw gore #gore #death #blood #violence #murder #18+ content #18+ #mentions of sex #religion #christianity #demons #deadly sins