Cosmic Funnies
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@joyousdefunct
JOYOUSDEFUNCT. a low activity, low maintenance multimuse featuring original characters from an array of media / genres.
PROMO. MUSES. PROMPTS. SPIN THE WHEEL. PINTEREST.
AFFILIATES. 7-inchez / putrefacerem, bysoleil / halfgigas / ionadach.
miidnighters won’t you wrap the night around me ?
independent multi muse | selective guidelines | muses
Everywhere and nowhere— but pseudo-philosophy doesn’t clear him of communicables.
“Went grocery shopping today. Two blocks over.”
Yeah, that’s a cunty answer too.
Vodka, clear and cold, scours her wound like a little river over a fresh ravine. Feyd tracks the runoff beading by her clavicle, and with a small, reptileish flick, catches the next droplet.
That’s what he is, tonight— a tongue and a mouth, hyperspecialized, mercenary, just a composite of hungers. Her blood is a side channel to whatever lizard thing sits below his ribs, hissing satisfaction.
"I'm clean. I can laminate the results if you want them."
“fuck off.”
delivered gently, though the mental image is intrusive enough to knock something slightly askew.
she can’t imagine him eating. or shopping. or doing anything, really— except this. performing. embodying a concept. the thought of feyd being just as pedestrian as anyone else seemed borderline sacrilege. worse: unappealing.
it reads all over her face.
“as long as your dick’s not falling off, i guess it’s fine.”
jackie’s thighs flex; wet and needy at their apex. she lets her weight rest heavy on his lap— considers that he’s lying about everything, that maybe she hopes for as much. her hand collects around his throat. the pain throbs.
“lay back.”
her bad luck's that she's the kinda mean that he enjoys. just cruel enough to put him in his place, but so personalised he's led to believe he's worth the effort. bitchy's how roman makes friends. she's saying she loves him, essentially. and roman, ever the billionaire philanthropist, says it right back: ❝ joke's on you because the newest shit's semen retention actually, so. your pics aren't worth spilling my alpha energy for. ❞ straight out of his ass; try and guess if he's being for real. but think about it: would he even know about the manosphere if he wasn't a man™?
some people are thrust into celebrity and have to spend years getting used to the public attention. roman, much like nico, was born straight into the limelight. having think pieces written about him's like having his every meal prepared for him. not worth mentioning. ❝ pfft, take it as a compliment. she's hot. except for all the girlboss bullshit, obviously. ❞ he's served a sleazy line on a silver platter here, about kissing girls and liking it. but they're friends, so he's all about expressing his condolences. neatly sidestepping any implication that this could be a slight on him, too. ❝ the only embarrasing part's that he's canadian. that's basically like they're saying you've been fucking karl marx. commie fucker. you know? bad look. ❞
“alpha energy?”
ugh.
“roman, i need you to understand that every time you learn a new phrase from a podcast, a kitten gets run over by a dump truck.”
and why was he still pretending that he was above the girlboss bullshit? slap a bun on his head and give him a wellness brand deal and he’d be indistinguishable from every other new mom with an entrepreneurial spirit.
“also, she's not hot-hot. she's rich-person hot. completely different category,” she's hunched forward, elbows on the table, “like a boca do lobo piece. you look at it and go, wow, that's expensive. not wow, i wanna fuck that.”
this is really bothering her.
she snatches the up-until-now unacknowledged menu and pretends to peruse through it.
“who’s karl marx?”
Euphoria 3.08, "In God We Trust" I dir.Sam Levinson
There's not much more un-magnetic than a disingenuous dalliance. But the little sound that comes out of her mouth ⸺ a scoff isn't quite right but the word will do for now ⸺ suggests she's disappointed to be right ... as if she should have let herself crutch into the bit of casual romances two people are forced into to keep up social footing. Like the fliration between a barkeeper and the hand that takes the Martini, dirty. That type of surface thrill never fills. She needs something real.
Real Ari unveils now. And the only thing she can grasp for something common is their reason for both being here and not wanting to be here. Fathers.
She finishes her drink.
❛ It is my father's event. ❜
An Ora invite as the same currency and gravity as a Kennedy's. And she's about nearing the allotted time she should show face. She's got one eye on him and another on the pool in the backyard (or the idea of it, since its far out of guest view).
❛ Do you want me to leave you alone? ❜
“you're the first person who's said more than three sentences to me tonight without trying to sell me something.”
the noise from the party swells and fades around them, tidal-like. ari glances toward the house, where some cluster of investors were undoubtedly congratulating themselves for existing, then back to hara. he kept up with the papers. knew who she was, mostly by word of mouth. but proximity made her lucent; a knock-out in ways a photo could never do justice.
“no, i don’t want you to leave me alone.”
but he wouldn’t blame her if she did.
the admission seems to annoy him a little.
“i’m sorry. i’m being an asshole.”
he drops the butt of his cigarette into a half-empty flute of champagne.
“let’s go somewhere.”
Tom Hardy in MobLand (S01E02).
How often has he said much the same about himself? Born unto it and into it.
"Yeah, but that don't mean it don't mess with you."
the quiet festers. something about it allows a too-familiar thirst to slip in and gnaw at the back of his throat.
“how d’you intend to break this spell or curse or, whatever it is?”
@joyousdefunct | Colt said "hooold up a minute ... " hurriedly ashes his cig on 'long baths.' "i thought that meant for me. by myself. shit, i never did one'a these things before!" taptaptap.
Callisto looks at him for a long moment - lips twitching in amusement, even before she says anything. "What, you think I'm just gonna sit around and watch you in a bath? What's in it for me? If you're in the tub I don't even get an eyeful."
thing about callie is, he can never hold her gaze for long. feels like a light’s shining through his guts— makes him feel funny, and stupid, and guilty, too. “i gotta stand up to get in and out, don’t i? ... five, six minutes in a cold shower, if that, 's what i’m used to.” it’s all he gives himself, even now.
STARTER CALL : accepting @joyousdefunct ft. hanna & colt
SUMMER HAD BEGUN BULDOZING OVER SPRING, air clinging heavy to everything, muggy as sin, faint song of cicadas bleeding through the open garage door. fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, and she’s stewing in contemplation, nearly all the live long day in fact. her choice in blame on the matter walked back through the bay, the business end of a socket wrench pointed toward him. ❛ I got a bone to pick with you. ❜ ACCUSATION DRAWLED OUT THICK AS HONEY.
attempts at sternness fade at the twitch of her lips to recall the little look of smug glee on her daughters face. eyes still too big for her face, cradling the stuffed gator she’d been saving her allowance for AND NOT A PENNY HAD BEEN SPENT. ❛ i’m tryna teach her the importance of hard work and savin’ her money to get somethin’ she wants. ❜ some distance crossed, head tilted with a hand perched at her hip, tool still pointed at colt. and still NOT in the least bit intimidating. ❛ next time it might not kill ya’ t’get somethin’ for me, too. a stuffed possum would go a long way. ❜
“mm?”
barely a head-lift at first; all manner of envelopes stacked in hand. he cards through them while listening with one ear, the pinch-pull between brows deepening with the reveal of a fresh round of debt to be paid off by summer’s end. six thousand to their regional supplier. another few to fix the hydraulic crusher out back. overdue taxes on the land itself because his brother’s a dumbass who lost the notice. twice.
he sighs. looks up.
“i told junie to keep savin’ her dollars,” he fans hanna jo with the stack, fully focused now on her sugar-lite reprimand. “for when she really needs ‘em … ‘course i told her, by the time she’s big like me, she’ll have cash enough to buy every stuffed animal at the store.” he taps his temple, forward thinker, and flashes a smile, boots scuffing the dirty garage floor. this close, he could count her freckles.
he could do a lotta things.
instead, he slips the socket wrench from her hand.
“a possum? you don’ want somethin’ cute? a bunny, maybe ... or a bumblebee?”
roman's gotta scoff because what the fuck else is he to do? ❝ what, as if i need it? ❞ clearly she's got no concept of what a president even fucking is, let alone how impressive roman's many high-ranking connections are. he's not rankled by her (or her astronomical fucking following) in the slightest. roman roy is genetically incapable of getting cowed, most of all by a woman. ask anyone.
❝ listen. you do your brand deals or whatever, suck gucci's coochie, i don't care. guess there's worse ways of whoring yourself out. ❞ pointedly not looking at her phone anymore. or her in general. roman's neediness is up close and personal. anonymous online adoration doesn't factor into it at all. ❝ just horrified this many people wanna see that day-to-day. like, what's that say about the world we live in, huh? bunch of braindead pervs jerking it over your latest bikini pics. it's fucking sad. ❞
“like you haven't jerked it to my pictures? or my stories? i doubt i even have to be wearing a bikini to set your little gooner brain off.”
battle of the egos. roman’s is pin-balling off the walls; she’s already won. the tip of her heel nudges his ankle— gentle once, then jutting at the tendons. there’s something grossly endearing about his worminess; the power he concedes for nothing. it was probably true that his connections were more formidable than her own in a corpo legalese bullshit sort of way, but there was something to be said for the optics of public opinion. being roman roy’s friend was expensive. the least he could do was indulge her.
“there’s a think piece floating around,” she abandons her phone face-down on the table, “comparing us to katy perry and that canadian guy she’s fucking. do you know how embarrassing that is?”
SO THAT'S THE END OF THIS ROOT CANAL OF A CONVERSATION. For two merciful seconds, Max is able to believe that.
And then.
I'm not in the mood to talk, he considers saying, but that would be letting her into his thoughts and feelings in a way he's determined is too risky. Admittedly, he enjoys the mysterious older man schtick. It is remarkable that she still attempts to connect with him at all.
Max takes off his glasses. He sets them down gently; they barely make a sound against the table.
"What's whose name?"
“her name.”
fuller. louder, now. bitten off at the end as if she were thinking of something else. this was how it always went. how it would always go.
what was she even doing here?
“is she prettier than me?”
It’s a lazy jab; she lets it hit.
“I mean, you ever met an ‘Agonia’ in the wild?” Snatches the blunt back and licks her teeth, tongue lingering, a pantomime wolf. “It’s a fucking stage name. You think I’d survive grade school with that on my report card?”
She folds a knee up, plants a boot on the table, underlying menace in the tread marks embossing faded Formica.
“If you want the government name, you gotta marry me. Or kill me. Or do both, but it’s got to be in that order.”
“shit … i guess not.”
but he’d met a bullchuck, a temperance, and more than one don pedro, so who’s to say? they were in the land of the weird and wonderful.
“a-go-nia,” he rolls it around, index and thumb still pinched, bereft and deflating. stage name … the concept of pulling a chick who had more than a part-time at the piggly wiggly made both heads swell. he knee-knocks her, grinning.
“i’ll marry ya,” stating, unserious. though with cal, there was always the off-chance he was being every bit as much. his knuckle brushes the length of her forearm. “can’t say it don’t appeal t’me sometimes.”
The Wire | 2x08 Duck and Cover
do you like me? do you want me? did you know i'm pretty funny if i try? i try!
@joyousdefunct <3'd for a Sapphic Sunday thing!
I know I haunt you when it gets dark, the way I fuck you like a porn star.
“don’t ruin it.” but the post-coital run-off betrays her at the last second and she smiles. it’s too sweet for the air of indifference to matter much at all. “even if that were true, why would i ever admit it?”
