#death row people really just pig themselves out…

[goodnightmemes]

DEXTER SEASON TWO SENTENCE STARTERS (PART ONE)

Lines taken from 2x01-2x06 of the show Dexter. Feel free to change pronouns or edit in any way to better fit your needs. Here is part two.

❛ It's not what I want, for what I want doesn't matter. This is the only way I know how to survive. ❜

❛ I really need... to kill somebody. ❜

❛ You're in control of your urges, not the other way around. ❜

❛ Can we please secure this motherfucking crime scene ? ❜

❛ It's not him that you miss. Because what he had to offer wasn't real. The way he made you feel about yourself...That was real. ❜

❛ I'm just trying to figure out some way to feel alive! ❜

❛ This stuff never gets to you? ❜

❛ I'm more of a crying on the inside kind of guy. ❜

❛ This neighborhood? It's full of crazies. I'd lock my doors. ❜

❛ Tons of options: Everglades, alligators, pig farms, sulfuric acid, wood chipper, incinerator. Hell! Even meat pies. ❜

❛ So this is the man who stands between me and death row. ❜

❛ There is no such thing as the perfect crime. Not in my experience anyway. ❜

❛ If I believed in God, if I believed in sin, this is the place where I'd be sucked straight to hell. If I believed in hell. ❜

❛ I'm not so much doing this to you as I'm doing it for me. ❜

❛ Now, it makes sense. That's where you disappeared to at all hours of the night like Clark fucking Kent. ❜

❛ If the eyes were a window to the soul, then grief is the door. ❜

❛ I've been preparing for this my entire life. ❜

❛ I'm sure someone with a heart could answer that question. ❜

❛ You know those words don't mean anything, right? ❜

❛ Get used to food references because... I like food. ❜

❛ I go to stalk a killer and I end up with a new car. How did that happen? ❜

❛ Nothing stays buried. ❜

❛ Everyone in that room has heard or lived far worse than anything you've ever done. ❜

❛ The worst killers are usually the ones who think their murders were somehow... just. Even deserved. ❜

❛ You just hop from one lie to the next, no shame, no embarrassment, you just don't give a shit. ❜

❛ You're lying to yourself if you think you don't care. ❜

❛ I'm not sure of what I am. I just know there is something dark in me. ❜

❛ Things, people, who never mattered before are suddenly starting to matter. It scares the hell out of me. ❜

❛ You were right. I'm sorry to wake you up, but I had to let you know that you were right. ❜

❛ In our most paranoid moments, we fear that everyone is talking about us. That's become my reality. ❜

❛ It makes me feel like the whole world could explode at any moment. ❜

❛ I don't have a badge. I have a laminate. ❜

❛ You haven't got the first idea who you are, have you? ❜

❛ You don't kill this many people because it's a chore. You do it 'cause you like it. ❜

❛ I've always been good with parents. The key is to simply think of them as aliens from a distant universe. ❜

❛ The last guy I had sex with tried to kill me. ❜

❛ Okay, this is the first time I regret not being a bigger nerd. ❜

❛ He asks you a question, I want you to think of your answer first and then tell him the exact opposite, okay? ❜

❛ You know, I've been thinking about you breaking up with me, and, well, I don't think it's in your best interest. ❜

❛ There are no absolutes. No one's all good or evil. ❜

❛ You make yourself into a monster so you no longer bear responsibility for what you do. "I can't help it. I'm a monster. "Of course I was gonna do that. I'm a monster." It's sad and it's pathetic... And it breaks my heart. ❜

❛ You don't think there are monsters in this world? You don't believe people are evil? I'll show you evil. ❜

❛ For the first time, I feel the future might hold something different for me. It's possible I'm just fooling myself, but I'm willing to take the risk. ❜

❛ I suddenly find myself weighing the benefits of electrocution versus lethal injection. ❜

❛ Sweet mary, mother of fuck, that's good! ❜

❛ I never expected to get better. ❜

❛ You think you're charming, don't you? ❜

❛ And you're not the least bit pissed off that this man got away with murder? ❜

❛ Healing is all about focusing your rage on the person that's hurt you. ❜

❛ I'm not the person I'm supposed to be. It's like I'm hollow. ❜

❛ I hide in plain sight, unable to reach out to people close to me. I'm afraid I'll hurt them. Like I've hurt so many others. ❜

❛ If you can't be happy for me, then maybe you shouldn't be here. ❜

❛ You made me into what I am! ❜

❛ If you turn back now, you'll go right back to the way you were...hollow, angry, alone. ❜

❛ I will get you through this. I swear. Just come back to me. Okay? ❜

❛ You ran a background check on my boyfriend? ❜

❛ Imagine that... a life with no more secrets. ❜

❛ Everyone has a moment when they realize their value system is different from their parents'. ❜

❛ Rumor has it you have a knack for attracting serial killers. ❜

❛ Sorry if I was short with you this morning. I'm lost without my morning coffee. ❜

❛ I thought you were different than ____, but you're the same. Actually, you're worse. You made me trust you. ❜

❛ I have been patient and understanding, but there's only so much I can take. ❜

❛ What in the name of fuck are you doing up so early? ❜

❛ When I get pissed, I say stuff I don't mean all the time. "I hate you," "I faked it," "You're hung like a grape." ❜

❛ Stop being a douche bag and go fight for her. She's fucking perfect. ❜

❛ I heard what you said. I just don't take orders from you. ❜

❛ You want to hit me? Go for it. I've been waiting for a chance to take your ass out. ❜

❛ Nobody fucking listens to me! ❜

❛ Last time, you came back covered in blood. ❜

❛ Apparently my new life involves a love triangle. ❜

❛ The voices are back. Excellent. ❜

❛ I've spent years looking the enemy in the face, and I'm telling you ____ is dangerous. ❜

❛ Chin up little sister, these things have a way of working themselves out. ❜

❛ You attacked those people because you wanted to. ❜

❛ All my life, I've done what someone else said I should do, been who he said I should be. I followed his rules, I stuck to his plan. I never stopped to think about what I wanted and what I needed. And now I don't know who I'm supposed to be. ❜

❛ I will kill you. I have to. I just don't need to. It's very empowering. ❜

❛ There was a time I would have done anything to protect ____. I would have even lied. But today I told the truth... even though I knew she'd get hurt. ❜

[ouyangzizhensdad]

I just saw a post saying nhs has an inferiority complex and I'm?? Confused?? I always thought he was fine with being weaker in terms of cultivation, maybe I missed something

Hi anon,

I have to say, I struggle as well to figure out where people are getting this from the text. I think, oftentimes, people don't actually pay attention to what the text provides us in terms of characterisation as a whole, but take elements of what makes the character or which happens to them and simply extrapolate how they themselves would feel in that situation as a means of understanding the character. I can easily imagine how a reader would think: wow, if I had low cultivation in a world that values it (and within a clan that values strength even more so!) and a brother who was not only super strong and admired but who wanted me to fit into that role, and then found myself having to fill his shoes after his sudden death, I'd feel some sort of inferiority complex. I think that's the same reason you see so much people insisting WWX has self-esteem issues.

The thing about NHS is that, as a youth, we never saw him value high cultivation or "academic" achievements (not sure how to otherwise call his time at CR but there is probably a better word for it) or brute strength. He's afraid of consequences from his brother for failing at the CR, as we see here:

Although the brothers were not born from the same mother, their relationship was quite solid. Nie Mingjue had always taught his younger brother with extreme harshness, particularly caring for his studies. This was why, even though Nie Huaisang respected his older brother, he was the most scared of Nie Mingjue mentioning his schoolwork.

and here:

Although he didn’t understand a single bit as he listened in class, Nie Huaisang worked as hard as a slave when the date of the test approached. He copied Virtue two times for Wei Wuxian, and begged before the test, “Please, Wei-xiong, if my grade is lower than yi, my brother would really break my legs! Stuff like telling apart direct lineage, collateral lineage, main clan, clan branches… For us disciples from big clans, we can’t even distinguish our relationships with our own relatives, randomly calling everyone who are more than two tiers away from us aunts and uncles. Does anyone have enough capacity in their brain to remember those of other clans?!”

After thinking for a few moments, an expression of envy and yearning appeared on Nie Huaisang’s face, “To be honest, Wei-xiong’s words were quite interesting. Spiritual energy can only be obtained through cultivation and taking great pains to form a golden core (金丹). It would take I-don’t-know-how-many years to do, especially for someone like me, whose talent seems as if it was gnawed by a dog when I was in my mother’s womb. But, resentful energy are from the fierce ghosts. If they can easily be taken and used, it would be beyond wonderful.”

[...] . If disciple from a prominent clan forms the core at a later age, it would be a disgrace to tell other people of it, yet Nie Huaisang didn’t feel ashamed at all. Wei Wuxian also laughed, “I know, right? No harm comes from using it.”

The only moment that I can find that could tangentially be used to suggest that NHS has an inferiority complex could be this one, where NHS wants to avoid LXC's questioning about how his studies are going (and WWX picking up on his cues like a good friend to redirect the conversation). However, when you consider the whole context of the scene, it’s not because NHS feels self-conscious but because he’s afraid LXC is going to report to his brother that he’s not working hard at his studies:

Lan Xichen turned to him, “Huaisang, a while ago, as I returned from Qinghe, your brother asked of your studies. How is it? This year, will you be able to pass?”

Nie Huaisang replied, “Generally speaking, yes…” He seemed like a wilted cucumber, looking at Wei Wuxian in a helpless way. Wei Wuxian grinned, “Zewu-Jun, what are you two going out for?”

[...] Nie Huaisang also wanted to join in, but he had been reminded of his older brother as he met Lan Xichen. Cringing silently, he didn’t dare to have fun, “I’ll pass and go back so that I can review…” With this act, he hoped that Lan Xichen would put in some good words for him to his brother.

NHS seems very industrious at finding ways not to have to do anything that relates to cultivation or to leading a sect, and that is linked once more to the fact that he does not want to do these things (so not a case where we could say he’s self-sabotaging because he fears failure):

Lan Xichen took Nie Huaisang’s saber into his qiankun sleeve, “Huaisang has been using the excuse that he left his saber at home. Now he will have no excuses for lazing around.”

or here

“Nie Huaisang!”

Nie Huaisang fell at once.

He really did fall to his knees from the terror. He only staggered up after he finished kneeling, “D-d-d-da-ge.”

Nie Mingjue, “Where is your saber?”

Nie Huaisang cowered, “In… in my room. No, in the school grounds. No, let me… think…”

Wei Wuxian could feel that Nie Mingjue almost wanted to hack him dead right there, “You bring a dozen fans with you wherever you go, yet you don’t even know where your own saber is?!”

Nie Huaisang hurried, “I’ll go find it right now!”

[...]

In a hurry, Nie Huaisang dropped a few fans on the ground. Jin Guangyao picked them up for him and put them into his arms, “Huaisang’s hobbies are quite elegant. He’s dedicated to art and calligraphy, and has no propensity for mischief. How can you say that they’re useless?”

Nie Huaisang nodded as fast as he could, “Yes, Brother is right!”

Nie Mingjue, “But sect leaders have no need for such things.”

Nie Huaisang, “I’m not going to be a sect leader, though. You can be it, Da-ge. I’m not doing it!”

or here

Nie Mingjue was on the school ground, teaching and supervising Nie Huaisang’s saberwork in person. He did not acknowledge Jin Guangyao, so he stood at the edge of the field, waiting with respect. Since Nie Huaisang was quite uninterested and the sun was bright, he was rather half-hearted, complaining that he was tired after just a few moves. He beamed as he got ready to go to Jin Guangyao and see what presents he brought this time. In the past, Nie Mingjue would only frown at such things, but today he was angered, “Nie Huaisang, do you want this strike to land on your head?! Get back here!”

If only Nie Huaisang were like Wei Wuxian and could feel how great Nie Mingjue’s rage was, he wouldn’t grin in such a bold way. He protested, “Da-ge, the time is up. It’s time to rest!”

Nie Mingjue, “You rested just thirty minutes ago. Keep on going, until you learn it.”

Nie Huaisang was still giddy, “I won’t be able to learn it anyways. I’m done for the day!”

He often said this, but today Nie Mingjue’s reaction was entirely different from his past reaction. He shouted, “A pig would’ve learnt this by now, so why haven’t you?!”

Never expecting Nie Mingjue to burst out so suddenly, Nie Huaisang’s face was blank with shock as he shrunk toward Jin Guangyao. Seeing the two together, Nie Mingjue was even more provoked, “It’s been one year already and you still haven’t learnt this one set of saber techniques. You stand on the field for just thirty minutes and you’re complaining that you’re tired. You don’t have to excel, but you can’t even protect yourself! How did the QingheNie Sect produce such a good-for-nothing! The both of you should be tied up and beaten once every day. Carry out all those things in his room!”

The last sentence was spoken to the disciples standing by the side of the field. Seeing that they had gone, Nie Huaisang felt as though he was on pins and needles. A moment later, the row of disciples really did bring out all the fans, paintings, porcelain from his room. Nie Mingjue had always threatened to burn his room, but he had never actually burned them. This time, though, he was serious. Nie Huaisang panicked. He threw himself over, “Da-ge! You can’t burn them!”

Noticing that the situation wasn’t good, Jin Guangyao also spoke, “Da-ge, don’t act on impulse.”

Yet, Nie Mingjue’s saber had already striked. All of the delicate objects piled at the center of the field erupted in roaring flames. Nie Huaisang wailed and plunged into the fire to save them. Jin Guangyao hurried to pull him back, “Huaisang, be careful!”

With a sweep of Nie Mingjue’s hand, the two blanc de chine antiques shattered into pieces in his palms. The scrolls and paintings had already turned into dust in a split second. Nie Huaisang could only watch blankly as the much loved items that he had gathered throughout the years vanish into ashes. Jin Guangyao grabbed his hands to examine them, “Are they burnt?”

He turned to a few disciples, “Please prepare some medicine first.”

The disciples answered and left. Nie Huaisang stood at the same place, his entire body trembling as he looked over at Nie Mingjue, pupil encircled by veins. Seeing that his expression wasn’t right, Jin Guangyao put his arm around his shoulders and whispered, “Huaisang, how are you feeling? Stop watching. Go back to your room and have some rest.”

Nie Huaisang’s eyes brimmed red. He didn’t even make a sound. Jin Guangyao added, “It’s alright even if the things are gone. Next time I can find you more…”

Nie Mingjue interrupted, his words like ice, “I’ll burn them each time he brings them back into this sect.”

Anger and hatred suddenly flashed across Nie Huaisang’s face. He threw his saber onto the ground and yelled, “Then burn them!!!”

Jin Guangyao quickly stopped him, “Huaisang! Your brother is still angry. Don’t…”

Nie Huaisang roared at Nie Mingjue, “Saber, saber, saber! Who the fuck wants to practice the damn thing?! So what if I want to be a good-for-nothing?! Whoever that wants to can be the sect leader! I can’t learn it means I can’t learn it and I don’t like it means I don’t like it! What’s the use of forcing me?!”

I'm not saying he didn't have a hard time during the first moment of him taking over a leadership role in the sect after the sudden death of his brother (ultimately we can wonder whether the yiwensanbuzhi persona originated then, as he could have felt overwhelmed and actually didn't have the answers needed for the position he didn't prepare for--or whether it was always a pure fabrication to serve his goals), but I don't think we can chalk it up to an inferiority complex.

In the past, Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang studied together, so there were a few things he could comment about this person. Nie Huaisang wasn’t an unkind person. It wasn’t that he was not clever, but that his heart was set somewhere else and used his smarts on other areas, such as painting on fans, searching for birds, skipping classes, and catching fish. Because his talent in terms of cultivation really was poor, he formed his core around eight or nine years later than the other disciples of the same generation as him. When he lived, Nie Mingjue was often exasperated by the fact that his brother didn’t meet his expectations, so he disciplined him strictly. Despite this, he still didn’t improve much. Now, without his older brother protecting and supervising him, under his lead, the QingheNie Sect declined day by day. After he grew up, especially after he became the sect leader, he was often troubled by all kinds of affairs unfamiliar to him and looked for helpers everywhere, mainly his brother’s two sworn brothers. One day he’d go to Jinling Tower to complain to Jin Guangyao, and the next day he’d go to the Cloud Recesses to whine to Lan Xichen. With the two leaders of the Jin and Lan Sects supporting him, he still barely managed to settle on the sect leader position. Nowadays, whenever people mentioned Nie Huaisang, although they didn’t say anything on the surface, the same phrase was written on their faces—good-for-nothing.

And after NHS pieced together what happened to his brother and set out on a path to revenge, I don't see how someone who is so sharp and deceptive and able to reach his goals while hiding behind a facade the entire time would feel "inferior".

[hyunsracha]

now or never — bang chan

word count: 4.5k

summary: liquid courage lets you jump at your last chance to tell him how you feel.

one.

Han Jisung might just be your least favorite person on the planet. You think this when he leans over your shoulder, your thumbs paused above your phone’s keyboard. Your phone was open to Instagram as you struggled to think of a caption for this particular post. It wasn’t anything special, just a picture of you and Chan at the annual fair over the weekend. The two of you had gone together every year since you were little kids. It was one of your favorite traditions.

“I have an idea.” Jisung took the phone from your hands, his fingers quickly getting to work as you yelled protests at him, “Relax! It’s nothing bad.”

Oh, but it was.

“We look like a couple here?! Jisung, are you serious?” You cried out, yanking the phone back from him and editing the post before anyone (hopefully) saw. The boy next to you cackled. 

“It’s not like anyone would be surprised. Everyone already thinks you’re together.” He nonchalantly shoved fries into his mouth as he spoke. Jisung ate like a pig, but you didn’t complain about it anymore. Last time you did that, he got all up in your ear and started chewing with his mouth open. Disgusting.

“Shut up, Han.”

“Yeah, shut up, Han.” You don’t even flinch when Chan and Changbin take their seats across from you. You could practically sense when one of the three boys was going to appear. Changbin said it was because your friendship was so strong, but in reality, they all wore such strong cologne, you’d be an idiot not to sense them. 

“I literally did nothing and you’re attacking me.” Jisung whined, kicking Chan’s shin under the table. Chan gasped, kicking him back with more force. They would do this for hours if you didn’t stop them.

“Guys-” You started, but you stopped yourself. Jisung deserved to be kicked. 

The four of you were hardly quiet when you were together, so you ate your lunches and talked about your day. Jisung got the chance to tell Chan and Changbin about him spilling folic acid all over his crush in chemistry, which he told you about on the way to your shared history class.

“It was mortifying! He’s never going to want to talk to me again!” He cried, hiding his face behind his hands, “I was even planning on asking him to prom! Now what am I gonna do?” 

Suddenly, everyone’s attention was on Jisung. 

“Prom?” Changbin yelled, his eyes wide.

“Yes?”

“We were supposed to go to that together, you dick!”

“It’s my senior year! I wanted to shoot my shot!”

“Yeah! Senior year! That’s why we were going together!” Changbin shook his head, false disappointment evident on his face.

“Well, since we’re asking people to prom now,” Chan started, folding his hands on the table. He bit his lip, darting his eyes around the room, “Y/N...do you maybe...wanna go to prom with me?”

You felt your heart drop to your stomach. Your fingers twisted themselves around each other as you pulled your lip between your teeth, willing yourself not to smile like a lovestruck idiot. This was your best friend, asking you to prom as his best friend. You pulled yourself together, heaving a sigh before you replied,

“Yeah, totally. It’s a date.”

“IT’S A DATE? Have I lost my fucking mind?” You fell back onto your bed, staring at your ceiling in disbelief. Jisung cackled from his seat at your desk, obviously very pleased by your choice of words at lunch. He invited himself over to your house, wanting to discuss prom plans with you, but you two were getting nowhere. As soon as you got home, you ran to your room to wallow in your own peril. You remembered how Chan had smiled at you when you accepted his proposal, his eyes managing to sparkle even under the shitty fluorescent lights the cafeteria provided.

“I’ve only been waiting four years for one of you to slip up. I’m glad it was you so we can talk about it. That asshole Chan still hasn’t confessed his undying love for you to me. But I bet he told Changbin. Fucking traitor.” He started to ramble, his eyes drifting across the paintings on the wall, “Hey,” he pointed to one in the corner, “this one is new.”

You nodded, gazing at the painting yourself. You had only hung it up a few days prior. You smiled, remembering the night you painted it. Chris was at your house, taking up all the space on your desk with his laptop, portable keyboard, and hard drive. He was working on a 3RACHA song, like he usually was. You always found those days with Chan so relaxing. The two of you didn’t need words to communicate with each other, you had your art. He would make music and you would paint, and your art would always end up reflecting the other’s. The song he was working on that night, Alchemistry, showed itself in your painting, swirling clouds of grey in a fading sky of purple and black. 

“Since we’re not going as a group anymore, I need to find a way to ask Hyunjin to prom.” Jisung sulked, opening up one of his one thousand notebooks. Jisung was a notebook kinda guy. He wrote every little thought down, just in case something could be used in a future song of his. And if he wanted to find something specific? Get ready for notebooks being tossed at your head as he sifts through every single one because he doesn’t label or organize anything. 

“Write him a song.” You suggested, gaze still trapped in that painting. Now that you were thinking about it, most of the paintings on that wall had something to do with Chan. It was like he had seeped into every corner of your life, including the darkest and most personal ones. 

“That’s your answer for everything I do.”

“Because your songs are good?” Not that you were lying. Your three best friends made up the rap trio 3RACHA. Were you a little bit jealous that they didn’t even ask if you wanted to be part of it? Yes, but you designed their album covers, so you forgive them.

Jisung was silent for a second, pondering your idea. Then he nodded, flipping to an empty page in the neon green notebook. He started scribbling, and you can’t really tell if it’s lyrics or drawings. But you looked away, letting Jisung do his thing. Pulling yourself up from the bed, you made your way to your closet, flinging the doors open with a huff. You scanned the rows of clothing before deciding that you definitely needed to go prom shopping. 

“I need something new, something that screams-”

“Please date me?”

You scoffed, “Han Jisung, you’re going to be the death of me.”

two.

Your room was an absolute disaster. Clothes were strewn everywhere, makeup and hair products settling on every surface. You hardly noticed the mess, you were so...excited? Anxious? You didn’t really know.

It was the big day.

Changbin was laying on your bed, no doubt texting Chan about how dramatic you and Jisung were being. Jisung was three inches away from your mirror, sucking in a breath as he applied a line of dark brown eyeliner. You were on the other side of the room, running your hands through your hair as you decided what to do with it.

“Just leave it how it is, Y/N, who cares that much?”

“I care that much, Changbin!” You huffed, deciding to leave it how it was anyway. 

The only reason Chan wasn’t with you guys is because he was now your date. Jisung had banished him and Hyunjin from the room as soon as you started getting ready, claiming that he wanted your looks to be a surprise.

“I’m giving you guys ten minutes before we leave, alright? I’m getting a fucking drink.”

“Your favorite juice is on the bottom shelf.” You called out as Changbin was leaving the room.

“I know where the juice is!” He shut the door firmly, leaving you and Jisung alone.

“Y/N,” he sighed heavily, having just finished his wing, “I think I’m going to piss myself.”

“That’s a rented tux-”

“I didn’t mean it literally! I’m just...really nervous.”

You nodded, moving from your spot to go comfort the boy, “If it’s any consolation, you look super hot. And I’ll make out with you if Hyunjin doesn’t.”

He laughed, and you could feel the nervous energy around him dissipate a little bit.

Once the two of you were ready, Jisung opened your bedroom door, calling out to the boys below. He linked arms with you before walking out the door and down the stairs slowly.

Chan turned around when he heard movement on the stairs, his eyes nearly popping out of his head. His face turned bright pink as he adjusted his tie. He cleared his throat, extending a hand for you to take, “You look...um...really...n-nice, bunny.”

You breathed out a nervous laugh, feeling your stomach churn at Chan’s nickname for you since you were children, “Thank you. You look...nice, too.”

Jisung unhooked your arms and wandered over to Hyunjin, and you could hear them mumbling soft compliments to each other, both of their faces tinged pink.

The car ride to the school seemed to be the most normal feeling part of the night. You all talked to each other, awkwardness temporarily thrown out the window. You laughed at Jisung’s impressions, trying to avoid the weight of Chan’s hand in yours. It felt nice; right, even. His grip was tight, but in a comforting way. Every once in a while, his thumb would gently graze over your skin, causing goosebumps to appear on your arms.

Once you got inside the gym, it all changed again. Now, Chan wasn’t just your best friend. He was your date, and you got all dressed up for each other, and everybody was looking at you two. He sent a charming smile your way, half bowing and extending yet another hand for you, “May I have this dance?”

And it was okay again, for a little while. The two of you danced, all worries about keeping face and feelings out of your mind. Your friends joined you for some of the songs, and you finally got to see Hyunjin dance. For months, Jisung would rave about how amazing he was. And you agreed; he certainly deserved his spot as co-president of the dance team. 

An hour or so into the dance, a slightly sweaty Chan pulled you away from the dance floor and over to the refreshments. Confused, you asked, “What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing. I just want some punch.”

“And you had to take me away with you. Felix was just about to throw it back!” You whined, feigning disappointment. In reality, you were kinda glad to be out of the dance circle. High school kids really didn’t understand the concept of personal space when it came to these things. And besides, you wouldn’t mind some alone time with Chan.

“Let’s go outside,” You suggested to him, “we’re both sweaty. We could use some air.”

He nodded, taking your hand again. Pushing open the gymnasium doors, the two of you were met with a cool spring breeze. You sighed, letting your eyes shut for just a moment. In that one moment, Chan’s eyes were trained on you, fondness practically seeping from his pores. He took you to his favorite spot on campus, the music hallway. It was his favorite place to study, and the acoustics were dope, just in case he felt like bursting into song. Jisung did that sometimes.

The two of you sat on the cold cement floor, giggling at each other like little kids. You weren’t worried about what your friends inside the gym would think. You were just thinking about Chan. Chan and his dimpled smile and his sparkly eyes and his calloused but still gentle hands and how he was getting closer and why he was getting closer and - oh, his lips tasted like peach. You always liked peaches. So you kissed him back, because he tasted like peach. Not because you’ve been head over heels for him since the 7th grade. Absolutely not. Although, to be fair, 7th grade you would be absolutely geeked at how good of a kisser Chan was. How those calloused hands still managed to hold your face like it was made of porcelain while he sucked on your bottom lip like he would die without it.

He pulled away first, the popping sound of your lips disconnecting making you blush.

“That was - I - I’m sorry-”

“Sorry for what?”

“I just kissed you!”

“I don’t mind.”

“Oh,” He gaped, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, “it’s just that, yanno, I dunno. The prom...energy...got to me...haha.”

You stared at him, running your tongue over your bottom lip, trying to push the feeling of his lips out of your mind. You forced a smile, “Totally! And we...don’t have to mention this to anybody if you don’t want to.”

“Yeah...that would be best...let’s go back to the gym.” He stood and pulled you up with him. How he can stand to still hold your hand after crushing your heart like that, you couldn’t understand. But you let him.

You would always let him.

three.

It only takes two weeks for you to tell someone about the kiss. Granted, you’re drunk. And it’s Jisung. And he’s offended it took so long.

“I said I wouldn’t tell anyone!”

“I’m not just anyone, Y/N! Let’s not forget, I told you about my first kiss with Hyunjin when it happened!” He was practically yelling.

“You guys are dating! Chan and I are not dating!” You cried out, your grip on the plastic cup in your hand tightening. You weren’t really sure what was in the cup. Changbin had brought you one of his concoctions, promising to get you fucked up. And you just graduated high school, you deserved it! Thank whatever higher power that Choi Lia’s parents were on route to Canada right now. 

“You guys still aren’t together? That’s so embarrassing.” Jisung hiccuped. He had the lowest alcohol tolerance you had ever seen, and you knew Lee Felix. You smacked his arm, apparently harder than you thought, because he yelped in pain. Or maybe he was just being dramatic. You pouted, staring at the neon green liquid in your cup. Sighing, you downed the rest of it, your face contorting at the awful taste. You figured you needed to be wasted to deal with Jisung’s bitching for the rest of the night. You loved the boy to pieces, but he sure had a mouth on him. 

Seemingly out of thin air, Hyunjin appeared next to Jisung, immediately slinking an arm around the shorter’s waist. Jisung giggled, “Hey, handsome.”

“Don’t do this in front of me.” 

They couldn’t hear you, “I’ve been looking for you all night, babylove. Should’ve guessed I’d find you with Y/N.”

“Was the glittery silver blazer not enough for you to spot him? He looks like New Year’s Eve in May.”

Still ignoring you, Jisung poked Hyunjin’s chest teasingly, “Sounds like you missed me.” He bit down on his lip, and that was the last straw for you. You huffed, making your way to where Changbin was in the kitchen.

“Hey, Y/N! How was the drink?”

“Absolutely horrible. Make me another one.” 

Changbin took the cup from your hands, pouring random amounts of various liquids into it. He handed it to you with a sly smirk, warning you to drink slowly. Not that you ever listened to Changbin. You pulled yourself onto the kitchen counter, sipping on the horrible substance while making conversation. You ignored the dark cloud seeping into your mind while he spoke about college. Chan, Changbin, and Jisung had all made it into the same university, as they had submitted 3RACHA songs with their applications. You weren’t a musician, so you were going to a different university that focused more on your kind of art. It was only two hours away, but that was two hours farther than you had been from them in years. 

“Hey,” You interrupted his tangent, your voice barely above a whisper, “You guys aren’t gonna...forget about me, right?”

His smile dropped, “Of course not. We’re still gonna be best friends, aren’t we? And we’re gonna see each other every weekend, and when we come home for holidays, we’ll be together all the time.” He closed the gap between you two, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. It was awkward positioning, but Changbin’s hugs always made you feel secure. You swallowed your tears, mumbling a shaky, “thank you,” into his ear. 

When he let you go, you quickly finished the rest of the drink and tossed the cup into a nearby trash can. Your last drink was starting to hit you, big time. A sudden determination filled your veins, “Hey, Binnie?”

“Mhm.”

“Have you seen Chan lately?”

“He’s probably with Seungmin somewhere.”

You nodded, jumping off the counter and starting your pursuit. It shouldn’t be that hard. How many guys did you know with fried blond hair?

After a few minutes of searching, you found him sitting on the couch with Seungmin like Changbin had said. Seungmin made a joke, and Chan threw his head back as he laughed. God, he was so...stunning. A gasp escaped your lips as you watched him. You felt your determination wither for a second, but you pushed through. This is your last chance, Y/N, you thought to yourself. It’s now or never.

“Can I talk to you?”

A look of alarm crossed Chan’s features as he nodded. He sounded unsure as he spoke, “Yeah, totally. What’s up?”

“I mean,” You glanced at the boy sitting next to him, “alone.”

A soft oh left Chan’s lips as he stood. He nodded to Seungmin before gripping your hand like he’s done so many times before. You could just barely hear Seungmin’s laughing as Chan pulled you away. Wait, you were the one who asked him to talk, why was he dragging you around?

To be honest, Chan didn’t know either. For him, taking your hand and leading you to secret places just seemed...natural to him. He led you up the stairs and into the first room he found. Lia’s room. Lia wouldn’t mind; she was a good friend. He closed the door behind you two, locking it just to be sure. 

“What’s up, bunny?” 

Your heart began to pound in your chest as you sat down on the bed. You sucked in a breath, making eye contact with Chan as you folded your hands, “I’m in love with you.”

He just stared at you, not even blinking. You watched his chest rise and fall with his breaths. An excruciating minute passed, which felt like hours to you, before he made his way across the room and next to you on the bed.

“Y/N…” He had hardly finished saying your name before your heart shattered, “we’re going to different schools next year. You’ll be focusing on your painting and I’ll be producing probably non-stop. I...wouldn’t be a good boyfriend to you.” 

You tried to hold in the tears, you really did, but you were drunk and the boy you’ve been in love with for like 5 years just rejected you and you’re cold. So you couldn’t really help the choked sob that comes from your throat, and you had to restrain yourself from throwing yourself at him for comfort. He started to stutter, “N-No that’s not what I meant! I mean, it is, but don’t cry!” He clasped your shoulders and pulled you to him, allowing your tears to flow freely on his nice black shirt, “Y/N, you know I have feelings for you. I just...won’t be able to be there for you like you need me to. I want to be with you, I really do. It would just end in heartbreak. I would rather still be your best friend and only that than have you hate me as a boyfriend, okay?” 

“I’ll wait for you.” You barely managed to get those words out through your cries.

“No, you won’t. Please don’t. Please move on, bunny.” You removed yourself from his hold, scrunching your nose up to sniffle the tears away.

“Can we just...go to bed?” 

The smile that he gave you in that moment broke your heart again; so sad and sincere.

“Of course.” He laid you down, holding you close enough to hear his heartbeat. He was so warm. 

God, how you wished you could stay like that forever.

four.

Chan couldn’t tell if he was more excited or nervous to see you. Your group hadn’t seen each other as much as you had hoped. At the beginning of the semester, you met up every weekend, excitedly chatting about your new classes and the new people in your lives. But as life continued, it got in the way. You hadn’t seen each other face to face since October, opting for texts and FaceTime sessions instead. And he missed you terribly. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, right?

He found himself thinking of you often. Even during songwriting sessions with Jisung and Changbin. They laughed at him when his lyrics became sappy, threatening to pull their phones out and text you Chan’s adoration. He regretted what he told you back in May; that he wouldn’t be good to you. 

He sat in the living room of his childhood home, fidgeting in his seat. Changbin was scrolling through channels on the TV, a bored expression on his features. Jisung and Hyunjin were in the kitchen, making hot chocolate for the third time that night.

He couldn’t focus. You were going to knock on that door any moment, your parents in tow, and he didn’t know what he was going to do. Cry? Run into your arms? Fuck, try and kiss you? He stood abruptly, scaring the boy next to him. 

“I-I’ll be right back.” He excused himself, hurrying to lock himself in his bedroom to breathe.

Changbin opened the front door, his eyes lighting up at the sight of one of his best friends, “Y/N!” 

“Is Y/N here?” Jisung yelled from the kitchen, the pitter patter of his feet telling you that he was running your way. Two pairs of arms wrapped around you. They walked you through the door, with Changbin yelling something to your parents about where the other parents were. You felt your mother’s hand on your back, a way for her to tell you that they were going. When the boys finally released you, they noticed one other figure in the room.

“Oh…” Jisung gasped. Changbin just stared, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Um-” You coughed, trying to relive some of the tension, “where’s Chan?”

“In his room.”

You nodded before heading that way, lightly tapping on the door three times, “Channie? It’s Y/N.”

The door swung open, a breath-taking smile on the boy’s face. He wrapped you up in his embrace, swinging you around as he yelled your name.

“How have you been? How are you? Wow, you look so pretty!” His hands cupped your face, lightly dragging his thumbs over your cheekbones. You placed your hands over his, a dull heartbeat in your chest as you watched him speak. 

Chan’s heart was pounding in his chest. He thought you could hear it, and that’s why you were looking at him so...analytically. They’re right here, he thought. You lost your chance last time, but maybe it’s not too late. Now or never, Chan.

“Listen, Y/N…” He sighed, “about what I said after graduation, at that party-”

“No, don’t-”

“Please just let me say this.”

You nodded, allowing him to continue, “I was wrong, okay? I shouldn’t have rejected you like that. I should’ve just...given us a shot. I can’t stop thinking about you, Y/N. You can ask the guys, all my lyrics have been about you, and they’re ridiculously cheesy. I know I told you to move on but...maybe I still have a place in your heart? And...maybe we can...try this?”

You couldn’t breathe. You shook your head, pulling away from him, “Chan, I-” 

Seven months ago, you would’ve jumped for joy at his confession. Taken him into your arms and kissed him until you were dizzy. But now…

“Baby! How long were you gonna wait until you introduced me?”

Chan froze. Baby? Who the hell was calling you baby?

You took a few steps back, glancing over at the boy next to you, “Channie...this is my boyfriend, Minho.”

Boyfriend. You had a...boyfriend. You went and did exactly what he told you to do, but his heart still shattered. But he plastered a smile on his face anyway, shaking Minho’s hand, “I’m Bang Chan. One of Y/N’s best friends. Welcome to her second home.”

And the night continued like that. Your best friends focused their attention entirely on you and Minho. They asked him an endless amount of questions, from where he grew up to his favorite kind of bean. Sometimes, you would notice Jisung or Changbin giving Chan a sympathetic glance, but you ignored it. Minho was a good boyfriend, and you were genuinely happy with him. You didn’t expect your feelings for Chan to leave you so quickly, but distance doesn’t always make the heart grow fonder.

The five of you spent most of your winter break together. The only day you didn’t see each other was Christmas, which was spent with your families. The next day, you had your own Christmas, like you did every year. 

The hardest day for Chan was New Year’s Eve. You had a party at Changbin’s house, with as many kids from your graduating class as possible. It reminded him of that night after graduation. Jisung still wore that ugly silver blazer, drunk and attached to his boyfriend all night. Changbin still made horrible, hangover inducing nightmare drinks that he persuaded poor college students into drinking. You were drunk again, too. But instead of crying into Chan’s chest like before, you were giggling up a storm with your new boyfriend. Chan watched from afar, jealousy pumping through his veins at the way you draped yourself across his lap, and how he looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky. That should’ve been him.

10 seconds before midnight, he felt sick. Everyone around him was so giddy, so excited for a new start. He couldn’t peel his eyes away from you two. Your hands were locked together, staring into each other’s eyes as you counted down the seconds. The TV at the front of the room screamed, “Happy New Year,” as he watched Minho’s lips crash against yours, a smile evident on both of your faces. He stalked out of the living room, making a beeline for the bar. 

He had to get over you, the way you had so easily gotten over him. And he had to get over you now or never.

[cherrybombusa]

GROUP ONE  - CCU THEATER. SUCCESS.

PLAYERS:

THE GOLDEN BOY - Harvey Hargrove. THE HEARTBREAK KID - Casey Russell. THE  BABY - Casey Russell. THE FALLEN ANGEL - Alice Alder. THE WANNABE - Virginia Ann Virginia.. THE CLASSIC - Libby Logan.

PERKS EARNED:

SELFLESS BITCH: A drunken Virginia Virginia sacrificed herself for her friends! Aw. Maybe she does have a heart underneath all those boobs. Due to her efforts, Virginia has earned the right to remove herself! If the gang ever gets caught in a sticky situation, any lasting effects will not apply to Virginia. This can save her from broken bones, getting in trouble, or even death - but beware! This perk can only be used once. 

MEMORABLE MOMENTS:

-LIBBY WAS TAKEN BY THE KILLERS.  -VIRGINIA SACRIFICED HERSELF TO THE KILLERS. -CASEY INJURED A KILLER.  -RORY WAS HIT OVER THE HEAD.

THE NARRATOR: It might not have been a quiet night, maybe not even uneventful, but the Gang found themselves grateful, at least, that the Candy Girl hadn’t shown her face. It was nearing midnight now, and with only Paulie Virginia checking on the kids before they fell asleep on the sand, and Lucas Bright left straggling on the beach with the Gang, they were sure to turn-in soon. 

They were gathered around the bonfire, talking and laughing - almost even letting their guards down - but the screech of three white vans pulling up to the shore interrupted every little conversation taking place around the bonfire. They didn’t want to think anything of it at first… College kids in this town were wild, and they were all piling back into town this week, after all. But when a group of masked, hooded figures with baseball bats, and kitchen knives galore began making their way out of the vehicles, and onto the beach - what were they supposed to do but worry?

OFFICER PAULIE VIRGINIA:  “Hey! Stop right there!”

THE NARRATOR: It was almost instinctual for the rookie to go right into barking cop voice, even with no back up  - stupid, of course - but another ‘Candy Girl’ stunt was the last thing he was going to let happen on his watch. The man reaches for the taser in his belt, just like he was trained to do, but just as he gets it free, the blur of a body rushing forward - Lucas Bright - distracts him for a split enough second to fumble. 

Paulie almost yells for Lucas to stop, but before he can get the words off of his tongue, the Bright kid nearly runs headfirst into one of the masked figures' fists. It’s shocking how hard he falls - makes Paulie wonder if he’s okay - but before he can wonder too much, he realizes too late that one of the hooded figures has gotten the jump on him. He’s half expecting the figure to reach for his taser - the oh shit moment of the century - but when Paulie feels a baseball bat connect with his ribcage… He almost wishes he had been tased. Might have hurt less.

CANDY GIRL: “Hello, my little freaks and geeks! Did you miss me and my little friends? Because I think tonight is about to get a little more fun.”

THE NARRATOR: ...Uh oh. Maybe I spoke too soon about the Candy Girl not showing her face. 

It doesn’t take long to get the gang tied up - not with the threat of knives, and Paulie’s discarded taser at the hooded groups disposal - and the ringleader of this little group, the one bouncing around telling everyone what to do, seems absolutely giddy with her capture. What else are you supposed to expect from faceless psychos, though, right?

CANDY GIRL: ““Here’s the game tonight, losers! We’re gonna split you up and see if you can pass our little trials. Those who do? They get to go home tonight! Those who don’t…. Well, you might end up closer to Lux than you thought you were before.”

THE NARRATOR: Candy turns toward one of the other masked figures - one that seems like her Helper - flicking her chin toward the Gang. It’s a cue, and that much becomes clear when one-by-one, each of them has a hood slipped over their face, obstructing their view nearly completely.

CANDY GIRL: “But first, we’re going on a little trip!”

THE NARRATOR: It’s hard for the Gang to know just how they’ve been split up, but as they’re pushed forward toward the parking lot - the sound of Paulie’s and Lucas’s far-off groaning in their ears - they know one thing. They’re completely fucked, and there’s nothing they can do about it with their hands tied behind their backs… Especially not when they’re about to be shoved into the back of those fucking vans.

Nobody’s really sure how long they’ve been driving - they’re all too terrified to try and keep count - but by the time the van finally slows to a stop, they’re all dragged right back out onto solid ground, and into… some old building. Just where, is the question.

MAKE A CHOICE: YOU AND YOUR FRIENDS HAVE BEEN TAKEN BY THE CANDY GIRL TO CCU FOR A NIGHT OF FUN. DON’T DIE!

THE NARRATOR: Maybe it’s the way they had to file between cramped rows, bumping into seats that left bruises blooming over their thighs; maybe it’s the echo of their footsteps, bouncing off of the walls like music. Either way, those who had ever stepped foot into the CCU theater - nearly all of them, considering every field trip they had been to to watch some semi-professional production of Bye Bye Birdie - know right where they are at that moment.

 It’s a comforting place for some - one that induces only stress, or indifference to others - but it’s hard to imagine that it won’t be a place that brings anxiety after tonight; just as tainted as the boardwalk, or even walking along Lux’s and Harvey’s block might be. Now is no time to think about how they might feel in the future, though -- if they even make it that far. No, they’re going to have to make it through tonight first.

They’re led onto the stage like prized pigs, ready to be blue-ribboned - but once they’re situated, the hoods that cover the gang’s faces come off; they even cut the ropes off from around their wrists. It might be stupid, but the knives, and baseball bats manage to keep everyone in their place; hearts racing in anticipation of what might come next.

The theater is mostly dark, save for a couple of spotlights that shine down onto the stage, highlighting the Gang like the stars of Candy’s show. There are props scattered about - sets, hanging sheets, costumes! It almost looks more like a storage closet than the grandiose CCU theater, but as they try to get their bearings, the two figures heading the circle - Candy and her supposed assistant - jolt them back into reality with a clap of their hands.

CANDY GIRL: “Like I said, we’re gonna play a little game tonight, boys and girls! But, you’re all oh-so-familiar with games, aren’t you? Especially after our special little stunt at the boardwalk.”

THE NARRATOR: Her voice could almost be considered familiar, but nobody in the room really knows where to place the memory of it. Did she actually sound like that recording on the beach? Was she someone they knew? The gang just looks at each other from any angle that they can; making eye contact at whatever cost, as if it might help them all jog their memory to know they’re on the same page. They don’t get another chance to listen, though, as the other figure - leader two - begins speaking.

CANDY'S LITTLE HELPER:  “She’s written some riddles!”

THE NARRATOR: They pull a sheet of paper from their pocket.

CANDY GIRL: “And you’re going to solve them! Don’t worry about the doors -”

THE NARRATOR: The movement is clearly rehearsed as a number of their captors - five, if you’re counting - head toward the row of carved, flourishing doors at the back of the theater.  Three of them leave, but the other two begin looping chains through the antique handles, locking them into the auditorium with absolutely no escape.

VIRGINIA ANN: The last however many minutes Virginia had been captured were maybe the worst moments of her life. They were just supposed to have a fun bonfire but of course a fun bonfire turned into watching her brother get hit with a baseball bat, be captured by a bunch of weirdos, and end up at the theatre as another "fun" game. She wanted to get up and leave, but someone would stop her, wouldn't they? "Why the hell are you doing this?" Was what Virginia first asked. She doubt she'd get any sort of answer and hey, maybe they'd sew her mouth shut for even speaking. "We didn't do anything."

ALICE ALDER: On any other given day, if she were to be having a conversation — or even just be stuck in the same room with Virginia! — hilarity would be bound to ensue (in one of the worst ways, but nonetheless…). But this? What was this? Her almost bestie… betraying her again! “Dude, what the fuck?” A futile question that would get no answer — but asked on instinct! “The 'beach bash' wasn’t enough?”

RORY COLLINS: It was happening again. She had gone white as a sheet when she saw the masked figures on the beach, and hadn't managed to regain any color yet. "Guys, I really don't think they're going to answer," she swallowed hard and tracked the psychos' every movement. Rory hesitated. "They didn't last time."

CANDY'S LITTLE HELPER: “--God, can you people shut up for two minutes? We’re kind of, like - in the middle of something!”

THE NARRATOR: Candy’s little Helper interrupts the conversations with an annoyed tone, as if they’re the ones inconveniencing her night. It’s strange, how nonchalant it is, but Candy just huffs in annoyance as she looks at her ‘assistant.’ Shoulders dropping a little as she breaks character to reprimand her.

CANDY GIRL: “Jesus christ, can you just say your fucking lines? It’s not that hard,”

CANDY'S LITTLE HELPER: “They’re -”

CANDY GIRL: “Seriously?”

THE NARRATOR: The masked figure hesitates.

CANDY'S LITTLE HELPER:  “Fine! You need three keys, and three, exactly!

CANDY GIRL: “Or you’ll spend the night -”

THE NARRATOR: Maybe it’s the fear of the moment that kept all of their eyes focused on the two masked figures interacting with them - tunnel vision, of sorts - but it only makes the loud squish of blade entering flesh even louder than it should have been. The group of them flinching before Candy even has a chance to start shrieking through the pain of the knife in her side.

It was almost unbelievable that it had happened at first - did it even make sense that the Candy Girl’s henchmen were turning on her?  - but the blood splashing against the stage floor had to have been proof enough that it wasn’t just some fucked up group hallucination. This was an attack - one that hadn’t seemed expected by either the Candy Girl or her little helper.

CANDY'S LITTLE HELPER:  “What the fuck is wrong with you!”

THE NARRATOR: Fair question. And the attacker should have heard it, as loud as the second-not-so-in-charge-figure shrieked - but the knife-wielder didn’t even flinch as he dragged Candy toward back off of the stage and toward one of the many staircases that led to the balconies; blood pouring from the wound in her side all the while.

The other mask - Candy’s little helper - almost considers running for it, throws the note from her hands in anticipation of getting the fuck out of there…  but she hardly gets a chance when her own attacker - the other one of the maniacs who had chained the door - comes from behind her and squeezes their hulking arms around her fame. They have their own knife; one that plunges directly into her chest, but the Gang doesn’t have much time to watch as they drag her off in the same direction.

What.

The.

Fuck.

There’s only a moment of hesitation - it had all happened so quickly - but the gang wastes no more time before fleeing to opposite sides of the theater. The sound of both of the women’s dying screams echo across through the space, shaking all of them to their core… but they all know one thing: they need to get their hands on that riddle.

If they’re locked in, then it might be their only way of getting out.

MAKE A CHOICE: ALICE, VIRGINIA, AND LIBBY ARE HIDDEN IN THE WINGS OF THE THEATER. HARVEY, RORY, AND CASEY ARE DUCKING BEHIND A ROW OF SEATS.

CASEY RUSSELL: All bad things seem to come in threes. And if it wasn't solely going to be a black eye that would be the highlight of his evening, it was going to be this. He calls it survivor's instinct in the scramble when he ambles over behind the seats, even though he's pretty sure he can hear his heartbeat in his ears. For a moment his gaze lands solely on Harvey. It's been ages since they've played on the same team. But... somewhere between life and death, they surely had to put some degree of their differences aside right? "Do we have any ideas?" He whispers, "I don't really fancy ending up being like whoever the fuck that was."

HARVEY HARGROVE: Once upon a time, in the distant remains of the far-off evening that had been only a few hours before, Harvey had assumed this wasn't going to happen. But here they were and here was... Whatever the hell this is. Joy of joys. It wasn't easy pulling his focus from Libby and Rory, where his eyes seemed to stray automatically in an attempt to find reassurance that wasn't coming. He did though, and turned to Casey. "We can't go at once. There's too many of us, we'd be noticed far too quickly."

 MAKE A CHOICE: HARVEY IS RIGHT. SOMEBODY IN THE WINGS MUST RETRIEVE THE RIDDLE. IT IS THEIR ONLY HOPE OF GETTING OUT: WHO WILL IT BE?

LIBBY LOGAN: Libby can't hear either of her friends cramped into the rows of theater seats, but as her heart races in her chest - as the alcohol pulses through her veins - somehow, she knows it's up to her to retrieve the riddle on center stage. That had been the way out of the whole Carousel Cove situation, right? She doesn't even say anything to Virginia or Alice as she darts forwards, fingertips outstretched. Libby just hopes she can get back without alerting the killers upstairs.

MAKE A CHOICE: SUCCESS!

THE NARRATOR: Every step sounds too-loud, even masked by the sound of screams, but somehow they manage to make their way back onto the stage where the riddle was thrown by Candy’s little Helper. They get their hands on the blood soaked paper; the breath leaves their lungs as the sound of screaming begins to die - no pun intended - out. It’s not completely obvious what they should do next, but they make eye contact with their friends hidden in the wings; those hidden in the seats. 

They’re never going to make it out of this without each other, so they better think fast. 

They hear the sound of the killers beginning to stir from the steps near the balconies, and just like that a plan forms in their freaky little hive mind. Someone needs to distract the killers while everyone else gets upstairs. But who will it be?

MAKE A CHOICE: SOMEBODY MUST DISTRACT THE KILLERS WHILE THEIR FRIENDS GET UPSTAIRS. SHOULD THEY THROW SOMETHING ACROSS THE ROOM [PROBLEM SOLVING],  SNEAK ACROSS THE ROOM AND KNOCK SOMETHING OVER, [BRAVERY] OR SHOULD SOMEONE TRY MESSING WITH THE LIGHTBOARD? [PERCEPTION]

HARVEY HARGROVE: He turned his head, locking eyes with Libby at center stage. A slow nod of the head was the only sign he gave before he stood up and began to move as quietly as he could towards the other side of the theatre. There was always shit offstage in these places, right? Surely there would be something over there that could get the focus off of Libby (if it didn't, he'd rain hellfire down, that he promised himself). Each step brought him closer and closer to the vague shape of a light and when he was beside it, he turned back, grinned at his friends as best he could, picked up the light, and threw it.

MAKE A CHOICE: FAILURE!

THE NARRATOR: It was a long shot, but as soon as the stage light crashes against the floor, only one of the killers turns their head to investigate. The other? Well, their gaze lands directly on little Libby Lou. 

It’s hardly a split second before they cross the theater toward her, and as hard as Libby tries to fight, it’s no use - the threat of the knife, and the feeling of it’s handle knocking against the side of their face is enough to give the killer the upper hand… At least they have time to throw the riddle in the general direction of their friends before they’re dragged away toward the balconies staircase.

It’s enough of a distraction to get everyone else safe, if even for a moment.  They have to get the hell out of there, and save Libby... if there’s even time. They all book it as fast as they can, and somehow they manage to make it into the dressing rooms beneath the stage - one of them even manages to grab the riddle, silently hoping it wasn’t Libby's last gift to them all. 

At least it might actually save them. 

Their hearts are pounding loud enough in their chests that they might swear they could all count each other’s heartbeats. Now is no time to check up on each other, though - not as they lay the first riddle out in front of them.

If you want the key, you’ll have to find Me,

I’m a keeper of the law, you see.

I might be a pawn - I saw Pepper get diced, 

Are you feeling naughty? Then here’s some advice: 

I’ll name a story, no I’ll name three -

All from the Bard,

So be careful with thee.

A tragedy I’m not, 

In love? I could be. 

Pick only one…

Pray it’s the right movie.

MAKE A CHOICE: ALICE HAS BEEN GRABBED. DO YOU TRY TO SAVE THEM? 

CASEY WAS SUCCESSFUL IN SAVING ALICE. HE INJURES THE KILLER, AND THE GANG RUNS TO HIDE IN THE AISLES.

MAKE A CHOICE: RORY IS RETRIEVING THE FIRST KEY. 

RORY COLLINS:  "I'll go," Rory balls her trembling hands into fists at her side. They have to save Libby, so she's going to do whatever it takes. She creeps towards the band pit as quietly as she can, and lowers herself in to look for the key.

THE NARRATOR: Rory runs with all of her might, the gang all sneaking close behind to watch her back, but with the correct location, it’s not hard to find the key taped against the wall of the orchestra pit, along with the next part of the riddle. With the sheet of paper, they make it back to their friends, and lay out the clue to get to the next key.

 If you want to get out, don’t Twist and Shout, 

It’s not the Candy Man locking you out. 

If you feel Clueless, then here’s your clue -

You can find Me behind door number two. 

How to know you’re close? Just think of the times, 

The 90’s are ending, but oh, how it thrives!

Once you’re through, don’t look any further - 

Your key can be found in the one with no murder.

CASEY RUSSELL: "Okay... I think I've got this." Was that more for the group's sake or his own? It's with a deep breath after they work it out that he readies himself for the run to the prop closet before taking off. He may be drunk beyond belief, but he's determined to reach their key as he runs.

THE NARRATOR: Casey and the gang sprint hard toward the prop closet, somehow managing to duck past the killers to get a good look in the massive room. It takes a minute or two, but soon Casey has the key and another little sheet of paper. 

 It should be easy to get back to his friends now that are waiting in the wings, but before he can even turn around, he feels hands grasping around his limbs and yanking him back toward the staircase. He has to fight, but he can't do it alone.

MAKE A CHOICE: DOES SOMEBODY WANT TO SAVE THEIR FRIEND, OR LET THEM DROP THE KEY? 

RORY COLLINS: She doesn't even think when she sees the masked figure grabbing Casey. She just moves. Rory sprints forwards and hits the attacker as hard as she can.

MAKE A CHOICE: SUCCESS! 

THE NARRATOR: It’s a great effort, and though Rory doesn't manage to do much real damage - and gets hit over the head hard enough to draw blood - she's still successful in getting her  friend the hell away from that monster. The whole group is terrified, but they’re quick on their feet as they move somewhere else that could be deemed even semi safe within the madness to solve the next riddle.

Here’s your third key - you’re almost there! 

Unless you can’t take a bit of a scare. 

Your key can be found with the killers that hunt you

Hand someone over, and we’ll hand over ours too. 

There’s no getting out of it, there’s no bargaining here, 

You must sacrifice someone, someone so dear. 

Will they die, will they live? Only we know. 

But if you don’t choose, then all of you go.

MAKE A CHOICE: SOMEONE MUST SACRIFICE THEMSELVES  AND ALERT THE KILLERS TO GET THEM TO DROP THE THIRD KEY. CHOOSE WHO.

VIRGINIA ANN: If you had told that Virginia that five hours ago she'd be running onto the stage to present herself to a bunch of murderous assholes, she'd probably laugh in your face. Maybe if she lived this would be a funny story to tell her kids one day. Not even bothering to deal with telling the group of her decision due to the five vodka mixed drinks in her body, she ran up the stage and yelled, "Hey bitches, I'm here!"

THE NARRATOR: It’s hard not to feel the weight of the gang’s fear like a punch in the gut, radiating through the room. They can hear Virginia's drunken voice call out - the sound of her scream, and her struggle as they’re dragged her up the stairs, just like the others had been. 

When the sound of chains dropping from the door handles echoes through the room, though - followed by the scurry of sprinting out of the theater - they almost think to breathe a sigh of relief. Could that really be it? Could it be over? 

They don’t move for nearly an hour - or maybe it just feels like an hour - but when they finally decide the coast is clear, the group of them  - or what’s left of them - sprint out of the theater, and the hell out of CCU as quickly as they can. Maybe it’s a betrayal to not even look for their friends… or maybe their bodies. But how are they supposed to stomach the thought of it? How are they expected to stick around with those… killers still on the loose? 

Are their friends still alive? Who knows. They just know they need to get the police down here to help their friends as soon as they can, even if it means getting the hell out of there.

MAKE A CHOICE: YOU HAVE SUCCESSFULLY COMPLETED YOUR PLOT EVENT.

[noona-clock]

Look After You - Part 3

Genre: Regency!AU/Single Parent!AU

Pairing: Choi Minho x You (Female Reader)

Warnings: Mentions of death and some mature themes

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 | Words: 3,575

For the rest of dinner, Minho managed to not only keep your attention but he also amused you incredibly. He told you stories about the farmers and villagers here, all the scrapes he’d gotten into with the farm animals, and you had even ended up asking him about the new farming techniques and equipment he’d mentioned earlier.

You had no interest in farming, but you did seem to have an interest in listening to Minho talk. And, apparently, it didn’t matter what he talked about. (I mean, surely, you would mind if he talked about the debauchery of his past... but he didn’t bring that up more than he already had, so there was nothing to worry about.)

Once dinner was over, you heard one of the other guests mention that there would be card games in the library. You assumed the men would go into another room to drink... whatever they liked to drink, so before Minho had a chance to bid you goodnight, you put a gentle hand on his forearm.

“Would you show me to the nursery?” you asked softly, leaning in so he could hear you over the din of the guests.

A smile immediately tugged at his lips, and he nodded.

“Follow me,” he murmured before stealthily weaving through the people toward the door.

As soon as the two of you were out in the hallway, away from the crowd, you let out a soft sigh. Dinner hadn’t been nearly as bad as they usually were for someone as shy as yourself, but you were fairly sure that had everything to do with your dinner escort.

He began to lead you back upstairs, and when you were halfway up, you decided to break the silence.

“Thank you,” you said quietly. “For talking to me so much at dinner. I didn’t have time to feel shy, and I very much enjoyed listening to you.”

“Oh, good,” Minho replied cheerfully. “You’re very welcome. I told you, I’m happy to look out for you, as a favor to a long lost friend.”

You simply hummed softly, and the silence of the nearly empty manor settled around you as you continued to follow him upstairs.

Minho led you past your bedroom, up another set of stairs, and down the twists and turns of the hallways to the nursery. As soon as you approached the door, Minho paused.

“I can leave if you’d like,” he offered, brow furrowed slightly. “If you think you can find your way back to your room.”

“I believe I can,” you whispered with a grin. “I’m quite good with directions.”

Minho returned your grin before taking a step back and bowing his head to you. “I shall bid you goodnight, then,” he murmured.

Before he turned to leave, you found that words were forcing themselves out of your brain and through your lips.

“Thank you,” you blurted out. “Again. For... taking me here. And... confiding in me.”

It was quite dark in the hallway, but you could’ve sworn you saw his cheeks flushing.

And then the words continued; truly, there was no way for you to stop them.

“I admire you for the way you pulled yourself out of... that situation. How you turned your life around. I didn’t know you before, obviously, but you do seem incredibly content now. I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

...Where all that had come from, you weren’t quite sure. But the look on Minho’s incredibly handsome face was worth the slight awkwardness and embarrassment of your word vomit.

“Thank you,” he murmured a bit bashfully. “I can say the same for you. Not about the ‘turning your life around’ thing, but... I do admire you. I can see why your husband was so enamored with you back then, all those years ago. And why he continued to be so.”

And now it was your turn to be bashful.

You couldn’t bring yourself to thank him because the whole situation was just too embarrassing, but you did manage a “Goodnight, My lord.”

Minho returned your sentiment quietly before backing away and turning to leave you.

As you eased the nursery door open just a crack to look in on your girls, you couldn’t help but think about the genuinely good time you’d had tonight. Even though you’d been surrounded by people you didn’t know, you’d spent practically the whole evening smiling and laughing.

And talking.

With Minho.

It had been... nice.

The wedding the next day went off without a hitch; in fact, it was one of the most beautiful weddings you’d ever been to. Abigail made a particularly radiant bride, and Onew was an extremely handsome, extremely happy groom.

You had silently bawled like a baby during the whole ceremony.

After all the guests had seen the newlywed couple off, wishing them well on their month-long honeymoon, your mother had insisted on taking you and the girls into town. She had treated you all to some shopping (a new pair of gloves for you, a new book for Caroline, and a new doll for Louisa) as well as some tea and cakes.

You knew it was because she felt sorry for you, but... today, you didn’t mind her pity. You appreciated it, in fact. You’d known it would be difficult attending a wedding by yourself, the first one after your late husband’s passing, but you hadn’t realized it would be as difficult as it had turned out to be.

By the time the four of you arrived back at the manor, you were utterly exhausted. The shopping, eating, and all the emotions of the day had drained you. Your mother shooed you up to your room, assuring you she would take the girls up to the nursery and tuck them in.

Even though it was now the second night in a row you hadn’t put them to bed, you had to admit that you were very much looking forward to curling up in that luxurious bed and sleeping for about three days.

As usual, though, you awoke quite early the next morning, ringing for your maid and requesting a breakfast tray. You also somewhat shyly asked her to fetch Caroline and Louisa and bring them in here with you.

You knew it wasn’t quite proper, but you felt you’d barely seen and spent proper time with them since you’d arrived. You missed them! And you really didn’t think that was out of the ordinary! You were their mother, for goodness sake. If you weren’t going to miss them, who would?

About half an hour later, there was a single rap on the door before it burst open. Caroline leaped through the doorway and vaulted herself onto your bed.

“Mama!” she cried cheerfully as Louisa scurried in behind her.

“Good morning, my loves!” you greeted with a smile as warm as the cup of tea on your breakfast tray. “How did you sleep?”

Caroline snuggled under the covers next to you and let out a happy sigh. “Very well, Mama. The beds here are deliciously comfortable.”

A laugh sputtered through your lips as Louisa crawled onto the bed to join you. “Deliciously comfortable? Where on Earth did you hear that?”

“Cousin Sophie,” Louisa answered. “She said her Mama uses it, and she wants to be more sophisticated like her.”

“Well, I have to admit, the beds are deliciously comfortable,” you chuckled as the maid (whose name you had learned was Rose) set the tray across your lap. “What shall we do after breakfast, darlings? Now that the wedding is over, we can do whatever we want.”

“I want to go outside!” Caroline declared before stealing a piece of toast from your tray.

“I want to see the animals,” Louisa added. You gave her a piece of toast, too, and the three of you munched happily (careful not to spill any crumbs on the deliciously comfortable bed, mind you).

“All right, let’s spend some time outside and see if we can find some animals,” you agreed, nodding definitively.

It was truly a beautiful day outside. The sun, though still somewhat low in the sky as it was early in the day, was bright and beaming. The sky was the perfect pastel azure blue. The clouds were few, but those few were as puffy and fluffy as clouds could be.

“Where shall we go first?” you asked your daughters, holding each of their hands in yours and gazing over the breathtaking landscape of the estate.

But before either of them could answer, you saw a figure appear by the barn closest to the house. You knew right away it was Minho, and he obviously knew right away it was you because he lifted one arm and waved.

“Good morning!” he called out as he began to head over toward you.

Your heart -- Lord knows why -- began to beat just a bit quicker in your chest.

“Good morning!” Caroline replied, waving back and standing on her toes. Louisa simply clutched your hand tighter and brought her fingers to her mouth.

“Where are you off to this morning?” Minho asked once he got closer to you.

“Oh, we -- we just wanted to go outside,” you explained with a somewhat hesitant grin. You weren’t sure why, but you felt as if you were about to get in trouble. Minho was the manager of the estate; he might not want strangers just walking around.

“I wanted to see some animals,” Louisa added shyly.

“Animals?” Minho repeated, grinning down at your youngest daughter. “I hope by ‘animals’ you mean pigs and horses and cows.”

You glanced down at her, and she nodded quickly, a smile just barely appearing on the corners of her lips.

“Well, that’s perfect, then,” Minho announced. “I’m glad I ran into you. I know where all of those animals are. Would you like to go see?”

Louisa nodded again, and Minho held his hand out toward her.

You expected her to hesitate, but... she didn’t. She almost immediately slipped her hand out of yours and took his.

And, for the second time in the past few days, your heart melted.

“Are you sure?” you asked with a slightly furrowed brow, trying to ignore the melting heart thing. “I’m sure you’re busy, I don’t want to take you away from your responsibilities.”

“I am absolutely certain,” Minho assured you, shooting you a little smirk. “You’re staying on a farm, it would be a shame not to see it!”

“Thank you, My Lord,” you said. “Girls, what do we say?”

“Thank you, My Lord,” both of them said in unison.

“You are very welcome,” Minho replied with a delighted chuckle. “Come, the horses are in the barn.”

For the next hour or so, Minho led the three of you all around the farm, showing you the horses (and even setting the girls on top of one for just a minute so they could feel what it was like to ride one), letting you pet the pigs (even though Caroline exclaimed they were much too stinky and snorty), and introducing you to the cows.

“What’s that?” Caroline asked as you were stroking the muzzle of a particularly sweet dairy cow. Your gaze shifted to where she was pointing, and you saw a bull in a fenced-in pasture nearby.

“That’s Hercules,” Minho answered. “Our bull.”

“Why is he over there?” she inquired with a slight frown.

“Because he can be a bit mean sometimes,” Minho explained.

“Can we go see him?”

Your heart instantly jumped into your throat, but you knew Minho was an expert. He knew these animals probably as well as you knew Caroline and Louisa. If it wasn’t safe, he wouldn’t do it.

“We can...” he answered reluctantly. “But we can’t go inside the fence, and we should probably not let him get too close.”

Caroline nodded and reached for Minho’s hand, letting him lead her over to the fence. Louisa tugged at your skirt, and you bent to pick her up, carrying her as you followed.

As you’d expected, Minho knew what he was doing. He lifted Caroline up to stand on the lowest rung of the fence, standing behind her and holding her so she wouldn’t fall. He let her gaze at the bull for a while, and when it began to walk toward you, he gently pulled her back.

Minho then turned around to face you, his eyes lit up and his smile beaming. “How would you all like to see the gazebo?”

“What’s a gazebo?” Louisa asked as she clung to your neck.

“It’s like... a house, but outside.”

“All houses are outside,” Louisa pointed out.

“No, but this one doesn’t have walls,” Minho laughed as he began to walk toward another area of the farm. “Only a roof. You can see everything but you won’t get rained on. I promise you’ll like it.”

You were just about to turn and follow him once more when you noticed Caroline was still at the fence.

“Come, darling,” you called out. “We’re going to the gazebo!”

Caroline jumped at the sound of your voice, quickly pivoting and rushing over to you.

Minho led you toward the gardens near the back of the house, and when you turned the corner, you saw a rather large wooden structure in the shape of an octagon, painted white with a dark gray tiled roof.

“Wow,” Louisa gasped, and Minho turned around to smile at her.

“See? I told you you would like it.”

“You could have a tea party here!” Caroline exclaimed, jumping up into the air.

“A tea party?” Minho asked, looking down at her curiously. “That’s not a bad idea. Would you like to?”

“A tea party?!” both Caroline and Louisa shrieked.

“Yes, a tea party. I can ask Cook to make some cakes and biscuits and sandwiches, and we can have a tea party!” Minho beamed.

“Yes, yes, please! Oh, Mama, can we?! Please?!”

You hated to be a party pooper, but...

“You don’t have to --” you began quietly, looking somewhat guilty. He didn’t have to go through all that trouble for a silly tea party! Especially for someone he hardly knew!

“Nonsense,” Minho interrupted. “I want to. Your sister is now married to my brother, so that means my brother is their uncle. Which, in a way -- kind of -- almost -- makes me their uncle, too. And what else are uncles supposed to do but spoil their nieces?”

Caroline looked up at you with a look on her face far too mature for her age -- obviously something else she’d picked up from Cousin Sophie. “It’s true, Mama. Uncles are supposed to spoil their nieces. Think of Uncle Marcus and Uncle Sebastian.”

A soft chuckle escaped your lips as you thought of your younger brothers. Of course, she was right. They spoiled Caroline and Louisa rotten since they had yet to have children of their own.

You looked over at Minho, and even though you had already given in, the look on his face cemented it. His eyebrows were raised hopefully, his smile was optimistic and absolutely adorable. It was clear he truly did want to have a tea party with your girls.

“All right,” you relented with a grin.

Caroline and Louisa let out cheers, and Louisa wiggled down from your arms so she and her sister could run over to the gazebo.

“You wait right here, I’ll be right back,” Minho assured you, reaching out and briefly touching your shoulders.

Once he dashed toward the house, you followed Caroline and Louisa over to the gazebo -- and you ignored the fact that your heart was now beating a bit erratically from Minho’s touch.

You took a seat at the table inside the gazebo while the girls ran and danced around nearby. They exclaimed over the flowers and squealed in anticipation for the tea party.

You kept an eye on them, of course, but... after only a few minutes, you found your mind began to wander. Thoughts of Minho started swirling around, and before you knew it, you were imagining a life with him here.

Horseback riding in the morning. Tea parties every weekend. Greeting him when he returned home after a long day of working in the barn and the fields and the village. The girls already seemed to like him; surely, they would take to the idea of him being their father rather quickly, and --

A high-pitched, piercing scream suddenly filled the air, and all your daydreams instantly evaporated.

Nothing set your heart on edge like the sound of a child screaming.

Quickly, your gaze snapped to where Caroline and Louisa were standing -- okay, good. Both of them were still standing, neither of them was hurt.

You stood from the table, your brow furrowed as your heart pounded.

“Girls, what was --”

But then you saw it.

At first, you thought it was just a figment of your imagination. There was no way --

Then you heard the snorts and the heavy breathing. You saw the large hoof stamp heavily on the ground.

Yep. That was a real bull, all right. Somehow, Hercules had gotten out of his pen.

Obviously, your first instinct was to run over to Caroline and Louisa, but you thought that might set him off. You’d heard that bulls were only violent when provoked, and seeing someone rushing toward him would almost certainly provoke him.

“It’s all right, darlings,” you said in as steady of a voice as you could muster. You very slowly took a step toward them, keeping still and making sure not to make any sudden movements. “Just stay where you are. I’m coming to get you, but we must stay still. Do you understand?”

“Mama,” Caroline whimpered, though she didn’t move one inch. “I’m scared.”

“It’s going to be fine,” you assured her.

But was it? Hercules was still just standing there, facing the gazebo and snorting and stamping his hoof.

It was either going to fine or... all three of you were about to die.

You heard footsteps running toward you, and the thought flashed through your mind that you were about to die. Without turning your head, you shifted your gaze toward the footsteps. Rather than panicking about dying, you were relieved. More relieved than you’d ever been in your life.

Minho had returned, and surely, he knew what to do. He would save the day.

“Don’t move,” he warned, holding a hand out to affirm his words.

“I have to get the girls, though,” you breathed, your heart now hammering inside your chest.

“Just stay there for a minute. I’m going to distract him. Once I have him turned away, go and get them and take them to the back of the house,” Minho instructed.

You nodded. He certainly sounded like he knew what he was doing, so you took him at his word.

As Minho slowly began to move around to the other side of Hercules, you switched between watching both him and your daughters. Your chest was heaving with anxiety, of course, but you did what he’d told you to do: you stayed still.

Minho carefully caught Hercules’ attention, leading the massive bull to turn around and away from the three of you. He began to back toward the pasture, and as soon as the animal was facing fully away from you, you made a run for it.

You dashed over to Caroline and Louisa, grabbing their hands, and dragging them toward the house.

The second you stopped running, the two of them threw themselves at you, clutching your legs and burying their faces in your skirts.

“Oh, thank god,” you gasped, holding them as you leaned against the wall of the house.

You had never been more terrified in your entire life.

You stood there with Caroline and Louisa, catching your breath and letting them hug you for as long as they wanted. And before you knew it, Minho had returned. You had barely glanced at him before you were suddenly enveloped in his arms.

Rather than be taken aback by his embrace... you were relieved. His tight hold instantly put you at ease, and your eyes closed as you instinctively pressed your forehead into his neck.

“It’s all right,” he whispered, cradling the back of your head. “Somehow the gate got unlatched, but he’s back behind the fence. Caroline and Louisa are safe. You’re safe.”

“Thank you,” you murmured through the knot of emotion forming in your throat. “Thank you so much. I don’t know --”

“Mama,” Caroline interrupted in a small, pathetic voice. “It was my fault. I was leaning against the gate and I think I accidentally --”

“See? It was an accident,” Minho pointed out. “You didn’t mean to.”

“And remember what I say about mistakes, my love?” you said softly.

“They’re not mistakes. They’re lessons we have to learn from,” Caroline whimpered.

“It’s all right, sweetheart,” you whispered.

“We’ll have our tea party another day, yeah?” Minho said.

...To be honest, you’d forgotten all about the tea party.

And, continuing on the honesty train, you were no longer worried about the tea party at all. In fact, it was the last thing on your mind.

Right now, the thing you were worried about was... how good it felt to be in Minho’s arms.

As Caroline would put it, how deliciously good it felt.

Part 4

[burtlederp]

Pancakes

So, this is something I wrote for an assignment for one of my college classes. It turned out both longer and better than I anticipated, and kinda whumpy. I figured y’all might be interested in reading it. >:3 PLEASE note, though, all dialogue and writing was taken from and based off of Peter Morris’ play “Pancakes.” I haven’t watched the video on youtube, but I DID read the script out of my textbook, and it was pretty dang good. Anyways, hope y’all enjoy! 

content warnings: blood, death, choking, murder, uhh... Fun stuff.

---

“Hungry,” he gasped between mouthfuls. “So hungry.” By and by, he leaned back in the chair, chewing, and let his eyes fall down to Sam’s lifeless body on the floor beside him. He swallowed and chuckled, “You were right, the Lord does help those who help themselves.” He kicked the body in the side, laughing at how the head lolled about from it. Buddy then returned his attention to the pancakes, using red-stained hands to eat, the fork forgotten.

“People don’t need philosophers.” Sam shoved another pancake into his mouth, inwardly enjoying watching his flatmate’s eye twitch. He thought Buddy might explode, but then the philosophy major set his jaw.

“Yes, they do. They just don’t know it. But they will. One day, they’ll wake up with a spiritual malaise, and then they’ll need me,” Buddy replied with forced coolness. A smug smile tugged at one side of Sam’s mouth, and he strategically turned it into a confused frown.

“What the hell is a spiritual mayonnaise?” Sam, of course, knew what ‘malaise’ means, but it was just too easy to poke fun at the idiot.

“Malaise! Not mayonnaise! Spiritual malaise! And people like you are gonna get it bad! Trust me! Then I’ll be in big demand! You wait and see!” Buddy opened his mouth to say something more, his pointer finger jabbing in Sam’s direction, but then his jaw snapped shut. He sat down on the floor so fast that Sam thought his knees had buckled, he’d fainted, but he hadn’t. He folded his legs quickly into lotus position, eyes closed, chanting obnoxiously. Sam stared, pausing in his engorgement. 

“You don’t wanna work, do you?” Sam leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand, eyebrows raised. 

Buddy opened one eye ever so briefly to glance at him. “Yes, I do,” he replied, his words so in rhythm with his chanting that it took Sam a second to realize he’d responded. 

“You don’t,” Sam looked down at the man, a vague expression of amusement. “If you did, you wouldn’t be sitting around unwashed, unshaved, and undressed on a weekday.” 

“It’s eight o’clock in the morning,” Buddy informed him, peeking briefly at the clock.

“Early bird catches the worm,” Sam shrugged, leaning back in his chair and spearing another soft, warm pancake with his fork.

“I don’t want worms. I want pancakes,” Buddy protested, watching enviously as Sam halved the pancake. Sam gave him a condescending look, and something cruel flickered in his eye.

“Then earn them,” He said evenly. 

“How?” Buddy asked warily. He shifted out of his lotus position, his legs tingling with pins and needles. 

“You can do a little job for me,” Sam’s smile was much too kind, and didn’t reach his eyes. 

“What kind of little job?” Buddy’s eyes narrowed, suspicious. 

“You can shine my shoes,” Sam responded. 

“You want me to shine your shoes?” Buddy repeated, slow, turning it over in his mind. Really? That simple?

“I’ll give you a pancake for each shoe,” Sam nodded, crossing his arms, sitting as though he were closing a business deal, not trading a pancake for a shoe-shine. 

“One pancake for each shoe,” Buddy echoed, raising an eyebrow. 

“That’s the offer,” Sam waved a hand briefly. Buddy hesitated, then his face hardened.

“Is that what you want, to humiliate me? Demean me? Well, forget it! I won’t do it! I won’t!” Buddy growled, leaping to his feet. “I want at least two pancakes per shoe!”

Sam grinned, two perfectly-straight rows of perfectly-white teeth. “Deal.” He held out his hand.

“Deal.” Buddy shook the man’s hand. “Take off your shoes.”

“No.” Sam’s response left Buddy quiet for a split-second, and Sam could almost hear the gears turning. 

“Then… how am I supposed to shine them?” Buddy asked lamely, brows knitting together.

“Get down on your knees.” Sam held his gaze unflinchingly.

“What?” Buddy blinked.

“Get down on your knees and shine my shoes.” 

“Are you serious?” Buddy frowned, a hint of incredulity to his voice.

“You want some pancakes, don’t you?” The man quirked an eyebrow. 

Buddy could feel himself salivating at the thought of taking a big bite of fluffy, syrup-soaked pancakes. “You know I do.” 

“Then get down on your knees,” Sam’s smile had disappeared. 

“Sam, please…”

“Down!” He barked. Buddy jumped, and paused for a long moment, staring into the hard eyes of his host. Finally, he yielded, kneeling on the kitchen tile. He could see them here, the two shiny black shoes, already bearing a gleaming dully beneath the table. Buddy swallowed, glancing up at Sam to see he was still watching.

“What do I use to shine them with?” Buddy inquired hesitantly. 

“Your tongue.” Sam bit each word, his perfect teeth clacking together and the sound echoing around the kitchen. Buddy averted his gaze for a moment, working his jaw, hands clenched into fists.

“No.” He forced out the word, glaring up at him. Sam smiled wryly, cruelly, plucking a pancake from the plate and holding it out, dangling it in front of Buddy’s face. 

“Mmmmm, these are so good.” Sam’s eyes were dark slits, not a spark of empathy to be found there. Buddy made to grab the pancake, but Sam easily pulled it out of his reach.

“I won’t do it,” Buddy hissed.

“They’re so light and fluffy, sweet and delicious. Mmmm-mmmm-mmmm.” Sam shoved the pancake into his mouth, taunting.

“You’re a pig.” No sooner had Buddy spoke the last consonant when Sam’s foot kicked him hard in the chest and sent him toppling over onto the floor.

“Watch your mouth, Buddy. You’re only here thanks to my good graces. I could’ve thrown you out months ago. I could throw you out right now,” Sam seethed, leaping to his feet, gripping the table as he bared his teeth in a snarl. “But I won’t. You know why, Buddy? Because I pity you. Do you hear me? You’re pathetic. Look at you, about to kiss my feet for some lousy pancakes.”

Buddy’s could only glare at him for a moment, leaning back on an elbow as he caught his breath, before his face softened. “I’m hungry. All I’ve eaten in the last week were some stale Saltines.”

“Those were my stale Saltines. Bought and paid for with my money.” A malevolent fire burned in Sam’s eyes as his words hissed forth like a snake. “And you didn’t even say thank you, did you?” Buddy gulped, staring up at him, his stomach a hollow pit in his gut, gnawing at itself. He bowed his head, mumbling something.

“What was that?”

“Thank you,” Buddy repeated, then quieter, “I said thank you.”

“That’s better.” Heat diffused through his words as Sam sat himself back down. Buddy waited a moment, eyes tracing the tile patterns in the floor before he slowly rose to his feet. Sam studied him, silent, scrutinizing, chewing on a mouthful of pancake. 

“What is it with guys like you? You’ve always got your hand out. Soft, fleshy hands that haven’t seen a day of work.” 

“I need help,” Buddy’s voice was soft, hands working at each other as his pride gasped for air after such a hard hit.

“‘The Lord helps those who help themselves.’ Now there’s a Bible quote for you.” Sam said dismissively.

“That’s not from the Bible.”

“Well, it should be. Now stop bothering me.” Sam wasn’t looking at him anymore, though his eyebrows were raised disapprovingly as he turned his gaze down to his food, stuffing his face. Buddy watched him, fingers curling into his shirt as his stomach growled, begging for food. He turned to leave, and made it as far as the door when he paused, and looked back to his flatmate.

“How can you be so heartless when you have so much?” Buddy croaked, a lump in his throat. “Look at you, you have all the pancakes.”

“That’s right. They’re all mine,” Sam’s eyes flickered up to him. “And what, I should just give them to you?”

“You could share them,” he suggested weakly. Sam’s face screwed up like he’d caught a whiff of something foul.

“Why in the hell would I want to do that?” 

“It… might make you feel good,” Buddy tried weakly. Sam stopped, looking at him, and then burst out laughing. First he still hovered over his pancakes, shoulders shaking with humor, then he threw back his head in a guffaw, fork still clenched in one hand that rested beside his plate.

“That,” He wheezed. “Is the stupidest thing I ever heard.”

“Some people find great solace in charity,” Buddy informed him, and Sam just scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“What they find, Buddy boy,” Sam leaned forward, pointing the fork at him accusingly. “Is a tax deduction. No one does anything without getting something in return. Now, can all the philosophical mumbo-jumbo. I have to finish eating. I have a morning conference. They’re putting me in charge of the national ad campaign for Good Will.” He finished haughtily, and continued eating. 

“Good Will. They’re putting you in charge of ‘good will.’” Buddy’s voice was flat, staring at the man in dim disbelief. He huffed a laugh. “Well, that’s just perfect. It’s like putting a fox in charge of the hen house.”

“Very funny,” Sam’s words were somewhat obscured and jumbled through a large mouthful of pancake.

“It is. It’s hilarious,” Buddy leaned on the doorway, rubbing his face. “But I just can’t bring myself to laugh. It’s a very amusing paradox but I just can’t laugh. I’m too weak. I’m hungry and lightheaded and I just don’t have the strength to laugh.” He raised his eyes from the floor to Steven, and a weak, slightly-crazed grin spread across his face. “But it is funny. Not slap-your-thigh funny but wry and ironic. Only God could make a joke like that. The same God that gets kick out of holocausts and plagues and famines. What a sense of humor that guy’s got. He gave you all the pancakes, and he gave me none.” His voice soured as he staggered forward, slapping his hands on the table, staring at Sam, nose scrunched in a snarl. 

“That’s life. Some of us have pancakes and some of us have not.” Sam didn’t look up at him, cutting another bite.

“Yup, and you have them. You’re the pancake king.” Buddy gestured weakly towards him with a hand, letting it fall back to the table’s surface.

“That’s me.” Sam wasn’t even paying attention to him anymore.

Something filled Buddy’s stomach as he watched Sam eat. It wasn’t food, it wasn’t anything that would actually fill it for very long, but it was hot and fiery and furious. It overflowed from the pit that was his stomach and flowed through him, up into his head and out to his fingers. As if he was no longer in control, but this feeling was instead, he pushed himself back up to standing and circled around the table to Sam.

“Here, your majesty, why don’t I give you some more syrup?” He asked, his voice as sickly-sweet as the contents of the amber bottle he lifted from the table top.

“I don’t want any more syrup.” Sam’s eyes only briefly followed the bottle, but he paid him no mind.

“Sure you do. Everybody wants more syrup,” Buddy spat as he yanked off the cap and turned it out onto Sam’s head, the sticky, sugary sap covering the perfectly-styled hair. 

“What the fuck!” Sam barked, dropping his fork.

“And butter? What about some butter?!” Buddy snarled, curling his fingers around the butter knife and driving it into Sam’s gut once, twice, three times. Sam fell from his chair, uttering a strangled cry as blood began to seep from him, spattering the floor. 

“You want pancakes?! Here, eat some pancakes!” Buddy snatched some from Sam’s plate, and fell atop him, shoving them into the man’s agape mouth before he could make another sound. His legs straddled his flatmate, one hand pressing him to the floor by the neck, the other reaching back to the table. “Have another! And another! And another!” Buddy screamed, pounding pancake after pancake down the man’s throat as his body convulsed beneath him, held fast by the hand wrapped around his throat. Sam writhed weakly in his own blood, hands clumsily and uselessly clawing at the floor, Buddy’s arms, his own mouth, until his eyes rolled up into his head. The man went limp, head falling to the side. Buddy waited until he was sure he saw no more movement before he let go, panting. He leaned back on his heels, wiping sweat off his brow, heart pounding. His eyes rose back to the table, to the stack of pancakes that remained there. Buddy scrambled up into the chair and began to shove food into his face, feasting like an animal.

---

(just btw, proper citation in MLA format is located here, on my masterlist.)

[insensitivesurgeon7]

Original strange story

‹ Always with me ›

❤️Woman/Womаn❤️

Valeria/Emilia

rating: PG-13

genres: drama, romance

warnings: ER, POV, death of the main character, non-linear narrative

———————

— How far can you go?

— Well, at least smile at me, at such an important moment.

— Look, you're glowing!I don't know what it is, but it definitely suits you.Always be like this.

The performances of the terrible! The audience is not interested in this at all, on the contrary, they look at me with horror and disgust, turn pale and burst into screams at what is happening on the stage. Insultingly. Am I making such an effort for such uneducated trash? No one appreciates my efforts, no one except...

Emiliа.

She never missed a single performance of mine, never took her burning eyes off the stage, and looked right into my soul. A bright ray stood out in the crowd of gray and gloomy gentlemen, almost jumping out of the chair in the first row and breaking her voice in one and the same phrase: "encore!"

— And now, ladies and gentlemen, the real horror of this neighborhood will be on the scene. Many lost their minds just seeing it!

The audience was simply dumbfounded, not knowing what else to expect this evening. Some covered themselves with their hands, and others wrapped themselves in their clothes, so as not to see even greater horrors. But that's what they came for, isn't it? So why are sobs and angry exclamations heard instead of cheers?

But only the tiny girl in the front row was waiting with lively interest for the miracle I had prepared especially for her. I removed the fake smile from my face and put on a genuine, real one that was meant only for her.

It's strange, but I don't remember what happened after the intermission. Right now, I'm standing at the door of the dressing room, not understanding how I got here. There was no memory of me going up to my room. Only the people actively moving towards the exit; the head of that old lady with wide eyes, which I held so carefully in my hands; the floorboards stained with dirty blood; the bright image of Emilia…

Still, I burst into the dressing room with a cry of joy, plopping down in an old ragged chair with gold upholstery on the uneven edges. I couldn't help but laugh out loud, throwing my head back. Why was I having so much fun? I suppose I was amused by the ladies, who were as pale as toadstools, who threw up their hands in fright, and who, forgetting their proprieties, screamed like slaughtered pigs. But the laughter didn't last long. I stopped abruptly and looked at the floor mirrors. I liked the reflection: my glasses had slid sideways; my hair, which had been so neatly arranged a few hours ago, was completely disheveled; my shirt was soaked with the blood of the old lady who had been so impudent.

I grinned even harder, my uneven smile with crooked teeth looking creepy, and my gaze, wild and triumphant, lingered in the background. A skeleton in a worn maroon dress and a dark wig with dirty patches.

— How do I look? — Emilia was busy twirling around the mirror, looking at herself from different angles. The full silk dress suited her immensely, and the hem of it rose above the tiled floor as she danced, exposing her pale little legs. She looked like a fragile butterfly whose wings were scorched by a scarlet flame.

— Honey, you look beautiful! — There was no lie in what I said, I really thought she looked amazing. Although in fact, it always looks like this.

— Oh, dear, are you here yet? How did you manage to get here before me?

I got up and went to my beloved, kneeling across from her and taking the leather-gloved hand in my palm, gently stroking the uneven surface with my fingers and gazing in awe at the empty eye sockets.

— Emilia, how do you like my performance? Did you like it? I tried my best, really! — She didn't say anything, just tilted her head, and the wig slid to the right. — Why aren't you talking? Did I do something wrong? I thought I had prepared only the best…

She doesn't answer, why? Did she enjoy it so much that she was speechless? Or is it so bad that she won't talk to me? But wait…

My head is full of holes. How could I forget our anniversary? I slapped my hand against my forehead, looking down guiltily. — Now you must be offended with me." You know what, let me fix it! I'll have a small dinner for the two of us, with your favorite music playing. Just give me some time, okay? — I looked at Emilia with pleading eyes, and I thought she was breaking down a little, but she nodded slightly. Or was it my imagination? .No.

— How soon? — Emilia tapped her heel impatiently, fidgeting with the bandage.

I untied the tight knot of the ribbon, and Emilia closed her eyes for a moment, shielding her hand from the bright light. At the same moment, her eyes widened at what she saw.

— You… Did you do all this? — she gazed with fascination at the ornate gazebo I'd been working on day and night for so long, given its taste. She always wanted a gazebo on this hill next to the twin oaks, and with a view of the cemetery.

— Do you like? - the smile did not leave my face, the pleasant surprise in Emilia's eyes made me happy. She didn't say anything, just came over and hugged me tightly, murmuring her thanks in a low voice. It was an important gift for her. I never understood why she wanted it so much, she only spoke in vague riddles that I never understood.

I stroked her hair, lifted her in my arms, and sat her down in the big chair, getting as close to her face as I could, feeling her hot breath and the tips of her dark brown hair tickling my cheeks.

— We have the whole night at our disposal... — My voice became eerily low, piercing the silence of the night. In an instant, the reddened Emilia smiled at the corners of her mouth, enticing me into a kiss with her soft pink lips…

The air was cool, and it enveloped my legs and crawled slowly down my back, penetrating my sensitive areas, feverishly tickling my skin. All life seemed to have died out: there was no sound of the confused rustle of leaves that sometimes fell to the ground, no cry of night birds that suddenly appeared from behind the trees, and even the old guard singing sailor songs, even he seemed to be gone.

But to be honest, I didn't care at all. But worried whether it Emiliа?

— The sky is unusually clear today, and the stars seem to Shine brighter today. — Trying to start a conversation and filling the glasses with sweet wine, I took a small SIP, watching the behavior of my beloved. Who behaved... in no way. Her skeleton was leaning back against the carved back of a chair, and her wonderfully shaped skull was hidden behind the remnants of artificial hair. She sat at a little distance from me and looked like a statue ready to shatter at any moment.

There was no response, and the silence was annoying.

I couldn't help laughing as I fiddled with the crystal glass filled with sparkling cherry liquid: too much resemblance to the blood of Emilia. So sweet, with a metallic taste, I remember there was a lot of it…

— Your death pleases me, because now we can always be together! Isn't that great?!

In my arms rested a cooling, lifeless body, dripping blood and staining everything possible. Her eyes were glassy, and there was a pain in them that pleased me so much. Still, I was a little disappointed.

— You promised to die with a smile on your face and a ringing laugh, welcoming a new world for yourself with open arms, so why did you scream and struggle, showering me with curses and bitter tears?

It was as if I felt my beloved's gaze on me, the emptiness of her once-bright brown eyes tearing at my soul, making me shudder with unpleasant memories. She still hasn't said a word. I was beginning to worry about it.

— Oh, honey, are you still mad?I have forgiven you for your incomprehensible affair, so be consistent. — the corners of his mouth twitched convulsively, the glass swayed in a trembling hand, and a scarlet drop fell on the snowy tablecloth, spreading across the rough patterns.

— Stop following me! I told you everything yesterday! We are no more!

— You seem to have forgotten something, my dear — there was a short click, and the revolver in my hand was aimed at a tall, slender young man with large blue eyes.

- No!..

Suppressing a sudden surge of anger, I tried to smile amiably, but I could feel my face shuddering, contorting into a terrible grimace.

— Why are you silent? We see each other so rarely, and the luxury we are allowed now will not come for a long time. So why don't you use it? — She didn't even look at me. What am I talking about, she didn't even touch the holiday table!

— Please say a word! Is that so much to ask?! — My left eye twitched nervously, the first tears came to the corners, and my voice trembled treacherously. I didn't like it, but Emilia seemed to enjoy it. Why do I hear her low, angry laugh?!

I swallowed hard and tried to keep my composure, but it didn't work. I stood up and walked resolutely toward Emilia, hovering over her skeleton, which seemed to me to have shrunk in size. Hot tears ran down my cheeks and into my mouth, and my chest ached, and my laughter was unhealthy.

— Y-You... you like hurting me, don't you? — choking back tears and laughing hysterically, I barely managed a few more words. — Answer me! — I must have looked pathetic from the outside.

No attention, but there was a mocking look directed at me, at my hands, or rather at my prosthetics.

— Are you so concerned that you cut off your own hands?!

— Answer me, you insensitive bitch!— I took her chin in my hand and looked into her empty eye sockets. Oh, my dear, where is your charming gaze? What happened to your velvety voice that soothed me in the evenings? And your delicate skin, pale and sore, where did it go, do you want to tell me?

It was very painful. Very. I've never felt such pain in my life. I couldn't see much because of the tears, and the bubbling, broken laughter tore at my chest.

Something cold touched my face, wiping away tears. These were the knuckles of Emilia's fingers, painfully prickling at the corners of my reddened, I'm sure, eyes. My hand held tight to the radius of my beloved, as if afraid to lose it again, afraid to let go, and the brush of a somewhat yellowed bone soothed my cheeks, and I felt a little relieved.

— Forgive me… Please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry ... — I whispered endlessly, burying my face in the crumpled fabric somewhere in the area of my collarbone, my free hand clutching the fragile piece of bone.

— It's our holiday, isn't it? — I looked at Emilia's face with genuine love as I got up from my knees. — We haven't lost anything yet, so let's dedicate ourselves to each other under these sparkling stars!

— This is my favorite artist playing! Lehr, let's dance!

Everyone was looking at us that night.

Light jazz began to play, and Emilia's favorite tune turned on. You could see that she brightened and seemed to straighten up. I asked her to dance by pulling on me, and she plopped her skull on my neck, and I just giggled. She's funny. Trying to keep my balance, I put one hand on her waist and the other connected with the bone of her wrist, and she bent over and looked at me. I could see her confusion.

We began to circle slowly to the music, keeping our eyes on each other. Even though Emilia no longer had them, I still knew that she was looking at me, and only at me.

— You will always be with me.

———————

[jennywolfgal]

Bestiary: Dragon

Dragons (Eudraco Rex) are very old, large, and powerful Squamates that were the apexes of their European regions, once upon a time, but are still worthy of respect, even more so within these times. Origin/evolutionary history: From what little we've discovered on these creatures, they first appeared to have diverged from other Squamates within the Jurassic period, but were nigh-unrecognizable to the mighty beasts they later become, as they've remained small opportunistic scavengers and hunters of insects and small mammals, up until later in the Eocene, where they really started to get very diverse and large. Eudraco Rex, the most common and dominant species in Europe, evolved to be quite an efficient predator, being able to prey on birds, wyverns, and rarely even other dragons should they be weak and/or small enough, along with more terrestrial prey items like deer, boars, wolves, etc. And have remained as the apex predator until much later when humans and werecreatures arrived and colonized Europe. Physiology/biology: Eudraco Rexes are approximately 7-8 ft long, 5 ft tall Squamates with a wingspan of 20 ft. They're generally green in coloration, with a darker green around the neck and face, except for the females which are generally brown. While their tails are long they're quite stiff, which is predictable as a long and flexible tail would hinder such a large flying animal. They're mostly quadrupeds until they go for a running start on their hind legs before taking flight. The crown of six simple backward-facing horns on their heads that are common in all dragons are impractical for offense or protecting most of the neck, thankfully it's been confirmed over 200 years ago by an alchemist named [REDACTED] that the horns are not just used for display, but also to protect the pair of venom glands. Contrary to human myths, Dragons don't actually produce fire (but Weredragons and Chimeras naturally do), but spit potent venom instead, which causes a strong burning pain, along with nasty burn marks, akin to the burning pain and damage of fire. The range at which they can spit their venom is approximately 11-17 ft, and not only is the venom they produce a form of very strong and potent zytotoxine, but it's quite flammable as well. Even without the use of their venom, they're still very formidable predators, able to rip into prey and enemies with their claws and blade-like teeth with fair ease, and thus make an easy kill with a lone human that's either got nothing but the cloths making up their clothing or poorly armed like having average leather armor and a knife. Dragons are also quite agile for reptiles and of their size, so they're very efficient at evading attacks. Dragon mating season is in the late spring or early summer, and make nests within caves with shiny objects like various metals or human treasure piled around and collected, as well as some skeletal remains of previous kills made. The nests themselves are 6 ft around, made from the usual sticks and foliage that bird nests are made from, but obviously to a much bigger extent, and can contain 15-23 eggs laid by the mother. Female dragons are around the same size as the males but do have slightly shorter horns. Like all reptiles, including squamates, dragons have a cloaca, and the males are equipped with a hemipenis, which has four rows of backward-facing barbs near the tips. Behavior: Dragons are very territorial, having a range of 3 miles, and they'll fiercely protect it, even to the death should they be fighting an intruder that's closer to their homes, as they'd be cornered. They're also very intelligent creatures, with an intellect on par with ravens and crows, as they're able to easily recognize patterns and faces, and in over a dozen cases, utilize their venom's flammability via ignition, usually by quickly raking their claws on a hard surface like stone or metal. Dragons are also well-known for being attracted to shiny objects, even outside of the mating season, which eventually led them to steal some treasure from people, and thus causing more conflict on top of them needing to prey on easy prey like sheep, goats, pigs, and other livestock. Their behavior during mating season's not well-known, but what is known is that the males will collect shiny objects to try and impress females, and several mating pair have been observed to fly around 60-80 ft in the air and then divebomb together with their talons locked together before quickly parting ways as they get much closer to the ground, and once they've found a mate they'll stay with them for life. Weaknesses/termination methods: The usual method used in medieval times to hunt and slay Dragons has been on horseback with either a lance, spear, longsword, or claymore. Given such distances these weapons give along with the aid of fast and large steeds like horses, grounded dragons were quite at a physical disadvantage to such a technique, even with their agility, and especially if they're confronted near or at their cavern homes. And as the production of weapons becoming more prevalent and efficient along with the increasing numbers of humans and werecreatures, and not even their heightened healing could save them, although, despite this, their durability's enough to make sure they won't die instantly from most fatal blows, giving them a chance at dealing at least one or two last attacks. Arrows and most projectile weaponry can be even more efficient, but given the space the dragon would have, it'll usually evade them easily. While the slaying of dragons in the 18th-21st century is very illegal, (even in self-defense against a dragon will result in grave punishment) semi-automatic firearms and explosives are most efficient as they can't evade a wave of bullets and if they do get hit by any explosive, it's mostly a nigh-instant death, so one hit is all it takes. Containment/handling procedures: You CAN'T, containment is IMPOSSIBLE. Dragons are too aggressive, powerful, and agile for containment, and even if containment was achieved, dragons don't do well in captivity. The best method of "containment" is having them in private nature reserves or just leave them out in the wild, and observe them safely while working more so on keeping the public eyes away, and luckily dragons are intelligent enough to now know to keep away from humans, and with sufficient supplies of both natural and fed prey items, the dragons are happy and no longer have a need for raiding farmlands anymore. While dragons can't be domesticated nor tamed, they can be trained, this can only happen if bounded with a person when they imprint on them as hatchlings, but they know their non-draconic parent(s) aren't dragons, and thus will still be dangerous and lash out if the person's not careful when they get bigger. The best thing to do with raising a dragon other than providing the usual food, water, shelter, and TLC, is to give them space and free range to explore, no binding/restrictive things like collars and/or chains, and do NOT get in their way when they're feeding, as they'll become quite protective and will lash out at anything trying to steal their meal. Art is by www.deviantart.com/sheather888

[chicgeekgirl89]

The Honeymooners: Chapter 1

A/N: Our favorite, MARRIED, couple is back on vacation again this year, this time on their honeymoon. But things aren’t going to go exactly according to plan because where’s the fun in that?!

Read my other Densi summer vacation fics here and here. 

                                      XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“Peru here we come!” Kensi said as the plane took off. She squeezed Deeks’ hand. “I’m so excited!”

“A little delayed, but definitely worth the wait,” Deeks said.

After months of agonizing they’d finally pulled the trigger on a belated honeymoon to Peru; a total minimal, adventurous trip. They’d each packed a backpack and boarded a flight to Miami. Once there they would connect to Lima and join up with a humanitarian aid group for five days. Then it was five days all to themselves exploring the country as they pleased.

Kensi pulled up one of the Instagram accounts she’d started following in preparation for the trip. “Just look at this hiking excursion. These views are going to be incredible.”

“Not as incredible as the one I have right now,” Deeks said.

“Aw, baby.” She’d always scoffed at people who mooned over each other after their wedding but she had to admit, this silly newlywed thing was kind of fun.

“I’m really looking forward to some deep fried guinea pig,” Deeks said.

“You’re really going to eat a guinea pig? Even with its cute little face?” He’d been talking about it ever since he’d found out about the local delicacy and she was pretty disgusted.

“Absolutely! When in Lima…”

“That is so gross.”

“What? A nice little guinea pig sandwich? Sounds delicious.”

“It’s like eating a rat!”

“You just said it had a cute face! How can you say it’s cute and then call it a rat?”

“I’m not kissing you while you have guinea pig breath.”

That paused him for a second. “I’ll think about it.”

“Yeah you better.”

“Aw, newlyweds?” A flight attendant paused their seats, her smile bright.

Kensi slipped her arm through Deeks’. “Yes. We’re on our belated honeymoon to Peru.”

“To Peru! What an exciting choice!”

“Well we’re the adventurous type,” Deeks told her. “Have you been?”

She nodded. “It’s beautiful. Definitely worth all the hiking.”

“And how exactly are the guinea pig burgers?”

She shook her head. “Not to my liking. I can’t offer you one of those, but how about a complimentary glass of champagne to celebrate?”

“That sounds perfect.”

She gave them each a glass and then continued down the aisle. 

The extra seat in their row was empty, leaving them plenty of room to cuddle and watch the latest Marvel movie. The champagne made Kensi sleepy and she dozed off on Deeks’ shoulder towards the end of the movie. When she woke up he was watching a romcom they’d missed at the theater last year because of a case. 

“How long was I out?” she asked pushing her hair out of her face.

He checked his watch. “Couple hours. We’re over Florida.”

She wiped her mouth and wrinkled her nose. “Was I drooling?!”

He smiled. “A little.”

She punched his shoulder. “Why didn’t you wake me up?!”

“It was cute.” He shrugged. “You were tired. You need some sleep before we go hike the mountains all day and,” he grinned, “party all night.”

“You wanted me to get some rest so I could have sex with you all night long? In our tent? After not showering all day?” She raised her eyebrows.

“…yes?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“But you love me right?”

“I’m reconsidering.”

He held up his left hand. “Nuh uh. You’re stuck with me Fern. Are you seriously telling me we’re not having any sex on our honeymoon? Isn’t that the whole point of a honeymoon? To make babies?”

“Who’s making babies?!” Kensi asked, looking around.

“I’m kidding. But seriously. No sex?”

“Nope. Not happening. Not unless I’ve showered. And you’ve brushed the guinea pig out of your teeth.”

“Well I wish I’d known that ahead of time,” he grumbled. “I would have made more of an effort last night.”

He looked so cute sitting there all forlorn. They hadn’t had much time together alone in the last few weeks. And last night they’d gotten home late after work practically dead on their feet. Things hadn’t been super romantic lately. In fact she could hardly remember the last time they’d had a moment alone together. Ten days in a tent suddenly seemed like a really long time.

“Well,” she traced a pattern on the back of his hand with her fingers, keeping her voice low, “we’re not in Peru yet.”

He frowned. “Yeah because we’re on a plane.”

“There are ways to…get around that.” He still looked confused so she leaned close and whispered. “We could always join the mile high club.”

His eyes grew huge. “Babe…don’t say things like that unless you mean them.”

She bit her lip and reached for her seatbelt.

The plane dropped. People screamed. Overhead bins opened and people’s bags crashed to the floor. For one, heart stopping moment it felt like the world was ending. Kensi grabbed Deeks’ hand and he squeezed it tightly, using the other to grip his armrest. 

The plane leveled out and they could hear passengers around them crying in confusion and pain. The intercom made a dinging sound as it turned on. “Ladies and gentlemen this is your captain. We are having difficulty with our onboard computer and will need to make an emergency landing in Jacksonville at this time. Please remain in your seats with your seatbelts fastened,” the captain said.

“You good?” Deeks asked, all thoughts of airplane sex gone from his mind.

Kensi nodded, her heart still racing. “I’m going to go see if anyone needs help,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze.

“I’ll come with you,” she said.

They both ignored the pilot’s warning and got out of their seats. People seemed to be in pretty good shape, a little shaken but mostly unharmed. One older woman was hyperventilating so Kensi knelt next to her while Deeks continued through the cabin. 

“Oh my god! Cherise! Cherise wake up!”

Deeks hurried toward the worried cries and found one of the flight attendants bent over a body on the floor. A closer look told him it the was the attendant who’d brought them their champagne and she was knocked out cold, blood running down her face. “Hey, I’m an officer with the LAPD,” he said. “What’s your name?”

“Monica,” the woman said, her voice shaky. “She must have gotten hit when the overhead bins opened up.”

“All right, listen, go make an announcement and find out if we have any medical professionals on board. And then find the first aid kit.”

She nodded and hurried away. “Here.” Deeks looked up to find a teenage girl handing him a scarf. “You’re supposed to put pressure on it right?”

He smiled. “Nice job MacGyver. Thanks.”

He wrapped the make-shift bandage around Cherise’s head and reached to take her pulse. He felt a hand on his shoulder and Kensi knelt next to him. “Hey what do you need?” she asked.

“The flight attendant went to get the first aid kit. Just keep her head steady for me.”

Cherise’s pulse was fast but steady. “Cherise,” Deeks ran a fist over her sternum. “Cherise can you hear me?”

Her eyes fluttered open. “Hey don’t try to move all right?” Deeks said, glancing up at Kensi who tightened her grip. They couldn’t rule out a neck injury and if she panicked and started moving it might make things worse.

“What---what happened?” Cherise asked, a hand fluttering toward her head.

“There was some turbulence and you were hit by some luggage,” Deeks said slowly and calmly. “Your friend Monica went to get the first aid kit.”

“Okay.” She grimaced. “My head hurts.”

“Yeah I’m not surprised. You’re doing great though. Can you tell me where you are?”

“Uh, um, I’m on flight 2042 to Lima.”

“Nice. And who’s the president?”

She looked at him in confusion. “Of Lima?”

“No, no,” he laughed. “Sorry, of the United States.”

She gave him a withering look. “I don’t talk about him.”

“Correct answer then,” Deeks said.

Monica returned with the first aid kit and another man in tow. “I’m a doctor,” he said, snapping on a pair of rubber gloves. “Don Feldstein.”

“Marty Deeks, LAPD. This is my wife Kensi,” Deeks said.

“Good to meet you. How are we doing here?”

The doctor checked out their patient and since they were no longer needed Kensi and Deeks returned to their seats. 

“Hopefully she’ll only need some stitches,” Kensi said.

“Hopefully. And hopefully we can get off this plane and make some new travel arrangements.”

“I mean would it even be a vacation if something didn’t go horribly wrong?”

“This is it. This is the only complication. Everything else is going to be smooth sailing,” Deeks said.

Kensi sent him a look. “Do you really believe that?”

“Just…put out the good universe vibes with me all right?” He hesitated.

“What?” she asked.

“Were you really going to wait for me in the bathroom?”

“Seriously? That’s what you’re asking about after we almost just died?”

“That was barely a near-death experience. We’ve had Tuesdays scarier than that!” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re the one who suggested it,” he said.

“Well I guess you’re just going to have to wait until after your guinea pig sandwiches now because I’m definitely not in the mood.”

They both sat back in their seats. Suddenly this honeymoon seemed a little less romantic and a whole lot more like work.

[teratoscope]

Peach Troll

You could have sworn you were dead, but that can’t be right. You’re too damn sore. Nobody’s sore in hell. Lots of other kinds of pain, but not sore. You feel it in the backs of your eyes, your joints, your skin, your back, your legs— Both of your legs. Including the one that you very clearly recall melting off the bone shortly before you blacked out. You open your eyes. It’s bright and balmy out. You’re in the shade, under a black, knotted tree. The leaves are just starting to turn, fringes of red creeping in. Something’s standing over you. It’s sapling-tall and stoop-shouldered, with a little nub of a head on a long, well-muscled neck. At first you think it must be glowing from the inside, but it’s just that the skin is just slightly transparent, sunlight tracing the dark webbing of blood vessels, nerves and bones beneath its considerable bulk. It hunches on thick legs with flat, calloused feet. You’re eye-level with its enormous, pendulous stomach. There’s an odd cleft in that gut. Like the cleft in a peach. It bends down a little, bringing its face in line with yours. The features are nearly human. Doll-like, really. Huge, wide, jewel-bright eyes, button nose, full lips and a sharp jaw. The mouth’s about two sizes larger than you’d expect given the head. It smiles. You wiggle the toes on your new leg. You’re certain it’s new, because the skin’s about six shades too light. Your friend takes a gentle hold of your foot with one thick-fingered hand and parts the cleft in its stomach with the other. Inside are rows upon rows of glistening arms, legs, hearts, livers, faintly twitching with latent life. HD 2 MV 90’ AC 13 AT slam (1d6+1) or by weapon Special bio-crucible, healing humors, regeneration

Bio-crucible—a peach troll can replicate any animal tissue or organ it consumes in the span of 2d3 days and store the copy in its external abdominal cavity indefinitely. Additionally, any living creature on the verge of death placed inside a peach troll’s abdominal cavity is automatically stabilized, does not age, and will remain in a state of dreamless slumber until removed.

Healing humors—every part of a peach troll has potent medicinal qualities. Troll saliva is an anesthetic with strong antibacterial properties, granting advantage on checks to resist effects from pain and disadvantage on perception checks and a free check to resist poison and disease; troll blood confers a measure of the troll’s own regenerative ability, allowing the user to reroll one of their hit dice and add the result to their hp total on use, immediately recovering 1d6 points of stat damage for each reduced stat, and granting advantage on their next death save with each dose. These require ingestion or fluid membrane contact to take effect.

Regeneration—a peach troll’s hit points recover at a rate of 2d6/round. Once brought to half hp or lower, it will continue to regenerate for 1d3 more rounds after reaching its original max hp unless it is killed.

The peach troll is the last of the Four Undesirables to be officially catalogued by Freestar One field operatives. Of the four, they are perhaps the most polarizing among indigenes; nearly every peach troll troop is accompanied by a community of hangers-on—exiles and desperate cases who cling to the trolls for their medicinal gifts, defending them desperately.

They need the defense. Peach trolls have very little in the way of violent impulses. Pain and bloodshed don’t spook them, but when they do panic, their default is always flee or freeze. They only learn how to defend themselves by watching others, and they’re very slow students. They’ve got raw power that could be cultivated, but it would require the patience of a saint on the part of the instructor.

This wouldn’t be a problem, except 1) they live in a warzone, and 2) they carry a genophage.

It’s the genophage, more than anything, that has marked the peach trolls for death among most indigenes. Anyone who receives ministration from a peach troll is infected. The patients themselves are fine; it causes no physiological change. What it does do is rewire your chromosomes so that your children will be born peach trolls, and it’s contagious.

Freestar One xenologists have yet to develop a cure. Hypothetically, gene therapy and chromosomal nanosurgery would address the issue, but in practice this is only a temporary fix; the genophage lingers in the host’s system, coming out of remission to tweak genes when their work is tampered with. This does inhibit aging and improve the host’s resistance to cancer, organ failure, and degenerative disease, and for some it’s a worthwhile tradeoff.

But for many indigenous communities, what saves the lives of individuals may spell extinction for the group. It’s left even High Command troll-wary. Fear of contamination has confined all study of the subspecies to labs downwell; a strong political contingent within the command infrastructure argues that they should be gathered, contained, and processed to determine whether they can be bent towards an organized logistical function while eliminating or minimizing the threat they pose to humanity’s ability to reproduce itself in its original form.

Peach trolls themselves live in ignorance of the waves of turmoil surrounding them. They trundle from place to place, following the warm weather. They graze, forage, and scavenge, make music, fall in and out of love, and nest in communal piles when they can’t escape the cold.

This isn’t to say they’re perfectly idyllic creatures. They have a macabre streak, with an almost magnetic attraction to and fascination with the suffering of others. They don’t like making it, but it’s novel and poses an interesting intellectual exercise to interpret. Emotional pain piques their curiosity more than anything else. They express concern for the wounded, but are never squeamish, and they find the reactions of people in pain amusing at best and obnoxious at worst.

Dead bodies mean nothing to them. They eat the recently fallen. It’s all just meat, and meat’s valuable. The closest thing peach trolls have to trade in the conventional sense is the customary exchange of living flesh when multiple troops gather in one place. This strengthens the community by building solidarity and broadening the pool of materials they can grow.

They also have no concept of property. When, for example, one wanders into someone’s rice paddy and eats everything in reach two weeks before the harvest, to the troll it’s just helping itself to food lying around. And when that same troll half caves in a shed from passing out in a food coma after horking down three live pigs from the neighbor’s sty, well, it needed to rest somewhere. The same applies, of course, when it wakes up needing to shit mightily.

Young trolls learn quickly not to stray too far from the troop, and to avoid staying long around the little folks too crazy to not pick up and move when the weather’s bad.

Peach trolls don’t age the way we do. They rotate out organs the way sharks rotate out teeth, and their telomeres fray at rates that give abyssal sea sponges and certain jellyfish a run for their money. What does sometimes happen, though, is a peach troll will get badly hurt, and then grow back, and not stop growing back. There’s a sort of cascade effect as the regenerative process begins to turn against the troll, causing internal traumas that provoke further regeneration, and all the while all this cellular activity provokes a steadily deepening hunger. Speedy community response and the right medicine can curb this effect, but unless action is taken quickly, the unlucky troll will become a walking, all-consuming berserker tumor, only dying when its metabolism spikes so high it burns itself to death from the inside out.

[grayisholi]

@ the DND ask game: ALL OF THOSE QUESTIONS, I CAN'T CHOOSE!! XD (or if not that, the ones you rlly wanna do!!

BOY OH BOY OH BOYIve been answering these throughout the day and I’m too lazy to reread the full document so sorry if I’ve left gaps or whatever but here it is! All 35 questions about dnd! Matt you unstoppable Madman.

1. A favorite character you have played.

You can’t just make me pick between my children!!! I think I might have to say Atticus Sallow, my faeborn bloodhunter, partially because he’s like 100% homebrew content which I LIVE for, but also because he’s probably the most kinda self-insert character I’ve ever played? Almost became the kinda angsty, brooding asshole character before he was like “get your shit together” and learned that loving people isn’t so bad.

2. Your favorite character that someone else has played.

I almost, ALMOST had the pleasure of DMing for @no-more-good-omens and their character was gonna be SO RAD and I’m a little heartbroken he never came to be. A half-drow paladin of Vecna, pretending to be your typical good and wholesome paladin? Dude, I love that kinda two faced backstabbing in a player. It’s such a shame it never came to anything (although if yall still wanna play hmu ;))

3. Your favorite side quest.

Ooh, there’s been so many good ones. Probably when i was playing as Adrian Smirks and went off on a tangent to rescue his brother ? That was the first time I ever got to see Adrian’s more raw and emotional side beneath the suave mask he wears and it was fun to explore his character in that way ^.^

4. Your current campaign.

That I’m DMing? It started inspired by Guy Fawkes and was gonna be “your party blows up parliament” but I got bored of following historical accuracy so it ended up being “blow up the palace in a magical city that just happens to be called London”. I accidentally wrote myself into a hole with this campaign tho, so once they’ve finished this arc I’m handing over the DM hat to my sister @philosophical-wanton because she seems to love it and I kinda miss being a player lmao. I can’t wait for it.

5. Favorite NPC.That I’ve written? Probably Hai Shen, the youngest son of a group of circus performers who were killed and the party got blamed for their murder. He had such a great attitude and his dynamics with the party kicked ass. And the twist that he was actually dead the whole time and it was his soul that had stayed behind to help solve his family’s murder? ICONIC.

6. Favorite death (monster, player character, NPC, etc).

NPC death would probably be Hai Shen, actually. After the party had brought the real killers (A cult to the demon Prince Orcus) to justice, Hai’s time on earth had come to an end. He had really beautiful moment with the party before being reunited with his family. Alternatively, the time I broke my entire party’s hearts? “Artagan’s staff comes cracking into Ellios’ chest, forcing him onto the ground. Artagan raises his sceptre in hand, pointing it menacingly at the young prince. And for the first time, you see him. Like, REALLY see him. He’s not the strong and powerful leader you’ve all come to know him as, he’s not Prince Ellios of the Four Realms. He’s just a boy. A boy who is much too young to be involved in such a grand scheme. And the fear in his eyes. You see the fear he’s managed to keep buried for so long, finally coming to the surface. And then? You don’t see anything, aside from his cold body hitting the ground.” I got punched three times for that moment, but GOD was it worth it.

7. Your favorite downtime activity.

Like in game? A healthy lil bit of vandalising the local law enforcement buildings is always a good time.

8. Your favorite fight/encounter.

Aw man, how can I pick ? I gotta say, that one time we, a level 6 party, managed to take down two earth elementals was pretty rad. The DM kind of expected it to be one of those encounters that we saw and immediately tried to run from, but what she didn’t take into account was that ALL of us had chaotic alignments so we just went crazy. The DM was rolling really badly (thank God) and we were getting really creative (“I use the produce flame centripetal to light my bottle of ale on fire and create a molotov cocktail” “you do WHAT”) and after like an HOUR we won and it was amazing. The rush I got from that victory was better than any drug my dood.

9. Your favorite thing about D&D.

I know I say it a lot, but I legit can’t choose. There’s so many great things about ttrpgs that a lot of people don’t really think of. The creative fulfilment I get from a session is incomparable, the friendships you can build that you couldn’t form in any other way. And like, not to get too real for a sec here, but I grew up with undiagnosed autism and didn’t understand how a lot of social situations worked, and DnD was such a good mechanic for me to try communicating with people without many real world consequences, and I appreciate that experience so much. It’s just such a great thing my dood.

10. Your favorite enemy and the enemy you hate the most.

Can they be the same thing lmao? I mean, I’m obviously partial to Count Cassius, the vampire lord that Adrian slept with lmao. I also always appreciate a good beholder, until I get hit with three disintegration rays IN A ROW.

11. How often do you play and how often would you ideally like to play?

We’ve got kind of a monthly schedule with my main campaign, and I manage to get a couple online games in-between them, but honestly I’d kill to be the kind of group that got together every weekend.

12. Your in game inside jokes/memes/catchphrases and where they came from.

Oh MAN. “I say we do this.” “Yeah, but that’s coming from the guy who decided to tie 3 50ft ropes together to escape the palace.” “iT wOrKeD dIdN’t iT ???” i.e that time I forgot I gave the gnome rogue flying boots so when I planned for them to get arrested at the palace, they managed to escape by tying their ropes together, sending the gnome with it to the top and climbing the wall. I had to improvise the rest of the session. Also “FLINTON BELINDA SKINTON” bc as a role-play exercise I got my party to come up with rumours about their characters and the gnome rogue called Flint AKA Flinton B Skinton decided that one of their rumours was that the B stood for Belinda, and it was GLORIOUS.

13. Introduce your current party.

My current group consists of Flinton B Skinton, gnome rogue. He’s a quick-fingered, silver-tongued gay disaster who can sell anything to anyone. He’s a charming flirt, and a veritable genius in his own right. Kava Daardendrian, dragonborn ranger who loves nothing in life more than her animal companion - her pig Snortin Norton. She’s fun and sassy and shameless, she’s great. There’s Sparks, the fire Genasi Monk, and full embodiment of a disaster lesbian. She drinks, fights, and gets laid, and doesn’t deal with her problems in healthy ways. An icon. And finally Milo, the halfling Bard who falls in love at the drop of a hat and just wants everyone to get along. I call them “The Shenanigang” and I love them.

14. Introduce any other parties you have played in or DM-ed.

A party I joined late? We had Sylvia Moondrop, the half elf sorcerer who was just trying to get along with everyone despite what the world seemed to want. Orland the half orc bard who was just trying to shake off the Barbarian stereotype his family left him with. Rose Morleen, air Genasi fighter who was literally born to kick ass and take names. I joined as Mason Terrai, the Earth Genasi Alchemist with a perchance for explosives. The very definition of chaotic neutral.

15. Do you have snacks during game times?

Of COURSE. What manic wouldn’t ?

16. Do you play online or in person? Which do you prefer?

I used to play online a LOT back before I had friends who were into dnd, but I VASTLY prefer playing in person. The chemistry that’s built not only amongst the players, but also the actual characters themselves is unparalleled. It’s just such a great experience.

17. What are some house rules that your group has?

Anyone can attempt anything, the only restriction is the dice. Don’t question the DM unless it’s out of session, then bully the dm on the groupchat until he’s so pissed off he gives you inspiration just to get you to shut up. And also canon lore and canon rules are bullshit when it’s convenient. That’s about it

18. Does your party keep any pets?

Our ranger, God bless her, has her pack pig Snortin Norton, sold to her by one Flinton B Skinton. And Flint really wants a monkey, he’s been trying to find one for ages.

19. Do you or your party have any dice superstitions?

Not really ? I’m the kind guy that if my dice rolls a 1 I will bench it for a bit, but tbh all my dice are cursed af and I’ve kinda just learned to roll with it by making my characters canonically terrible at everything lmao.

20. How did you get into D&D? How long have you been playing?

Aw man I can’t remember when or how, it’s been so long. I had a couple friends who were kinda into it, but all the games they tried to run were complete disasters. I only really started playing I’m the past year or so? Maybe a little more ? Adrian was my first character, and he was a very RP heavy character in a party of tanks and they all hated him but MAN was it fun.

21. Have you ever regretted something your character has done?

Oh all the time. One time my character was careless and didn’t check for traps on a legendary artefact and it lead to the death of a party member. One time my character got angry at his party and walked out. My characters don’t make good decisions, but that’s part of the fun.

22. What color was your first dragon?

White! I thought it was silver at first and went to go say hi, and it clawed me within half my HP straight away lmao.

23. Do you use premade modules or original campaigns?

Oh dude, original all the way. I live for that shit.

24. How much planning/preparation do you do for a game?

Depends on the session, but usually a good few hours, couple of days if I’m DMing.

25. What have your players done that you never could have planned for?

“You wake up in a mysterious forest. The strained autumn sun shines through the trees. The only thing you can see it each other, the trees, and an old sign post leading to a path that says "Myrrill” on it. What do you do?“ "We walk in the opposite direction of the sign deeper into the forest.” “…of course you do.”

26. What was your favorite scene to write and show your characters.

I wrote a full carnival show one time for them to watch, and then it got derailed when a horrific monster attacked. But writing all the characters and their acts, and watching my players get entranced as I described it ? Magical, my dood.

27. Do you allow homebrew content?

I live and breathe homebrew content. I don’t know what my games would be without it. I LOVE homebrew.

28. How often do you use NPCs in a party?

I make some pretty sick characters if I do say so myself, so I throw them in a LOT.

29. Do you prefer RP heavy sessions or combat sessions?

Oh dude, role play all the way. Fighting and killing stuff is great, but role-play is just so good. We can go from laughing with a bartender to crying over a backstory reveal and it’s just beautiful.

30. Are your players diplomatic or murder hobos?

Depends on the party, but i find the best players are a little bit of both XD

31. What is your favorite class? Favorite race?

Official ? I’m a fan of the hexblade warlock? Bards are always a good call, and to be real playing monks make me feel like an absolute badass. Race wise, there are just so many. If we’re only talking players handbook stuff, half elf is always rad. Outside of that? I’ve been researching the Shadar-Kai lately and I’m LIVING. They’re so rad.

32. What role do you like to play the most? (Tank/healer/etc?)

What would you call the disaster gay? I don’t really gear my characters towards usefulness in combat, so it’s just whatever the class happens to lend itself to.

33. How do you write your backstory, or do you even write a backstory?

I usually write my character, personality, backstory, alignment etc, before I even pick a class or even a race. I basically just make OCs and apply them to dnd rules, and it’s SO much fun. 10/10, would recommend.34. Do you tend pick weapons/spells for being useful or for flavor?

FLAVOUR. My party usually hates me, but what I lack in combat utility I more than make up for in creative out of combat skill checks XD.

35. How much roleplay do you like to do?

Boi, I even RP my combat, and the great thing is it rubs off on my party too. I’ll have a really low initiative and everyone else will be like “I attack and do 10 points of damage” but then on my round I’m like “I use my staff to leap across the battlefield towards the opponent and launch out with a spinning kick to their jaw” and everyone else is like “oh, okay, that’s what we’re doing.” and the battle becomes so much more dynamic and cinematic, it’s amazing !

[amphibianmom4-blog]

The Top Reasons People Succeed in the Orange Snakes Industry

The guillotined head of a dead snake can still attack, also hours after death. These types of attacks normally contain significant quantities of poison.

Snakes had back legs for 70 million years before shedding them.

What is thought about one of the most "hazardous" snake relies on both a details nation's healthcare and also the schedule of antivenom adhering to a bite. Based on these standards, one of the most dangerous snake in the globe is the saw-scaled viper, which attacks and also kills even more individuals every year than any various other serpent.

Snakes survive on all over on Earth except Ireland, Iceland, New Zealand, and also the North and also South Poles.a

Of the approximately 725 types of poisonous snakes worldwide, 250 can kill a human with one bite.

Serpents evolved from a four-legged reptilian forefather-- more than likely a tiny, tunneling, land-bound lizard-- concerning 100 million years earlier. Some serpents, such as pythons and also boas, still have traces of back legs.

Scientists believe humans are predisoposed to fear snakesThe concern of serpents (ophiophobia or herpetophobia) is just one of the most typical fears worldwide. Approximately 1/3 of all grown-up humans are ophidiophobic, which suggests that people have an inherent, transformative worry of serpents.

The top 5 most venomous snakes in the world are the inland taipan, the eastern brownish serpent, the seaside taipan, the tiger serpent, and also the More helpful hints black tiger serpent.

The warmer a serpent's body, the quicker it can absorb its victim. Usually, it takes 3-- 5 days for a snake to digest its meal. For huge snakes, such as the anaconda, digestion can take weeks.

Some pets, such as the Mongoose, are immune to serpent poison.

To stay clear of predators, some snakes can poop whenever they desire. They make themselves so filthy and also foul-smelling that killers will flee.

The heaviest snake in the world is the anaconda. It considers over 595 pounds (270 kg) and also can expand to over 30 feet (9m) long. It has been recognized to consume caimans, capybaras, and also jaguars.

The Brahminy Blind Serpent, or flowerpot snake, is the only snake varieties made up of solely women and, as such, does not require a companion to reproduce. It is also the most widespread terrestrial snake in the world.

If a person instantly turned into a snake, they would certainly be about 4 times longer than they are currently and also just a few inches thick. While human beings have 24 ribs, some serpents can have more than 400.

The most advanced serpent species in the world is believed to be the black mamba. It has the most extremely progressed venom shipment system of any type of serpent on Earth. It can strike approximately 12 times in a row, though just one bite is enough to kill a produced guy.

While the inland taipan is the world's most poisonous serpent, it is in fact fairly timid and also peaceful The inland taipan is the world's most poisonous serpent, implying it has both one of the most hazardous venom as well as it injects the most poison when it attacks. Its poison sacs hold enough toxin to eliminate as much as 80 people.

The death adder has the fastest strike of any type of serpent in the globe. It can assault, inject poison, and also return to striking position in under 0.15 seconds.

While snakes do not have exterior ears or eardrums, their skin, muscle mass, and bones bring audio vibrations to their internal ears.

Some serpents have actually been understood to take off after consuming a huge meal. A 13-foot python blew up after it attempted to consume a 6-foot alligator.

The word "snake" is from the Proto-Indo-European root * sneg-, indicating "to creep, sneaking point." The word "snake" is from the Proto-Indo-European origin * serp-, suggesting "to creep, creep."

Rattlesnake rattles are constructed from rings of keratin, which is the same material as human hair and finger nails. A rattler will add a new ring each time it loses its skin.

Some snakes have more than 200 teeth. The teeth aren't utilized for eating however they aim backward to stop victim from leaving the snake's throat.

There have to do with 500 category and 3,000 different types of serpents. Every one of them are killers.

Naturalist Paul Rosolie attempted to be the initial individual to make it through being ingested by an anaconda in 2014. He was putting on a specially created carbon fiber suit furnished with a breathing system, video cameras, as well as an interaction system, he eventually called off his stunt when he felt like the anaconda was damaging his arm as it tightened its hold around his body.

There are five acknowledged types of flying snakes. Growing up to 4 feet, some kinds can glide up to 330 feet through the air.

Scales cover fully of a serpent's body, even its eyes. Scales are thick, hard items of skin made from keratin, which coincides material human nails and hair are made from.

One of the most typical serpent in The United States and Canada is the garter (garden enthusiast) snake. This snake is likewise Massachusetts's state reptile. While formerly thought to be nonvenomous, garter snakes do, in fact, create a light neurotoxic venom that is harmless to human beings.

Serpents do not lap up water like mammals do. Rather, they soak their noes underwater and use their throats to pump water right into their bellies.

A snake's fangs typically last regarding 6-- 10 weeks. When a fang wears out, a new one expands in its area.

A serpent's tongue is a marvel of natureBecause completion of a snake's tongue is forked, both tips taste various quantities of chemicals. Essentially, a snake "smells in stereo" and can also tell which instructions an odor is coming from. It determines scents on its tongue utilizing pits in the roofing of its mouth called the Jacobson's body organ.

The quantity of food a snake eats identifies how many offspring it will have. The Arafura documents serpent eats the least and also lays just one egg every decade.

While smaller sized serpents, such a tree- or- ground-dwelling serpents, use their tongues to follow the scent trails of victim (such as crawlers, birds, and also other serpents). Bigger serpents, such as boas, have heat-sensing body organs called labial (lip) pits in their snouts.

Serpents commonly need to eat only 6-- 30 dishes annually to be healthy and balanced.

Serpents like to push roadways as well as rocky areas because rocks and also rocks soak up heat from the sunlight, which heats them. Basking on these surfaces warms a snake rapidly so it can move. If the temperature level reaches below 50 ° Fahrenheit, a serpent's body does not function appropriately.

The Mozambique spitting cobra can spew venom over 8 feet away. It can spit from any placement, including lying on the ground or raised up. It favors to go for its victim's eyes.

Snakes can not eat, so they should ingest their food whole. They are able to stretch their mouths really vast because they have a very flexible lower jaw. Serpents can eat various other animals that are 75%-- 100% larger than their very own bodies.

To keep from choking on large prey, a serpent will press the end of its throat, or windpipe, out of its mouth, similar to the way a snorkel functions.

The Gaboon viper has the longest fangs of any type of serpent, reaching concerning 2 inches (5 centimeters) long.

Anacondas can hold their breath for as much as 10 mins under water. Additionally, similar to crocodiles, anacondas have eyes and nostrils that can jab over the water's surface to increase their stealth as well as searching expertise.

The longest serpent ever taped is the reticulated python. It can get to over 33 feet long, which allows sufficient to swallow a pig, a deer, and even an individual.

Sea snakes with their paddle-shaped tails can dive over 300 feet right into the sea.

If a snake is threatened not long after a meal, it will commonly regurgitate its food so it can quickly run away the perceived danger. A snake's gastrointestinal system can dissolve everything however a victim's hair, plumes, and claws.

Snakes sleep with their eyes open. Snakes do not have eyelids; rather, a single clear scale called a brille secures their eyes. Most serpents see quite possibly, particularly if the things is relocating.

The world's lengthiest venomous serpent is the king cobra from Asia. It can grow up to 18 feet, rear practically as high as a person, grumble noisally, and also inject sufficient venom to kill an elephant.

The king cobra is believed to be among one of the most smart of all serpents. Furthermore, unlike many serpents, that do neglect their young, king cobras take care moms and dads who defend as well as shield their eggs from adversaries.

Not all serpents have fangs-- just those that eliminate their victim with venom have them. When their fangs are not being used, they fold them back right into the roofing system of the mouth (besides the coral snake, whose fangs do not fold up back).

Some venomous serpents have actually died after biting as well as poisoning themselves by mistake.

Elephant trunk snakes are practically completely water. They can not slink because they lack the wide ranges in the stomach that assist various other snakes go on land. Instead, elephant trunk snakes have large knobby ranges to keep unsafe fish and also restrict them underwater.

The quickest well-known snake is the string serpent. It has to do with 4 inches long and survives the island of Barbados in the Caribbean. It is claimed to be as "thin as pastas" as well as it feeds largely on termites and larvae.

In 2009, a ranch worker in East Africa endured an epic 3-hour battle with a 12-foot python after inadvertently stepping on the big snake. It curled around the guy as well as lugged him into a tree. The guy covered his tee shirt over the snake's mouth to stop it from swallowing him, and he was ultimately saved by authorities after calling for aid on his cell phone.

The venom from a Brazilian pit viper is utilized in a medicine to treat high blood pressure.

Human sufferers might quit breathing just half an hour after being bitten by a cobraThe word "cobra" indicates "hooded." Some cobras have large places on the back of their hood that resemble eyes to make them show up intimating also from behind.

Some desert snakes, such as the African rock python, sleep throughout the hottest parts of the desert summer. This summertime sleep resembles hibernation and also is called "aestivation.".

The black mamba is the world's fastest serpent and also the world's second-longest venomous snake in the world, after the king cobra. Discovered in East Africa, it can get to speeds of as much as 12 mph (19kph). It's called not from the color of its ranges, which is olive green, yet from the inside of its mouth, which is dark black. Its poison is highly toxic, and without anti-venom, death in people normally occurs within 7-- 15 hours.

Although a serpent's growth price slows as it gets older, a snake never stops expanding.

While a snake can not listen to the songs of a snake charmer, the snake reacts to the vibrations of the charmer's tapping foot or to the activity of the groove.

The majority of serpents are not unsafe to people and they aid balance the environment by maintaining the populace of rats, mice, as well as birds controlled.

The biggest snake fossil ever before discovered is the Titanoboa. It lived over 60 million years ago and also got to over 50 feet (15 meters) long. It evaluated greater than 20 people and ate crocodiles and huge tortoises.

Two-headed snakes are rareTwo-headed serpents resemble conjoined twins: an embryo starts to split to produce identical twins, however the process does not finish. Such snakes rarely survive in the wild because both heads have replicate detects, they contest food, and also one head might try to eat the other head. [20]

Serpents can be grouped into 2 sections: primitive serpents and also real (regular) serpents. Primitive serpents-- such as blind serpents, worm snakes, as well as string serpents-- represent the earliest kinds of snakes. Real snakes, such as rat serpents and king snakes, are much more evolved as well as a lot more active. [1]

The oldest written record that explains serpents is in the Brooklyn Papyrus, which is a clinical papyrus dating from ancient Egypt (450 B.C.).

Approximately 70% of snakes lay eggs. Those that lay eggs are called oviparous. The other 30% of serpents live in chillier climates and also bring to life live young since it is as well cold for eggs outside the body to create and hatch.

The majority of serpents have actually a lengthened right lung, numerous have a smaller sized left lung, as well as a few even have a third lung. They do not have a taste, and the majority of their organs are arranged linearly.

One of the most unusual and also decreasing in numbers snake is the St. Lucia racer. There are just 18 to 100 of these serpents left.

Snakes eliminate over 40,000 individuals a year-- though, with unreported cases, the total may be over 100,000. About half of these fatalities remain in India.

In some cultures, consuming serpents is taken into consideration a delicacy. Serpent soup has been a preferred Cantonese special for over 2,000 years.

In some Eastern countries, it is believed that drinking the blood of serpents, specifically the cobra, will boost sex-related potency. The blood is generally drained pipes from a live snake and afterwards combined with liquor.

In the United States, less than 1 in 37,500 individuals are bitten by poisonous serpents every year (7,000-- 8,000 bites annually), and also only 1 in 50 million individuals will pass away from serpent bite (5-- 6 deaths per year). In the UNITED STATE, a person is 9 times more probable to die from being struck by lightening than to die from a venomous snakebite.

A person is 9 times more probable to die from being struck by lightning than to die of poisonous snakebite. Some members of the UNITED STATE Army Special Forces are taught to kill and also consume serpents during their survival training, which has actually gained them the nickname "Serpent Eaters.".

Among the excellent accomplishments of the fabulous Greek hero Perseus was to kill Medusa, a female monster whose hair included wincing, poisonous snakes.

The symbol of the snake is among the most widespread as well as oldest cultural symbols in history. Serpents commonly represent the duality of great as well as wicked and of life as well as fatality.

Due to the fact that snakes lost their skin, they are often symbols of renewal, transformation, and healing. Asclepius, the god of medication, lugs a staff surrounded by a serpent.

The serpent has actually held numerous definitions throughout background. The Egyptians checked out the serpent as standing for royalty and deity. In the Jewish rabbinical tradition as well as in Hinduism, it represents sex-related passion and desire. And the Romans translated the serpent as a sign of everlasting love.

Anacondas friend every other year or even lessAnacondas mate in a substantial "reproducing sphere." The sphere contains 1 lady and also nearly 12 men. They remain in a "breeding round" for approximately a month.

Relying on the varieties, serpents can live from 4 to over 25 years.

Endangered snakes include the San Francisco garter snake, eastern indigo snake, the king cobra, as well as Dumeril's boa.

A strange, new "mad serpent disease" triggers captive pythons and also boas to tie themselves in knots. Various other signs and symptoms consist of "stargazing," which is when serpents gaze upwards for extended periods of time. Snake specialists think a rodent infection causes the deadly illness.

[fullofspiders]

a lil one-shot meant to be a side story for the rp my fiancee and i’ve got going!

"I don't need no fuckin' work."  Croc's voice was a deep rumble as he leered at the polymorphous pervert (street name professor pyg) from the corners of his eyes as sneer curled up at his lip, revealing rows of crooked, needle sharp teeth.  The two stood underneath the dim, flickering light that sat suspended over the pawn shop's front door, a gaudy glow cast over them from the neon OPEN sign suspended in the dusty, grimy window.  Don't be fooled, reader, this rundown facade belied a surprisingly profitable asset owned by one Two-Face, unceremoniously snatched up after the real king of Gotham's year long imprisonment in Arkham.

And that, friends, is why Killer Croc and Professor Pyg waited outside the shop, refusing entry to any potential late night shoppers while their mutual friend (sometimes more) worked out the terms of their new arrangement with the owner.  Just up above, one of the tenants in the apartments above the shop stared down at them from his balcony, a lit cigarette loosely dangling from his mouth.  Unless he proved a nuisance, they wouldn’t pay him any mind, however much Pyg undoubtedly wanted to sequester him home to pad out the ranks of his Dollotrons.

See, most of the Joker's properties, turf, and assets had been picked clean by the vultures that were his less successful contemporaries.  To say he was displeased would be an understatement, but that was nothing compared to his reaction when learning that the Bat was missing in action and had been for months now.  Anyone else would see it as the blessing it was, but not him.

"Ah, dear, dear Sobek!"  With a lascivious chuckle, Professor Pyg ran a hand down Croc's cheek, his body overtaken by a shudder and breath hitching in his throat at how his rough, scaly skin felt against his calloused hands.  A squeal escaped him as Croc smacked his hand away with an indignant growl.  "A NIP here, a TUCK there, and you'll be fit as a fiddle for the king's ball!"

Croc, the wise man he is, didn’t dignify Pyg’s offer with any further response; he knew damn well what his work would entail, and nothing about it appealed.

Besides, you can’t improve on perfection, despite what Pyg’s skewed views on what perfection meant.

“Think about it!  A god such as yourself needn’t sully yourself with the PISS and SHIT of the dirty plebians, my friend,” he said, eyes wild and bloodshot behind the plastic pig mask, chin wagging a mile a minute as he ranted and raved.  “Why, nothing short of the NILE itself is worthy of--”

“Shut up or you’re gonna be eatin’ your own teeth.”  

Were it not for Joker, Croc would never associate with the likes of Professor Pyg.  Unfortunately, being friends (sometimes more?) with the Joker meant associating with the people he considered friends.  He wasn’t sure who had it worse, really -- himself for being stuck with Pyg (Joker made this somewhat tolerable to be fair) or Harley for being sent off with Zsasz.

Christ, Harley Quinn and Victor Zsasz.  Working together.

Classic Joker, eh?  The clown hadn’t seen his girl in a year and he sends her off with Victor Zsasz to scope out Two-Face’s usual haunts.  Why he thought to go after Harvey first and foremost, despite Sionis being the most immediate threat to the return of his empire, was completely beyond him.

Sometimes Croc wondered if Joker knew how disastrous some of his decisions were, and if he did know, whether he cared or not.

The answer was no.  To both.

“Well!”  With a flourish, the Joker swung the glass door open, Croc stepping out of the way just in time.  “So glad to have cleared up that misunderstanding.  I think he understands now.  Or he WILL understand, anyway.”  He took a moment to admire the new rings adorning his fingers (all gold, obviously) before shifting a pleased gaze between Croc and Pyg.  He grinned a toothy, silver grin at both and threw his arms around their shoulders.  “You boys gettin’ along?  Nothin’ warms my heart,” or what approximated as one, “more than two of my best friends in the world bein’ pals.”  Never before had the words best friends been said with more snidely.

Before Pyg could open his mouth again, Croc offered Joker a shrug and a curt ‘mhmm', which seemed good enough for him.  It was more than likely rhetorical anyway.  He’d be just as happy if the two had torn each other apart, really.

“Swell, just swell!”  There seemed to be a suspicious spring in Joker’s step, and not the usual spring that came from his inability to keep still.  “How’s about we go see how Harls and Victor are doing, huh?”  Before either could respond, Croc and Pyg found themselves being hurried off to the pristine purple car at the end of the block and ushered inside, the car noticeably sinking at Croc’s weight.

“What’s the hurry?”  Croc said, eyeing Joker with a wary eye.  “You were in there for a goddamn hour and now we gotta run?  The fuck you do?”

“And a-one, and a-two, and...”  Croc’s questions went unanswered as Joker turned to look out the back window at the silent a-three as the pawn shop went up in a blazing explosion, a shower of glass, fire, and brick raining down on the pavement.  The apartments above, unable to support themselves anymore, collapsed down, dropping all of their tenants to their doom.  Joker broke out in peals of mad cackling, a cacophony that rang loud over the raging inferno outside.  

He didn’t stop laughing as he hit the ignition.

He still didn’t stop as he sped off down the street, weaving in and out and between the rows of traffic, drowning out the blaring horns.

Croc didn’t care about the bombing and the deaths it had caused, not one bit; his disposition towards the general populace left him mostly bereft of empathy.  What he cared about was the complete and utter lack of any sort of warning or heads up.  While not a meticulous planner, he still preferred some idea of what was about to go down.  Still, he’d grown to expect such antics from Joker by this point.  What once would’ve been an anger intense enough to urge him to wring the clown’s neck was now a mild irritation.

Pyg, meanwhile?  Well, Pyg had stared with an open mouthed gape at the blaze, and continued to stare well past their departure, even after the crumbling facade had been lost to the twists and turns of the city streets.

By the time the police and fire department arrived, Joker, Croc, and Pyg were long gone, having left the scene to meet up with Harley and Zsasz.

[jam2289]

The Value of Horror Stories

Why do people like horror stories? What's the point? It may be different than you think.

The first thing you have to realize is that fiction is a highly advanced form of play. And, what's the purpose of play? Animals play to prepare themselves for the future. Lion cubs play hide and seek, chasing, wrestling, fighting, and killing. These are the skills that they will need for life.

When a lion becomes fully mature it no longer plays, it doesn't need to. There are some animals that never really grow up. Domesticated animals are usually neotenous, or child-like. Pigs are like baby boars, dogs are like baby wolves, cats are like baby panthers, etc.

Humans are neotenous our entire lives. This is why we play our entire lives, and why we can learn our entire lives. The type of play that you're involved with will depend on your environment. A child that has had a safe, happy, and protected life will probably play nice games. Most people don't have that experience of life though, and those nice games won't prepare you for the hard things in life. People naturally adapt their play to better prepare them for their expected future.

For instance, in the Nazi concentration camps the adults tried to distract children from the situation by getting them to play games. But the children invented their own games. The games that naturally emerged were ideally suited to prepare them for their reality. One such game is where a row of kids would stand across from a single child. The one child would close his eyes, and someone would punch him. Then he would open his eyes and be able to question the people in line. They would all deny it, and it was his job to be able to determine who was lying. Military psychologists couldn't design a better training program to prepare people to be able to stay calm, keep concentrated, and detect a lie while being in physical pain.

Fiction is a highly complex form of play because it's not just about a single skill, or even a set of skills, it's about all of life. A narrative is showing human behavioral patterns: how we make decisions, why, who's good, who's evil, what's valuable, consequences, and the behavior patterns of other humans throughout their lives. This is an immense amount of information. A good story can contain more useful information for life than any other form of communication. And, it contains all of this information is a safe place, a virtual reality. Fiction allows us to focus our awareness on the important parts of life and become aware of the key pieces so that we can live better lives. It's more condensed than life itself, it's beyond reality, it's a hyperreality.

That's why play and fiction exist; now, our main subject - horror. Life isn't all rainbows and unicorns. The underlying fabric of life is tragic. A happy ending is just a story that hasn't ended yet. We all die in the end. Some people live on, you may say, but they will die later. Everything that has ever been created will be destroyed. Everything that has ever been done will be forgotten. How do we confront such tragedy? Do we decide it's too overwhelming and that it's best to cut this suffering short? Do we go insane in the face of absurdity? Do you confront it with defiance? Do you redeem the suffering of life by voluntarily confronting it? Do we lock values into place for all of eternity as we move through life? There are volumes and volumes of books written in philosophy and psychology about these subjects, but the stories we tell about these things are more important because they are what provide the examples for us to imitate or to avoid. Narratives are the ideal way for us to decide how we will confront the suffering and tragedy of life.

Let me emphasize how powerful this influence is. "The Sorrows of Young Werther" by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe is about a young man that is in love with an older woman who is engaged to another man. He struggles with what he should do. He thinks about killing the other man, but won't do it because it violates his morals. So, he kills himself instead. This book is what launched the 24-year-old Goethe into fame. He wrote it in less than 6 weeks. So many young men committed suicide in similar clothes to the Werther character, with similar pistols, with similar letters, with the book by their side, that in the late 1700s multiple countries banned the book. That's how deeply narratives affect the human soul. We humans are made to structure our lives around narratives, because our lives are narratives.

All life is tragic, but human life goes beyond tragedy. Humans have a unique ability to experience empathy, to feel what other people feel. This allows us to be nice and good. It also allows us to be evil. Once you understand how you can be hurt, you understand how to hurt someone else. Now, you can torture. This desire to hurt people to see them hurt is malevolence. It's a unique human capacity, and it's what we consider truly evil. Most incidents of post-traumatic stress disorder are from experiencing true malevolence in either someone else, or in ourselves. But, we are going to confront it, so how can we learn to handle it? (Many people don't realize that there is such a thing as post-traumatic growth. This is where people that encounter a situation that is traumatizing become stronger and more resourceful afterward. It's more common than PTSD. How do we do that?)

The natural state of life is anxiety. If you take a cat and put it into a completely new place it will be anxious. The first thing it will do is freeze, then it will look around, then it will sniff around. Slowly it will start to explore the area, as it becomes more aware of the area, as it learns more about its new world, the less anxious it becomes. It's the same with humans. Anxiety is the initial state of life, being anything other than anxious comes from learning.

We are thrown into life, we don't choose it, it's chosen for us. The world is a confusing place, life is tragic, we are anxious, we encounter evil and malevolence, and if all of this isn't enough there are also monsters.

It's easy to find real monsters in the world, the news loves to make them famous. Can you handle an encounter with a monster? How would you know? What would you do?

There are certain patterns that are built into our minds and into the world. Think about a dragon. What is a dragon? It's a predator. The ultimate predator for medium-size mammals. Guess what humans are, medium-size mammals. Dragons are a combination of predatory reptile, plus predatory feline, plus predatory bird. Imagine a crocodile, plus a lion, plus an eagle. Now imagine that that animal breathes fire. It's the ultimate predator. That's what dragons symbolize, and that's why they're important. This same idea has taken other forms, griffins are part lion and part eagle, and chimeras are part lion and part snake, but no matter what form it takes the encounter with the predator is something that we as humans need to learn how to handle to live life.

These types of patterns dominate fiction, and especially fantasy and horror. Vampires are attractive people that suck the life out of you, aliens are strangers that you don't know how to interact with, werewolves are humans that hide a beast within, Jekyll and Hyde is a splitting of the personality, Frankenstein is the perfect thing that we try to create which goes horribly wrong and destroys us, zombies are death itself and deaths hunger to consume life.

Horror is nothing other than humans confronting the tragedy, malevolence, and monsters that are in the world in a place where you don't have to experience the horrible consequences afterward. A place where you can confront your own fears and limitations and still come out alive. A place where you can confront the evil without and the evil within and try to find a way to redeem the value of life and dig some meaning out of it in the face of such overwhelming odds. Life is what made horror, and horror is made for life.

________________________________________________

You can find more of what I'm doing at http://www.JeffreyAlexanderMartin.com

[phynxrizng]

EIGHT FAMOUS WITCHES IN HISTORY

Eight Famous Witches In History The Witch of Endor The Christian Bible has an injunction against practicing witchcraft and divination, and that can probably be blamed on the Witch of Endor. In the first Book of Samuel, King Saul of Israel got in some hot water when he hooked up with Endor’s hottest medium, asking her to predict the future. Saul and his sons were about to march into battle against their enemies, the Philistines, and Saul decided it was time to get a bit of supernatural insight as to what was going to happen the next day. Saul started off by asking God what was up, but God stayed mum on the whole thing… and so Saul took it upon himself to seek the answers elsewhere. According to the Bible, Saul summoned the witch of Endor, who was a well-known medium in the area. Disguising himself so she wouldn’t know she was in the presence of the King, Saul asked the witch, “Hey, how about you bring back Samuel the prophet from the dead for me, because I’d really like to know what’s happening at the big showdown tomorrow?” The witch called upon Samuel, who – probably to everyone’s surprise – showed up and told Saul that he’d pretty much be a goner the next day. After all, just by working with the witch of Endor, Saul was directly disobeying God, and that never goes over well. Sure enough, Saul, his sons, and Israel were defeated at Gilboa. Who was the witch of Endor? Well, like many other biblical figures, no one really knows. She did caution Saul that she wasn’t really supposed to be doing the whole mediumship/necromancy thing, but he offered to protect her. Regardless of the fact that her identity is lost to myth and legend, she has managed to appear in more contemporary literature. Geoffrey Chaucer makes reference to her in The Canterbury Tales, in the tale spun by the friar to entertain his fellow pilgrims. The Friar tells his listeners: "Yet tell me," said the summoner, "if true: Do you make your new bodies always so Out of the elements?" The fiend said, "No, Sometimes it's only some form of disguise; Dead bodies we may enter that arise To speak with all the reason and as well As to the Endor witch spoke Samuel.” Circe One of the best-known mythological mistresses of mayhem is Circe, who appears in The Odyssey. According to the story, Odysseus and his Achaeans found themselves fleeing the land of the Laestrygonians. After a bunch of Odysseus’ scouts were captured and eaten by the Laestrygonian king, and nearly all of his ships sunk by large boulders, the Achaeans ended up on the shore of Aeaea, home to the witch-goddess Circe. Circe was well known for her magical mojo, and had quite the reputation for her knowledge of plants and potions. According to some accounts, she may have been the daughter of Helios, the sun god, and one of the Oceanids, but she is sometimes referred to as a daughter of Hecate, the goddess of magic. Circe turned Odysseus’ men into pigs, of all things, and so he set off to rescue them. Before he got there, he was visited by the messenger god, Hermes, who told him how to defeat the seductive Circe. Odysseus followed Hermes’ helpful hints, and overpowered Circe, who turned the men back into men… and she then became Odysseus’ lover. After a year or so of luxuriating in Circe’s bed, Odysseus finally figured out he should head back home to Ithaca, and his wife, Penelope. The lovely Circe, who may or may not have borne Odysseus a couple of sons, gave him directions that sent him all over the place, including a side quest to the Underworld. After Odysseus’ eventual death at the hands of his son, Telegonus, Circe used her magic potions to bring her late lover back to life. The Bell Witch We typically think of folklore and mythology as originating in ancient, far-off places, but some of it is recent enough that it’s considered urban legend. The story of the Bell Witch, for instance, takes place as recently as the nineteenth century in Tennessee. According to author Pat Fitzhugh of the Bell Witch website, there was “a sinister entity that tormented a pioneer family on Tennessee’s early frontier between 1817 and 1821.” Fitzhugh explains that settler John Bell and his family relocated to Tennessee from North Carolina in the early 1800s, and purchased a large homestead. It wasn’t long before some really weird stuff began to happen, including sightings of a strange animal with “the body of a dog and the head of a rabbit” out in the cornfields, the three Bell children saying that someone or something had yanked their bedcovers off in the night, and bizarre whispering sounds in the house. To make matters even worse, young Betsy Bell started to experience physical encounters with the spooky specter, claiming it had slapped her and pulled her hair. Although he originally told the family to keep things hush-hush, Bell finally confided in a neighbor, who brought in a party led by none other than local general Andrew Jackson. Another member of the group claimed to be a “witch tamer,” and was armed with a pistol and a silver bullet. Unfortunately, the entity wasn’t impressed with the silver bullet – or, apparently, the witch tamer – because the man was forcefully ejected from the house. Jackson’s men begged to leave the homestead and, although Jackson insisted on staying to investigate further, the next morning the entire group was spotted heading away from the farm. Troy Taylor of PrairieGhosts says, “The spirit identified itself as the "witch" of Kate Batts, a neighbor of the Bells’, with whom John had experienced bad business dealings over some purchased slaves. "Kate" as the local people began calling the spirit, made daily appearances in the Bell home, wreaking havoc on everyone there.” Once John Bell died, though, Kate stuck around and haunted Betsy well into adulthood. Morgan Le Fay If you’ve ever read any of the Arthurian legends, the name Morgan le Fay should ring a bell with you. Her first appearance in literature is in Geoffrey of Monmouth’s The Life of Merlin, written in the first half of the twelfth century. Morgan has become known as a classic seductress, who lures men in with her witchy wiles, and then causes all kinds of supernatural shenanigans to take place. Chrétien de Troyes’ The Vulgate Cycle describes her role as one of Queen Guinevere’s ladies in waiting. According to this collection of Arthurian tales, Morgan fell in love with Arthur’s nephew, Giomar. Unfortunately, Guinevere found out and put an end to the affair, so Morgan exacted her revenge by busting Guinevere, who was fooling around with Sir Lancelot. Morgan le Fay, whose name means “Morgan of the fairies” in French, appears again in Thomas Malory’s Le Morte d’Arthur, in which “she was unhappily married to King Urien. At the same time, she became a sexually aggressive woman who had many lovers, including the famous Merlin. However, her love of Lancelot was unrequited. Morgan appeared also as an indirect cause of Arthur's death.” Malory tells us that Morgan was Arthur’s half-sister, but that didn’t mean they got along well at all. In fact, depending on which legend you read, Morgan has been portrayed as seducing Arthur and giving bi rth to his child, trying to steal Excalibur from him, and basically using all kinds of nefarious sorcery to bring down her brother’s rule as King. Medea As we see in the story of Odysseus and Circe, Greek mythology is chock-full of witches. When Jason and his Argonauts went on a quest for the Golden Fleece, they decided to steal it from King Aeëtes of Colchis. What Aeëtes didn’t know was that his daughter Medea had developed a bit of a thing for Jason, and after seducing and eventually marrying him, this enchantress helped her fella steal the Golden Fleece from her father. Medea was said to be of divine descent, and was the niece of the aforementioned Circe. Born with the gift of prophecy, Medea was able to warn Jason about the dangers that lay before him in his quest. After he obtained the Fleece, she took off with him on the Argo, and they lived happily ever after… for about ten years. Then, as often happens in Greek myth, Jason found himself another woman, and cast Medea aside for Glauce, the daughter of the Corinthian king, Creon. Not one to take rejection well, Medea sent Glauce a lovely golden gown covered in poison, which led to the death of both the princess and her father, the king. In revenge, the Corinthians killed two of Jason and Medea’s children. Just to show Jason she was good and angry, Medea killed two of the others herself, leaving only a son, Thessalus, to survive. Medea then fled Corinth on a golden chariot, sent by her grandfather, Helios, the sun god. Medea spent many years just a few steps ahead of the enraged Jason, fleeing first to Thebes and then to Athens. Eventually, she returned to Colchis, where she found that her father had been deposed by her uncle, Perses. Medea killed Perses and restored Aeëtes to the throne. Baba Yaga Who is Baba Yaga? In Russian folktales, she’s an old witch who can be either fearsome and scary, or be the heroine of the tale -and sometimes she manages to do both! Described as having teeth of iron and a frightfully long nose, Baba Yaga lives in a hut on the edge of the forest, which can move around on its own and is depicted as having legs like a chicken (the hut, not Baba Yaga). She does not, unlike many traditional folkloric witches, fly about on a broomstick. Instead, she rides around in a giant mortar, which she pushes along with an equally large pestle, rowing it almost like a boat. She sweeps the tracks away from behind her with a broom made of silver birch. The Tale of Baba Yaga According to Folk Tales from the Russian, published in 1903 by Verra Xenophontovna and Kalamatiano de Blumenthal, there is a story in Russian folklore that illustrates the many facets of Baba Yaga all at once. It seems, so the tale goes, that once there was a woodcutter who lived near the forest, and he and his wife had twins, a boy and a girl. When they were still small, the woodcutter’s wife died, and although he was very lonely and missed her, he knew his children needed a mother, so he married again. The stepmother was envious of the woodcutter’s love for his children, and so she treated them badly. If he was away from home, she would lock them outdoors for hours. She refused to feed them, and didn’t care if their clothes fit or if they were cold. Finally she decided to get rid of them altogether, so she could have the woodcutter all to herself. She told them to go see an old woman who lived deep in the woods, in a house that had magical chicken-like feet, and the old woman would give them treats. The children, however, knew that something was amiss. Their stepmother had never offered them a kindness before. So instead, they went to the home of their dead mother’s mother, and she warned them not to go to the house on chicken feet because it belonged to an old witch named Baba Yaga. She fed them well, and told them to be good to anyone they met, and sent them on their way. But on their way home, they got lost and found themselves at the witch’s house anyway. The children had a number of adventures, many of which have similarities to other well-known European fairy tales, that you can read about here. By the time they returned home, the woodcutter realized his new wife had no love in her heart, and sent her away so he and his children could live happily and in peace. The Beautiful Vassilissa Another tale relates the story of the young Vassilissa, whose father is a merchant and whose mother dies early (not an uncommon theme in folktales, to be sure!), leaving only a tiny doll for Vassilissa to remember her by. As Vassilissa grows up and her father takes a new wife, the story expands to include two evil stepsisters, and a series of tasks assigned to the young girls. Naturally, those who are wicked end up getting what is coming to them, at the hands of Baba Yaga. Other Aspects of Baba Yaga Baba Yaga is sometimes portrayed as having assistants such as three mysterious riders who help her out. These strange horsemen represent sunrise, noon, and night. In some takes, she is aided by her daughter, Marinka. In general, no one ever knows whether Baba Yaga will help or hinder those who seek her out. Often, bad people get their just desserts through her actions, but it is not so much that she wishes to rescue the good as it is that evil brings its own consequences, and Baba Yaga is simply there to see these results meted out. She is often representative of a watcher or guardian of the forest and all it contains, although this may in part be due to her similarities to other Eastern European and Slavic folkloric figures, many of whom are identified by names that translate into "Forest Mother." Such characters appear in Bulgarian, Serbian and Slovenian mythology and legend. Some Slavic tales feature Baba Yaga as a trio of supernatural sisters—all with the same name —who threatens to eat unwary travelers and small children, although they always seem to manage a timely escape. In modern Neopaganism, there seems to be some speculation that Baba Yaga was a goddess who was worshiped by ancient Slavic Pagans. However, despite some of her similarities to other European goddesses, such as her appearance in triplicate, there is little academic evidence that Baba Yaga was deified. A more likely scenario is that she was, as originally noted, a folkloric character who has taken on a life of her own in the minds and hearts of modern Pagans. La Befana In Italy, the legend of La Befana is popularly told around the time of the Epiphany. What does a Catholic holiday have to do with modern Paganism? Well, La Befana happens to be a witch. According to folklore, on the night before the feast of the Epiphany in early January, Befana flies around on her broom, delivering gifts. Much like Santa Claus, she leaves candy, fruit, or small gifts in the stockings of children who are well-behaved throughout the year. On the other hand, if a child is naughty, he or she can expect to find a lump of coal left behind by La Befana. La Befana’s broom is for more than just practical transportation -she also will tidy up a messy house, and sweep the floors before she departs for her next stop. This is probably a good thing, since Befana gets a bit sooty from coming down chimneys, and it’s only polite to clean up after oneself. She may wrap up her visit by indulging in the glass of wine or plate of food left by parents as thanks. Tessa Derksen of Our Little Italy says, "In the time when our grandparents were children, Befana was tremendously popular and was awaited with a mixture of joy and anxiety. Children hung hand-knitted stockings on the fireplace and wrote long letters to her expressing their wishes. Often they were disappointed as their families had little money to spend on gifts; however, sometimes they found little hand-sewn dolls and puppets in their stocking. If they had been bad, their stockings were filled with onions, garlic, and coal. Although there were no traditional dishes to celebrate this day, people would gather together and eat chestnuts, nuts and fruit pancakes." So, where did La Befana come from? How did a kindly old witch become associated with the celebration of the Epiphany? Many of the stories behind La Befana involve a woman who is searching but unable to find the newborn infant Jesus. In some Christian legends, it is said that Befana had been visited by the three Magi, or wise men, on their way to visit the baby Jesus. It’s said that they asked her for directions, but Befana wasn’t sure how to find the newborn infant. However, being a good housekeeper, she invited them to spend the night in her tidy little home. When the Magi left the next morning, they invited Befana to join them in their quest. Befana declined, saying she had too much housework to do, but she later changed her mind. She tried to find the wise men and the new baby, but was unable to; now, she flies around on her broom delivering gifts to children. Perhaps she is still searching for the infant Jesus. In other tales, La Befana is a woman whose children have died in a great plague, and she follows the wise men to Bethlehem. Before leaving her house, she packs up some simple gifts - a doll that belonged to one of her children, and a robe sewn from her own wedding dress. These plain gifts are all she has to give to the infant Jesus, but she is unable to locate him. Today, she flies around delivering gifts to other children in hopes of finding him. Betsy Woodruff at Slate describes yet another version of the story, in which King Herod’s soldiers kill her son: "Delusional with grief, she leaves her home to search for him. Instead, she finds baby Jesus and gives him all her son’s belongings. He blesses her, and now she travels the world blessing good children and punishing bad ones." Some scholars believe that the story of La Befana actually has pre-Christian origins. The tradition of leaving or exchanging gifts may relate to an early Roman custom that takes place in midwinter, around the time of Saturnalia. Befana may also represent the passing of the old year, with the image of an old woman, to be replaced by a new year. Today many Italians, including those who follow the practice of Stregheria, celebrate a festival in La Befana’s honor. Grimhildr In Norse mythology, Grimhildr (or Grimhilde) was a smokin’ sorceress who was married to King Gyuki, one of the Burgundian kings, and her story appears in the Volsunga Saga, where she is described as a “fierce-hearted woman.” Grimhildr was easily bored, and often amused herself by enchanting various people –including the hero Sigurðr, who she wanted to see marry her daughter Gudrun. The spell worked, and Sigurðr left his wife Brynhild. As if that wasn’t enough mischief-making, Grimhildr decided her son Gunnar should marry the spurned Brynhild, but Brynhild was having none of it. She stubbornly announced, “Nope, because I’ll only marry a guy who’s willing to cross this ring of fire I’m setting up around myself. Good luck, boys!” Sigurðr, who could cross the flames safely, knew that he’d be off the hot seat if he could see his ex happily remarried, so he offered to switch bodies with Gunnarr and get across. And who had enough magic to make the old body-swapping work out? Why, Grimhildr, of course! Brynhild was fooled into marrying Gunnarr, but it didn’t end well; she finally figured out she’d been catfished, and ended up killing Sigurðr and herself. Really, the only one who came out of the whole debacle relatively unscathed was Gudrun, whose malicious mother ended up marrying her off to Brynhild’s brother. By Patti Wigington,Paganism/Wicca Expert Article published on & owned by About.com REPOSTED BY,PHYNXRIZNG

[readbookywooks]

“Yeah, Chuckie?” Newt asked, somewhat sarcastically. “And what’s your bloody question?”

Chuck seemed deep in thought. “Well, they found a dead Griever, right?”

“Yeah,” Newt replied. “Thanks for that bit of news.”

Chuck absently tapped his fork against the table for a few seconds. “Well, then who killed the stupid thing?”

Excellent question, Thomas thought. He waited for Newt to answer, but nothing came. He obviously didn’t have a clue.

CHAPTER 16

Thomas spent the morning with the Keeper of the Gardens, “working his butt off,” as Newt would’ve said. Zart was the tall, black-haired kid who’d stood at the front of the pole during Ben’s Banishment, and who for some odd reason smelled like sour milk. He didn’t say much, but showed Thomas the ropes until he could start working on his own. Weeding, pruning an apricot tree, planting squash and zucchini seeds, picking veggies. He didn’t love it, and mostly ignored the other boys working alongside him, but he didn’t hate it nearly as much as what he’d done for Winston at the Blood House.

Thomas and Zart were weeding a long row of young corn when Thomas decided it was a good time to start asking questions. This Keeper seemed a lot more approachable.

“So, Zart,” he said.

The Keeper glanced up at him, then resumed his work. The kid had droopy eyes and a long face—for some reason he looked as bored as humanly possible. “Yeah, Greenie, what you want?”

“How many Keepers total are there?” Thomas asked, trying to act casual. “And what are the job options?”

“Well, you got the Builders, the Sloppers, Baggers, Cooks, Map-makers, Med-jacks, Track-Hoes, Blood Housers. The Runners, of course. I don’t know, a few more, maybe. Pretty much keep to myself and my own stuff.”

Most of the words were self-explanatory, but Thomas wondered about a couple of them. “What’s a Slopper?” He knew that was what Chuck did, but the boy never wanted to talk about it. Refused to talk about it.

“That’s what the shanks do that can’t do nothin’ else. Clean toilets, clean the showers, clean the kitchen, clean up the Blood House after a slaughter, everything. Spend one day with them suckers—that’ll cure any thoughts of goin’ that direction, I can tell ya that.”

Thomas felt a pang of guilt over Chuck—felt sorry for him. The kid tried so hard to be everyone’s friend, but no one seemed to like him or even pay attention to him. Yeah, he was a little excitable and talked too much, but Thomas was glad enough to have him around.

“What about the Track-hoes?” Thomas asked as he yanked out a huge weed, clumps of dirt swaying on the roots.

Zart cleared his throat and kept on working as he answered. “They’re the ones take care of all the heavy stuff for the Gardens. Trenching and whatnot. During off times they do other stuff round the Glade. Actually, a lot of Gladers have more than one job. Anyone tell you that?”

Thomas ignored the question and moved on, determined to get as many answers as possible. “What about the Baggers? I know they take care of dead people, but it can’t happen that often, can it?”

“Those are the creepy fellas. They act as guards and poh-lice, too. Everyone just likes to call ’em Baggers. Have fun that day, brother.” He snickered, the first time Thomas had heard him do so—there was something very likable about it.

Thomas had more questions. Lots more. Chuck and everyone else around the Glade never wanted to give him the answers to anything. And here was Zart, who seemed perfectly willing. But suddenly Thomas didn’t feel like talking anymore. For some reason the girl had popped into his head again, out of the blue, and then thoughts of Ben, and the dead Griever, which should have been a good thing but everyone acted as if it were anything but.

His new life pretty much sucked.

He drew a deep, long breath. Just work, he thought. And he did.

By the time midafternoon arrived, Thomas was ready to collapse from exhaustion—all that bending over and crawling around on your knees in the dirt was the pits. Blood House, Gardens. Two strikes.

Runner, he thought as he went on break. Just let me be a Runner. Once again he thought about how absurd it was that he wanted it so badly. But even though he didn’t understand it, or where it came from, the desire was undeniable. Just as strong were thoughts of the girl, but he pushed them aside as much as possible.

Tired and sore, he headed to the Kitchen for a snack and some water. He could’ve eaten a full-blown meal despite having had lunch just two hours earlier. Even pig was starting to sound good again.

He bit into an apple, then plopped on the ground beside Chuck. Newt was there, too, but sat alone, ignoring everybody. His eyes were bloodshot, his forehead creased with heavy lines. Thomas watched as Newt chewed his fingernails, something he hadn’t seen the older boy do before.

Chuck noticed and asked the question that was on Thomas’s mind. “What’s wrong with him?” the boy whispered. “Looks like you did when you popped out of the Box.”

“I don’t know,” Thomas replied. “Why don’t you go ask him.”

“I can hear every bloody word you guys are saying,” Newt called in a loud voice. “No wonder people hate sleepin’ next to you shanks.”

Thomas felt like he’d been caught stealing, but he was genuinely concerned—Newt was one of the few people in the Glade he actually liked.

“What is wrong with you?” Chuck asked. “No offense, but you look like klunk.”

“Every lovin’ thing in the universe,” he replied, then fell silent as he stared off into space for a long moment. Thomas almost pushed him with another question, but Newt finally continued. “The girl from the Box. Keeps groanin’ and saying all kinds of weird stuff, but won’t wake up. Medjacks’re doing their best to feed her, but she’s eatin’ less each time. I’m tellin’ ya, something’s very bad about that whole bloody thing.”

Thomas looked down at his apple, then took a bite. It tasted sour now—he realized he was worried about the girl. Concerned for her welfare. As if he knew her.

Newt let out a long sigh. “Shuck it. But that’s not what really has me buggin’.”

“Then what does?” Chuck asked.

Thomas leaned forward, so curious he was able to put the girl out of his mind.

Newt’s eyes narrowed as he looked out toward one of the entrances to the Maze. “Alby and Minho,” he muttered. “They should’ve come back hours ago.”

Before Thomas knew it he was back at work, pulling up weeds again, counting down the minutes until he’d be done with the Gardens. He glanced constantly at the West Door, looking for any sign of Alby and Minho, Newt’s concern having rubbed off on him.

Newt had said they were supposed to have come back by noon, just enough time for them to get to the dead Griever, explore for an hour or two, then return. No wonder he’d looked so upset. When Chuck offered up that maybe they were just exploring and having some fun, Newt had given him a stare so harsh Thomas thought Chuck might spontaneously combust.

He’d never forget the next look that had come over Newt’s face. When Thomas asked why Newt and some others didn’t just go into the Maze and search for their friends, Newt’s expression had changed to outright horror—his cheeks had shrunk into his face, becoming sallow and dark. It gradually passed, and he’d explained that sending out search parties was forbidden, lest even more people be lost, but there was no mistaking the fear that had crossed his face.

Newt was terrified of the Maze.

Whatever had happened to him out there—maybe even related to his lingering ankle injury—had been truly awful.

Thomas tried not to think about it as he put his focus back on yanking weeds.

That night dinner proved to be a somber affair, and it had nothing to do with the food. Frypan and his cooks served up a grand meal of steak, mashed potatoes, green beans and hot rolls. Thomas was quickly learning that jokes about Frypan’s cooking were just that—jokes. Everyone gobbled up his food and usually begged for more. But tonight, the Gladers ate like dead men resurrected for one last meal before being sent to live with the devil.

The Runners had returned at their normal time, and Thomas had grown more and more upset as he watched Newt run from Door to Door as they entered the Glade, not bothering to hide his panic. But Alby and Minho never showed up. Newt forced the Gladers to go on and get some of Frypan’s hard-earned dinner, but he insisted on standing watch for the missing duo. No one said it, but Thomas knew it wouldn’t be long before the Doors closed.

Thomas reluctantly followed orders like the rest of the boys and was sharing a picnic table on the south side of the Homestead with Chuck and Winston. He’d only been able to eat a few bites when he couldn’t take it anymore.

“I can’t stand sitting here while they’re out there missing,” he said as he dropped his fork on the plate. “I’m going over to watch the Doors with Newt.” He stood up and headed out to look.

Not surprisingly, Chuck was right behind him.

They found Newt at the West Door, pacing, running his hands through his hair. He looked up as Thomas and Chuck approached.

“Where are they?” Newt said, his voice thin and strained.

Thomas was touched that Newt cared so much about Alby and Minho—as if they were his own kin. “Why don’t we send out a search party?” he suggested again. It seemed so stupid to sit here and worry themselves to death when they could go out there and find them.

“Bloody he—” Newt started before stopping himself; he closed his eyes for a second and took a deep breath. “We can’t. Okay? Don’t say it again. One hundred percent against the rules. Especially with the buggin’ Doors about to close.”

“But why?” Thomas persisted, in disbelief at Newt’s stubbornness. “Won’t the Grievers get them if they stay out there? Shouldn’t we do something?”

Newt turned on him, his face flushed red, his eyes flamed with fury.

“Shut your hole, Greenie!” he yelled. “Not a bloody week you’ve been here! You think I wouldn’t risk my life in a second to save those lugs?”

“No … I … Sorry. I didn’t mean …” Thomas didn’t know what to say—he was just trying to help.

Newt’s face softened. “You don’t get it yet, Tommy. Going out there at night is beggin’ for death. We’d just be throwin’ more lives away. If those shanks don’t make it back …” He paused, seeming hesitant to say what everyone was thinking. “Both of ’em swore an oath, just like I did. Like we all did. You, too, when you go to your first Gathering and get chosen by a Keeper. Never go out at night. No matter what. Never.”

Thomas looked over at Chuck, who seemed as pale-faced as Newt.

“Newt won’t say it,” the boy said, “so I will. If they’re not back, it means they’re dead. Minho’s too smart to get lost. Impossible. They’re dead.”

Newt said nothing, and Chuck turned and walked back toward the Homestead, his head hanging low. Dead? Thomas thought. The situation had become so grave he didn’t know how to react, felt a pit of emptiness in his heart.

“The shank’s right,” Newt said solemnly. “That’s why we can’t go out. We can’t afford to make things bloody worse than they already are.”

He put his hand on Thomas’s shoulder, then let it slump to his side. Tears moistened Newt’s eyes, and Thomas was sure that even within the dark chamber of memories that were locked away, out of his reach, he’d never seen someone look so sad. The growing darkness of twilight was a perfect fit for how grim things felt to Thomas.

“The Doors close in two minutes,” Newt said, a statement so succinct and final it seemed to hang in the air like a burial shroud caught in a puff of wind. Then he walked away, hunched over, quiet.

Thomas shook his head and looked back into the Maze. He barely knew Alby and Minho. But his chest ached at the thought of them out there, killed by the horrendous creature he’d seen through the window his first morning in the Glade.

A loud boom sounded from all directions, startling Thomas out of his thoughts. Then came the crunching, grinding sound of stone against stone. The Doors were closing for the night.

The right wall rumbled across the ground, spitting dirt and rocks as it moved. The vertical row of connecting rods, so many they seemed to reach the sky far above, slid toward their corresponding holes on the left wall, ready to seal shut until the morning. Once again, Thomas looked in awe at the massive moving wall—it defied any sense of physics. It seemed impossible.

Then a flicker of movement to the left caught his eyes.

Something stirred inside the Maze, down the long corridor in front of him.

At first, a shot of panic raced through him; he stepped back, worried it might be a Griever. But then two forms took shape, stumbling along the alley toward the Door. His eyes finally focused through the initial blindness of fear, and he realized it was Minho, with one of Alby’s arms draped across his shoulders, practically dragging the boy along behind him. Minho looked up, saw Thomas, who knew his eyes must be bulging out of his head.

“They got him!” Minho shouted, his voice strangled and weak with exhaustion. Every step he took seemed like it could be his last.

Thomas was so stunned by the turn of events, it took a moment for him to act. “Newt!” he finally screamed, forcing his gaze away from Minho and Alby to face the other direction. “They’re coming! I can see ’em!” He knew he should run into the Maze and help, but the rule about not leaving the Glade was seared into his mind.