#front row barrier for the killers

[babyboybuckley]

1 year ago today I was at my lowest point, and had it not been for some friends I called and went and stayed with for a few hours, I know I wouldn't be here today.

Today, I'm lying in bed after driving home to a beautiful sunset, waiting for the energy to come back to finish a project to wear tomorrow night. I'm going out with a friend I haven't seen in almost 3 years. I saw more friends last weekend who i also havent seen in nearly 3 years. I've done things I couldn't even dream of 3 years ago. I've done things that this time last year seemed completely out of reach to me.

Life is still hard. It's always going to be hard. But in the past year I have held so much happiness in my hands that I know, deep down, even when it decides to leave, that happiness will return to me. I can let it go and be sad for a while, but it will come back. And each time, I will learn to tame it further so it stays for longer, until one day it builds a nest just outside my window so I can watch it for years to come.

Hold on to your happiness when you have it. It will build itself a home in you, and one day you will look down and realise it flew in for the last time and never left

[dicentsalve]

I'm interested in what dynamics you see Sorbet and Gelato having. The crumbs you've given us about their relationship and history have made me interested in your interpretation of them. They are ( mostly ) a blank slate everyone can have fun with, after all! :)

HEEEERE WE GO

Thanks for the question, bb!

To be fair We know a tiny bit of information about them, we can also take their reckless act as a starting point and the reactions of the rest of the team to their disappearance

Overall, I feel like they're a bit of a separated from the other members So to speak, on their own, since their motivation, their way of thinking, seemed to not fit in with the reasons for the other participants joining the team of killers and their interactions with each other.

Yes, they communicated, yes, they probably had close relationships with, for example, Formaggio, but still there was a certain barrier between them all.

I also like to think that Illuso was unable to fit into their social circle, and as a result became offended and began to tease them constantly. (But in a way that they couldn't hear, because I think he was still afraid of them, because they would definitely teach him a lesson)

We also know that these two are moral monsters, which also leads us to believe that they have no ethical or moral principles. Even Risotto demonstrated a reluctance to kill an innocent person, which ultimately destroyed him, one might say. Sorbet and Gelato, I think, would kill an innocent person without further ado and without thinking twice if he got in their way, no matter who was in front of them.

Gelato, as I also mentioned, was in prison for mass murder, as a result of which he was sent to the church for correction, where two bloodthirsty, callous to the point of pity and principles souls intertwined and created an even more terrible duet.

But from that moment on, Gelato's ability to kill no longer extends to everyone in a row, but is directed in the right, specific direction.

They also, in my eyes, are the kind of guys who can freely shoot each other in the knees or stab each other with a knife and then start kissing.

I also think they spend a lot of time on missions, especially if it's a contract and not just a trip out to just sit around with corpses, relax and talk.

While others are concerned with the desire not to die in poverty from hunger and cold, to receive a well-deserved status, for Sorbet and Gelato there seems to be only a desire to feel adrenaline, blood on their hands, to be above others.

Regarding the stands that I gave them, the situation is the same:

● The Informers. (Sorbet)

Based on the fact that Sorbet is a greedy bastard for money (and so much so that his absence at the division of money led to suspicions of something amiss), there is a stand capable of finding any, even the most secret piece of information in one form or another.

The bottom line: Sorbet not only get information for the team, but also did a little more for his own benefit

The image of a dragonfly was chosen for a reason In nature, they are not only capable of reaching speeds of up to 60 km/h, but are also capable of hovering in the air in one place Therefore, this gives the stand not only enormous speed, but also the ability to pay sufficient attention to the necessary search aspects

● Disturbed. (Gelato)

Gelato is quite careless about his job, considering the fact that yet another meeting skipping didn't particularly impress or surprise Risotto, who, in turn, is extremely serious about their business, which only means that Gelato's behavior is presumably manifested in everything and probably not fixable

That is, for me he does it not so much for the money, because the Squadra received so-so, but rather for the soul and fun

Accordingly, his stand is aimed at survival in battle, to avoid any, even theoretical threats and mindlessly seek adventures on the ass (unless it's Secco)

[elliebyrrdwrites]

Dramione Drabble 24

Cheers!

Draco doesn’t say much, and neither does she, as they dump Glendale Robert’s behind a McDonalds. Neither of them say much aside from what they had planned, when they get back to the ministry and confront Robarbs. They are confronted by Goldstein and Weasley. They are forced to relay the lie about the perp being gone before they arrived. That they searched all of Hogsmeade.

Never once, were they granted the opportunity to gaze up at the castle where their lives had intersected. Where they’re lives had ended and essentially began. The castle that loomed so largely over their lives, dictating their fates. But it failed to loom over that town, while they searched for a suspect who had allegedly broken into a room in the shit bag apartment building behind the Three Broomsticks.

This is what they told everyone. This is what they told each other, down to the last detail. All of it was her idea. She dictated it, her pale eyes hard on his, her hand gripping his fingers, begging for him to play along.

To please be good.

He doesn’t know if he could be good anymore. Everything good about him lay within her. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to hold back. But he’ll try, he tells her. He’ll try for her.

Potter masked his nerves by jotting everything down into a report for Robarbs. Weasley looked irritated, too irritated. The idiot was see through, everything was always there, written on his stupid face. But Draco still would have liked to pick through their brains, to weed out the traitor.

He doubted it was Weasley. But it wasn’t entirely off the table.

So, as they sit around that stupid conference table, Draco pokes at the Weasel’s mind. He has no barrier in place, his mind is wide open. It takes no work whatsoever, to quickly pick through some of his most immediate memories.

Him and Parvati having an awkward dinner. Him and Potter having a nasty row about Granger. Threaded into the memory of the fight, was the memory of the breakup. Threaded into that memory, were memories of the first time he had kissed her. The First time she told him that she loved him. The first time they fucked. She was a virgin and there's the memory of wishing he had been gentler.

It makes Draco sick.

The first time they nearly broke up, both of them in tears, screaming and begging each other to stay. To fight. And amongst all of those, were memories of her naked body beneath his, hers over his, their mouths on each others and suddenly, Draco was stuck in a loop of Weasley and Hermione. Hermione and Weasley, together. Talks of marriage and babies and every other sickening thing that comes with new young love.

Draco felt stuck inside of his mind. In his memories and their shared hopes and dreams.

Until.

Draco ripped out of his mind, forcing himself back into his body. He jerked back against his chair and Weasley hissed, hand flying to his forehead. His eyes were squeezed shut, his head was throbbing and so was Draco’s. He felt nauseous. He felt like he was going to explode.

Granger’s hand wrapped around his where it gripped the arm of the chair. But she was glaring at him, realizing what he had done.

Nobody else noticed. That, or they pretended they didn't. Goldstein and Potter were discussing the call being a prank and Robarbs was rubbing his temples. Too old for this shit, was what he was projecting. But, what if it was all a front?

Something told Draco that Robarbs mind would be harder to crack. Maybe impossible.

He could still feel Granger’s glare against his face but he refused to meet it. He was still plagued with the memories of her and Weasley. The life they had, the little life they had planned...it all felt like a betrayal to him.

Draco felt alone, like that black hole of nothingness was beckoning him closer. Reminding him who he was, what he was.

A liar, a killer.

He was hers and he had assumed that she was always his, that she had simply denied it because, well, it was him. Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater.

The one who had used her body as a horcrux.

But, what if that was the only thing tethering her to him? What if what Theo had said was true? That whatever part of his soul he had attached to hers was simply fooling her into believing she wanted him? Because, surely, they yearned to be connected again, the two pieces of his soul. Right?

Yes, Draco thought with a sigh. He thinks the edges of the abyss are pulling, lapping at his feet as he comes face to face with the consequences of his rash decisions.

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

☭ [[You KNOW we gotta make them spar

Send ☭ x for a vs. battle quote to your muse

Battle Intro: "Akio...you're threatening me when you can't even use an actual gunpowder cartridge?" Robin smirks and rolls his shoulders, "I won't use any nasty magic on you, Akio, I don't want to agitate your arm and I doubt you want Bel after you." Victory: Robin sighs as he settles down his magic and makes his way over to Akio, scooping his hat along the way, "Come on, Aki, let's get you fixed up. I'm shocked I still have it in me, it's been a while." And he opens his tome to a page for healing. Half HP: The shot takes Robin off guard as he created distance between the two of them once more, twirling the knife in his hand before he paused and put it away. He wouldn't use that against Akio. Not him. "Trying to get close? I'm no fool, Akio." Low HP: The sudden proximity change catches Robin off guard as he coughs, blocking a hit by raising a barrier between them, although it is obvious he's beginning to tire. "You owe me after this, you know I'm not a fighter, Akio!"

Defeat: Robin gasps as he falls on his knee, catching his breath and glancing upwards as Akio approaches. He smiles and takes his hand with a grin, "Well, I never d-doubted your strength, Akio--" While clearly out of breath, "Just...give me a moment." Death: These two would not even get close to this point. Assist: "Akio look out!" Robin rushes over to Akio's side to block a final hit as he taps his earring in order to begin healing him. "Don't be so reckless, what am I going to tell Asta if you get too hurt!? I am not going to be the one to deliver your body!" Taunt: "Going to blow yourself up again? At least this time I'll get a front row seat." Reacting to Taunt: [ Akio Taunt -> Robin ]  “Catching your breath there, pal?” [ Robin -> Akio ] "I know you think you're witty, but considering what I am, you might want to rethink that."

Flee: Robin flicked his wrist to snare Akio's ankles before he lifts his hand for Bel to come and carry him off, "Duty calls, Akio, I'll continue this another time, I have something that I need to do!" Reacting to Flee: "What--?! Akio you can't just leave me! Does someone need help? Give me some info here!" He calls out while following him, trying to catch up while holding the edge of his hat, quickly closing the distance between the two of them. Tie: Robin naturally falls back into a slightly defensive stance when they separated, both of them panting heavily as he smiles, licking the blood from his teeth. "Having fun?" Perfect Victory: His elbow met Akio's face somewhat unceremoniously as he turned to flip him onto his back, stopping himself from stomping on his neck, offering a small smile. "Just because you closed the distance, doesn't mean I don't have a few tricks up my sleeve. Arrogance is a slow killer, Akio." Low HP Victory: Robin taps his earring a few times, catching his breath and keeping himself standing as he gazes down towards Akio's slumped form. He turned to spit a little blood off of the dock, "L-Let me heal you, Akio...come on." Finishing Move: Robin lets Akio get in close and ducks under his hit as Akio strikes forward, his tome fluttering open as he looked up to his friend with a smirk, opening his palm to blow up a mild miasma, blinding and choking him. He swiped at his ankles to bring him down before standing back up and adjusting his gloves, "Underestimating your opponent will get you killed one day, Akio--for now you'll just have allergies for the next week."

[lxserkawa-inactive]

My Special Cheerleader {Various}

GENRE: Pure Family Fluff

WORD COUNT: 800+

SUMMARY: Tough games seem impossibly easy with that little voice breaking through the crowd.

A/N: haikyuu boys as dads melts my heart i love them

S.H - Rituals

“You got this daddy!”

People in the crowds turned to stare at the shorter than average kid, with an unruly mane of bright orange locks, some annoyed at the loud disruption, others adoring the cute kid and his energy. He had run to the barrier that separated the stands from the court, and waved his arms wildly, high above his head. There was no chance his dad hadn’t spotted him at this point. 

A bright head of orange hair, practically identical to the small boy’s (if not tamer), quickly looked up, scanning the crowds. Laying eyes on his son, Shoyo Hinata’s smile widened by a thousand, waving back to his son. Haruto Hinata giggled as his dad came over from his warmup, reaching his hand down to brush against his dad’s fingertips. It was like a ritual for them, any time Haruto came to a game.

“Where’s your mama, kiddo?” As if on cue, you appeared at the top of the seating section, looking as if you were out of breath. The slight glare you gave your boys gave Shoyo a good indication of why Haruto had been here alone at first. After you caught your breath, you came to join the two, leaning over the railing to quickly press a kiss against your husband’s lips.

A shout from his team told him it was time to leave, so with the cutest pout on his face, Shoyo left his loves in the stands, watching them sit in their reserved seats in the front row. He blew one more kiss in your direction, which you caught and pressed onto Haruto’s forehead. Another ritual they had before a game.

“Go daddy!”

“You got this, Sho!”

***

K.B - Sick

“That’s my dad! Right there!”

It surprised no one that Ichika Bokuto took after her father. Only in personality, however, the ten-year-old was almost an exact copy of you. If it weren’t for her boisterous personality, it was likely that no one would have realized she was the daughter of the Black Jackals #12. And of course, that energy was easily reciprocated by her father, who sprinted to her side.

Ichika never spent games in the stands. She only did when you were there, but today she’d snuck in alone. Normally, she’d never sneak in, but she had heard how stressed her dad about this game and wanted to surprise him. And he was indeed surprised, considering it was midday on a school day.

“Baby owl, I love that you’re here, but you should be at school. Why aren’t you at school? Does Momma owl know?”

The sheepish smile on Ichika’s face made Kotaro sigh, but smile softly. You were gonna kill him for this… Ichika explained how she faked a cold to stay home, before leaving for the gym to make it in time for his game.

“Oh, your mother is going to kill me if I let you stay.”

“I’m prepared to take that risk.” Ichika made her way to the bench, greeting her dad’s teammates on her way. The warmup continued, Ichika almost bouncing off the seat in excitement. She would never match her dad in enthusiasm for volleyball, but by gods was she close.

“Kick their asses, dad!”

“Language, baby owl!”

***

A.M - Favourites

“Papa, do your best!”

Two overlapping voices carried across the gym, just as Atsumu jumped for his killer serve. In years past, any distraction like that would have had him fuming, and completely failing the serve. People who had been following Atsumu for long enough would know of his hatred for noise during his serve, so they eyed the two kids warily.

However, instead of it failing as it had before, the serve grew in strength, landing on the other side as if it were a spike rather than a serve. Both his teammates, rivals and the audience fell into a silence. It was an immediate point for the Jackals and left everyone stunned, including the referees. 

As the point eventually got counted, Atsumu pointed into the audience, directly at the two kids. The three of them shared a smile before the game continued. Yui and Reo Miya giggled as they watched their dad, playing the best he could knowing his baby girl and boy were watching him.

As the game came to an end, rather quickly after Atsumu’s spike in energy, not only did Yui and Reo appear at his side, but Osamu. Much to his disappointment, you weren’t present due to being on a business trip, but one look at his kids clinging to him immediately brightened his mood.

However, the clinginess stopped once his friends came out from the locker room.

“Uncle Shoyo!” Yui yelled, jumping off her dad’s leg to cling onto Hinata’s instead. Osamu laughed at his twin’s distress, making Atsumu scowl.

“Well, at least I have you, R-”

“Uncle Yoomi!” No one could ignore the smile on Sakusa’s face as the small boy came over to him, slowly and cautious to make sure Sakusa actually wanted people near him. Normally after a game, Sakusa would say no, but he had a soft spot for the young Miya.

“Looks like someone isn’t the favourite.”

“Shut it, ‘Samu.”

[honalele]

Barriers

The cold steel of Phil’s sword slid smoothly through Wilbur’s chest like his skin was made of melted butter. He felt his heart stop and everything below the neck go completely numb. He tried to speak, but instead of words, his lungs poured warm streaks of blood out from the corners of his lips. The light started to dim around him and the world became a soft blur of color and noise as he felt himself slip away from his father’s cradling arms. His head rolled back towards the sky and fireworks flooded his deteriorating vision. His soul tried to strip itself from his body, but he grew panicked and afraid. Instant fear and regret crawled under his skin and up into his brain. His mind tried to save him, but the blood wouldn’t stop spilling.

Then, he began to hear a chorus of instruments start to play over the desperate screams of war in the distance. A symphony. A song just for him. This was it. This was the part where he died and became the martyr for all those ignorant revolutionaries. The war would continue without him. He could finally let himself float on the soft vibrato of warm strings and low tones of vibrant brass. A strange sense of serenity swept over him as his soul slid into the music’s comfortable embrace. Death’s dark wings fell like a heavy curtain over his eyes and the orchestra drifted into the decrescendo of its final note. The long awaited conclusion had finally arrived. The symphony was finished.

Wilbur waited for the release of the last note, but the orchestra continued to play long passed anything musical. The note swirled in place like a loose piece of string caught in the wind of a quiet mountain range. Then it started to rise in volume. The violins pressed the hairs of their bows hard into strings of steel and the trumpets blared over the loud tuba dissonance. The piccolos started screaming in sharps as the trombones rolled in harsh flats. The music boiled over, mixing itself into a terribly brash noise that cut through the air like wind through a tunnel.

Wilbur’s disoriented soul fell apart like tulle and then wound itself as tight as a spring board. He was being pulled apart at the seams and stitched back together over and over in rhythmic disarray. The noise continued to echo all around him as his senses began to collect themselves in the aftershocks of afterlife. Florescent lights flashed quickly across his otherwise blind eyes and he felt himself being pushed against some centripetal force. There was a loud thumping in his ears and a deep sickening pain in his chest. He couldn’t decide whether to scream or vomit. The noise grew louder and louder until Will was finally able to open his eyes.

The first thing he saw was a stream of grey concrete rushing past a glossy rendition of his own bug-eyed reflection. He was sitting in a polished silver seat at one end of what appeared to be an empty underground train car. The smell of grime and polisher woke him from any leftover sleepiness, but he remained frozen in place. His limbs felt like gelatin and his chest was weighted as if it had just caved in on itself. He sat there for god knows how long just watching the concrete walls flood along. The sound of the train screamed in lengthy breaths that faded in and out with high-pitched squeals.

After a while of traveling, the tunnel that the train was speeding down opened to a wide empty station. Wilbur flailed for the railing of the seat in front of him as he was lurched forward due to the train’s screeching halt. All was quiet for a few moments, then Wilbur jumped at the hissing sound of pressurized doors opening. He stayed in his seat for a while, fully confused. Perhaps this was all some sort of strange dream one might have before the neurons in their brain stop firing and they died for good. He didn’t have long to wonder about it as a disembodied voice came on to the loudspeaker. The only words he could make out were “get off”, and the rest were nothing but indistinguishable radio chatter.

Wilbur obeyed the voice. What else could he do? Stay on the train? He clung to the seat in front of him for support as he stood up in a dizzy haze. His body felt thin like paper. He had to look down at the floor to make sure his feet were grounded, otherwise he might assume he’d been floating. Wilbur made his way to the double doors, frantically clinging to each seat along the way as if he would get swept away like sand in the wind if he didn’t. When he finally made it to the doors, he paused to take one final look around the train car. There was absolutely nothing here. Wilbur swallowed in uncertainty which only made him realize how dry his throat had become. He turned around and peeked his head out just beyond the barrier doors. It seemed same as the train with nothing out there, completely abandoned. He took a cautions step forward, like a fawn venturing out into a questionable field. He would’ve kept one foot on the train, but the doors closed as soon as Wilbur was far enough out.

“Wait.” He called in panic and reached his left hand into the station’s barrier doors as they closed. A deep-throated cry fell out of Wilbur’s lungs as he shouted in not only pain, but regret. He wanted to get back on the train. He wanted to go back to the war. He wanted to feel his father’s comforting embrace, even if it was only for a few seconds more; even if it meant he’d have to face the failure of his broken nation. Wilbur cried at the crushing weight of the doors on his arm. He felt his tendons pop and the bone underneath splinter apart like bits of brittle. The static voice appeared on the radio again murmuring something in the tones of a fast apology, then the doors opened just enough to free Wilbur before closing completely.

He gulped air, trying to push the pain out of his mind. He looked down at his arm, it was twisted and bleeding. Surely he couldn’t be dead, not if he could still feel pain? Wilbur’s attention was stolen by movement from the train and he watched as it promptly left the station. He tried to catch a glance at the conductor, but the gapping underground tunnel had already swallowed the front of the train down its large ominous throat. Brassy rails rattled loudly and continued to ring in the empty station chamber long after the train had fully disappeared. Wilbur turned his gaze to his reflection in the glass of the barrier doors. Though there were more important things to be concerned about at the moment, he only noticed that his clothes had been changed. He wore a long dark jacket that was buttoned by two elegant brass chains and draped over a mustard-yellow shirt. He looked down at the tattered left arm sleeve. Pain licked his wounds like fire round a log, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

Wilbur turned around and took in his new surroundings. It was a quiet station covered in white tiles and grey concrete. There was some sort of food or ticket station on the far wall, but it was barred off with a curtain of steel netting and he couldn’t see anyone inside. The ceiling was held up with rows of grossly blue-painted support beams, and there were markers on the floor that told him to “mind the gap”. Wilbur began to wonder over to the barred off stand despite the disoriented feelings of shock swimming around his gut. As he closed in on the stand, he saw posters of food and advertisements for little trinkets. He tugged on the netting with his good hand. Fortunately, it was unlocked. He rolled the curtain up above his head and then carefully climbed his way over the polished counter.

He caught a stinging hot flash on his left arm when he accidentally grazed it on a small basket filled with various colored lighters. He clutched the poor arm with his right hand as he hopped off the counter and started searching for anything that might be useful. Whoever worked here must’ve had a first aid kit somewhere. He checked in cupboards and on top of pantries that were filled with all sorts of unhealthy snacks and goodies. He checked behind the pop machine, around the registers, and even under the coolers until he finally found that immaculate white and red box nestled sweetly between a rack of magazines and a display tree of playing cards and cigarettes. He quickly grabbed it and threw it over to the empty counter. He began digging through all of the supplies until he found the bandages he was looking for. He did his best to tie them around his sore arm, making awkward positions with his fingers and tightening the ends with his teeth. It wasn’t the most attractively wrapped wound, but it kept the bleeding down.

Then he stirred through the kit a bit longer in hopes of finding any pain killers, but fate was absolutely determined to fuck him over. He could feel the anxiety coming over him now. It almost overtook the throbbing in his arm. Wilbur shoved the emergency kit’s entrails back inside their plastic chest and slammed it shut. He tossed the box over to the magazine stand in frustration, but his aim was dreadful and he ended up knocking the whole thing over. Various articles of hot gossip and designer clothing spilled out onto the black and white tiled floor. Wilbur stared at the mess he’d made, considering whether or not to clean it up. Whether or not it mattered. Then his eye caught a glimpse at that display tree of Mayfair and Modiano.

Wilbur wasted no time, and hurried over to the tree, swiftly plucking one of its morbid fruits off its stainless-steel branches. He almost turned back to the counter before deciding that a pack of playing cards would hardly be missed, especially over a pack of smokes. He nabbed the pretty blue deck of Modiano that matched the blue-boxed Mayfairs and skipped over to the counter where he’d seen the small basket of lighters from earlier. He stuffed the cards in the right pocket of his jacket and opened the box of those tantalizing orange and white sticks, all perfectly bundled up like a freshly sharpened carton of back-to-school pencils just waiting to be used. He slid one of the sticks out before setting the box on the counter. He placed the fag between his lips and struck the lighter in one fast click, the sound filling him with that secure feeling of familiarity. He brought the flame close and held it in place until the cigarette burned and the smoke fell into his lungs.

Wilbur held in the fumes as they swirled together like heavy thunderclouds in his chest before finally breathing out a long stream smoke one might see from the smokebox of a steam train. Even though he’d been smoking for most of his life and even up to the hour of his death, that first hit was always something special. Something longed for. Something that never failed to satisfy. Wilbur stayed behind the counter and smoked away until he’d finished the entire fag, then he reached for the box and pulled out another stick. He lit that one as well and smoked until all of his nerves had quieted down and the fire in his arm cooled to a dull ache. Then, he stuffed the lighter in the right pocket of his trousers along with the Mayfairs and climbed over the counter.

He strode into the open area and spun around the steel-blue pillars like a lazy kid swinging on the monkey bars, sluggishly going from one to the next. His mind was loaded with thoughts and questions as if a dozen weighted blankets had just been dropped on his head. Had he really died? If not, then where was he? Would another train come by soon? Would it even let him on?

Then he noticed that further down the station, there was a tunnel. He leaned away from the pillar he’d been swinging round to get a better look, his right hand acting as a tether to keep him from falling. He could see stairs at the foot of the tunnel, and a sign overhead that read “way out” with an arrow pointing up. Wilbur’s heart didn’t exactly leap for joy, but he was intrigued, so he let go of the pillar and thoughtfully made his way over to the tunnel. When he reached the base of the stairs, he saw that the “way out” had been closed off with a barrier of heavy metal shutters. A part of Will stayed at the base of the stairs in pessimistic lethargy, but the other side of him hoped that the shutters would be unlocked like the netting at the food station, and that he would be capable of lifting them on his own despite the electric shocks in his left arm.

He was about to take that first step when suddenly, the thundering blast of a toilet flushing filled the station. The sound caused his heart to leap out of his chest and nearly choke on his own saliva. He turned around and searched the station for a lavatory, but was caught off guard when, from out of his periphery, a blue door swung open. Wilbur stubbled back in shock at the sight before him. The man with those distinguished ram horns that never failed to call attention to his corporate composed face walked out of the nearest toilet, completely wrapped up in wiping his hands off with a fluffy white towel. By the time the man looked up and actually noticed Wilbur, Wilbur’s ass had found a place on the floor and the cigarette was dangling from his lips as his jaw had gone lax in utter disbelief.

“Holy shit.” Was all the man could say upon seeing Wilbur. And Wilbur, though speechless, felt the same. For the man that stood before him had died only hours before he’d died himself.

“Schlatt.” Wilbur said. They stayed like that for a while. Analyzing the lines of each other’s ghostly faces. The two of them had died. Wilbur was actually dead. And they were both here. All of the questions came bubbling up in Wilbur’s mind once again about how he had gotten here and where “here” actually was. But he remained silent. Schlatt’s cold eyes burrowed into Wilbur’s and for a moment, they seemed to share a privet conversation, or rather an understanding, that all of the heartache and blood spilt in the land of the living due to their rich rivalry meant absolutely nothing. They were just two insignificant souls trapped in the same universe and destined to die for power trips and shit coke.

And then Schlatt started to laugh. Each cackle, every snort, was like the claws of a house cat digging through Wilbur’s chest in a frantic attempt to find his heart. Wilbur sat back and took it. He noticed that Schlatt’s clothes had changed as well. Instead of his normal formal wear, he was in a white tank top and gym shorts. Wilbur would have pointed and laughed as well if the situation hadn’t been so mind-boggling. He watched as tears developed in Schlatt’s eyes from laughing so hard and the man use the towel to wipe them away.

“That’s a good one.” He sighed as he pressed the towel up under his eyes. “Anyway.” Schlatt tossed the cloth at Wilbur and it plopped directly into his lap as Schlatt turned away from him and bounced up the steps. For a moment Wilbur found himself incapable of reacting, but as soon as his wits came about, he grabbed the towel and raced up the stairs to catch up to his old rival.

“Do you know what this place is?” He asked hurriedly. And when Schlatt didn’t answer, all of the questions came flooding out of Wilbur’s mouth with such force that not even the Hoover dam could’ve stopped them. “Did we actually die? Is this Hell or something else? When my arm got crushed in the barriers, why did it hurt? Why have my clothes been changed? What the hell are you wearing? When did you-”

“Get here?” Schlatt cut Will off from his waterfall of wonder without taking his eyes off the steel curtain at the ridge of the staircase. Wilbur forced himself to shut up as he climbed alongside the man in silent suspense. “Five days ago.” And then ice coursed through Wilbur’s veins, causing his legs to malfunction and his mind to glitch as the answer began to register in his brain. Schlatt kept walking. If it hadn’t been for the fear of losing track of the only other living being in the place, Will would’ve stayed frozen. Instead he raced back into step with Schlatt and tried desperately to gain eye contact with him again.

“That’s impossible. We died hours apart.”

“You still believe in the word ‘impossible’ Will?” Schlatt answered. And he had a point. Though he couldn’t seem to wrap his mind around it, Wilbur was beginning to understand that everything he thought he knew about the universe was just a bunch of old lies delicately put together like a papeir-mâché mask, and it was falling apart right in front of him, rotting at a million seconds per minute, the flakes of his prior knowledge floating away with the ghosts of his past self.

“As for the other stuff,” Schlatt spoke above the panicked screams in Wilbur’s head, “didn’t you listen to the guy on the radio? He explained everything.” Schlatt asked, finally glancing in Wilbur’s direction.

“I couldn’t make anything out.”

“That’s what growing up in the country will do to you.” Schlatt scoffed. “Allow me to translate.” He said as they reached the top of the staircase and Schlatt pulled a pair of keys out of his pocket. Wilbur watched as he bent down to the ground and unlocked the shutter door. “Basically, this is limbo. We’re stuck here until we reach our ‘second death’ whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean. You can get hurt, but you can’t heal so be more fucking careful.” Schlatt grunted as he pulled the steel curtain up over his head. “The rest is a mystery.” He said as he stepped into the room behind the curtain.

Yes, room. Not a “way out” like the sign had promised. Wilbur peeked inside and saw various workout equipment and tastless posters decorating the place.

“What is this?” Wilbur asked. But Schlatt was already closing the shutters behind him.

“Mine.” Was the last thing he said before cutting off their conversation with a loud clang. Wilbur stood alone, looking at his warped reflection in the stainless steel door, just like he had done at the glass barriers not moments ago, only this time with more earth-shattering knowledge than before. All from the mouth of that grease ridden asshole who had probably just finished clogging the toilets with his deplorable shit.

Limbo. He had called it. Five days ago. Wilbur counted the hours in his head as he turned around and made his way down the concrete stairs in heavy contemplation and inhaled the cigarette’s sweet nectar. Was it five hours or three? Six? Maybe two? And as his boots hit the station’s floor, Wilbur came to the heartbreaking conclusion that a day on earth could quite possibly equal a month in “limbo”. He stared out at the grimy abandoned station, the dank air stale on his tongue and the quiet, screaming into his mind. This was no afterlife. This was prison.

Wilbur wondered over to the tube’s barrier doors in a hazy daze and plopped himself down next to them. He reached for the smooth glass with his right hand and pressed his fingertips against it. He gently rolled his fingers into a loose fist that gradually tightened with the knot of anger and sadness developing in his stomach. Then his cigarette fell out of his mouth as he allowed his lungs to heave one singular sob. The sound resonated so loud in his ears that he could have mistaken it for an oncoming train. The tears were trapped in his eyes, and the world became a soft blur of color and noise, absent of cradling arms. Will’s heart shattered and the universe seemed to stop spinning for a moment, as if it heard the sound like a mother’s china being carelessly knocked to the floor by her rambunctious children. There was nothing left to hold onto. He had lost everything.

And then Will did the only thing he knew how to do. He rolled over so that he was leaning his back on the barriers and reached into his right jacket pocket for the pack of cigarettes. However, when he pulled open the lid, the sticks were gone and they had been replaced with sleek slabs of thin plastic. He’d accidentally grabbed the playing cards. Wilbur pushed a few of them out of the box with his thumb. The first card he saw was the joker, silently cackling at him. Wilbur pulled the card out along with his brother and held both of those smiling sons of bitches between his fingers. He laid the rest of the deck on the floor and then picked up his discarded cigarette and pushed its smolder into the faces of those ugly bastards. Those fools. Those worthless, stupid, insignificant beings that thought perhaps a poetic death would endorse their suffering. Those selfish idiots that thought failure was so harsh a word, they could somehow snuff it out with the blade of their father’s sword. That perhaps beyond the stars, beyond years, beyond people, beyond time, there was something the universe had to offer them. Something the universe could give to them so that they weren’t always grasping at tobacco wrapped fucking straws or packages of red wrapped gunpowder. And then the orange and red flames enveloped them both. They curled in hot pain and eventually burned into a sad stack of ash.

Then Wilbur turned his gaze upon the living and he knew he’d done right by them.

He dumped the jokers’ family out onto the grey concrete in front of him. The diamonds glowing with purpose. The clubs sitting in silent strength. The spades clear of grime and gore. The hearts full and unbroken. And the royal court looking stoic as ever. Will pulled them all together and thought of a game to play. He shuffled the cards in his hands, ignoring the vicious pain looping his left arm. The cards had edges so soft that they trickled like rain through his fingertips. Then he laid the cards down spreading their smooth surfaces out like seamless lines of coke and his sadness seemed to soak into the intricacies of their pretty blue design. This would be his first game of solitaire. The first game out of 58,728.

[moeyy-writes]

Here and Now - Part 5

Zak Bagans x Reader

Warnings: a very brief hint of sexual tension, a kiss, just fluff.

Word Count: 1,900

A/N: Sorry if this part is so choppy. Most of this was written (and edited) around or after midnight over the course of several days. And, oh, sorry for the slow burn. Don’t worry, we’re just getting started. :)

Series Master List || My Full Master List

Once the two of you were back in Zak’s car, everything about today started to sink in. You had just spent hours geeking out at Zak’s museum, exploring the extraordinary and macabre items he showcased. And, that wasn’t even the best part. Zak was totally adorable, and he was so proud of his collection. Watching him beam with pride over his priceless artifacts made your heart soar.

And that smile was still curled across his lips.

“So, you aren’t going to tell me where we’re going, are you?” you poked, secretly a bit tired of the surprises. Zak chuckled beside you.

“You’ll find out soon enough.” His eyes were on the road, shaded by his glasses. “But, I have a few questions.” He glanced over a winked. “What was your favorite exhibit in there?”

You turned your head forward towards the road as you thought. You honestly didn’t know the answer to the question. There were so many great pieces and stories that Zak has shared with you, that there was no possible way you could pick just one. You were sure you couldn’t even pick a top three.

“Oh, that a tough one.” You turned back to him, chuckling. “I loved all of it, but I have to say, all of your memorabilia from serial killers is seriously impressive.” You grinned as you remembered Zak’s handsome smile wide across his lips while he narrated the story behind each item.

“The serial killer room, huh?” His eyebrows shot far above the rim on his glasses. “Should I be worried?” he teased, squeezing your hand. You laughed, then peered down at your hand in his, balancing on the gear shift. When had he taken your hand? You smiled as you watched his thumb smooth soft circles over the back of your hand.

“No need to be worried,” you replied in a whisper, your eyes locked on your hands. Your heart pounded in your chest. “You aren’t dating a serial killer.”

Zak sighed jokingly and chuckled. “Oh, good. What a relief. I don’t plan on becoming a ghost just yet.” You cackled at his cheesy joke, rolling your eyes.

The restaurant that Zak pulled up to was, indeed, very familiar. The quaint, yet modern little restaurant clear across town from the strip was well lit, and at least half-full already. The windows were lined with thick, crimson curtains, and the carpet was just a shade off from true black. It was posh, and that was the second time you ever even thought about using that word.

The first time was when you had first officially met the crew, other than Jay of course. It was the day of your ‘interview’ for the position.

Jay had set it all up for you after the two of you had talked for hours about how much you hated your shifts at the hospital. Like you told your mom, it wasn’t the people, it was the monotony of it all. And, as bad as it sounded in your head, it just wasn’t your passion.

And, that was just how it you explained it to the crew the last time you were in that little restaurant, too nervous to eat and too caught up in your nervous thoughts to appreciate the place. But, from what you remember telling Jay and Zak months later, the three bites of your meal were pretty memorable.

Zak pulled into a parking spot a few rows from the front door, where there were no other cars around, and shut off the car. He had a habit of doing that, or so you picked up.

Zak turned to you, not getting out of the car quite yet, and smiled.

“I know it’s not super fancy, but I think it means something for both of us. It was the first time I formally met you and realized that we were missing something on our team.” He offered a sincere smile. “And, well, this might sound cheesy, but you know I’m a cheese call.” He chuckled to himself. “But, that day, you took my breath away—” He stopped himself and huffed a nervous laugh. Zak Bagans, nervous? This was something I wasn’t you were used to seeing, or something you knew how to respond to.

So, you just sat there for a moment and smiled, taking in the gorgeous sight of Zak laughing at himself, and absorbing his last spoken words.

“Sorry, uh, how about we head inside, huh? I’m getting pretty hungry.” Zak grinned, leaning forward a little to catch your gaze. You smiled and nodded, then reached for the door handle.

You followed Zak to the front door to the little restaurant, where the greeter at the front obviously recognized him, and probably recognized you too, but didn’t say anything. You watched as the young woman nearly leapt out of her skin as she fumbled for a few menus and saw you to your seats.

Once you were shown to your seat, the woman lingered for a moment longer, like she wanted to say something, but finally walked away. You were sure Zak could tell, and he usually liked interacting with fans, but she probably saw that it was just the two of you and didn’t want the truth to get out just yet.

Zak smiled at you from across the small, two-seater table. His icy blue gaze locked on yours and lingered, making you blush.

“This doesn’t feel weird to you, does it?” The question came out of left field, catching you completely off guard.

“I mean, a little, just because the other guys aren’t here. It’s not like we hang out, just the two of us, like ever.” You smiled, lowering your menu. “But, that doesn’t make it a bad thing. I’ve had a blast so far. And, I feel like I’m finally getting to know you. Yeah, we work together, but we don’t get to talk just the two of us very often. It’s like I know you, but I don’t really know you.”

You sucked in a breath, waiting for Zak to reply. Instead, his smile widened as he kept his gaze locked on your reddening cheeks.

“I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

Zak chuckled. “Yeah, a little bit.” He closed his menu and let out a long sigh. “But, you aren’t wrong.” You grinned.

“I rarely am.” Zak laughed, his arm moving to his stomach as he leaned back in his seat. You loved that deep, true laugh you were seeing more and more often lately. You wished he would laugh like that all the time.

And, maybe, that was your goal for tonight.

Zak pulled into the parking lot of your condo building and parked in the spot closest to the front door. He leapt from the car to open your door for you. What a gentleman.

The two of you silently walked to the front door, stopping just a few feet from the glass barrier. The fluorescent bulbs in the dimly lit lobby illuminated Zak’s sharp features.

“Well, thank you for everything Zak. I know it sounds cheesy, but I haven’t had that much fun in a long time.” You felt your phone buzz in your bag, but you ignored it. Instead, you focused on the handsome man who stood just inches from you.

“Oh, you know me darlin’, cheesy is at least half of my personality,” he chuckled. “But I’m glad I didn’t bore you to death.” He winked.

“Bore me? No way! I’ve been waiting to see that museum of yours forever! And to be spoiled with a personal tour, well, let’s just say you made my year.” You could feel your heart pound in your chest. You wanted to kiss him, oh you wanted to shove him against the wall behind him and grip hard onto those broad shoulders. But, even though you knew Zak, you couldn’t let that kind of move make things weird between you.

Instead, you shifted your weight, fishing in your bag for your front door keys.

“Well, I guess this is goodnight. I’ll see you… soon? We have another episode to film in, what, a week?” You fumbled with your keys at your side.

“Yeah, but maybe we can have a second date before then? Tomorrow, I’m going to see my mom, and the next day I promised Aaron I’d go golfing with him, but maybe the day after that? We can grab lunch or something?” Well, it was a good sign that he was asking about a second date. Sure, it would have been awkward if he said he’d rather just be friends after this, but Zak wasn’t exactly the kind of person who would keep his thoughts to himself. If this didn’t feel right, he would have said so.

And that meant you were officially dating, which still blew your mind.

“Sure!” you agreed. “I don’t have anything planned for the rest of the week, which sounds kind of sad when I say it, but I’m totally down.” Zak beamed as he nodded.

“Cool. I’ll text you, and we can plan something.” He nodded. “I’m glad you had fun.” His head bowed just a little as his eyes searched for your gaze. “Goodnight.”

Zak took a step closer and reached out his hand, cupping your left cheek. Oh my god, this was it. Zak Bagans was going to kiss you.

The right side of your lip curled the moment his lips landed on yours. Zak’s thumb smoothed over your cheek as his lips moved ever so slowly, in sync with yours. He was warm, soft, and everything you had been daydreaming of when you drifted off in the car on your way to investigations. And, something about this contact just felt right.

Zak pulled away, keeping the contact short and sweet. He smiled down at you, silently searching for approval. You grinned, cheeks rosy and warm under his touch.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he saluted in a low whisper before stepping away. He waved as he made his way back to his car. Then, with your head in the clouds, you turned towards the door.

The moment you entered your building, you pulled your phone out of your bag. A new text from Jay popped up on your phone. Of course, the closest thing you had to a brother was checking in on you.

(9:25pm) Jay: Hey, are you still alive? How did it go?

(9:36pm) Y/N: It went great!! I had a lot of fun! Who knew Zak Bagans is a true gentleman?

(9:37pm) Jay: Oh, don’t feed into it. ;)

(9:38pm) Y/N: Well, until I have proof to the contrary, I say he actually has manners.

You slipped your phone into your pocket as you turned the lock on your door. Now that you were home, you realized you were exhausted. It had been an exciting day, and nothing sounded better than curling up on the couch and falling asleep to some trash TV.

The moment you pushed the door open, a swirling pink tornado encompassed you, completely coating you and the surrounding floor. What the… The fuzzy hall light illuminated the millions of pink particles that now surrounded you. Was that… glitter?

You blinked the horrendous substance from your eyelashes as rage built up from deep within your soul. You sucked in a deep, glitter-ridden breath and sighed.

“Fuck you, Aaron Goodwin.”

Thanks for reading! Feedback is appreciated! <3

[aelin-queen-of-terrasen]

Can you please do the "I was so stupid to fall in love with my best friend" for Elorcan cause I'm a SLUT for them!

note: thank you for the request! this was my first time writing Elorcan, I hope you'll like it. if you'd like to check my other works, here's the masterlist.

Unrequited Love

Elide is half passed out on her friend's couch, drunk and exhausted when she hears his footsteps.

She can tell it's him when the couch drops beside her from the weight of him and the scent of his cologne surrounds her. Elide had decided to not drink at all but then Aelin had insisted a few shots won't hurt and the woman could be really convincing when she wanted something. Elide hadn't been able to refuse her. Somewhere between all the drinks, she had had the good sense to call Lorcan to fetch her. Gods knew what he'd do if he knew she walked home drunk and alone in the middle of the night.

Lorcan shakes her awake now, voice soft but loud. "Wake up, Elide. I need to get you home."

Elide doesn't want to go home and she tries to tell him as much. The words come out in a slur, incomprehensible to her own self. Distantly, she hears Aelin's voice, offering Lorcan a drink, then something about him being no fun.

She can imagine the scowl on Lorcan's face even with her eyes closed. He is closer now, she knows.

Elide doesn't dare open her eyes, should he notice and know she is awake. Besides, she is so damn tired, she couldn't walk if she wanted to. Lorcan also seems to realise that and scoops her up in his arms. She buries her face in his chest when they step outside, the cold air biting her skin. "It's so cold," she says, unsure if Lorcan understands the slurred words.

Her best friend pulls her closer, walking towards his car parked outside.

Elide can't help but think this feels so good, like she was made to fit in his arms. The harsh features of his face look beautiful lit up in the moonlight, his dark eyes trained ahead. He is beautiful and she loves him. Elide has known that for a few months now, has never had the nerve to tell him.

She tightens her hold on him and lets out a small sound, making him halt. Elide tilts her head up, eyes trained on his lips and she leans in. Lorcan stares at her, unmoving. The alcohol has made her bold and she doesn't intend to waste the moment, almost about to kiss him—

"Is she fine?" A female voice asks.

Lorcan's head snaps up, then a small smile caresses his face. "Yeah, a little drunk but fine. I'm sorry we had to cut our date short but I'll make it upto you the next time?"

Heat floods through her cheeks in embarassment and Elide can only hope that the girl doesn't realise Elide had been about to kiss her childhood best friend. Has she figured it out? Does Lorcan know what Elide was about to do, the disaster she was about to create before they were interrupted?

The girl smiles from what Elide can tell. She seems like a kind person. "It's not a problem. Call me when you can."

Elide's chest aches at the happiness in Lorcan's voice as he helps her into the backseat of his car, strapping the seatbelt on. "Of course, Essar."

She watches as Essar takes a seat in the front—the seat he never let anyone but her sit in. She watches the smiles the beautiful girl passes him, the adoration in his gaze when he looks back at his date. He looks at her the way Elide wished he would look at her. She wants to scream in frustration or claw someone's eyes out or drink even more until she can't feel a thing. She wants to get out of the car in the middle of nowhere but she stays silent, pretending to be asleep and oblivious.

Lorcan turns back in his seat when the car halts to drop Essar off. "You alright, Elide? I'm sorry I brought her along. We were on a date when you called and…"

"I understand." She does understand. It doesn't stop her from wishing she had had the sense to make her move on him months ago when she had first realised.

She is quiet for the rest of the ride home. When Lorcan tries to pick her, she gets out on her own, stumbling towards her front door. He hovers nearby to ensure she doesn't fall face first (which she would have if he hadn't been there to catch her) and only leaves once she is inside does he leave. She watches his car disappear before making her way towards the kitchen, slumping onto one of the chairs.

Manon, her roommate and another best friend looks worried. "You look like shit. What happened?"

The words break some inner barrier inside her, tears flooding down her cheeks. "I was so stupid to make the mistake of falling in love with my best friend. Now I get front row seats to watch him fall in love with someone else." Elide buries herself in Manon's arms, sobbing out of frustration and anger before she gets herself together and the two of them spend what is left of the night watching bad action movies and making fun of them.

Elide knows two things for sure now: she lost her one chance with Lorcan Salvaterre and she has no one to blame for it but herself.

──────✧❅✦❅✧──────

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let me know if you'd like to be added/removed from this list. thank you for reading!

[trashy-slashy]

hiya, can I get some Deathslinger x reader nsfw where he catches her stealing alcohol from the saloon and decides to teach her a lesson? like some dubcon/noncon. thanks, i'm just really thirsting for the cowboy 👀

You know what they say, save a horse ride a cowboy 🥴

Caleb QuinnxFem!Reader

NSFW/DubCon Warning

The forest surrounding the campfire was ominous, fog rolling in from every direction. Traversing the terrain was exhausting, but the camp needed supplies. You hoped to stumble upon Autohaven, picking up parts for trials, but the entity’s realm refused to make your life easier.

After wandering for God knows how long, you were greeted by warm light, the heat and humidity choking after the bitter cold of the woods. You groaned at the sight of the Old Dawg Saloon. There wasn’t going to be anything useful here. Despite your preconceptions, you snuck around the perimeter, keeping watch for any sign of this realms resident.

Caleb watched you creeping around the outskirts of the buildings from the top of the saloon. His redeemer sat in pieces on the table, the cowboy using his free time to keep it in working order. Survivors fascinated him, the torment they live through day in, day out, only growing wiser to the killers strategies. Feeling particularly benevolent, he went back to his work. There was a few toolboxes laying around for you to loot, but nothing of actual value.

A toolbox and a few lenses, was that it? You had checked the whole area, save for the large centre building. “Of course that would be where all the good stuff is” you scoffed under your breath. The Deathslinger’s presence seemed to be missing however, surely he would’ve intervened by now otherwise. The floorboards creaked obnoxiously under your feet as you climbed the stairs. He had damned well not be here.

You kicked yourself. The thought hadn’t even crossed your mind. Your belly ached at the sight of rows and rows of bottles. Whiskeys, rums among other a multitude of other spirits. Seemed like a surefire way to get on everyone’s good side. Grinning like a teenager you crept behind the bar, lifting one of the bottle from the wall. Throwing a quick glance to check for company, you unscrewed the cap, letting the liquid fall onto your tongue. It burned your throat, settling in your belly like fire. Delicious.

Caleb heard you come inside. He didn’t however expect you to start helping yourself to his stash of booze. His teeth ground together, brows furrowing in anger. The cowboy slipped out of the side room, watching from the banister. Disrespectful little... Surprisingly lithe, Caleb vaulted over the wooden barrier, landing at the end of the bar. You screamed, taken by surprise, trying to scrabble over the counter to freedom.

“No ya don’t” The Deathslinger seethed, closing the distance between you with one stride, his elbow slamming into your back, pinning you to the wooden surface. “Get off me!” You thrashed against him pointlessly, the killers strength far surpassing anything a meek survivor had. “So you can steal from me again?” He spat, tutting at the bottles strewn over the floor. “Take your trinkets ‘n’ shit but this is mine” Caleb splayed a hand across your shoulders, drinking in the sight of you bent over, completely at his mercy.

You waited with baited breath, unable to move under the cowboys grip. He chuckled darkly, shifting his grip, fingers digging into your sides. Hot breath grazed your neck, his weight pressing against you. “How would you like it if I took somethin’ of yours without askin’?” He drawled, a shiver breaking down your spine. You tried to squirm away from him again, crying out pointlessly for help. Caleb ground into your ass, his cock half-hard, growling into your ear. You kicked out at your assailant, yelping when you were rewarded with a hard smack to your upper thigh.

“Fuck you.” He grinned, slipping his hands under your shirt, tugging your bra down. Caleb palmed at your breasts, ghosting his tongue over the shell of your ear. His thumbs swiped over your nipples, the buds perking under his attention. “You survivors have no respect.” The cowboy pinched and twisted a nipple, relishing the wails that broke from your throat. “Someone’s gotta teach you some manners” Your mouth tasted of iron from where you’d been biting your lip, trying and failing to ignore the jolts of arousal his touch gave you. Fuck if the man wasn’t good with his fingers.

You whimpered involuntarily when his fingers left your shirt, Caleb’s eyebrow raising in response. “Looks like I caught myself a lil’ whore” The southern drawl drained all your blood south, your negelected sex throbbing painfully. The cowboy tugged down your pants, squeezing at the bare globes of flesh. A digit traced the inside of your thigh, your heart hammering against your chest. “If you want me to touch you darlin’ you’re gonna have to apologise.” Caleb kept his touches teasing, milimetres from your soaked cunt. You shook your head defiantly, earning a second swift slap from the cowboys hand. Your knees quivered, tiny mewls leaving your lips. “I’d reconsider.”

“Please.” You whispered, hissing through your teeth as he spanked you again, your ass burning red. Caleb tutted, squeezing the sore flesh, tears pricking in your eyes. “That’s not what I asked for, is it?” “I’m sorry!” You whined, rocking your hips towards him. The Deathslinger hummed appreciatively, grinding his palm against your slit. “What are you sorry for?” “I’m sorry for, ah...” A digit slipped into you mid-sentence, relief and pleasure short-circuiting your brain. A swift slap brought you back to reality, the mixture of stinging skin and Caleb’s finger stroking your insides making it hard to think. “I’m sorry for stealing.” You moaned lewdly as he pushed in another finger, curling them at the knuckle, pressing against you deliciously.

“Good girl.” Caleb’s breathing was ragged as he watched you come undone beneath him. “But... I don’t think you mean it.” He smacked you again, your legs giving way underneath you. “You’re just a whore.” Smack. “You fuckin’ disgust me.” Smack. “I’m sorry, please, I am!” Tears streaked down your cheeks, your ass burning painfully. “Prove it.” Caleb sneered, pulling you off the counter, discarding you to the floor. “Kneel.”

The cowboy freed his cock, winding his fingers in your hair. Meeting his gaze, you licked your lips, pulling back the skin to drag your tongue over the head, salty precum lingering on your tongue. He wasn’t in the mood to be teased it seemed, his grip pulling you closer, insisting you to open your mouth. Caleb’s jaw clenched as he slid past your lips, letting you accommodate as much of him as possible. He grunted when you hollowed out your cheeks, bobbing eagerly along his shaft. It didn’t seem he had much in the way of self control, his hips jerking into your throat, leaving you gagging around his cock. “Good girl.” He praised, his grip tightening when you swiped your tongue over the underside of his member. Caleb growled, letting you continue your ministrations for a few moments before pulling out of your mouth, saliva smeared over your lips.

He tugged at your hair, scooping you up to sit you on the bar, not giving you a moment before sinking inside of you, smirking as you threw your head back, cries of pleasure leaving your lips. Your cunt throbbed around his cock, Caleb firmly gripping your thighs, keeping you in place whilst he pistoned into you. Your nails dug into the counter, gouging out small chunks of wood. The cowboy snarled possessively, eyes flicking between your face and watching his cock disappear inside of you. “Harder, please....” You begged quietly. Caleb didn’t think, hooking your legs over his shoulders, each thrust reminding you of the raw flesh of your ass. The new angle allowed him to hit the sweet spot inside of you, stars flashing in front of your eyes. Caleb was panting, his pace erratic as he got closer, releasing your ankle to rub your clit. You screamed as you came, tightening walls sending the cowboy over the edge, hot cum pumping inside of you.

Caleb gave you a devilish smirk, his cock softening inside of you. “I think you learnt ya lesson.” You nodded pathetically, completely spent. “I suppose you could take one or two bottles seeing as you asked so nicely.” He laughed at his own joke, leaning over to graze your ear with his teeth. “As long as you keep my cum inside that pretty little cunt of yours.”

[nicolewrites]

my heart, a spinning arrow

introspective thoughts led to this. i’m tired, but i need to write more claude. 

Rating: T Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Friendship Characters: Claude von Riegan & Byleth Eisner & Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Edelgard von Hresvelg Words: 3,203

After the Battle at Gronder Field, Claude contemplates the path that has led here and the one that leads forward.

AO3

The fire in the Knight’s Hall is almost burnt to embers. Claude takes a drink from his flask and stares into the flickering orange glow. The flask is almost empty and he pauses, placing it down on the table in front of him as he leans forward, resting his arms on his knees. He stabs the poker into the fire, flipping the log and rejuvenating the fading flames. He places the power back down on the table in front of him and pushes his hands through his hair, exhaling slowly.

He’s wearing only a loose beige shirt and simple trousers. He had dropped his armour off with the smith after the battle and hasn’t returned to pick it up yet. He pulls his hands back and stares at the white scars on his wrists, palms, and fingertips. They seem to glow against the darkness of his skin.

Years of archery have given him rough calluses and more than a few of his scars are from simple mishandling of sharp arrows in battle. He still hasn’t rid his hands of their tremors completely even after years of watching his hand-fletched arrows sink into throats and arms and chests. He’s a master of finding the small gaps in armour, but he wishes he wasn’t.

This isn’t what he had intended when he had come to Fódlan. He had intended to bolster relationships with the Kingdom and the Empire and the Alliance using tricks and pretty words to knock down barriers and open the continent to the world. He had intended to strip away stereotypes and build a new, better world.

Now, instead, he has the blood of his old classmates on his hands.

Claude had hoped, futilely, that Dimitri might just stay dead after the Empire captured Fhirdiad. Of course, he could never be so lucky.

The chilling words Dimitri had shrieked a Gronder, a perfect pinnacle of a madman, still echo in Claude’s ears. Gronder had been kill or be killed and the way that Dimitri had advanced made that clear enough. He had advanced without mercy and cut down soldiers clothed in red and yellow without even flinching. Dimitri’s strength had been formidable and his army was relentless and Claude had known that he could not leave the Kingdom’s king to his own efforts.

It had taken four arrows to even slow Dimitri down and Claude knows, sitting in front of the fire now, that the only reason he’s still alive is because the rest of Dimitri’s classmates had not been as crazy as him.

Dimitri, wounded as he was, never made it to Edelgard before the Adrestian Emperor retreated. According to Hilda, he had certainly pursued her after the battle. Edelgard had at least been smart enough to retreat when she had been defeated, but Claude could not say the same for the King of Faerghus.

He still remembers the way that Edelgard had looked at him when he had flown over her, arrow knocked in Failnaught and aimed in her general direction. He had called her lovely and she had told him to leave.

Claude’s first shot had missed, but his second hadn’t. Only his practiced flight maneuvers had saved his life against her supernatural counter abilities. It had only taken two more shots, one imbued with the true power of his Relic, to send Edelgard on the retreat.

Claude had had the shot for the final blow, a perfect chink in her armour to bury his yellow-fletched arrow, but he couldn’t unsee Edelgard standing in the Cathedral during their time at the academy. She would stare angrily at the statue of Saint Seiros as if it was the cause of all of her problems. Claude doesn’t think she ever knew that he had followed her.

He understands her more than he wants to admit: her anger at the church, at the systems of Fodlan, even her methods to an extent.

In Almyra, conquest is the way of the world. Lords fight and kill for shreds of land and power and brothers and sisters turn on each other for the chance to rule. Claude understands war. It has shadowed him his whole life, but that does not mean that he agrees with Edelgard’s methods.

He does not agree with the fact that it means they must bear arms against people they had once considered friends. He does not agree with the fact that it means that it was him, not some Imperial soldier, who had put Dimitri out of his misery. He will take this secret to his grave if he has too.

Hilda knows because she saw him take the shot and she has covered for him. Hilda claims that it had been a sick twist of fate when Dimitri had pursued Edelgard that had brought the King of Faerghus to his unfortunate end. Her eyes study his face every time she repeats the lie.

Claude should have let him go and get cut down by the Imperial Army. Instead, in some twisted sense of pity and righteousness, it had been an arrow fired from Failnaught that found Dimitri’s throat and put an end to the mad prince. He sees it as a clean ending to an unfortunate life and a neat way to usher Fódlan to a new future.

That does not mean he does not regret it.

He had dropped Failnaught immediately after taking the shot, disgusted with himself, and only Hilda’s insistence that they draw back to the rest of the army had saved him from getting swarmed over by Imperial soldiers. She had carried the Relic almost all the way back to command for him when he had been unable to lay his hands on it.

The flames crack in front of him, drawing him back to the present, and Dimitri’s voice echoes in his head again. Claude wonders if Edelgard knows what he has done. He wonders if she would congratulate him or scorn him for his actions. She would have no right to do either, he reasons with himself.

Not with the way she had left Bernadetta and Petra to die.

Claude himself had never been particularly close to Bernadetta, but she was a quick and accurate shot, he had known that from archery competitions back at the academy. Unfortunately for Bernadetta, Edelgard had been content to leave her on the centre hill to draw fire. Raphael hadn’t even made it all the way to the centre hill before the Empire set it aflame.

Raphael had returned to base after the battle with a stony expression and a bloodied and burned body clutched in his arms. Leonie had helped him bury her and had reported to Claude later that her fatal injuries had come from the explosion, not any of the attacks from the Kingdom or Alliance.

Petra had been quick enough at least to dodge the explosion on the centre hill, but her evasion had placed her right in Claude’s path. His stomach twists and he digs his nails into his scalp as he recalls the shadow of his wyvern falling over the Brigid Princess.

She had taught him to climb trees five years ago and he had taught her to fly on a wyvern. She had not been afraid of him at that moment and it had only been the live or die instinct he had cultivated in himself since he was a child that had let him loose the arrow.

Petra had taken the blow and from him and Claude had had an opening to finish the job, but he had been unable to shoot again. He could only remember the laughs they had shared through his misadventures of falling out of trees and their honest discussion about nature and the nature of gods. She had pulled back, wounded and bleeding, with wild eyes filled with a fear that made him sick to his stomach even now.

Claude wants to yank his own hair out in his frustration. He has been trying to reduce the appearance of Almyrans as war-thirsty villains and he knows that having the princess of a foreign nation be afraid of him will not help with that fact when it comes time for him to claim the throne from his father. It will not help his Fódlan relations either for his friends to see him as the thoughtless killer he looked like.

Although, with the way this war keeps panning out, Claude sometimes wonders if he’ll have any friends left at all at the end of the war. The Golden Deer, once innocent and chaotic and fun, are splintering, shattered by the burdens of the heavy war they’ve been fighting for five years. Claude can see it in all of them: the bone-deep weariness that accompanies every swing of a weapon and every new scar earned.

His friends from the Kingdom are already gone. Gronder Field had seen to that. Annette, apparently, was lost in the five years of in-fighting between the Kingdom Loyalists and the Faerghus Dukedom. Ashe was burned in the fires of Ailell when he fell with House Rowe. Mercedes had fallen to Ignatz’s arrows at Gronder. Sylvain had buckled under the force of Lysithea’s magic. Felix had met his end by Leonie’s spear.

Claude had shot Ingrid out of the sky and left her for Hilda to finish off.

Dedue had vanished into the chaos of the battle, but Claude is not hopeful. One man, alone, who is anger-addled and revenge-filled does not stand a hope against the might of the Empire.

Claude lifts his head, dropping his hands to his lap and stares, dead-eyed at the flickering fire in front of him. The Kingdom will have died with Dimitri. If he fails now, stumbles at Edelgard’s doorstep, then the Alliance will follow the Kingdom down, as history has always dictated.

He drinks from his flask quickly enough that he nearly chokes on the burn of the liquor as he tosses it back. He has run the flask dry by now, drinking away the grief he tries to stave off with a well-timed joke or a sarcastic comment. He wonders if anyone sees through him.

Lorenz, maybe, at the worst of times, and Hilda, perhaps, at his best.

Claude has never been good at dealing with death. As a child, his mother told him story after story to desensitize him to the horrors of combat and the worlds that both of his ancestors originated from. It never worked. Instead, he found himself pitying both sides and grieving for people he had never met. His compassion had never been beaten out of him, as hard as some of his step-siblings may have tried.

Maybe that is why it hurts so much, even hours or days or weeks later, to know that old classmates have fallen and will fall. Maybe that’s why his hands are still sticky with Dimitri’s blood even though he had given the king a death that did not prolong his suffering.

He wants to kill Edelgard. He wants to bury an arrow in her heart and have her fall down dead and he wants the war to be over, but Claude is tired of fighting. He wants to find Rhea and ask her all the questions burning on his tongue, to know the truth of the Church of Seiros and the Relics and the Crest system and the eternally mysterious Professor who rose from the dead after five years of “sleeping”.

It’s as if he summons her, just by thinking of her. Her green hair, as faint as starlight, catches his eye from the corner of the hall where she stands, just inside the door as if she’s waiting for an invitation.

Claude leans back on the couch, trying to hide his weariness as he shoots her a smile. “Teach,” he says in greeting.

She steps closer. “Mind if I join you?”

“Depends on if you brought a drink,” he jokes.

He’s not serious, but the professor pulls her own flask from her belt and tosses it to him as she crosses the room. Claude fumbles, almost dropping it, but he calms his shaky hands by the time she reaches him and sinks into the couch next to him, staring into the fire in the same way that he had.

Claude unscrews the top on the flask and takes a swig. Her liquor is cheaper than his own and he resists the urge to wince as he drinks. He lowers the flask from his mouth and hands it off to her. She drinks easily, without even the twitch of her eyebrow. Claude barely catches the monogrammed ‘JE’ on the bottom of the flask while she drinks and he knows then why it is so easy for her.

“It’s strange to see you without your armour,” she comments quietly, staring at her hands where she clutches the flask.

He studies her face. As always, she is hard to read, but he can at least see the grief that is heavy in her expression. When they had met, she had been a blank slate. Now, he knows her well enough to see the edges of pain that she so desperately tries to conceal.

“It needs fixing. Figured there was no point in delaying when we need to start planning on how we’re going to hit Fort Merceus.”

“Tomorrow,” she says, cutting him off.

He blinks. “What?”

“We can start planning tomorrow,” she finishes. “I don’t want to think about fighting anymore tonight.”

“You know, Teach,” he says, “I never thought you’d be the one to tell me to stop working.”

She lifts her head, narrowing her eyes at him. “I drop by your room almost every day to tell you to get a reasonable amount of sleep.”

“And how much of that is completely hypocritical?” he counters easily.

She doesn’t rise to his jab and takes another drink from her father’s flask. They’re both silent for a moment as she swallows and slowly screws the squeaking cap back onto the top of the flask. She places it down on the table in front of them with a dull thud and picks up the fire poker. She pushes on one of the logs until it crumbles with a hiss and there’s a puff of smoke before the fire starts to fall apart, returning to embers.

“I should have killed her today,” the professor says without prompting.

Claude knows who she’s talking about. “I had the shot and I didn’t take it,” he confesses.

She looks at him, her green eyes glowing silver from the warm light of the fire. She looks almost ethereal in the orange glow. She is stunningly beautiful and always has been, but since her transformation after the Sealed Forest, there is something starkly otherworldly and unsettling about the way that she looks.

“I never would have asked you to,” she admits simply.

“Then don’t attempt to carry the burden of that by yourself,” he argues.

She shakes her head. “No, Claude, when we get to Enbarr, I will kill Edelgard myself.”

She draws the hunting dagger that is at her side at all times and flips it in her hand casually. The hilt is roughly bound in well-worn leather, but the blade is polished steel. She has carried the blade for as long as he has known her, but he has never once seen her use it.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.”

The three words are simple and chilling. Claude hesitates on his reply long enough that she sheaths her knife and drums her fingers over her leg like she is nervous. She does not look at him. He is unsure of how to tell her that he feels the same. That he felt the same when he killed Dimitri just hours earlier.

In the quiet moment that extends between them, there are so many things he wants to say to her. He wants to tell her about all of his doubts about the Church. He wants to confess his true upbringing. He wants to show her the faded healing scars on his hands and wrists and say which ones were his fault and which were the fault of others.

“Are you afraid of dying?” he asks instead.

“No,” she replies immediately. “At least, not usually.” She flexes the fingers of one hand and Claude swears that they sparkle with yellow light for a moment, but it is probably a trick of the lighting.

“I’m terrified of dying,” he admits. “There is so much left to be done and if I die, where does that leave any of this?”

She looks at him and he is taken aback by the warmth that lingers in her eyes. “I will not let you die.”

His lips twitch at the sentiment. It’s reassuring to hear from her, the woman who is a one-man army all on her own, but even she can’t stop what might happen in the coming days, especially with the plan that has been floating in his brain for several weeks.

“What would the goddess think of such words?” he asks, knowing full well that she knows he does not believe in the goddess like most of his former classmates do.

“I am inclined to believe I have the goddess on my side,” she says simply.

She is still looking at him and he does not doubt her. He never has.

“Alright then, Teach,” he says, nodding. “No dying for me.”

“Claude.”

She touches his wrist and his hand turns into her touch instinctively. Her thumb skitters over the skin on the underside of his wrist and up over the exposed part of his palm. She traces a bruise and a bump on his palm from a few bad draws on the field today and a knick on his thumb from the reigns of his wyvern.

She squeezes his hand and he feels her reassurance and her nervousness in the touch. This is not about the future of the nation: this is about the future of two young people who are just trying to survive.

“Byleth.”

He doesn’t often use her name, forgoing it for the sake of an affectionate and familiar nickname, but the moment calls for it. He tightens his own grip on her hand and nudges his knee against hers. He admires, for a moment, the dark of his skin against the fairness of hers and wonders what it would be like to hold her completely.

“We will be defined by this war as long as we are alive,” she points out, staring at their joined hands. “But we needn’t let it write the path to our future.”

“You lead,” he suggests. “I’ll follow.” When she frowns, he squeezes her hand. “I trust you.”

They don’t talk about Gronder Field or Fort Merceus or much of anything for the rest of the night, but when Byleth finally peels herself away to get some sleep, Claude feels the warmth of her hand linger in his and he can almost imagine a future filled with light instead of one darkened by war and memories of the dying screams of old friends.

It’s a reassuring thought.

[fics-not-tragedies]

In a Week: Chapter 18 🌲

I think this is the most funny chapter I’ve ever written in my entire life and I think it’s the only one fully funny and sweet in this piece of fanfiction.

Words: 2122; Warnings: none; Summary: Chilling in a hot tub with Flo Andrew decides to make a little fun of them both.

Hozier tag list:

@letoursilencebreaktonight​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​; @angelpeachamber​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​; @sgt-morgan​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​; @julessbrown​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​;

Tuesday, 5:25pm

“You reminded me that I should send my Mum some flowers” he declared.

Flo smiled.

“Do you get on with her?”

“My Mum? Yes, we’re quite close…” he considered his next words, approached them with caution then decided to say them anyway, despite the potential damage they could cause, “And she’d like you, Flo. She’d really like you…”

He tried to picture it, allowed himself the daydream as she smiled back at him softly. In a different world, back home. Bringing Flo to meet his parents knowing he was so sure of her. She’d be worrying about what dress she was wearing, would worry she overdone it with the flowers and the dessert she spent all week practicing, but his Mum would love it, bring her in for one of her killer hugs straight away. Dad would give her the same, would want to know all about her instantly, would love her stories about their adventures. Andrew was sure she’d tell it all better than he could anyway.

“Is your Mum a control freak like me then?” Flo sighed, frustrated by the lack of reality in the conversation now. As incredible as it was to imagine it all, being the girl he decided he wanted to bring home, she didn’t allow herself to wallow in it, for too long it was too cruel.

“Hmm… maybe a little…” he nodded, still beaming from the vision he’d created for himself, “And you were right about the flowers… I just finished another tour, em, that’s why I’m here for the week.”

Flo thought about asking what he was planning to do next, but part of her didn’t want to know, didn’t want to be subconsciously tracking his every move. What if she’d turn up to one of his gigs in the future, if there still was one for her, bustle her way to front row, get pushed against the barriers by the huge crowd, nod her head to the tracks she knew, hope he’d make his way down to the front and spot her. But what if he didn’t look at her in the same soft way he did now? What if there was someone else waiting for him at the side of the stage? Or worse yet, what if he’d ignored her or didn’t even recognize her?

No, she decided. It’d be better not to know, to avoid it as much as she could.

“Do you like performing?” She asked instead.

“Well, yes. I feel like I’m only myself on stage, but, em, it’s really exciting when I see all those faces screaming my words back at me. Is fantastic. Sometimes they know them better than I do.”

“Must be overwhelming in front of all those people” she shuddered and added: “I’d hate it.”

Andrew chuckled in delight at her wittiness, preparing himself for the next question he could already see twitching in her smile.

“Got a pre-show ritual? Couple of prostitutes? A bottle of absinthe?”

“Not quite” he mumbled, “We’d fancy a goat slaughter, but no venue can pull that off. We only do a small chant…”

“Slaughtering a goat sounds quite eccentric…” she teased and he screwed his nose up at her.

Tuesday, 5:30pm

There was a sudden, loud click at the door and both Andrew and Flo turned their heads towards the sound, so accustomed to being alone with each other. Another couple entered the small room in their bathing suits, both smiling until they realized it was partly occupied. She was tall and thin, had a pointy nose and dark eyes and he was shorter, a little rounder in the middle, had a face that looked permanently unamused. From the way they were clinging onto each other, they were clearly on some kind of romantic getaway. Though Flo couldn’t draw much from them straight away, the disappointment on their faces was stark. They were clearly unhappy to find another ‘couple’ in the tub, but were far too British to simply walk back out.

“Sorry, mind if we…” the woman began, “… join you…”

Flo turned her gaze to Andrew and watched him smile up at the couple just as a bright, brilliant idea, so clear on his face, occurred to him.

“It’s alright” he drawled then turned back to Flo, “We can get cozier with Hozier, can’t we, love?”

After a moment of speechlessness, her body rigid, questioning what the correct response was, Flo shot Andrew a glare like she hadn’t before.

Bastard.

She couldn’t deny that the opportunity excited her a little. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be near to him or ‘get cozier with Hozier’, rather that she knew she would have trouble resisting the temptation again with him that close to her. He looked so good and she caught onto his distinctive scent as he shifted around to make room for her. She clearly had no choice.

With an awkward shuffle she moved through the middle of the jacuzzi and sat down next to Andrew, instantly aware of him pressed close to her and how much she hated the outfit she was wearing. Not waiting for long, the couple sunk into the tub opposite them and there was an awkward stare off for a while, the four of them nodding awkwardly back and forth.

“Nice hotel, right?” Andrew said at last, cutting through the looming silence. He couldn’t resist chatting with them a little.

“Oh, yes, it’s lovely” the woman replied, her partner doing his best to relax and ignore them, his eyes closed.

Then, without warning, Andrew’s arm snaked around Flo’s body and he cupped her waist tightly with his hand. His fingertips pressed into the skin there and she almost squealed. Even under the water, his touch overwhelmed her and she felt drawn into him again, like she hadn’t learned a single thing from the last time. Despite it all, despite his face inches from hers, his neck adjacent to her lips, she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. Her face was deeply flushed with embarrassment, though if anyone would have asked, she’d have blamed it on the heat. It took everything she had not to react and to play along with his game as best she could.

“We’re celebrating our fifteen year anniversary this week aren’t we, honeybee?…”

Flo stared blankly ahead, couldn’t believe he was really doing this, but then again of course she could. Honeybee? When she didn’t respond he gave her waist a quick squeeze and she moaned quietly to herself before muttering a quick “mhmmmm” out loud.

The couple were clearly uninterested, didn’t care about her response, probably hadn’t even noticed the strange body language of the couple in front of them but Andrew was persistent. “We were childhood sweethearts” he proclaimed. He was showing no signs of stopping, only just able to hide how badly he wanted to laugh. His face twitched as he fought the urge, “Stole my heart right after the first round of ‘spin the bottle’, haven’t you, honeybee?”

“Awh, that’s lovely” the woman cooed, though she was mostly engrossed on the massive glittering rock on her finger, “We just got engaged” she announced, just to better Andrew’s tale, as if the wafting and waving of her hand in the last minute or so hadn’t made that clear.

“Oh, congratulations!” Flo chimed, though she could barely focus. Andrew’s fingers began to draw lazy circles into her skin. It could have soothed her in the right time and place, but right now, with so much of her exposed, with the ridiculous game he was playing, with the stupid look on his face  she could catch from the corner of her eye all because he was winning, it was too much.

“Thank you!” The woman chimed, settling against her partner.

A few minutes passed, and though he wouldn’t have admitted it, Andrew was struggling too. He cursed himself for being so stupid. He couldn’t focus properly either, especially when Flo pressed herself into his side, rolled her knee up against his, moved her thigh against his just to make things more difficult for him.

“You staying here for long?” The man asked, clearly agitated by how competitive Andrew was with their fake relationship. Flo questioned whether he was asking about how long they’d be staying at the hotel or merely in the tub, desperate for peace and quiet.

“No, no. Got the kids waiting for us at home…” when neither of them responded, it just fueled him further: “Yes, little Jackie and Wilson. And he’s only three, bet he’s missing his Mummy, eh?” Another squeeze of her waist.

“Ahh, that’s lovely” the woman replied, though her responses were becoming more and more repetitive.

When the next silence came, Flo shook her head at him in constant disbelief, too dumbstruck to even come back at him with something as a challenge. Her hand suddenly on his knee made him jump, but he was still holding the happy couple facade together. With little fight from her, his own hand wandered down to her thigh. Aware of her heart beat and the wideness of his eyes, she was shaking, holding on to her control with everything she had and she turned to him in exasperation.

The quick movement of her head knocked a strand of hair into her eyes and without even questioning it, not part of his plan at all, Andrew moved it from her face with his free hand and tucked it neatly behind her ear. His touch was so delicate that she stared at him for longer than she should have and he stared right back at her. She watched him inhale deeply, his lips parting again as the breath left him.

“My little cinnamon bun…” he mumbled almost incoherently, barely blinking, “…we should go. I’m wrinkling like a prune in here…”

Flo could tell Andrew was struggling too, knew that they had to break apart now before it all came crashing down again and she took the opportunity to shimmy out of his touch and stand, forgetting the need to cover her body like she had before.

“Nice to meet you…” she mumbled to the couple, before darting out of the door, her legs like jelly, barely able to hold herself up. Behind her, Andrew said a goodbye Flo couldn’t hear then he quickly caught up to her.

Tuesday, 5:45pm

Surrounded by the noise of the pool water splashing and the cheerful chatter of the guests around them, they walked a couple of steps together in silence, strolling past the still water. Flo tried to gather her thoughts, tried to think of something to say. She was frustrated in more ways than one and needed him to know that. Her heart still pounding in her chest she suddenly turned to him, a clear intention in her eyes. Andrew was already laughing.

“Are you fucking for real?” Flo said, raising her voice as much as she was comfortable with, her teeth gritted.

“You bet I am, babe” he giggled, mocking his innocence.

“Don’t ‘babe’’ me, Andrew…” she warned, her finger jabbing him in the chest and he pouted back at her. “Oh god I could fucking…” she stopped moving, stomped her foot on the ground in frustration.

“Don’t swear, love” Andrew giggled, tears forming in his eyes at the hilarity. “It’s a fucking bad habit. What if the kids heard you?”

“Jackie and Wilson?” Flo grunted. “You have some nerve, Andrew…”

“It was funny, love…”

There it was again, love, each letter dragged out mercilessly.

Flo couldn’t take it anymore. She felt something snap inside of her and without processing it fully, she pushed Andrew backwards with all her strength towards the pool. Her hand met his chest and though he was excited at first, that wild flash of promise so clear, he soon lost his control. She wasn’t stronger than him but the element of surprise aided her and she watched as he shuffled over the edge and fell backwards, flailing pathetically until he hit the water.

Flo panicked for a split second, but Andrew resurfaced with some coughing and spluttering, his eyes trying to find Flo again. His hair was in his face, mouth agape, his eyes wide with shock.

And at that sight, Flo was satisfied, smiling and bending down slightly as she spoke to him.

“I’ll be in reception” she stated, then turned on her heel walking away from him. She made sure to wiggle her hips so that he had the perfect view of her overexposed ass as she left him and even though he couldn’t see her face, he knew the exact powerful smirk she was wearing.

Okay, Andrew decided, he deserved it.

[strangerivy]

The Beginning - Twelve

Summary:  Being locked in the school with a killer werewolf is not how the trio wanted to spend there night, but here they were running around the school with a killer werewolf after them. Warnings: Swearing | Violent Depictions Pairings: Stiles Stilinski x Original Character (Kacy) Genre: 18+ | Fluff | Angst Word Count: 3.3k Author’s Note: So I’m going to start posting more one-shots to help with my creative flow and to help improve my writings, if you guys have any ideas or suggestions don’t be afraid to send them! Please let me know what you guys think! Leave a like 😊

|| One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Masterlist ||

“Lock it! Lock it!” Scott shouted as we made it into the school holding the doors closed by the push handles.

“Does it look like I have a key!” Stiles panicked looking up at both Scott and me, we stayed low to the ground away from the small windows in the door.

“Grab something!” Scott yelled, “Anything!” Stiles took a deep breath before quickly standing up looking out the window he was by in the door.

“Stiles what?” I asked not sure of what he was looking for, I stood up just enough to look out the other door window spotting the bolt cutters laying on the sidewalk outside. I shook my head. “No,” Scott shot up looking as well.

“No,”

“Yes,” Stiles reached out gripping Scotts shirt to try and hold him back and before either of us could object further he opened the door and snuck outside. My heart began to beat faster as I watched him from the window.

“Come on,” I whispered as he walked to the bolt cutters cautiously picking them up and then I caught movement by his jeep seeing the Alpha walk out from behind it, I banged on the window

“Stiles run!” I screamed, Scott spotted the Alpha also and we both banged on the window to get Stiles's attention. Stiles slowly looked over at the Alpha before running to us, we opened up the door for him slamming it shut as soon as he got in sticking the bolt cutters in the push handles to help keep the doors closed. We waited for some sort of impact from the Alpha but when it never came we stood up looking out the windows seeing nothing but an empty parking lot.

“Where’d it go?” Scott asked looking around the parking lot in confusion, I ran my hands through my hair feeling wetness on my cheeks,

“Hey hey,” Stiles cooed walked up to stand in front of me holding my face in his hands wiping away the tears, I stared up at him for a moment before gently pushing his hands away.

“I’m okay,” I muttered just quiet enough for him to hear before walking over to the wall taking a few deep breaths.

“That’s not going to hold, is it?” Scott asked pointing over at the bolt locks looking at Stiles. Stiles shook his head.

“Probably not,” he answered fear in his voice. Scott sighed walking up to me, a howl broke the silence and we all looked at each other, the sound sending a chill down my spine causing goosebumps to rise on my skin that hair on the back of my neck standing up.

“I knew I should have stayed home,” I frowned at the both of them, my anxiety was starting to bubble over. “You two just have to drag me into these things!”

“Is this really the time Kac?” Scott pulled my hand as we took off down the hall running to an opened classroom door. I sat down on one of the desks as they went over to the teacher's desk starting to move it.

“Uh guys,” They stopped looking over at me, “That’s not going to stop it,”

“She’s right,” Stiles agreed, staring at the open classroom door, “I hate your boss,”

“What?” Scott asked in confusion

“Deaton, the alpha? Your boss,” Stiles responded pointing over at Scott, Scott shook his head

“No way.”

“Yes! Murdering psycho werewolf,” Stiles was getting more freaked out by the second and I couldn’t blame him I was too. I had no desire of dying in school. Of all the places.

“That can’t be!” Scott argued

“Oh, come on Scott!” Stiles whispered but his voice raised in annoyance and fear at the end, “He disappears, and that thing shows up ten seconds later to toss Derek 20 feet through the air?”

“I hate to say it, but he has a point Scott,” I muttered looking up at Scott, Scott shook his head still not believe that it could be the town veterinarian.

“No, it’s not him,”

“He killed Derek,” Stiles pointed out

“No Derek’s not dead, he can’t be dead,” I groaned walking over to Scott

“He had a fist through his chest Scott, he seemed pretty dead,” I argued leaning up against the desk, Scott took a few breaths before looking up at Stiles and me.

“What do we do?” Scott asked, I look over at Stiles and he frowned clearly not liking his own idea.

“We get to my jeep and we get out of here,” He moved around the desk walking over to the classroom windows. I was right behind him making sure to stay low from the windows. Scott went to open the window before Stiles stopped him.

“They don’t open,” He answered Scotts unasked question

“Then we break it,” He suggested, I scoffed

“And let it know where we are? Good idea,” I looked around the lot spotting Stiles Jeep

“Then we run really fast?” Scott looked out into the parking lot before squinting his eyes, I follow his gaze seeing what he was seeing. The hood of Stiles jeep was smashed up.

“Stiles, what’s wrong with the hood of your jeep?” Scott asked

“What do you mean? Nothing’s wrong with it,” I shook my head pointing at the Jeep

“Stiles the hood is bent,” I pointed at the Jeep and he came up next to me looking at the Jeep

“Dented?” He panicked trying to see what we could see

“No, bent,” I confirmed and then something came bursting through the window, I screamed ducking down and Stiles followed holding me close to him cover my head with his hands to block the shattered glass from hitting my face. Something hit the floor skidding across it. I opened my eyes lifting my head slowly to see a car battery on the floor. I shook my head.

“That’s my battery,” Stiles went to get up, but Scott grabbed him pulling him back down.

“We have to move,” He panicked

“He could be right outside,” Scott whispered

“He is right outside!” Stiles gestured to his torn-out car battery

“Just let me take a look,” Scott started to slowly rise from the ground, but I stayed seated pulling in my legs gripping them close trying to slow down my breathing.

“Anything?” I heard Stiles ask, a few more moments of silence

“No,” Scott answered, and I felt my shoulders relax a little.

“Move now?” Stiles asked grabbing onto my arm pulling me up with him as Scott nodded and we quickly moved out of the classroom and back into the hall. Scott went to walk down one hall but Stiles stopped him.

“No no no, this way.” Stiles said pointing the flashlight down the other side of the hall, “We need to go somewhere without windows”

“Every single room in this school has windows!” Scott panicked throwing his arms out

“Somewhere with less windows,” Stiles explained further, Scott looked around trying to think before his face brightened a little

“The locker room,” He suggested, Stiles nodded gripping onto my hand as we headed quickly down the hall towards the boy’s locker rooms.

We got the locker rooms shutting the door behind us moving to the second row of lockers to give us some sort of barrier between us and the door. Stiles let go of my hand and I sat down on the bench resting my elbows on my knees as I buried my face in my hands.

“Call your dad,” Scott told stiles

“And tell him what hmm?” Stiles asked

“I don’t know, anything. A gas leak, a fire, whatever. If that thing sees the parking lot filled with cop cars it will take off.” I tried to tune out their conversation to focus on my breathing, My hands were shaking from the adrenalin still rushing through. I took a deep breath trying to focus on something other than being trap in the school with a killer werewolf.

I felt someone shake my shoulder and I looked up to see Stiles smile softly at me offering me his hand. I took it and he helped me stand back up.

“What's the plan?” I whispered as we walked back towards the hallway

“Get the keys to Derek’s car off his body,” He whispered back, something caught my attention and Scott heard it too stopping Stiles hand from opening the door.

“What?” He whispered freaked out at our sudden focus

“There’s something out there,” I answered quietly as the sound got closer now close enough for Stiles to hear, we all stared at the door backing up slowly from it.

“Hide,” Scott demanded, Stiles quickly moved to a locker opening it and getting inside, Scott frowned trying to argue against it but followed suit and then I did as well. I tried to keep my breathing even as I stared out the little slits of the looker door trying to see what was going on.

The door to the locker room opened and I covered my mouth to quiet down my breaths. I squeezed my eyes shut trying not to freak out. Something moved closer to the lockers we were all in and then I heard one of them open and two sets of screams. Wait. A scream? I opened my locker down to see Donnie the school janitor.

“What are you three trying to do, kill me? All of you get out.” He demanded angrily trying to catch his breath

“Donnie, just listen for half a second,” Stiles tried to reason with the startled man “okay?”

“Not okay, get the hell out of here right now,” He grabbed a hold of Scott and started shoving us toward the hall, we got into the hall

“Just one second to explain,” Stiles tried to reason for a second time

“Just shut up and go,” Donnie demanded pointing down the hall for us to leave but I gasped when he was pulled back suddenly, and the door was slammed shut. He was thrown against the door and I screamed seeing splattered blood on the door window as he screamed before he was dragged back down and then thrown against the door again terrified screams coming from the other side. Scott tried to open the door to help him, but it was locked.

Stiles quickly pulled him back grabbing a hold of me in the process as we ran down the hall. We got to and exit and tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. Scott peaked through the opening.

“There’s a dumpster,” He said, I groaned kicking the door in frustration. Scott pulled us away heading down another hall.

“This is not happening,” Stiles began to panic “I am NOT dying at school!”

“I second that,” I agreed

“What the hell does it want?” Stiles asked

“Us,” I answered coming to a stop, Scott shook his head gripping my shoulders.

“No, Kac,” He shook his head looking up at me with a sad expression “he wants me, he doesn’t know about you and I want to keep it that way,” I frowned

“You can’t protect me forever,” I whispered, he gave a soft smile

“No, but I can try,” Scott stood up straight and we continued to walk, “Derek says it's stronger with a pack.”

“Oh great, a psychotic werewolf who’s into teamwork that’s – that’s beautiful.” Stiles voice dripping in sarcasm at that last bit. Scott stopped, looking out the window. I looked to my eyes widening seeing the Alpha on the roof watching us through the windows and then slowly it stood up and started to run towards us.

“Shit!” I yelled as we took off back down the hall. I heard glass shatter behind us and hear the growl of the alpha as it slammed against the wall. We ran through the doubles doors that lead to the bottom floor and then moved down to the basement hiding behind some old lockers. We caught our breath before Stiles started pulling me down another hall. There were growls sounding like from everywhere, we stopped in front of a door.

Stiles pulled out his keys slowly throwing them into the room before pushing Scott and I back and then slamming the door shut as the alpha charged in. Scott moved the desk to block the door. The door stopped moving and I sighed letting out a nervous laugh as I slumped against the wall.

“Please tell me it can’t get out,” I breathed not taking my eyes off the door, as if any second it would burst open. Stiles leaned to investigate the tiny gated window on the door. Scott freaked out pulling him back.

“What the hell are you doing?” He whispered angrily

“I want to get a look at this thing,” Stiles answered getting back on the desk peering into the room, he shined the flashlight in

“Yeah that’s right, we got you, you son of-“ Scott got frustrated and pulled him off again

“Will you shut up!”

“It's probably not a good idea to taunt it,” I pointed out, Stiles ignored both Scott and me with a roll of his eyes

“No, I’m not scared of it,” He looked at both of us and I wrapped my arms around myself, “You hear that! I’m not scared of you!” A loud angry growl came from the room and it hit the door making us all jump back and then the sound of chains ripping came through the door. Our eyes went wide as we realized what just happen, I gulped hearing the ceiling crunch above us as it walked above us.

We ran out of there as quickly as possible heading for the staircase to get out of the basement. Scott stopped us suddenly.

“Do you hear that?” He asked, I focused on my hearing and picked up the sound of a cell phone ring. I nodded my head and Stiles shook his head no.

“Who the hell is here, Scott?” I demanded through gritted teeth “I know you know that ring,” Hearing his heart beating rapidly, he nodded confirming my suspicion

“Allison,” He muttered, I scoffed throwing my hands down, “Gimmie your phone,” He put out his hand for Stiles's phone and he quickly pulled it out of his pocket putting it in Scott's hand.

Scott quickly dialed her number and I could hear the ringing again as we continued to walk.

“No, it’s me. Where are you?” Scott asked another second of silence “No, where are you exactly.”

“Tell her to meet us in the lobby,” I whispered, and he nodded telling Allison before hanging up. We ran to the lobby, waiting for Allison to show up

“I can’t believe this, why is she here Scott?” I muttered in annoyance; I could feel my heart rate begin to rise as anger seeped into my already overflowing emotions. The doors on the other side opened and for a moment panicked rushed through me but settled when Allison came walking in.

“What are you doing here?” Scott demanded walking up to her, I stood next to Stiles as tension flooded the room.

“Because you asked me to,” She answered confused

“I asked you to?” Scott questioned, they both stared at each other confused. Allison looked down at her phone pulling up the text that clearly said it was from Scott. She turned the screen to show him. He looked down at it then back up at her not hiding his worried expression.

“Why do I get the feeling you didn’t send this message?” She asked fear in her eyes now

“Because I didn’t,” Scott answered

“Did you drive here?” Stiles interrupted walking up to the couple I moved with him

“Jackson did.” We looked at her all of our eyes going wide

“Jackson’s here too?” Scott asked in disbelief

“Well that would mean Lydia is too,” I said, and Allison nodded in confirmation

“What’s going on?” her voice raised from both confusion and fear, her phone started to ring and she answered it

“Where are you?” she asked the person on the phone, then the other doors to the lobby opened and in walked Lydia and Jackson. Allison and Lydia hung up their phones as they walked over to us.

“Finally,” Lydia breathed “Can we go now?” Allison nodded and then a heavy thud came from above us. I felt my whole body tense up and Stiles was quick to grab hold of my hand. The sound moved around above us before Scott yelled to run and we all took off.

The alpha fell from the ceiling right on the spot we were all standing as we headed up the stairs to the next floor. It roars right behind us as we ran. We ran into the cafeteria and Scott and Jackson we’re quick to bolt the doors shut.

Stiles stared at the windows before trying to get everyone’s attention, but they were too busy moving things in front of the doors.

“Guys!” He finally yelled in frustration that got them to stop and look at him, "really beautiful work guys but now,” He turned towards the windows gesturing to them, “What should we do about the 20-foot wall of windows?”

“Can somebody please explain to me what’s going on, because I’m freaking out here,” Allison’s voice cracked as she tried to hold back tears

“Someone killed the janitor,” I answered after a few moments of silence, Stiles frowned shaking his head at me but I knew we couldn’t say nothing it only looked more suspicious and it's not like we could really tell them what was actually chasing us. 

“Yeah the janitor is dead,” Stiles backed me up finally

“What is he talking about? Is this a joke?” Allison asked with a nervous laugh looking over at Scott who was leaned up against a stack of chairs facing away from us

“Who killed him?” Jackson asked looking between Stiles and I

“No no no no,” Lydia stammered “The mountain lion was killed,”

“Don’t you get it?” Jackson said to her “This wasn’t a mountain lion,”

“Who was it!” Allison demanded, “What does he want?” I looked over at Scott who was still slumped against the chairs trying to think of what to say, I was racking my brain too.

“Scott!” Allison yelled trying to get him to turn around and answer her. I ran my hands through my hair holding the back of my head

“I don’t know!” He answered finally “I just- I – if we go out there, he’s gonna kill us,”

“Who?” Allison asked looking over at Stiles and I, I shook my head walking over to the windows sliding down the wall with my head in hands, “Who is it?” I heard Allison demand. I felt hands on mine making me jump. I looked up to see Stiles giving me a soft smile, moving my hands from my hair holding them in front.

“What the hell do we do?” I whispered searching his eyes for answers, he frowned shaking his head

“I don’t know,” He whispered back

“It’s Derek,” Scott announced making both Stiles and I shoot up from the floor, “It’s Derek Hale,” I walked over to Scott and he shot me a look telling me to back off and I reluctantly held my tongue.

“Derek killed the janitor?” Jackson asked staring at Scott

“Are you sure?” Allison asked

“I saw him,” Scott answered

“I have a bad feeling about this,” I muttered under my breath bouncing on my heels from nerves

“He started with his own sister,” Scott continued

“And the bus driver?” Allison asked Scott nodded his head

“And the guy in the video store. It’s been Derek the whole time,” Scott still didn’t turn to face us probably trying to hide this huge lie that he was spitting out. “He’s in here with us, and if we don’t get out now, he’s going to kill us too” He finally turned to face everyone.

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[witchcraft-in-wonderland]

Cori's Tale (Pt.2)

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

We sat there for a few minutes, I exchanged stories with Patton about the surface world. His expression of sadness and anger at the notion of the other children sending us down the mountain as sacrifices was one I wouldn't soon forget. I learned a lot about him, to, he had a cat allergy, he took care of six children before I got here. That last line stopped me in my tracks.

"What. . . Happened to the other kids?" I asked, Patton's face seemed to fall.

"They. . . Left. . . That's all you need to know for now, dont dwell on it ok kiddo?" Patton rested a hand on my shoulder for a few seconds before getting up.

"I think we should head off now, yeah?" He said, holding a hand out. I merely nodded and accepted it. I walked with Patton into a narrow hallway. On one end was a sign, on the other a lever and pressure plates. Patton stepped a pattern on them, his hooves clicking against the stone, before flipping the lever. A door opened and he walked through it. I chose to read the sign before following.

"Only the fearless may enter here, brave ones, foolish ones, both walk not the middle road," I read aloud before crossing. The words bounced in my head for a bit, fading to the background as my attention turned back to Patton.

"This next puzzle you can do on your own,  I've labelled all the levers for you," he said, I watched him cross a few bridges to the end of the room, the second doorway was blocked off by a set of spikes on the floor.

I walked over to the first lever, light blue words were scrawled on the walls next to it, telling me this was the right one. This repeated with about two more levers before I heard a clicking sound and noticed the spikes behind Patton retreating into the ground.

"This next puzzle is dangerous, take my hand," Patton said, holding it out. I took it, not paying attention to much until I realized what we were walking on. Rows, and rows, of sharp, silver, spikes. The spikes seemed to retreat under Patton's hooves, I found this matter interesting.

"Now, as you go through the ruins, you may encounter monsters, and they may try to attack you, I want you to know you should just talk to them and I will come to resolve the conflict," Patton smiled and gestured to a dummy at the center of the room. I walked up to it and noticed the heart that had been established as my SOUL appear in front of me again. I saw something behind the eyes of the dummy, something I couldnt quite place.

"Hi, I'm Cori, she/her and they/them pronouns, what's your name?" I said, not really expecting the dummy to respond. The mysterious aspect of its eyes seemed to evaporate, my SOUL retreated back into my chest, I looked to Patton for guidance, but he merely smiled and clapped in approval.

"Now, follow me kiddo," he said, walking to another room. We'd nearly gotten there when a small frog-like creature appeared in front of me. A barrage of flies aimed straight for my SOUL, I narrowly managed to avoid them by spinning out of the way.

My mind seemed insolent on two options, threaten, or compliment. I was never very accomplished at threats, so instead I decided to compliment the symbol scrawled on its chest. The frog began to blush, it was seconds away from preparing its next attack when Patton stepped out onto the scene. With a glare that could freeze even the toughest child in their tracks, he shooed away the frog creature.

"You did wonderful kiddo," he said, smiling as he lead me to a much longer corridor.

"This test is going to be very difficult, I am going to leave you alone, and you're going to have to walk to the end of the hall, do you think you can do it?" He said. I nodded, I'd been on my own plenty of times before this.

I watched him disappear down the hall and began walking myself, I'd almost reached the door when I felt a hand on my shoulder once again.

"Its alright kiddo, I didnt really leave, but this was a very important test of your independence, I need to make sure you can be alone, I have to handle something," he said. He dropped what looked like one of the old phones the guardians back at the community talked about used to have.

"I will call you periodically to make sure you're alright," Patton walked away from me and I stood there.

He did, in fact, call several times before his phone was stolen by a dog. After about twelve calls I decided it might be best to venture out on my own, after all, I already knew how to talk to and spare the monsters. I packed my art supplies and sketchbook back into my bag and set off.

The ruins were relatively calm, with only the occasional froggit or molsmal to interrupt my walking, though my complimenting and flirtation skills were advanced enough that I could pass them easily. The first real problem presented itself in the form of a ghost, laying on the floor and sulking. It was a sort of faded purple color, and it seemed to be pretending to sleep.

I elected to nudge it slightly with my foot, resulting in a retaliation from the ghost.

"Oh. . . Oh no. . . They noticed. . ." Lavender, as the words appearing above the ghost called it, seemed rather upset.

"I'm sorry- I just needed to get past, I've got somewhere to be," I said.

Tears rained down from the ghosts face, I held my hands up to block them, but they seemed to float back upwards, changing shape the closer they got to my outstretched palms.

"I really didnt mean to frighten you, you seem rather nice," the ghost seemed surprised by this statement.

"I want to show you something," she said. I merely nodded and watched as she cried, her tears floating up and beginning to form what looked like a flower-crown on her head.

"Woah- I wish I could do that," the ghost retreated out of battle.

"I met someone today. . . And they were actually really nice. . . Wow," the ghost disappeared without another word, needless to say it was a uh- different experience, but I didnt mind it. I kept walking on, solving puzzles as I passed them, fighting all manner of strange monsters. I left some money in a web of spiders, each seemed to be wearing their own small hoodie, I decided to write a note complimenting them on it, hoping they would find it sweet. I put the donut they gave me in a ziploc bag of other food items I'd collected, hoping that would keep it from messing up my backpack.

I finally managed to reach what looked like a small house, out of which Patton walked, phone in hand before he noticed me.

"Oh my goodness gracious how long was I gone! Come here kiddo- I'll heal you," he said, trapping me in one of the biggest bear hugs I'd ever experienced. I felt a calm wash over me. Patton let go and guided me into the house.

"The pie isnt cool just yet, but I'll let you know when it is, feel free to explore," said Patton. I, however, had had enough of exploring that day, and decided that I would rather draw at the table.

I began to get tired later in the day, and elected to go to bed. I woke up later in the night with the smell of pie filling my nostrils. I merely set it in another ziploc in my bag before going back to bed.

I wasnt sure how long I was in the ruins before I began to feel homesick, but soon enough I'd plucked up the courage to ask Patton about leaving.

"Stay here kiddo, I need to handle something," I watched as Patton disappeared around the corner before following him. We walked all the way down the stairs before he stopped at an archway, turning to me.

"This is the exit to the ruins. . . I am going to destroy it. . ." He said.

"I have seen five children pass through these doors, and never return, one who didnt even make it through the ruins themselves, I cannot let it happen again," I was frozen, processing the words to slowly to interrupt.

"If you cross, they, Logan, will kill you," Patton said, something about the way he said Logan's name resonated with me. He sounded distraught, as though he were talking about someone personal to him.

"But you cant keep me here forever, it's not right," I said. This seemed to breach the silence.

"You are right. . . You would just be unhappy here. . . Very well. . . Prove yourself to me, and I will let you go," this time, two hearts appeared. My own ever-changing one, and an upside-down white one on Patton's side.

I barely had time to comment before facing a barrage of fire and flames. I narrowly managed to dodge it, holding my hands out as a barrier.

I wanted to talk to him, but I couldnt seem to find the right words.

The fire kept coming, I held my hands out, envisioning it in my head as changing shapes, which it soon obeyed. I watched as the fire molded itself to the images in my head. Soon enough the spitting image of Patton was in front of me, made of fire, before it split off into separate whispers of smoke. I could see the surprised expression on Patton's face as he watched.

Soon enough his attacks became less calculated, almost as if he was actively avoiding hitting me.

Finally it was over, Patton sighed, defeated.

"I am so sorry kiddo. . . You're right. . . You would just be unhappy, my expectations, my loneliness, my fear, I will put them all aside, for you," he said. He opened his arms for a hug, which I embraced in full. As he let go I could see the tears making their way down his face. I watched him leave, turning his head slightly and giving me a small nod.

Then it was just me and the door. As I walked through, I was met with a long corridor. At the end if it, a familiar orange face.

"Well done! You spared the life if one innocent person!" Said the tree.

"What do you want with me." I growled under my breath.

"I am the prince of this worlds future, but do not worry, my plan isnt regicide, this is so much more interesting,"

I stomped my foot into the ground "What. Do you want. From me." I repeated.

"You interest me, human, sparing even those who would kill you without hesitation, but what will you do if you meet a relentless killer? Will you kill out of frustration? Or will you continue to die, because you would rather rely on magic than murder," the tree seemed to disappear abruptly, leaving me alone with the words echoing in my head.

I continued down the path, and was met with an overwhelming sense of cold at the end.

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

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[satchelsguitar]

I Saw Steel Panther Again...

so in celebration of the boys releasing their killer fifth album i’ll share with y’all the third and fourth time i got to see the boys... on back-to-back nights:

this was a few months ago already (in july ‘19) but the third time they were in my hometown, which was pretty freakin’ neat considering nobody cool ever comes anywhere near here cuz it’s such a small town. anyways, i got there before my friend that always goes with me to see them, early enough that i got to see the band come off the bus. 

we were some of the first in the venue so we got to pick where our spots and of course i chose right in front of Satchel. we were in a good enough position that we could see Stix and Satchel come out of the dressing room to watch the killer opening band (Striker, if anyone’s interested). Stix spotted me watching them and smiled and waved at me before they went back backstage. 

their show was obviously amazing - but it gets better. as i mentioned, my friend I was with has come with me every time we’ve seen them and she’s a big of a fan of Lexxi as i am of Satchel. basically this means that she just... stared at lexxi for the whole concert. Satchel, of course, noticed this and went and grabbed one of Lexxi’s picks for her. he threw it directly at her - it actually hit her in the face - but she was too invested in lexxi to even notice. satchel made eye contact with me and rolled his eyes and chuckled as i picked it up and handed it to her lmao. 

when it was time for girls to go on stage, my friend had to leave to go to work so i somehow worked up the courage to go up by myself. I danced with some other girl who was by herself on Stix’s drum riser until Michael came and grabbed my hand and got me to sing the rest of “Livin’ on a Prayer” with him. I got to be in the middle of a Satchel and Michael grind sandwich (which is absolutely lovely, lemme tell you, especially because michael just stared into my eyes the whole time it was happening). When it was time for us to get offstage, Satchel grabbed me just as i was walking down the stairs and handed me one of his picks and smiled and thanked me. i thought that was the best night of my life, but the next day was even better:

so, saturday, the concert was three hours away in my favourite venue where i got to see them the first time. Our seats kinda sucked - they were pretty far in the back - but security was pretty lack and i was bound and determined to be on stage again so my friend and i somehow made our way to the front. 

all f o u r boys recognized us immediately - stix grinned and winked at us, lexxi waved and blew us a kiss and pointed us out to michael and satchel, who then said “hey, you’re back!” michael told everyone i’d gotten on stage and sung with him the night before and michael pulled us both up on stage with him. we kinda made our way to the back of all the girls and just jammed out for a minute before michael came over to me and said, verbatim “hey, baby, how are you? thanks for coming singing with me last night. you rock.”

I got back up on my favourite spot (stix’s drum riser), and sang along with stix to gold digging whore. then the motherf*cker gave me his motherf*cking drum stick and he and Satchel gave me high-fives before we got offstage. 

thought that was it, but then after the show, my friend and i made our way back up to the front of the stage to possibly get a setlist. there were about a dozen people standing there waiting for the same thing, and some overzealous guy reached over the barrier and ripped Lexxi’s off the stage and left. 

once the techs came out, we started calling to the drum tech (he and i follow each other on ig). he didn’t acknowledge us and ripped off stix’s, satchel’s, and michael’s setlists off the stage and walked away. the front of house tech handed out a bunch of unused setlists and skipped over us so we thought we were screwed until the drum tech came back over and handed us the three remaining band members’ setlists and said “the guys’ wanted you to have these.” That caught us some nasty looks from a few people, but, man, it was the coolest thing ever.

TL;DR: got to be onstage with steel panther two nights in a row, got to sing with michael, got stix’s drumstix, a satchel pick, a lexxi pick and three setlists. Can’t wait for next time. 

[pi-cat000]

MSA: Take Two (part 7)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

Part 8: here 

.

An energy surge pulses out from his chest and through his torso and limbs, banishing the exhaustion. Arthur feels the prickly sensation of static, reinvigorating his once heavy arms. In an instant, he transitions from utterly drained to painfully alert, like he's downed six cups of coffee and they've all hit at once. He snaps upright, twisting around, fanatically searching for somewhere to hide.

"They can't be here!" He exclaims in a panic, scrambling backward and away from the doors till he hits the front row of seats, "I'll hurt them!" A return to ethereal weightiness causes him to float up a few inches.  

Mystery tracks his movement unperturbed, /Do not be ridiculous. You have just spent the last half hour depleting any latent energy build up. This is the perfect time for a reunion./

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" He flails, manoeuvring to remain right side up, "Because it has the opposite effect!"

Begrudgingly, in between the panic, he notes that Mystery is right about the energy depletion. The yellowed sparks of static are far weaker, being fuzzier and more dispersed. Not that that makes him any less alarmed. He shoots the dog what he hopes is an expression akin to reproach and resumes his search for an escape route. When Mystery had said that Arthur would be reuniting with Vivi and Lewis he had assumed it would be at a later date. Not right now.

"How do I get into this thing!" He taps a mechanical finger against the heat at his chest, ignoring the unease it invoked. Apart from sparking once it remained inert. Last time, his trip into the heart…anchor… had just sort of happened. How does one go about dematerialising themselves? He has no idea. Silently, Arthur curses his stupid ghost body with all its weird quirks.

Mystery, unaffected by his continued fretting, stands and trots to the back door.

/You may enter anytime you wish./ Mystery addresses the metal and Arthur assumes that he is projecting his voice to Vivi and Lewis on the other side.

Arthur gives up on the heart and all but throws himself into the van's front seat, ducking low, so he's lying horizontal and shielded from sight. On his back, staring up, he has a good view through the windshield, showing him a darkening night sky dotted with several brighter stars. He can also see the back end of the hospital and its office block. All the building's windows are dark.

The sound of the back door hinges squeaking open is loud and overly ominous.

"Mystery," He hears Vivi's bright laugh, "Your fur is all poofy. That's quite the look."

/A side effect when dealing with beings of the lightning persuasion. It will not be permanent./ Is the blunt response. For a long second, Arthur wishes he knew how to phase through things so he could sink into the seat's upholstery. Surely, as a ghost, that was something he could do.  

"But it's adorable…ouch… static shock." The van dips, taking on extra weight. There is the sound of shuffling, and the click of paws while Vivi and Mystery move about.

"Are those scorch marks?" A second, softer, deeper voice has all the static, which had been jumping sporadically about his face and shoulders, stilling, almost freezing in place. Lewis. Arthur doesn't need to see his former friend to know that the other man, alive and well, is peering into the van after Vivi, hesitant to follow due to his larger stature. It has been over two years since they've had a proper interaction, so he's understandably worried. Arthur doesn't consider saving Lewis in the cave or getting chased around by dead-vengeful-ghost-Lewis as a proper interaction.

/I believe I cautioned you to the possibility of environmental damage. Young spirits are often volatile./

Lewis responds with a weary, "Uh. Yeah. You did. I didn't think it would be this extensive." Arthur strains to hear more when Lewis's voice grows quiet towards the end of his sentence.

"Oh, don't worry about that. It'll buff out. Probably." Vivi's enthusiasm is vibrant, drowning out any hesitation.

An amused cough and Lewis is speaking again, “You’re not the one who swore on their favourite paring knife to look after the van.”

“Psh. Arthur was high on pain killers when you made that promise. He’ll be lucky if he remembers we were even there.”

The exchange is relaxed, natural and full of warmth. Arthur grips the heart at his chest, trying to ease the sudden tight sensation. A wave of cold regret radiates outwards, weighing on his mind and limbs. The static turns from a warmer yellow to a paler white colour in response to the emotional shift, like he’s some sort of human-shaped mood ring.

“So where is our new ghosty friend?” Vivi talks, still as animated as ever. Arthur is no longer paying attention, to preoccupied with the growing hollow numbness and a creeping sense of loss.

“Did you do that evaluation? What happened? What did you find out? Does Arthur have a mysterious twin, tragically dead, returned from the grave to reunite with his long-lost brother?”

An eager pause follows the question before Mystery snuffs out loud and responds,  /All is well. Our friend is present with us now./

A beat of silence.

“Maybe he’s invisible. Ghosts can go invisible, right?” Vivi mutters.

“Don’t look at me. I know even less than you.”

Arthur is not ready for Mystery’s head to pop up above him, appearing suddenly to stare down from over the seat divider. The unexpected action has him flinching back into the upholstery. A bolt of static jumps up but fizzles out on some invisible barrier before it can make contact.

The dog appears marginally apologetic for startling him, even as he points out, /I believe that was the queue to introduce yourself./ Arthur assumes, hopes, that Mystery is talking exclusively to him and that Vivi and Lewis can’t hear as well.  Mystery rests his front paws on the divider, ears pricked forward to catch Arthur’s hushed response.

“You planned this from the start,” He hisses, disliking that Mystery is forcing him into a situation that he definitely doesn’t feel ready for. Arthur is sick of this emotional roller-coaster and wants out.

/Of course I did./ Mystery replies testily, tilting his head to the side, /Believe me, letting emotions fester can have disastrous consequences for a ghost. Best to do this as soon as possible./

Arthur winces, grimacing, thoughts quickly turning to ghost Lewis. Fire. Death. Hate. Whatever expression he’s making, it must be pitiful because Mystery’s dark eyes grow sympathetic, like he’s seriously considering Arthur’s feelings.  

A second later, before Arthur can capitalise of Mystery’s new-found sympathy, Vivi’s face joins her dog’s, appearing suddenly above him. Openly curious, she freezes upon seeing him scrunched down into the front seat. Arthur, also freezing, stares back. 

Part 8: here

[doomedandstoned]

Clutch

Red Fang

Mos Generator

~Live At McDonald Theatre~

Words & Photographs by Stephanie Savenkoff

I drove down to Eugene, Oregon from Vancouver, Washington to see Clutch at McDonald Theatre. I couldn’t resist with such an amazing line-up that included two Northwest favorites, Mos Generator and Red Fang. I left in time to be able to catch the rise of The Hunter’s Moon at Skinner’s Butte, but alas the horizon was shrouded in clouds. My spirits were lifted, however, when I arrived at the theater. It was a beautiful venue with a large, well lit stage.

I was pleased to see a lot of young people, as it was an All Ages show. So many acts play venues where minors aren’t allowed, so it was great to see the youth taking advantage of the opportunity. Tony Reed gave a shout out to those youngsters during Mos Generator’s set. He asked for a show of hands of those under 21 and thanked them for coming out and supporting rock music and live performances.

MOS GENERATOR

Mos Generator was up first. I have had the pleasure of seeing them perform a number of times in Portland and Seattle. I ran into Tony right before they went on and asked if I might be able to shoot their whole set instead of just the first three songs and he graciously agreed. That was an amazing treat and much appreciated! As a fan and audience member I love to see a performer lose themselves in their performance and have what I call a “bliss moment.” For me, it elevates the energy and feeling of connectedness and I enjoy the live experience even more. Tony did just that at many points throughout their set. He radiated pure joy as he played and it was heartwarming to see.

Jono was thunder on the drums. It truly felt like he put his whole being into his playing. Everything was engaged and his intention was, well, intense.

Sean Booth on bass was intense, as well. Wearing his traditional (dare I say iconic) checkered shirt, Sean stayed planted and he dug down deep. His hair tends to hang over his face as he leans into his playing, but every once in a while it becomes visible, like the sun moving in and out of clouds.

Between sets another concert goer described their performance as tight, groovy, and jammy. A very concise and accurate summation to be sure.

RED FANG

Red Fang went on next and I have to say, they play with raw energy and pure fun. The killer bass drum by John Sherman thudded like a heartbeat while the controlled growl/scream of Aaron Beam tickled all the right places. The virtuoso shredding of David Sullivan on guitar was like lightning! He barely moved and his gaze was always low, but he was all business and all fire.

Bryan Giles alternatingly took the lead and his raw power was stunning. His deep voice added to the heavy even as the songs sped along like a freight train.

Red Fang fans like to mosh, but things stayed low key for the most part, in contrast to the show the night before in Bend. With the young people in attendance, I was glad that things didn’t get out of hand.

CLUTCH

At last, Clutch took the stage and opened with the classic "The House That Peterbilt" from 1995 and the audience lit up. The energy level rose the moment Neil Fallon hit the stage and started belting. I just became acquainted with Clutch about a year ago and this was my first time experiencing them live. The quality of their sound is amazing and just as good as the studio. Seeing them live is better, though, as you get to watch Neil perform the songs and not just sing them. He prowled the stage like a caged panther, moving from one side to the other and the animation of his body and face was continuous

The only time I saw him stand in one place was when he played guitar on a couple songs toward the end of the set. Clutch has a considerable catalogue and I was impressed by the depth and breadth of it. I find it hard to name a favorite, but after experiencing the show I am leaning heavily toward "Sucker For The Witch." (Side note: I discovered that all of the band members had writing credit for that song, which I think is rather rare.) Jean-Paul Gaster was a master on the kit. Tim Sault never looked up from his guitar and had absolute focus on his playing. Dan Maines on bass was fairly still himself, all of which I think allowed the focus to stay on Neil and his dramatic, animated performance.

Neil asked the audience if Clutch had played that theater before. The audience responded affirmatively. Neil admitted that he couldn’t recall doing so, but that he would remember this night for sure. I know all of us will!

Clutch ended their set with "Electric Worry," which is often their encore song. I wasn’t sure if they would come back out, even though the audience was clapping, shouting, and the front row people were thumping the photo pit barrier, but return they did. When they came back out, Neil confessed that his guitar player informed him that they had indeed played McDonald Theatre before with Primus and that it wasn’t that long ago (August 13th of 2017).

He then announced the first song they intended to play which was "Willie Nelson," whom Neil declared “a National Treasure.” They finished with "X-Ray Visions" and I swear Neil put just as much energy into that number as he did his first. I don’t know how he had anything left in him after the constant movement onstage and the amount of passion and punctuation he puts into every song.

Clutch was a class act from start to finish. The band members gathered up the set lists from the stage and handed them to fans over the barrier and shook hands with many of them.

I truly hope I have the privilege of seeing them live again sometime. When I left the theater I was able to see the Hunter’s Moon shining brightly overhead as the sky was mostly clear. A perfect end to a perfect night.