#her arms have me folding like a lawn chair

[lesbiradshaw]

♠️

[lovebugism]

heyy i have a request <33

just read ur shy reader x steve fic where she gives him his phone number back and then hits her head and he’s just so 🥰🥰🥰 abt it all. i know it’s a prequel to a fic where they’re finally together but could i politely request a fic from when they did get together. maybe tommy tries picking on her again but steve actually stops him that time🩷🩷🩷

thanks for requesting :D part of the king!steve universe! — steve defends you from his asshole friends (shy!fem!r established relationship, hurt/comfort | 1k)

The air smells overwhelmingly of the late summer season. Of nighttime and dewy grass and chlorine and Steve The Hair Harrington. 

The boy himself lazes in the lawn chair next to yours, much too far for your liking. The warm scent of his cologne lingers between you and cradles you in his absence. 

You tilt your chin to your shoulder and admire the sharp edges of Steve’s profile in silence. Your heavy eyes fall from his pronounced browbone, to the slope of his chiseled nose, and finally to the plush of his pink lips. Too pretty for his own good.

“You can swim if you want to,” you murmur when you catch him eyeing Tommy and Carol splashing each other in the steaming pool. “You know that, right?”

Steve’s brows furrow, as though offended by the question. “I’m okay here.”

“I just don’t want you to think you have to stay here with me—”

“I don’t care about swimming with those two shitheads, alright? Honest,” the boy interjects, then turns to look at you fully. Honey glitters in his dark eyes, which melt with a quiet adoration. In a similarly warm tone, he confesses, “I just wanna spend time with you.” 

A petaled smile blooms on your mouth. You purse your lips to the side in a futile attempt to conceal it, which only makes Steve’s smug grin grow. He knows what he’s doing to you. And it’s maddening.

“You can flirt with your girlfriend without being an asshole, you know?” Tommy calls from the shallow end of the pool, freckled arms folded along the concrete edge. He shakes wet hair from his face and jokes, “Dissing your friends isn’t exactly a turn-on. Ain’t that right, sweetheart?”

Your face burns when he turns to you. The unwanted attention makes your throat catch and your stomach do backflips. ‘Cause no matter how many times Steve invites you to these hangouts, you know you’ll never truly fit in. Not here. Not with them.

Steve, seemingly sensing your discomfort as you shift in your seat, calls back. “Hey, Tommy?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

"Dick,” the darker-haired boy chuckles. 

Carol swims over to him, then, and mounts his back. She wraps all her dainty limbs around him like a koala. Tommy accommodates her weight with little effort. “Hey, Wallflower. Why don’t you hop in? The water’s warm.”

As if you didn’t already know that you were less than friends, the use of the horrid nickname was further confirmation.

“I don’t know how to swim,” you confess in a mousy voice.

“I could always teach ya,” he offers, mostly polite, but still distantly creepy in his way. “You’ve got a bathing suit under all that, right?”

“Uh… Yeah?”

The corner of his mouth lifts in a faint smirk. His dark eyes flit up and down your form like he can see right through your oversized t-shirt. “Nice,” he hums.

Carol scoffs and swats his arm. “You’re such a boy.”

Tommy’s freckled face swirls with a boyish offense. “I just wanna know what she looks like under all those clothes! That’s all!” he argues like it’s normal. Like you aren’t there at all.

“Okay, Tommy,” Steve spits. “That’s just gross.”

“What?” he laughs

“You can’t— You can’t just say that!” the boy beside you retorts, talking wildly with his hands. “That’s, like, super sexist, dude.”

Even stewing in your red-hot embarrassment, he manages to get a smile out of you. Not that he’s trying to, anyway. He’s trying to stand up for you — the best he can, at least. It’s not his fault his boyishness is so damn adorable.

“Don’t act like you haven’t said worse shit, Harrington!” 

“Yeah, but I grew up! It’s not my fault you’re still fourteen!”

Tommy rears his arm back to splash him. The warm droplets of the heated pool land mostly on the boy beside you, dampening his sweatshirt in rogue places. A few fall gently on your arm when you flinch away.

“See. Now you’re just proving my point,” Steve deadpans.

“Hey, Wallflower!” Tommy shouts, if only to further provoke his best friend. “If you ever want a break from this hardass, give us a call, alright?”

Carol gasps in offense. “You’re so gross,” she giggles before splashing him with a lighthearted hand. To which Tommy responds with a much bigger, much more dramatic splash of his own. 

The two of them roughhouse like they hate each other and forget you were ever there, while you drown in a riptide of thoughts.

What did she mean by that? your mind races. Does the mere thought of you disgust her? Or does she realize how pervy her boyfriend is? Maybe it’s both. But the thought is still stomach-turning.

Steve looks over at you and softens all over again. “Sorry about him,” he mumbles.

His honeyed voice cuts through all the mean voices in your head. You blink hard and turn to him with less glazed-over eyes. “You’re real cute, you know?” you say with a wavering, mostly sincere grin.

He only shrugs and swipes an anxious hand through his hair, ducking away when his cheeks start to speckle a burning pink color. The chocolate strands fall back over his forehead once more. 

“He doesn’t get to talk to you like that,” he murmurs sheepishly. “Or anyone, but… Especially you.”

“Hardass,” you quip with a mischievous squint.

Steve sends you a playful glare in return. You cave with a pretty laugh. He grins at the sound of it and settles back in his plastic lounge chair, blinking up at the velvet night sky.

“It’s feel good, though,” he mutters with his arms folded over his stomach.

Your brows pinch. “What does?”

“Being the only one who gets to see you under all that.”

Steve flashes you a smirk — pretty, pink, and lopsided. You meet the petaled expression with a lighthearted glower despite the sparkles burning like embers in your chest. 

“Does it?” you monotone.

“Yep,” he answers, popping the p. “It’s an honor, really.”

“Shut up.”

“I feel like I deserve a medal, honestly.”

“Shut up.”

[jeridandridge]

Beach Day

Reader meets some of Melissa’s family during a trip to the beach.

My grasp of Italian is very limited as you’ll see 😅

“Are you sure you’re up for this, hon?”

You chuckle as you finish packing up the cooler for the day.

“Baby, if I didn’t feel like going I wouldn’t go. You’re more nervous than I am.”

Melissa huffs leaning against the truck, you two already in your bathing suits under your clothes for a day at the beach with her family. You’d met a cousin or two, but not almost the entire family. Even nonna was excited to spend a day in the sun.

You walk over to your girlfriend resting your hands on her hips. “It’s gonna be a great day, okay? I’m so excited to meet the people that raised such an amazing person.” You beam.

Melissa smiles cupping your cheeks with her hands bringing you in for a soft kiss.

“The last time I brought someone around it was Joe and they didn’t like him at all. I married him anyway and they ended up being right.” She explains.

You shake your head gently giving her hip a squeeze. “Parents love me. I’ll show you.”

An hour later you find yourself wheeling the cooler down the cement path to the sand, Schmmenti family in sight. You spot Melissa’s cousin Joey kicking a soccer ball around with his son and a bunch of other relatives seated on a picnic bench.

“Hey there they are!” A guy you recognize as Melissa’s uncle Tommy waves them over.

You smile when you see Melissa relax a bit, you two walk through the sand and grass getting to the table where she playfully shoves her cousin off when he goes to give her a hug.

“So you finally brought the woman you never shut up about!” Uncle Tommy teases her.

“Yeah yeah, don’t make it weird. This is y/n.” She smiles at you as you give a little wave.

“I already know this guy.” You playfully groan pointing at Joey getting everyone else to laugh. You look around the rest of the group nodding at each one naming off another aunt, cousin, niece, and finally, Melissa’s grandmother who’s happily lounging in a folding chair.

She has her dark hair piled up on her head much like Melissa wears hers and has kind brown eyes you’re shocked at how young she seems chalking it up to years of good food and company.

As the group disperses Melissa takes your hand walking you over to the older woman.

“nonna questa è la mia ragazza.” She smiles. You learned a little bit of Italian, and picked up a few words.

“Oh, Cara ragazza, she’s a pretty one.” The woman smiles standing up and kissing both of your cheeks.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Mel’s told me so much about you.” You beam keeping your fingers laced with your girlfriends.

“Ditto, y/n. Welcome.” She smiles reaching out to squeeze your upper arm.

Your smile only grows when nonna takes her seat again and Melissa looks at you with almost watery eyes.

“Why don’t you go show off and kick joeys ass.” She nods to the sand where the guys are playing soccer.

You smirk and lean in kissing her cheek before you leave your shirt and flip flops near the cooler taking off in your bikini top and Jean shorts.

Melissa smiles sitting next to her grandmother on the lawn chair. As you run around with the guys giving joeys son a high five when he scores a goal Melissa’s smile widens.

“I like her.” Nonna nods in your direction, laughing when you fake Uncle Tommy out with the ball.

“She’s amazing.” Melissa smiles dreamily in your direction as you jog back over with a breathless laugh.

“Baby, do you have the keys? I forgot Anthony’s body board in the back.” You explain as the young boy bolts towards you. She fishes the keys out of her bag handing them to the excited pre teen.

“You only use that thing when your dads around, capeesh? Y/N heard you like surfing and insisted on one of those for today.” She smiles.

Anthony nods eagerly buzzing as he runs towards the truck.

“You need more sunblock, Mel.” You hum seeing her shoulders already a light shade of pink.

Nonna shoots her granddaughter a knowing look as you get the sunscreen from the bag, a look that says you had her approval.

[abibliophobiaa]

can i get childhood friends to lovers, angst/smut, “but friends don’t look at each other like we do” and “shut up and kiss me already” with steve harrington please!

thank you! steve harrington x fem!reader. (700 words)

-

It wasn’t the group's brightest idea. In all honesty, it was a truly silly one. You realized that now, but you’d each had a couple beers and shared a joint before a roaring fire pit, when suddenly Argyle threw out the brilliant—or not so brilliant—suggestion of ‘spin the bottle.’

The group groaned collectively, a mixed blend of “Are you serious?” with Eddie throwing in, “What are we, five?” into the midst.

It was how you ended up sitting breathlessly on your lawn chair in the backyard of Steve’s parent’s place, heart pounding in anticipation as the bottle spun around and around for the umpteenth time. You’d all taken turns by that point. Nancy kissed a giddy Argyle, you kissed Robin, all cherry chapstick sweetness lingering on both your lips. Eddie had jovially barked out a laugh when he’d spun and landed on Steve. Shouted into the fold, “Plant one on me, big boy,” as Steve stretched an arm across the space between them and tugged him forward for the briefest press of lips.

But nothing prepared you for the awkward silence when Steve spun and landed on you. Heat arose in your belly. Your palms, splayed across your thighs, moved to fiddle with a frayed edge on your jean shorts. Curious eyes flickered about the group, awkward laughter bubbled.

“You two are going to just stare at each other or get to the lip smackin’?” Argyle asked, and dropped back against his chair, the neck of his beer bottle pressed to his lips to take a sip.

“Steve?” Your voice sounded small.

Steve didn’t speak. Didn’t say a word, really. Only stared at you, face illuminated by the fire in an orange glow, with a look on his face you couldn’t quite place. Growing frustrated and increasingly uncomfortable under the wide-eyed stares of your friends, you tutted, muttering impatiently, “We going to just…get on with it?”

Steve glanced around the group, palms up and shaking in the air. “I can’t kiss her. Not right now and definitely not right in front of you all—”

Rejection settled in your gut. Worry and upset swirled over the thought that Steve must have thought a kiss with you would be the worst thing in that moment—that he couldn’t even fathom doing so to settle the bunch.

He floundered once more, letting out a garbled, “I just—”

It happened quickly after that. Fingers pressed into a broad chest as he lifted from his lawn chair and curled an arm around your waist. As he tugged you flush against his form. He tasted like beer, too many sugary snacks and popcorn. Smelled like smoke, that signature honey shampoo he’d used since high school, and beneath all of that, the cologne you bought him for Christmas. But he felt like home, like running through the front door after school to jump in his pool as kids, like first heartbreaks where he’d held you when you cried and you did the same for him, like ice cream dates, mall trips, movie nights and Family Video hangouts.

Steve.

Your Steve.

The realization sparked fire against your skin as you reared back and looked into those dark eyes. The horror of the looks on your friends' faces all around you had your lungs tightening, throat hitching, because you’d kissed your best friend.

But friends don’t look at each other like we do, a voice in your mind whispered. Friends don’t kiss friends like we do.

Because Steve’s kiss felt like leaping off the edge of a cliff into a river below. Steve’s kiss felt like jumping into your favorite book, watching your favorite movie, listening to a favorite song. It felt like butterflies brushing against your stomach, like the drop when you drive down a hill, like a plane taking off a tarmac.

“Come with me for a minute?” Steve’s voice broke into silence, cursing when the group broke out in kissy noises and drawn out ‘oooohs.’

You slipped in through the sliding glass door of his home, your hip brushing against the kitchen counter when he dragged you further away from proving eyes, closing the curtains for added measure. And then it was a rapidly babbled mess of words pouring from his lips, “You felt something, right? Like it wasn’t just me? I just—we’ve been friends forever—and I—”

“Steve?”

“Yeah,” he asked, all soft features and pouty lips that had your head spinning.

“Steve, just shut up and kiss me already.”

[matchibee]

A Web of Their Own Design (pt. 3)

bark? bark bark? (barely proofread)

Atoms felt as though they were dissipating, burning like a flame. You could feel your very being splitting apart, distancing themselves as you clutching yourself, fetal position of the floor of the Spider Society — countless spiders: men, women, animals? — looking to you with remorse, a silent understanding. "First time?"

You supposed there was a first time for everything, every experience and bloodshed, but this was far from favorable. A burden running deeper than anything you'd ever experienced prior.

"Here, hun." Spider-Woman, Jessica, you'd come to know the spider who'd previously come to your aid. "It'll help with the glitching."

You secured the band around your wrist — a day pass — Hobie, Spider-Punk, had called it. You thanked her with a nod, Hobie brushing your shoulder, your neck turning to gaze upon him. "Why're you here?"

You thought you might've heard him wrong, excusing yourself, asking for clarification.

"Were Bossman's words so enticing you folded just like that?"

"I wouldn't say I folded."

"Like a lawn-chair."

"Hey!"

Miguel called out to you from ways away, sculpted back facing you, unchanging in his posture. "Knock it off, kids." Was he saying that to infuriate you? Certainly not. If the phenomenon sweeping the universes — multiverses? spiderverses? — was as pressing as he made them seem, he wouldn't been keen on making enemies.

You entered a room situated at the end of a vast hallway, spider variants that passed you by looking to you as though you were nothing more than a fleeting light in an array of stars.

Here, you were normal. Here, your powers weren't a burden nor a blessing. You simply existed, coasting the waves in an experience of simplicity.

It was liberating.

"You're about to get the Spider-Spiel."

"The huh?"

"My name, as you know, is Miguel O'Hara. I'm the leader of an elite Strike-Force dedicated to the security of the multiverse. That's where you are now, where I've brought you."

Hobie was not kidding when he said this man was about to go on a spiel.

"I'm this universe's one and only Spider-Man. I'm... Well, I'm different from the rest, different from everyone."

His introduction piqued your curiosity, a million questions pressing against the tip of your tongue, reducing yourself to a singular inquiry, perhaps the one that mattered the most. "What does that have to do with me?"

Miguel removed his mask, sumptuous blues and reds forfeiting themselves for a face sculpted by the Gods. His suit was far from deceiving, clinging to his body in a way only the spandex could. A second skin.

"Lyla," a hologram produced an AI from seemingly nowhere. "Do the thing."

The opulently dressed Artifice feigned ignorance. "What thing?"

"The thing."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Miguel clawed his hands down his face, skin contorting to his touch, frustrated. "You are literally programed to know what thing."

The two bickered back and forth, Miguel entirely fed up as Lyla continued the act, zipping in blurbs around his body, Miguel struggling to keep up with the myriad places she seemed to reposition herself.

You leaned towards Hobie, faces still obscured by your masks, "Do they always act like this?"

"Infuriating? Stubborn? Wanton?"

"All of the above."

"On the daily."

You groaned much like Miguel had, swift in removing your mask, a breath of fresh air — said air smelling different, its taste even differing from the air you breathed in your own universe.

"You're quite the looker beneath your mask," Hobie had removed his own, head of hair bouncing voluminously from its confines, a face graced in silvers. "Decent face, obviously intelligent. How'd you let that guy drag you into all this? This... institutional nonsense?"

All you could think of in the midst of Hobie's own rant was how the hell did all that hair fit?

"Institutional nonsense?"

"Rubbish, all of it. I never believed in it." He crossed his arms over his chest, fed up with the situation.

"Hobie," You gathered his attention, a hum sounding from his throat. "You're part of this institution — you're wearing the same watch as everyone else."

He clicked his tongue, "I don't believe in consistency."

"Obviously."

Miguel rejoiced in the background, attentions returning to the mount of muscle, "There we go!"

The lights dimmed in a dramatic fashion, a network of webs connecting to display the multiverse. You looked into them with wonder, hand reaching out, fearing what might happen if your fingers brushed the webs. You saw everything, everyone. Nobody exempt from Miguel's observations, network extending more vast than anything you'd ever believed possible. It seemed impossible for him to be capable of such feats.

"This is..."

"For the sake of simplicity: everything."

Nothing could describe what you felt, what you saw. Every Spider's happiness, downfall. Their hopes and dreams on the sleeve of the multiverse. Not once had you had an original experience. Not now, not ever. If you'd thought it, chances were another had, too.

The thought alone was terrifying? Comforting? You couldn't quite put your finger on it, everything blurring into a singular feeling, a network of minds linked, perhaps cursed.

Was this all you were?

"There are certain canon events that precede Spiderman's existence."

"Canon event?"

Jess spoke up, "Events that are intended to happen. Trials and tribulations every Spider goes through — are meant to go through."

Miguel hummed. "Mhm, mhm. In the future, Jess, I'll do the explaining."

She could only groan in response to his declaration, turning on her heel with a wave of her gloved hand. "Always one for dramatics."

"As Jess said," He spoke the words through his teeth, "Canon events are experiences we all experience — the loss of a loved one, how we acquired our powers. Without these moments, we are breaking the canon, deflecting from what the multiverse intended of us."

You groaned, so much information. Too much information. As exciting as everything seemed, as ecstatic as you were to know you weren't allowed in the world — in any world — this was far too much for you to digest on a Tuesday afternoon, abandoned coffee roaming the halls. "I'm gonna ask one more time, if I don't get my answer, I'm leaving." You approached him, closing the distance between you, standing face-to-face with him in a manner you'd do well in assuming nobody had previously, if his response had anything to say about it. "What does this have to do with me?"

Eyebrows raised, posture stiff. "It has everything to do with you."

You scoffed, returning your mask to where it originated, Miguel's eyes flickering to follow the motion. "I'm out."

"You don't get to just..." He paused to find the words, "Opt out!"

You were mid-thwip, a web pressed against the roof of the room, Hobie watching you with the brightest grin you'd ever seen grace anyone's features. "And why not?"

"These anomalies have been steadily increasing in your universe, concentrating themselves there for some reason. I've yet to see anything like it. It's... Odd."

Hobie's smile fashioned into a frown as you detached from your web, reproaching, perhaps regretting. "You don't have any idea why that could be happening?"

"None. Not yet."

Of course not. Of course this couldn't be easy, the multiverse keen on making your life difficult.

If only someone else had been there that day, cooped up in your school's laboratory studying, examining specimen and confining their anatomy to memory. If only you hadn't slouched in your seat while in desperate need of a break, reaching up to remove the goggles from your face, a spider finding its home on the back of your hand. Nipping at the skin, injecting its influence. If only you hadn’t awoke the next morning with pain pricking at your limbs, sticking to every surface, parents knocking at your door in worry.

If only you awoke the next morning a superhero.

"You want my help?" You were hesitant, unsure. This only widened the burden, further extended how far you'd have to stretch yourself to keep up with everything — with life. Could your relationships survive this? Could your universe survive this?

If you didn't agree to join their Spider Society, you might never know.

"We need your help."

"Fine." You were quick, indignant. There was no point beating around the bush when you could potentially bring an end to this today. A hand outstretched to Miguel, the man confused, hesitant to return the favor. You were extending yourself to him, a gesture he saw as vulnerable.

Vulnerability would be the death of him.

Still, he took your hand, wordless. Palms clasping together as he explained the parameters, what you would be doing and how you could help them. How they could help you, a paradox of service.

Another piece of the puzzle, a pawn on his board. Miguel O'Hara had secured yet another someone that would assist him in ensuring the multiverse didn't collapse.

Another Spider to help untangle the web Miles Morales had spun.

[luulapants]

At this year's family holiday party, I heard two stories about my grandma (who died before I was born) that I'd never heard before.

The first was from my uncle: "One day, when I was maybe six years old, a Black man came riding down our street on a bicycle, calling out, 'Get your knives and scissors sharpened!' He had the big stone on the back of his bike for sharpening. And, of course, the neighborhoods were all segregated back then, and all of the neighbors started closing their doors and windows, and some of them were shouting and cursing at him, shouting, 'Get the fuck out of here!' and the N-word.

"And my mom saw this, and she went out front and waved her arms and yelled, 'Over here! Come over here, I've got some knives that need sharpening!' She pulled out a couple of folding chairs and she told me to go in the house and get some knives and some lemonade. She told the man to sit down and relax and have something to drink. Then she stood out on the edge of the lawn with her hands on her hips and looked from one neighbor's house to the next, because she knew who'd been shouting those things, and she just glared at them long and hard, like she was daring them to come say something to her. We all sat out there on the front lawn and drank lemonade together while he sharpened our knives."

The second story was from my dad: "I'd forgotten about this story for years, but it came back to me recently. I couldn't have been more than four years old. My older brother and I broke into the neighbor's garage and wrecked it, and my mom caught us. She was furious and screaming at us bloody murder. I remember thinking, I'll do something cute to make her feel better. And Little Rascals was on TV then, and there was a cute kid that said, 'Okie!' so that's what I said.

"She snapped. She started beating the hell out of me, and it just went on and on, she just kept hitting me, and the next thing I knew, I was in my bed. She'd beat me unconscious."

Both stories are true.

My grandma's mother's used to hit her with a hot curling iron. My grandma was a WWII army nurse and a man she loved more than my grandpa died in the war. My grandma never wanted kids, but the Catholic church forbade contraceptives, and she had eight. Her third baby almost died because the post-war housing projects were built so poorly, their house couldn't stay warm in the winter. She would stay up all night holding the baby by the fire and rubbing him to keep him from freezing. When that child was four years old, she beat him unconscious.

I see so many people that struggle to reconcile the fact that great good and great evil can exist in one person. Or that a victim can be a villain. They want people to be simple. They're not. Just because you know the heroic face of a person doesn't mean they don't have a monstrous one. Just because you know the monster doesn't mean they've never been the hero. There's no easy summation of any person. They're just people.

[scarisd3ad]

To the end and back | Daryl Dixon x f!reader

Chapter 12 - born to die

Masterlist

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Summary - after the world ended you were sure you’d never find love again but a certain archer catches your eyes and changes the entire trajectory of your life.

Warnings - death of a child, regular twd warnings

'Pretty much dead already'

S2 ep6

its early morning, and carol has cooked eggs for our group. we're all sitting around eating, mostly silently. Shane was fine unfortunately. after what happened last night, he was only left with a minor limp, a bruised-up face, a broken nose and the closest thing to a restraining order I can get these days. I'm sat in a fold out lawn chair next to Daryl with a plate of eggs in my lap. I didn't sleep much last night; I might have gotten an hour at most. I keep staring off into the distance, not at anything particularly just kind of zoning in and out, but I get woken out of it each time by Daryl who pats my knee and whispers "eat yer food." 

I stare down at my plate slowly spooning tiny amounts of eggs into my mouth. I look up to see Shane who is at glaring at me. his whole face is swollen, it almost looks like his entire face is just one large bruise. I kick Daryl's foot and look up at Shane to get Daryl's attention. it's not a problem to me, Shane is just staring but having the perks of one large man who will beat up any man who even tries messing with me was amazing. Daryl glares back at Shane, almost as if it's a threat. carol walks over to Daryl and scoops a little more eggs into his plate. "thanks" he mutters with a mouthful of eggs in his mouth. I watch as Glenn gets up and walks over so he's Infront of all of us. he's got his hands stuffed into his front pockets, and he just looks on edge, or maybe just nervous? "u-uhm guys..." he stutters out as he rubs at his jaw nervously. once he's got all of our attention he says "soo.." 

he lets out a long sigh before continuing "the barns full of walkers." 

we all look up at him brows furrowed. that's why he had been on edge the previous day. that's why he had been watching the barn all day. that's why Maggie wanted me to leave so they could talk. 

-

our group all ends up at the barn with Shane looking into it through a gap in the wood. now the growls, and groans of the walkers are way more apparent. I'm surprised Glenn was the first one to realize it, not Shane or rick it was Glenn. Shane normally was really cautious about new areas, he scoped out every area before letting anyone near it, I'm surprised he hadn't caught onto the barn sooner. Shane walks back towards up "you cannot tell me you're alright with this" Shane says to rick as Shane walks past rick. "No, I'm not, but we're guests here. this isn't our land." rick replies back. "This is our lives!" shouts Shane as he throws down his hat in frustration. "Lower your voices" Glenn warns. I can hear the walkers getting closer, they can hear us. if were not careful their going to try and break down the wall. "We can't just sweep this under the rug." Andrea says. I've got my arms crossed over my chest as I look at the barn. the doors are chained shut, which looks secure but how long will that hold up. just a few to many walkers pushing up against it could break it, and it would be just our luck if we were here when that happened. "It ain't right. not remotely."

Shane is pacing "okay, we either gotta go in there, make things right or we've just gotta go. now we have been talkin' about fort benning for a long time" Shane says stopping Infront of rick. "We can't go." rick hisses. we can't go because Lori's pregnant, if we go we're risking her life by not only not having a somewhat safe place to stay, but also were just throwing away the medical care we have through Hershel. he's got all types of medicines and experience in the field; we can't just throw all that away because of walkers in a sealed-up barn. "Why rick? why?" carol quickly cuts in "because my daughters still out there." Sophia was still out there too. we can't just leave her out there. no matter how much faith the others have in her, there is still a chance she's still alive. "okay" Shane scoffs as he cups his hands around his mouth "okay I think it's time that we all start to just consider the other possibility."

"We're not leaving Sophia behind!" I say, Daryl marches forwards "I'm close to findin' this girl I just found her damn doll two days ago!" Shane laughs sarcastically like it was funny to him that we were all so concerned about the little girl. "You found her doll, Daryl. that's what you did. you found a doll!" Daryl's brows furrow angrily it's like he's really begun to care for the others in the group unlike he used to. before he only got food for us because he got to get away from everyone, now he really cares.

"You don't know what the hell you're talkin' about!" Daryl shouts, rick holds his arm out really just to keep Daryl and Shane away from each other because Shane's 2 words away from getting his shit rocked again. "Look I'm just sayin' what needs to be said! you get a good lead, it's in the first 48 hours!" 

"Stop Shane!" rick says raising his hands trying to start the more violent confrontation we knew was going to happen. Shane doesn't listen to anybody but himself though so Shane shouts "let me tell you something else man. if she was alive out there and saw you comin' all methed out with your buck knife and geek ears around your neck, she would run in the other direction!" Daryl immediately starts walking towards Shane with is pointer finger pointing angrily obviously trying to fight. good thing rick was already in the middle of the two, rick holds Daryl back but he still try's coming at Shane. "I'll beat your ass if you come at me again!" shouts Shane. it takes a few of us holds each man back to stop the fight. I'm holding onto Daryl's arm tightly while Andrea is in front of him. it's easier to hold back Daryl than it is to hold back Shane. "Back off!"

I guess Lori had grabbed Shane or something which prompts Shane to say "keep your hands off of me" with his finger in her face. Shane starts to stomp off with Lori following shortly behind. "Let me talk to Hershel" rick says which makes Shane turn around "let me figure it out!" rick adds. my hand is still tightly wrapped around the area between Daryl's upper and lower arm. "What are you going to figure out?!" Shane shouts as he charges at rick. Lori steps in between the two placing her hand on Shane's chest. "If we're gonna stay, if we're gonna clear this barn, I have to talk him into it. this is his land!" shouts rick. "Hershel sees those things in there as people- sick people. his wife, h-his stepson." dale says kind of trying to explain why Hershel keeps them. they were people but not anymore, they've been dead since they turned, we learned that the CDC. maybe if one of us explains to him that scientists had proved they were dead since they turned maybe he'd understand. "You knew?" rick asks with his brows furrowed in confusion. "Yesterday I talked to Hershel." dale explains.

"And you waited the night?" Shane asks. what if those things got out overnight, waiting over night was a bad decision on his part, on Glenns too. "I thought we could survive on more night! we did." dale says defending his decision. yeah, we did but there was still the risk of something happening especially with all the noise we had made last night. "I was waiting till this morning to say something, but Glenn wanted to be the one." dale says gesturing towards Glenn. "The man is crazy rick, if Hershel thinks those things are alive or no!" Shane gets worked up again and starts stomping his way towards rick. someone really needs to get that man some type of drug to calm his ass down. everyone freezes when the door starts the rattle, and the walkers behind it start to groan and growl louder, and angrier. Shane really needs to calm his ass down; all his screaming and whining has riled them up. 

-

I'm leaned up against a tree reading a book I've read what feels like a million times. its feels like I could read it with my eyes closed if I really wanted to. I'm reading to try and get my mind off of the barn, but it doesn't help much. I want to leave now, I used to feel like it was safe here, but now I feel like I'd be safer out on the road. I flip the page and I'm about to start reading the first sentence when I spot Daryl lugging a saddle out towards the horse stables. I groan as I drop my book beside me and push myself up off of the ground. he's really doing this shit again going out by himself with a horse, while he's barely healed enough to walk, let alone ride a horse and go out by himself. he's stressing me out. he's barely able to carry the saddle I don't know why he thinks he'll be able to go out and look for Sophia. 

I follow him into the stables and watch as he's barely able to put the saddle onto its stand. he grunts as he throws the saddle on top of the stand. he's worrying me there's no need for him to go out right now because rick is going out later. "You can't" I say, he limps his way over to some of the horse equipment and says, "I'm fine."  I roll my eyes and say, "Hershel said you need to heal." he grabs something and begins to limp his way over towards one of the horses "yeah, I don't care" of course he doesn't care but I do, and I don't want him going out by himself anymore. if the same thing happens again, I wouldn't be able to live with myself because that would mean I knew the risks and still let him go. "Well, I do. ricks going out later to follow the trail." I say trying to convince him that he doesn't need to go. "Yeah well, I ain't gonna sit around and do nothing" I don't know what to say to convince him he's done more than enough already. I just don't want him to get hurt again, I don't want him to run into the same problem again and not make it out alive this time. it was a miracle he was able to do it last time, but his luck is going to run out one day. "Daryl, you're gonna go out there and get yourself hurt even worse" I say, he ignores me. I don't know what to say to him to get him out of this mindset, I don't know what to say to myself to get myself out of the same mindset that I'm not doing enough, that no matter what I do it's not enough. I've been trying to convince myself that were going to find her so is Daryl, but I think we need to understand that that might not happen. I love Sophia to death, and I hope she's out there surviving but I need to understand that there is a chance that she might not, and that scenario is way more realistic now a days. Daryl might have been able to survive in the woods when he was Sophia's age, but Sophia has so many more obstacles in her way. 

"Daryl, we don't know if we're going to find her."  Daryl slowly turns my way with his brows furrowed "we don't" I repeat. "I don't..." I whisper he starts to approach me brows furrowed "what?" he asks. "I don't want to lose you too" a tear falls down my cheek. I've lost my family, my friends I can't lose him too. I can't let him go out there and die for a little girl who is most likely dead by now. he walks away like he's disappointed in me "Daryl I've lost my brother; I've lost everyone I can't los-" he stops in front of the saddle stand and looks back at me before picking up the saddle and chunking it with a grunt. he quickly doubles over in pain though gripping at his abdomen. I quickly rush to his side "are you alright?" I ask placing my hand on his back trying to help him, but he shoos me away "just leave me be!" he stays as he stumbles away from me "stupid bitch" he grumbles which makes me stop trying to follow him. "asshole" I mutter as I wipe the stray tear that had fallen down my cheek. I go back to my tree reading because I didn't really want him to be any madder at me than he is right now. I can't tolerate Daryl while he's being stubborn. he'll never admit I'm right no matter how right I am. 

it feels like he doesn't understand that I can't lose any more people, I can't physically take it anymore. I've lost my brother, my grandparents, and my friends I can't lose him too. if I lost him that would be the thing that would push me overboard. that would be the final thing to push me over the edge and he doesn't understand that I know that he is strong, and he could push his feeling down into his ass if he really wanted to, but I can't. if I lost him, I wouldn't be able to handle life anymore. I feel like the only other person I feel like that with I Glenn. if a lost Glenn I wouldn't be able to live anymore as well. both of them don't understand that and they just keep putting themselves in danger and it stresses me out.

I don't know how long I sit there reading but I go chapter by chapter getting more and more engrossed with the book as time goes on. I don't really even put the book down until I hear someone cough. I look up to see Daryl "hey" I mumble as I put the book down next to me. I'm not mad at him, but I'm disappointed that he doesn't care more about himself. he takes a seat on the ground next to me, gasping a little once he's sat down. "Be careful" I whisper as he picks up the book on the ground. the dust jacket had been ripped off ages ago when the book was gifted to my mother just leaving the maroon-colored hard cover. he looks at the back and then the front before he says "whatcha readin'?" I shrug as I grab the book from his hands and placing it to my right. "Hey, I'm sorry about early alrigh?" he asks I nod "it's fine" I say leaning my back against the tree. "You were mad" I add "you're allowed to be mad" I say grabbing his hand and caressing the top of it with my thumb. he's still a little tense with physical affection like holding hands, kissing, and stuff. I look up at him and smiles "I forgive you Daryl" I whisper leaning myself into him. I'm assuming he's never really experienced this type of relationship with a person before which makes him a bit awkward about it but it's alright. the awkwardness and tenseness melts off of him soon enough though. "If you really want to go out and look for her, I'll go with you. I just don't want you going out by yourself right now." I say. I turn back towards him and cup his face in my hands. his brows furrow together in confusion before I press my lips against his. my arms fall around his neck as he places one of his hands on my cheek.

we end up going back towards Hershel's house because we've both really haven't seen any of the others in our group since early this morning and didn't want to worry them. when we make it to Hershel's front porch carl is sitting on the porch with some of Hershel's family and Glenn, and Maggie are sitting on the steps. t-dog and Andrea are also walking towards the house just like Daryl and I. I don't see Lori, rick, dale, or Shane though. I just assume dale is up on his rv, but I can't really guess what the others are doing. "Do you know what's goin on?" t-dog asks as Glenn gets up from his place next to Maggie. "Where is everyone?" Andrea asks. both of their questions aren't answered by anyone. Glenn only replies with another question "you haven't seen rick?" I haven't really seen rick since this morning "he went off with Hershel. we were supposed to leave a couple hours ago" Andrea says. I wouldn't expect rick to just go off like that without telling someone. he wasn't like Shane, Shane goes and leaves as he pleased if he went out for water, he wouldn't tell anyone, if he went out for a run he'd only tell the select few he took with him. 

"yeah, you were, what the hell" Daryl says which makes t-dog and Andrea turn their heads towards us. rick had told us he was going out earlier before we all split up after the barn incident, and rick wasn't the type of person to go back on his word without talking to us as a group. "Damn it. isn't anybody taking this seriously?" Daryl says as everyone just kind of stares at us. "We got us a damn trail." Daryl says turning around and pointing angrily. now we see Shane walking up towards the house. he's got the bag of gun over his shoulder "oh here we go" Daryl says as he begins walking towards the man. there's something off about Shane though...there's always been something off about Shane ever since I met him, but it just seems like he's done something he knows we won't like, or at least something ricks wouldn't like. 

"what's all this?" Daryl asks as Shane takes a shot gun out of the bag and holding it out for Daryl. "You with me man?" Shane asks and Daryl takes the gun with a breathy "yeah." 

"Time to grow up you already got yours" Shane says to Andrea. we all know what he's talking about. clearing out the barn. I know rick isn't going to like this, Hershel isn't going to like this either. we're going to get our asses kicked out and we have a pregnant lady who needs all the medical attention we can get. if we get kicked out were going to have to do this all on our own, and that means there's a bigger chance of not only the baby dying but Lori as well. "Yeah...but where's dale?" Andrea asks a little skeptically, "he's on his way" Shane is being very vague about where dale is, and it makes me nervous. "Thought we couldn't carry." t-dog say as Shane hands him a gun. "yeah, well we can, and we have to." the people that had been sitting up in chairs on the porch have now gotten up and look a bit stressed especially Hershel's people. 

"Hey look, it's one thing sitting around here picking daisies when we thought this place was supposed to be safe. but now we know it ain't." Shane begins to walk towards Glenn "how about you, man? you gonna protect yours?" Shane asks holding out a gun. Glenn looks to Maggie and then to the gun before letting out a sigh and grabbing it. Shane is satisfied with that answer so he turns to Maggie "can you shoot?" Shane asks. Maggie's brows are furrowed together angrily as she says, "can you stop? you do this, you hand out these guns, my dad will make you leave tonight." we need this Lori needs this we can't just go around shooting up a storm because there's some walkers locked up in a barn. "What about you y/n?" he asks standing in front of me with a small handgun i shake my head he rolls his eyes before forcing it into my hand "We have to stay, Shane" carl speaks up. Lori rounds the corner "what is this" she asks confused as ever. 

"We ain't goin' anywhere, okay? now look, Hershel, he's just gotta understand." Hershel isn't going to understand this though, Hershel is an old man who thinks those things are still people because they look human. he thinks they are people because they were people, they were friends, and family, but he needs to learn they aren't. we can't risk teaching him that though maybe in 9 months when Lori has given birth but not now. "Okay? he- well, he's gonna have to" my arms are folded over my chest. I can't believe so many of our people want to risk losing the safety of Hershel's farm. I know that most of them don't know about Lori, but Glenn does, and he still willingly took the gun. I know they are scared but we had lived out in the middle of nowhere with not shelter where walkers could get to use at any time, at least there isn't many over here and the majority are in Hershel's barn locked up. I'd rather stay here than go anywhere near a big city ever again. Shane takes his small handgun and begins to walk towards carl "now we need to find Sophia. am I right?" Shane says as he kneels in front of Carl, he's using Sophia to his advantage to get what he wants from Carl. he knows Carl cares for Sophia so he's using that to get Carl on his side.

"Now I want you to take this. you take it, carl, and you keep your mother safe. you do whatever it takes." Lori begins to rush towards her son because she doesn't need her 12-year-old son to protect her. when carl doesn't take the gun Shane says "you know how. go on, take the gun and do it" Lori pushes her son away from Shane and says "rick said no guns. this is not your call. this is not your decision to make." 

"Oh shit."

we all look over to see t-dog staring at rick and Hershel leading some walkers towards the barn with the help of one of ranch hands jimmy. Shane gets up from his kneeling position on the ground and begins to run towards rick and Hershel. we all follow after because they've got two walkers that they are leading towards us. "What the hell you doin!" shouts Shane as he pushes the metal fence door open and continues running towards rick. "Shane just back off!" rick warns as he pushes the walker away from Shane. "Why do your people have guns?" Hershel asks. Shane is kind of pacing as he shouts, "are you kiddin' me!? you, see?! you see what they're holdin onto!!" Shane rounds back around towards us as Hershel shouts "I see who I'm holding onto!" which angers Shane even more. "No man, you don't!" 

rick is trying to calm Shane down but there really isn't any use because when Shane's all riled up like this there is no getting him down. "Shane, just let us do this and then we can talk" rick tries reasoning with him. "Let me do this and then we'll talk" but Shane wants to do something now and the thing he wants now is the clear the barn. "What you want to talk about, rick!?" shouts Shane. Daryl has his gun pointing right at one of the walkers, it's kind of strange seeing him with a gun and not with his crossbow. I've got the gun Shane handed to me held tightly in my left hand. I'm just as scared as everyone else but I'm just as much scared of getting kicked out of here. "These things ain't sick. they're not people! they're dead! ain't gonna feel nothing for them 'cause all they do, is they kill!" Shane shouts. Shane paces back and forth angrily "these things right here, they're the things that killed Amy! they killed Otis! they killed your brother!" Shane shouts while pointing at me when he mentions my brother. I shouldn't have told him about that. it embarrasses me a bit because it feels like he's calling me out. "they're gonna kill all of us!" I look back to see Lori and carl walking up towards us. she has Carl's hand in hers and both their brows are furrowed up in confusion and concern.

 "Shane, shut up!' rick shouts which isn't really effective because Shane continues to talk. I look back at Lori pleading for her to save me, or at least save herself and her son before something bad happens. "Hey Hershel man, let me ask you something." Shane stops and pulls his gun out "could a living breathing person, could they walk away from this?" he loads the gun before pointing it at the walker.

POW POW POW.

"NOO!" 

he shoots the walker three times in the chest, and it basically just walks it. it has no reaction but the little jolts from its body when the bullet first hit the walker. "STOP IT!" shouts rick, again Shane doesn't listen and just continues shouting "that's three rounds in the chest! could someone who's alive, could they just take that?" he sounds crazy screaming and shouting. "Why is it still coming?!" shouts Shane before raising his gun again.

POW POW POW.

"that's its heart, its lungs! why is it still coming?!"

POW POW POW.

the walker groans as it gets pushed back a bit by the bullets. "Shane! enough!" rick defending Hershel pisses Shane off even more. "Yeah, you're right, man. that is enough" he says walking past them, and shooting the walker in the head right as he passes by. the walkers head jerks back before falling to the ground. were all dead silent, were still a little shocked by the confrontation that just took place before our eyes. Shane's not done yet though, so he turns back around "enough risking our lives for a little girl who's gone!" Shane shouts as he stomps towards the barn. we all know what he's going to do, it's been his plan since he found out about the barn this morning. "Enough living next to a barn full of things that are trying to kill us! enough! rick it ain't like it was before!" he marches a bit forward before continuing shouting "now if yall want to live, if you want to survive you got to fight for it! I'm talking about fighting right here, right now!" Shane begins to run back towards the barn.

 rick holds out the snare pole in his hands "take the snare pole! Hershel! Hershel take the snare pole!"  Hershel is on his knees, he seems like he doesn't really know what's going on "Hershel, listen to me, man, please!" rick pleads "take it now. Hershel!" ricks desperately crying out for Hershel to just take it. Hershel is still in this dazed like state though. "Hershel! take it!" Shane takes a pickaxe to the lock on the barn doors. "No Shane! do not do this, brother! wait!" Shane keeps going at the lock, hitting it over and over again despite our desperate pleas for him to stop. after several failed attempts to break the lock, he just takes the tip of the pickaxes and breaks the lock off. once the lock is off, he grabs the wooden slab and throws it to the side. we're still screaming for him to stop, but he doesn't. Shane bangs on the door and shouts "come on. come on we're out here!" Shane backs up and pulls his gun out. the door creaks open and out comes the walkers. I've got the gun gripped tightly in my hands ready to shoot but only if I need to. 

there's so many in there I actually can't believe it. they just keep coming out and when I think there's no more out comes a few more. the people closer to the walkers are shooting at them. all I can hear is the sounds of gunshots. I don't know what to do, should I go up and help or just stay here. it looks like Shane, Andrea, t-dog, Glenn, and Daryl's got it covered. I'll only shoot if I really need to. there's so many I'm not sure I've ever seen so many walkers in one place, well other than in the city. Shane turns back towards rick before shooting the walker rick had. Lori has carl on the ground covering his ears. I'm frozen, I can't move and I'm terrified, I can't breathe it feels like I'm holding my breath but I'm not. there's a pile of corpses in front of the barn and I don't think I've smelt something this bad. once we think there's no more, and everyone lowers their guns the door creaks open, and a smaller very recognizable walker stumbles out. everything from the shoes to the hair cut is recognizable. the blue shirt with a rainbow she wore that day is all tattered and dirty now. 

she's recognizable but unrecognizable at the same time it's her we know it, but we never expected to see her like that. She's dead. even though I had said earlier that she could be dead I didn't want that to be the case. I wanted her to beat all the odds, I wanted to find her in some random home alive, I wanted to take her back to carol and witness the long-awaited reunion of the mother and daughter. carol runs up sobbing "Sophia! Sophia!" and Daryl has to hold her back. I actually can't breathe now. all the air is caught in my throat and tears are building up in my eyes. how long had she been in there? had she gotten bitten the same day she went missing? she died alone. all I can think about is that little girl died alone without her mom to help her. Sophia stumbles through the piles of corpses towards us. rick takes one for the team and begins to walk towards Sophia. he pulls out his guns pointing it at her before shooting her right in the head. carols sobbing as Daryl has his arms wrapped around her torso holding her down.

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@rivversin @soul4death @furiousheartpoetry @silicone-bonez @your-shifting-gurl @maziejay08 @oi-itse @nezukos-number1fan

[londondungeon2]

SOMETHING I AINT GONNA FINISH BUT

ITS 7562 words so i at least have to share some of it; main is @rel124c41 if u want to read finished hazbin works lmao, this'll be the only non-twst thing on londondungeon, i just want it out of my computer so badly

tags: nudity, blood and gore, referenced torture, pining and yearning, imp servants, hc on what alastor's radioshow might be like, and unfinished *jazz hands*

“You did not need to do that.”

The Radio Demon’s broadcast tower sits like a knife plunged into the Earth. A spindly warning to the Pride Ring that something was looming always, far up above but no less dangerous. Annoyed, you risk the odious climb and challenge The Radio Demon with those words. 

The expanse of his shoulders deflect the interruption quite well. He neither flinches or turns at your voice. Steadfast in his broadcast, the reaction that lets you know he heard you is a flick of his left ear tufts. His voice does not waver. Alastor speaks devote into the vintage pyle microphone head:

“- wish our dear librarian the best with removing the basilisk out of the children book section of her bookshop. Remember! Do not look it in the eyes, lest you value that your organs are inside your skin. 

“Now, the Postmaster would like to extend a proper thank you to everyone who participated in yesterday’s Blood Drive. Blood drives are an essential part in the mailing process. Through the genetic makeup of your blood, the Postmaster will be able to send you articles tailored to your taste. Today, a deep voice sludged out of the mailbox in front lawn of the post office, crying ‘Blood, feed me more blood, BLOOD!’ and then end up coughing out some thick black liquid, one eyewitness says. The Postmaster looks forward to another successful Blood Drive. Please consider giving us your blood! He says!

“Now listeners, it appears that I have a guest in the studio.” You straighten up at Alastor’s words. He is still facing his machines. Mentally, you prepare. A handful of times you have been leashed into his broadcasts because you visited him at an inconvenient time. This time you will put your foot down as you have an important matter to discuss.

“So, here is an early sample of the symphony your dear Radio Demon has been constructing. Let us indulge in music together! I leave you with these parting words: If at first you do not succeed, look around and find out who is trying to sabotage you with telepathic interference. It is someone you knOW.” 

His voice distorts in his last sentence. A few dials on his desk jolt back and forth in pain. Around him, a red fog spins for a moment then dissipates with the last of his words, before he clicks a button.

The symphony … good, that is what you were looking to discuss. It is what prompted the words: you did not need to do that. You step closer, folding annoyed arms, as Alastor rotates his chair to face you. A symphony is by definition an elaborate musical composition and Alastor’s orchestra meets that definition, though in an entirely sick way.

You know you are clear to talk when Alastor sends you a wide, welcoming smile. You fly into it: “What you did was completely unnecessary and insulting. Do you think me impuissant? I expect an apology, not a gloat. Alastor –”

“Come now. I was only acting in an amicable way.”

“It was out of line. It was demeaning to my image.”

“It was a gift,” Alastor says, eyes imploring you to understand despite the permanent stain of a smile on his face. You bristle at that and glare over his shoulder at the playing symphony.

In the arms of an elongated shadow, almost a romantic pose, lays a dead body. The dead body once had a name but it is void with its death. Though it still heavily holds the resemblance of the person’s name despite the gore massacring it. 

Alastor’s shadowman plucks at the cello strings embedded in the jam pink throat. Her feather bridal robe is stained in gore, spilling over the studio floor in wet clumps. Her crown is gone and her legs are bent in unnatural directions. The bridge of a cello sits stabbed into her ribcage. When certain strings are plucked, a different reverbing scream sings from them – the C chord is a fearful scream, the D chord is a wet teary scream, the G chord is an angered cry, and the A chord is a begging please. Glassy jade eyes stare unseeing at the ceiling, snail-trails of mascara streaking down. She is not the first demon you had seen Alastor butcher into an instrument but her presence still pricks at you, causing anger and indignity. 

“What a gift,” you deadpan. 

“Don’t look so wary. She is not worth your time.” Alastor’s shadowman plucks a lengthy D chord, reminding you of the presence of mascara on her gaunt face. “Truthfully, I do not understand the hostility I am being subjected to.” If Alastor ever cried, it would be crocodile tears.

“It is not that she is dead that is causing me strife. It is because you killed her.”

“I would have killed her anyway!”

Your eyes narrow and sneer at Alastor’s jovial exclamation. Jovial as if those words would erase all your shimmering anger. “Yet, you killed her when she was in the midst of threatening me. Do you not see the problem with that?”

“Not particularly!”

Finding your anger to be mounting up, you release frustration through your fists. Leather gloves on your hand whine with the force. “Young people like you never do.” You find a floating speck of dust in the corner by the antler coat-rack to glare at. “It is meaningless having conversations sometimes.”

The grin on Alastor’s face wilts at your eyes’ motions, never leaving though. He is unsure why that sentence hit him so hard. He placates, “I am sure that this one incident is not going to do the damage you think it will. There might be some rumors, yes. Some bull sessions but nothing that should cause you worry, I assure!”  

You ruminate on that. The Radio Demon has been going after strong, minacious Overlords since his manifestation. This could be overlooked rather easily; or, it could be scrutinized to death until they point at you, declaring you under contract with the Radio Demon. You never make contracts.

A beautifully haunting cry of please I’m sorry aaaaah plays in the studio and you almost judge that Alastor is using his monstrous instrument to actually apologize to you. It is as close to guilt you will get from Alastor. With a sigh, you relent.

“Make sure if you are going after Overlords, it is not the one I am trifling with.”

“Ab-so-lutely dearie! A slip up on my part! Now, I do believe this musical number has gone on quite long enough.” You nod your agreement at the double meaning. As long as he heeds your words, you two are quite done talking for the day. You make a move to leave and a single red claw rises in a ‘one second please’ motion. “Though, I do have quite interesting news to report for today. I would not mind an extra ear in the studio.”

Suspicious eyes narrow, the orange eyelashes of yours tightening down. Your interludes often cause him to scheme up something, and you already have one foot rotated towards the trap-door to escape that scheme. “I’m sure that I can hear it all on my radio at home.”

“But, (Name), this is where the magic happens! The piece de resistance of radio broadcasting! I urge you to join me.” 

“Alastor.”

“I would be most honored.” He even slides a few inches on the couch to make room for you. His shadowman manifests an inky black bow, wisps of dark magic curling and congealing into a solid tool. With a presenter flourish, the shadow runs it across four ivory strings. A harmonizing AAAAHHH and EEEEEEEE and  AAAAAAA and PLEASEEEEE billows up in the studio. “Most honored,” he repeats through the discordance of that one long, screeching note.

What do you have to do today? A trip to the market to restock the refrigerator or  a visit to the tailor? The answers to those are: no and no. Alastor’s grin grows as he watches you, all his yellow teeth on display, as you struggle to find an excuse to leave. It is really important that you restock on that blend of tea that a guest of yours liked in case he dropped in unexpectedly – ugh, who were you kidding?

“I’m not here to participate; I will listen and nothing more,” you say, squeezing yourself onto the couch. Your posture is impeccable and you fold gloved hands in your lap with sophistication. “Nothing more.”

With the expression of a cat who got the cream, Alastor turns back to his broadcast station. His fingers piano across his mechanical instruments, changing frequencies with flips of switches and pushes of buttons. Technology is such a headache for you that you wilt away from watching him. 

The shadowman finishes his performance as Alastor finishes with his soundboard. In a passive motion, the last notes of the symphony dies and the throat of a previous Overlord grows as quiet as a cemetery. Alastor … does not pick up the paper on his desk. 

Before you can process that, he is speaking animatedly into his cane, “Dear listeners, I would like to announce a very special guest who will be joining me on our broadcast. Hell’s Beldam, an apostate to God, your favorite Overlord, (Name).” You glare as he holds out his cane to you, silently urging you to say hello to his listeners. 

♫♪.ılılıll|̲̅̅○̲̅̅|̲̅̅=̲̅̅|̲̅̅○̲̅̅|llılılı.♫♪

The first time you ate meat that came from a more intelligent source of flank, it was to appease Rosie. You still remember how she held your trembling wrist, tender like a mother, and guided a fork of a prime cut a human’s tendon joint to your quivering mouth. Soft, gentle words whispered to you: if you wish to survive, you must adopt a paleolithic diet and attitude, love. You have a much steadier hand now as your fork and knife glide through the maroon filet.

“-- and we should have a delivery for that sweet girl in the next week or so. Franklin, you tell her that I want her eating but the most wrinkled brains and most youthful muscles during her pregnancy. None of that cheap stuff for that sweet thing. And I know her husband can foot the bill. Now, there’s an idea … feet … where’s my?” 

Lifting a forkful to your lips, you watch as Rosie twirls around in the open doorway. She pats her hips twice, frustrated and glancing around her bedroom. You were once surprised that Rosie conducted meetings in her personal chambers – just a testimony to how friendly the Overlord is. Finding her notepad, she starts to scribble on it and return to the doorway.

All you watch now is the plumes of pink and black feathers on her hat as they sway with her animated motions. “Franklin! Franklin! How does pinkie toes wrapped in crescent rolls; a rendition on pigs-in-a-blanket! Franklin? Franklin!” You startle when the Overlord takes her fist and pounds it on her door. “Franklin, please, tell those girls to turn down the radio!”

She turns to you, apologetic in her gestures. “Those sweet girls. I thought they would tire of it after the first quinquennial but they’re still going strong with it.”

You smile warmly, still chewing on your previous bite. Those girls were very devoted in their attendance to The Radio Demon’s broadcasts. Gathered amorously around the radio in the parlor, you amusedly watched their shuffling bodies push close to the radio wires, blushing prettily behind delicately painted fans, before you went up to Rosie’s. Once, a brave girl aged about fifteen gave you her fan – a scene of carnations and butterflies painted on it – and politely asked you to get a signature from The Radio Demon on it. When you returned it, you swear stars lit up her eyes.

You go in for another bite as Rosie turns back to peeking her head outside the door. She listens for either Franklin’s voice or the decreasing volume of the radio. Still Alastor’s voice stays strong, sultry and theatrical, as if he is personally standing in the downstairs parlor talking to everyone. 

“Christ on a cross,” Rosie curses, a delicate hand touching her cheek in surrender. She steps back into the room, scribbling away and closes the door behind her, allowing you two privacy. “Now, do not get me wrong, (Name), that young gentleman is charming but to have all my best girls acting so cockeyed. It’s tiring.”

Rosie finishes with penning her meal idea and sets it on her dresser. A white curl of hair is tucked behind her ear and a sigh escapes her. You offer up your condolences, “Maybe you just have to wait for the decade instead of the quinquennial to pass. I’ve seen those girls switch fancies like a woman with her shoes.”

At least this time you get a small chuckle instead of such despondent looks or sounds. Regaining herself, her teeth make an appearance, springing up into a flashy smile. In a look of thoughtfulness, she puts a finger on her chin. “Perhaps you are right. Though, can we say the same for you?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you defend, knowing exactly what she means. This is the exact situation you were hoping to avoid until that cursed man had to swoop in where he was not wanted.

“All I am saying is that Alastor’s voice is not the only voice that I’ve been hearing in my emporium. Speaking of which,” Rosie pulls a letter from her pocket. “Helen wants to know if you can deliver this to Alastor. Little lady has been bitten by the love-bug like an implanting tick! I believe he struck up a conversation with her at the tailor.”

You gracefully take the love letter. The plain white letter has Radio Demon written on its front in elegant scripture and … oh, that is a nice touch … and is fixed together with a wax stamp of a buck’s head with golden antler. Green and gold are a refined color combination. “If I run into him, he will surely receive it.” With a snap, a flame runs itself up the love letter, consuming it and vomiting it out on the desk you have at home. 

“If I run into him, they say,” Rosie repeats with a giggle. She takes her seat and folds her hands over her lap. “I will then assure Helen that her letter will see Alastor within the week.”

“Climb off it.”

“Oh I most definitely will not!”

“Rosie.” 

“You know that you are the only living and willing guest that has ever spoken on his broadcasts. Though, I’m not too sure if the screams he has playing in his ether are living or not. Certainly not willing though!”

“I am not so willing either. I come to discuss business, he pulls me into his broadcast. I go to get a bite from the street, there he is with his microphone.”

“Oh so the shoe is on the other foot. He is smitten with you?”

“No one is smitten with anyone.”

Rosie remains unconvinced. “Dear, you know love is my speciality! If you ever need a listening ear or some advice, you just tell Rosie and I’ll –”

You try to burn harshness out of your throat, truly you do. Despite your best efforts, the words that you say next are coated in hostility wrongfully aimed at the cannibal. “It’s not love. It will never be love. Especially not with me.” 

That finally snaps Rosie out of her teasing. Her warmthful attitude is watered down and a fretful hand rises over to her black lips. Uncomfortable, you try to shrink away from those regretful eyes. You pick up another bite you had cut off the filet, chewing furiously. Rosie tries not to make it obvious but it is fruitless. Her eyes conveniently fall down to the sight of your plate, the space where your hands sit and thus, in addition, to your ungloved digits, your wedding band. The inscription is on the inside of the band, never revealed to any Overlord or Sinner, the words sweetly engraved: Two bodies, one heart. 

“(Name), I’m sorry.”

You swallow. The raw regret in her voice feels like a high-pitched whining frequency in your ear, causing you to wilt. You fold your hands over one another, hiding your wedding band from sight. Orange eyelashes flicker with all the insects and bugs of emotion crawling over your skin. “Can we simply turn matters of discussion towards what I came here for?”

“Of course,” Rosie breathes out. She picks up the folder on the table, leaving her own plate untouched for the time being. A bit of rustling and fluttering distracts you. “Here … and here.” Rosie sets down the papers.

“The population of Cannibal Town is 2254. Since the last monthly visit of yours, only three people have died. Leroy D., Ruth T., and Mieszko M. – Leroy was eaten by his wife, Ruth ate a bad spleen and she got food poisoning, and Mieszko got killed in the crossfire of a turf war. We welcomed one new Sinner about a week ago. This gentleman named Wayne, from California, was a serial cannibal. He actually has this funny –” Rosie wilts under your look. She admends her previous gossip by continuing, “Ahem, and this is the population of Cannibal Town as of now. 2254. No less and no more.”

“No strange sightings or break-ins?”

“None for this month.” 

“No rumors of anything suspicious?”

“Not for what you are looking for, dear,” Rosie says apologetic. 

“No one has seen anything out of the ordinary? No unfamiliar persons at all,” you press.

Rosie only gives you a gloomy shake of her head. Forlorn, you rest your forehead onto the hand resting on your knee, a sigh escaping you like stubborn smoke. You actually have to take a moment to yourself, crawling away into the realm of your mind.

With Extermination coming so close … You two were two separate bodies but joined in your hearts … If anyone knew he was alive, it would be you. Yet, despite that connection that twines you together, you have not been able to locate him. His second pulse rested in your ribcage, a bit weak but still there. Rosie moves to put a hand to your shoulder as she sees you slip into a cavern of dark thoughts but stops when she remembers that you hate being touched. You have to find him. 

“Thank you, Rosie.” You open one eye, ignoring the fullness of your waterline, and give her a sad smile. Her hand hovers but never lands. “I appreciate that you do this for me.”

“No worries, (Name). Cannibal Town is close knit after all. I promise if I see anything, you will be alerted first.”

It is a foolish but friendly effort of her to try and quench the fire in your eternal, damned soul.

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The heartbeat of soft pittering rain joins the consonant voice on the radio. Your umbrella (material eaten like a leaf under the consumption of a caterpillar) sits by the doorway, leaking the residue of acid rain onto your carpet. You hear another noise too: the steady flow of a turned on faucet. One of your servants is already washing the cherries in preparation. Shredding your ebon cloak, you venture into a home that is intruded by an uninvited guest you cannot ask to leave.

At least turn on the lights, if you invite yourself in, you think. You raise a finger up, sparking the flames inside lanterns as you go. Like fireflies awoke, they stirred in your presence. You enter the parlor when he is dramatically sitting in the shadows. A thespian until death and beyond.

On the radio, surprisingly in harmony with the acid rain pounding outside, the voice of thespian narrates: “Road crews have shut down all streets in all directions due to an ongoing turf war. So if you are looking to go anywhere, do NOT.”

You have another dramatic thespian to deal with though, separate from the Radio Demon. A finger of yours points skyward and a spark leaps off it, the three-tiered rings of candles on the chandelier stirring to life. You fix him with a vexed look, eyes narrowing. 

You close the heavy doors behind you. Trapping him in there with you. Trapping you in there with him.

“So, we just come in uninvited now, Zestial?”

Zestial ignores you. He takes a loud sip of his tea, his four neon green eyes focused on the radio. His legs are elegantly folded and he looks as deadly as a weapon left unattended in the house of an alcoholic. His presence is perfumed with the scent of nightmares. 

The Overlord has already set up his chess board, his side black and your white. Some residues of souls trapped in the pieces cause them to shift from an eggshell to an ivory white or from violet-black to charcoal. The rooks are particularly restless it seems, their imprisoned souls leaking through the pointed tips of their pieces and shaking on the board. 

On the radio, Alastor animatedly speaks, his voice almost cracking boy-like in his enthusiasm.

“He is good for thou,” Zestial says, nodding towards where the radio sits above your empty fireplace. 

“I have indulged in this subject one too many times this month. Not again.” 

To you, he is not good for you. He is a dog playing around in the forest of wolves, ignorant of the biological differences. He is going to get a reality check of one these days and find himself making a deal that will metamorphosis into his own hands being shackled. Just like Husk. 

You shift when the door of the parlor is knocked upon. You know that you told your servants to always obey the whims of a guest, but you always like to be there to medicate between the three volatile imp brothers and Zestial. “Enter.” You are relieved to see it is Lucius who opens the door, bowl of water-dotted fruit in hand. 

“Master.” The oldest of the three brothers bows deeply at the pleasurable sight of you. You can pick up the tiniest hint of relief in his voice too. He extends the bowl out of you, “I have the cherries that Sir Zestial has asked for.”

“Thank y–”

“The boy can deliver it to thee himself.” 

You snatch up the bowl before Lucius can even register the words. If you were a porcupine, quills would most certainly be raised. Austerity paints your voice.

“You are dismissed. Tell Agnar and Mars to go to their bedrooms and set up a light novel for me.” You two break apart as you turn back to Zestial, glaring. As soon as the door is closed, you say, “You know that a hair harmed on them is the equivalent of you attacking and threatening me.”

“There was no such thing.” Zestail sets down his saucer of tea. You eye it, wondering which one of the imps had to serve him. You mourn not coming home sooner as Zestial picks a cherry out of the bowl you set down. Taking a seat, you listen to his amends, “Thou employs a capable collective.”

“They’re not for sale.”

“Not a collective thee would seek company in.” You eye the board silently. “I believe we hast started out on the wrong foot. The Angelic Extermination is encroaching.”

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Corinthians 6:18.

Flee from sexual immorality. 

After years and years and years, the night was still vivid in your head. The names and faces of your parents had dissolved through the sieve of time, irrelevant. You kept that night’s memory tight to you, shielding it away from the assault of time, remembering and remembering, reliving and reliving it so you would never forget it. Cauterizing a thousand images of that night into yourself until it was all you knew and breathed: the feel of him inside as you took him against his will, the softness of her as you forced a knife up and up into her womb, the warmth of blood as you offered yourself to whatever deity would listen to the bleats of a lamb, begging for their justice. 

All other sins a person commits are outside the body, 

You knew blood intimately. Squished juices of it flowed down your inner thighs. You collapsed into your mother’s arms, trembling and worrying over what the apple-red liquid meant, until you were taught this experience was an experience all women knew. You learned the taste of blood. In dizzying motions, it swam like a tadpole in your mouth until you spit on the kitchen floor, mouth dripping with it and apologies. You felt the satisfaction that came from drawing blood from someone else. In and out his stomach. In and out her vulva. The liquor of life spilling out, you knew it intimately. 

But whoever sins sexually,

Lucius prepares the light novel. He cleans the tools and tightens the straps. When you eventually descend after your meeting with Ziestal, he offers you a baselard, a short sword, first. The weight of it is tangible in your hand, reliable and non-slippery like memories or blood. You may have been cursed with a putrid body but she got dealt worse.

Sins against their own body.

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“A love letter to keep you warm during Extermination,” you smile, offering up the letter to Alastor. 

You two collide at the butcher shop, famished for a bite. Relenting to his whims, you let Alastor excitedly point out his favorites for this week’s selection, the shark teeth in his mouth moving a mile a minute. You even let him tip up your chin to hand feed you his concoction of summer sausage, honey pineapple mustard, and farmhouse cheddar slices. If he has a tail he is hiding, it must have wagged fast at your praises over his food combination. With both of your baskets full, you two left the butcher shop, your youngest servant following. Then, you presented him with Helen’s love letter.  

His red eyes widen considerably. Behind the both of you, your servant is having a similar reaction, staring like he is a blind man gifted sight. A buzz of static drips into the space between you and Alastor, his gloved hand dipping down to collect the letter. 

“How kind of you, (Name). I suppose all is forgiven?”

“For the matters of the Overlord? Yes. I can put that behind us as long as there is not a repeat of events.”

“Good. I would hate to disrupt the delicate balance we have,” Alastor mutters. He is starting to observe the letter, checking its front and back. The gold and green wax seal is very classy, nice touch, (Name). Though, your hand must have cramped at the end because the front does not look like your handwriting. Also Radio Demon? Why not Alastor? “We have to tread so carefully in our waltz.”

You laugh at his words, making the demon wilt. Alastor? Careful? He was completely without any tact and his fake humanitarianism was like an ill-fitting suit with buttons bursting at the seams. You see right through him. He was a man excited and overjoyed with his eternity, hungering for it. Between laughter, hand up to cover your smile slightly, you say, “Oh yes, of course. We have to be very careful.” 

Alastor sours at your words. He had meant to sound poetic, not comedic. 

He puts his thumb over the edge of the envelope, letting shadows consume it and leave it on the couch in his radio tower. He is a bit anxious about what you wrote to him. Fixing his suit, he admonishes, “We should always be cautious in a world such as this. Ah, just at midnight, we will have a rainstorm of death approaching us!” Alastor gestures a hand out to the red pentagram in the sky.

“Yet, I assume you will be out in it, broadcasting?”

“Rain or shine, I go where entertainment is, dear!”

“Like a moth to fire.” Not entirely cautious despite your previous statement, you think fondly.

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“Precisely!” His yellow teeth are whet in his snarling black gums. “Why, I am a bit mournful to not be up there as the Cold War goes on – why, that would have been quite a broadcast! I just read in the papers that those brave men upstairs have tested this thermonuclear device about a few thousands miles off the coast of Hawaii. A workshop of bombs made by idle hands – how novel!”

“Do you think the Soviet Union will fire first?”

“One can never be too sure with these things. It is a dime throw!” Alastor materializes a dime, weaving it between his ebony hands and red claws. “Heads or tails?”

“To what?” You watch the dime in his hand (...)

“Why, to see if we will survive this Extermination and live to greet 1951?”

That seems to sober you up considerably. (...)

“As they say, beware an old man in a profession where men usually die young.”

“I taught you that phrase when I introduced the two of you.”

“My apologies. As the Belam says, beware,” you whack him on the shoulder and both of you share a laugh. (...)

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“Helloooo! Anybody home?”

The fire enveloping the Belam’s house raises itself up like the fingers of a child, pitching to reach the out-of-reach candy on the top shelf. Relentless and acrimonious, it burns in a glowing wave of white and amber, a warning to not come close. Alastor challenges the roaring fire with those words, arms crossed behind his back and his imprisonment of cheer present on his lips.

Ignoring or ignorant of his presence, the fire does not stir beyond its usual waving and billowing pattern. It continues to chew on the mansion exterior, from the window trims to the roof gable to foundation. Alastor had anticipated – or more correctly, was looking forward to – some reaction, perhaps a forceful flare of flames as it grew in size. The fire continues, devoted in the motions of burning, not wavering into less or more strength. 

Somberly, Alastor removes a hand off his cane. Exuding droplets of your door knocker climb down the wood like snot. It is still slightly usable. Alastor wraps his hand around the soft ring of metal hanging from the lion’s mouth. He lifts it up. Slippery metal indents to his hand’s shape and, as he goes to knock again, the door is suddenly opened.  

Startling a bit, he is quick to flick the liquid metal off his gloves, wanting to be presentable. Alastor grins wider as the innards of your humble home are revealed to him. Is he getting further than Zestial did, he wonders with excitement. 

The first sign that anything is amiss after the Extermination is the wound on Zestial’s face.

Ah. Perhaps not, he thinks as he locks eyes with one of your imp servants, brows creasing. 

Alastor tries to rack his mind, smile strained. He has been in your lovely presence many times. With you often comes a shadow. However, the shadow has three variations without easily identifiable features such as diverse horn shapes. All your lousy, low class company shared the horns of a hebridean sheep – an obnoxious, gross shape. Which one is this? With his height, he might be –

Before Alastor can guess, the imp speaks. He has his arms crossed over his chest, glaring up at the taller demon. “The Master is not receiving guests at this time, Radio Demon.” 

Oh, it is the one who does not like him! Lucius! 

Cheerful at his gained knowledge, Alastor says boisterously, “Now now, dear chump, that is no way to send away unwanted company! Why, I elect for a much firmer tact!” A black gloved hand wraps around Lucius’s arm, squeezing above the elbow. 

“By using physical strength, we notice a change in power dynamic. Then, we should work on your voice. The Master is NOT–” Alastor’s voice drops into a dark static octave, “receiving guests at this time. Emphasize, young man; it is the key to conversing as I have found in my time as a radio host. The most powerful instrument we have is our voice! And, to respond to your statement (because conversing clearly is key too!), I would say –”

Alastor suddenly pulls, causing Lucius to stumble as his palm is inches away from the porch’s foundation. Alastor uses that praised emphasis in a non-verbal way, gaining a few inches in height. His lanky body stretches unnaturally, the corners of his mouth grossly inching up. “I am coming in, no matter what your Master says, you fucking, insignificant IMP.”

Letting Lucius drop to the ground, Alastor laughs and steps in, having fun. He takes the hand that was behind his back and brings it to his front, smiling at his cane. Finger on the pulse point of the pyle microphone, the Radio Demon calls over his shoulder, “Firm tact next time!” Now will that little stunt bring you out or will he need to do more?

“Where is your Master, Lucius?” Alastor asks breezily into the heat radiating off the burning walls. As he walks, he sends glances around the mansion. 

His luxurious stroll grinds to a halt when the cool touch of a weapon hits his nape. If pouting were a possibility, his lips would be pulled into the most childish frustrated pout. Lean body twisting, he sends a glance over his shoulder to see Lucius holding a gun to his throat. 

“Exactly what I was talking about! Firmer tact!”

Alastor’s tone is like a father proud that his son has adopted the correct baseball swing after numerous failed attempts. Lucius’s eyes narrow into a glare, amber sclera shining brightly and rivaling the glow of the fire eating your mansion’s walls. He hisses out his previous statement (“The Master is not receiving guests at this time, Radio Demon.”) as his tail whips up and down wrathfully.

The collective you keep is quite cute. He is still trying to unearthing how these three fearless, loyal brothers fell into your unfriendly hands. The oldest is especially fond of you; Alastor has wondered if you noticed the crush Lucius harbors towards you. If he takes a bite out of the ill-tasting imp, will that lure you into the opening?

“Now, Lucius,” the gun presses deeper into Alastor’s fourth cervical bone, “I think it is the right time to stop acting like I am unwanted company. You yourself have seen how your Belam looks at me.”

The gun is fired.

When a weapon is fired, a change of moods is often a natural following event. These said moods can turn even volatile when someone has previous history with being at the receiving end of a gun. 

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The ‘X’ stamped on the center of Alastor’s forehead glows a vicious crimson. (...)

“They’re in the parlor,” Agnar interrupts. If the Radio Demon has not been burnt out, then it must be that some part of you wants to meet with him. He might not understand it but he is not enveloped in a cloud of envy like his older brother, thus he can see it perfectly and clearly. “The door is unlocked.”

Alastor turns, red sclera returning with a blink. His eyes upturn and a pleased grin tugs his features into something with a centimeter less malice than it held before. “Good dog,” Alastor says, and taps the head of his cane on Agnar’s shoulder. 

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Alastor brushes past Lucius with a sycophant grin, static laugh track bouncing off him along the way.  Well, it is an ideal turn of events that he does not have to harm one of your imp servants to get you to come out. The palpable glare bruising on his back tickles Alastor as his everlasting static feedback laughs and laughs.

He sends a few amused glances to the walls. Melting iron cascades down overheated lanterns and portrait frames hold nebulous black mouths in them. Perhaps, you heard it all. He did not know the extension of what you could do – were you engulfing this entire place or was there a physical form or mental consciousness in the parlor as your imp said? Wasting no time, he pushes open the entrance to that very room, thrilled to see what could possibly lie beyond.

The design is quite modern from what Alastor can make out in the covering curtains of fire you had thrown throughout your house. There is still that outdated chandelier from whatever time period he has yet to figure out. It now hangs down instead of up like congealing stalactites of silver. 

His eyes draw down to the long table surrounded by one chesterfield couch and a twin set of club chairs. Blackened and concave like melted sugar. The back of the chesterfield blocks the fireplace which roars loudly. Alastor takes a moment to notice the radio above the crashing riptide of fire that your inglenook churns with. Melted, unfortunately. His eyes squint in displeasure. You lay nude and supine on the ground.

He knocks fruitlessly on the parlor door, announcing a presence already known. You do not glance away from the downturned blades of a chandelier liquefying into a reverse mirror of itself. Alastor steps in and you do not stir. 

Come now, (Name), do not be such a bore. The Radio Demon steps into the room. 

“Now, they say the best medicine is laughter! Though, that was snipped from a Proverb and we are, delightfully, trapped in Hell. Sooo,” Alastor sits on the table, crossing legs and holding his cane in folded hands “So I think the next best medicine is a bit of crying! Thus, may I suggest a night on the town, terrorizing the screams and tears out of Sinners and Overlords alike?”

You glance at Alastor, especially since he is holding out his cane’s head to you, waiting for a reply. The energy to muster up a glare or any form of reply is popping and crackling around the two of you. Thus, you stare silent at the theatrical man. 

“Hello,” Alastor brings the cane to his teeth. “Is this thing on?” He taps it with a claw, pops of static thumping with each delicate hit. “No, I think I’m good! Excellent! (Name)!” 

And with a sudden jerk, he spreads his legs and leans his body forward towards you, face hovering over yours. His teeth hang over you like a crescent moon, glowing. “If you would give me the pleasure, I would like to conduct an interview with Hell’s Beldam. Have you seen them around by chance?” 

“…”

“Come now, dear. I am a radio host, not a comedian. And as a radio host, I rely on the conversations that I can have with my audience!” 

Slightly dejected with your blank staring, he sends a scrutinizing gaze over your nude body. People change upon entering Hell. You were no different from him. An unknown being had taken the worst parts of your death and made them prominent in your physical form. 

There is still an outline of where you end and the flame circling the house begins. One of your hands rests on your ribcage between the large globes of your breasts; the other with the wedding band lies across your forehead. Absent of a nose or a moving mouth, blank white eyes highlighted by orange eyelashes reveal the most expressions you can give. Your form is thin, the black of your ribcage is seen under the roaring fire that is your skin. Between your legs lies a thick, inhuman phallus and vulva – both separate human genitals. Your legs are shapely and curvy in that perfect feminine allure. 

He is still unsure of what circumstance led to this being your physical form. The wedding band is currently the most intriguing part of you. He had no idea you were married. Mystery enshrouds even what your crimes could have possibly been in the living world –

“Radio Demon, what do you live for?” Your voice sounds like the crunching and popping of a thousand branches. It is distorted like you are trying to speak over a campfire that has grown too tall and too wide. 

“Why! Entertainment, of course!” He spins back to a sitting position, crossing his legs and perfecting his posture. “I live for the Shakespearen entertainment of a stage! Divertissement, as the French say! Why I became an Overlord just for the very notion to be more entertained!”

“I live for revenge.”

[r-edacted]

skateboarding isn't that hard guys I promise (ZeexEmma)

a/n: this is literally the first time I've EVER written a fanfic so I apologize if this is crummy. There were no cooks in the kitchen so I had to make my own food. I don't have an ao3 account so imma have to slap it here until I can get one! enjoy! Emma has never touched a skateboard in her life despite her athleticism. She always gravitated more toward things like tennis or volleyball. But finding out that one of her good friends did skateboard she decided she wanted to try. So they agreed to meet at the skatepark after school. It can't be as hard as riding a bike right?

Oh how wrong she was. 

"Hey ems you don't have to get on the board if you're not ready," Zee assures, noticing Emma's nervous expression. She's seen people skateboarding on TV before. Chase even used them in his stupid pranks but has never actually tried to ride one before. She was now remembering all those epic skateboarding fail compilations she's seen go viral online. But she was ready! Emma made sure to get the proper protective gear before asking Zee to teach her. 

"Don't worry Zee I'm ready! Besides, I always get a bit nervous before doing stuff like this." Emma replied. She didn't want Zee to think she feared a board with wheels.

"Alright, well first you get on the board. Remember balance is important and so is staying chill." Zee demonstrates by standing on his board with the greatest of ease. They take a swig of their soda while balancing on the board. "Easy as one, two…uhhhh.." zee trails off. "Three?" Emma finished. "Yea! Three! There are so many numbers to keep track of, it's crazy!" Zee laughed and Emma giggled. Zee got off their board and gestured to Emma to give it a go. "Your turn ems!" Emma took a deep breath and slowly placed her right foot on the board feeling it shift slightly. Then her left foot, keeping her feet on the two couples of screws that are screwed into the board. "That's it ems!" Zee cheered. "Bend your knees a bit to give yourself more balance." Zee bent their knees as an example. Emma mimicked Zee and felt the board roll a bit to the right causing her to yelp in surprise. She instinctively started holding her arms up to keep her balance, making her wobble a bit. "Woah! Easy skateboard!." She nervously shouted. Zee rushed behind Emma just in case she fell. "Don't worry ems if you happen to slip I got you. You won't fall." Zee assures. "Thanks, Zee." Emma calmed down and was back to being balanced on the board. “Do you want me to push you a bit so you can get used to the board moving?” zee asked. “ Totally! If I can't skateboard I at least wanna feel like I can” Zee smiled. “Cool! Alright here we go, keep your arms out ems." Zee gingerly held Emma's waist and began to push Emma across the skate park. Starting slow but gradually gaining speed until Zee was lightly jogging across the pavement. “WOHOOO! THIS IS SO MUCH FUN ZEE!” Emma laughed. Zee grinned looking at Emma's excited face. However, Zee probably should've focused on the ground because they tripped on a rock causing Zee to let go of Emma. Emma shrieked waving her arms in the air as her skateboard speeds to a chain link fence. “Emma look out!” Zee bolted off the ground and sprinted to the board and pulled Emma off, but being a string bean meant that he wasn't able to hold her. Zee folded like a lawn chair but was able to shield Emma from the impact of falling on the pavement and landed on Zee’s lap. “OMG zee are you ok?” Emma looked down at Zee. “Yup..im ok!” Zee gives a weak thumbs up as they open their eyes to see Emma above them. Emma’s face softened when seeing her friend had no series injuries. “I'm just glad you didn't get hurt bro” They smile at each other before Emma realized how close their faces were. Emma's face gains a light pink hue and bolts up. “Haha yea, that was so much fun! We should totally do this again sometime or not I don't know whatever you like haha!” Zee gets up and walks to the fence to grab their board. “Yea, I think we should pause the skateboarding lessons until tomorrow. Wanna go get some ice cream?” Emma's face brightened with excitement while putting her skateboarding gear in her backpack. “Heck yea! You buying?” “Who said I was?” “Says me Hezekias” Emma taunts. “Well considering I did save your life today id say you owe me one” Zee gives a triumphant look at Emma and she caves. “Alright alright fine.” She grins and gives Zee a soft punch on the arm while the two walk to the ice cream parlor nearby.

[starklyscifi]

Cursed By The Blood

(a flash fiction story by EJ Stark, for @flashfictionfridayofficial's prompt "blood is thicker than water")

CN: death

Great Aunt Ida’s death was the best thing that ever happened to her. At the funeral, Emma made a long-winded speech about the best moments of her young life, sitting in great Aunt Ida’s living room, drinking bitter coffee, listening to Ida tell her stories. 

Emma’s mother did not appreciate the “best moments of her life” line. 

Emma did not care. It was a lie anyway. 

Her best memories were the moments in between. Driving her 1991 blue Volvo down the highway with her fingers out the window. Stopping at the gas station and putting too many creamers into a cup of bad coffee. Sitting in the public park behind the old elementary school for five minutes of blissful freedom.  

Ida left all $30,000 of her life savings to Emma. 

And she was nice enough to die just after Emma had finished her online college degree. Her mother insisted she do a remote degree rather than moving away. So the day the bank transfer came through with her inheritance, Emma paid six months rent up front for an apartment in the mid-sized city two hours away, where everyone went to do their monthly Target run and packed a suitcase. Even her family’s methods couldn’t convince Target to come to a tiny town in the middle of nowhere. 

She left. After burning everything else she used to own on the lawn, leaving a giant scorch mark for her mother to come home to. 

The apartment was damp and dark. Emma stopped using the harsh overhead light. She bought a lamp at Goodwill that made a disturbing crackling noise every time she turned it on. She turned the lamp on early tonight as a storm rolled in. 

She hunched over her laptop. The rain intensified, pounding on the window so hard she couldn’t hear the knocking until it let up. 

The knocking didn’t go away. 

Opening the door, she wished the rain had kept up. 

Her mother was standing in the hallway, dripping water onto the stained carpeting. She stared at Emma. Emma stared back. 

“Don’t you dare close that door in my face.” 

The old woman down the hall, the one that Emma was sure had called the landlord and complained about Emma making too much noise, cracked her door open. 

“Then I guess you’d better come in.” 

They continued to stare at each other. Emma from the broken chair and her mother from the only couch cushion that didn’t have a mystery stain on it. 

“I see you’re still running from your responsibilities.” 

Emma folded her arms. “I don’t think I should have to pay for decisions made before I was born.” 

“How is your abysmal minimum wage service job?” her mother asked, eyeing the Facebook Marketplace chair, missing a leg and currently propped up with the pile of books Emma had brought with her. 

This is what happened when you came from this type of family. She knew what really lived in the woods, how to summon it, how to keep it out. But she was terrified of customer service. So she hunched herself over her computer, her spine rounding like a shrimp’s, desperate for a remote job. Punching keys and inputting numbers in exchange for her rent. 

All she had to show was two months of rejection letters. 

No. 

No. 

No. 

She was convinced no one would ever say yes to her unless they were terrified of her family’s connection to “the land.” That was what the locals called it. She knew what they meant by “land” even if they didn’t.  

She’d been down with her mother to the deep, dark place in the forest. She had looked long through the trees and seen what was really growing in the mountains so ancient they predated the seas. 

“I won’t come back. I never wanted to stay in that town. So carry on with your shit and leave me to mine.” 

“Being born into this family comes at a cost.” 

The rain continued. Emma worried slightly that the window would break, shattering into a million pieces that would never come out of the carpet, no matter how much she vacuumed. 

“Nothing bad is going to happen because I was a little independent.” 

“The town will rot into what it was before us.” 

Emma looked her mother straight in the eyes. 

“Then let it rot.” 

Her mother had realized twenty minutes ago that her daughter wasn’t going anywhere. Emma had realized that her mother would realize her daughter wasn’t going anywhere the moment she opened the door.  

So when her mother tried to get off the couch and couldn’t, Emma smiled. 

“Having trouble, Mother?” 

“There is a price for this,” her mother hissed. 

Emma leaned forward and whispered, “I know.” 

Her mother continued to struggle, the hidden bundle under the couch sucking the life out of her. Emma knew her mother would only sit on the cushion without the stains. 

The bundle had sat under that cushion for three weeks. Ever since the day Emma realized she would have to completely cut ties with her family and everything they were attached to. 

She looked away as the skin on her mother’s hands flaked off and her eyes went glassy and still. 

The rain disappeared. The Goodwill lamp flickered and died. Moonlight pooled on the carpet. 

A shadowy figure existed on the other end of the couch. It had always existed in that spot. A tiny part of her brain tried to protest that fact, but it was wrong. 

“We’re even now,” she said. 

The figure smiled. “What a child you are.” 

Emma sat up straighter, looking at the figure’s face, or where the face should have been. Her hands did not shake. “I know how to deal with things like you.” 

“When you deal with ancient things, you put yourself at their mercy.” 

“But the rules—”

The figure cackled and vanished. 

[discodeviant]

Only You; Only Me

Billy/Eddie | Mature | 1.5k words California AU

Got Mungrove on my mind... It's wild to me how many times an idea can change in my head before it's done; this sort of reflects my mood for the last few days. That is to say, softer than intended but feelgood nonetheless. Anyway, Billy's whipped and folds like a lawn chair. Enjoy! <3

Made for @billyhargrovebingo!

They'd slept together a more than few times before, each a one-night stand that contradicted itself with the next. The first was a one-night stand, but the second promised another, and the third promised another after that, and soon it became a weekly practice. Important business, as Billy put it whenever Max asked why he went out so late on Monday nights, but she wasn't a kid anymore; she knew better than that. So she was left alone in their San Jose apartment, probably to leave and visit her friends in their college dorms anyway, and Billy was ready to sacrifice another night's sleep for his business partner.

He never asked for Eddie's last name or phone number, and Eddie never asked for his. They met at the same café bar on Pine and Fifth, drinks on whoever showed up first, and that night it was Eddie--but he didn't have any drinks. Nor was he inside at the bar. He was waiting by the front window with a cigarette in one hand while the other tucked under his arm, dirty white leather glowing yellow in the light. Billy snuffed out his own and jaywalked over to him, hands in his pockets and eyebrows knit closely together.

"Hey," he said, fiddling with a cluster of spare change. "Why aren't you inside? Something happen?"

"Why the hell do you care." Billy reeled back, the question like a punch to the throat and gut with both fists. "Still wanna go?"

"Do you?" Eddie sighed, spit behind him, and turned back around, head cocked like he was expecting something from Billy that didn't come. "I'll leave if you don't."

"I don't know. Seems like you had fun without me last night."

And the fists dug deep to wring Billy's guts and esophagus dry. "What?"

"If you're bored of this, speak now. I won't mind." He almost sounded bored himself, but that wasn't it.

Billy held up his hands, still in his pockets, and the corners of his jacket flipped up like wings as he spoke. "I'm here, aren't I? Of course I'm not bored. Christ." Back down they went; he wasn't going to fly away. "How the hell do you know I was out last night anyway, huh? You stalking me?" he asked with a smirk--low, sensual, a step closer to Eddie before he puffed a thick cloud of smoke between them. Billy breathed it right in.

"Buddy wanted me to go for drinks after his slam poetry reading." Eddie laughed a sad little huff. "I'd have said hi, but you were taken for the night, so I didn't bother."

"But you still came."

"Yeah, to see if you still wanted to do this. Not like I can call you." At that, Billy plucked the cigarette from Eddie's fingers and took a drag for himself. "Come on, that was my last one!"

He tossed it into oncoming traffic. "Let's go inside." Eddie glared and rolled his eyes, then led Billy into the café and bought their drinks as per the deal. Iced tea for Billy, a hot Americano for Eddie, and they were a little behind schedule, but it was okay. The music was nice, and the chairs were comfortable, and they watched their reflections in the window more than passers by on the other side.

"If it's any consolation," Billy said after a few too many silent minutes, "I didn't fuck the guy." He flattened his hands on polished wood. "I brought him into the alley and let him give me a blowie." Eddie remained silent, sliding his finger around the cup's ceramic rim, leg bouncing furiously beneath him. "Not that it's your business."

"I know it's not, asshole. Just--"

"I'll be honest, he looked more like you from far away than he did up close. Pretty disappointing." And Eddie's hand stopped, but his leg kept bouncing independently of his consciousness. Billy leaned in closer and told him softly, "Shit, if I'd known you were there, I'd have taken you home."

"You couldn't wait another day?"

Billy said, whispering, "I was really riled up, man," then sat back straight, drank his tea, and watched Eddie squirm from the shadow of his periphery. They didn't talk any more until both of their drinks were down to the grains, and Eddie returned his mug while Billy tossed his cup away. "Why don't we go home, and I'll make it up to you, hm?" Billy asked once they were outside again.

Eddie nodded.

So they walked to Eddie's place, a studio just a few blocks south with dangerously thin walls and creaky floors. But it was cozy with all of his rock-scene memorabilia, stuff that Billy had in high school that was broken by foul hands once he and Max moved out. It wouldn't have been the same to replace it; Eddie's apartment was nostalgic in that way, and Billy sank into the bed with ease once he got his boots and coat off.

Eddie followed him, still displeased, crawling onto the bed to meet Billy face-to-face. He put a hand up to Eddie's cheek and smiled fondly, rubbed a thumb over his mouth. "He wasn't good," Billy said. Eddie licked at his fingerprint.

"No?" Billy pushed further in. "His lips probably weren't as soft as mine, were they?"

"Not even close."

Big brown eyes looked up through long eyelashes: "Didn't know how to use his tongue either?" Eddie asked, pulsing a slow heartbeat into the roof of his mouth, Billy's thumb settling right in between. Billy shook his head as his thumb was pushed to the side of Eddie's cheek so he could talk more easily. The other fingers pressed into his jaw, scratched at the sideburn and two days worth of facial hair he had growing in.

"I don't think he ever had."

Eddie pushed Billy's thumb out but let his whole hand rest over his cheek, not caring about the wet spot afterwards. Billy ran it through his hair as he sank down a little lower, dejected if anything, but the head scratching seemed to help.

"Eddie."

"Hm?" His eyes were closed.

"You gotta tell me if you just want this to be an us thing. I can't read your mind."

"I thought kissing meant it was..."

Billy couldn't stand to see his moping face anymore, so he turned himself over and lay on top of Eddie, eyes deeply focused on the outline of his lips and every detail within them. "You're the only person I've kissed in years," he confessed. "You're the only one I want to kiss." And he tried to lean down further for another, but Eddie turned the tables and rolled on top of him, a challenging glare underneath the shadow of his hair.

"If you're serious," he said, pressing his knee harder into Billy's thigh, "I don't want anyone else sucking your dick either."

"No skin off my back."

"No flirting with guys at the bar."

"I won't even look at them."

Eddie softened just a bit, then let their lips meet in the empty space between them, rough enough so it was clear that he meant what he said. When he tried to pull away, his bottom lip was caught between foxy teeth, a grin when Billy finally let him go and rolled his hips against Eddie's. "And--"

Eddie shifted his jaw to the side in thought.

"And what?"

"... And I want your number. Before you go."

Billy smiled. "Only if you promise to take me out to dinner."

Eddie laughed--"You fucking brat,"--and kissed him again, hands on shirt buttons that were only fastened because of the cold October air. Billy shuddered when Eddie's rings touched his skin, freezing metal on the surface heated by a racing heart. Fingers prodded until he bruised, clothes were tossed aside, teeth bit into nipples, and tongues slid down softly sculpted muscle.

"Say it," Eddie demanded against Billy's ear, sending goosebumps so dense that Eddie felt them under his fingertips. "Come on, baby."

"Only you suck me off." His eyes were closed as Eddie stroked him with one hand. "Only you fuck me." A lone finger trailing further down to tease and promise in one fell swoop.

"And..."

In a tiny, near-silent whisper, Billy said, "Only you kiss me."

"Good boy," Eddie said, rewarding him with another bruise high enough on his neck that he'd have to cover it up in the morning. Billy searched for Eddie's lips with his own and groaned when he found them, yearning for something he hadn't ever admitted to wanting before, and maybe this was it.

"Please fuck me," he asked, begging, and Eddie laughed.

"Am I still big enough for you?"

"Yes," Billy answered. "Christ, what kinda fucking question is that--mm..."

And another kiss shut him right up as Eddie took the plunge for both of them. Something more than a twenty- or thirty-night stand because they'd long lost count, and even Billy recognized the distinct rhythm of his heart when Eddie came to mind and was around him, with him, inside of him.

Billy didn't get home until sunrise; the promise of a phone call kept him wide awake.

[noelle-holi-gay]

hey Slimer! I’d like to suggest a Drabble of the annual Holiday-Dreemurr baseball game, and all of the chaos it entails! Congrats on school being over!

-Snarky

Kris frowned as deeply as humanly possible, shielding their eyes from the scalding summer sun. They were walking towards the baseball diamond out behind the school; it had only been two minutes since they got out of the car, and already they were sweating buckets.

"I am going to dissolve into a pile of ash," they said.

Toriel looked down at them. "I told you not to wear that sweater, my child."

"But I like this sweater." Kris pouted and adjusted their horn headband out of habit. "Why do we have to do this, anyway?"

"It's tradition, Kris!" Asgore said chipperly. He was wearing a hawaiian shirt and a baseball cap, and looked altogether far too cheerful. "Remember how much fun we had last year?"

Kris thought back. "Last year was pretty fun, actually."

Toriel glared at them. "No pranking Noelle with fire ants this time, Kris."

Kris groaned. "Then what's the poiiiiint?" They crossed their arms. "It's a dumb tradition, anyway. If we all jumped off a bridge every year would you make me do that too, because it's tradition? What if I died? What if I died and was dead forever?"

Toriel smiled down at them. "Well, it's a good thing this is baseball, and not jumping off a bridge to die forever, isn't it, Kris?"

Kris crossed their arms and grumbled to themself.

Asriel elbowed them in the side. "Aw, come on. It's not so bad! Just try to have fun, okay?"

Kris looked up at Asriel, then turned back to the baseball diamond and sighed. "Okayyyyy."

The Holidays were already on the diamond. Dess was practicing swings at home plate, with Noelle shadowing her, no doubt listening to Dess brag about how killer she was at baseball; Carol was reclining in a fold-out lawn chair, wearing sunglasses and a large floppy hat, with a book laid out on her legs and a glass of something Kris probably wasn't allowed to drink in her hand; and Rudy was running up to them, a dorky sun visor around his forehead.

"Heya, gang!" he greeted. "How's everyone doing? Ready to play some ball?"

Asgore laughed heartily and walked up to give Rudy a hug. "You know we are."

"I think baseball was invented by dark gods to burn people alive and suck our souls out of our bodies," Kris said.

"Yes yes, Kris, we know," Toriel said placatingly, patting them on the head before giving Rudy a smile. "Most of us are."

Rudy chuckled. "Well if they're not feeling it, they can join their Aunt Carol over in the stands, and they can both have no fun together!"

From over where she was sitting, Carol raised her sunglasses, glaring over at her husband. "NO they CANNOT. I do not need fire ants in my fur, thank you very much."

"You wouldn't have that problem if you got up and played with us!" Rudy returned.

"Not after twisting my ankle last year, honey," Carol called back, before lowering her sunglasses again and returning to her book.

Rudy shrugged. "Eh. I tried."

"It's okay," Kris said. "I don't wanna sit with Aunt Carol anyway. She's really mean and really boring."

"Kris! Manners," Toriel snapped.

Asgore laughed and said, "Kids, right?" which only earned him a glare from Toriel, too.

Rudy just chuckled. "Hey, hey. What she doesn't hear can't hurt us, yeah?"

"Uh…I'm gonna go say hi to Dess," Asriel said, backing away from the conversation.

Kris, seeing an opportunity to get away from the adults, followed him over to Dess and Noelle. Dess was still practicing her swings, and Noelle was still dutifully providing her an adoring audience.

"Hey, Dreem-nerds!" Dess grinned at the two of them, miming blowing their heads off with her bat. "You ready to get creamed?"

Asriel only smiled at the taunts. "Hey, Dess! How are you?"

"Ready to kick your ass, that's how!"

"Language," Carol called absently from behind them.

"We're down a player, though," Noelle pointed out. "Won't that give us a disadvantage?"

"It's not like she did much anyway," Kris mumbled under their breath.

"Yeah, we don't need Mom to beat you guys!" Dess said confidently. "My coach says I've got natural talent! You hear that? That means I'm the best at baseball!"

Noelle frowned. "Um, I don't think that's what it means…"

"That's great, though, Dess!" Asriel said, smiling wide. "Have you guys been winning your games?"

"Well, uh—" Dess faltered. "Well, some of 'em."

Kris snickered. "But not most of them?"

"Hey, it's not my fault! I've got some real loser teammates."

"That's not very nice, Dess," Noelle pointed out.

Dess scowled. "Yeah, well, it isn't very nice when Squidly can't throw the ball, either."

"Hey kids!" Rudy called. He and Kris's parents were walking towards them. "You guys ready to play?"

Dess and Asriel gave enthusiastic assent, Noelle nodded, and Kris huffed, but there was nothing they could do as they all took their places. The Dreemurrs had first bat, and Kris volunteered to step up to the plate first, just to get it over with. They held the bat in their hands awkwardly and looked across the field to Rudy, who was on the pitchers mound.

"Ready, kiddo?" he called.

Kris nodded, and Rudy threw the ball. It was more of a light toss than a pitch, though, and Kris watched as the ball arced through the air towards them. They were a little late on reaction, though, and the ball bonked them right in the forehead.

"Oh crap," Rudy said.

"Kris!" Toriel called from behind them. "Are you alright?"

Kris looked down at the ball, which had fallen by their feet, and picked it up. Then they dropped the bat and started running to first base.

"HEY!" Dess cried indignantly. "THAT'S CHEATING!"

"You can't tag me out if I have the ball!" Kris called back as they passed a very confused Noelle on first and headed for second. "I win!"

"That's against the rules!" Dess shouted.

Rudy exchanged a look with Asgore. "Um, what do we…?"

Kris kept running, blazing towards third base, where Dess was waiting. They stuck out their tongue at her, and she growled, leaping forward and tackling them to the ground.

"Gimme the fucking ball, you twerp!"

"NEVER!"

"DESS!" Carol shouted.

"Hoo boy," Rudy mumbled as he jogged over to where they were tussling on the dirt. "This year's off to a great start, huh?"

[keeper-of-all-the-random-things]

12. HEART AND HUNTER

Whumptober | Alt. 8 Hunting | No. 20 You will regret touching them | No. 22 Watch Out

In which Sam has another bad day.

Previous | Next

*****

The plan went to hell before it even started.

That night, after Thomas delivered his message, Sam woke to the sound of shattering glass.  He had the wherewithal to put on his shoes before finding Thomas in the moonlit living room.  Thomas gestured silently, and they crept through the dark house away from the intruders.  Out the side door, into the trees.

Thomas was quiet and surefooted as he led them on.

Sam ran on adrenaline.  He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep this pace for long.  One day was not enough time to recover from Agency training.

He tried to keep up, and Thomas checked back with him, but it was no use.  Sam fell, and Thomas was gone, swallowed by the dark.  

Sam didn’t dare call out.  He debated whether to go after Thomas or to hide.  It turned out he had no choice.

A thick arm grabbed him around his waist, a meaty hand cutting off his startled cry.

It was too much like the first time.  Sam wouldn’t let them get him as easily now.  He bit and scratched and kicked at his captor, which was about as useful as kicking cement.

His captor chuckled.  “Hey, hey!  I got a wiggly one. Ha!”

Of course it was Wallace.  Sam deflated.  He couldn’t overpower Wall, even on a good day.

Wall half dragged, half carried Sam back towards the house where a few agents stood in a ring on the front lawn.  Stedman was noticeably missing.

Ellison greeted them with the painfully familiar handcuffs.  She grinned at Wall.  “Nice catch!  Don’t worry, Morissette.  We didn’t forget the blindfold.”  She winked.  “We want to make sure you don’t miss the fun stuff.  And speak of the devil!”

As if on cue, a pair of agents arrived out of the trees.  Thomas thrashed and cursed between them, though he’d been restrained before they joined the group.  Once in the circle, they pushed him to his knees.  

Thomas glared at anyone who passed his sight.

“Great!”  Ellison clapped her hands.  “Everyone’s together.  Let’s get going.”

They dispersed, separating Sam and Thomas into different vehicles. 

…..

Sam was back in that stupid metal chair.  He was practically free, though, compared to Thomas who had been restrained almost comically in tape and metal to another chair across from Sam.

“This could have gone better,” Sam said.

“You don’t say.”

“What now?”

“We have to find Nora.”  Thomas pinched his lips to a thin line, hands clenching and unclenching against the chair arms.

“Don’t strain yourself, Tommy.”  Stedman shut the door softly and placed herself between Sam and Thomas.  “It never needed to be this hard.”

“As long as we did exactly what you wanted,” Thomas said bitterly.

Stedman shook her head.  “I tried to find someone else.  But no one was as good as you.  No one can replace you, Tommy.”

“Maybe rethink your methods?” Sam suggested.

“Don’t call me Tommy,” Thomas said at the same time.

“I’ll give you another chance, Tommy,” Stedman said, ignoring them both.  She produced a folding knife from her pants pocket and began cutting Thomas free.

Thomas watched her warily as she moved behind Sam.

Sam could feel Stedman hovering over him, his pulse racing with her out of his sight.

“Here’s the deal,” Stedman said.  “I have some, let’s say, loose ends for you to take care of.”

“No,” Thomas said immediately.  He stood.

Stedman tsked.  “You will, or your new friend will have a very bad time.”

Sam gasped as Stedman yanked his head back, the tip of her knife grazing his throat.

“He’s not my friend,” Thomas said impassively.

Stedman pressed the blade deeper into Sam’s skin.  “Watch out, Tommy.  That attitude could be his end.”

Thomas lurched forward a step.

Sam gripped the chair arms until his knuckles turned white.  He tried to catch Thomas’s eye, to guess what he was planning, but Thomas only looked at Stedman.

“You won’t do it,”  Thomas said.  “You wouldn’t get your hands dirty.  Otherwise, you wouldn’t need me.”  He came another step closer.

Stedman tightened her grip and said nothing.

“Thomas,” Sam breathed.  He shivered as the knife broke skin.  Blood dripped hot down his throat.

Thomas didn’t break eye contact with Stedman.

“You’ll regret that,” he said, low and dangerous.

“Life’s too short for regret,” Stedman replied.

Thomas quirked a cold smile.  “Just long enough.”  Another step.

Stedman released her hold on Sam.  He took a shuddered breath in short lived relief.

“I’m doing this for you,” Stedman said to Thomas.  “When you have an answer, you know where to find me.”

“The answer is no,” Thomas said.

“Think harder.”

Sam’s vision shattered as Stedman stabbed her knife into his side.

“Looks like you’ll have one more death on your hands, Tommy.”  Stedman pulled the knife out and ran.

Sam watched Thomas hesitate, gaze flipping between Sam and the open door after Stedman.  Between ragged breaths, he managed to bite out, “Go get her.”

Thomas was still undecided when Sam passed out.

[mermaidsirennikita]

Can you rec some books with marriage of convenience/grumpy hero? those are my weaknesses and I do love reading about the love forming slowly, gets me every time

Definitely, dude!

I would for sure recommend several of Stacy Reid's books--she does marriage of convenience really well, and a lot of her heroes are grumpy.

Accidentally Compromising the Duke--heroine intends to "compromise" a friend into marrying her to avoid a planned marriage to a lecherous asshole... But she ends up compromising this intimidating widower duke, who needs a stepmother for his daughters anyway. He's more stern than grumpy, but she interprets his distance as coldness; he doesn't want to consummate marriage because he lost his first wife to childbirth. (He folds like a lawn chair.)

Wicked in His Arms--SUPER grumpy hero here, and he also writes SECRET MYSTERY NOVELS LOL. He dislikes the heroine immediately because she's vibrant and makes him horny, but she's visiting his estate as she looks for a husband. They end up fucking in a closet, and she like, runs out of the closet because that was her whole virginity he just took, and he runs after her, and they basically crash into HIS MOM. The story unfolds from there, he has to totally defrost.

When the Earl Met His Match--maybe my favorite Stacy Reid, but the hero really isn't grumpy for most of the book. The heroine is a society girl pregnant by another man who didn't stand by her, hero is a Scottish viscount whose family is super scandalous and hasn't been in society for years. They'd been exchanging letters as strangers for a while, and she basically shows up proposing a shotgun marriage to keep her baby safe from her horrid parents. He claims the baby as his own, and it's this delicious slow burn. He's mute, and there's some communication issues to get over--she does learn sign, and it's reeeeeally lovely. Picks up angst in the last 1/3.

Magnate by Joanna Shupe. Hero is a cold self made man, business... allies...? with the heroine's brother; heroine is from a more blue-blooded family. She asks him to mentor her in the stock market or whatever, her brother ends up catching them making out and forces the hero to marry her, and a lot of "he wants me but he doesn't love me" stuff follows. Really hot and well-done, and I love the way the marriage unfolds.

The Chief by Monica McCarty. Medieval romance, big stern hero paired with lovely virginal heroine. Issue is that her father wanted them to marry and the hero refused... so the father coerces the heroine into sliding into bed with the hero. He's sleepy and her back is turned and he though his dudes were sending a sex worker anyway, so he kinda.... goes for it, which she didn't expect because she thought her dad would come in before sex is had. Dad purposefully rushes in MID-COITUS and demands a marriage. The hero is cold and doesn't want to love and shit, so while they have really good sex, he withholds emotionally. Also: there's this amazing moment where she tries to give him doggy style sex for the first time, and even though it's normally his favorite position, he gets mad because he didn't get to look into her eyes while she came. I'm trash for it.

The Recruit by Monica McCarty. Another medieval, Robert the Bruce wants the hero and widowed heroine to marry, but she has sex with him knowing who he is while he thinks she's a random maid. He basically implies he'll fuck around, not realizing he's talking to the woman he's supposed to marry, so after he realizes who she is, she refuses to marry him. Then they reunite a few months later, and oops, she's pregnant, and he DEMANDS! TO MARRY HER! The whole situation makes him grumpy and distant at first, but they slowly bond while planning for the baby and stuff. Also, he gets to be a Father That Stepped Up for her firstborn child.

When a Girl Loves an Earl by Elisa Braden. Heroine becomes obsessed with the big, cold Scottish hero who can't love, and basically frames a compromising thing in order to force a marriage. He's real mad about that at first, but like. Partly he's just afraid of marring her with his GIANT SCOTTISH COCK. With good reason, because it does sound kinda massive. I love how batshit this heroine is.

The Truth About Cads and Dukes by Elisa Braden. Classic example. Heroine is actually ruined by the cold hero's stupid brother (not in a sexy way) so the hero steps up and marries her. He's got some issues and is very chilly to her at first, but he's really sexually obsessed with her from the jump. She just doesn't get that because she sees herself as ugly, etc. Great love confession in this one.

The Viscount and the Vixen by Lorraine Heath. Hero's old, wacky father brings in this random woman--he answered her ad for a husband and has signed a contract wherein if she doesn't get a husband with a title, she'll receive a huge payout. Hero is like, "oh fuck no, not my senile dad" and marries her himself, which may have in fact been his (not) senile dad's point lol. He sees the heroine as a fortune hunter, but is obviously super into her from the jump and hides it.

When A Scot Ties the Knot by Tessa Dare. Hero is a grump, PTSD-ridden Scot. The heroine has actually been sending fake letters to an imaginary dude with his name for years in order to avoid suitors, lol, and he received the letters the whole time. She's inherited a castle, so he shows up outta nowhere like "MMMM I THINK IT'S TIME WE MARRY". He's grumpy and it's emotional but light, the way of Tessa Dare.

The Duchess Deal by Tessa Dare. Grumpy scarred hero needs a wife for heir purposes, and his fiancee ditched him due to his scars. The heroine made the wedding dress and shows up wearing it to demand payment, and he's like "fab, let's marry and I'll fuck you with the lights off until we have a baby". He's grumpy, but it's mostly insecurity because, you know, scars.

This Scot of Mine by Sophie Jordan. Hero's family has this apparent curse wherein the men always die before their heirs are born. The heroine faked a pregnancy in order to avoid a bad marriage, so when he meets her he's like oh sick I'll marry her and claim her baby as my heir and I'll never have to worry about the curse because the baby won't actually be mine. She's unaware of this, and they fuck on the wedding night--he realizes she's a virgin and flips. She then gets pregnant lmao, and he's very grumpy because he thinks she BASICALLY KILLED HIM LMAO.

The Duke I Tempted by Scarlett Peckham. Hero and heroine end up getting married for like, practical reasons, and they got along at first... But he's actually sexually submissive, and he's afraid of her finding out, which puts up this wall between them. Super good and kink positive.

The Highwayman by Kerrigan Byrne. Hero is a criminal mastermind and kidnaps the heroine in order to basically convince her to marry him in order to "get this inheritance" she has (there are... other reasons, lol). She's like, fine, but I want a baby and you have to fuck me for that. Problem is, he's incredibly traumatized by his misdeeds (and the childhood SA he suffered, TW) so he doesn't like skin to skin contact... at all. Which means. He fucks her with his clothes on. Wearing leather gloves. A LOT of angst, super good.

Non-historical:

Lush Money by Angelina M. Lopez. Billionaire ice queen CEO heroine proposes a marriage of convenience to the genius prince of this tiny principality. She'll bail out his nation, and he'll give her a baby. He haaaates her at first. Wild, hot, great.

[takeeachdayonebookatatime]

Why did you elbow me? 216

Achilles Castle part 118

Lemonade and lies Part 61

Nicholas (Nick) Stephen McSwarek undercover part 25

The car accident part 1

Kate/Stana: pov the food was amazing the concert is about to start, let's hope I do okay it might be loud. The local band sounds amazing. Pamela and Parker are sitting in the folding/lawn chairs I'm sitting on the blanket with Nick.

Pamela: pov it's pretty late and the concert is still going on, it looks like Kate fell asleep on the blanket, she must have been tired.

Officer Nicholas (Nick) Stephen McSwarek/Greig: pov I don't want to startle Kate but the concert is over, I carefully wake her up which still scares her. Hey Stana sorry for waking you the concert is over, you must have fallen asleep. Can you walk or do you need to be carried to the car? Me and Pamela are helping her while Parker carries our stuff. Someone nearby shouts you drunk, who are you going to kill tonight getting behind the wheel. He is definitely talking about kate. She shouts that she has a medical condition and is just tired, plus she can't even drink. I mention to the rude guy that I'm driving us home. Back home she climbs into bed and falls asleep.

Time jump

Kate: pov it's been a few days since the concert. Work is going great, I've been making a few drug runs at night with Nick, we are definitely getting closer to solving this case. I’m still taking my daily naps. Tomorrow Nick starts his new job. I’m kind of nauseous this morning, Barton is nice enough to let me come in later today. Nick has some errands to run today, I take my meds and jump in the shower. I couldn't ask for a better undercover partner. Nick is amazing, he treats me like his equal and not like I have health issues. He sits with me when I have nightmares and makes sure I'm okay. He talks about his future and how he should start looking for love again, maybe get a pet. 

Officer Nicholas (Nick) Stephen McSwarek/Greig: pov Kate what do you want for breakfast, she says her stomach is bothering her. I hand her a banana and toast her a waffle to see if it settles her stomach. Call me if you don't feel good. I'm going to be late for my hair cutting appointment.

Kate: pov I grab some clothes and take a shower. I go to work later today after lunch. I decided to eat out for lunch instead of eating at home. Nick is having lunch with Kovitch and illan Kravitz. They texted him earlier while he was running some errands, Nick said on the phone that I didn't have to come. Can't wait to see his new haircut.

Officer Nicholas (Nick) Stephen McSwarek/Greig: pov my new haircut looks good I quickly stop at the video game store to pick up a game me and Kate can play together, this one looks like a cool detective game i'm getting a text from Kovitch's number asking if me and Stana can pick him and illan Kravitz up there car broke down and they need a ride, he ask if we want to have lunch with him and illan Kravitz afterwards. I reply letting him know Stana isn't feeling good so she can't make it. He replies okay. I text her letting her know what is going on, I also text her hope you feel better soon. This area is super shady. I don't see their car anywhere, maybe a tow truck picked the car up. I have a bad feeling so I decided to call them on the phone asking where they are. Kovitch says at home, how did you get there? I thought your car broke down. He says no I have to go actually i’m making a drug deal and you are ruining it. All of a sudden I hear a very loud noise. All I feel is pain before my world goes black.

Kate: pov I'm on the road in my car when I notice another car in the lane next to me suddenly cross into my lane. It all happened so fast the other car hit/side swiped my door. My left arm feels broken, I'm going to be very sore tomorrow my Captain instincts kick in. Why does this guy look so familiar? It's the cop from my murder investigation. I don't even think to call anyone. I manage to get out the passenger door, the police officer in the other car looks scared like he is hiding something, he is complaining about being injured, blaming me for hitting him. I notice a small blood stain near his trunk, he says a suspect just bled all over his car, he had to call an ambulance, he hopes the guy makes it he was shot by another drug dealer. I ask for his license and registration which he won't give to me.

Police officer who caused the accident: pov I notice she has a gun on her right side probably. I know she is a police officer investigating a homicide. I'm calling the police. Hi I'm a police officer and this woman hit my car and she is armed with a gun and I don't feel safe, she is screaming at me. They tell me to stay in my car and wait for them to arrive, same with her. Everything is kind of falling apart, I can't let them look in the trunk. If I fake chest pain they will have to take me to the ER. The police finally arrive on scene.

Police officer Trent: pov as I'm pulling up to the scene I notice a woman is sitting in the second car. Me and Brian get out of the cruiser, I head over to talk to the guy and Brain offers to talk to the woman. I notice the guy looks anxious. He says she hit his car, which is not possible because her door was hit. The guy says he is a police officer and then starts complaining about chest pain. I have no choice but to call an ambulance for him. Backup just pulled up on scene to help. To be continued. …….

[kirkles-world]

Edd stood there as he looked out into the neighbors yard where a single dog ran with the one person that lived next door. The ramp was colorful and the dog flawlessly weaved around the course.

Taking a sip from his Cola his gaze dropped onto a familiar figure that sat on the person’s back deck in a fold out lawn chair. It was Tord of all people. Edd wondered why he was there and whose dog it was being trained.

Within a short time he saw the dog as it made its way over to the tall man with wavy brown hair. They made their way toward the gate and to an older blue car parked on the side of the street and pulled away and drove off.

Edd stood and moved away from the window and stood in the hallway and peered into the living room toward the front door. Matt was on the smaller couch of the two while Tom was laid out on the bigger one with his phone in his hand.

No noise came before a familiar figure limped into the house with his leg brace as it clinked with each step. A confused look crossed Edd’s face as he’d seen the neighbor, the dog trainer from next door as she stepped in behind Tord.

With another sip from his can Edd ducked out of sight of Tord and the neighbor and wondered why she was there. Edd watched as Tom sat up and glared at Tord and he stopped nearby him. The dark pits of Tom’s eyes narrowed and he sat up and placed his phone on the couch next to him.

On his feet moments later he crossed his arms and stared and groaned. Edd waited for his best moment to poke out of the hall when things were at the peak of drama.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” Tom said behind gritted teeth.

Tord interjected, “She’s our neighbor.” Tord gazed at her, “Why don’t you introduce yourself?”

“Oh! I’m Makkuro Sakai but most people call me Kuro. And you are?”

“Tom. That’s Matt over on the couch.” Tom states as he pointed at Matt.

Matt looks over from behind his mirror, “We’ve already met not too long ago.”

Edd watched as he put the mirror back in front of his face. With a shrug he turned to face Tom before stepping out into sight. He took a sip from his Cola before he grinned.

“And I’m Edd! It's nice to meet you!”

“It’s nice to meet you four, I didn’t know I had neighbors like you for the short time I’ve lived here.”

Tom narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. "Don't you train dogs in your yard or something?"

"Yes, you’re correct, I do train dogs!" Kuro pushed her glasses up.

Edd looked over and smiled, "They must be so cute!" he giggled and stared at Tord. "But why were you there and not over here?"

Tord rolled his eyes, "That’s not your concern."

Tom raised an eyebrow and turned his attention to Kuro. "I remember watching you training a dog a while back, it was pretty aggressive."

"Yeah, I train all sorts of dogs, that’s from aggressive or not. I can even train Chihuahuas and other small breeds like that."

After what she said that last part Tom huffed. “Ha! You train small dogs like that?”

Tord grinned, "Edd, were you watching out the window out at us?"

Edd snickered, "Yeah, I was.” He looked toward Tom. “Maybe she can train you Tom with all the drinking you do."

Tom balled his fists. "Screw you guys! That was like a week ago when I last had a drink."

"I also just realized that you guys watched me train a dog. It sounds kinda creepy doesn’t it?" Kuro points out but Tom shrugs

Tord chuckled, "I just watched a session with you train one of my friend’s dogs and it was pretty RUFF.”

Hearing the pun Edd broke into laughter and held his gut. "That was great! I didn’t know you had a sense of humor!”

"That pun was horrible." Tom pointed out with a sneer.

Edd watched as Kuro snorted loudly but covered her mouth seconds after. With a swing in his step Edd came closer to Tom and patted his shoulder.

"That's because you have no sense of humor."

Matt laughed and covered his mouth and kept hidden behind his mirror and went silent. A wide grin spread across his face. Edd nodded.

“It’s true Tom, I’ve not seen you laugh once,” Matt chimed in.

Kuro looked around the room. “I should get going. I have another client soon and I want to be there on time when they arrive this time.”

Edd waved, “Do feel free to swing by anytime! One of us should be here if you do visit.”

“Will do! See you guys later!”

Without another sound besides the door shutting Edd turned and walked out of the room tossing his can toward the blue bin in the corner of the room making it inside it. Disappearing down the hall he shut his bedroom door behind him.