#side swept vs straight across

[cumposure]

Wish u posted face just to see ur bangs better

[hcneymooners]

౨ৎ (still) thinking of summer slasher!pazzi…

best friends to lovers!pazzi. men & minors dni.

🫀⋆ part one. part two ( you are here.ᐟ ). part three.

cw: medium-level gore (guys, people they know die in this one), sexual tension, heavy sexual content (sorry! i'm ovulating), manipulation, morally ambiguous!p, morally ambiguous!a, the power of lesbians vs murder, unhealthy relationships bc it's a horror au, unhealthy coping mechanisms.

notes : this ended up being 10.8k so i'm splitting it off into a third part which should be shorter. you little freaks want to see p & the killer's showdown in detail so i have to oblige.

as always, feel free to give me all of your thoughts in my inbox. i hope you enjoy. love you.

azzi is the only thing that makes me feel like a real girl.

paige has written this in her blocky handwriting , the letters practically out to kill with how sharp the angles are. she hasn’t touched her journal in three days, her mind swept away by azzi’s easy tide.

her best friend lies next to her, her body heavy with sleep and rising with her slow breath. paige puts her diary to the side, and rolls over so that she can watch the gentle twitch of azzi’s face as she dreams. she smoothes out the wrinkles that splay across the other girl’s brow.

azzi smells sweet, like caramel, and paige can’t help but pull her fingers back and place them in her mouth. they taste only of skin but her eyes roll back as she pretends it’s azzi all over them anyway. she opens them again, dispels the fantasy, and watches azzi shift—the bottom curve of her ass peeking out of her criminally small cotton pajama shorts, her thighs so full.

and yes, it’s her first year in college (and paige’s second) and paige is probably high off of the end to a year without her but god, she just loves azzi so much. the pulse of affection is so sudden, so strong, that it makes paige squeeze her legs together as if to choke it out.

here is where she feels less sick, less hungry for the pain she thinks of inflicting on other people. here lies a real-life angel, stolen straight out of the gates.

sometimes paige pinches herself to ensure she’s awake because being with azzi is so much like heaven she isn’t sure she would be able to tell if she’d died.

that violent voice inside of her is so quiet, is so fond of her best friend that it almost brings her to tears because that means it really is a part of her and not a part of something else—it’s immovable and completely her own.

“p? what are you thinking about?”

paige blinks and watches as azzi’s soft brown eyes flutter open, dark and wet. god, she was born game. paige sneaks closer, smiles with pleasure as azzi hooks an arm around her waist. from azzi’s side of things, paige looks like a saint on fire, the sun rising through the winter behind her and dressing her blonde hair with a dark orange flame.

“nothing. just that i’m taller than you for real”

azzi laughs sleepily and even her breath is sweet. she’s just so thick, body flush with life. her scent radiates off of her: again the caramel, but violet too and a bit of something lactonic.

“in your dreams,” azzi murmurs, and paige can see she’s falling asleep again.

yes, she wants to say, you are in my dreams. you are my dream. my biggest one.

paige thinks of slitting azzi’s belly, soft and quick just to taste a little bit of her blood. the thought is immediately followed by tears. she wishes she wasn’t so sick.

azzi, even asleep, seems to sense her need for comfort. she presses close, sinks into paige’s lilac comforter and her valentino cologne-covered limbs, and tucks into her chest. the sickness shifts, enfolds her. azzi is now safe in its bubble.

paige feels hot at the thought of letting her go. she imagines another person experiencing this. the heat expands. she thinks of a knife in her hands, sinking into someone else.

stopping them, saving her.

𓇼 azzi is not handling this well. she’s barely making it through class; barely making it through anything. every morning she wakes with her head feeling heavier than before. she swallows a pill, tries to kill the part inside of her that keeps reminding her that her best friend is an absolute psychopath with a soft spot for her and that another psychopath has it out for her in a far more evil manner.

𓇼 she’s slipping at practice, sloppy and hesitant instead of making her shots count. geno doesn’t bother yelling at her, only gives her a look filled with leagues of disappointment. it’s only due to her pride that azzi doesn’t cry.

𓇼 she’s careful about how her time is spent, times her moments inside the apartment to align with paige’s outside of it. she fakes countless nights of sleep, slowing her breathing as paige lingers in an effort to catch her in the midst of her pretending. but that gets old and she finds herself still suffocating, still in pain, and swollen with a secret too big to fit inside of her neatly.

𓇼 so she sneaks out. treats her body like a hangar and drapes dresses across it that get shorter with every outing. she drinks until her mind is numb, shakes along to the music until she comes off too manic to be found interesting or pixie-dream-girl and then throws up in the morning in caroline’s bathroom, rubbing her cheeks to calm herself down.

𓇼 “azzi,” caroline says, her voice soft as she rubs her back. “can you tell me what’s going on?” but azzi keeps it quiet, keeps it down, because she thinks of paige and feels her stomach clench and her throat close with the urgent desire to be a good girl.

𓇼 trust me, paige’s phantom voice says. believe in me, it croons in her head. it never stops. she goes out again.

the bass is a snake beneath her skin, rattling in her ribs, reverberating in the hollow of her chest. it’s not enough.

azzi can tell she’s teetering on the edge of being out of control. caroline had texted her earlier, had offered to do a movie night post practice but azzi had found it frighteningly easy to lie to her for the nth time, typing out a stream of words that she couldn’t even remember clearly but knew were enough to get carol off of her back.

the air inside the club is sweltering—humid with sweat, perfume, the lingering tang of alcohol. bodies move together, fall together, silhouettes blending. the world is a sea of golden limbs and slick skin under shifting neon lights.

azzi is glowing under it.

her body is warm, fever-flushed, coated in a fine layer of brunt orange body glitter that dances on the edge of dark pink and catches the light every time she moves. tonight’s mini dress is navy blue and clings to her, threatening to reveal her down to the bone. the neckline plunges low, the exposed skin shimmering like she’s been dipped in summer. she smells sweet, addictive, and edible—something dangerous in a place like this.

azzi knows how she looks. she just doesn’t care.

she wants to disappear. wants to drown in the music, in the heat, in the slurred conversations and unfamiliar hands that press against her as she moves deeper into the crowd. but she can still feel it. the way her mind won’t let her slip away completely.

so she pushes further.

azzi finds a body—someone taller, faceless in the dim light but blonde enough to be her best friend for the night—and presses against them. she tilts her head back, lets her eyes flutter shut, lets herself sway, slow and deliberately, grinding in time with the music.

and for a second, it works. she almost forgets.

then her gaze lifts, unfocused, scanning lazily across the flashing strobes of purple, red, and blue.

and she sees them. or—no. no, she thinks she sees them.

a mask. the shape of it, half-hidden in the shifting bodies of the club.

her stomach plummets. she goes still.

the song is still playing, then it changes. the bass continues thrumming to a new rhythm, the people around her still swaying, almost twisted in prayer as they dance—but she isn’t. her blood rushes in her ears, louder than the music. she blinks, hard, but the figure is gone.

she jerks slightly as her dance partner tries to get her to come back, her breath hitching, the heat of the room suddenly suffocating. she feels like she’s going to cry, or throw up, or both. then, like a sign from god, a hand wraps around her wrist. the fingers are calloused, covered with cool silver rings.

azzi jerks, eyes snapping up, her entire body going stiff with discomfort. she goes to push them off, demand that they leave her alone, but it’s paige. she’s standing in front of her now, too close, her expression pissed. her fingers press into azzi’s skin, warm and unyielding.

"you gotta be fucking kidding me, az," paige mutters, low and sharp, eyes dragging over azzi’s glittering body before snapping up to her face. “are you fucking crazy?”

azzi opens her mouth, but words escape her. paige’s jaw tightens. her free hand lands on azzi’s waist, steadying her. azzi exhales a soft, tired laugh.

“how’d you find me?” her words slur slightly, not fully gone, but not all there either.

paige lifts a brow. “we share our location with each other, dumbass.”

azzi hums, tilting her head against the wall. “mmm, forgot about that.”

paige glares, jaw clenching. then she steps closer, crowding into azzi’s space.

“what the fuck are you doing?” she demands, voice still low, like she’s forcing herself to keep it together. she sounds like sex, azzi’s brain tells her unhelpfully. “you really thought you could just sneak out and i wouldn’t come find you?”

azzi rolls her eyes, her head tipping forward slightly. “i don’t—” she wavers, stumbling slightly, and paige’s hand is suddenly there, gripping her bicep, steadying her. azzi blinks at the contact, something complicated flickering across her face before it dies out.

"you snuck out,” paige says again, voice flat, but azzi can hear something else in it—knows she’s gotten under her skin. “didn’t tell anyone. didn’t tell me. i had to call caroline who was worried out of her mind by the way.”

azzi swallows hard. she’s still trembling, still caught between panic and the aftermath of it, still seeing flashes of the mask in her mind like her own private film.

paige watches her closely, then exhales sharply. her hand slides up, grips the back of azzi’s neck.

“alright, nah,” she murmurs, voice lowering. “you're fucked up right now. you're done. i'm cutting you off. let’s go.”

azzi exhales another weak laugh. “i don’t wanna go.”

“yeah, well, i don’t care.”

paige tugs at her arm, but azzi resists, still leaning against the wall, still lost in whatever slow-motion, drowning feeling she’s been trying to sink into all night.

“i just needed—needed—“azzi starts, but she doesn’t finish.

paige waits. then her grip on azzi’s arm tightens, just slightly.

“needed what?”

azzi doesn’t answer. she looks up at paige, her lashes fringed with tiny tears as the party fades and reality sinks back in. paige’s jaw flexes, her hands follow suit. then, without another word, she steps even closer, her hands bracketing azzi’s hips, fingers pressing firm through the thin fabric of her dress.

“okay, fine,” paige murmurs, tone shifting—calmer now, almost coaxing. “you wanna stay? you wanna keep drinking and pretending shit didn’t happen?”

paige leans in, her lips ghosting the shell of azzi’s ear. “i’ll tell you what’s gonna happen, az,” she murmurs. “you’re gonna let me walk you out of here, and you’re gonna get in my fucking car. or i carry you out. swear.”

azzi shivers. she opens her mouth, but paige is already stepping back, already pulling her toward the exit. she knows what azzi would choose.

so, azzi lets her.

she lets paige take her hand, lets her lead her through the press of bodies, weaving through the overstimulation of sweat-slick strangers. lets herself be found again.

the song echoes behind her as they exit, a ghostly question on the cool breeze: what about you / when i fuck things up, yeah.

paige will always find her.

azzi sniffles, leans her head against paige’s back as the older girl tries to get the passenger door open.

“‘m sorry,” she sobs. “i don’t know what’s wrong with me. i just wanna feel good.”

paige stills, then turns and tugs her into a tight hug. azzi twitches with her tears, melts into the fortress of paige’s arms.

“i just wanna feel good again,” she says again, and paige continues to hold her.

she doesn’t know how long they stand there, how long paige holds her up.

𓇼

the bathroom floor is cold.

it’s the first thing azzi notices when she wakes, her cheek pressed against the white tile, her body curled around the base of the toilet like it's an altar. they have a beautiful bathroom is the second thing she thinks—and it’s what tells her that she still may be a little drunk. she presses further into the floor, desperate for the beauty to purify her.

her head pounds. everything hurts. not just physically, but bone-deep exhaustion that makes her wonder if this is what dying feels like.

she doesn't remember getting home. doesn't remember much after seeing paige at the club, after being found again. sunlight slices through the small window, hitting the shower curtain and diffusing into something gentle. but it's still too much. azzi closes her eyes, groans, feels her stomach heave.

she’s now at the point where she has no shame. she lies on her stomach, covered only by an oversized navy blue uconn tee and a pair of black cotton panties that do nothing to cover the full bubble of her ass. she thinks of paige changing her and the shame returns.

"mornin', princess."

azzi flinches. the shame deepens. she doesn't need to look to know it's paige, leaning against the doorframe, watching her. always watching.

"go away," azzi mumbles, her voice cracking straight down the middle to reveal her heart.

"nah, i don't think so." paige's voice is controlled, but azzi can hear the tension beneath it. "you look like shit. need to get some food in you."

azzi finally opens her eyes, turns her head slightly to look at paige. the blonde is wearing a loose t-shirt and shorts, her hair pulled back into a loose braid. she's holding a glass of water and two pills in her outstretched hand. even now, so clearly disappointed and irritated, she’s so beautiful.

azzi closes her eyes again, as if to stop paige from getting in. but her desire for her, her need has already infested her. to want paige was a disease and the spores had long spread deep into azzi’s body.

"i said go away."

paige sighs, stepping into the bathroom and crouching beside her. "take the pills, az."

"no."

"bro, stop being difficult. just take them."

"i don't want your help," azzi says, each word deliberate. she sits up slightly, her back against the bathtub, ignoring how the movement makes the room spin. "i can take care of myself."

paige laughs, but there's no humor in it. "yeah? that what you was doing last night? taking care of yourself?"

humiliation stings through azzi, quick and sharp. she remembers flashes—the body glitter, hands on her waist, the pulsing lights. the mask. always the mask.

"leave me alone."

"i'ma get you some toast. you need to eat."

"no."

paige's jaw tightens. "azzi. get the fuck up. you need to eat something."

"i said no!" azzi snaps, louder now, her voice bouncing off the bathroom walls. she knows she’s being childish, knows that this is her begging for attention but, "just—stop. stop pretending like everything's normal. stop acting like you care."

paige goes still. "acting?"

"yes, acting! this whole—" azzi gestures wildly between them, "—this whole thing. it's bullshit."

"bullshit," paige repeats, her voice dangerously soft. she sets the water and pills down on the edge of the sink with controlled precision. "you think i'm acting."

"i think you're a fucking liar," azzi says, and immediately regrets it. not because it isn't true, but because saying it out loud makes her unable to escape it.

paige's eyes flash. "a liar."

"yes! you—" azzi stops, swallows hard. her head is pounding so fiercely she can barely think. "you're not who i thought you were."

"no?" paige shifts closer, her eyes never leaving azzi's face. "who am i then, az? tell me. since you got me all figured out."

azzi closes her eyes, wishes she could disappear. "i don't know. it’s driving me crazy."

silence stretches between them, taut and heavy. then paige speaks, her voice surprisingly gentle.

"i told you, az. i'm just trying to protect you."

and there it is—the thing they don't talk about. the monster under the bed.

"protect me?" azzi laughs, bitter and broken. "from what? from who? the other killer, right? or maybe from yourself?"

paige's expression hardens. "you know better than that. they're out there, and they've got it in for you. you think i'm making that up? you think i enjoy this? watching you fall apart?"

"i don't know what to think anymore!" azzi's voice rises, threatens to crack. "i don't know what's real. i just know that my best friend—" she chokes on the words. "my best friend is a killer. and i'm just supposed to what? trust you? follow you around like some lost puppy?"

"i ain't never hurt you," paige says, fierce and low. "never would."

"but you've hurt others."

paige doesn't deny it. she just watches azzi, her gaze steady.

"i'm just trying to keep you safe," she says finally.

something in azzi snaps.

"for what?!" she shouts, pushing herself up straighter despite the way it makes her stomach churn. "why do you even care? it's not like i'm your girlfriend!"

the words hang between them, electric and dangerous. azzi freezes, realizing what she's just said, what she's just revealed. paige's eyes widen slightly, her lips parting in surprise. "az…" she starts, her voice softer now. "hey…"

"get out," azzi whispers, panic rising in her chest. "get out. get the fuck out!"

she's shaking now, tears threatening to spill over. she didn't mean to say it. didn't mean to expose herself so easily.

paige doesn't move. instead, she reaches out, her fingers brushing against azzi's cheek, gentle in a way that makes azzi want to scream.

"nah," paige says softly, her thumb wiping away a tear that has escaped despite azzi's best efforts. "i don't think that's what you want."

she's right.

paige shifts closer, careful and slow like she's approaching a wounded animal. in one fluid motion, she slides down to sit on the cold tile and pulls azzi into her lap, cradling her against her chest. azzi is too tired, too hungover, too emotionally drained to resist.

"why don't you ever just tell me whatchu want, ma? like straight up?" paige murmurs, her breath warm against azzi's temple. her fingers thread through azzi's hair, nails scratching gently against her scalp in a way that makes azzi want to melt despite herself.

azzi swallows hard, her eyes closed tight against the tears that threaten to spill. "because," she whispers, "one day you'll get tired of me. of this. of whatever this is."

her voice cracks on the last word, and she hates how vulnerable she sounds, how much she's revealing.

"and then what happens to me? what happens when you decide i'm not worth protecting anymore?"

there’s silence and then paige wraps a hand around her chin, forces her to look at her. she takes azzi’s hand in hers, lifts it up to the light and they both watch as she slides their hands together. she brings them down, twists so that azzi’s palm is revealed, and presses it down over her heart.

“you hear that?” paige says, and azzi slows her breathing as she tries to listen. eventually, she hears it. paige’s heart, on one hundred, plump and ripe as it pounds steadily against the meat of her hand. “do you know who’s doing this to me?”

azzi looks up at paige, eyes glistening. paige asks her again, voice steady, eyes steadier. “answer me. who’s doing this to me, az?”

“me,” azzi whispers.

“you,” paige affirms. her eyes are so bright, like ice under sun. “i’ll be tired of you only when i’m dead. and even then, i’ll claw my way up from hell to be with you in heaven, mama. i can promise you that.”

azzi watches her, sees the gleam of bloodlust and nods. she digs her nails into paige’s shoulder, and claws into her. she relaxes when paige claws back.

𓇼 azzi fakes it better. she packs up everything: the secret, the conversation that should’ve happened post her confessing her love for paige, the fear. it all festers. it beats against her brain like swallows against the glass of a window.

𓇼 she switches. the partying stops. the sneaking out slows. she remembers to have fun responsibly, runs herself into the ground at practice. she’s fine. perfect even.

𓇼 but the isolation begins. she needs to know who she’s dealing with, what vendetta she’s running from.

𓇼 paige won’t tell her much, this she knows. she tells her she’s tired to keep her at bay, but paige knows she’s lying. azzi supposes she allows her to get away with it because of the way she had been lying to her before. eventually, her time will be up.

𓇼 everyone is still worried about her though no one will say it.

𓇼 caroline starts sleeping over so much that azzi tells her to go back to her own place, if only to prevent paige from almost weeping with jealousy or something more psychopathic.

𓇼 morgan finds a way to keep touching her, trying to anchor her via the exercises given to her by her therapist. aubrey offers to talk and azzi says no, thank you with a bright smile. nika squeezes her shoulders when they hit the library together to study for a biomechanics exam from hell.

𓇼 the other girls follow suit: jana suddenly always ready for brunch, ice and kk practically living on her and paige’s couch, ashlynn walking with her after class. paige hates that one the most. azzi doesn’t understand it.

𓇼 paige will tense when ashlynn’s hand wraps around hers, their arms glued together as the other girl tries to talk azzi out of her worried thoughts.

𓇼 azzi kind of likes it, likes the fact that paige feels that something as simple as holding her hand should only fall within her jurisdiction. ash thinks it’s funny and azzi says nothing, focused on finding a way to live with the knowledge that she’s being hunted down.

𓇼 still, nothing makes the spiral stop. it only slows.

𓇼 sleep becomes a luxury azzi can't afford. every night after paige drifts off, azzi slips out of bed and hunches over her laptop at the kitchen table, blue light painting shadows across her face as she scrolls through article after article.

𓇼 victims one, two, and three: three volleyball players from the same school, found together. victim four: jasmine williams, duke basketball standout. body discovered behind the equipment shed.

𓇼 victim five: madison park, tennis prodigy from MIT. bled out on the pavement, a neat crescent carved across her neck. victim six: sophia rose, soccer star from uconn. found on the field with multiple stab wounds. no witnesses.

𓇼 azzi creates a map, marks each location with a red dot. she writes out their names, their sports, their accolades. she searches for connections, for patterns, for any reason why these specific people were targeted. for any reason why she might be next.

𓇼 the pattern emerges slowly, then all at once: they were stars. the ones coaches praised in press conferences. all but two were team captains. all were exceptional athletes with promising futures. ones with highlight reels that once went viral, but now stood as a testament to their white lighter lives.

𓇼 ones like paige. ones like her.

𓇼 "fuck," she whispers to the darkness. "what's the fucking point of any of this?"

𓇼 dark circles form under her eyes. she drinks coffee until her hands shake. caroline notices, offers to get her a prescription for something to help her sleep. azzi declines with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. she knows herself, and what she can become. the last thing she needs is to have to be weaned off of the sweet lullaby of a drug.

𓇼 at practice, she's still razor-sharp. fear has a way of focusing the mind, and basketball has always been her sanctuary. on the court, she doesn't have to think about killers or survival or her best friend's bloody (perfect) hands.

𓇼 geno watches her with concerned eyes but says nothing. he knows better than to interfere with whatever parasite eats at inside of her. kk whispers to jana that azzi seems "haunted." jana just nods, squeezes azzi’s hand during an exercise.

𓇼 night after night, azzi builds her theory. tacks photos to a corkboard she hides in her closet when paige is around. connects threads between victims who seemed to have nothing in common except their athletic excellence and the brutal way they died.

𓇼 she's so deep in her research one night that she doesn't hear paige approach until warm hands slide over her shoulders.

"princess, it's 3 am," paige's voice is thick with sleep, her fingers kneading the tension from azzi's neck. "what you still doing up?"

azzi quickly closes her laptop, but not before paige catches a glimpse of the crime scene photos.

"just couldn't sleep," azzi says, leaning back into paige's touch despite herself.

paige sighs, her breath warm against azzi's ear. the heat makes azzi’s body lock up, then break down."you can't keep doing this to yourself, ma. you gotta rest sometime."

"i'm fine."

"nah, you not." paige spins azzi's chair around, forcing her to meet her eyes. "i miss you."

the simple confession catches azzi off guard. paige looks vulnerable in the dim kitchen light, her hair messy from sleep. she’s in one of azzi’s hoodies, the sleeves well-worn.

"i'm right here," azzi says softly.

"you’re not though. you’re here—" paige taps azzi's forehead gently, "—but you’re not here." she places her hand over azzi's heart. "i want you here w’me. i miss my best friend."

the words hit azzi like a physical blow. because despite everything—despite the lies, the blood, the danger—she misses paige too. misses the simplicity of before, when paige was just her overprotective best friend and not a borderline psychopath trying to save her from another.

"come on," paige says, tugging azzi up from the chair. "laptop closed. no more death tonight."

azzi allows herself to be pulled to her feet. "what are you doing?"

paige grins that familiar smile that makes azzi's heart skip despite everything. it’s in moments like this one where azzi can see how paige will age, how she'll morph over time into something so golden and full of life. she watches as paige walks over to the speaker on the counter and connects her phone. a moment later, sza's voice fills the kitchen, low enough not to disturb their neighbors.

"dancing," paige says, extending her hand. "like we used to."

azzi hesitates, just for a moment, before taking her hand. "this is ridiculous."

"prolly."

but paige pulls her close, one hand on her waist, the other still holding azzi's. they sway together in the dim kitchen, bare feet on cool wood, the music wrapping around them like a cocoon. azzi rests her head on paige's shoulder and inhales the familiar scent of her skin. 

for a moment, they're just two college students, dancing in their kitchen at 3 am because they can. maybe even two women married and tried, nothing in between them but love found true. 

"i got a question for you," paige murmurs against her hair.

"hmm?"

"go out with me."

azzi pulls back slightly, eyes searching paige's face. "that’s not a question."

"az. you know what i mean. like, for real. a date. me and you." paige looks almost shy, which is so unlike her that azzi almost laughs. "been wanting to ask for a minute now."

"a date," azzi repeats, tasting the word. "like roses and dinner and—”

"mmhmm. if that's what you want. i just want you. however, you'll have me."

the honesty in paige's voice makes azzi's chest ache. this is what she's wanted for so long, and now that it's here, wrapped in flesh and blood, she doesn't know what to do with it.

"yes," azzi says before she can think better of it. "yes, i'll go out with you."

paige's smile is like the sun breaking through clouds. she spins azzi around suddenly, making her laugh in surprise, before pulling her back in close.

"bet," paige says, pressing her forehead against azzi's. "friday night. i'ma show you the best night of your life, promise."

azzi believes her.

𓇼 the next morning feels different. lighter somehow. azzi catches herself humming as she makes her matcha, stealing glances at paige across the kitchen. paige is unabashedly staring back and it makes azzi laugh so much she flashes her teeth.

𓇼 paige’s phone is connected to the mini speaker sitting on the counter and when ‘power trip’ by j. cole filters through, she sings the chorus to her with her hands out as if pleading azzi to release her from this cycle they're in. azzi flushes, covering her face as paige tells her “we are, we are, we are” in response to miguel’s crooning question of: would you believe me if i said i'm in love?

𓇼 azzi tries to play it cool, tries to tamp down the wave rising in her stomach. she rolls her eyes, pushes paige back as she makes her way to the door. at the last minute, she turns and says “i do want you, though,” in response to paige's horrifically loud and off-key wails about how she wants her to want her. 

𓇼 paige lights up, full body, and rushes to the door. azzi giggles and shuts the door just in time, laughing louder at paige’s dramatic cry of her name behind the wood. 

𓇼 still, she doesn’t lose sight of her goal. the research remains, tucked away in a folder on her laptop, but for the first time in weeks, azzi feels like she can breathe. like maybe there's a way through this darkness after all.

𓇼 paige brings her flowers between classes. it’s beautiful: a coil of baby pink peonies mixed in with lilies so orange they almost glow. azzi blushes when paige hands them to her in front of everyone, her smile pulled out like a ship called to shore.

𓇼 "what's this for?" azzi asks, burying her nose in the petals to hide her smile.

𓇼 "practice, princess," paige says with a wink. "for friday."

𓇼 the rest of the team notices the shift. kk raises an eyebrow when paige's hand lingers on azzi's back during practice. jana smirks knowingly when they arrive to team breakfast together, paige carrying azzi's bag alongside her own.

𓇼 caroline corners azzi in the locker room. "finally happening, huh?" she asks, nodding toward paige across the room. azzi just shrugs, but she can't keep the smile off her face. "maybe."

𓇼 "about time. you two have been dancing around each other forever." this time from ashlynn. the words are sweet, encouraging, but azzi can’t help but feel her tone is slightly cold. however, the irony of that statement—of how literal their dancing had been—makes azzi laugh.

𓇼 even geno seems pleased, his usual gruff demeanor softening when he catches paige stealing a kiss from azzi after a particularly good drill, her lips parting to show her teeth as she grins against azzi’s cheek.

𓇼 for three blissful days, azzi almost forgets. believes they could be normal. convinces herself that the horrors lurking beneath the surface of their lives might remain there. 

𓇼 but nothing good lasts forever.

𓇼 it happens on thursday night. one day before their date. azzi, jana, and morgan are in the library, their concentration on the edge as they cram for their biomechanics exam.

𓇼 "i swear to god, if i never hear the word 'kinetic chain' again, it'll be too soon," morgan groans, closing her book with a thud.

𓇼 "you know your stuff," jana insists, nudging morgan with her elbow. "you'll do fine, babe."

𓇼 "easy for you to say. you're actually good at science."

𓇼 azzi knocks their knees together in camaraderie, about to chime in with her own complaints about the exam, when the lights flicker once, twice, then go out completely.

𓇼 the library plunges into darkness, the only illumination coming from the emergency exit signs casting a deep red glow across the stacks.

"please, don’t panic," calls the library assistant from somewhere near the front desk. "probably just a power surge. the emergency lights should kick in soon."

azzi's phone illuminates, casting harsh shadows across her face. jana and morgan follow suit, three small pools of light in the darkness.

"weird," morgan whispers, glancing around. "i’m kind of freaked out. do you think we should wait it out or—"

the crash of breaking glass cuts through the quiet, followed by screams from the front of the room. then another sound that makes azzi's blood freeze—music drifting through the darkness. a slow, distorted rock ballad playing from somewhere in the stacks.

"we need to go," azzi says, already gathering her books. "now."

before they can move, there's a commotion at the front desk, more screaming. the library assistant's voice rises in panic before cutting off abruptly. 

"back exit," jana whispers, grabbing morgan's arm. "through the archives."

they move quickly through the darkness, phone lights bobbing, hearts pounding. azzi leads, and jana follows, with morgan bringing up the rear. the music grows louder as they navigate between shelves, the slow, grinding guitars creating a surreal backdrop to their flight. they reach the archives section when azzi hears it—the soft scrape of footsteps behind them, too deliberate to be another panicked student.

"hide," she hisses, pulling jana behind a tall shelf. morgan ducks behind a study carrel, her breathing shallow and fast.

from their hiding place, azzi can see a figure moving through the shadows. the mask gleams in the red emergency light; that same nightmare mask she'd glimpsed in the club, in her dreams. 

"there's a window in the rare books room," jana breathes against azzi's ear. "we can break it, get out."

azzi nods, scanning the darkness. the killer seems to be moving away from them, toward the front of the archives. if they're quick, if they're quiet…

"on three," she mouths. "one. two—"

morgan's phone chimes loudly, an incoming text that shatters the silence. the killer whips around, head tilting like a predator sensing prey.

"run!" azzi screams and the sound tears through her throat like razor wire.

they break cover, sprinting toward the rare books room. the killer moves with inhuman speed, cutting between shelves to intercept them. jana reaches the door first, yanking it open, shoving morgan through. azzi feels the air shift behind her, and ducks instinctively as metal slices the space where her head had been. she tumbles forward, scrambling on hands and knees toward the door.

inside the room, jana is already at the window, using a chair to break the glass. the sound of shattering is thunderous in the small space. morgan helps clear the jagged edges from the frame.

"hurry!" morgan cries.

the door bursts open. everything slows down. 

in the light of the exit sign, azzi sees the glint of the knife, sees jana pivot to protect morgan, sees her own hands reaching for anything to use as a weapon. the attack is swift, brutal. jana manages to land a solid kick that sends the killer stumbling back into a shelf. books rain down, an avalanche of hard weight. morgan helps azzi to her feet, both of them backing toward the window.

"almost there," morgan says, her voice incredibly earnest as she gestures at the window frame.

the killer recovers, lunging forward. jana grabs a heavy tome from behind her and swings it with all her strength. it connects with the killer's arm, and as the killer moans in pain, something snaps—a thin silver bracelet that falls to the floor with a musical chime. azzi's eyes lock onto it, the breath freezing in her lungs. she knows that bracelet. 

the realization floods her with ice-cold clarity. it’s short-lived, a moment of consciousness before the killer slickly pivots, knife finding its mark in morgan's abdomen.

the sound morgan makes isn't a scream—it's smaller, more surprised. a soft "oh" as the blade sinks deep. hot blood blooms across her faded beige sweatshirt, appearing black as it stains the stitches of the malibu imprinted upon it. 

jana screams, the sound primal and raw. the tang of blood fills the air and mixes with the salt of the tears tracking down azzi's face, mixes with the snot and spit of terror. she can taste it all. fear has a flavor; it’s metallic and bitter at the back of her throat. 

the killer twists the knife cruelly before yanking it free. morgan stares down at the spread of her own blood, her expression more confused than pained. she’s mumbling, misunderstanding what’s happened to her as her mind tries to shield her one last time. her knees buckle, but the killer grabs her before she can fall with a strength that seems impossible for their frame. in one fluid motion, they drag morgan toward the window, its glass teeth jagged and waiting to tear flesh.

jana recovers first, charging forward with a wail that shreds her vocal cords raw. but the killer is ready. they are always ready. they sidestep at the last moment, and jana's momentum carries her past, sending her crashing into a display case. azzi lunges forward—but it's too late. 

the killer heaves morgan's body through the window, the glass slicing her skin neatly as she tumbles through. her body falls into the darkness, a wet thud following a moment later, sickening and final. azzi’s eyes fill with tears, taking in jana’s distraught hiccuping sobs and her own rough weeping from the floor. morgan is silent, smashed into a memory on the pavement, her face undone into a mess of blood and bone. 

azzi crawls to the window, heaves herself up. she must look insane but she doesn’t care. this can’t be happening. this isn’t happening. morgan needs to wake up. this isn’t funny. 

“morgan. morgan, wake up. mo, please wake up. please. please.”

the world is smearing together. there’s white noise inside of her head. azzi is crying so hard that she’s unable to breathe, her body unleashing a sound that doesn’t belong in a human throat. she fights to not slide to her knees, sobbing as she distantly registers jana weakly crawling to her side, pulling azzi away into her arms. they’re a terrible scene: a girl holding a girl who is calling to a corpse.

“morgan, please. please.”

the world is ending around them. this is her worst fear realized. the killer only watches them, head tilting slightly. even through the mask, azzi feels the cold assessment, the casual cruelty. 

they're not people to this monster—just sacks of meat to be opened, animals to be put down.

azzi's gaze drops to the broken bracelet on the floor, then back to the masked figure. "i know who you are," she whispers, her voice a ragged remnant. "i know, and i swear to god, i will kill you."

the killer's shoulders rise and fall in what might be a silent laugh. then, with one last look at the girls struggling to their feet, they melt back into the darkness, vanishing amidst the soundtrack of their destruction.

𓇼

azzi’s only silent when the police come. she’s incoherent, her mouth and chin covered in vomit. there’s a refusal to process the truth, a refusal to process the dead body splayed underneath the window. and yet, when they lead the girls outside, she finds the strength to run and hold morgan’s shattered body to her stomach when they try to take her away. 

she looks oddly beautiful, jana thinks, gaze distantly focused on what’s left of morgan. her eyes are so pretty. she has big, starry eyes. sad baby eyes. i should’ve told her. jana collapses then, cracks her head on the sidewalk as she goes out cold.

azzi pays her no mind, says something over and over, so quickly that she remains unaware that she’s speaking. when she accesses the police report later she reads that she sat in morgan’s blood, crying out that she loved her again and again for over thirty minutes. the officers had let her have that time, had understood who this girl had been to her. the paramedics had whisked jana away almost immediately after her fall, unable to waste any more time. 

but what sticks in azzi’s head years after the massacre is the way that murderer had looked at them. the way their body had radiated triumph and a tinge of sick desire as they watched her on the floor, as they watched her take in what was left of her teammate and friend.

azzi had been too busy screaming to see how jana had looked up and had silently begged them to kill her. but the killer knew at that moment that it would only hurt them more to remain alone and alive. that it would eat them whole. jana had grasped at them as they moved away from her and toward the door. she had almost touched their boot when they’d kicked her in the side, sending her toppling and cracking into the wall. 

she’d landed hard, face to face with her slack-eyed reflection in the display case. her own eyes stared her down, and then she’d picked herself up, her body aching severely. she had crawled to azzi, unable to get up a second time, and curled around her wailing form.

now, azzi is silent. jana is unconscious. morgan is gone. 

the body bag zips up over a person she knew, a girl she loved so much, that she would’ve done anything for. she lays on her back, her ribs fractured and grief punching through her lungs. she feels blood pool in her mouth. 

a friend is dead, and the other is in critical condition. she thinks of this. she remembers the bracelet. she is filled with the certainty that she knows exactly who's trying to kill her.

as her eyes shut, light floods through her teeth. the sun’s risen.

𓇼 paige doesn't leave her side after that. not for a second. she sleeps curled around azzi like a shield, her body tense even in unconsciousness, ready to spring into action at the slightest sound.

𓇼 "i'm so sorry, mama," paige whispers against azzi's hair, over and over, like a prayer or a promise. "i should've been there.”  she should have.

𓇼 azzi doesn't respond. can't find the words past the knot of grief in her throat. morgan is gone. sweet, funny morgan who always shared her snacks and locked her door and never forgot anyone's birthday.

𓇼 she can’t even imagine the emptiness that’s pooling deep inside of aubrey. she didn’t have a chance to speak to her. upon receiving the news all the light just left her. she shut down, went home. 

𓇼 the campus goes into extreme lockdown. classes are canceled. police swarm every building, every walkway. students are advised not to go anywhere alone, to go home if they’re able.

𓇼 jana stays with them, unable to return to the dorm she shared with morgan and sarah. she sleeps on their couch, when she sleeps at all. mostly she stares at the wall, her eyes hollow.

𓇼 "did you—did you see…" jana starts one night, her voice still hoarse from screaming. "did you see anything? anything that could help identify them?"

𓇼 azzi exchanges a look with paige, whose expression has gone carefully blank. jana’s stay has resulted in paige having to act normal, but more interestingly—it’s yielded kindness toward someone who isn’t azzi. paige is quiet, not because she aims to protect herself, but because she wants to shelter jana.

𓇼 "just the mask," azzi lies, the broken bracelet burning a hole in her pocket where she'd slipped it during the chaos. "nothing useful."

𓇼 but she knows. she saw enough in those brief, violent moments to confirm what she'd thought she’d hallucinated. the bracelet. ashlynn's bracelet. 

𓇼 she had watched her fidget with it during team meetings, a nervous habit. had complimented it once, and ashlynn had smiled coldly, said it was a gift from her mother. ashlynn, who was nondescript and kind and perfectly under the radar. who had thrown morgan out of the goddamn window.

𓇼 that night, jana falls asleep on their couch, the exhaustion of grief finally pulling her under. azzi sits at the kitchen counter, turning the silver bracelet over and over in her hands. the delicate chain catches the dim light, the small charm—a pair of wings—spinning slowly.

𓇼 paige watches her from the doorway, her expression unreadable. "you need to sleep, az."

𓇼 "can't," azzi says, not looking up.

𓇼 paige crosses to her, bare feet silent on the tile floor. she stops behind azzi's chair, close enough that azzi can feel the heat radiating from her body.

𓇼 "come on," paige says, her voice gentle in a way it rarely is with anyone else. "just for a little while."

𓇼 azzi allows herself to be guided to paige's room, the bracelet still clutched in her palm. the door clicks shut behind them, and for a moment, they just stand there in the darkness, breathing each other's air.

𓇼 "it's ashlynn, isn't it?" azzi whispers finally, the words barely audible.

𓇼 the silence stretches, thick and heavy between them. paige's silhouette is motionless against the faint glow from the window.

𓇼 "isn't it?" azzi repeats, her voice cracking on the question. paige's shoulders slump, as if under an invisible weight. "yes."

𓇼 the single word lands like a physical blow. azzi makes a sound—something between a gasp and a sob—and sinks down onto the edge of the bed.

𓇼 “what the fuck?”

𓇼 paige sits beside her, close but not touching. "she's always been... off. even before i knew what i was, i could sense something similar in her. i guess at one point, we were competing." paige's voice is low, careful. "she hates anyone who outshines her. can't stand not being the center of attention. went along for a while because it was fun, gave me a fix. then coach started talking about you being the future of the program...she snapped. i told her you were off limits."

𓇼 "but you—"

𓇼 "she's scared of me," paige says simply. "she knows what i am. what i can do. so she targets you instead."

𓇼 "to hurt you," azzi whispers. everything is finally coming together. "to get you out of the way."

𓇼 paige nods, her profile sharp in the dim light. "two birds, one stone."

𓇼 azzi opens her palm, the bracelet catching the moonlight. "what are we going to do?"

𓇼 "i’m going to get her back," paige says, the words falling like stones between them. "make it even."

𓇼 the certainty in paige's voice should frighten her, azzi thinks. the casual way she speaks of killing. but instead, it sends a different kind of shiver through her body.

azzi is unable to sleep despite her best efforts. 

she rolls over time and time again, even trying to listen to a three-hour video of ocean wave asmr. nothing works. her mind is buzzing with an amalgamation of terror and dark, desperate need. 

she sits up, her scarf and bonnet sliding down her back coolly. she swings her feet over her bed and stumbles through the door and into the hallway. she doesn’t bother taking her phone or using a flashlight. she knows where she’s headed; there was never anywhere else. 

paige opens the door with her eyes squinted with sleep, but it only lasts a minute. she’s so attuned to azzi, so wired into the signal of her body. she steps forward halfway only for azzi to press her back into the room, closing the door behind her. she leans against the door, hands behind her back and on the doorknob before she speaks. 

“i feel so unsafe like someone is watching me,” azzi starts, not sure how to finish the thought. not sure what she needs beyond the immediate presence of paige's skin against hers, beyond the oblivion of touch. “i need you to watch me.”

 “’m not following, az,” paige tells her, brow furrowing in confusion. “watchu mean?”

azzi says nothing, only looking up at her from underneath her dark lashes.  then she moves, skirts around paige, and sits on her bed. she taps the space beside her gently, urging her best friend to come sit down. when paige obliges, azzi shifts back so that she’s further up and near the headboard.

without breaking eye contact, azzi takes her sleep shirt by the hem and lifts it over her head in one fluid motion. it leaves her chest bare, her nipples pebbling immediately in response to the cool air. they’re dark and hard, and make paige’s mouth water. her brain has gone offline. 

azzi continues, lifting her hips to slide down her shorts and reveal the jade-green panties she’s wearing. the lace is deepened to a lush, emerald green at the apex of her thighs—her arousal soaking through. azzi crawls forward, brings her hands to paige’s face, cradling it before pulling her forward. 

the first kiss is gentle—a question, an offering. the second is not.

azzi loses herself in the heat of paige's mouth, in the insistent press of her body. she tastes like mint and something headier, something that makes azzi’s head spin. they fall back onto the bed together, a tangle of limbs and desperate hands. paige's mouth finds the sensitive spot where azzi's neck meets her shoulder, and azzi arches up, a soft moan escaping her lips. 

they break apart and paige hovers above her, eyes reflecting starlight from the window. azzi thumbs at her bottom lip, swipes up the saliva there, and pushes it back in. she curves her finger, fucks it in like she would in paige’s cunt, and feels her stomach pulse as paige rocks down, eyes going up momentarily and revealing white.

"unh," she says eloquently, her voice rough with wanting and the syllables slurred around azzi’s fingers.

azzi laughs, then retracts her fingers. she forces paige up and off of her, adjusting so that she sits back on her haunches with her knees bent. she breathes. “i’m going to touch myself, and you’re going to watch me. and when i’m ready, i’ll ask you to touch.”

paige can’t think. she’s working on base instinct, on the primal need to please the girl before her. azzi smells so sweet like she always does. it’s sugar, pear, plum, and at the base—caramel. paige can't help but lean forward and bite down, working into the muscle of her tits. her fingers trace the high peak of the nipple left neglected by her tongue, moaning in tandem with azzi as the other girl spasms with pleasure. paige wonders if she can get her to cum just like this, if she can get her to release wet and hot and sticky all over her face; drip sweet and warm into her mouth. 

azzi shifts beneath her, her ass practically spilling out of her lace panties, her thighs so full, so perfect. paige has to swallow a groan at the sight.

and yes, azzi’s just been through a horrific incident,  and paige is barely holding it together, and probably high off of finally, finally having this moment, but god, she just aches for azzi so much. a spear of desire pierces through her, making her dig her nails into azzi's back to keep it down.

she thinks of before, of that same feeling of feeling less sick, less starved for the blood she thinks of wheedling out of perfect strangers. now, her body sings a cohesive tune. it’s azzi, all the time.

 “paige," azzi whispers, pulling her up for another kiss. "you—fuck—you have to listen. not yet, okay? i promise i’ll let you touch soon, let you do anything you want to me.."

paige obeys. she can’t do anything but. she busies herself with losing her mind silently as she uses every single molecule of strength in her body to pull back. she isn’t good at being good all the time though, so she sneaks one last touch in and revels in the small sounds azzi makes when her fingers find her swollen clit, in the way she bucks when paige's mouth trails down her neck when paige’s nails mark up her inner thighs. 

every touch feels both new and familiar as if they've been doing this for years, as if they were made for exactly this. paige thinks they were. azzi finds she agrees. finally, paige stops touching her and azzi can do what she needs to. she sits fully on her ass now, thighs spread open and a hand dangling lazily in front of the wet fabric of her underwear.

after a while, she drags them down her legs and off. she goes to slip them off the side of the bed, but paige stops her with a quick hand. she takes them, swirls a fingertip in the middle of the fabric where all of azzi’s arousal lies spilled. paige looks up, keeps eye contact as she sucks it off. azzi has to physically restrain herself from lunging for her.

instead, she spreads her legs wider and smiles slowly as paige’s eyes glaze over. azzi looks as confectionary as paige imagined her to be, her cunt perfect and full with brown folds that give way to a pink as bright as turkish delight. it drools unabashedly, precum sliding down and out onto the bed. 

she's so sensitive, crying out weakly as she slides a finger inside. she pushes herself hard from the start, then harder and harder—takes herself further and further. paige is trying so hard to be good; her body practically twitches with it.  she watches intently as azzi’s fingers dip deep inside her gummy walls, curling and pulling until a thin ring of white sits frothy and bright at the base of them. 

azzi surrenders her eye contact with paige, head kicking back as she rolls a thumb over the rosy pearl of her clit. it’s swollen and straining with stimulation. paige makes a sound low in her throat as azzi’s brow scrunches, her hips rolling and swiveling to meet her ministrations. and paige knows she’s supposed to be waiting for permission, knows that she’s only supposed to do what azzi wants her to. but she just—she just—fuck. 

she just wants azzi to feel good, and she’s so clearly struggling—so clearly begging for it. she can tell azzi is getting close, her thighs quivering as the muscles flex beneath the skin. just as azzi falls apart, paige crawls forward and over her, lowering her head to press against azzi’s kiss-swollen lips.

when her best friend falls apart beneath her, it’s electric and paige swallows the sparks, feeling something inside her chest crack open, something tender and frightening blooming in its place. she doesn’t let up, doesn’t stop despite azzi’s high whimpers. instead, paige trails a hand down until she reaches azzi’s pussy, playing with the lips and sinking in and out. her mouth is running a mile a minute, most of it incoherent and filthy.

“shit’s loose as fuck,” she murmurs against azzi’s neck, the words hot against her veins. “perfect and ready f'me, right? so fucking needy for me, aren’t you, baby? she needs me, doesn’t she?”

azzi tries to answer, but every time paige fucks into her she loses all ability to create a sound. so she mouths it, presses an endless stream of ‘yeses’ just beneath paige’s ear. one of her hands comes up and twists into paige’s hair, yanking a mass of blonde as she chases her second high. paige groans gutturally, the pain so familiar and so fucking good.

she feels azzi twist beneath her, feels the signal her body is broadcasting, and she removes her fingers. azzi makes a sound like she’s been shot, and paige kisses her to soothe her. she works quickly, tipping them further back till azzi is completely flat on the comforter. with steady hands, paige pushes one of her legs further out so that there’s enough space for her to fit in between them. 

she shimmies out of her boxers and slides off of her shirt. azzi watches her with undisguised desire, her eyes softening as she takes in paige’s full, pale tits with their perfect rose-pink nipples. her brown eyes darken as her gaze dips and falls on paige’s cunt, the lips slightly large and iced like a cupcake with her cum.

“fuck,” azzi breathes. “fuck, p, you’re so pretty. you’re so beautiful, baby. did you cum from watching me?”

paige nods, head hazy from the praise. “uh-huh.”

azzi goes to say something more, but paige might just die if she doesn’t get to feel her. she surges forward, aligns their cunts, and then drops slowly. the minute their clits touch both girls let out twin moans, high and strained as if in pain. paige rocks forward first, then back. azzi lets her set the pace, her mouth slack and her eyes so low that her lashes touch her cheek. 

nothing in the world will ever feel as good as this. it’s simply a thought that paige knows to be true.

she leans down and places a hand behind azzi’s head, rocking her hips faster and faster. with every pushy and pull she can feel the heat of their cunts, their separate wetness becoming shared. paige thinks of the fact that as they move against one another, their cum is slipping deep inside of their pussies which makes her bounce faster which makes azzi groan like she’s been hit and that makes paige reach out and slide a finger in between her full lips. 

and azzi wants to cum together, she really does, but she’s already so sensitive and paige is tearing her apart in her quest for pleasure. it only takes another grind before azzi screams and squirts, her hand flailing out blindly until she finds paige’s wrist and yanks her fingers from her mouth.

as her orgasm crests, sending her vision white and blind, azzi digs her teeth into paige’s palm to keep herself quiet, bites until the skin splits, and a drop of blood dribbles down her chin.

“oh shit, ma,” paige slurs, her pupils dilating wide. “fuckkk, honey, keep going. look at you, baby. give me that shit. c’mon, there you go. make me cum.”

azzi’s so overstimulated that her body is involuntarily jerking with the feel of paige still going and her orgasm still going and the world just keeps going and—she whites out, going unconscious momentarily as paige bucks faster and faster, hell-bent on cumming right inside of her. 

“so close, mama, swear. fuck, just—just a little more. az, look at me.” paige slaps her cheek a couple of times, grinning maniacally as azzi blinks woozily back into the present. “look at me. yeah, fuck, yeahhh.”

azzi mewls weakly and she sounds so fucking pathetic that it’s what sends paige over the edge. 

“holy shit,” paige squeals, her mouth dropping open. “oh. oh shit, thank you. thank you, baby. you make me feel so good. made me feel so fucking good. so fucking—god.”

as paige cums for the second time, azzi cums for the fourth—dry. nothing comes out, but she still pushes paige off and curls into a ball, slamming her legs shut as she draws into herself.  paige is half-laughing half-sobbing on her side as her orgasm spills like sunlight into her belly, spreading out until she’s on fire. 

they lie like this for a while, until azzi pushes out a whine and reaches for her best friend. paige crawls to her, still delicious with pleasure, and presses against her. her tits are sweat-slick against azzi’s hot back, and she’s so grateful for the fan beside her bed. she reaches up, finds the remote, and turns it on. 

they both sigh as their skin begins cooling in the breeze, legs tangled beneath the sheets. azzi turns and traces patterns on paige's chest, her touch featherlight.

 "i've wanted that for so long," paige admits, the lack of light making her brave. "wanted you. always"

"i know, p. me too," azzi whispers, pressing a kiss to paige's shoulder. "it was perfect. you’re so perfect."

paige tightens her arm around azzi, pulls her closer. "whatever happens, whatever comes next… i need you to know this isn't just—"

"i know, baby," azzi interrupts, raising herself on one elbow to look down at paige. "this isn't just a distraction or a coping mechanism or whatever. this is us. this is real."

the relief on paige's face is palpable, even in the dim light. she reaches up, tucks a curl behind azzi's ear. "real," she echoes, tasting the word.

it’s a covenant.

𓇼 morning comes too soon, streaming through the blinds in gauzy, golden ribbons. azzi wakes slowly, aware of the welcome weight of paige's arm around her waist, the steady rhythm of her breathing against azzi's back.

𓇼 for a moment, she allows herself to simply exist in this bubble of warmth, to pretend that they're just two regular girls waking up together after a night of finally giving in to their deepest desires.

𓇼 "i can hear you thinking," paige mumbles against her neck, voice thick with sleep.

𓇼 azzi laughs softly, turning in paige's arms to face her. "good morning to you too."

𓇼 paige's eyes are soft, still hazy with sleep, her hair a wild halo against the pillow. she looks younger like this, azzi thinks. more vulnerable.

𓇼 "hi," paige says, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

𓇼 "hi," azzi returns, tracing the line of paige's jaw with her finger.  they stay like that for a moment, just looking at each other, relearning features they already know by heart. paige shuffles forward, kisses azzi close-mouthed and chastely. azzi hums, leans into her.

𓇼 the sound of a throat clearing breaks the spell. they both look up to see jana standing in the doorway, arms crossed, expression somewhere between amusement and exasperation.

𓇼 "y'all are not as quiet as you think you are," jana says, arching an eyebrow. "just fyi."

𓇼 azzi feels heat rush to her face, burying it in paige's shoulder with a groan. paige, on the other hand, just grins, unrepentant.

𓇼 "my bad," paige says, not sounding sorry at all.

𓇼 jana rolls her eyes, but there's a ghost of a smile on her lips—the first azzi's seen since morgan. "i made coffee. and we need to talk."

𓇼 she leaves them alone, footsteps retreating down the hall. azzi raises her head to meet paige's eyes.

𓇼 "so much for keeping this quiet," she says.

𓇼 paige shrugs, pulling azzi closer. "let 'em talk. i got nothing to hide."

𓇼 "nothing?" azzi asks, but they both know she’s asking something else.

𓇼 paige's expression sobers. "about us? nothing. ’m not ashamed of you, az.”

𓇼 azzi nods, pressing a quick kiss to paige's lips before sitting up. she looks down at her, strokes her thumb along her bottom lip. "no matter what you think, it's the same for me. i love you. all of you, paige.” 

𓇼 paige watches her move around the room, gathering discarded clothes, her eyes hungry in a way that makes azzi's skin heat all over again.

𓇼 "stop looking at me like that," azzi says, pulling on paige's oversized t-shirt.

𓇼 "can't help it," paige replies, folding her arms behind her head, making no move to get up. "you're something else, fudd."

𓇼 azzi throws paige's shorts at her head. "get dressed. we've got work to do."

𓇼 paige catches the shorts with one hand, laughing. "yes, ma'am."

𓇼 as azzi reaches for the door, paige calls out her name. she turns, one hand on the doorknob.

𓇼 "hmm?"

𓇼 paige's expression is serious now, all traces of playfulness gone. "i meant what i said last night. whatever happens, i got you. always."

𓇼 azzi feels something tighten in her chest, a mixture of fear and fierce affection. "i know, baby. i got you too."

𓇼 and she believes it. they have each other. and together, they're going to end this. or die trying. 

© hcneymooners.

[kiyawritesforf1]

ATTENTION - part 1

Pairing Lando Norris x Reader

Charles Leclerc x Reader

The ballroom glowed under a canopy of chandeliers, dripping with wealth and ambition. You adjusted the neckline of your dress—crimson, daring, the kind that made a statement—and scanned the room. The gala was alive with the clink of glasses, the murmur of power plays, and the occasional burst of a camera flash. You were here with Lando, your boyfriend of six months, whose arm was slung around your shoulders as he regaled a group of sponsors with some wild story. He was all energy tonight, curls bouncing as he gestured, his grin wide and infectious. But your eyes weren’t on him. They were on Charles.

Charles Leclerc stood by the bar, one elbow propped on the counter, a glass of something dark in his hand. His tuxedo was impeccable—tailored to perfection, tie loose just enough to hint at rebellion. His dark hair was swept back, and those piercing green eyes caught the light as he laughed at something a journalist said. He was smooth, effortless, the kind of guy who could charm a room without breaking a sweat. You hated how it got under your skin. Hated how your heart stuttered when he glanced your way, holding your gaze for a beat too long before turning back to his conversation. Jerk.

“—and then I told him, ‘Mate, you’re not catching me on the straight,’” Lando was saying, his voice pulling you back. The sponsors chuckled, and you flashed a smile, nodding like you’d been tuned in. Lando’s hand slid to your waist, a casual claim, and you leaned into it. He’d been buzzing all week about this event, ever since he’d heard Charles would be here. The rivalry between them was the stuff of F1 legend—a clash of styles, Lando’s chaotic aggression versus Charles’ cool precision, fueled by a tangle of on-track battles and off-track jabs. The media had eaten it up, and when you started dating Lando, they’d dragged you into the feud. Lando’s girl vs. the Ferrari prince. You’d played your part, tossing snide remarks about Charles whenever a mic was near. It was all for show. Or so they thought.

“Look at him,” one of the sponsors said, nodding toward Charles. “Thinks he’s God’s gift to racing.”

Lando snorted, pulling you closer. “Yeah, well, God forgot to gift him a personality. Right, love?” He grinned at you, waiting for the assist.

You didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, totally,” you said, loud enough to carry. “Charles Leclerc wouldn’t know charisma if it lapped him in Monaco.” A ripple of laughter spread, and Lando squeezed your hip, pleased. Across the room, Charles’ head tilted, like he’d caught the dig. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, that polished facade cracked—something raw flickered there, intense and unreadable. Then he smirked, raising his glass in a silent toast before taking a sip. Your stomach flipped. Smug bastard.

The night wore on, a parade of schmoozing and snapshots. Lando kept you by his side, all loud laughs and playful banter, while Charles worked the opposite end of the room, all quiet smiles and calculated charm. But the air between you and him buzzed. It was in the way his fingers brushed yours when you both reached for the same tray of canapés, the way his shoulder grazed yours as he passed through the crowd. Tiny, electric moments no one else noticed. You kept the act up, though—when a reporter asked about Charles, you rolled your eyes and said, “He’s just a pretty face with a fast car,” loud enough for Lando to hear and cackle. The fans would love it.

By midnight, the gala was winding down, and Lando was deep in a debate about tire strategy with some McLaren exec. You slipped away, stepping onto the balcony for a breather. The night air was crisp, the city lights sprawling below, and you leaned against the railing, letting the noise fade. You didn’t hear the door, but you felt him—Charles, all quiet intensity, stepping out behind you.

“Nice one tonight,” he said, voice smooth as silk, tinged with that Monaco accent. You turned, and there he was, hands in his pockets, strolling closer. “The charisma line? Brutal.”

You crossed your arms, smirking. “Had to keep the story alive. You make it too easy.”

He chuckled, low and warm, stopping just close enough that you could smell his cologne—something woody, expensive. “You’re good at this game, I’ll give you that.” His eyes flicked over you, lingering on the dress. “Lando’s a lucky guy.”

“Jealous?” you teased, tilting your head.

He didn’t flinch. “Should I be?” His voice dropped, soft but edged with something dangerous. You didn’t answer, just held his stare, the tension coiling tight. Then he moved—quick, decisive—grabbing your wrist and pulling you into the shadowed corner of the balcony, out of sight. Your back hit the wall, and his hands framed your face, his lips crashing into yours.

It was fire, instant and consuming. You kissed him back, hard, fingers curling into his jacket, tugging him closer. His mouth was hot, insistent, tasting faintly of whiskey, and his hands slid down to your hips, gripping like he’d been waiting all night. “You’ve been driving me crazy,” he murmured against your lips, breath ragged. “Parading around with him—”

“You’re one to talk,” you shot back, nipping his lip. “Flirting with journalists.”

“Had to,” he said, smirking. “You’re the only one I see.” His lips found your neck, teeth grazing, and you arched into him, stifling a gasp. The risk—Lando inside, the crowd just beyond the glass—it made every touch sharper, every kiss deeper.

It started months ago, after a race in Spa. Lando had dragged you to the paddock, all proud grins and showboating, while Charles had finished P2, all quiet frustration. You’d bumped into him at the hospitality suite, alone for once, and the snark had flown—until it hadn’t. He’d kissed you against a counter, rain still dripping from his hair, and you’d told yourself it was a fluke. But it kept happening—hotel rooms, dark corners, stolen moments between races. The public feud was the perfect cover; every “I can’t stand him” was a lie you both lived.

Now, his hands were under your dress, tracing up your thigh, and you grabbed his wrists, breathless. “We’ll get caught.”

“Let them,” he growled, but he eased back, eyes dark with want. “Not here. Follow me.”

“Where?”

He didn’t answer, just took your hand and led you back inside, weaving through the thinning crowd. Lando was still engrossed, oblivious, as Charles guided you to a side door. You slipped into a quiet hallway, the gala’s hum fading, and he pushed open a door labeled “Private.” It was a small office—empty, dimly lit—and the second it shut, he had you against it, hands roaming, mouth on yours like he couldn’t wait another second.

“God, you’re impossible,” he said, tugging at your dress. “All night, watching you with him—”

“You’re the one playing prince charming,” you countered, yanking his tie loose.

“Only for show,” he murmured, kissing you again, slow and deep. He lifted you onto a desk, stepping between your legs, and it was all heat and chaos—his hands possessive, your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. When he whispered your name, it was raw, desperate, and you felt it in your bones.

Later, panting and tangled, he pressed his forehead to yours, a rare softness in his eyes. “You’re going to ruin me,” he said, half-laughing.

“Good,” you replied, and he kissed you again, tender this time, a secret sealed between you.

Back at the gala, you’d smooth your dress, fix your lipstick, and slide back into Lando’s arm, all smiles and excuses. Charles would return to his orbit, that cool charm intact, and no one would know. Enemies in public, lovers in private—it was your dance, and you played it to perfection

Please leave comments and do mention on how you like the story 🥹

[l0svers]

bridgerton pt 1 watch:

pen’s new dresses are SO pretty, can’t believe they did her so dirty the other seasons

they really said rights for men who eat

i was so proud of cressida for not spilling the tea about pen

also she mic dropped when she told eloise to get a looking glass

the dutch angle when everyone is gossiping is SO GOOD

they always get freaky in the garden

me: oh this is a dream

me: OH MY GOD ITS *HIS* DREAM

the lens blur on the edges when he wakes up is !!!!

collin acting all silly at breakfast has me giggling

i was rlly not vibing with collin x penelope cause they decided to make him a player but i’m more pleased now that’s he’s all silly n stupid over her

also hyacinth thinking collin is a nice guy for helping pen is so cute

benedict said 🤨 when collin said he didn’t dream

her ribbon side swept hairstyle is gorgeous!

stooopppp why is little vegetarian nature guy so cute

collin after seeing pen lick sugar off her finger: “that should be me holding your hand, that should be me…”

I love birds — lol me too pen me too

why did they decide that everyone and their mother (literally) needed a love interest this season??

mama bridgerton was like ugh collin i see you

he looks like he’s about to straight up kiss her

spit it out!!! please!!!

cressida feels like she’s from the capital from the hunger games

also their house is such a drab sad dark color woof

this is a heated race of debling vs collin

stop the queens hair with the moving swans??!! insane!!

also the dancers!! the purple dress is gorg and also stop taking the camera off of them it’s so pretty

HE STOPPED THEIR DANCE :0

stop the callback when cressida says the bridgerton live across from the featheringtons and debling realizes that’s why it was her favorite view

debling is the sweetest man ever like they had no right making me like him so much — i hope he marries someone good even if he does want a practical match

pen called out her mother! yes girl!

awww kilmartin got francesca the music rearranged stopp that’s so cute

and now mama bridgerton can see she’s finding love

admit it collin come on! spit it out!

oh he said it…

getting scandalous in the carriage 🫢

ok this goes on for longer than necessary imo

“can the carriage driver not keep on driving?” based lol

stop “are you going to marry me or not?!”

and now i have to wait 2 weeks to see the rest :/

[famousninjatale]

Blonde Wigs with Bangs: The Perfect Blend of Style and Sophistication

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From platinum pixies to golden lobs, adding bangs to a blonde wig enhances dimension and adds personality. This style works beautifully for all face shapes and complements a wide range of fashion aesthetics.

Why Choose a Blonde Wig with Bangs?

Blonde hair has long been associated with radiance and confidence. When paired with bangs, it adds a youthful edge and frames the face in a flattering way. Whether you're wearing a wig for fashion, convenience, or due to hair loss, a blonde wig with bangs can offer:

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Final Thoughts

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[mayhemproduces]

The Rip City Shooters vs The Dark Triad

Ever since The Dark Triad launched an attack on Josh Bishop, just seconds after Bishop had won the MPW World Championship, stealing the title in the process, The Rip City Shooters have been on a mission to make the lives of the Dark Triad a living hell. We wouldn’t be surprise if any of the Shooters show their face during the main event, but right now, Josh and Wes do their best to try and make sure Daniel Garcia and Kevin Blackwood won’t be popping up to help VENY. Danny started in the ring, bouncing on the balls of his feet, watching as the The Intense Icon, the hulking beast that was Josh Bishop stepped in the ring across from him. The referee called for the bell, and as soon as he did, Josh Bishop charged Danny, who slid right out of the ring. Blackwood jumped off the apron to join his partner on the floor as the crowd booed the cowardence of the two men. Danny tried to wave the crowd quiet, as him and Blackwood got into a huddle of sorts. The ref began to count them out, and it wasn’t until the ref got Josh Bishop back on his side of the ring, and was almost at a count of seven, that Danny got back into the ring, and Blackwood got back into the apron. Josh Bishop charged again, and once again, Danny rolled out of the ring, and Blackwood hopped off the apron. The crowd’s boos got a bit louder, and once again the referee pushed Josh Bishop back and began to count, as Danny and Blackwood huddled outside of the ring. Wes Barkley reached over and tagged himself in, before climbing into the ring, and measuring the boys on the outside of the ring. Wes Barkley charged the ropes like she was going to dive out of the ring, but Danny and Blackwood quickly broke their huddle, running off to seperate sides of the ring, forcing Wes Barkley to stop in his tracks, else she would dive straight onto the empty floor. Danny and Blackwood laughed as the crowd booed them even louder. Wes Barkley rolled to the outside of the ring when the boys weren’t looking, however, and went straight after Danny, beginning to hammer away at the veteran. Blackwood quickly ran over and tried to stop him, but she seemingly had eyes in the back of his head, turning and catching Blackwood with a few shots to the head as well. She couldn’t fight both of them off for long, however, as when she turned around to attack Danny again, Danny caught him in the face with a Discus Forearm! 

Wes Barkley stumbled, and Danny and Blackwood both grabbed him, before whipping Wes Barkley right into the ring post, face first! The two took a moment to high five, and mock the crowd some more, but it seemed to be a moment too long, because Josh Bishop came charging in like a freight train, catching both men with a running shoulder block, and sending them both flying into the steel guardrail! Josh Bishop grabbed Danny and tossed him back into the ring, before going over to help his own partner up. She helped Wes Barkley up to his feet, but afterwards when he himself tried to get in the ring with Wes Barkley, the ref stopped him and ordered him back to his corner. While the referee was distracted, Blackwood swept Wes Barkley’s legs off the apron, causing him to take a hard fall onto the hardest part of the ring! Danny grabbed Wes Barkley and pulled him into the ring, before beginning to stomp away at the woman. Danny grabbed him by the hair and pulled him into his team’s corner, before tagging in Blackwood, and nailing Wes Barkley with a forearm, which dropped him into a seated position in the corner

Danny and Blackwood both backed up into adjacent corners, measuring Wes Barkley, before both men came charging, Danny first, landing a boot to the face, and then Blackwood, nailing him with a dropkick. Blackwood dragged Wes Barkley into the middle of the ring and covered him with a lateral press. 

1...2… Kickout! 

Wes Barkley managed to kick out, but that didn’t stop Blackwood from continuing his offense, pulling Wes Barkley up into a seated position and catching him with a sharp kick to the spine. Blackwood then lifted Wes Barkley up again and whipped him into the opposite corner, but Wes Barkley went up and over on Blackwood, slipping behind him, and catching him with an O’Conner Roll, trying to catch Blackwood into a pin, but Blackwood rolled through and trapped him in one instead, but Wes Barkley managed to shove Blackwood off before the ref could even count one, and managed to tag Josh Bishop! Josh Bishop came into the ring and immediately caught Blackwood with a pounce, sending Blackwood flying across the ring! Blackwood pulled himself up to his feet in the corner, just in time to get crushed by a body press from Josh Bishop! Blackwood stumbled out of the corner, and Josh Bishop lifted him up into a full military press, before dropping him, catching Blackwood in a spinebuster, and driving him into the mat with the force of a comet falling to earth! Wes Barkley called to Josh Bishop, calling for some sort of tag team move, and Josh Bishop came over and tagged in Wes Barkley, before lifting him off the apron and carrying him into the ring. Josh Bishop launched Wes Barkley into a senton, Wes Barkley crashing down on Blackwood, before Wes Barkley rolled out of the way, as Josh Bishop ran off the ropes and crashed down on Blackwood with a splash of his own! Josh Bishop rolled out of the ring, allowing Wes Barkley to make the cover on Blackwood! To retain the titles!

1...2… Kickout!

Blackwood managed to kick out, saving his team’s chance at the titles, and Wes Barkley pushed the hair out of his face in a huff, grabbing Blackwood and pulling him back to his feet. Wes Barkley grabbed Blackwood for some sort of suplex, or maybe a DDT, but Blackwood managed to escape and slip behind him before anything could happen. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Danny sprung from the top rope, catching Wes Barkley with a jumping knee, the impact of which recoiled Wes Barkley back into Blackwood, who planted him with a german suplex! Danny rolled out of the ring and got back on the apron, allowing Blackwood to run over and tag him in. Danny got into the ring and began mocking Josh Bishop, jokingly flexing while making a series of faces at him, before turning back to Wes Barkley and stomping away at Maserati. Danny then grabbed Wes Barkley again, and lifted him up, before dropping him with a back suplex. Danny laid there for a moment before he sat up, in very much the same style as the Undertaker, laughing as he did. Danny got back to his feet and made a cutthroat gesture, before lifting up Wes Barkley, looking for a Tombstone! Wes Barkley began to kick his feet, however, and managed to slip off of Danny’s shoulder, before catching him with a kick to the back of the head, dropping Danny to a knee, and running over and tagging Josh Bishop!

Josh Bishop came into the ring much in the same way that she did against Blackwood, pouncing Danny into the corner! Blackwood quickly ran into the ring to run interference, catching Josh Bishop with a high knee strike, before pulling him into a front face lock. “Danny! I got him! I got him!” He yelled out to his partner, trying to get his attention for some kind of tag team move. Wes Barkley ran into the ring to try and stop whatever was about to happen, but Danny jumped from the top rope, before hitting a double stomp on the back of Josh Bishop, using him as a launching pad, and crashing into Wes Barkley with a crossbody! Blackwood still had firm hold of Josh Bishop, but that was quick to change, as Josh Bishop lifted Blackwood up, and hurled him out of the ring, but Blackwood landed on his feet! Josh Bishop climbed up onto the second rope, holding the second and top ropes apart, creating a wider gap, before Wes Barkley came charging through the ropes, going for a suicide dive, but Blackwood stepped out of the way, and Wes Barkley crashed right into the guardrail! Danny was back to his feet as well, and he measured Josh Bishop, who was still standing on the second rope, and drove the giant into the mat with his signature sliding German Suplex! Josh Bishop hit the mat hard, and Danny grabbed Blackwood, both of them getting up on the arpon together, before Blackwood sprung to the top rope, crashing down onto Josh Bishop with a double stomp, before Danny climbed up onto the top rope, and finished off the combination with a knee drop! Danny made the cover on the gigantic Josh Bishop!

1...2…. Kickout!

Josh Bishop got his shoulder up at the last possible second, and Danny and Blackwood couldn’t believe it! Danny got up and grabbed Blackwood, pointing to Wes Barkley laying on the outside of the ring. “Let’s finish this.” Danny said, before pushing Blackwood to go retrieve Wes Barkley, and grabbing Josh Bishop. Blackwood got Wes Barkley back in the ring, and got up on the top rope, before Danny lifted Wes Barkley onto Blackwood’s shoulders into Powerbomb position. Danny then grabbed Josh Bishop, holding Bishop into a Triangle Choke, but before Blackwood could drop Wes Barkley onto Josh Bishop, Wes Barkley turned the move into a Frankensteiner, launching Blackwood across the ring! Josh Bishop suddenly came to life as well, lifting up Danny into a powerbomb, and throwing Danny right into Blackwood! The impact knocked Blackwood out of the ring, and sent Danny stumbling right into Josh Bishop, who lifted him up, and plants Danny with a HUGE Black Hole Slam! Bishop wraps a hand around Danny’s throat, before driving him down with a huge Chokeslam! Then Bishop finished the Sequence by lifting Danny back up, and planting him with a MASSIVE Bishop Bomb! Cover! Exit 187!

1….2….3!

No Survivors!

“Here are your winners, the team of Joshua Bishop & Wes Barkley, The Rip City Shooters!” 

Josh and Wes get a measure of revenge, the former MPW World Tag Team Champions putting down Garcia & Blackwood! 

[writerofscribbles]

— the shadows have teeth -- wip introduction

- - GENRE: ya/na gothic horror/supernatural western, murder mystery, wynonna earp meets stranger things

- - SYNOPSIS: cursed. broken. frozen.

Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. Mountain ranges beyond compare, waving towers of grass, spiked cacti, and a few singular homes that have stood the test of time. A ghostly town that to the rest of America, doesn't exist. Time moves strangely in this range of town, a fact that the residents just accept. The clouds drift, the saloon doors swing aimlessly, and the curse remains unbroken for another hundred years. Within a span of acres and acres, where the two rivers connect and split northwards and then trickle into streams, that's the boundary line. Crooked and wavy due to the rivers, and then abruptly going straight across the west bound railroad, this triangle of land has kept its inhabitants within their own personal western hell for the last hundred years.To step outside that boundary means hellish death for some, for some it means the unknown and abandoned railways. For the brave, it means a long stretch of highway that leads to civilization. But the ones who have made their home Copperhead since the early 19th century know that it is a little weird. Cursed in a way. Why does this curse exist? Who knows. Someone probably shot someone's daughter's boyfriend in the barn and a jealous witch cursed them. Who gives a fuck at this point? It keeps the demons within it, the witches safe from becoming government experiments, and the humans just live humbly. Maybe Copperhead is better off staying frozen in 1800.

But when a stranger, half-dead and bloody, arrives on the Quinn’s ranch, a series of unlucky and horrific events lead a particular group of teenagers to discover the dark demonic underbelly of their tiny western town. Shaken to its roots, Copperhead’s unusual residents must finally face the dark history that placed them in the frozen grip of their curse. 

You see, Copperhead has a demon problem. These demons are immortal, unlovable, monstrosities. Kinda. You see, about 140 years ago, a gunslinger, outlaw gang swept into town and murdered a bunch of people. Standard stuff, except the town was protected by a pact that the humans had made with the witches of the era. So, that gang was cursed, or something like that. Now, all of the members of that original gang must live eternally in the arid climate, and let's just say they weren't just cursed to live forever. Many of them have become twisted versions of their evils selves, the curse taking its toll and wreaking havoc on their humanity. Hating humans is the least of their problems, when they have to worry about stepping out of the boundary, keeping their demonic eyes hidden, and trying to keep their sanity. If they want it at all. The cursed can't hurt the humans or else they'll lose their grip on reality and on their sanity, and would be impossible to stop.

featuring: demons, a two-hundred year curse, witches, found family trope, queer characters, murder, horror elements, magic, a lot of strange description and a town that is definitely very weird.

- - THEMES: finding yourself, absolving guilt, revenge, forgiveness, what makes a monster?, free will vs. fate

- - POVS: it’s written in multiples povs and is in past tense, third person

- - STATUS: outlining / discovery writing

- - CHARACTERS: MADELINE ‘MADDOX’ QUINN, who finds the bloody, broken girl on their ranch and shoots at the shadows. ANNA DOE, the stranger who pissed off a demon and can’t remember her own name. JULIAN STEELE, a tired ™ witch who just wants a normal life. THE STEELE FAMILY (aka elliot, kieran, violet, & flynn) who keep fucking up Julian’s quiet life. ISA EROS, a four-hundred year old witch who keeps messing with everyone’s love life. CLEMENTINE THORNE, a precious cinnamon roll yoga instructor who is also a demon. AMBROSE WAINWRIGHT, a demon man who can’t make up his fucking mind. JACKSON S. CLARK, a horrifying monster who you do not want to piss off. DR. FRANCIS RADCLIFFE, the maker of the most horrible decisions. and finally, THE GRAY ONE & GRIM, two mystery figures who are at the epicenter of all this drama. 

more detailed character introductions to come.

EXCERPT UNDER THE CUT. please interact with this post in some way if you’d like to be added to the tag list <33

There came a point on any given night when the clouds rolled in from deep in the valley with a biting wind and sudden lack of stars. It was a telltale sign to the residents of Copperhead that the devils were out to play. Usually, the civilians knew by feeling when they were coming and either packed it on home or risked the chance of being ripped apart. As long as they went out with a whiskey in their hand, most of the men didn’t care. But the drunks came stumbling home as their wives pulled their curtains tightly closed and prayed for peace. The chatter from inside the warmly lit buildings of Copperhead seemed to quiet for a while, an unnatural, yet organic silence falling over the town’s center square. It usually took a few hours, but then the darkly clad figures would start to meander in. At a glance, they would have looked normal. Just a bunch of newcomers sweeping into the Crystal Snake for a pint and a hand of cards, but the air seemed to ripple around them as one or two entered, the atmosphere taking on a heavier and dimmer weight. Anyone who came too close was choked on the feeling of rot that coiled around them.

Outside the Crystal Snake, the clouds had parted to reveal the sliver of ghostly moon and its crown of stars. In a swirl of cream skirts and long red hair, Isa Eros exited the bar with a cigarette tucked between her fingers. Leaning on the post outside of the bar, her eyes scoured the dark night. Despite being late July, a chill had seeped into the air, spreading goosebumps down the bare skin of her arms. How easy it would have been to slip away from the bar and her shift and nip down to the Rattler. Refresh the spark underneath her skin, lit the flame inside her stomach. Life had been so boringly quiet lately, nothing a little spell wouldn’t fix. Copperhead had grown, many of the children grown up into young adults who would soon make even more babies. With a little magic under her fingernails she could weave a simple Cupid’s arrow and sling it at the most taken man in town in hopes of sewing some mischief into the town gossip pool.

Her spine tingled with the thought of it.

The clouds continued to shift away, the lights that hung on the houses illuminated the wide road into town flickered a few times. But then, July seemed to remember what her job was and the sticky warmth swept in again. And with it was a lone rider on a jet-black horse. Just as quickly as her goosebumps came and went, they prickled Isa’s skin again. She’d known that beautiful stallion and tall figure anywhere. He ambled up, reining his horse next to the others and swung gracefully off as if he’d been riding a horse for the last hundred and fifty years. Which, Isa knew, he had.

Before she could move back into the bar, a cold sweat broke out across her skin and the dew drops of sweat that had gathered on her forehead now made her feel clammy. With a slightly hitched gait, nondescript black suit and hat, Jackson S. Clark moved past the antique post and into the dim glow from the bar. “Isa.” His voice collided with her and made her shudder, his lightning blue eyes pinning her to the spot. He was slow moving, a cane in his hand as he climbed the stairs.  

“Jack of Knives,” She replied, her voice smooth, but clipped. He tipped the brim of his hat to her, and her heart jumped to her throat at the sight of his claws. Despite the inherent fear that tangled with her curiosity, she kept a warm smile on her lips, hip cocked out, and chest pushed forward. She looked away to snap her fingers in front of her cigarette, the end flaring with a sudden flame that ticked off her fingers. She inhaled deeply, letting it out slowly. The smoke clouded the air and just as it drifted away, Jack was gone.

She let out a sigh of relief and her trembling knees forced her to sit on the top step.

xxx

The bar doors opened and the laughter cut off. Except for a few gambling tables. The candle’s tiny flames shivered for a second, before returning to their cheerful glow and the chattered roared back to life. Jack lifted his hat off his head and slide his fingers carefully through his hair, smoothing the thinning dark waves. He stepped quietly up to the bar, smiling at the noticeable stiffens from the old men sitting closest to the door. The bartender wasn’t looking his way yet, and so he placed his hat on the counter and began to tap his nails on the hardwood.

Eyes darkened as they trailed to the source of the noise. Wicked iron claws tapped rhythmically, loud and sharp. The click of them would have faded to white noise, if they drew attention at all, had the nails not been tapered into perfect iron points. “Hey, Jackie boy.” A familiar southern lilt paused the tapping.

“Doc,” Jack’s voice was alluring, even if there was something off about him. He turned on his heel to face the dark clad figure he was sure would be grinning at him. The candles shivered again as another devil passed next to them, the light dimming around the two figures. Jack said nothing as Doc sidled up to him, leaning on the bar and clearly already quite drunk. Doc’s gray eyes already had a shimmer to them, a laughter on his lips. But Jack didn’t doubt that his fingers would be steady on his pistol slung on his hips.

Doc simply smirked, one elbow on the bar and the other on his hip. There seemed to be a stare down between the two of them, but the smile never faltered. Doc wasn’t afraid of Jack, he couldn’t be. He had no mortality to lose, his own southern charm matching the false gentlemanly wit of his darker counterpart. They’d be in this world for a hundred and so years, and had somehow, even though they lay on two sides of the coin, could respect each other.

A whiskey slid down the bar and quickly Doc swiped it just before it was caught in iron claws. “Jack be nimble, Jack better be quick,” Doc murmured as he straightened, about to saunter back to his table of poker. But right before he could get out of range, the cane swung out and the snake head topper bit into Doc’s shoulder and halted him. Doc turned slowly, removing his hat and facing Jack.

But the iron devil was already in front of Jack, grabbing onto his wrist and curling his talons into the soft flesh of his wrist. Jack said nothing, just went to pluck the whiskey from Doc’s hands when he felt something press into his stomach. “Don’t worry, Jackie, I’m not happy to see you,” Doc murmured, pressing the silver pistol into Jack’s stomach. “Wouldn’t want to do this in front of the ladies,” He jerked his head to a few scantily clad girls giggling by one of the booths and at Isa, who had just reentered to tackle her next shift of serving drinks.

Blood welled up underneath Jack’s nails, his grip becoming stronger. Doc’s smile twitched and a hint of pain shone in his darkened gray eyes. Sweat curled on the edge of his brow, the feverish pallor of his skin evident up close. Red flashed on the tips and Doc winced as Jack pulled away. Four crescent burns lay on the inside of his wrist now, the shallow slices cauterized shut. Doc twirled his pistol back into his low slung belt and headed back over to his table, pulling his sleeve down over the welts. Jack didn’t bother trying to conceal his wicked slice smile.

[tomk4e]

Premier League Week 10 Review

There was plenty of intrigue in the Premier League this weekend. Both Manchester clubs earned victories. Manchester City comfortably beat Aston Villa 3-0, while Manchester United swept aside bottom-half Norwich City 3-1. In other games across the league, Everton continue to struggle as they lost to Brighton 3-2, and Sheffield United earned an impressive point after a 1-1 draw at West Ham. But the biggest headlines included Leicester’s thrashing of Southampton, Liverpool’s victory over Tottenham and Arsenal’s capitulation at home against Crystal Palace. There was even a certain American scoring a hattrick.

Leicester City score NINE against Southampton

The first fixture of week 10 between Leicester City and Southampton was played in a downpour, and I came down hard on the Saints. Leicester City greatly improved their goal difference after they beat Southampton 9-0. The Fox’s victory is tied for the largest margin of victory in Premier League history. Manchester United beat Ipswich Town by the same scoreline in March 4, 1995.

It was an absurd attacking display by Leicester. They opened the scoring in the 10th minute when left-back Ben Chillwell fired home the first goal. Two minutes later, Southampton’s left-back Ryan Bertrand is sent off of an egregious challenge on Ayoze Perez. With only 10-men, Southampton had to spend the last 80-plus minutes on damage control.

Obviously, Southampton didn’t do a great job stopping Leicester’s attack for the rest of the game. It’s mind-numbing to think that Southampton manager Ralph Hasenhüttl didn’t make a substitution until the start of the second half. By then the Saint were already down 5-0. And by the end of the match Leicester had two players who scored hattricks.

It’s one thing to have an exciting 3-3 or 4-2 scoreline, but a game that is this one-sided is rarely seen in the Premier League. Over the past couple years Manchester City have beaten teams by five, six or seven goals, but never have they reached nine goals. Bertrand’s early red card certainly affected the match’s complexion, but it was one-way traffic for Leicester to start the game.

Christian Pulisic announces himself

Burnley hosted Chelsea in the last game on Saturday, and it was the visitors who earned all three points. Chelsea beat Burnley comfortably 4-2, with the London club solidifying their position in 4th place. What makes this scoreline worth noting is that Chelsea new-boy and American international Christian Pulisic scored a hattrick. Pulisic becomes just the 2nd American to score a hat trick in the Premier League.

There have been moments for Pulisic prior to scoring this hattrick, but they have been scarce. Pulisic has struggled to start the Premier League season. The winger has made seven league appearances, four of which have been starts. Instead, manager Frank Lampard has opted to start Mason Mount, Willian, Callum Hudson-Odoi or Ross Barkley instead of the American.

This hat trick couldn’t have come at a better time either. Pulisic was just coming off a frustrating international break with the United States. He started in both of US’s friendlies, but was substituted off in the second half of a shocking 2-0 loss to Canada.

One of the reasons given for why Pulisic was subbed off so early against Canada was so that he was rested and healthy for when he returned to Chelsea. From the United State’s point-of-view it’s frustrating to see the soccer federation put the interests of it’s best players’ club ahead of their own. Sure the game against Canada was just a friendly, but the US should be fielding its best possible team.

However, it’s the exact opposite for Chelsea. The London club invested $68.4 million into Pulisic when the bought him in January 2019. And with a transfer ban prohibiting Chelsea from buying and selling players for the next two transfer windows, the Blues need to get the most out of the players they have and the ones they bought before the ban. So after a frustrating nine games for Pulisic, it’s great for Chelsea to see him score a hattrick.

This kind of performance is exactly what Chelsea and possible the United States needs. Pulisic could carry this form into other competitions like the Champions League and even over to the international level.

Liverpool comeback once again and beat Tottenham 2-1

Here are some stats on Liverpool and Tottenham that show the difference in each club.

Spurs have now failed to win a game the last five times they have taken the lead.

Spurs have also failed to win an away game since Jan. 1, 2019 when they beat Cardiff City 3-0.

Tottenham’s goalkeeper Paulo Gazzaniga made 12 saves in the loss.

Since January, Liverpool have now won five and drawn one of their last six Premier League when they concede the first goal.

Each one of these statistics had a chance to end if Tottenham won. Instead, they continue, just like Liverpool’s title chase and Tottenham’s road woes.

And through stretches of the first half that was possible. Tottenham scored within a minute, and used that momentum to stifle Liverpool’s attack. Manager Mauricio Pochettino lined his team up in a 4-3-3 in attack, and a 4-5-1 in defense, with a flat five across the midfield.

Central-midfielders Dele Alli, Mousa Sissoko and Harry Winks helped shield Tottenham’s defense, while wingers Christian Eriksen and Heung-Min Son stayed wide and cancelled out Liverpool’s attacking full-backs, Andrew Roberston and Trent Alexander-Arnold.

Even when Liverpool created chances in the first half, Tottenham still wouldn’t break. Back up goalkeeper Paulo Gazzaniga was magnificent. The Argentine, who is deputizing for starter Hugo Lloris, made save after save. Two of which were world-class. The first was from a close range effort when center back Virgil van Djik headed a cross from six yards out. And the second, another close range save against striker Roberto Firmino, who was trying to convert a from a prior save that Gazzaniga had made when he parried away a ferocious Alexander-Arnold strike.  

The second half mirrored the first, except Tottenham couldn’t double their lead and Liverpool finally got one past Gazzaniga. Jordan Henderson scored his first Premier League goal at home since December 2015 in the 52nd minute and Mohamed Salah converted a penalty in the 75th minute. Tottenham had one last chance to earn a draw in the last five minutes, but Danny Rose blasted his shot, and with it sailed any hope of Spurs snatching a point.

Liverpool have now taken points from a losing position in four of their last six Premier League games. It’s an incredible stat that shows how resilient the Reds have been to start the season. Their victories haven’t been pretty, but Liverpool still have a six point lead over Manchester City in the title race.

Meanwhile, Tottenham continue to struggle after the first 10 games. They are in 11th place, and all of the momentum they had at the end of last season when they reached the Champions League final seems to have fizzled. Pochettino has been great ever since appointed as manager. Tottenham have finished in the top four in four of the five seasons he’s been in charge. But Tottenham’s Champions League qualification for next season seems to be in danger, and because of that so is Pochettino’s job.

Dissent at Arsenal

In contrast, Tottanham’s North London neighbors Arsenal have had a better start to the season than their rivals. However, there are still issues for the Gunners. Two of which were on display in their game against Crystal Palace.

The first, is Arsenal’s ability to defend. The Gunners jumped out to an early 2-0 lead over Palace, but failed to protect it and the game ended in a 2-2 draw. Sure Arsenal had a third goal marked off after a questionable VAR decision, but the fact that Arsenal surrendered a two-goal lead is worrying. Arsenal’s defense had been poor all season, conceding 14 goals, and a clean sheet would have done a world of good to Arsenal’s defensive confidence.

The second, is the relationship between fans and players. Arsenal fans have seen this club win Premier Leagues, FA Cups and even reach a Champions League final. There are high expectations at Arsenal. After all this is the club that finished in the top four for 20 consecutive seasons. And when the club named midfielder Granit Xhaka team captain, there was suspicion amongst fans about whether he deserved it. Xhaka isn’t a terrible player, but he is not the best leader. He’s amassed 29 yellow cards and two straight red cards while at Arsenal, and is defensively suspect. Manager Unai Emery compensates for this by playing Xhaka alongside two other midfielders just to cover for the Swiss internationals lack of defensive prowess.

So when Xhaka was substituted off in the 61st after a poor section half display, the Arsenal fans at the Emirates Stadium let him know how they feel. Xhaka responded by letting the fans know how he felt.

Arsenal is still within reaching distance of the top four and Champions League qualification. But the players can’t let a disappointing 2-2 draw and a little negative noise from the fans affect their season. Emery needs to find some way to fix the situation. There are only so many times that a manager can take the blame for the poor performance of his players. In Arsenal’s next Premier League game against Wolves, don’t be surprised if there are a few changes to the team that blew a two-goal lead against Crystal Palace.  

Goal of the week: Jay Rodriguez vs. Chelsea

Although Burnley lost 4-2 to Chelsea, the goal of the game and of the weekend belonged to striker Jay Rodriguez. The English forward drove forward from the midfield and let loose from 30 yards out. The venomous strike swerved out of the reach of Chelsea goalkeeper Kepa Arrizabalaga and dipped under to crossbar to offer Burnley fans a bit of respite from a difficult afternoon.

[a-little-international]

Stable (2)

Summary: Even Tom knows it’s a cliché for the stable hand to fall in love with the star rider.

Pairing: Tom Holland/OC

Warnings: mild swearing

Words: 3432

A/N: if anyone wants to write my essay on marxism vs schumpetarianism then please hit me up because I certainly don’t want anything to do with it

The Series: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Chapter 2

“Tom, focus,” Sam snapped, poking the end of his broom into his brother’s thigh to get his attention.

Tom ignored him, leaning against his own broom handle as he watched her from across the yard. 

She was perched high up on Cisco’s back, leaning down slightly to talk to Danny, her trainer. He was totally enraptured with how her body shifted under the dancing rhythm of her horse, unable to stand still properly, her hands gentle and light on the reigns as she tried to hold him in place.

He knew he was meant to be sweeping the yard with Sam, but he also knew that if she was in his line of sight it was a fruitless mission to try and focus on anything but her. He watched her nod at Danny before sitting back upright and urging Cisco into a trot as she started rounding the arena.

“Tom, you fuck,” Sam huffed, smacking him in the shin which managed to get Tom’s attention.

“Ow!” he exclaimed, jumping out of reach of Sam’s handle, “What the fuck?”

Sam raised his eyebrows at him, giving him a look, “You’ve got to get over her,” he stated bluntly.

“I’m not into her,” Tom replied just as bluntly, but they both knew he was lying.

Sam snorted and returned to sweeping up the stray bits of hay on the floor, “Sure,” she said, glancing up at Tom.

Half-heartedly, Tom also returned to sweeping, glancing up every few seconds to watch her sail over jump after jump like it was the easiest thing in the world. Even from across the yard he could see the focus on her face, her eyes always set on the next fence ahead, head held high, heels down, legs steady, hands soft. He caught himself counting her strides, homing in on the rhythm she was setting between each jump, knowing exactly when she was going to take off from the ground. There was something reassuring in the heavy thud of Cisco’s hooves coming down on the sand of the arena, the knowledge of a clean jump lingering in the crisp, late afternoon air.

Together, the two Holland brothers swept up every last stray piece of hay and enough loose horse hair to stuff a mattress with and deposited the fruits of their labour into a wheelbarrow, ready to be dumped on the composting pile.

“Thomas!” Tom’s head whipped around to the arena, where Danny was waving him over, Ren pulled up next to him on Cisco. He looked over at Sam who nodded back at him as he picked up the handles of the wheelbarrow and started pushing.

Wiping his hands on his pants, Tom broke into a light jog to see what Danny wanted from him. “Yeah?” he asked, coming up to the fence around the arena, placing his forearms against the wood, trying his best to act casual and nonplussed by Ren who was looking down on him with brightly flushed cheeks.

“Can we borrow your services for a bit?” Danny asked, walking up to him by the fence. “You’re not busy right now, are you?”

Tom shook his head, running a hand through his already messy hair. “No, just finished up the yard. I’m all yours,” he said, glancing up at Ren before looking back at Danny.

“Well then, can I get you on the jumps?” Danny asked, turning to head back towards Ren, waving for Tom to enter the arena. “Can you take the ramped oxer up one notch for each pole and do the same for the two verticals down there?” he said, pointing at the jumps he wanted to have adjusted.

“I’m on it,” Tom said, saluting the trainer as he made his way over to the jumps. He’d barely made it three strides when he felt the unmistakable presence of a very large horse pulling up next to him, Cisco’s heavy breathing loud and warm against his head. He looked up and had to swallow hard to stop his heart from beating right out of his throat at the sight of Ren grinning down at him.

“Thought I’d keep you company,” she said lightly, riding along next to him.

Tom just nodded at her, sticking his hands in his pockets, the cold air nipping at his fingers.

“Also, sorry for dipping out so fast, yesterday,” she rambled on rather quickly, “Harrison and I were gone for much longer than I thought we’d be and I didn’t get to see you again or say bye or anything.”

“That’s fine,” Tom shrugged as they reached the first jump, keeping his eyes trained on the wood rather than her. He didn’t want to see what her face looked like as she thought about Harrison. “I was pretty busy with grooming and stuff.”

“Speaking of grooming,” she went on as Tom moved the first pole on the jump up a notch to make it higher, “are you going to be coming to the first show?”

He finally looked up at her and tilted his head to one side, the sun shining into his eyes from around her head made her look like she had a halo. “Of course, I’ll be there,” he said, and she smiled, and it was like his chest expanded to make even more room in his heart for her, “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Also, dad’s rostered me on as your groom for the season.”

“Oh brilliant!” She grinned, her dimple deepening into her cheek, “We’re going to have so much fun!”

Tom smiled as he walked over to the next jump, Cisco’s footfall heavy behind him as she followed him, “You say that now, but you haven’t seen me sleep deprived and without my first coffee in the morning.”  

Ren placed her gloved hand gently on his head and ruffled his curls as she giggled. Tom froze in the middle of moving the pole up the notch, the feeling of her fingers against his scalp nigh on sending his heart into cardiac arrest, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. “Are you kidding?” she laughed, “I can’t wait to meet grumpy Tom, I bet he’s all pouty and adorable.”

Tom couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Doing his best to stay composed, he placed the pole in the correct notch before moving on to the final jump. “I don’t get all pouty and adorable,” he pouted up at her as he reached out to pick up the last pole but couldn’t keep a straight face when he caught her laughing down at him.

“Okay, well I’ll make sure to come prepared with a hot cup of coffee for you every morning,” she promised, tipping her helmet at him courteously, “Don’t want you pouting up at me the whole way through the circuit, after all.”

Tom nodded up at her, swallowing the nervous lump in his throat that seemed to be permanently lodged there whenever he was near her, and which seemed to have now doubled in size at the thought of getting to see her in the wee hours of the morning, before the first crack of dawn; imagining her sleepy eyes and soft hands as she’d hand him a steaming mug of coffee to start his day off right. Of course, any day that started with Ren would be starting off right.

“Alright you two, that’s enough chatting!” Danny shouted over at them, waving his arms around to encourage them to move on, “Florence, how about you start from the far end, and Holland you come join me up here.”

Giving Cisco a quick rub on his nose Tom started back towards the centre of the arena where Danny was stood with his arms crossed, his watchful eyes trained on Ren who herself had started a slow trot back to the starting jump. Without saying a word, Tom copied Danny’s stance as he watched as Ren rounded the corner, and Cisco transitioned into a strong forward canter, perfectly lined up to take the first vertical.

Tom held his breath as Cisco pushed off from the ground, Ren leaning forward into the jump; her hands soft on the reigns, eyes already looking to the next hurdle, legs steady and braced for the impact of the landing. He’d watched her jump a thousand jumps before but the sight of her flying across the high slats of wood without a care in the world would always be one of his favourite things to watch, of that he was firmly convinced. With a rhythmic thud, Cisco’s hooves hit the sand, and within three large strides he had reached the next jump and taken off again, and still Tom couldn’t take his eyes off her. In a large arc, Ren and Cisco came cantering past Tom and Danny, and for a split second, Tom could hear her exhaling heavily, her breath a faint whisper under the loud huffing of her horse. Her face was flushed, and Tom couldn’t be sure if it was from the exertion of jumping, or from the bitingly cold air curtesy of it being the first week of February.

Tom stayed in the arena all afternoon, only leaving to switch out Cisco for Bodi, her old jumper from previous seasons, when Cisco’s stamina started waning. Tom could tell that Ren’s stamina was waning too by the way her legs would barely support her as she stood in the arena, talking over strategies with Danny, her chest rising and falling as she struggled to regain her breath. He knew that most of her training sessions didn’t go on for as long as this one was, but he also knew it was her first time back in the outside arena since before Christmas, having had to wait on the snow and the ice to fully thaw from the ground. He also knew she wanted to enter the season on a strong start – hopefully with a win – in the first county fair, a mere two weeks away. Danny spent a long time talking about how she needed to be making sharper turns and shortening the number of strides between jumps to make up as much time as possible.

All Tom wanted to do was brush the hair from her face and tell her not to worry too much about it. But she was a perfectionist and wouldn’t be leaving that arena until she was satisfied. And thus, Tom continued running around the arena, adjusting the jumps for her, and handing her her bottle of water, and tightening the girth of her saddle.

It wasn’t until the cool, early-Spring sun started lowering behind the tree-line that Ren finally slid down from Bodi’s back with a finite huff of her breath, pulling her helmet from her head. Strands of her hair, damp with sweat, stuck to her forehead and her breathing was so laboured Tom considered reaching out to take her arm in case she was about to keel over. He wasn’t quite bold enough to do that though, never quite brave enough to be the one to reach out and touch her. Ren would often touch him, like how she’d mussed his hair earlier that day, in small, casual ways that always got his heart racing. He wished he could pull her into an easy hug the way Harrison had the day before, just slinging his arm around her shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world. But he was distinctly notHarrison, and Tom was almost painfully aware of that fact.

“Good job,” he said quietly, taking hold of Bodi’s reigns, ready to lead the large Oldenburger gelding back to the stables.

Ren pulled the gloves from her hands, stretching out her fingers as she did so. “Thanks,” she breathed, obviously exhausted, “annoyed that I keep knocking the pole at the end of the combination, but” she shrugged, “it’ll get there. We’ll figure it out, won’t we?” she asked, reaching up to give Bodi a solid pat on his muscled neck as they started walking back.

“You always do,” Tom replied smiling as her as they entered the barn, Bodi’s hooves clopping loudly against the flagstones.

Ren looked like she was about to say something when Tom’s brother Harry came jogging up to them, wearing what Tom recognised as being distinctly homeclothes, instead of workclothes: sweatpants and a hoodie and slippers slid on over socks. “You done with training?” Harry panted out, nodding at Tom and Ren.

Tom looked at Ren, who had a bemused smile on her face at the state his brother was in, before looking back at Harry, his eyes taking in the entire outfit once again. “Yeah…care to explain why you’re parading around the stables like it’s our living room?”

“Mum sent me to fetch you for dinner,” Harry said, like that explained enough, “You’re invited too, Ren,” he added, smiling at her, his eyes flicking over to meet Tom’s poorly disguised horrified expression.

“Oh,” Ren sounded a little taken aback and Tom was not at all surprised. The last time she had set foot in his house they must have been about ten years old. “I mean, I’d love to, but I’d have to call my mum first,” she said, glancing at Tom uncertainly.

“I think dad’s already been on the phone to her,” Harry replied confidently, “Told her you’d been training with Tom all day and should probably stay for dinner – mum insisted on it.”

Tom wanted the ground to open up and swallow him, but all he could do was clench his fist tighter around Bodi’s reigns.

“Well in that case, I’d love to,” Ren smiled sweetly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and for once Tom wished she wasn’t the picture of gentile grace and instead would make up some excuse to go home and have dinner with her own family. He couldn’t think of anything worse than having her sitting at a table with his parents, his three unruly brothers, and their nutcase of a dog, Tessa.

“Great, you can leave Bodi in his stall as he is, Tom, dad talked to Jamie already and he’d said he’d untack him and everything,” Harry said and with that Tom could feel his fate sealing.

The Holland family lived on the Ashstead Estate, in a comfortably sized cottage down one of the narrow lanes that led along the brambly hedges and under the canopy of the old walnut trees. Tom’s dad, as his father had been before him, was Ashstead’s stable manager and head groomsman, which meant he was probably the most informed person about the goings on within the stables that you were likely to find. Tom’s mother was the head of the art department at the local comprehensive – Tom’s school; Mayfield College – and Tom strongly suspected that she always knew much more than she ever let on. Tom’s three brothers; the twins, Harry and Sam, and Paddy, the youngest, were way too clued in to his life for his liking anyway, and thus, Tom was incredibly paranoid about having the long-time object of his affections sharing a dinner table with them.

“Florence, it’s so nice to see you again,” his mother cooed, greeting them at the door as she pulled Ren into a warm hug, completely ignoring Tom and Harry as they slipped into the house, past her. “It’s been much too long!”

As he pulled his boots off his feet, Tom watched Ren shyly tuck a strand of hair behind her ear again, her other hand still placed gently against his mother’s forearm, “Thank you so much for inviting me, Mrs. Holland.”

“Oh please, call me Nikki, I’ve practically known you your entire life,” his mother laughed, ushering them all into the kitchen, where the large dining table by the window was already all set up for dinner.

Tom didn’t really know what to do with himself. He stood awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen, his socked feet pressed against the tiles, and let his eyes wander over slowly to where his dad was pulling what looked to be a shepherd’s pie from the oven. Feeling his oldest son’s gaze upon him, Dominic Holland looked up and shot Tom a knowing smile before turning his attention back to the steaming pie.

“I’m going to go get changed,” Tom announced to the room, catching Ren’s eye before turning on his heel and rushing from the kitchen and rocketing up the stairs, taking them two steps at a time.

His heart was pounding so quickly by the time he closed the door to his room he could hear the rush of his blood in his ears, his mind tripping over itself as he thought about all the possible routes the conversation downstairs could be headed. He’d been so desperate to escape the kitchen he hadn’t thought about what would happen, what could be said, if he wasn’t around to keep his family in check. Scrambling out of his work clothes, Tom rushed to pull on a clean pair of sweatpants and an old knitted jumper, hurrying to get back down before too much damage could be done.

When he returned to the kitchen, everyone was already seated, with a glaringly empty chair right by Ren that he was forced to take. His arm brushed against hers as he sat down next to her and he had to clench his jaw to stop himself from immediately looking over at her.

In fact, that became his standard for the evening; his body had never held so much tension in his life, his jaw almost permanently clenched as they kept brushing up against each other. He could smell the faint scent of her perfume wafting over to him, mingled with the natural tang of her sweat from having ridden so hard, and the smell of the stables that he was so familiar with himself: horses, straw and leather.

At one point, his dad had made some stupid joke and she’d leaned into him, her head briefly dropping against his shoulder as she laughed, and Tom swore his brain glitched for about three seconds where he had no idea how to react, he just knew he loved it. He spent the rest of dinner mentally egging his dad on to tell more of his terrible jokes, hoping she’d lean into him again. He was obsessed with the feeling of her head resting against his shoulder and had immediately decided it was the only thing better than the sound of her laugh.

“She’s such a nice young lady,” his mother commented warmly after Ren had left and Tom was helping her put the dirty dishes into the dishwasher.

Tom nodded, trying not to look at her for fear of giving too much of what was in his heart away.

“You should invite her around more often, Tom,” she pushed a little more, her tone dipping its toes into suggestive waters.

“I wouldn’t get too excited about it mum, I’m pretty sure she’s with Osterfield,” Sam commented from where he was playing a game of tug of war with Tessa and an old tea towel.

Their mother stood up straight and looked at Sam, her eyebrows knitting together. “Really?”

Sam shrugged, pulling back against Tessa, “I don’t know, but they seemed pretty cosy on their ride together yesterday. I saw them –”

Before Sam could finish his sentence, and Tom could register the downfall of the little romantic empire he’d built for himself within the confines of his heart over dinner, their dad stepped into the kitchen, “Oh, speaking of Harrison – that reminds me, Tom, I’m going to need you all day Wednesday after school. Polo training is back on now that the ground’s thawed up again.”

Tom nodded, suddenly feeling numb and tired. The exhaustion of having worked all day wormed its way into his bones and his muscles started to ache, as if the warm glow that Ren had radiated had been keeping his fatigue at bay, and the pull of the harsh reality; presented so unexpectedly by his brother; the reality that she would never truly be his, shattered any sense of comfort his body had lulled itself into.

Making his excuses, Tom slouched up to his room, all thoughts of Ren completely overshadowed by the knowledge that he’d have to spend his Wednesday afternoon at none other than Harrison Osterfield’s beck and call. He was already dreading the things he might overhear about Ren, their ride, and what they got up to together from the handsome Number One.

-

 TAGLIST (let me know if you want to be added!)

@crownedbyluke @sweetcherrycal @vnv21 @frecklesholland

[court-0f-dreamers]

ACOTAR: Restrung Chapter 2

Fic Summary: What if it was never up to Tamlin to break the curse? What if, instead, in a true test of love, Amarantha sent out Prythian’s most abhorred and cruel Highlord, to watch his land fall into ruin while trying to change the heart of a hateful human? A Court of Bitterness and Jasmine…A Court of Rhysand. Set in the same universe as our favourite Sarah J Maas characters, but with a twist. 

If Rhysand were to take Tamlin’s place how different would our story be? Or would it stay the same? 

Chapter 1  Chapter 3

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CHAPTER 2 4 days later

I need this. A few moments just for me. No one cares anyway, Feyre thought, as she leaned her head back against the coarse wooden grain.

She had had a surprising few days. After her night in the forest, she had had three days of kills. Three days of food. She was able to sell the pelts in the marketplace, where a mercenary gave her twice the normal amount for them. Yet, she couldn’t stop thinking about that creature. At the most unexpected moments she would see those keen eyes, or remember that sense of home.

The rhythmic thumping sound brought her back to the present. From the sound, it was pretty obvious what was going on between Feyre and Isaac in the Hales’ old barn.

He held her, her legs wrapped around his waist, and lifted a single iron cuffed hand to push his hair off his sweaty brow.

She gripped his slight but toned shoulders harder.

He released her legs, spinning her around. She now faced a shoulder-height shelf piled high with rusty, old milk pails. She grabbed the edge and arched back urging him deeper.

His hands came around her front, squeezing her breasts, his fingertips grazing her erect nipples.

She looked down at his hands. Lean knuckled fingers, that often helped his father on the farm. She tried not to think back to last week when those hands were deworming a pig.

“More”, Feyre urgently whispered back. He increased his pace, and she arched even closer to him as the sounds of their meeting filled the barn.

She also heard a slight rustling to her side. It was a goat poking its nose in the hay strewn across the floor. It lifted its head, slowly chewing a mouthful of straw. Its beady eyes held her stare with idle tenacity.

“More!” she said, and slid her hand down. She groaned as her fingers rapidly moved between her legs.

She tried to ignore it when the goat sat down and watched.

Isaac stepped closer and thrust harder against her inner depths. For a few moments nothing else in the world existed but their bodies. Nearly there…

The door flew open. 

SHIT! Feyre thought. 

Nesta was standing there, hands on her hips, looking far too much like their mother. Shit shit shit. 

“What the hells Nesta?! Why are you here?” Feyre shrieked, as she grabbed for her clothes. She clamped down the anger and embarrassment welling inside her. No, I will not be embarrassed. She knew what we did here. “Get dressed and get outside.” Nesta said sharply, staring them down like disgruntled queen.

She buttoned my tunic and pants, not bothering to say goodbye to Isaac as she pushed her way through the doors. “Really, Nesta...!” Feyre started.

“I don’t care about your sad little tryst. There is someone waiting to see you at home, and you better start explaining yourself now.”

                                                    *** *** ***

Aalop Archeron dropped the bowl of thin soup. With even shakier hands he tried to pick it up, nearly falling over in the process.

Rhysand cringed inwardly. He should be used to this.

The older man’s cane slipped dangerously on the now wet floor.

“Father, let me”, Elain said rushing forward. “Please Sir, forgive us, please,” she whispered, bowing her head to him, unable to make eye contact.

Rhys’ expression remained impassive. He had worn this face many times over the last five hundred years. The cold, dark, soulless Highlord. For the last fifty years, this had become his face to the world. The mask he couldn’t remove.

Unless you do your job and free them, he reminded himself.

“Enough.” he said, the low tenor of his voice an unfailing command. “I don’t care. Where is Feyre, your youngest daughter?”

“She is c-coming, Sir,” Elain said, still unable to so much as lift her head up as tears silently streamed down her face.

“Please. Please.” their father begged. “Take me. I will do anything. Please. I will pay--”

Rhysand forced a cruel laugh, “You think you can pay me? How much is a life worth to you, Aalop Archeron?”.

The fact that he knew their names scared them as much as his words.

He casually picked up a small wooden carving from the table, examining the fragile object in his large hands - a winged woman with shining halo. He stared at it, the work was so delicate, and her face triggered a wisp of memory-

Behind him he heard a gasp.

He turned towards the door where Nesta held a shorter, thinner version of herself tightly in front her.

Such big eyes, was his first thought, big stormy eyes.

Feyre looked around the room, taking in the scene. Then she looked at him, and he wished she didn’t.

“Who are you? What do you want?” she spat. She seemed to look straight passed the mask, she seemed to look straight into his soul. And then across her face swept a hard look of hatred.

He would have hesitated if he hadn’t had fifty years to get used to that look.

“Now now now, Feyre”, his mocking voice drawled out her name. “Is that any way to speak to your new Highlord?”

She looked shocked. He saw her take in his immaculate black on black suit, his unnatural poise, perfect face, and his clearly non-human pointed ears. “Alright, pack your things; say goodbye. You killed a Fae in the forest, someone who was a vital part of the running of my court. As the treaty demands, you must now come with me to repay the debt.”

“What! This is absurd. I didn’t know. There is no law--”

“ENOUGH.” Rhysand raised his voice and very slightly released the damper on his power. Night filled the room. Wisps of darkness reached out and caressed Nesta’s cheek, trailed across Elain’s shaking shoulders, and clouded Aalop’s vision.

The fear in their eyes was real. He could hear it in the erratic beating of their hearts.

Good, he thought. He wanted this over as quickly as possible.

“Feyre,” her father pleaded.

Rhysand’s night receded.

Aalop reached out for his young daughter. “He has promised me that you won’t be harmed. That you just need to live in his court. You will be treated well, and then he will release you when you sentence is served. I-I am s-sorry my love”. His eyes beseeched her to understand. Understand how he couldn’t help his child. “You have always been too good for us…”

Elain finally looked at her, “Feyre, he will kill us all. He will raze this town. Feyre, help us.” she said between sobs.

Nesta said nothing, but released Feyre’s shoulder and stepped aside.

Rhysand watched shock, betrayal and then fearful acceptance cross her face. He couldn’t stand this stifling house anymore. With the single word “Hurry”, he stepped outside and waited at the road.

He was so angry. And the emotion burned through his guilt.

The fools! They had so much. They had their free lives, they had a roof over their heads, and most of all, they had each other. Yet they gave her away so easily. Even as their selfishness suited his cause, his anger grew.

He couldn’t hide his deep frown.

The Archerons mistook it for impatience.

“Go Feyre. Go.” Nesta pushed her out sold chattel.

Feyre turned away from the door and walked alongside him, looking back at her family with hungry eyes until she lost sight of them.

He looked at her small face and her stiff shoulders as she kept pace with his long strides. She was trying to be brave in front of the beast that took her away.

He was about to reach his hand out but stopped. She doesn’t want to touch you, he thought.

“We are going North”, was all he said before he grabbed her by the bag and winnowed them away.

                                                   *** *** ***

This wasn’t real. This wasn’t happening to her. It took Feyre at least an hour, or longer, who knew, to get used to the idea that she was flying. No, not flying. Appearing and reappearing. Like her whole body was being shattered into a middle pieces and then reassembled in the blink of an eye. Each time in a different place across the land.

The first time she saw a sweet-smelling dark garden, the second was a stifling sandy beach, then so much orange and yellow she couldn’t tell the roof from the floor. Then, snowy blizzard. Warm light. Hot brighter light. Cold night. And then it was over.

The male next to her had barely touched her but she felt his magic release her from his side.

She tried not to look at him. He had the most stunningly beautiful face she had ever seen. That only made the terrible dark power rolling off him more terrifying. 

He turned away, panting.

They were outside a massive black wrought iron gate. Beyond it were red mountains to one side, partially obscuring the edges of a river bordered by more sharp dark mountains. On the other side were black buildings with heavy smoke churning out of the chimneys atop them.

But Feyre’s eyes were focused on the gate and its surrounding fence, and she couldn’t help but notice the intricate work, the curling whorls interspersed with ugly dangerous-looking spikes. Spikes facing inwards. This wasn’t a gate to keep people out, but one to keep people in.

She forgot all the assurances of her safety he had granted her before they left.

She was looking at the Gates of Hell.

He reached towards the double-doored gate, and at his touch it opened.

“Welcome home”, his voice, calm and soft, didn’t hide the malice at the last word.

6 hours later.

It was midnight and nothing was keeping me inside this house.

They told Feyre it was a “house” but in reality, it was a palace. A dark, festering palace atop a red mountain that looked like the maw of a giant beast. She supposed it was a fitting home for the male who ruled over it.

The city was called “Velaris” and from the little Feyre saw of it, it was a place of nightmares. It was mostly a ghost town, the buildings daubed with moist black streaks of mould. On her way in, she saw a family of faeries with long blue limbs being threatened by large, angry insectile creatures with batons. The night court police perhaps, Feyre assumed, and gave them a wide berth. Upon seeing their Highlord in the streets they immediately stopped and returned to their posts. Feyre tried not to think about how terrifying the male next to her was if these creatures feared him. The citizens hurried away without glancing in their Highlord’s direction.

After that he rushed her into this palace,and she didn’t see another being while they wandered through hallway after hallway. It might have been grand once. The red uncut stone of the walls might have been warm, the high ceilings open and inviting, but like the rest of the city it felt abandoned. Feyre tried to track the turns and distances they travelled, but she quickly lost count. She had never been in a place like this. They turned abruptly and headed down a dark staircase.

He’s taking me to the dungeons, Feyre panicked.

It must have shown because he immediately stopped, and said, “These are my private chambers. Only those closest to me can enter here. You will not be harmed.”

They went down more twisted hallways and then travelled up a long spiral staircase, which finally opened over a wide white-marble antechamber lined with high windows. Feyre realised the whole palace had been carved out of the mountain itself, and they were now at the summit.

The Highlord stopped at the first door on the left. A single glossy black door.

Throughout this journey, her emotions were a riot, swirling between blind panic and brave resignation. All those thoughts stood still when he pulled out a heavy golden key and placed in it her hand, careful not to touch her, “Your room. Once you are inside no one except your handmaiden can enter without your permission.” he said. He paused for a moment, hesitating, and then started to step away, his head low.

Who are you?, Feyre thought forcefully.

His head snapped up like she had shouted it. He looked at her for the first time since entering Velaris, really looked at her. Feyre didn’t dare look away from those fierce violet eyes.

He stepped closer, tilting his head to the side.

“What do I do now?” she blurted, “Highlord”, she quickly added.

That broke the strange silence over them.

His expression changed, and he gave her that frustratingly cool smile. “Tonight? Whatever you want. I don’t care. Eat, sleep, read, stare at the wall. I’ll come get you in the morning. Until then, feel at home.” He said mockingly, knowing she could never feel that way.

He spun on his heels and walked away, hands in his pockets, with an aura of complete satisfaction.

A beautiful Fae was waiting in her room. Cerriwden, she said her name was. She spoke softly and moved through the rooms with silent grace, her straight, waist-length hair swaying behind her. Rooms, Feyre had rooms now. There was a sitting room with a desk, shelves of books, and a large fireplace framed by a comfortable couch. The bedroom was dominated by a decadent high-canopied bed, and was connected to an equally large bathing room holding a sunken grey tub. Each room was at least three times the size of her whole house.

Cerriwden ran a bath for her and helped her into clean, soft night clothes. Her warm, sure hands on Feyre were the only reminder that this was real, and not a twisted dream. And though Cerriwden spoke little, her gaze was keen, taking in everything Feyre did.

Well, she doesn’t work for me, Feyre thought.

Occasionally, Feyre noticed a twinge of pity, of sadness when the handmaiden’s clear black eyes met hers. In those moments, Feyre felt shame, and guilt, and hurt. She wasn’t going to be kept here, a prisoner in a lavish cell.

Which brought her here, at midnight, with her legs thrown over the ledge of her window, high above the sleeping city. Feyre tried to judge how quickly she would die if her accidentally slipped right now. She had used the trimmings of the rich curtains to fashion a rope, and she planned to attach it to the multiple balconies and balustrades that dotted her path down the mountain face. Just like the trees in the forest at home, she told herself as took in deep breath and jumped.

She made leap after leap, careful not to look down the at the dizzying fall should she miss. But her forest and her home were far from here. She didn’t know if she was thankful or angry at that fact. Thankful that despite the little they had, her family were not in this place. But angry that they were left to die. Without her, how would they feed themselves? And deep down, she hoped they would realise how much she gave them, and then they would come to regret how they barely fought to keep her.

A few more leaps and she was at the bottom. She was careful to tuck her homemade rope into her bag. She then grabbed the bow and two fighting knives she took from home and secured them within easy reach.

Preparation first. Know your what you are dealing with, Feyre, she thought. Then figure a way out.

She was not prepared for the sight of Velaris at night.

Feyre’s senses were assaulted as she took in the scene before her. Everywhere the sights, sounds, and smells of the crowd was overwhelming. The streets were teeming with High Fae, pushing each other around, yelling, leering, grinding against each other. Thumping music blared from doorways, different beats and rhythms, all merging on the street into a chaotic cacophony. The main street was lined with bars and restaurants, all filled with fae and faeries. Feyre sensed the threat of violence slinking underneath the revelry, a manic intoxication was could be uncorked at any time.

Her subconscious had picked it up before she acknowledged it. This was not the celebration of a happy, satiated people. These were the revels of a cruel and angry court. Her eyes narrowed to the faeries interspersed between the High fae. The faeries were waiting on them, servicing them, desperately trying to keep their establishments from being torn apart by them - the faeries were being abused by them.  She tasted something bitter in her mouth. Fear.

She was an outsider here. She was a weak human. She quickly walked away from the broadway. She avoided the storefronts closing for the nights, patrons throwing down their rubbish as they left,  smashing bottles and swearing. She was careful to dodge a drunk vomiting man only to nearly walk into someone pissing off the broadwalk. Thankfully, no one paid much attention to her.

She decided to make for the docks. Docks meant ships, and ships meant a way out.

But there were no ships.

By the waterfront inside the abandoned boatshed, there were only more faeries. It was quieter here, but somehow even more dismal. There were faeries from every part of Prythian, it seemed. Some looked like humans, some seemed like an extension of nature itself. A faerie with verdigris skin and hair like the richest leaves sat next to a pale white faerie with skin like translucent tissue paper. Groups of threes and fours clustered around barrels filled with fire, clutching packets of food in paper. Others were sitting up on thin bed mats and cardboard mattresses laid on the floor. There was muted conversation amongst the heads held low. Feyre had seen enough of hunger and poverty to recognise it on all these faeries instantly. She didn’t dare speak to anyone, it was clear that no one here wanted to be noticed either.

She crossed a bridge to the other side of the river and entered another cluster of buildings.

Here were hundreds of houses built almost on top of each other. They had sprouted up in a disorganised mass, a colony that had grown too quickly and irregularly, crawling from the waterfront to cling to the steep mountain face. But there was a beauty in it, for it was the only speck of colour in this city of stark black, tarnished red and drab grey. All the shanty homes were painted every colour of the rainbow. Though fading, with nothing of the bright technicolour of Elain’s garden in spring, it had a coherence and unity that was lost everywhere else in the city.

As she walked through the uneven alleys, she saw the walls of the homes were crumbling, roofs replaced with corrugated iron, and doors and windows sealed shut with makeshift wood planks. There were signs of the fae that inhabited those homes, with occasional clotheslines, rain waterpots on doorsteps, and the telltale flicker of a candle beneath a door frame. But for so many homes, the silence was eerie.

Until she heard something.

The scratching of claws against a wall. A girlish scream cut short. The sounds of scuffed boots on the ground.

She cautiously turned the corner.

Four creatures with bat-like faces, leathery wings and insectile bodies were crowded around a Fae girl.

“Hmmm, out after curfew. Your Highlord’s rules don’t protect you now”, one of them hissed. They leaned in close. Their leering glances made it clear what she needed protecting from.

The girl looked around for any path to run into, for anything that might help her.

They creatures started clicking, rubbing their claws together, purposefully taunting her.

Before Feyre could consider the consequences she picked up a large rock and aimed it. The creature closest to her grunted loudly as it hit him on the back of the head.

They turned towards Feyre in unsettling unison.

“RUN!”, Feyre yelled to the girl, who needed no encouragement as she bolted towards Feyre. They both ran through the pot-holed alleys that bordered the homes, turning often in the hope they could lose the creatures.

“Attors!”, the girl exclaimed pointing to the right, “We need to go this way. Attors hate water”, she pointed back towards the docks.

They veered sharply right, ducking under a low clothesline.

Straight into the path of a waiting Attor.

“Aren’t I lucky? I get two of you all to myself”, his voice dripping with vicious pleasure.

Feyre palmed the knives she had hidden in her boots as they backed away.

They barely got three feet away when the Attor flapped its leathery wings and appeared behind them, obstructing their path out.

“Rhysand has been careless”, he hissed gleefully. “Let’s get rid of those”, he reached over and with one swipe knocked both the knives out of Feyre’s hands, cutting her skin with his razor claws.

Defenceless now, Feyre tried to reach for her bow.

My bow!, she realised belatedly it wasn’t on her back. She had made the thin linen string herself. It must have snapped while she was running.

Panic seeped into the souls of her feet. This is it. It’s over.

The Attor moved in closer, reaching towards Feyre. “I think I’ll start with you”, he rasped, breathless at the thought.

Suddenly his head jerked up, and before either of them could make another movement, a bone-shuddering tremor snapped through the ground. Immediately followed by another.

Feyre held her breath as everything stopped. A hundred feet behind the Attor, still crouching from the impact of their landing, were two leather-clad Fae.

They stood together and started walking towards them, their magnificent wings flared out wide, spanning the length of the alley. The way they moved their tall, muscular bodies with restrained ease, the weapons strapped to every inch of them, and the fierceness of their expressions made it clear who they were - Warriors. These were the Fae of dreams and nightmares. And they were beautiful, in all their gloriously and deathly fury.

Feyre made herself small and started to inch back the alley. For whatever reason they were here, the distraction could save her life. They surely didn’t even sense her insignificant human self.

“Who in the hells are you?” the Attor hissed at them.

“I’m glad you asked,” said the broader one with shoulder length hair and rough-cut features, coming up to them, “now you will know who sent you back to that pit you crawled from.”

In a flash of silver, he unsheathed two short swords and scissored them across the Attor’s thick neck. Feyre stopped still, barely noticing the black blood spraying the walls as its lifeless head rolled towards her feet.

“Oh I lied. I didn’t let you live long enough to find out”, he said with an angry half-smile.

The taller one, a dark Adonis, rolled his eyes. Shadows swirled around his ears as his gaze turned to her. She was trying to still her hammering heart, when he nodded and said, “Hello, Miss Feyre. I’m Azriel, and this is Cassian. Welcome to Velaris”.

[akaluan]

Bleach/Tanya: Erich VS Kisuke ‘Spar‘

(( @hamelin-born look what you spawned in my brain, omg. I don’t even know how the fuck they’d get to this point, but... oi.

Also, pre-edited battle scenes are terrible. I’m sorry for inflicting this on y’all.))

“Rules?” Urahara asked, tipping his hat back and smiling coldly.

Erich swept his gaze over the large, underground training ground that Urahara had brought him and the others into, then focused back on the former Reaper. “No kill shots. End on surrender. Keep the kids out of it.”

“I can agree to that,” Urahara responded agreeably…

And then threw his hat at Erich.

Erich snorted, ignoring the distraction for what it was. He pushed off the ground, activating his computational orb and using it to boost his hirenkyaku, shooting straight into the air and over Urahara’s lunge. Rifle materializing in his hand, Erich swung back and fired twice.

(The teens cried foul, shouting their fury at Urahara.)

(How naive.)

A barrier flared to life. Shattered.

Erich spun, rifle flowing into a saber. Blade met blade and Urahara pressed in, eyes gleaming dangerously.

“You’re good,” he murmured.

“Practice.” Erich tipped himself backwards. Cut his hirenkyaku. Let gravity take control.

Above him, Urahara stumbled forward, expression calculating. Flickered away.

Erich flipped himself around. Reinforced his body. Landed with a /thud/ that sent dust and debris flying. He fled under cover of the eruption of debris, saber exchanged for dual pistols.

The two of them clashed. Back and forth, testing, teasing, finding the measure of the other. Rifle to saber to pistols and back, Erich took advantage of every second possible. Range was his biggest advantage, and augmenting his hirenkyaku with his magecraft gave him the speed to /use/ that advantage.

(He was outclassed in power and stealth.)

(Power and stealth weren’t everything.)

He kicked a stone at Urahara. Followed it up with pistol shots. The retaliation of a handful of dust to the eyes was /annoying/, but expected; Erich closed his eyes and /lunged/.

(Tears washed away what his glasses had not blocked.)

(Were the teens ever going to stop shouting about dirty fighting?)

Erich felt his blade clip Urahara, and then /hissed/ as pain flared across his chest in retaliation. He squinted through the tears and bared his teeth. “We offend them,” Erich said, grabbing Urahara’s sword-wrist and yanking the man in. Spirit particles hardened over his knee and he /slammed/ the carefully blunted cap into Urahara’s stomach.

Urahara gasped, choking and struggling to straighten. His free hand lashed out, fingers crooked to claw at Erich’s face.

He jerked back—

(Not fast enough, not /fast enough!/)

—and the world went /blurrier/.

(Fuck.)

His glasses fell to the dirt, lost amid the dust and rubble around their feet.

“Do try not to step on them,” Erich grouched, computations already flaring across his vision. The world /crystallized/, sharp-edged and unreal, details lost to jagged fragments; already he could feel the /weight/ of the complex calculations straining his mind. Enhancing /vision/ was a level of complexity that his single-cored computation orb struggled to keep up with, putting more strain on his mind.

Erich was close enough to Urahara to see the way the man’s eyes widened, then narrowed.

(He knew what Urahara was seeing. This close, only the unobservant missed the vibrant, poisonous /green/ his brown eyes turned whenever he enhanced them with magecraft.)

“Interesting,” Urahara said, fascination thick in his voice. “You might want to get your eyes checked.” He twisted free and took to the sky, put distance between them.

“My eyes are perfectly fine,” Erich shouted after him. Changed calculations. Brought his rifle to his shoulder and /fired/.

(If he was going to rely on calculations to see, then he was damn well going to /abuse/ that fact.)

Urahara /fled/, racing through the sky, rounds shattering against his barrier. Erich didn’t pause, darting into the sky on enhanced hirenkyaku—

(Mind straining under the weight of multiple calculations. Vectors and vision and enhancements clouding his focus.)

—and gave chase.

(He needed to end this.)

His rounds shattered against Urahara’s barrier. The next rounds /shattered/ that barrier. Another set for good measure.

Urahara darted right—

Erich tensed, rifle swinging to lead—

—no, left!

He dropped his rifle. Fled as it faded, Urahara on his heels.

(The fake sun was directly overhead.)

Erich raced straight up, directly into the glaring light, eyes closed and calculations shifting frantically through his mind. Behind him, Urahara cursed.

Teeth bared, Erich /twisted/ back. Aligned the calculations. /Moved./

(Down and around, fast enough to steal the breath from his body. Fast enough to fool Urahara’s senses.)

(Reapers could fly, but they rarely /flew./)

(The three dimensional battlefield was the domain of warmages and pilots.)

His blade plunged through Urahara’s side from behind. A knife to the man’s throat.

(Urahara’s reversed blade into /his/ side. Mirror injuries.)

(A promise of mutual death.)

“Draw?” Urahara asked flippantly, leaning into Erich’s grasp and tilting his head enough to smirk.

Erich snorted, letting his weapons dissipate. “Of course.” He bit back the hiss of pain as Urahara pulled the blade from his side. “You knocked my glasses off. /You/ get to find them.”

“Maa, so helpless without them?” Urahara teased.

“Hardly,” he scoffed, shoving the Reaper lightly away from him and dropping from the sky. Erich caught himself a foot from the ground, hissing as he jarred both injuries. “But why bother when I can make you do it.”

“Or I could just not?” Urahara asked as he landed at Erich’s side.

Erich shot Urahara a look, then pointedly glanced over his shoulder at the teens who were starting to scramble towards them. “Are you certain you want that to be your answer?”

Urahara laughed and held out Erich’s glasses in answer. “I suppose you aren’t terrible.”

He took his glasses and squinted at the lenses, grimacing at the dust and dirt covering them. Instead of attempting to wipe them clean on his bloodied shirt — possible, but never fun — Erich simply folded them up and tucked them in his collar. “And I suppose you aren’t a waste of training.”

And then the teens were upon them, Inoue raising a brilliant golden barrier around both of them and Kurosaki growling threats at them. Erich just /smiled/ at Urahara, then turned his attention to placating the riled teens.

(Urahara’s soft chuckle made Erich begin to plot revenge. If he had to deal with worried and frightened teens, then so did that damn Reaper.)

[mayhemproduces]

PME vs ANarChy

While Sardonyx finds herself going one on one with Matt Cardona tonight, ANarChy looks to run some sort of interference against the rest of the Major Players, volunteering tonight to take on the Philly-Marino experience so that their influence on the Cardona/Sardonyx matchup is minimized- and hopefully, neutralized. 

Philly started in the ring, bouncing on the balls of his feet, watching as the hulking Japanese beast that was Matsumoto stepped in the ring across from him. The referee called for the bell, and as soon as he did, Matsumoto charged Philly, who slid right out of the ring. Marino jumped off the apron to join his partner on the floor as the crowd booed the cowerdence of the two men. Philly tried to wave the crowd quiet, as him and Marino got into a huddle of sorts. The ref began to count them out, and it wasn’t until the ref got Matsumoto back on her side of the ring, and was almost at a count of seven, that Philly got back into the ring, and Marino got back into the apron. Matsumoto charged again, and once again, Philly rolled out of the ring, and Marino hopped off the apron. The crowd’s boos got a bit louder, and once again the referee pushed Matsumoto back and began to count, as Philly and Marino huddled outside of the ring. VIOLET reached over and tagged herself in, before climbing into the ring, and measuring the boys on the outside of the ring. VIOLET charged the ropes like she was going to dive out of the ring, but Philly and Marino quickly broke their huddle, running off to seperate sides of the ring, forcing VIOLET to stop in her tracks, else she would dive straight onto the empty floor. Philly and Marino laughed as the crowd booed them even louder. VIOLET rolled to the outside of the ring when the boys weren’t looking, however, and went straight after Philly, beginning to hammer away at the veteran. Marino quickly ran over and tried to stop her, but she seemingly had eyes in the back of her head, turning and catching Marino with a few shots to the head as well. She couldn’t fight both of them off for long, however, as when she turned around to attack Philly again, Philly caught her in the face with a Discus Forearm! VIOLET stumbled, and Philly and Marino both grabbed her, before whipping VIOLET right into the ring post, face first! The two took a moment to high five, and mock the crowd some more, but it seemed to be a moment too long, because Matsumoto came charging in like a freight train, catching both men with a running shoulder block, and sending them both flying into the steel guardrail! 

Matsumoto grabbed Philly and tossed him back into the ring, before going over to help her own partner up. She helped VIOLET up to her feet, but afterwards when she herself tried to get in the ring with VIOLET, the ref stopped her and ordered her back to her corner. While the referee was distracted, Marino swept VIOLET’s legs off the apron, causing her to take a hard fall onto the hardest part of the ring! Philly grabbed VIOLET and pulled her into the ring, before beginning to stomp away at the woman. Philly grabbed her by the hair and pulled her into his team’s corner, before tagging in Marino, and nailing VIOLET with a forearm, which dropped her into a seated position in the corner

Philly and Marino both backed up into adjacent corners, measuring VIOLET, before both men came charging, Philly first, landing a boot to the face, and then Marino, nailing her with a dropkick. Marino dragged VIOLET into the middle of the ring and covered her with a lateral press. 

1...2… Kickout! 

VIOLET managed to kick out, but that didn’t stop Marino from continuing his offense, pulling VIOLET up into a seated position and catching her with a sharp kick to the spine. Marino then lifted VIOLET up again and whipped her into the opposite corner, but VIOLET went up and over on Marino, slipping behind him, and catching him with an O’Conner Roll, trying to catch Marino into a pin, but Marino rolled through and trapped her in one instead, but VIOLET managed to shove Marino off before the ref could even count one, and managed to tag Matsumoto! Matsumoto came into the ring and immediately caught Marino with a pounce, sending Marino flying across the ring! Marino pulled himself up to his feet in the corner, just in time to get crushed by a body press from Matsumoto! Marino stumbled out of the corner, and Matsumoto lifted him up into a full military press, before dropping him, catching Marino in a spinebuster, and driving him into the mat with the force of a comet falling to earth! VIOLET called to Matsumoto, calling for some sort of tag team move, and Matsumoto came over and tagged in VIOLET, before lifting her off the apron and carrying her into the ring. Matsumoto launched VIOLET into a senton, VIOLET crashing down on Marino, before VIOLET rolled out of the way, as Matsumoto ran off the ropes and crashed down on Marino with a splash of her own! Matsumoto rolled out of the ring, allowing VIOLET to make the cover on Marino! 

1...2… Kickout!

Marino managed to kick out, and VIOLET pushed the hair out of her face in a huff, grabbing Marino and pulling him back to his feet. VIOLET grabbed Marino for some sort of suplex, or maybe a DDT, but Marino managed to escape and slip behind her before anything could happen. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Philly sprung from the top rope, catching VIOLET with a stunner, the impact of which recoiled VIOLET back into Marino, who planted her with a german suplex! Philly rolled out of the ring and got back on the apron, allowing Marino to run over and tag him in. Philly got into the ring and began mocking Matsumoto, jokingly flexing while making a series of faces at her, before turning back to VIOLET and stomping away at the frenchwoman. Philly then grabbed VIOLET again, and lifted her up, before dropping her with a back suplex. Philly laid there for a moment before he sat up, in very much the same style as the Undertaker, laughing as he did. Philly got back to his feet and made a cutthroat gesture, before lifting up VIOLET, looking for a Tombstone! VIOLET began to kick her feet, however, and managed to slip off of Philly’s shoulder, before catching him with a kick to the back of the head, dropping Philly to a knee, and running over and tagging Matsumoto!

Matsumoto came into the ring much in the same way that she did against Marino, pouncing Philly into the corner! Marino quickly ran into the ring to run interference, catching Matsumoto with a high knee strike, before pulling her into a front face lock. “Philly! I got her! I got her!” He yelled out to his partner, trying to get his attention for some kind of tag team move. VIOLET ran into the ring to try and stop whatever was about to happen, but Philly jumped from the top rope, before hitting a double stomp on the back of Matsumoto, using her as a launching pad, and crashing into VIOLET with a crossbody! Marino still had firm hold of Matsumoto, but that was quick to change, as Matsumoto lifted Marino up, and hurled him out of the ring, but Marino landed on his feet! Matsumoto climbed up onto the second rope, holding the second and top ropes apart, creating a wider gap, before VIOLET came charging through the ropes, going for a suicide dive, but Marino stepped out of the way, and VIOLET crashed right into the guardrail! Philly was back to his feet as well, and he measured Matsumoto, who was still standing on the second rope, and drove the giant into the mat with his signature sliding German Suplex! Matsumoto hit the mat hard, and Philly grabbed Marino, both of them getting up on the arpon together, before Marino sprung to the top rope, crashing down onto Matsumoto with a double stomp, before Philly climbed up onto the top rope, and finished off the combination with a frog splash! Philly made the cover on the gigantic Matsumoto!

1...2…. Kickout!

Matsumoto got her shoulder up at the last possible second, and Philly and Marino couldn’t believe it! Philly got up and grabbed Marino, pointing to VIOLET laying on the outside of the ring. “Let’s finish this.” Philly said, before pushing Marino to go retrieve VIOLET, and grabbing Matsumoto. Marino got VIOLET back in the ring, and sent her off the ropes, looking to take out VIOLET with Sunset Dreams, but as Philly lifts VIOLET, VIOLET blasts Marino with a forearm, knocking him back! Philly tries to lift VIOLET up, looking to plant VIOLET with a powerbomb, but VIOLET turned the move into a Frankensteiner, launching Philly across the ring! Matsumoto suddenly came to life as well, lifting up Philly into a powerbomb, and throwing Philly right into Marino! The impact knocked Marino out of the ring, and sent Philly stumbling right into Matsumoto, who lifted him up onto her shoulders! This was going to be it, it looked like Anarchy were setting up for the Boot of Doom! Matsumoto held up Philly, and VIOLET ran off the ropes, and then takes Philly Collins’ head off! Goodnight, PME! Cover!

1….2….3!

“Here are your winners, ANarChy!” 

[thebatgurrl]

Two months ago I took a tour of the New Black Diamond Coal Mine (NBD) Industrial Complex site. Down next to the Maple Valley – Renton Highway it is scraped clean and there are no signs of where the offices, wash plant and tipple all stood. The only thing that remains is the concrete road that ran between the buildings. Really not much of a tour!

Just Concrete Drive left of New Black Diamond Coal Mine in 2020

But up in the woods behind this flat barren area is a bunch of remnants of the mine. My first adventure up there I found this flat open area and what is left of the trestle that carried the coal from the mine to the processing plant.

At the time I did not know much about the layout of this upper area nor was I dressed to plow through brush to get to the mine entrance location. Here is a link to that first article about the NBD aka Indian Coal Mine.

Indian Coal Mine – Big and Messy

Wow what two months can do for a researcher! I have since received so much more information from Renton History Museum, Black Diamond Museum and Palmer Coking Coal Company. Most of this came when I was looking for a photo of Ben Jones to see if he was in the picture below with Tom Jones.

Jones Brothers posing at their mine entrance at the 1925 Opening – Thanx Liz at Renton History Museum for sending better photo!

I have photos of both Tom & Ed but not Ben. So in that search folks would send me any info they had on the mine even if they could not answer the Ben vs Ed question. In the items that Bill K at Palmer sent me was a diagram explaining this back area of the mine complex. It mentioned that this plateau was for the coal car staging and repair. A car house was there towards the west side. Don’t think this is the small cement building that exists there today.  It is too small and is on the east side.

Here is that map from the Mining Congress Journal of April 1929. Note the two red arrows. The left one is pointing to the Car House & the right one is pointing out the Mine Tunnel Entrance. All those rail lines from the Car House are where the upper area sits. Mystery solved on why that space was there.

New Black Diamond Coal Mine Complex on Maple Valley – Renton Hwy – ca. 1929 Mining Congress Journal

The stage is set now. Are you ready to travel with me to see what I found?  Let’s GO!

Got to the plateau and stopped to get orientated by the old timbers from the end of the trestle to the processing plant.

Timbers rising in the woods mark the spot where the trestle stood decades ago.

Got my clippers out and started up to where I found the trail along the creek bed that had formed a small ravine.

There is a trail there! Just a bit overgrown and I have my trusty garden clippers.

I came across a plant I can’t clip due to it’s size.  It is Devil’s Club & you do not want to touch or grab any part of this thing.  It is all spines, thorns and even the leaves are pokey.  I actually swept my hand against the leaf when I went by.  YIKES, what this Coal Mine Hunter does to get to her pot of coal.

The Devil’s Club I had to dodge on the way to the NBD mine entrance

Want more on this Pacific Northwest Plant?  Devils Club Batgurrl Post June 2017

Moving along I clipped my way thru the low bushes and came to a little area that looked down into the creek’s rocky gully.  Above me was a steep hill that someone had made a trail down & came to where I stood.

I seriously contemplated my next move. It was going to be a bit of a climb to get into the creek washed out bed. I knew I could do that but would I be able to get out? This area is beyond the spot I stopped at the first time I was here. It was blocked by a big and I mean big log. Here is a photo of that moment months ago.

Large log blocked my progress in June and things looked really tough ahead

Then I decided it was now or never. That I would not come back and I was prepared no matter what happened.  I would even climb over the damn log below if I had to get out that way instead of re-tracing my trail in.

This was the way forward – wish me luck

Up the creek bed I went breaking old snag branches, clipping salmonberry bushes and negotiating the rough rock rubble.

Along the way I found this metal trim piece. Kind of reminded me of the stuff I found on the face of the Jones Slope Hoist Foundation I found.

Metal in the rocks. Was this mine debris or something washed down from the hill above us?

Then I was there!!  It was the end of the rock washed out ravine blocked by a pile of old logs and dirt. I was finding non-natural items too.

Before I reveal what it looks like and show you the video here are some of the things I found.  (you can skip this & go straight to the video if you can’t wait)

Let us start with the concrete chunks.  Before I got to this point I was only seeing river rock but here there was quite a bit of cement.

This piece was up next to the log pile

Another big chunk of cement with my trekking pole for size reference

Concrete & my trekking pole

Before I got to the end of the trail I saw this piece of rebar.

Rebar with my toe on the right for reference (plus my staff)

Next we have cut timber pieces and a piece of asphalt. I was suspicious of the asphalt being from the mine.  I researched the history of asphalt figuring it was a recently developed for paving roads.  I was wrong.  It has been around a long time.  Here is a little quote from NAPA – National Asphalt Pavement Association.

 In 1870, a Belgian chemist named Edmund J. DeSmedt laid the first true asphalt pavement in this country, a sand mix in front of the City Hall in Newark, New Jersey.  DeSmedt’s design was patterned after a natural asphalt pavement placed on a French highway in 1852.

Asphalt chunk and hunk of big cut timber

Like I have mentioned before the State of Washington made sure that the urban coal mines are all closed.  And when I mean closed they are buried or blown closed with explosives. This one is no exception and protects all of us mine hunters from ourselves.  I have found a group online that do go into these old mines.  They have more balls than Batgirl!!

Here is what I found…..

This is the mine entrance or where it is behind dirt, rock and logs.

Here is a view looking back the way I had come up the creek bed.

With my back to the mine entrance this is what I had climbed up and through.

See the wood debris and other man made items?  I saw this bag and blue cloth thinking homeless had camped here but a better explanation is it was washed down when the heavy rains hit this winter.

Items washed down the mountain by the rain storms of winter

Behind this is a clay/sand bluff that is one of the clues to this being it.

Bluff to the left of the log pile that covers the mine entrance

And a close up of the materials used to close this mine tunnel.

It is just a pile of big ass old logs that keep even the diggers out.

Now that you have seen the photos and video I want you to look at the opening day photo.  See how the hill rises steeply behind the entrance?  I also note that the little buildings on either side photo below were probably on the banks of the creek washout ravine.  Those banks were about 2-4 feet high.  Water has done a number on the terrain along with the work done to close the mine.

1925 photo of New Black Diamond Coal Mine aka Indian Coal Mine.

This is the eighth article on the New Black Diamond Coal Mine. What a ride with so much information. I also want to thank those that helped me along the way -> Liz Stewart of Renton History Museum, Ken Jensen of Black Diamond Museum and Bill Kombol of Palmer Coking Coal Company.

I am going to move on to the next coal mine hunting adventure. It is not far from the NBD, just around a bend in the Cedar River and up on Cedar Mountain east of the Jones Slope Complex.

If you want to read more about my search for lost coal mines here is a link to my directory of articles.

Shoot me any questions or better yet any information you have to add. This is a never ending deep dig into 100 year old coal mine history.

Remember Times are a changing.  Blink and all will be changed.

Locating Lost Old Coal Mines of King County

                  New Black Diamond Coal Mine – Mine Entrance Search Round Two Two months ago I took a tour of the New Black Diamond Coal Mine (NBD) Industrial Complex site.

[gadgetsrevv]

Man City 2-2 Tottenham AS IT HAPPENED: Gabriel Jesus goal ruled out as Spurs nick point | Football | Sport

MANCHESTER CITY 2-2 TOTTENHAM | STERLING (20), LAMELA (23), AGUERO (35), MOURA (56)

Manchester City: Ederson; Walker, Otamendi, Laporte, Zinchenko; Rodri, Gundogan, De Bruyne; Sterling, Bernardo Silva, Aguero.

Tottenham: Lloris; Walker-Peters, Alderweireld, Sanchez, Rose; Ndombele, Winks, Sissoko; Eriksen, Lamela, Kane. 

Raheem Sterling header put hosts in front

Erik Lamela equalises for visitors

Sergio Aguero regained the lead for the dominant hosts

Lucas Moura made an immediate impact with a goal from the bench

Gabriel Jesus has winner ruled out by VAR

The hosts dominated proceedings at the Etihad and deservedly went in front win the 20th minute when Raheem Sterling nodded in at the far post.

Erik Lamela stunned City with a long-range equaliser just three minutes later that goalkeeper Ederson will not want to see again as he was badly out of position.

Sergio Aguero swept them back in front in the 35th minute but City’s failure to capitalise on their dominance was punished when Lucas Moura headed home a corner 19 seconds after coming off the bench.

Pep Guardiola’s side pushed for a winner and Jesus thought he had it when he finished expertly after a corner fell at his feet.However, America Laporte was judged to have handled in the build-up and the effort was ruled out as the points were shared.

Here’s how the action unfolded.

7.45pm To clarify the reason for the ruled-out goal, look below.

Tweet from the Premier League (Image: TWITTER)

7.22pm GOAL Gabriel Jesus – Man City 3 Tottenham 2

Frankly, they deserve this and what an emphatic finish from the Brazilian.

A corner is hit deep and it drops to Jesus who still has lots of work to do.

He skips inside and curls into the far post.

Hang on a minute……VAR review coming up!

7.19pm Looks like Spurs are going to nick a point from this – but I don’t know how.

Christian Eriksen has been replaced by Oliver Skipp after a really poor game.

7.14pm Giovani Lo Celso comes on for his Tottenham debut. Erik Lamela is off.

7.08pm Brilliant cross from Walker but it’s a little too high for Jesus and grazes off his head.

Bernardo Silva has come off to be replaced by Riyad Mahrez.

7.06pm Rodri makes way for David Silva.

7.05pm Lucas has made a difference and gets the better of Zinchenko.

He races towards the byline and tries to cut back for Harry Kane – yes, he is playing – in the middle but it is put behind for a corner.

It comes to nothing and City try to break but it fizzles out.

Gabriel Jesus had a late goal ruled out by VAR (Image: GETTY)

7.39pm I don’t want to keep going on about it but City have every right to feel a bit aggrieved by that result.

But while Guardiola might point the finger at decisions that haven’t gone their way, he should probably take a look at Ederson who was badly at fault for Lamela’s goal.

Spurs were not in the game at all at that point and it needlessly gave them some encouragement.

7.25pm Full-time and the points are shared following a dramatic finish.

Tottenham were poor in truth and can count themselves extremely lucky to have got anything here.

Pep Guardiola’s post-match interview is going to make for interesting viewing after that disallowed goal.

7.23pm NO GOAL. It’s been disallowed as America Laporte is judged to have handled it in the build-up.

Definitely not on purpose but he has changed the trajectory of the ball slightly.

Spurs have really got away with one here.

Harry Kane has been incredibly quiet (Image: GETTY)

6.58pm Gabriel Jesus finds a bit of space in the box but is surrounded by Tottenham shirts.

Bernardo Silva was well placed to his right but he goes for goal and blazes over.

6.55pm Sergio Aguero comes off and is replaced by Gabriel Jesus.

6.51pm Rodri strikes from distance, Lloris is equal to it as he tips it over the bar but his pals are probably still stinging.

Lloris tries to punch the corner away but it drops to Bernardo Silva who hooks it back towards goal.

Off the crossbar and collected by a grateful goalkeeper.

De Bruyne then crosses to the far post and Silva’s header is off Rose and out for a corner.

In from De Bruyne and met by Otamendi but his effort is volleyed away. City the appeal for a penalty. Not a chance.

Lucas Moura equalises for Tottenham (Image: GETTY)

6.45pm GOAL Lucas Moura – Man City 2 Tottenham 2

He’s only just come on for Harry Winks but Lucas has made an instant impact.

Totally against the run of play, he out leaps Kyle Walker from a corner and guides his header past the diving Ederson.

I didn’t see this coming at all.

6.43pm CLOSE! Bernardo Silva gets a clear sight of goal from close range but scuffs his shot at Loris.

He should score but a third goal does not appear to be too far away for Pep Guardiola’s side.

6.40pm City are looking imperious here.

De Bruyne is dictating the game from midfield and gets another shot away that flashes wide.

6.38pm Walker involved once more as he relies De Bruyne who bears down on goal.

He opts not to slide it to Aguero to his right and shoots instead but it is effected for a corner.

Aleksandr Zinchenko gets a shot away from the corner and Loris parries way. Decent chance.

6.35pm Back underway and Walker is straight into the action again.

He really has been good today and whips in a cross that Loris gathers.

Pep Guardiola’s side are in complete control at the Etihad (Image: GETTY)

6.17pm Lovely skill from Bernardo Silva on the right and Danny Rose cleans him out as the ball bounces up.

You can sense Spurs’ frustration out there and it’s easy to see why. They have been second best all game.

The referee brings the first half to a close and City are deservedly in front.

6.12pm CLOSE! Yet another pinpoint De Bruyne cross finds Ilkay Gundogan in the Spurs box.

He shoots first time but flashes just wide.

Very nearly 3-1.

6.04pm GOAL Sergio Aguero – Man City 2 Tottenham 1

Typical City goal and another sublime assist from De Bruyne. The Belgian gets to the byline and pulls it back for Aguero to calmly slot home.

De Bruyne then tries to get in on the act himself. He twists and turns in the box but slices his shot horribly wide.

Kevin De Bruyne was superb in the first half and laid on two goals (Image: GETTY)

Sergio Aguero celebrates after restoring City’s lead (Image: GETTY)

6.00pm The equalising goal has sparked this into life and the tackles are flying on all over the place now.

Tanguy Ndombele and Davinson Sanchez go in strongly on Kevin De Bruyne and the City players are furious.

Michael Oliver is having none of it, though.

Raheem Sterling was also booked earlier for a trademark cynical foul as Spurs tried to break.

Erik Lamela equalises for Tottenham (Image: GETTY)

5.52pm GOAL Erik Lamela – man City 1 Tottenham 1

Lamela stuns the home crowd as he practically passes the ball into the net from 20 yards.

Ederson is well out of position and will have to take the blame.

Game on.

5.50pm GOAL Raheem Sterling – Man City 1 Tottenham 0

De Bruyne whips in a beautiful ball to the back post and Sterling heads back across the goal into the far corner.

He moves on to four Premier League goals for the season already. A proper striker’s finish from Sterling.

Raheem Sterling opens the scoring for Manchester City (Image: GETTY)

5.49pm The home crowd are getting a bit jittery and they are jeering while Danny Rose dithers over a throw-in.

They have not got into this game at all really, although Sissoko breaks and tries to pick out Lamela any the back post but the danger is quickly snuffed out.

5.42pm Rodri is budded over in the box by Erik Lamela as the hosts take a corner.

Michael Oliver has a good view of it and waves away the appeals for a penalty.

5.37pm CHANCE Kyle Walker surges froward from right-back and drives into the box.

He checks back and picks out Raheem Sterling at the back post.

Sterling shoots but his effort is blocked and goes over the bar for a corner that comes to nothing.

De Bruyne is next to have a go but shoots straight at Hugo Lloris.

Man City vs Tottenham live updates (Image: GETTY)

5.32pm Bright start from City as Kevin de Bruyne and Bernardo Silva link up nicely down the right.

Kyle Walker then attempts a raking ball out to Raheem Sterling but it doesn’t quite reach him. A tiny bit more power on that and Sterling would have been in on goal.

5.30pm Manchester City get us underway at the Etihad.

5.25pm Just five minutes until kick-off so stay with us for all the goals as they go in.

The City players are already in the tunnel and raring to go as they wait for their Tottenham rivals.

They will be desperate to respond to Liverpool’s 2-1 win over Liverpool and we could be in fora cracker here.

Don’t go anywhere.

5.10pm It is perhaps surprising Pep Guardiola has opted for Sergio Aguero over Gabriel Jesus.

The Brazilian can count himself a little unlucky after an excellent showing against West Ham last time out.

Augero, in fact, has not scored against Sours in his last seven Premier League appearances against them.

Man City vs Tottenham LIVE: Updates from the Etihad (Image: GETTY)

Sergio Aguero starts for Manchester City (Image: GETTY)

4.40pm Jan Vertonghen returns to the Tottenham bench after being bizarrely snubbed for the win over Aston Villa last weekend, while Giovani Lo Celso joins him.

The big story, though, is that Christian Eriksen is back into Spurs’ starting line-up after his impact coming on against Villa, replacing Lucas Moura in Mauricio Pochettino’s only change.

For City, Sergio Aguero comes into the starting line-up with Bernardo Silva also coming back into the XI. 

Nicolas Otamendi replaces John Stones – who is not in the squad whatsoever – at centre-back and the fourth change sees Ilkay Gundogan replace David Silva.

4.30pm CONFIRMED LINE UPS

Manchester City: Ederson; Walker, Otamendi, Laporte, Zinchenko; Rodri, Gundogan, De Bruyne; Sterling, Bernardo Silva, Aguero.

Tottenham: Lloris; Walker-Peters, Alderweireld, Sanchez, Rose; Ndombele, Winks, Sissoko; Eriksen, Lamela, Kane. 

4.20pm Thanks for joining Express Sport’s live coverage from the Etihad. We’ll have the confirmed team news in around 10 minutes so stay tuned as we’ll be building up to action before kick-off at 5.30pm.

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