#that pink bastard can throw himself off a cliff

[cult-of-the-eye]

WHO TF IS BONZO KILLING

[blackhakumen]

Mini Fanfic #791: Wrath of the Certified Moms (Super Smash Bros Ultimate)

4:23 p.m. at Smash Mansion's Dining Hall......

It was quiet and Intense afternoon at the Mansion of Smash as everyone hides away and watch an unfazed Kazuya have himself a conversation with the Certified Moms Squads, who are not very happy with him at the point.

Peach: Mr. Kazuya. (Crosses Her Arms in a Not Pleased Yet Professional Like Manner) I take it that you are wondering why we wanted to talk to you at this very moment, yes?

Kazuya: No. I don't actually. But since we're here.....(Slams Two of his Feet On the Table One By One) Let's talk.

Samus: What the hell are you doing?

Kazuya: (Raised an Eyebrow at the Bounty Hunter Glaring at Him) Pardon?

Daisy: (Glares at Kazuya as Well) You heard the lady, buster. Why the hell do you have your crumby feet on the table!?

Kazuya: What? Am I not supposed to do that here or something?

Rosalina: (Simply Nodded) That is right. It's very rude and thoughtless.

Isabella: Not to mention unsanitary.

Tifa: This might be our first time meeting one another.....(Glares at Kazuya Harsh) But I know for a fact that you weren't raised on a damn farm.

Samus: Exactly. So if you know what's good for you going forward....(Starts Gritting her Teeth) We suggest you take your feet off the fucking table. Right now.

Kazuya: (Starts at the Glaring for a Brief Second Before Scoffing a Bit in Defeat as He Reluctantly Did What He Was Told) There. Happy?

Samus: (Glare Pierce Harder at the Man) Very.

Peach: ('Sigh') Now with that out of the way, Mr. Kazuya, after you fought Ganondorf and threw him off a cliff, is it true that you tried to do the same to Pit and Kirby afterwards?

Kazuya: What? You mean the Angel Boy and Pink Puffball? ('Heh') Yeah. I did. What of it?

Palutena: (Immediately Gets Up and Angrily Slams her Hands on the Table) ('SLAM') WHAT OF IT!? YOU ALMOST KILLED MY BABY, YOU MURDEROUS PIECE OF-

Bayonetta: (Immediately Got Up and Place Her Hands on Palutena's Shoulders to Calm her Down) Paulie dear, please. Calm yourself.

Tifa: (Gently Place her Hand on Top of Palutena's) Bayo's right. Don't let him get to you like this.

Palutena: How can you all expect me to be calm in a time like that!? (Tears Starts Falling Down on her Face) Have you forgotten what that bastard done to Pit!?

Peach: (Turns Around to Palutena with a Worried yet Understanding Frown on her Face) We understand how you feel completely, dear. Which is all the more reasons why you should let me do all the talking. You do trust us, right?

Palutena: Of course I do. ('Sniff') You girls are my family...('Sniff') I just....I just can't help not being upset, you know?

Bayonetta: (Gently Pulls Palutena into a Loving Hug) I know, my sweet, beautiful goddess. I know. But we all need to pull ourselves together and get Peach handle this. For our babies sake.

Palutena begins to looks up and see Pit, Kirby, and the Phantom Thieves hiding behind the living room's wall, witnessing everything going down in the dining hall.

Palutena: (Sighs While Finally Calming Herself Down) Right. I do need to pull myself together. (Turns to Pit While Quietly Saying 'I Love You' to Him With a Sad Smile Before Sitting Back Down)

Pit: (Smiles Softly) I love you too, mom

Kazuya: (Suddenly Starts to Chuckle Evilly For Almost Everyone in the Mansion to Hear)

Peach: (Raised an Eye Brow at Kazuya in a Very Unamused Manner) Something's funny to you, Kazuya?

Kazuya: Yes, actually. Here I thought participating in this kind of tournament would be somewhat interesting. I'd never imagined how pathetically soft amd weak minded all of you really are. But I suppose be too shouldn't be surprised by the outcome, since you have an embarrassment of a tyrant king and an annoying puffball as one of your competitors.

Ganondorf: (Growling Angry at Kazuya from the Distance With the Other League of Villains Members)

Kazuya: And worthless angel boy of yours was easily the weakest of them all that it's laughable at best.

Pit starts to frown sadly by Kazuya's words until Ren place a hand onto his shoulder while giving him a reassuring look that feels him to not to believe a single word he says. This, in it if itself, actually helps calm the angel down immensely.

Kazuya: Hell, he's better off being dead if any-

'CRASH'

Without a second thought, Peach angrily punched down the table I front of her, the ladies, and Kazuya so hard that it crumbles to the ground, easily breaking it into small, tiny pieces, much everyone's surprise and shock.

Bowser: Holy........

Samus: ........Shit........

Ryuji: (From the Living Room) EXCLAMATION MARK!!!!

Kazuya: (Starts Smirking at the Angered Princess While Being Unfazed by the Sudden Event) What's this now? Did I do finally struck a nerve, your highness?

Peach: (Immediately Grabs Kazuya By the Collar While Giving the Most Darkest, Piercing Glare Imaginable, Even For Her) Listen here, you insufferable, arrogant creep! I don't what made you the way you are right now, and frankly, I don't give a single damn about it at this point! All you need to know that if you're planning on continuing to set foot in this mansion, you don't EVER insult my babies and harm my family ever again! YOU HEAR ME!?

Daisy: (Immediately Got Up to Calm Peach Down) Woah there, cuz. Take it easy for us, okay?

Samus: (Got Up and Calm Peach Down as Well) Daisy's right, Peach. He's not worth the trouble at this point......

Peach looks back and forth the girls and Kazuya for a few seconds before finally calming herself down.

Peach: ('Sighs in Defeat') Okay......(Finally Let's Go of Kazuya) I suppose I should apologize for what happened just now. It wasn't lady like of me.

Daisy: (Chuckles Lightly) Are you kidding me? That was most badass thing I've ever seen yet! (Happily Hugs Peach) And it was all caused by my favorite cuz~

Peach: (Giggles Softly) I'm your only cousin, Daisy.

Samus: Yeah I'm gonna have to agree with Daisy this on. (Smirks a bit Playfully at Peach) I did not expect you to be this hardcore. I'm proud. Though, I think we might need to replace that table in a little bit.

Peach: (Giggles Softly Some More) I know. Thanks, you guys.

Kazuya: (Watches the Trio While Fixing his Collar and Shirt) ('Tch') Knew I should've ignored them if I had the chance.......

Peach: Kazuya Mishima!

Kazuya: (Turns Back to Peach) Yeah? What?

Peach: (Crosses her Arms While Glaring Darkly at Kazuya Again) Remember this well: If I EVER hear you pulled this stunt again, I will NOT hesitate to kick you out of this mansion and ban you from ever taking part of this tournament! Do you understand me!?

Kazuya was able to say something to the princess until his eyes suddenly begins to widened, as he comes to the realization that Peach's glare is starting to remind him of a woman from past. Who happens to be his deceased mother, Kazumi Mishima. It wasn't too long until he suddenly begins to get down on his knees and bow himself down to the princess in a traditional like manner, much everyone complete surprise.

Kazuya: I apologise for my foolish actions. It will never happen again.....

Peach: (Couldn't Believe What She's Seeing in Front of Her) Oh my.......I-I Mean! (Starts Clearing Her Throat Before Turning Away From the Fallen Man) As long as you got message, we'll hold you to it. Let's go, ladies. (Begins to Walks Away with Other Ladies Following Her)

Palutena gives one last harsh glare at Kazuya before walking away with the others. Leaving him to his lonesome self altogether. (While Still Being in a Bowing like Position).

Meanwhile.....

Bowser: (Eyes Widened After Witnessing Everything That Went Down Just Now) Well.........That happened?

Hades: (Starts Snicking) I know, right? Who would've thought the Devil Boy got whipped so easily?

Sephiroth: (Carrying Pichu in his Arms) I'm more surprise on how strong the princess has gotten. Mario's a lucky man.

Bowser: ('Tch') (Crosses his Arms While Looking Away) Yeah. Lucky jackass, bastard.....

Ganondorf: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Ridley: (Turns to Ganondorf) What gotten you in a good mood?

Ganondorf: Seeing this warm grovelling on the floor! (Crosses his Arms While Smirking Evilly and Triumphantly) Knew he wasn't shit from the beginning.

Ridley: But didn't he still beat you and threw you off a cliff?

Ganondorf: (Slowly Turns to Ridley with a Deadpinned Glare) Do you want me throw you off a cliff instead, Ridley?

Ridley: ('Sigh') No.......

Bowser: (Looking at Kazuya Shaking Slightly in the Ground From a Distance) Uhh....Guys? I think the new guy's crying over here. Saying about missing his mom or whatever.....

Hades: Ah yeah. Forgot to mention this sooner, but his mom died when he was little. Just found that one out when I was reading his inner thoughts earlier. So.....oops.

Sephiroth: The loss of a loving mother is never an easy feeling. He has my pity.

Pichu: (Nodded in Agreement) Pika. Pi.

Ganondorf: ('Scoffs') He can cry about her all he wants. (Starts Walking Away) He'll no sympathy from me.

Elsewhere in the Fitness Gym.......

Ike: (Paused his Training Session For a Moment) Hm?......... (Shrugs Before Resuming his Workout)

@keyenuta

@princekirijo

@caleb13frede

@cyber-wildcat

@26shann

@ma-lemons

@albion-93

[needtherapy]

Huaisang’s Hit List

or, how I learned to stop worrying and love my cursed dick

Technically Huaisang never slept with Wen Chao, just...spent a few minutes extricating himself from what turned out to be that awful murder-tortoise cave adventure. And anyway, it doesn’t matter because Wen Chao wasn’t on The List. The List was the problem. Is the problem.

Remember that Top Cultivator’s list? You know the one, the one where the Twin Jades were the two most eligible cultivators and Wei Wuxian was ranked higher than Jiang Cheng?

Yeah, that was Huaisang’s fault. But no one regrets it more than he does.

Except maybe all the dead people.

Read more Kristina Writes Tiny Stories

Notes: Sort of explicit, and there’s definitely some terribly silly cursed sex acts. If you want to read it on AO3 instead, you can do that too! Many thanks to @coslyons​ and AO3′s mongrelmind and effienell who probably will regret being tagged. Read their fantastic work instead of this absolute travesty.

⟹ ⟸ ⟹ ⟸ ⟹ ⟸ ⟹ ⟸ ⟹ ⟸

In hindsight, Huaisang should have realized way before the Wei Wuxian Incident that he was cursed. But to be fair, people die all the time.

He should know. He has personally killed eight people with his cursed dick.

“So,” Jiang Cheng says, hands tucked under his head, staring up at the sky, “You’re telling me that everyone you have sex with dies. And therefore, you must be killing them?”

“More or less, yes.”

“Isn’t that a little…” Jiang Cheng pauses and kicks the water his feet are dangling in, apparently trying for once in his life to be tactful, which makes Huaisang even more miserable. If Jiang Cheng is being tactful, it must be the end of the world. “Conceited?”

Huaisang pulls another leaf off the branch he is mutilating. He really doesn’t think he’s ever been conceited. Conceited would imply a lack of justification, and he is quite sure he’s right about this.

“A-Cheng, I have evidence. Hard evidence.”

Jiang Cheng chokes a little, and Huaisang glares at him. “Could you not? This is serious. I am never going to have sex again.”

Jiang Cheng chokes again, this time gasping with pained laughter, and Huaisang throws the branch at him. “Fuck you a-Cheng.”

“Thank all the gods you never have!” Jiang Cheng is howling now, curled in a ball and wheezing, and Huaisang has never been so insulted in his life.

Huaisang gathers what remains of his dignity and stands. He doesn’t care how beautiful Lotus Pier is in summer, or how many different shades of pink the flowers blanketing the lakes are, or how wickedly indulgent the sun feels through only two layers of robes, he is going to walk back down this dock and leave.

“Oh sit down, you big baby.” Jiang Cheng grabs the hem of Huaisang’s green robe. “I know you’re just dying to tell me about your ‘hard evidence’ and as much as I would rather rather erase all knowledge of your sex life from…”

Jiang Cheng's utter inability to disguise any thought he has is a gift, Huaisang thinks. Not only does it mean that in almost twenty years, Huaisang has never lost a game of weiqi, it also means he knows the moment it occurs to Jiang Cheng exactly what he means. Or rather...who.

“You. Did not. Fuck. My brother.”

Huaisang glares at a pair of ducks flying noisily overhead—those bastards were probably using their wings to escape awkward conversations—and silently bemoans his sudden and inexplicable flirtation with honesty. Why precisely had he wanted to share the details of his humiliating curse with Jiang Cheng? He frowns down at Sandu Shengshou’s tight, angry slash of a mouth, crackling dark eyes, cheekbones that could slice open his fingers if he ran them over the ridges…

Oh yes. That was why.

“Well, not first,” Huaisang says, deciding that if he’s in for a piglet, he’s in for a hog. “What happened first was Wen Xu.”

Jiang Cheng rolls into the lake. Huaisang is speechless. As rude escapes from his presence go, it is unprecedented. Wen Xu only snuck out of the window.

⟹ ⟸

Huaisang wasn’t biting his lip because he was nervous. That would be preposterous. He wasn’t a virgin after all. But he had also never picked anyone up in a tavern...well, certainly not a tavern in Hejian...okay, definitely not anyone at a tavern in Hejian as spectacularly handsome as the man whose name he couldn’t recall and really didn’t care about currently stripping in front of…

He lost his train of thought when—what was his name...Yang...Tian...something about the sun—threw his undershirt on the ground and looked expectantly at Huaisang, flexing the outrageous muscles on his chest just enough to make Huaisang’s blood boil. Yes, oh yes, he was definitely going to bite Sun Man right over the top of his left nipple immediately. And then he was going to make Sun Man beg for mercy. He stepped forward, his mouth stretching wide in a practiced seductive smile, and everything went wrong.

Sun Man stepped forward too, eyes closing, an arrogant tilt to his mouth. Huaisang tried to avoid the kiss—who kissed a stranger in an inn?—but he avoided to the left, and Sun Man lurched to the left. Like a slow motion fall off a cliff, they crashed into each other, arms and legs flailing everywhere. Sun Man’s head smacked into Huaisang’s chin, and worse, Huaisang’s knee collided with the soft—well, not that soft, some distant, smug corner of his brain noted—flesh between the man’s legs. He grunted in pain, grabbed Huaisang, and they fell on the floor in a fairly uncomfortable heap.

Fuck. Well, there goes that, Huaisang thought. Another thrilling night listening to da-ge rant about the damn Wen dogs loomed in his future.

“No, no, I’m fine,” Sun Man said immediately, sprawled on top of Huaisang, and Huaisang realized he meant it, judging by the considerably less soft space between his legs that was currently pressed against Huaisang’s hip.

He cheered immediately. Sun Man liked being hurt. It wasn’t a great start, but he could work with that.

Yes, he thought, as he slapped Sun Man hard on his spectacular ass and Sun Man let out a hearty moan, he could work with this.

Later, history books would describe da-ge as glorious in battle, cutting through the Wen army to the Wen heir, knocking the arrogant smile off his face and the man off his horse, laughing when he begged for mercy and dismembering his body as a lesson to the others, all to the triumphant cheers of the combined army.

What the history books did not mention was da-ge dramatically throwing the head on the ground at Huaisang’s feet in the music room.

“I will take his head to Xichen,” da-ge announced proudly, and Huaisang winced. How could anyone be so bad at romantic gifts?

He looked down despite himself—it had been almost a week since da-ge had thrown a Wen body part on the floor—and gasped.

Huaisang tried to look away from Sun Man in time but in the grand tradition of brothers everywhere, da-ge was unfailingly observant at the worst possible times.

“Huaisang, what did you do?”

Nothing, Huaisang thought, snapping his fan open and trying to blink the hysterical laughter away. Just spanked the daylights out of Wen Xu the night before he died. Just made him cry and climax and collapse in snoring exhaustion before Huaisang had a chance to finish any kind of reciprocal satisfaction, the bastard. And then just watched him climb out of the window before dawn. He sighs. What a wasted night.

“Nothing, da-ge. It’s just...he’s leaking on the floor.”

Da-ge grunted and rolled the head out of the room with his foot.

“I was expecting it to last longer, honestly,” da-ge said, and Huaisang thought, me too. “He seemed spent before we even started.”

Huaisang covered his giggle with a sympathetic cough. “How disappointing for you, da-ge.”

“The thing is,” da-ge continued, eyes sharpening in a very worrisome way. “I noticed a distinctive shade of lip color on his neck, right before I separated it from his body. Almost...like...the mauve you’re wearing right now.”

“This is raisin,” Huaisang snapped before he could help himself and then cringed. He was in so much trouble.

But instead, da-ge sank into a chair laughing. “You could have just drugged him, Huaisang. You didn’t have to fuck him. Next time, tell me before you decide to single handedly give our enemy the serpent’s kiss?”

Huaisang decided to take credit for the tactical fucking, but did not want to be assigned any future war jobs, hand, blow, or otherwise.

“I am not having sex with any more Wens,” he said virtuously, sitting in a chair across from his brother. He did not appreciate the roar of laughter.

⟹ ⟸

“Oh gods, how many more Wens did you have sex with?” Jiang Cheng demands, wringing out his dripping hair next to the hearth fire in the kitchen. “The whole army? Wen Ruohan? Truly, you are the unsung hero of the Sunshot campaign. We should have made you chief cultivator.”

“First of all, I would be a phenomenal chief cultivator, thank you.” Huaisang throws a towel at Jiang Cheng, whacking him on the side of the head, but Jiang Cheng just grins charmingly, the wretch. “Second of all, none of course.”

Technically he never slept with Wen Chao, just...spent a few minutes extricating himself from what turned out to be that awful murder-tortoise cave adventure. And anyway, it doesn’t matter because Wen Chao wasn’t on The List. The List was the problem. Is the problem.

Jiang Cheng twists his hair into a knot on the top of his head and starts stripping off his wet clothes.

“Okay, so then you slept with my brother?”

Huaisang slumps in a chair and stares at the carved ceiling, not looking, not looking, not looking. Pretty, he thinks, focusing very diligently on the wood. It looks like a giant lotus flower.

“No, only the number sixes at first,” Huaisang mumbles, wondering if the splotchy paint marks on the carving are actually tiny lotus flowers. If so, he really has to admire how committed the Yunmeng Jiang are to the aesthetic.

Suddenly Jiang Cheng’s face is next to his face, his hands on the arm of the chair, and he looks angry again. Wet and angry. Like a scandalously unrobed cat that just crawled out of a well—Huaisang fumbles the metaphor, too distracted by Jiang Cheng’s chest.

“Are you talking about that plague of a ‘most eligible cultivators’ list? If I ever find out who ruined my life with that list, I am going to tie them to something very hard and beat them within an inch of their life,” he growls, and Huaisang is afraid he might be a little turned on by that. He tries something. A sort of experiment.

“I made the list.”

Jiang Cheng turns white, the blood draining instantly from his face. His eyes widen, his nostrils flare, and Huaisang decides that yes, indeed, he is terrified and aroused. He really does learn something new about himself every day.

“You asshole,” Jiang Cheng hisses. “Why?”

“I don’t remember,” he lies. “Maybe I was bored. Maybe it was a list of people I wanted to be friends with.” It was certainly not a list of people he and Meng Yao had wanted to see naked. Not at all.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t move. If anything, his nose gets a little closer to Huaisang’s nose. Tantalizingly within biting distance.

“It was a sex list, wasn’t it,” he accuses, entirely unfairly in Huaisang’s opinion. But then he frowns. “Your brother was on that list. That’s...a bit much, even for you.”

Huaisang sticks out his tongue, almost licking Jiang Cheng. Wisely, Jiang Cheng jumps back, protecting his precious nose with his hand.

“Okay, that was Zewu-Jun’s fault! He found out that da-ge wasn’t on the list and he looked so sad. You know how he is! ‘But Mingjue-xiong is so handsome and kind. Why wouldn’t he be considered the most eligible cultivator? You know I have no interest in such worldly things, but oh, woe, life has been too cruel to my dear, dear friend Mingjue-xiong.’” Huaisang knows he does a killer Lan-zongzhu impression, and Jiang Cheng’s mouth twitches at the corners.

“Fine. You didn’t fuck your brother. Good for you. Go ahead, tell me who you did kill. Since I apparently can’t stop you.”

“I didn’t know I was doing it, a-Cheng. I wouldn’t kill people on purpose.”

Jiang Cheng doesn’t hesitate to reassure him.

“Of course you would.”

Huaisang is friends with Jiang Cheng for this exact reason: because he is the kind of friend who would steal chickens and bury bodies with you and not judge or ask questions.

Jiang Cheng freezes, closes his eyes, and asks a very judgmental question. “Don’t tell me you were responsible for Jin Zixuan too?”

Huaisang winces. “Not...only.”

⟹ ⟸

“So you’re second cousins,” Huaisang asked, drinking another cup of the finest wine he can afford, and staring at Jin Zixuan’s increasingly handsome face, already a work of art.

Naturally, it was the other one who answered, because nothing was easy today except for Huaisang.

“No, his mother’s sister’s husband’s sister is my mother. They were married in the same ancestral hall as my mother’s brother’s wife’s brother, though, and....”

Huaisang didn’t give two fucks about Jin Zixun droning on about his relations, but he liked the flush on Jin Zixuan’s cheeks when he caught Huaisang staring at him. He’d had two bottles of wine, and he seemed to be one of those drunks who got quieter and quieter until he fell over. Huaisang wanted to catch him.

He had found Jin Zixuan in Yudao Tang, looking at the map of the Sunshot Campaign without da-ge, and although he was fairly sure it was innocent, he was also fairly sure da-ge would absolutely qi deviate if anyone touched his little metal horses and toy soldiers. He was just going to shoo him away, but Jin Zixuan, the third most eligible cultivator, had given him A Curious Look, and Huaisang had shifted tactics with a military precision he thinks would even have impressed his da-ge.

“You’ve been working so hard, Jin-gongzi,” Huaisang said, testing out Jin Zixuan’s bicep with a soft and gentle squeeze that lingered long enough to promise something hard and rough. “Let’s go share a bottle or two to loosen up for the night.”

He hadn’t even realized the other one was there.

“You’re too generous Nie Huaisang! We accept your offer,” crowed the unwanted Jin, whose name Huaisang was unwillingly informed was Zixun.

So now Huaisang was sitting in an inn in Hejian trying to get Jin Zixun pass-out drunk faster than Jin Zixuan. It wasn’t working. The man had a hollow leg. Possibly two hollow legs. Definitely a hollow brain. But then he felt a hand on his knee, and Jin Zixuan was looking at him from under eyelashes as long and thick as butterfly wings.

“Would you like to leave?” he asked quietly, and Huaisang could not have been more relieved than if he had been plucked from the coils of a liangren she.

“Yes please,” he whispered under Jin Zixun’s droning. “You go first. I’ll follow.”

Jin Zixuan stood gracefully, only swayed a little, and was up the stairs before Jin Zixun had completely explained the intimate details of his mother’s sister’s son’s wedding tea service. Huaisang endured the description of osmanthus cakes for two whole minutes before he laughed loudly, interrupting Boring Cousin.

“Stop! I need to relieve myself and I can’t bear to miss one single detail! Wait right here and I’ll be back.”

Jin Zixun looked disappointed to be robbed of an audience even for a heartbeat, but he stayed, and Huaisang fled.

He found Jin Zixuan waiting in the doorway of his room, and he didn’t waste another second. Pushing Jin Zixuan onto the bed, Huaisang practically launched himself at the man, kissing him viciously, thrilled when Jin Zixuan groaned and locked his hand around the back of Huaisang’s head. He looked rumpled and flushed, and he tasted like heat and honey. Absolutely delicious. Huaisang didn’t understand why Wei Wuxian didn’t like Jin Zixuan. Probably because he’d never bitten the skin at the base of his throat or heard how sweetly he moaned when Huaisang got his pants down and started to stroke him, sliding his hand expertly along the smooth curve.

“There you go sweetheart,” Huaisang encouraged, when Jin Zixuan reached between Huaisang’s legs and finally wrapped those long, thin, elegant fingers around his shaft. He was exactly what Huaisang had hoped: beautiful, strong, and eager, if a little unskilled.

And then Huaisang heard the worst sound he had ever heard in his life.

“Fuck, this is hot,” Jin Zizun slurred from the door. “I want to join.”

⟹ ⟸

“And then he did, a-Cheng,” Huaisang whines, taking a bite out of the dumpling Jiang Cheng hands him. “It was the worst.”

Jiang Cheng looks unsympathetic. “Oh, I’m sorry, are you done detailing how you fucked my brother-in-law and his abhorrent cousin to death? I tuned out somewhere around the extremely comprehensive description of my sister’s father’s daughter’s husband’s dick, which I could have lived my whole life without hearing.”

“You asked,” Huaisang points out.

“‘Yes’ or ‘no’ would have been sufficient,” Jiang Cheng retorts.

Huaisang hadn’t considered that.

“Oh. Um, yes. I was responsible for Jin Zixuan. And Jin Zixun, although I didn’t mean to be. And...um...Ouyang Xi and Yao Shui. They were both number sixes. Ouyang Xi was the only girl I ever put on the list. Remember her? She was amazing.”

Jiang Cheng sits back, thinking. “Wasn’t she taller than Hanguang-Jun?” When Huaisang nods, Jiang Cheng whistles appreciatively. “Oh yeah, I remember her. She was something. I can’t even be mad about that one.”

He seems to realize how that sounded and shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous. You aren’t killing people. They died in the war. They died because they were assholes. They died because people die. That’s not proof.”

Huaisang does not want to tell him about Wei Wuxian, but Wei Wuxian is proof.

“It was twice with Wei Wuxian. And he died twice. Once his heart. Once his life. That’s when I realized, and that’s when I stopped having sex.”

Jiang Cheng’s mouth drops open a little and he stares at Huaisang, obviously dumbfounded, probably horrified. Finally, Huaisang thinks, Jiang Cheng doesn’t have anything sarcastic to say.

“I am so mad at you right now,” he finally replies, and Huaisang shrinks. “Once you realized, why the fuck didn’t you sleep with Hanguang-Jun? You could have made my life so much easier. Gods, Huaisang, you are never thinking about me.”

Huaisang’s mind spins futilely, a dog chasing its tail, but he finally processes Jiang Cheng’s sparkling eyes, the slightly raised left eyebrow, and the extremely provoking way he is biting his lip as “teasing.” Huaisang expects his eyes to stop there, but the traitors keep going, looking at Jiang Cheng’s muscular chest, disappointingly garbed in dry clothes, his long legs stretched out in front of him…no! Focus on being truthful! His mind—okay possibly not his mind—objects to both truthfulness and not ogling Jiang Cheng but he perseveres.

“You...you aren’t angry? About Wei Wuxian?”

Jiang Cheng shrugs. “He’s alive now. What can I change about the past? And I’m not sure I want to hear any,” he pokes Huaisang in the chest, “ANY details about whatever you two did.”

Huaisang thinks about Wei Wuxian at sixteen, full of sunshine and curiosity, kneeling in front of him in the woods behind Cloud Recesses, and he thinks of Wei Wuxian during Sunshot, his jagged edges so beautiful and sharp, begging Huaisang to tighten the rope a little more, hurt him a little more, distract him a little more.

“Nope, nope, see, that face is exactly what I don’t want to hear,” Jiang Cheng interrupts. “Not a word, Huaisang. Not a word.”

He leans forward and pours more wine into Huaisang’s cup. “Look, just stop making the list and you’ll be fine. You can go back to doing whatever, whoever, you want.”

“I did! I haven’t been in charge of the list for years! For a while, no one was updating it, and then I handed it over to Jingyi, oh, about a year before Wei Wuxian came back, but...it still works.”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes roll back so hard, so long, Huaisang hopes they get stuck. “I assume you know because you tested it personally. I compliment the rigorous dedication to checking your theory, Huaisang.”

Huaisang sniffs. That poor Zhao girl (an exceptional number seven—Huaisang couldn’t argue with Jingyi’s taste, at least) had died horribly, he thinks, falling from her sword after a tragic mid-air goose collision.

“Well, I had to check, because…” If he is ever going to face a consequence, Huaisang thinks, today is the day. “For once, I wanted to use it.”

And then he waits for the dao to fall.

⟹ ⟸

Huaisang had planned of course, planned for years. Found evidence. Found witnesses. Found proof. But nothing was as good as a sure thing. So he would do this distasteful thing to ensure that no matter what happened, no matter how it happened, his plan would succeed.

Winning was so close he could taste it, like salty tears, like bitter fruit. It was a taste he remembered well.

“San-ge,” he sobbed, drinking his wine and immediately burning off the alcohol, “I just don’t know what to do. I’m going to die alone.”

Jin Guangyao, who Huaisang never thought of san-ge in his mind anymore, looked a little annoyed, but Huaisang poured him another cup of Emperor’s Smile, and his brother’s murderer relaxed.

“A-Sang,” he said in a patronizing tone, as though he was so much older and more mature than Huaisang. “We can visit another matchmaker and try again.”

“Noooooo,” Huaisang wailed. “I just can’t. It won’t help. You must have advice. What can I do to make a woman love me?”

There it was. The flinch. Huaisang loved the flinch. The flinch was winning. He gleefully drove the sword in deeper.

“Oh no, I’m a fool,” he moaned, with a dramatic sniffle, drying his tears and touching the back of Jin Guangyao’s hand, the lightest feather, only the tip of his finger grazing one knuckle. “I’m being selfish. This is such terrible timing, with everything that’s happened. I’m just so lonely. I miss…”

Huaisang sighed and turned away morosely, watching Jin Guangyao out of the corner of his eye. He really wasn’t as good at hiding his reactions as he thought he was. For instance, he bit the inside of his lip the way he always did when he was thinking of the past. And his eyes shifted to the right the way they always did when he was about to lie, so Huaisang beat him to the punch, pouring more wine. Four bottles down.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sure you never think about...well...you know.” He let his eyelashes flutter. Jin Guangyao looked a little alarmed, so Huaisang ratcheted the flutter back to a flicker. “But it was the best time of my life,” Huaisang said with a wistful jab, adding a twist of longing, and the thrust hit home.

“Huaisang,” Jin Guangyao said, sounding a little like he was drunk and a lot like he was weakening. “That was a long time ago.”

Huaisang was aware. He was aware that Meng Yao was never on The List, so sleeping with him never counted. He was aware that it was, perhaps, a bit callous to put a man whose wife died two days ago on a list of most eligible bachelors but he is Jin-zongzhu and chief cultivator. It would honestly be a crime not to include him.

“Maybe...maybe tonight I could help you and you could help me? Think of it as therapeutic catharsis, a-Yao.” Huaisang suggested, this time touching Jin Guangyao’s knee, and, when he got no objection, sliding his hand up further.

This is no worse than Su She, he reminded himself. Actually, a lot less worse, he decided, remembering the flash of raw meat that was Su She’s chest with a repressed shudder. He definitely can’t think about that, or he won’t even be able to coax The Cursed One into working order.

“Sang-er,” Jin Guangyao whispered, and Huaisang knew he’d won.

In more ways than one.

⟹ ⟸

Huaisang can’t tell what the look on Jiang Cheng’s face means.

“Ha!” Jiang Cheng shouts, and then tips sideways onto the couch laughing.

No, laughing is a polite word for polite people. Jiang Cheng is braying, quite a bit like Wei Wuxian’s donkey. It is frankly, very unbecoming behavior for a sect leader.

“You sound like Lil’ Apple,” Huaisang says crossly, and Jiang Cheng laughs harder, falling on the ground at Huaisang’s feet.

“You named your dick ‘The Cursed One’? No wonder it hates you. I’d hate you too. Here’s a suggestion. Try naming it something nice!”

“Oh, like ‘Princess?’”

Jiang Cheng shuts up.

But not for long. Never for long. The only person who shuts up less than Huaisang is Jiang Cheng. Huaisang considers himself a model of restraint compared to Jiang Cheng.

“What if you just kiss someone? Does that kill them?”

Huaisang eyes Jiang Cheng suspiciously, but he is sitting up, not laughing, and looks genuinely curious.

“My lips aren’t cursed.”

Jiang Cheng nods slowly. “That makes sense.”

“It does?”

“Not really, but I’m trying to be supportive of your bout with insanity. What happens if you have sex with people who aren’t on the list?”

“Nothing. But I never know who is on the list anymore. Jingyi and Sizhui are very protective of it. I don’t think they trust me not to tell anyone they write it.”

Jiang Cheng gives him a disbelieving look. “I can’t imagine why.”

Huaisang can’t either. It is a very unfilial lack of faith in his well-proven ability to keep secrets.

“Well, I guess if it’s the only way you’ll ever have sex again, I’m willing to sacrifice myself,” Jiang Cheng announces, holding out his arms and wiggling his hips suggestively. “Come and get it, Huaisang. I’m sorry, but this is your best, no, your only option.”

Huaisang kicks Jiang Cheng’s foot viciously. “You are so mean, a-Cheng, and it doesn’t help, because you’re still on the list, okay? Stupid Jingyi and his stupid crush. You’re number three now.”

Jiang Cheng grins so broadly, Huaisang hates him. Hates him a lot. Stupid, vain, irritating Jiang Cheng. He can’t remember why they’re friends. He can’t remember why he likes him.

“That’s so sweet! I knew I liked that kid for a reason. I should invite him over for tea sometime.”

Huaisang pops to his feet. “You go right ahead. I’m leaving.”

As fast as a striking snake, Jiang Cheng sits up and grabs Huaisang around the waist, pulling him down, startling a squeak out of Huaisang as he lands on Jiang Cheng’s lap.

“You idiot,” Jiang Cheng tells Huaisang fondly, tucking his hair behind his ear. “Have you ever tried having sex with anyone on the list who isn’t a fragile flower? Or who thought you were worth risking a little death for? Maybe you aren’t cursed. Maybe you just have terrible taste.”

He kisses Huaisang, so gently and tenderly, eyes closed, nose rubbing Huaisang’s cheek, and it is nothing like Huaisang expected, but it does feel a little like something breaks. Maybe it’s the curse. Maybe it’s the brittle ice around his heart that formed when da-ge died. Whatever it is, he can’t be bothered to think about it. He kisses Jiang Cheng back with everything he’s wanted to say since the day they met.

“Wait!”

Jiang Cheng wrenches away and glares at Huaisang. “Number three? Three? I can understand two, because ugh, Xichen, but who else could possibly be more eligible than me?”

“Cheng-gege, I’m probably just remembering wrong. You know how I am with details. I’m sure you’re second,” Huaisang soothes, wanting to return to the kissing part without having to tell Jiang Cheng that er-ge had put his foot down a long time ago about being on the list. It is actually his nephew who is number two and Ouyang Zizhen who is number one. He doesn’t think Jiang Cheng will see the humor in it.

“That’s true, you do have an atrocious memory,” Jiang Cheng grumbles. “For instance, you seem to have forgotten that you spent the entire afternoon detailing your exploits with half the cultivation world.”

Huaisang’s thought process is somewhat compromised, and he can’t make himself connect Jiang Cheng’s words with the feel of his hands, those wide, strong hands cupping Huaisang’s ass.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, tipping his head back and letting Jiang Cheng nibble a path down his neck. “They were all terrible. I do not recommend any of them, especially not the dead ones.”

Jiang Cheng laughs, a rumbling sound that makes Huaisang’s fingers fumble at the lotus clasp on his belt.

“I didn’t hate it, but we’re going to start a new list, Sang-er, called ‘Huaisang’s Best Sex,’ and I am going to be the ony person on it,” Jiang Cheng informs Huaisang, biting his earlobe.

“It’s not…” Huaisang kisses Jiang Cheng’s exquisite collarbone, having cleverly freed him from his robes, “...a list if…” Huaisang wraps his arms around Jiang Cheng’s neck and rocks against him, “...there’s only one person on it.”

With a growl that might be hiding a laugh, Jiang Cheng flips Huaisang onto his back and grinds against him. “Stop arguing, Sang-er. I am busy writing my name on your new list, and I expect it to take the rest of the night.”

Now that he thinks about it, Huaisang decides, lifting his hips so Jiang Cheng can pull off his pants, it’s really a brilliant idea. The best idea Jiang Cheng has ever had. Jiang Cheng’s mouth engulfs Huaisang’s very much forgiven dick, and with a gasp and a moan, he vows to henceforth let Jiang Cheng have all the ideas.

⟹ ⟸

Huaisang stretches like a cat in the morning, as pleased with himself as the sun is to rise, and stares down at Jiang Cheng’s unfairly beautiful face. Last night, Jiang Cheng had seemed very determined to break the curse, or break Huaisang’s back, and Huaisang isn’t surprised that he’s still asleep. With one finger, Huaisang traces the line of Jiang Cheng’s jaw and leans down to kiss his cool, smooth lips.

Cool lips.

No.

No!

Huaisang flails out of the bed, scrambling backward, falling, shaking his head as though not looking directly at Jiang Cheng will change what he felt.

He knew he should have listened to his gut and not his traitorous, evil dick.

“No no no no no no,” he chants softly, like it will make Jiang Cheng any less dead if he says it enough times.

And then a ton of rocks falls on his head. He is in the Jiang zongzhu’s bedroom with a dead Jiang-zongzhu. The self-preservation instinct that has kept him alive this long kicks him in the ass. He hurries to Jiang Cheng’s side of the bed and rolls him over, tucking the blanket around him like a mushu pancake. First, roll up the body, he mutters to himself. Then, dump him in the lake. Then, run away. This would be easier if he had someone to help. Like Jiang Cheng.

He stops and frowns. Is that…

The rolled up blanket shakes and Huaisang leaps back, clearing the entirety of the lotus-shaped rug—gods, they are devoted to that theme—and landing on a chair as far away from the undead Jiang Cheng as possible.

The wildly panicking rabbit in his head only slows its escape as he recognizes the sound from the bed.

Laughter.

Fucking laughter.

Fucking Jiang Cheng rolls himself out of the blanket. Not dead.

Not yet, at least. Huaisang is formulating some very definite ideas on how to change Jiang Cheng’s living status right now.

“Your face! You should see your face. I swear, I will cultivate immortality just so I can remember this moment for a thousand years. I never thought there would be a reason to use my qi to slow my heart rate like that but I was so wrong. You were going to dump me in the lake!”

“What is wrong with you!” Huaisang shouts. “I thought I’d killed you!” He stalks over to Jiang Cheng, intending to make his assumption reality, but Jiang Cheng wraps his legs tightly around Huaisang’s waist and kisses him soundly.

“I don’t die easily, Nie Huaisang. Not for you, not for anyone. Besides, I’ve waited too long for you to figure out you’re in love with me. Now, come back to bed, and I’ll let you try to kill me again, as many times as you want. If you’re very good, maybe Princess will return the favor and try to kill you too.”

Dammit, Huaisang should have known he’d like the name. He’s going to be stuck calling Jiang Cheng’s dick Princess forever.

He grins and shoves Jiang Cheng backward, straddling his waist, and the aforementioned Princess twitches enthusiastically. Forever is a nice amount of time, Huaisang decides, and Princess is a small price to pay for forever.

[thephantomofthe-internet]

Read Into Me Chapter Two: The Importance of Being Earnest

Steve Harrington x Reader

Catch up on the series HERE

Word Count: 2,030

Warnings: Swearing, death illusion

Author’s Note: This chapter is a bit shorter than I’d like, but I promise that the next one is longer! Also, some of the tags aren’t working for some users, so I’m so sorry if you aren’t getting notifications for this series! If you know how to fix this lemme know!

Tags: @divinity-deos @thecaptainsgingersnap​  @wolfish-willow @scoopsohboi @herre-gud-nej​ @clockworkballerina​ @maddie1504​ @i-am-trash-so-much-its-scary​ @banjino-in-the-whole @buckysarge​ @wildcvltre​ @stanleyyelnatsiii​ @t0rment0 @10blurredsmoke10 @unussuallchild10 @n3wtscaseofniffler5​ @alwaysstressedout @peterparxour @linkispink1995​ @asharpknife @a-big-ball-of-idk​ @used-avocado​ @mochminnie​ @sledgy14​ @lilmissperfectlyimperfect​

Steve was so very fucked. He’d been sat at his desk since he got home from school and could not think of a single fucking thing to write. He’d had his notebook open, his typewriter loaded with paper, pen uncapped and waiting to be used, and the most work he’d done was chew on its blue cap. He just couldn’t think.

Writing was not his thing. Reading was not his thing. School was not his thing. He had lines of trophies on his nearly empty shelf-swim meet, track and field, basketball, and baseball for one summer in fifth grade. He could understand how to play a sport. That was competitive, improvisational, and had a core outcome-you won, lost, or tied. The same three outcomes with a million ways to do it, a million variables to get in the way. Math and science were the same, he could swing Cs and Bs in those classes, but English was the opposite. There were too many opinions. Too many options. When he managed to read one of the assigned books for class and not merely the Cliff’s Notes, he found he had nothing to say about it. Everything the author said felt true, even when his teachers were telling him to look for specific things in the narrative. Sure, if someone told him that the conch shell in Lord of the Flies meant something, but if you asked him what he wouldn’t know. And he would believe you if you said that the conch shell didn’t mean anything. His essays were all crap.

He thought about calling Nancy. Nancy would know exactly how to help him, she always did. But Nancy was with Jonathan now and he wasn’t confident that they were still friends at all. If they were ever friends. He didn’t think that they were. They weren’t really friends before they dated. Still, his hand hovered over the egg shell white rotary phone on his desk, a gift from his eleventh birthday. He lifted the phone off its hook, dialling the number off by heart. It took three rings for someone to pick up.

“Eleven?” Mike Wheeler’s frantic voice came through the other end. Steve couldn’t help but roll his eyes, the boy was far too attached to that girl, it was honestly concerning.

“Nah dude it’s Steve, your sister around?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

“She’s out with Jonathan.” Mike’s voice dropped into one of boredom. “You know, her boyfriend?” he was such a little shit sometimes.

“Yeah, I know dipshit, you wanna tell her I called when she gets back?” Steve huffed back.

“If I remember.” With that, the call went dead. Steve groaned, rolling his eyes as he slammed the receiver back onto the hook. What a fucking waste of time. He’d never hear back now, that kid didn’t like him from the start and would do whatever he could to keep them from being friends.

What was to be done now? He didn’t have anything to say about his spring break! Mr. Lawrence was a bastard for even asking him to write about it. Nothing happened! His parents went to Miami Beach to rekindle their marriage for the hundredth time and left Steve at home alone. He tried to throw a party but almost got busted by the cops with a fake ID at the Pick n’ Save and Tommy’s brother wouldn’t give them any weed to supplement what would’ve been a pretty dry party. He cancelled the party after that and sat at home alone. Nothing much to tell about and definitely wouldn’t fill a page, even if he used the longest words he knew.

Steve stood from his desk, looking through his shelf till he found the heavy yellow pages he’d put on the bottom of his shelf to weigh the sucker down so it wouldn’t fall over as fast. He flipped it open, searching through the numbers till he found what he was looking for, lifting the receiver off its hook again.

Across the street, you were sprawled out on your rose printed bedspread, your head in your hands with Samantha sat on your desk chair, laughing at your pain. “You know it’s not that bad, right? You could’ve gotten stuck with someone way worse.” She said, mindlessly digging through the black jewellery box sat dusty in the corner of your desk. Your mother had sent it from Spain and had filled it with different things she found across Europe. You didn’t care much for the stuff yourself but you kept it on your desk to show that you used it, not that she was ever home to seemed to notice.

Your bedroom was clean and stark white. It used to be pink, to match the rest of your white iron rod and pink padded furniture. You didn’t like the pink that much, and you didn’t adore the white, but you could hide it behind the art you tacked to the wall. Every portrait, still life, and landscape painting you’d been proud of hung proudly in your home gallery. You’d done recreations of your favourite album covers, and splatter art with balloons, and a few charcoal drawings of your grandparents and your father. You’d painted clouds and stars on your ceiling when you were in middle school, and while they had a lot of room for improvement, you left them above your head as a comfort to you. Your father had helped you scrape the popcorn ceiling down flat and helped paint the ceiling sky blue. It was your last project together.

“Oh yeah totally…” you said through your hands, refusing to look at her, focusing instead on the yellow sun spots floating under your eyelids.

“I mean, you could’ve gotten stuck with Tracy Lords again, she’s in that class.” Samantha replied easily, pulling out a green sea glass bangle from the top drawer, running her fingers over the red velvet interior of the box. Tracy Lords was a menace to productivity, at least she was according to Samantha. They had issues, which meant that you did too by association, but she’d done nothing to you except glare and pop her gum at you.

“At least she does her work!” you sat up, letting your feet dangle over your bed. “I don’t think he’s ever done his work on time, he’s always late with stuff!”

“That’s not your problem; as long as you do your work then Lawrence won’t care.” She flashed the bangle in front of your face “You should wear this more it’s nice.”

You shrugged “You can have it if you want.” You didn’t really care about what your mother sent you, it didn’t change the fact that she didn’t care enough about you to be home for more than a month out of the year. Besides, where on earth were you supposed to wear any of it? Your mother loved to spend your father’s riches on random, useless crap and you hated the idea of showing off the money your father died for. It wasn’t anything to brag about.

“Nah, not my style, it won’t match any of my stuff.” She put the bracelet back, closing the box with a metallic thump. “But anyway, you’ll be fine. Steve’s completely harmless.” You weren’t exactly sure if you believed her.

The phone on your desk blared loudly. You begrudgingly jumped off the bed, pulling it off the hook. Your grandmother was still at the hair salon and if you didn’t answer, one of her little friends from the old folk’s home might think that she died again.

“Hello?” you asked, motioning for Samantha to move over a bit, closing your white curtains closed again, your eyes scanning the streets with a bored expression.

“Hey is this Y/N?” Steve asked cautiously. He couldn’t quite remember your voice but he had double checked your last name in the year book and the phone book.

“Yeah, who is this?” dread filled your stomach the second he spoke, you were hoping against hope that it wasn’t Steve. You could see him pacing his window from across the street.

“Hey it’s Steve from English?” Fucking hell. You wanted to slam the damn receiver onto its hook. But if you did that, Samantha would think that you were crazy and you didn’t want to seem like such a baby.

“Oh hey what’s up?” you asked cautiously. Samantha was pulling at your sleeve, mouthing ‘Who is it?’ at you. You pulled your arm away, pushing her chair away from you with your foot.

“Oh nothing much, I was just wondering how your paper’s going?” Steve didn’t really know why he called you, he wasn’t certain that you’d even help him if he asked. He hardly knew you, he couldn’t name two things about you. But you seemed smart, you could be of some help if he had the balls to ask for it.

“Oh um…it’s fine. How’s yours going?” your hand came to the back of your neck, rubbing it awkwardly. You wanted to run away, to utterly disappear into another dimension. You didn’t like strangers, especially the whole small talk part. You didn’t feel like you had anything interesting to say about yourself and you hated silence. Your mind just didn’t come up with questions to ask.

Steve’s face burned. He couldn’t admit that he was stupid now; he was hoping that he wasn’t the only idiot in the class. “Oh um it’s good! I’m almost done.” He said, mentally cursing himself for saying that he was anywhere near finished.

“Oh cool. Do-do you want to switch them off tomorrow?” Now you had no idea what this phone call was even about. In the back of your mind, you assumed that he just had a question about the essay, but now you had nothing to grab onto.

“Yeah sure, that works for me.” He said, looking to his empty paper.  He was so totally screwed now. He couldn’t admit that he was an idiot to you, not when you already had everything so clearly understood. You spoke so confidently, it made him feel small and pointless.

“Okay…I’ll see you in class then.” You said. Steve bid an awkward goodbye and you both hung up unsure what the hell had just happened.

Samantha was on her feet, jumping on your mattress “Did Steve Harrington just call you?!?” she cried, following it was it a giddy scream. You hushed her, rolling your eyes.

“It’s nothing to freak out about, you weirdo!” you countered, turning to face her fully with a sullen expression. Your heart was still pounding hard in your chest, adrenalin pumping through your veins.

Samantha landed on her knees, looking up at you incredulously “What? He’s cool! That’s cool! Boys never call you!”

“Way to rub that one in.” you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. Talking to people wasn’t your strong suit, and while for the most part you were okay with not having many friends, you lack of experience with relationships made you very insecure. “You crushed one of your spikes on my ceiling.”

Samantha reached up and touched each individual black spike with the tips of her finger, finding the dented one at the top of her head. “It’s true! God, I’ve got more guys calling me and I’m a lesbian.” She lowered her voice at the mention of her sexuality. You both knew that your grandparents wouldn’t be kind to her if they knew, their homophobia a mark of their small mindedness.

“Yeah, well, the guys at this school are all idiots.” You looked back to your paper, pulling your red pen out from behind your ear and crossing out a word on your essay.

“You didn’t think Jonathan Byers was an idiot.” Samantha replied. You cheeks flashed cherry red. It wasn’t fair of her to even mention him. He was a dickhead and Samantha knew it.

“Yeah, well now I know that he’s just as big of an idiot as everyone else is.” You muttered, pulling your desk chair over and taking a seat once again.  You didn’t have the time for stupid boys, anyways. You had work to do.

[artificial-ascension]

Wammys Week Day 5: ON TIME FINALLLYYYY!!!!

So here’s a story about Matt and Mello being cool detectives in the underground, some hints at some NSFW things but nothing graphic, just saying that stuff happened. It’s kinda long.

Mello stormed into his apartment and kicked a wall as hard as he could, breaking it. “Who was it today Mels?” Matt asked, not looking away from his screen.

“Fucking Jacob Flint, the bastard keeps fucking us over!” Mello said, running his hands through his hair.

“Oh shit, what’d he do today?” 

“The fucking bastard decided to cut his shipment to AK, he delayed it for TWO WEEKS, how the hell am I supposed to get bullets for The Exorcist when he doesn't fucking cooperate or do normal business practices? I swear it’s literally only me this has been happening too.” Mello said, grabbing a can of pink lemonade from the fridge, “I’m going to have to use my regular gun now…” He cracked it open and took a sip, “Also, we have a gathering coming up.” 

“Oh, we do? Where?” Matt asked.

“Prince’s Villa, up on the cliff, you know, the one.” Mello said sitting on the couch and taking a bite of chocolate.

“Oh, I love Prince’s gatherings! His wife, Carmela, right? Yeah, she gives me candy and calls me handsome.” 

“Yeah, but I hear Dante and Jess have beef again so everyone’s in an uproar, so I might have a new case soon.”

“Anyone's game I guess.” Matt said. He always said that Mello would have a case soon but didn’t know who would be hiring him.

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

Matt and Mello were driving to work the following morning, on their usual route to stop at Dunkin’ Doughnuts. They said hi to all their usual friends, some kids who liked to play online with Matt, an old man that liked to talk about guns with Mello, a girl that was friends with B, ECT. The two popped into the packed restaurant, one of the workers and a few regulars said hi to them. They ordered and got their food, sat down at a table and watched the news. Nothing new, just some murders, Mello chucked at most of them, he knew the culprits of most, some Jack the Ripper fan boy who used the alias Jack, it was obvious just by looking. They were eating when an old friend came in and tapped them on the shoulder, “You hear the news?”

“Hey, Chase, long time no see, what’s up?” Mello said.

“Couple of Flint’s guys got killed the other day.” Chase said, pulling up a chair.

“Is that why the bastard didn’t give AK our bullet shipment?” Mello.

“I don’t know. Hey I thought it was because of that that they died.He’s been fucking you guys over al ot hasn’t he?” 

“I know right? It started before the feud we just had, fucker might be turning in me or something. It’s bullshit, I just want to use my gun.” Mello said.

“Tch, yeah, tell Ross I said hi by the way, I got places to be, I’ll catch you later crow boy.” Chase walked out the door and sped off in his car.

Mello sighed, he hoped he wouldn’t have to investigate this, it might end up with him in Jess’ part of town, god was that guy an ass.

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

He and Matt were chilling in the hideout, he was honestly waiting for III Rat to come in and tell him he had a client, but nothing happened. Pretty average day really. Not to say they didn’t discuss the murders. Mello had a pretty good hunch as to what happened. Jess and Dante got mad at each other, Jess goes and kills guys for one of Dante’s biggest contributors to her literal black market, Dante gets mad customers and drama and there goes her business again. That was usually the case when this happened. Not to say Mello didn’t have to investigate, and he really hated Jess.

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

The following day, Mello and Matt went through their routine, but when they got to base, they had a surprise guest. Prince. 

“Oh, well hey Prince, what brings you here?” Mello asked

“Mello, so glad to see you, there’s an issue I’d like to talk about with you.” Prince said. Price was an elderly man, very kind and respected in the underground, he didn’t have any enemies, not sense his enemies went and started a feud that sent all of the underground spiraling into madness that is, so Mello was unsure of what the issue could be here.

Mello sat down, “What is it?”

“Well, you see, I asked Jacob Flint to give me some bullets if I helped him with trafficking some special bullets.” Mello perked up, “But after words some of his men were killed.”

“I was aware. If you’re asking who did that, I suspected Jess.” Mello said.

“No, Jess and Queeny were out of town that day and his other lackey, I can’t remember his name, was out slaughtering prostitutes again, but I don’t need you to investigate there, that’s none of my business.” Prince said, “It’s about the other murder.”

Mello tilted his head, “There was another?” He asked.

Prince looked shocked for a second, “Yes… there was another murder. A friend of mine who was supposed to be meeting with Vince was poisoned.”

“Poisoned? Who was he?” Mello tilted his head.

“He was a small time guy, did deals and acted as a stand in for big bosses. He was pretty unknown, he wasn’t even from LA. So he wouldn’t have any enemies here.” Prince said.

“So if I’m following this right, you and Vince were having a meeting but rather than come yourself you sent a man with no enemies here to deal for you but the day before this deal he was killed? And with poison no less? Can I have details about his death, where and when?” Mello asked.

“He was at his hotel, having a drink, someone must have poisoned it I assume.” Prince said. “And I was wondering if you could find out who did it.”

“Poison… that almost always means assassination… but by who…” Mello was thinking hard about this. “I wonder… maybe someone had a grudge against Vince? That’s likely… I’ll have to investigate more…” Mello stood up and grabbed his coat. “I’ll have it done by the gathering this Saturday.” 

“Thank you Mello… will your friend be coming too?” Prince asked.

“Who, Matt, yes of course, he loves your gatherings, Carmela gives him candy and food is his only reason to leave the house.” Mello laughed along with Prince. Then left to join Matt in the car. 

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

Mello and Matt were parked in a clearing overlooking LA. The place was secluded and they couldn’t be seen or heard. From their place Matt, being incredibly far sighted, could see Prince’s Vila a few miles away. Nothing looked out of the ordinary.

Matt put his goggles back on and turned to Mello, “Mello, why are we up here? I thought we were gonna have some fun… not sit around looking at some old man’s summer house.” Matt wined.

“Matt, what do Vince and Jacob Flint sell?” Mello asked.

“Vince sells explosives and Flint sells bullets. Why?”

“Why would Prince be buying from Vince, and at a time like this? We just had a feud, this is a time of peace? It doesn't make sense for him to need explosives like that, bullets I can understand, we’re all running low, but explosives? No, it doesn't.”

“Huh.” Matt leaned against the car and lit a cigarette, “That is weird, and thanks to our feud, Prince got rid of all his enemies, why bullets? And why would Flint be asking Prince to help him? He’s had no issue before getting his stuff out. There’s no reason for the delay unless…” Matt paused.

“What is it Matty?” 

“Why would he just… delay a shipment like that? Especially to AK? No one delays shipments to AK without a reason, and even if Flint has a habit of putting off shipping for a day or two, two weeks has to be a record. I think the delay was on purpose and was the work of Prince.” 

“What!?! That doesn't make any sense!” Mello said.

“No, hear me out, the main contenders in the last feud will be at this gathering, and in the last feud, Prince nearly got whipped out and we did nothing until his enemies got on our bad side. What if he’s planning on blowing the place up and this is his way of saying, “Guess you shouldn’t have been so selfish?”

Mello looked down for a bit. “What does that have to do with bullets?”

“We all saw your little display of power when you, in front of everyone, blew a man's head off with the Exorcist from 50 feet away. He’s afraid of power. That’s why he delayed the bullets.”

“But why would he… why tell me about that death then? That would tell me something is up?” 

“A distraction, if you’re working on a hard case then you won’t question any weird moves he makes. People here are more afraid of your mind than your gun. So what if he killed this guy to give you a tough case? Then killed some of Flint’s guys, to give you some stress. It adds up.”

“Yes, but It’s still shaky Matt,” Mello sighed “What’s today?

“Friday.” Matt said.

“We won’t be going to that gathering. Not until I get this straightened out.” Mello stood up and paced, talking out loud as he did, “His actions make no sense… why would he give me hints like that… why would he do anything… I wouldn’t have known any way… unless he thought… no what if he’s being sincere and I’m over thinking…

“Mello.” Matt said. Mello looked up, “Who’s his informant?” Matt asked.

“An Usaki Yakuza member, why?” Mello asked.

“All the Usaki kids went back to Japan for the week, remember? He doesn't have information, so he must have assumed you were aware of the murder because he doesn't know that our informant is also an Usaki. He was trying to throw you off by telling you the odd circumstances of and asking you to investigate the death of a man who was working an extremely shady job that he thought you were already suspicious of.”

“So he was trying to make me question a death and not his actions, but what he didn’t know, it that I didn’t know about the death or his actions at all.” Mello found himself marveling at Matt’s deductive ability. How he didn’t end up number one was beyond him.

“And I bet he caused the deaths of those other guys to cover up him trying to delay that shipment on purpose. Chase said it happened a few days ago right?” Matt said.

“But then why would he tell me Jess and his gang of serial killing dumb fucks left LA?”

“He does business in that part of town right? There’s a likelihood that he was trying to keep Jess and his gang's reputation and keep him on your good side.” Matt said.

Mello stood up. He needed to share he and Matt’s deductions with Ross. “Come on Matt, we’re heading back to base.”

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

Mello stormed in, “ROSS! We made a discovery!”

Ross looked up at him, “What is it?”

“I think Prince is planning on killing us at his gathering.”

“What! Where did you go off thinking that?” Ross asked him.

Mello explained his thinking to Ross and the gang. By the end, Ross was pretty convinced, Mello was never wrong before after all. Mello left out the bit where Matt had come up with the theory. Which may sound rude, but to almost everyone, Matt is just an assistant that does Mello’s bidding and is very replaceable, and not a good portion of the skill and intelligence out of the two of them. It was a protective measure, making it look like Matt is just a replaceable accessory with no value so that no one would try to hurt him to get to Mello. And Matt was ok with that, he didn’t really care.

“So should I tell everyone else or…?” Ross asked.

“Sounds like the best course of action, either way, I’m not going.” Mello said.

“And if you’re wrong?”

“I’m never wrong.”

“Ok then Mello…”

Ross told Mello’s theory to everyone he could think of, and made sure the rumor spread like wildfire, even getting some confirmation from Vince saying that Prince had purchased a large amount of explosives. When the day came, what do you know, the dumb fucks that didn’t listen to Mello’s theory got blown to bits, he was right yet again. 

Mello and Matt sat up on their little spot, chilling on the hood of Matt’s car, shirtless, having a couple's moment and watching a Prince’s villa blow up. Matt was smoking a cigarette. Mello was laying up against Matt’s left side, laying on his chest with his hand feeling the muscles in Matt’s right arm. 

“Matty, why do some people never listen.”

Matt put his arm around Mello, “Don’t know Mels.” 

Mello sighed and kissed Matt on the forehead, “Another case solved by M&M…”

“Mello, can we have some fun?” Matt gave him puppy dog eyes this time.

“Fine, since you’re so fucking cute…” 

And so they fucked. The end. No moral. Nothing at all. Just Matt and Mello doing stuff and being cool detective boyfriends.

[biohazard-inevitable]

Red Exit

A Roadrat fanfic + D.Va that was inspured by the two Junkers and a D.VA short as well as a rp I did with @emile-hides and @aripan12 !The comic link can be found on Emile’s site along with his fanfic with a similar concept that also ispired this fic! I kind of left the ending a bit ambiguous and mainly focused in on the relationship Junkrat and Roadhog had. Hope you enjoy!

“Roadie! Oi! Roadie!” Junkrat’s nasally voice broke out into Roadhog’s ear as he slept in. Roadhog gruffed out a huff as he sat up and glared down at his small companion.

“What?” He asked, standing up a little.

“Listen do ya know where tha’ bloody tape went? I need it for a project.” Junkrat said, then proceeded to follow Roadhog as he silently walked over to a stash of junk and pulled out a fat roll of duct tape from it, throwing it unceremoniously at Junkrat. Junkrat caught it with a little bit of a fumble as he giggled a bit. “Thanks mate!”

Roadhog watched as his companion scuttled back outside to his workshop like the rat he was. He shrugged and sighed a bit as he prepared lunch for Jamison, knowing the idiot probably hadn’t bothered to feed himself. Soon after making a sandwich for the bastard, Roadhog lumbered out to the workshop where he found Junkrat fully hyper focused on whatever the fuck he was building.

“Rat.” He growled out, snapping the rodent of a man out of his trance as he threw the sandwhich onto the table. “Eat.”

“Ah cheers mate.” Junkrat said, grabbing the sandwich and swiftly taking a bite out of it. “Nearly forgot!” A titteribg laugh followed this comment and Roadhog rolled his eyes underneath his mask. Of course he forgot.

“I’m goin into town.” Roadhog said as he turned and began walking out of the workshop.

“Oh ye are? Lemme come with!” Junkrat said, beginning to trail behind his bodyguard. “I need some things, scrap mostly.” Junkrat then let out a squeak as he was grabbed by his tire and promptly shoved into a sitting position on his couch.

“Stay.” Roadhog snarled from underneath his mask before finally making his leave. Junkrat crossed his arms and pouted.

“Big lug cant tell me what ta do.” He mumbled go himself. Junkrat wasn’t going to disobey his bodyguard however, he knew he’d never hear the end of it from the guy if he did so he continued to work on his project.

As Roadhog approached the gates to Junkertown, a rather interesting sight caught his eye. A girl was sat outside the city of waste, pounding as hard as she could on the rusty metal doors.

“Please! Please let me in! I need help!” The girl wailed out pathetically.

She was an interesting one that was for sure. Decked out in a pink and blue outfit and with shiny hair that must have been freshly washed, she looked out of place here in the wasteland. Not that Roadhog could give to shits anyways, she was in the way. Swiftly and with a strong wrist-flicking movement, Roadhog’s hook flug out and wrapped harshly against the girl’s waist, pulling her in closer.

“Get outta the way.” Roadhog snarled out as he walked past her and up to the gates.

“Sir please!” The girl said boldly. “Just hear me out, okay?”

Roadhog turned to her and huffed, crossing his arms impatiently as he decided to hear her out.

“My name is Hana Song! I was a MEKA pilot over in South Korea. I was kidnapped and abandoned here and I need help finding a way home!” She was determined, that was for sure, but she was also rather naive to think a Junker would help her.

“What makes you think I’d help you?” Roadhog questioned, looking the skinny girl up and down.

“You Junkers like money, right? W-well back home I’ve got lots of it!” Hana said, the confidence in her voice slipping. Roadhog sighed and figured supplies could wait. They needed a boat.

“Follow me.” Roadhog huffed out as he began the short trek back to the shack.

As they approached the shack, Roadhog knocked on the side of the hole that was one of three entrances to Junkrat’s workshop.

“Well yer back early.” Junkrat said, getting up and hobbling over to Roadhog. “Wait a minute, who’s the random sheila? Don’t tell me yer bringin brothel girls back ta our place!”

“Shut up.” Roadhog snarled. “This is Hana. We’re taking her back to Korea.”

“Kor ee ha?” Junkrat voiced out, saying it wrong several times. “Where’s that? Is it near Sydney or that near wherever Brisbane is?”

“Shut it.” Roadhog snarled out a second time. “I have a buddy that owes me a solid. He can get us a boat and then we can-“ Roadhog could barely say anything else as he was immediately cut off by Junkrat.

“Wait wait wait, a boat? Alright first off, since when do you have a buddy that owes ye a solid? Secondly, are we really jus up an leavin? What about our revenge on the queen? What about our agreement? We just gonna lug that with us?” Although Junkrat brought up some valid points, Roadhog could care less.

“Shut up or I’ll leave you here alone.” Roadhog hissed out. An empty threat, but definitely one that Junkrat wouldn’t try to test. At least, that’s what Roadhog hoped.

“Foine then.” Junkrat said, standing up straight to his full height. “You go getcher boat and I’ll just sit around then. Keep yer secrets an all that. Not like I get any say in the matter anyways!”

God he was such a child sometimes, but Junkrat’s tone felt different. There was a slight wobble to it, almost like the pathetic man was on the verge of tears. Roadhog tried to ignore it as he left.

“Watch the kid.” He huffed out briefly before he left back in the direction of Junkertown.

After Roadhog returned, they began formulating a proper plan and aranged their agreements with Hana regarding the money.

“This better be some good fuckin loot if we’re goin all this way outta our way fer ya.” Junkrat said sternly, eyeing Hana with suspicion as he leaned forward a bit. “And if you try ta juke us-“

“Rat that’s enough.” Roadhog growled, watching as the pyromaniac sank down into a slump on his seat. “The boat will be ready by early morning, before dawn. So let’s get some rest before we head out.”

The group nodded in agreement before setting to their spots to rest, Hana taking the upstairs couch and Junkrat going out to his workshop couch to rest as well. Roadhog did his best to try and sleep, but to no abail. Finally, he gave up in the middle of the night, opting to go outside to the cliff and gaze off of it and into the endless expanse of the wasteland.

“Couldn’t sleep either, huh Roadie?” Junkrat’s voice caught Roadhog off guard as the scrawny man came over beside him. “Mind if I join ya for a tick?”

Roadhog merely huffed in a way that said, “do whatever you’d like” and Junkrat promptly sat down beside him. For once, the two Junkers sat together in silence before Roadhog finally broke the silence.

“It’s my fault.”

“Huh? Whatcha mean Roadie?” Junkrat’s amber eyes looked up at Roadhog gently.

“All of this.” Roadhog gestured out to the wilderness in front of him. Junkrat let out a breif scoff at the gesture.

“Don’t flatter yerself! All this can’tve possible been all one man’s fault.”

“You don’t understand.” Roadhog sighed. “You weren’t there. If only I hadn’t been in the ALF. If only I hadn’t caused the omnium to explode-“ A metalic hand rested on his thigh and cut him off.

“Mako. Listen to me. It ain’t yer bloody fault.” Junkrat’s tone was deeper, more serious. “If the omnium hadn’t exploded, a lotta things wouldn’t’ve happened mate.”

“I know. You would probably have become a child soldier, or maybe even have a chance at a happy life, a normal life. Not this bullshit.”

“Oh would you shut the fuck up already?” Junkrat sighed out. “I like this life if you’d ask me. Wot I meant was, if the omnium hadn’t exploded, I wouldn’t have found my love for bombs. More importantly,” Junkrat moved his hands up to the sides of Roadhog’s mask and stood up on a rock to look into the eye holes of his mask. “I wouldn’t have met you.”

“Jamison.” Roadhog gently grasped onto Junkrat’s hands, pulling them down and away from his mask. “Trust me, you would have loved a happier, normal life. A life without me in it.”

“Bullshit.” Junkrat rested his forehead on Roadhog’s, tears welling up in his eyes. “I wouldn’t change this life for anything else in the world.” Junkrat gently unclasped the pig mask and left it up to Roadhog to remove it if he wanted to, which he did.

“Why?” Roadhog asked as he took his mask off slowly, revealing his mutilated face.

“Because you fucking dumbass,” Junkrat sniffled a little bit and smiled softly at the sight of Roadhog’s face. “Because I love you.”

[meetthemidwest]

About Indiana, Kentucky, and Ohio playing video game, I have to know what they said during the subspace emissary gameplay. May we hear about what happened? Please and thank you, you fabulous person

This took so long and I’m so sorry but finals week happened and I had to study for apush! There are spoilers, but the game came out in 2008 so I’m not too concerned. I still put it under the cut just in case someone didn’t want it spoiled. I really hope tumblr doesn’t cut this, there’s a lot here.

Subspace Emissary is a two player story mode in Smash Bros Brawl, and since there are three of them, Indiana, Kentucky, and Ohio take turns. Indiana and Ohio play the first level.

Indiana: You know what? I kind of relate to Kirby.Kentucky: Please explain what the hell that means.Indiana: He inhales food and killed god.Ohio: Oh please, you haven’t killed god yet.Kentucky: Yet? YET??

After the whole fight with Mario and Kirby, there’s a part where the Halberd flies over the stadium and drops a bunch of shadow bugs.

Ohio: Those things look like the mold that was growing in my basement last year.Indiana: Glowing and purple?Kentucky: Delicious.Ohio: What the actual fuck Kentucky?Kentucky: No, you don’t understand, nature is delicious.Indiana: Oh really? I’ll be right back.She comes back in five minutes later with an armful of plants from Ohio’s backyard.Kentucky: *picks up a leaf* There’s a spider on this one.Indiana: Eat it.Ohio: DON’T EAT IT!Kentucky: Aw, it fell.Ohio: *jumps from his chair to the table* Fucking kill it already!Indiana promptly throws it at him and he screams like a girl. The video cuts there. It comes back to Indiana and Ohio arguing over who to save in the first boss battle.

Indiana: Zelda’s twenty times better than Peach you dumbass!Ohio: Peach is the original Nintendo princess! You respect the originals or I’ll put you in the goddamn dirt!Kentucky: You just got a game over.Indiana: No one asked for your input Bill Monroe!Kentucky: How the hell do you know who that is?The video devolves into screaming. It cuts to Kentucky and Ohio playing while Indiana eats a pot of Kraft macaroni and cheese. They’ve saved Peach and moved on.

Kentucky: Hey, it’s Pit from Kid Icarus on the NES!Indiana: Fucking nerd!Ohio: Nice redesign.Kentucky: Yeah, well, if we aren’t going to get Geno, it’s nice that an obscure Nintendo game is getting some love.Ohio: *looks directly into the camera* Localize Mother 3 you cowards.Kentucky: PLAYER TWO CAN TELEPORT HELL YES YOU’RE CARRYING THE TEAM OHIO!

Indiana: DOnkEy KoNG!Kentucky: Did Diddy Kong always have guns or is that a new thing?Ohio, drinking tea in the background: Neither of you have ever played Donkey Kong Country and it shows.Kentucky: Oh god, Danky Kang just sacrificed himself for his son!Indiana: Wish that was the relationship I had with Quebec but he just calls me his bastard daughter and I call him my asshole father.Kentucky: Oof.

Ohio: Oh shit, Indi, get your xylophone, we’ve got a pokemon!Indiana: *starts playing the original pokemon battle theme on the xylophone while Kentucky fights Rayquaza but dies because he’s laughing too hard.*

Indiana: That feeling when you’re kidnapped by a small primate in a baseball cap.Ohio: No, that can happen. Have you ever been to the zoo?Kentucky: Are you okay?Ohio: *voice crack* no.

*Lucas and Porky appear*Ohio, ripping the controller out of Kentucky’s hands: YOU LEAVE MY BABY ALONE YOU CAPITALIST FUCK!Indiana: Oh shit, he’s crying!Kentucky: And I’m the nerd?Indiana: Shut up nerd, Mother 3 was hard on him.

*Ness appears*Indiana: SNES is just a word scramble of Ness.Kentucky: Mother 3 confirmed?Ohio: NOOO NESS JUST GOT FUCKING KILLED BY WARIO!Indiana: Weak.

*Pokemon Trainer appears*Kentucky: ASH KETCHUM???Indiana: You’re so stupid. It’s Red, obviously.Ohio: Red and Ash Ketchum’s secret love child.Indiana: *Gets up* I quit.

*Battlefield Fortress*Ohio: You know what this looks like?Kentucky: Oh god please no.Indiana: *pulls out Kentucky’s xylophone* Ready when you are.Kentucky: Indiana, if you value our friendship, please don’t do this.Indiana: We’re not friends though.*Marth is introduced. Indiana starts playing Together We Ride on the xylophone. Ohio joins in on a green plastic kazoo. Kentucky slams his face into the table and gets a nosebleed.*

Indiana: Hey it’s Spanish Batman from Kirby Right Back At Ya!Ohio: Never say those words in front of me again.

*Ike appears*Kentucky: Please don’t-Indiana and Ohio: *Playing the recruitment theme With Us on their instruments.*Kentucky: *looks into the camera like Jim on The Office*

Kentucky: Luigi is my spirit animal because he’s a coward with a heart of gold, like me.Indiana: You’re a coward, but I know you had your heart surgically removed in 1847 so don’t even try that bullshit with me.Ohio: He had a heart before 1847? Damn. See, I relate more to King Dedede because he’s a king and his relationship with Kirby reminds me of Michigan and I.Indiana: Yeah, that sounds about right.Ohio: I don’t like the implications there.

*Link appears*Indiana, shoving Ohio and Kentucky out of the way and wearing a Legend of Zelda hoodie: Move bitches, it’s my time to shine.Ohio: Oh thank god Yoshi’s here because I’m not playing as Link. Kentucky, doing a scarily accurate impression of Yoshi: YOSHI!Indiana: What the FUCK Kentucky???Kentucky, coughing: If I do that for too long I lose my voice.Indiana: Then don’t do it!

*There are some enemies that I distinctly remember in this part that scared the hell out of me, and they’re called Puppits.*Ohio: Oh god, oh fuck, what are these things?Indiana: Kill it!Ohio: *dies* SHIT!Kentucky, eating gummy bears out of a paper bag: Why are y’all so bad at this? It’s just an enemy.Indiana: *throws her controller at Kentucky and hits him in the forehead.*

*The cutscene with the box*Indiana: Snake? SNAKE?? SNAAAAAAAAAAKE!!!!Kentucky: SPOILERS!

*Zero-Suit Samus*Indiana: I wish that were me.Ohio: Why? She’s not that much prettier than you.Indiana: Space guns.Kentucky: Of course.Indiana: Also I think a lot of girls would be into me if I had that ass.Ohio: There it is.

*Pikachu*Ohio: Did you guys know that this is how we powered the first rocket to the moon?Kentucky: Electricity rat.Indiana: Thomas Edison used Pikachu to power America, your history books have been lying to you.Ohio: We’re going to get killed by the government, aren’t we?Kentucky: Yeah, but not for this.

*The battle against Subspace Peach*Indiana: Mario’s going to be so pissed.Kentucky: Yeah, but Yoshi’s Mario’s lifelong friend, so surely everything will be a-okay!*Mario battle ensues*Ohio: Love blinds all.Indiana: Stop trying to sound wise, I literally watched you burn your tongue on your coffee and throw it into a wall.Ohio: You know what Indiana? Fuck you.

Indiana: Kirby Kirby Kirby that’s the name you should know!Kentucky: Kirby Kirby Kirby he’s the star of the show!*Both look at Ohio*Ohio, obviously disappointed in life: He’s more than you think, he’s got maximum pink.Indiana and Kentucky: Kirby Kirby Kirby’s the one!

Indiana: Ew it’s Ganondorf.Kentucky: Wait, I thought he was a pig?Ohio: Well Kentucky, people can be pigs without looking like them, like New York.Kentucky: No, wasn’t he literally a pig?Indiana: That was Ganon.Kentucky: They’re… they’re the same thing?

*Wario battle*Ohio: IS LUCAS DOING THE ARTHUR MEME?Indiana: HOLY SHIT HE IS!Kentucky: MOTHER 3 CONFIRMED!*they all start screaming incoherently. The video cuts to them actually fighting Wario. Ohio is Lucas, Kentucky is the Pokemon Trainer.*Ohio: My boy Lucas has seen some shit.Kentucky: Your boy Kentucky has also seen some shit, how about a little love over here?Ohio: No.Kentucky: Thanks.

*Bowser’s army attacks the castle Dedede is in.*Indiana: Oh my goodness he’s Dedede-dead!Ohio: I’m going to sew your lips together while you sleep.

*Bowser gets away with Peach’s trophy*Kentucky: This is so sad, Indiana play Ave Maria.Indiana: *plays Ave Maria on the kazoo*

Kentucky: I love how Ike, the youngest and most impulsive, jumps right off a cliff while both Marth and Meta Knight reach out to stop him.Ohio: Me with my bastard siblings.Indiana: Let me guess, Wisconsin’s Ike, Michigan’s Meta Knight, and you’re Marth?Ohio: No, because I don’t join them in their bullshit.Indiana: Oh? Then what do you call the time the three of you tied Illinois to a tree and left him there for a week?Ohio: It’s called knocking the wealthy down a few pegs.Kentucky: Guys, this was an appreciation of Fire Emblem characters and nothing more.

*Diddy Kong trophy*Indiana: PeRSonALLy I PrEFer ThE AiR!Kentucky: OH! GRAB THE FAN! *they proceed to get the giant Subspace Diddy Kong to 500% and launch him off the screen.*Ohio: The monkey’s kidnapping a bird.Indiana: I saw that happen in Florida once.

*Ridley battle*Kentucky: HE’S TOO BIG FOR SMASH BROS!*Kentucky then plays the Ridley theme on the xylophone while Ohio attempts to crawl out a window and Indiana screams*

*Olimar and Captain Falcon*Kentucky in the background playing Pikmin music on the xylophone: Isn’t this nice? Pikmin was one of the best games I ever played.*West Virginia kicks down the door and plays the F-Zero theme on an electric guitar*Kentucky: Get the hell out!West Virginia: While y’all were sitting in here playing video games I got arrested for tax fraud and broke out on my own.Indiana: Amateur. What’s your point kid?West Virginia: Get on my level. Get hobbies for god’s sake. You’re going to be killed one day, you gotta live in the moment.Ohio: I die when I decide, you little rat faced bastard. There’s a cupcake in the fridge, take it and get out.West Virginia: Alright, I’m going to elope with Mothman, see y’all later.

Indiana: DOnkEy KoNG!!!!Kentucky: Aw heck, I died.

*Ice Climbers*Ohio: That jumping noise definitely isn’t going to get annoying in the next few minutes.Kentucky: *slowly mutes the tv*Indiana: You guys are really dumb sometimes. You know that, right?

*the two groups meet up*Indiana: The gang’s all here!Ohio: If you play as Link again I’m going to suffocate you on camera.Indiana: With what?Kentucky: His Ohio State mascot body pillow.Indiana: What the fuck.Ohio: You’re next, Kentucky.

*Snake*Kentucky: Sometimes I just want to hide in a box while my problems run around without me.Indiana: Shame problems are like Lucario and can see right through your hiding place.Ohio: Guys, I dropped a hot pocket into the hole in the wall and I can’t get it out.

*Sheik and Peach*Indiana: I’m getting some strong Peach loves her strong girlfriend vibes from this.Kentucky: I’d love my strong girlfriend too if I had one.Ohio: No living organism would put up with you for more than a week.Indiana: YO PEACH IS SUCH A BADASS!Ohio: SEE???Indiana: Zelda’s still better though.Kentucky: Fox McCloud’s going down.Indiana: Do a barrel roll!Ohio: Shit, I want tea.Kentucky: Then make some!Ohio: Okay! Jeez, don’t yell at me.

Indiana: Where did Mr. Game and Watch even come from?Ohio: Hell.Kentucky: Actually, there’s a series of handheld games-Indiana: Shut up nerd!

*Subspace bomb factory*Indiana: American weapons storage.*the entire factory blows up*Kentucky:… American weapons storage.Ohio: It’s us when we try to get together for holidays.

Ohio: Kirby rides in on a fucking dragon to save the day!Indiana: Sakurai showing clear favoritism for his children.Kentucky: Virginia made West a pepperoni roll once and when I asked for one she told me that I could starve.Ohio: GUYS IT WASN’T MASTER HAND IT’S THIS ASSHOLE OLD MAN LOOKING GUY AND BOWSER’S DEAD STOP HAVING FEELINGS AND GET YOUR HEADS IN THE GAME!

*Everyone dies*Indiana: I want butterfly wings that kill people.Kentucky: Evolve and grow them.Indiana: Good idea.Ohio: LUCAS NOOOOOOO!

*Dedede, Ness, and Luigi**Ohio walks in dressed as King Dedede, Indiana’s dressed as Ness, and Kentucky is dressed as Luigi*Kentucky: I still think I should have done sexy Luigi, but whatever.Indiana: Ohio, say it.Ohio: I’m not going to say it, fuck off.Indiana: Say it.Ohio: No!Indiana: SAY IT.Ohio: I’m gonna clobber that there Kirby.Kentucky: That’s mama Luigi to you!Indiana: Fuck, Ness doesn’t have any funny lines. Ohio: Can we please play the game now?Indiana, clearly excited: OKEY

*Great Maze*Indiana: You’re going the wrong way!Ohio: You’re hogging the remote! Let Kentucky play!Kentucky: That’s the wrong door!*they start screeching at each other. Minnesota walks into the room about to say something, shakes his head, and leaves.*

*Tabuu fight*Kentucky: I’m vibing with this music.Ohio: Don’t try and sound young, we all know you’re old as fuck.Indiana: Ohio if you don’t stop dying I’m going to throw you out a window.Kentucky: SONIC SPEED! *proceeds to die* GOSH DARN IT!Indiana: WHY ARE YOU USING SONIC?Kentucky: HE WAS RIGHT THERE I HAD TO!*they die about twelve more times, but only one makes the final cut. At some point they beat the game*

Indiana: This was cute. I really liked the relationships in it.Ohio: Yeah, shame we’ll never get a wholesome and fulfilling story mode again, right guys?Kentucky: *plays the Smash Ultimate theme on the xylophone.*Indiana: I’ll go get my Switch.Ohio: You better.Indiana: I’ll hit you.Ohio: You’re in my house, that’s assault.*Indiana kicks Ohio out of his chair. The video cuts for the last time*

[amabiliaaa]

Of Devils and Angels Chapter 7

The Things I do to Piss you Off

word count: 1264

Previous

!!!! it’s out it’s out it’s out fucking finally lmao 

“I swear, if this pizza isn’t greater than the American Revolution, I’m gonna riot.” Sadja pulled the pizza oven and set it on the counter. “I ruined my nails for this.”

Kira rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. You only got some sauce under them. You’re fine, princess.”

“Whatever. So. Is your boredom cured, Your Highness?” asked Sadja in an obnoxious British accent.

In an even snottier accent, Kira curtseyed and said: “Quite. Thank you for your services, Lady Innocentes.”

“Of course, Queen Kira.”

“Now, if you would be so kind as to indulge in this delightful meal with me?”

Sadja bounced up and snatched two plates from the cupboard. “Oh, fuck, yes. My blood, sweat, tears, and demon magic went into this pizza. I’m not moving from this spot until we eat all of it.” She conjured up a pizza slicer and cut into it. “Two slices or three?”

“One, please.”

“Ugh. Boring.”

“Well, excuse me for not wanting to throw up by overeating.” Kira grabbed the plate from Sadja’s outstretched hand. “Thanks.”

“Cheers.” The two dinked their pizzas together and grinned. Before either could take a bite, a knock was heard at the door. “Ugh. Kira, did you invite someone over?”

“No. Did you?”

“I don’t think so?” She pulled out her phone and scrolled through it. “Nope. Nothing in here about inviting people to enjoy our pizza.”

Kira sighed and took a bite of her pizza. “You think it’s your ex again?”

“If it is— Ugh, I swear to you, if it is, I’m gonna hurl him off a cliff.” She looked at the door. “Yo! Libidine! We’re done. Over. Go away.”

A voice came from the other side of the door. “Sorry to disappoint, but Lusty isn’t here. You gonna open up or what?”

~✵~✵~✵~✵~✵~✵~✵~✵~✵~✵~✵ ~✵ ~✵~✵~✵~✵~✵~✵~✵~✵~✵~

Sadja dropped her pizza on the floor. “No. Is that..?”

Kira pinched the bridge of her nose and put the pizza down. “Yeah, I think it is.”

“No, it can’t be.”

“It totally is.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“D’you think that if we just, I dunno, not answer, he’ll go away?”

The voice laughed. “Nope!” The locked clicked, and the door opened.

Sadja ran a hand over her face. And picked up the other piece of pizza on her plate.“Oh, fuck me.”

Dominic winked at the demon. “Name a time and place, sweetie.”

Sadja sputtered. “You—I. Wh- ew. Don’t call me that.”

Kira put down her pizza. “What are you doing here? And how did you get in?”

“Can’t a guy visit his friends?” Dominic threw himself on the couch and sighed.

“We’re not friends. And get your feet off the couch.”

Dominic only nestled deeper into the cushions. “Since when?”

Kira walked to the living room and pushed his feet off the couch. “Since you decided to turn into a dick.”

“Whatever. So, what are you two lovely ladies doing here?”

“How did you get in?”

Dominic used his magic to summon the pizza Sadja dropped. A golden shimmer surrounded it, and it floated into his hand. “A magician never reveals his secrets.”

“Dominic.”

Dominic grinned and held up his hand. A ring of keys was looped around one of his fingers. “I got the keys to the castle, baby.”

Sadja dropped her pizza again. (it fell on the plate this time, much to Kira’s relief) “Are you kidding me? What the actual fuck. Bitch, this is the sixth time that we’ve changed our locks. How do you keep getting access to our apartment.”

Dominic merely pocketed his keys and took a bite out of the pizza. “I’m God. I can do whatever I want. Also, this pizza is shit.”

“Say that to my face, you egotistical bastard.”

“Ugh, you’re gonna make me move? But I’m so comfy.” He took another bite. “Ugh. Yep.” He sat up and looked Sadja dead in the eye. “This pizza is shit.”

Sadja’s eye twitched. “Ok. Nope. I’m done. Fuck this.” She stretched out her wings, and the pink Baphomet Pentagram materialized beneath her. “I’m leaving, and I’m taking my delicious pizza with me.” Grabbing the pizza tray, she glared at Dominic and flipped him off before she completely faded away from view.

~✵~✵~✵~✵~✵~✵~✵~✵~✵~✵~✵ ~✵ ~✵~✵~✵~✵~✵~✵~✵~✵~✵~

Kira sighed while Dominic cackled. “Alright, where’s Gabriel?” she asked.

Dominic scarfed down the rest of the pizza. “I don’t fucking know. I don’t fucking care. The bitch is probably crying in some library bathroom or something. Such a fucking wuss.”

“Dominic. You have a vocabulary. Use it. You don’t need to cuss in every sentence.”

“Such a wet blanket. Loosen up a little, will ya?”

“Do you...do you really not have anyone else you can bother?”

“Oh, I have tons. You guys were closer, though. Also, Sadja is so fun to rile up, no?”

“No.”

Dominic smirked. “Apage, Satanas. You gonna eat that pizza?”

Kira clenched her fist. “I live here; you can’t tell me to go away in my own home. And no. I’ve lost my appetite, thanks to you. Besides, didn’t you just say it was terrible?”

Dominic summoned the pizza off the plate and watched as it lazily floated to his waiting hand. “Oh. I lied. It’s not that  good, but I’d probably eat it again.” He took a bite and made a face. “Ew. It’s cold.” He held his hand over the (very clean and very white) carpet and dropped the pizza.

“Dominic!” Kira shot out her hand and just barely caught it with her magic before it hit the floor. “Alright, that’s it. Get out.”

“Aw, but I just got here!”

“You’ve overstayed your welcome. You weren’t even welcomed in the first place. You— Just— Anguis in herba.”

“You compare me to a snake? I’m offended. You know, in the Bible, a snake represents Satan. That’s you.”

“The Bible is complete bull, and you know it. Now get up, and get out. Please.”

“So polite. Because of that, I’ll leave. I’m bored again anyway. Peace.” He got up and stretched. Walking toward the door, he looked over his shoulder. “Tell Sadja that her hair looks stupid for me, ok? Thanks.”

Kira turned around and walked toward her bedroom. “I will not. Aeternum vale, Dominic Christus.”

Behind her, Dominic scoffed. “We both know that’s not true.” 

~✵~✵~✵~✵~✵~✵~✵~✵~✵~✵~✵ ~✵ ~✵~✵~✵~✵~✵~✵~✵~✵~✵~

Once she was in her room, she waited carefully until she heard the click of the door opening and closing before collapsing on her bed. Minutes later, Sadja walked in. “Kira?” she asked.

“In my room,” was the response. 

Sadja’s head poked in through the doorframe. “Hey. You ok?”

“I need a nap.”

“I felt that. Anyway, I brought you something.” Something jingled, and Kira looked up to see the demon grinning and holding up a ring of keys. The very same keys that Dominic had shown them earlier. Kira sat up. 

“Where did you get those?”

Sadja’s grin widened. “From his pockets.” Each word was soaked in smug satisfaction. “I got home a few minutes before he left. I heard he was still here, so I waited outside. Made myself invisible, followed him out for a few minutes so he wouldn’t suspect you or me, then I snagged ‘em. Surprised he didn’t notice me, honestly. I could’ve sworn he said something about my hair, though.”

Kira coughed. “Nothing. Where did you go?”

“Shopping with Serena, Aswang, and Lilith.”

“Lilith? Don’t you hate her?”

“Oh yeah. Total bitch. But she’s fake, and I’m fake, and it’s fun being fake together.”

Kira rolled her eyes. “You’re not fake towards me, right?”

Sadja shook her head fervently. “No. Never.”

“That’s good to hear. I’m...I’m glad.” Pink dusted Kira’s cheeks and Sadja smiled fondly.

“Good. Now...about that nap…”

Taglist:@extraisthmus @sergaku 

and i noticed that i  got a few new followers so if yall want to be added to the taglist, let me know! i’ll be more than happy to add you! ^^

Latin translations!  Aeternum vale - Farewell forever, Anguis in herba - A snake in the grass. A treacherous person, Apage, Satanas- Begone, Satan

um. hi. it’s been a while since i last updated, huh? 

long story short is that i just kept doubting my skills and i ended up spiraling into an out-of-control unhealthy thought process about my writing. i kept procrastinating, and i just lost all motivation, honestly. it’s not fun. i hate when it happens and it happens often. but it’s posted and i’m happy about it. i think i’m gonna give myself a limit of one chapter per month and just increase my update time from there. so. see you next month!

[youknowmymethods]

Content Creator Interview #12

Tissues at the ready, because, sniff sniff, this is the last post in the current series. And we’re ending with me, @ohaine, putting questions to one of my favourite people in the whole world, @likingthistoomuch, who answers questions about her secret squish, how culture and language influence her writing, and why her eyeball occasionally rolls under the bed.

If you’ve been in the Sherlolly corner of the fandom for any length of time at all you’ll already know that likingthistoomuch is funny, sweet and not afraid to say what she thinks. What you may not know is that she’s one of the kindest, wisest people that you’ll ever meet. She’s a beautiful person, a wonderful friend, a bit crazy, a bit sarcastic, and now, by public vote (well, I voted for it), an honorary Irish cailín dána. As if all of those things weren’t enough she’s a damn fine writer too. Want me to prove it? 

Molly looked surprised but followed his lead. They moved to the silent tune being played in his head, upping their tempo as the notes seemed to flow fast and with certainty until they reached a crescendo and slowly seemed to fall as leaves in autumn, leaving a wonderful silence in their wake.

“There’s no silence when I’m around you. It’s music. And its beautiful.”

The simplest symphony, one of her sixty two stories, is one of my all time favourites, and I was so happy to get the chance over Christmas 2018 to pick her brain about where these beautiful words come from.

OhAine: I’m always impressed by the gentle way you treat your words, and I’ve often wondered is that because English is a second language for you?

Likingthistoomuch: I am always surprised when reviewers say that because I honestly just blurt it all out. There is no deliberate attempt to make the words the way they are. And English, though it may seem like my second language, is in a way my first because my entire education has been in English. (I just may be more fluent in it than the local languages but that’s a discussion between my mum and me that you really don’t want to know.) The only real barriers are when it comes to the British way of putting words. Because we are so exposed to American TV, that’s the language that forms immediately in my mind. But it’s getting better, because nowadays it’s all British TV for me! (GoT is worldwide and based in Westeros so it’s not American ok!)

 OhAine:  Brit-picking you mean? Nothing will throw me out of a Sherlock story faster than reading something that just shouldn’t be there, so how do you get around it?  

 Likingthistoomuch: I (le gasp!!) ask people like you and Emma Lynch but mostly I just bulldoze ahead. (My muse lasts less than the winter here so I need to move it quickly.)

 OhAine: And is it that love of film/TV/stories that inspired you to write in the first place, or are you a life-long writer? What was the very first moment that you thought to yourself; I can do that?

 Likingthistoomuch: I would call myself the Accidental Writer (I can almost hear the play-writes scribbling that title down...royalties people!!!). I wanted to read a story with a certain story line, and the then regular prompt takers were all busy. @writingwife-83 was the one who suggested that I try writing the fic on my own, she said, “Why don’t you just give it a go!” And I did. The result, Moving with time, didn’t seem to be too bad considering. Of course I get the cringe moment when I read it now, but that’s what started the ball rolling!

 OhAine: This seems like a really apt moment to slip in a reader question submitted by @writingwife-83. She asked; How does writing inspiration tend to strike for you? Does it hit you out of the blue or does it come from something more external? 

Likingthistoomuch: It’s literally a hit from out of the blue! It can be a movie or a song or recollection of a scene, literally anything. That is exactly why my post-TFP took so long to finish, the story (Our love has a way about it) was just not getting through!! So I look at admiration when writers take on a prompt and expand it into stories. My mind’s inbox is full of Asks, waiting for the brain to acknowledge and work on it :).

 OhAine: When I looked at your sixty two stories as a body, it occurred to me that there are two types of stories that you excel at; Victorian!lock, and short scenes—

 Likingthistoomuch: Ooh thank you.

 OhAine: No, genuinely, no smoke blowing here LOL. I think you have a real affinity for Victorian Sherlock. So, how do you get into the mind set and what about that era particularly inspires you?

 Likingthistoomuch: The mind-set isn’t much of an imaginative journey. We Indians have a saying, "The English left India but left their bastard behind." This refers to the narrow minded, sexist mind-set that was highly followed during Victorian times, remnants of which we are still fighting to get rid of here. Not blaming it all on the English, we have been pretty inventive with our own original regressive thought process too. So for the social mind-set and fic setting, all I need is to look out the window. 

I love putting Molly and Sherlock in that era because on some front, both of them epitomise "not all heroes wear capes". She is trying to reach for opportunities that are denied to her just because of her gender and he is seen as the almost vulgar, rude and insensitive soul who is ready to judge people on their merits alone...(oh how dare he!!) It’s a personal favourite to put them in an era where they do struggle and fight but eventually it always work towards what they want, and of course, they get it via some unrelenting angst but hey what’s the fun if it’s all bubble gum. (It’s almost my inner romantic peeping out but don’t you dare tell anyone about it, I have a reputation to keep!)

 OhAine: I can kind of relate to that – and this is something I put to @hobbitsdoitbetter too, because she writes Victorian era Sherlolly so brilliantly as well – I often think of Molly in the Victorian works as being like Irish women of the last generation who took their small victories where they found them.

 Likingthistoomuch: True, unfortunately every geography and people has a similar story to tell. Things are changing but this change has yet to reach the grassroots levels.

 OhAine: We can’t talk about your Victorian!lock without mentioning With eyes shut tight, where you did a very interesting thing when you switched to John’s voice in a very ACD way. What inspired that? How did you find John’s voice?

Likingthistoomuch: I actually found John's character (and Martin's fabulous portrayal) in TAB to be very interesting. Here is a man who can see what’s correct, will support it but is also so short sighted that he doesn’t realise that in supporting the women's struggle elsewhere he is ignoring the struggle going on in his own home. So there was the empathy for Molly not getting her due treatment as Sherlock's wife balanced by the outrage at her wanting to follow her own heart. Martin's performance in TAB is my favourite of the special and it was fun to try and bring in his voice, the sarcasm battling the disbelief. I had great fun doing it :)

 OhAine: I have this theory that you have a secret squish on John, am I right?

 Likingthistoomuch: You mean crush? I absolutely adore the boots off Martin Freeman, his performance is exquisite. I know we all look in awe at Ben's work, but for me, performance wise Martin takes the cake.

As for John...you know Sherlock puts on a veil of indifference to hide that he feels so much. I think for John it’s the opposite. He thinks he feels a lot and understands it all, but he too is hiding the inner struggling man. That’s why the TLD exchange between these two, (S: Underneath all we may just be human. J:You too? S: No, you too) is so profound. Just as Sherlock found in John a partner, John did too. It’s just that Sherlock accepts that he needs John, John is too blind to understand that he needs Sherlock too. That is one man who has his emotions so cross wired and tangled, it’s a very interesting character. And the thing is I feel Sherlock understands that and hangs on to John, not looking at it as a weakness. John, if he ever introspects, will find his dependency on Sherlock as a weakness. It’s basically asking Sherlock to do something, which he himself would not apply. 

And Martin adds a different layer each time he plays him.

 OhAine: One of my favourites of yours is a short story (<1,000 words), New paths. There’s a very calm, meditative feeling to the story: could you tell me a bit about your inspiration?

 Likingthistoomuch: So, couple of years back we made a trip to England, and had visited Filey, near Scarborough in Yorkshire. After a long drive from London, we arrived and realised that there was a view of this cliff face from our cottage. And while my city bred, urban self gawked at the lovely site, the cloud thing happened and the hills actually turned pink. In that moment, it went all quiet and I literally felt the tiredness from my long journey seep away. And it’s only nature that can do that magic.

While writing New Paths, I wanted to see things from Molly's perspective. Do I feel she broke down and cried buckets and ate two tubs of ice cream? Maybe, but I don’t think so. I think she just felt tired and also at the same time, like a huge weight was off her back. And sometimes, what you need for your soul to just feel even a little better is a few moments away from humanity. Not necessarily to forget things, but more like to recharge your batteries and get the energy to deal with things in a better way. So I made her experience what I did that evening. I made her experience the sea, the beautiful colours that nature shows and just heal her tired heart a little. God knows she needed it.

 OhAine: Misty silhouettes is a unique story, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen one quite like it before. Can you tell me about how it came to you and what are the challenges of writing Sherlock and Molly through so many lives?

 Likingthistoomuch: Misty came about because of Mirrors, a short one I wrote on my phone, half asleep and trying to get rid of an ear (brain?) worm. Kiki had loved it and encouraged me to expand on it, which I attempted to do. I think I had just recently watched a historic Indian movie and was highly impressed with the battle scene, hence the opening sequence. I thought; why not work through time as well as geography, bringing these two closer and closer, like they showed in the short Sherlock episode before S3, where Anderson comments Sherlock is coming home? So they start in ancient India, and then slowly weave geographically as well as chronologically towards their current destination, London. 

The challenges were to keep the story along the same theme as Mirrors, so trying to find characters, stories and their ending as well as the transition into the next life was some work. In short, I feel I have exhausted my small quota of creative imagination where the story stands right now, on the cusp of the last chapter where Sherlock is now in current time. It is definitely NOT abandoned; I have at least formulated ten stories and discarded them all because after such a long journey, Molly and Sherlock deserve a good reunion. And I trust myself to write it one day. Because that right end WILL come, I am sure of it.

 OhAine: Have you found that end yet?

 Likingthistoomuch: I may have! I have just started on that path, praying I stay on it.

 OhAine: What does your proofreading and editing process look like?

 Likingthistoomuch: Going through the document three times, checking for typos. Posting the fic, finding those three escaped typos and correcting them. Finding typos the more times I read a story. Yes, that’s the process. Elegant, no?

 OhAine: Super elegant, LOL!!! You would rather do it yourself than press a beta into service? Or do you find working with someone else restrictive?

Likingthistoomuch: I think it may just be because I am such an impatient writer. I have loads and loads of ideas but putting them on paper takes a lot out of me. So once it’s there, I can’t wait to get it published and for you guys to see (and maybe get a few reviews too.)

I am learning. I do at times ask for help to oversee the plot and the work and it’s worth waiting.

OhAine: But you work without a beta most of the time… Is that a deliberate choice, or something that’s just evolved?

 Likingthistoomuch:  Actually, that’s just how it evolved. My first impression of a beta was someone who would do a read through and call out my typos and grammatical mistakes. Then it dawned that I could ask about the story line and if / how/ will it work. The advantage of working with someone is that you might get a better way of putting your story forward, get help when you are stuck. Or they’ll help you understand character’s motives and inspirations even more, which was a fantastic new experience for me. On the downside you could end up telling someone else's story.

 OhAine: I think that’s a great point; you can end up telling someone else’s story, and it sort of has me reflecting that I’ve done that when I was very new to writing. Has it ever happened – even in relation to reader input – to you?

 Likingthistoomuch: Actually no. But that’s also because almost 95% of my fics are one-shots. As for inspiring something new, only Kiki's advice at expanding Mirrors was an exception. The rest...? I am a free bird!!

  OhAine: I’ve seen it argued lately that sites like tumblr stifle creativity and can lead your writing in directions you wouldn’t have otherwise taken it. What’s your take on that?

 Likingthistoomuch: Oh good question! The social policing at times can inhibit your writing and introduce undue caution at best or a total change of direction of the story at worse. It’s something that every writer has to take a call on, and finally write a story that he or she wants to tell. Because, at least for me, I know when I have written something good, and maybe not many would like it. But it’s the story I want to tell, and if I am not able to do that, no matter how many accolades I get, there would always be a feeling of dissatisfaction bubbling beneath the surface. I may just not share my work next time, and that would even further piss me off :D So not a good cycle to get into. I would encourage writers to take pride in their creation and own it like a boss. Your words indeed are your baby!

 OhAine: Does that mean that social media has been a stimulator more than a damper of creativity for you?

 Likingthistoomuch: So far I have had a relationship with social media where I have been able to distance myself if there indeed is shit happening. Which, if you have been on tumblr long enough, you know is pretty frequent. I keep to my lane, and I expect you to do the same. So far it has been a stimulator, and the few moments where it could’ve been a dampener, I was able to remind myself that’s it’s all virtual and imaginary and I have a real life outside, and hence was able to ignore the shit.

I have a very simple mantra, you no like, you unfollow or block or ignore. I will survive, indeed thrive, in your absence....if I notice your absence in the first place.

 OhAine: The thing that puts me off social media is the combative purity culture that seems to be so prevalent now.

 Likingthistoomuch: *roll my eyes so hard am still looking for my right eyeball that rolled under the bed, the bugger* All I can say is, real life is tough as nails, Social Media should be a platform to release some steam, not to order or bully people around. Again, instead of telling people what to do, what to post it would be better if the Social Police (aka Staff) got their act together and BLOODY ADDRESSED THE PORN BOTS. (I got 5 new followers yesterday and no prizes for guess what they are.)

Also, as a blogger, it’s not MY responsibility to ensure that YOUR children and young people see clean content. There are tags and blocks meant for filtering NSFW stuff. I came to your free site because I thought I could post/follow the stuff I want. And people will always find a way to find 'blocked' content. It’s called Google.

 OhAine: And a few quick fire questions to wrap it up. Starting with: how do you find your titles? 

 Likingthistoomuch: Like literally throwing a net out there and hoping the words caught make sense. Sometimes it’s just *snap* and you have your title, sometimes it takes time. I always hope the story inspires the heading but that rarely happens. Except for my post TFP, Our love has a way about it. That was purely the after effect of finishing chapter 1 that I had been trying for months.

 OhAine: How do you gauge the success of a story? What’s the metric you live by?

Likingthistoomuch: Reviews! Comments! God, I love them. But honestly, sometimes it’s more about being happy myself and putting an honest effort on the paper. I feel the best when I know the job I have done is a good, genuine one, like for Our love has a way about it.  It’s a lovely feeling and very few things can replace that knowledge of a job well done.

OhAine: Do you find writing is an outlet for real life pressure?

 Likingthistoomuch: Not really. How can I say this, it adds a bit of colour? Like people who art! Writing makes me feel good, that I can do things that may not have a tangible benefit for anyone but it is a big achievement for me. And since not many know that I write, it’s a very personal feeling, a fight to the finish with myself. 

 I had a great time addressing all these questions, Áine. I am surprised that the answers aren’t one worded, as I half expected them to be. Caught me in a chatty moment I should say :) This has been a wonderful exercise, and dare I say, a wonderful initiative. Kudos to you for coming up with this. 

OhAine: Aww, thanks Gee, you’re such a sweetie :) It’s been great fun, but I’ll be glad to get Friday afternoons back to normal!!

So guys, that’s it for now. I just want to say a massive thank you to everyone who read, followed, re-blogged, liked, left comments, and supported this project, none of which would have been possible without the oh-so many lovely writers and interviewers who gave up their their time to participate, and who so kindly shared their fandom and writing experiences. Thank you all so, so much ♥

[writinghq]

“i do.”

for you, @00fabolous! we hope you enjoy!!!!!! it’s been such a joy writing this omg.

“Get on my back.”

“What?” you question, baffled.

Iwaizumi Hajime turns his head back to look up at you from where he crouched down. “Your foot cramped up,” he says more nonchalantly than he intended, and curses himself mentally for not being careful with his tone. “So, you can’t exactly walk,” he continues, adding in some worry to his voice. “I’ll carry you until we reach the end of the hiking trail and rest up there.”

Shifting your weight uncomfortably on one foot while raising the injured one slightly off the ground, you still stare down at him, hesitancy written all over your face. “We don’t have to. We can just go back -”

“We’re already close to the end anyway,” Hajime interrupts as he adjusts the backpack that he switched around to hang in front of him rather than on his back. “Might as well go for it.”

“But carrying me all the way up there?”

“We’ve already passed most obstacles and from the looks of what’s ahead, it doesn’t look too steep anymore, so, I’d say it won’t be too difficult. Besides,” he grins up at you. “I’m strong enough.”

“Alright, no need to show off,” you mutter, adjusting the backpack that hung on your shoulders as you limp closer to him, the injured foot dragging across the gravel. Stiff arms then wrap around his neck loosely before his own pair reaches back to cup his hands behind your thighs. 

“Hold on,” he says as he lifts you up from the ground abruptly, earning a small yelp from you.

“Geez, a little slower would’ve been great,” you grunted, tightening your arms on his neck enough to let Hajime choke a little.

“A little looser would be great too” he sputters out.

“Well, sorry, being carried like this in a rather steep area is giving me anxiety.” You relax your arms again.

Hajime sighs, “___, you trust me?”

A pause, then, “I do.”

“Then there’s nothing to worry about,” Hajime says before slowly hiking back up the trail. 

You both stay silent, his last sentence left hanging in the air. Hajime wouldn’t say he wasn't used to you not replying to him, but he wouldn’t say it didn’t bother him either. You both go to the same school and were very good friends for a good while until you suddenly distanced yourself from him. It was strange to see you always avoiding his gaze and going out of your way to steer clear from him in the hallways; it hurt, too, because he developed a small admiration for you back when you were still on talking terms. Why you were doing it still remains a mystery to him and it irritated him so much to the point that Oikawa noticed.

“I know about your little crush on ___, Iwa-chan.” he remembered Oikawa saying when they were alone in the boys’ locker room after club activities. “You’re quite obvious! Always looking her way and that look on your face when you do.”

Hajime glared at the captain, his face slightly heating up. “And? What’s your point?”

“And I see your pain when she ignores you!” Oikawa cried out before throwing an arm around Hajime’s shoulders. “Why don’t I set you up for a blind date, okay? Maybe another girl can help you get distracted, you know? Take your mind off ___!”

Knowing there was no way of rejecting his offer, Hajime agreed reluctantly. Then at the entrance of the hiking trail, the planned venue Oikawa picked, he saw you standing with the captain and conversing comfortably which made his heart ache. He approached the both of you with a mask of calm, an attempt to cover the nervousness he felt around you, and Oikawa, that scheming bastard, grinned a wild grin before revealing that you were each other’s blind date. “Some blind date,” Hajime whispers to himself angrily now as he continues to trudge up. “We already know each other, what’s the point of it.”

“What?” you ask, giving him a curious look

“Nothing,” he replies, slight irritation coating his words. “Just remind me to beat up Shittykawa when we get back.”

“Allow me to join in,” you grunt. “Why did he pick hiking of all things?”

“Something about long walks being romantic and the sunset up there being worthwhile.”

“What time is it now?”

“Late afternoon?”

You huff and rest your chin atop his shoulder lightly, “I hope it’s worth it.”

Hajime chuckles softly.

After a few more minutes of silent trudging, you both reach the summit. The sun was almost set with its golden rays casting out and tinting the billows of clouds hues of pink and red. There were other hikers there too—sitting down on the rocky ground by a cliff and that overlooked the grand horizon laying beyond. Hajime finds a vacant spot by a thick, flat rock and gently places you down. You carefully take a seat on the rock, spreading your legs out before letting out a sigh of ease. Hajime then kneels before your feet and takes a hold of the cramped one. 

“May I?” he asks almost hesitantly. You give him a small nod and he starts to stretch it out cautiously. “I can’t believe you got cramps when we didn’t go through much,” he says. “Is it because you’re still as lazy as ever?”

“Yeah, well, I’m not as athletic as you, sorry,” you retort. “And laziness is a hard thing to break, but I’ve been trying.”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn't know,” Hajime counters before pausing the stretching to look up at you, his expression turning somewhat grim. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

You blink at him, surprised. “Uh, you’ve noticed?”

“How could I not?” he bursts out, the hidden, built-up emotions pouring out, and you jump at the suddenness of it. “I used to always look forward to talking with you, but you wouldn’t even spare me a glance. It’s like you can’t stand me, but you seem pretty fine with Oikawa and it irritates me seeing that the one I like being so comfortable with everyone else but me. Do you hate me? Did I do something wrong? Please, jut tell me, I think I’m going to go insane!” Hajime was breathing hard now as you both stared at each other equally shocked by what just happened.

“Iwaizumi,” you breathe out. “Did you just say you like me?”

Hastily, Hajime stands to his feet and avoids your gaze to look to the side, hiding his reddening face. “So, what if I do? It’s just that you’re a great person…”

“And so, what if I like you back?” he hears you say. His head whirls back to you to find that your face, too, was turning into shades of pink as you lock eyes with him. You continue, “It’s just that you’re a great person too.”

“But all that ignoring - ?”

“Because feelings are confusing and overwhelming,” you admit, breaking his gaze to look at the setting sun before resting your hands on either side of you. “It’s hard to tell what you’re thinking so I was just worried that you didn’t feel the same. So, I avoided you because I didn’t want to go through the hurt.”

You both stay silent for a moment, trying to soak in all what had just happened and all that had been said. Hajime then takes a seat beside you, joining in as you both stare at the sun falling behind the horizon.

“___,” he says in a soft tone, breaking the silence. “You trust me?”

You turn to look at him, wonder written across your face. “I do.”

He places a hand atop yours gingerly, facing you once more with a small smile on his lips. “Then there’s nothing to worry about.”

[fr-blackiebelle]

The Sunrot Resurrections: Part III - The Chieftain and the Lord

First | Next | Back

@incalyscent, @tangelojack, @yuushanoah-fr, @serthis-archivist, @pinkangel725

Aramis thought that his granddaughter was strong for taking such a long time in dying.

Juarve had been in the Wyrmwound longer then Matisse who was baptized in it, and even longer then Damaris, who had walked through it to save a child. The time was reflected on her skin, red and raw as it was.

Great swaths of flesh corrupted black and purple and green stretched over her ribs, her hips. The pustules grew dreadfully large, and when they burst they leaked a yellow and red pus that drew flies. They all smelled infected to him.

But, to her credit, Juarve was silent. She did not moan or cry out, though tears flowed freely down her ruined face. Her nose was gone, leaving only a pair of mishapened black pits, as was her ears and eyes. Her antlers had melted down into stubs, like a spent candle. They both fell off at his touch.

Her skin, where the cysts hadn’t formed, was scorched and cracking. Great ravines of red streaked up and down it, tearing wider whenever she moved. Her hands had been eaten away, and Aramis could see the white of her bones and tendons in the little that remained. Her feet and wings were the same.

He had taken hold of her in the Wyrmwound, when she was thrown in as sacrifice, and pulled her out alongside himself.

He had died. He had died with smoke in his lungs and fire and traitors all around him.

But he was resurrected. His fur was the same as before, perhaps even healthier and not dull with malnutrition. He felt jittery. There was a light inside him, in his chest and belly, and Aramis could see the jagged shadows of his ribs when he looked down.

When he had crawled from the Eleven Hells, throwing his granddaughter down beside him, two ghosts from the past stood before him, both as dead as he. They had sunk to their knees and bowed their heads.

There was Mars, who had abandoned him when the fire broke loose. The fae looked the same as he did, though the light in his pale green eyes was jubilant and his back was a little more stooped.

Then there was Toril, who had been dead for decades. The pale guardian stood as strong as the day they met, proud and powerful. One of her eyes was red, and the other was light. Both her and his advisor wore armor, of a fine make, likely from the Ruins.

After they were through with bowing and pledging obedience, they rose and set to work on dressing Aramis in a armor of his own. The cuirass was fine ebony, inscribed with runes and filigree, with teeth of steelscale to give shape to the tops of his shoulders. The pauldrons were of a darkened steel, and fastened with leather straps that stretched across his breastplate and back. His gauntlets were heavy ebony, fully enclosing his fingers and stretching to his elbow. The tips were pointed like claws.

Besides those, he was given a plated tail guard, a kilt, a sash, a wing banner, and his headdress. It was not the same one he wore before, Mars confessed, but he had it made to memory. Aramis found that he had missed the weight of it.

As Mars helped him don his armor, his hands smoked and burned whenever he touched the metal, while Toril was not burned. Aramis questioned this, and was told that both their armors had a massive amount of Light enchantments on them.

It was difficult for Mars to handle them, as a Wind dragon, and Plague or Shadow dragons would be badly affected by it as well. Too much exposure would likely lead to a overexposure of Light magic. The Lady of Light had aided in their rebirth, which was why Toril’s eye shone gold and Aramis’s chest shone like a lantern.

Once he was suited up, it was time for the journey through the Boneyard. North was where Ives had taken the clan, and by the sounds of it, he had been busy.

Mars explained as they traveled. “Ives has taken it upon himself to forge alliances. Many of them have fallen through, with hostages returned or runaway, but some of them have worked out well.”

Hellreek was not a figure of folk lore, they were quite real and they had one of his bastard daughters. Rusvai, the youngest. She apparently insisted on dressing all in white to differentiate herself from him. In exchange, they had one of Akeelah’s sons. He was gentle, though his mouth was death.

When Aramis asked of the relation between the clans, Mars nearly laughed.

“Virulent,” Mars said, with a practiced tone of mirth, “Is in bed with Hellreek. Quite literally these days.”

Half of Virulent was courting and bedding one Hellreek or another, he learned. One of Naomi’s sons had a mirror back at the lair, on a clutch of his eggs, while one of his sisters was at Hellreek’s lair, with a son of the legendary Death From Above.

Just the other week, Ives had sent a strong mirror pup to Hellreek, in exchange for pick of the nest of any clutch laid to their warriors. If there was any friendship at all in the Wasteland, there was friendship between Hellreek and Virulent.

They called it the Hellrot Alliance.

The conversation changed to Ives, of the self-styled Lord Chieftain of Virulent. He had taken the Vogelzang skydancer, Cosette, as bride. The same one that he had given to that drunken oaf so many years ago. He had fathered a army off of her, and gave most of the children away as hostages, so he could foster a child from another clan’s leader.

The conversation changed to his grandchildren, of the black and grey beasts that wanted the Lord Chieftain’s favor so badly. Six of them remained in the clan, as well as a great-granddaughter, a great great granddaughter, and two bastards Aramis had gotten off of Amiria.

If they were to quarrel for the crown, grey-blue Tergailia would have the most supporters, though the blue-grey guardian, Iliutas, would win in a fight if they fought honorably.

Ilgeslys would win if they fought dirty. Kivka would kill the victor.

The conversation changed to Vogelzang, of the overthrow of Humboldt and the fleeing of Valjean and Mariele. They stole one of Sieghilde’s children when they fled, and all of them were infected with shadow magic. Cosette’s mother had to be sealed in a suit of armor and bound in prayer ribbons to keep her together.

They had barely spoken to Vogelzang since Merchannwyl took charge, and rarely received shipments anymore. They had not received word of Lorelei’s death, as of yet.

On the horizon, the great cliff of Dragonhome appeared.

The Lord Chieftain had hidden the entire clan in a great series of caverns, charming the entrance with protective wards that he thought would protect them.

They camped within sight of it, not setting a fire. They would approach tomorrow.

Aramis expected a fight.

  As they approached Clan Virulent, as soon as they came over the rise, they were contested.

Two guardians stood at either side of the entrance, though they were too far away to make out faces. Before long, a swarm of four came from the cavern to meet them.

The first to reach them was a brown, stout Imperial. He had a grand rack of antlers, and wore worn leather clothes. A wolfskin cloak was tied at his throat with a small bronze medallion. He walked with his chin low to the ground, like a stalking dog, and moved to cover their left, besides the cart. (Mars had vanished, he noted. Likely hiding in the back.) Aramis did not know him.

The second was another Imperial, taller than the first but still short. His skin was a pinkish-tan, with redline markings. His mane was wavy and pink, and he wore a solidscale breastplate. The rest of his armor was leather, dyed reddish-brown, and polished steel. He walked with his head high, like a scared dragon pretending not to be. He covered their right, to stare down Toril. Aramis did not know him.

The third was a guardian, lean and graceful. Her scales were a lovely blue-grey, though her true horns and her broad wings were a dull black. A crown of heavy black antlers sat upon her head. She was obviously the leader of the bunch, and judging from her antlers, Aramis presumed they were kin.

She had put great care into her ensemble - a woven chest piece of black and red leather that went to her waist, with a red kilt and red breeches underneath it.  A bow, grand and deadly, was in her hands, and the quiver of arrows was bound around her waist with a belt. She wore a cloak that was half red, half purple, tied at her throat with a ash-lace collar.

Her arm guards were leather, dyed a similar grey-blue as her skin. Her left arm guard was scaled with polished steel on the top, leading up to a single ebony pauldron. The banner that hung from it was a midnight purple, decorated with the black antlers they all beared. Ives had removed the headdress from Virulent’s device. He would fix that, soon enough.

The guardian stood tall before him, eyes fixed on him.

Aramis’s voice was rough and deep. He cut off his granddaughter before she could start.

“You’re Iliutas, aren’t you? I believe we are related.”

This took her at a surprise, and it flashed on her face. Aramis was thinking that she had to have been of his great-granddaughters, since Cosette was a skydancer.

The slight shock vanished, and her voice boomed elegant and strong.

“That I am, though I can’t say if I we’ve met before. Do you have business with Virulent or the Lord Chieftain?”

“I do. I would like to see Ives, as soon as I can.”

“And who are you? So that I may tell him.”

“An old friend.”

  It took Ives long enough to emerge from the cavern.

The two imperials had waited with them while Iliutas headed back, and it was close to a half hour before she returned to the surface, a red ridgeback and a black tundra (comically small besides all these giants) alongside her.

The Lord Chieftain walked with his guards on either side of him. He walked with purpose, with his head and antlers high. His blue-black mane was braided, he wore fine armor, and he did not wear a headdress.

The red ridgeback at his side did not have a nosehorn. He was missing a eye, and the other eye was a bright pink. His backspines and wings were chipped and torn. Aramis recognized his tarnished armor, he recognized the dragon he had raised from a hatchling.

Ivarr stopped when he recognized his Chieftain.

Ives stopped when he recognized his father.

They both screamed.

Ivarr’s scream was a wordless wail, like a parent who was told their child died. His legs went out under him, and the ridgeback went down to lie among the dust and bones, his hat fallen over his eyes.

Ives’s scream was a pained bellow, like a bull with a struck side. He was backing up, shaking his antlers and braids, his red eyes wide.

“YOU ARE DEAD, I WATCHED YOU DIE. I WATCHED YOU DIE.”

Iliutas had stopped, looking back at her Lord Chieftain. She stood tense, all the guards stood tense, but they did not attack.

Then, at the entrance to the caverns, a horn blew. A low, mournful note that echoed throughout the Wasteland, echoed from the Pillar to the Icefield. Three heartbeats later, the warriors of Virulent came tearing out.

The pink-maned Imperial leapt at Toril, and she took him with her teeth. She slammed into him, knocking him onto his wings, and moving atop of him. She pressed her golden gauntlets onto his throat, and golden smoke billowed forth at her touch.

The worn-leather Imperial lunged for Aramis, and the Chieftain prepared to meet him . . . only for Ivarr to attack from beneath. His hat had flown off, and he came down upon his fellow guard with particular savagery, threatening to open the Imperial’s belly with his claws, while the Imperial wrapped his jaws around his neck.

And Ives, the Lord Chieftain of Virulent, took a step towards Aramis, towards his father.

Both of them bared their fangs.

They rushed at each other with the ferocity of bulls, and met each other with their heads down. There was a great crack as their antlers hit, and a tine went spinning off into the dust. Both of them reared, claws against each other’s chests, roaring as they did.

Ives tried to bite at his throat, and Aramis did the same. Ives was wearing a gorget, he was not.

He was taller than his son, but Ives weighed more, and was more heavily muscled. He was half Snapper, and had the jaws of one. Ives shouldered him, and knocked him backwards. Ives was on top of him, gold and red smoke curling upwards from his black hide wherever the armor touched him.

No, Aramis thought, seeing colors unimaginable, I will not die again so soon.

Gathering his strength in his hind legs, he kicked out and tried to dislodge his son.

Nevertheless, he did not let go.

He cursed himself for having laid with that Snapper in the first place, cursed himself for not keeping the runt instead. In desperation, he reached up and grabbed at his sons face, trying to find some leverage, trying to make him falter, trying to -

Aramis’s gauntlets had sharped claws.

The thumb had caught Ives in the eye.

His howls were hellish.

His son released him and reeled backwards, ripping off and throwing down his own gauntlets to touch his ruined eye. He stumbled, and came down to his knees, clutching his face with his naked hands.

“Do you yield?”

Ives lifted a hand away, the other still cradling his jaw. The eye had been put out, and ran red down his face and neck, running down his gorget and down his breastplate in a great swath.

And where Aramis had touched his son, the fur had burned. It had scorched black, with gold cracking in the raw flesh underneath.

The remaining eye burned with hate and fear, surrounded by red and gold and black.

Ives spat a mouthful of blood, and it struck the ground at the Chieftain’s feet.

[ravageknight-eternal]

End Of An Era

Making dinosaurs is hard. You know that? Hah. Of course they are, everyone knows that. The first cloned animal was a sheep, you know that one? Dolly? Yeah, yeah. A sheep, a little fury bastard they cooked up in a lab after a billion or so tries. Dolly led right here, a little furry cutesy critter to the resurrection of animals that had been dead for sixty five million years. Extinction is forever, they used to say. Money conquers all, even killer asteroids and the spans between eons. Ha. I can't exactly say how they did it, no one who worked on the process or at the preserve can. Patented the whole thing, the animals genomes. Patented them right down to the molecules. Classified down to the red ink the scientists and engineers used to create their dinosaur formula on the back of napkins. It took a long time, I can tell you that. A long fucking time. But eventually, they did it. They made dinosaurs. Fifteen species, mostly from the Late Cretaceous with some specimens of the very, very Late Jurassic. Dinosaurs! Everyone is so apathetic about it now, barely even care we recreated the basis of every child's greatest dream. Anyway, yeah. We cloned them, manufactured them. Altogether we had about two hundred and twenty, two hundred and thirty specimens by the end of the cloning and maturing process. We looked and looked for a place to put them, a wild zone. We talked to South American tribes and American business tycoons and Chinese land-sellers. We went everywhere and anywhere. Some places were utterly gorgeous but we passed em up. Eventually, we managed to buy an incredibly large tract of land from a dying Canadian-American oil baron up in Alberta. Absolutely pristine place, nestled between cliffs and mountains. Clear rivers, misty forests, two entire lakes. Just absolutely fantastic, you'd think God himself had sent us a piece of the Cretaceous itself. So, we set to work. Building massive, ten foot thick black concrete walls and subtle moat-fencing, security systems, animal feeding schedules and platforms. We hired architects from nearly ten different countries, and Christ they weren't cheap. Elevated luxury cabins, lodges inside and outside the preserve, bar outposts near both lakes. Expensive, but worth it. Utterly worth it. Paleontologists and biologists primarily from Europe, America and China signed on, helping us keep the animals happy and healthy. We surely helped a lot of science papers in the time, didn't we? Hah. Who knew they'd ever actually interact with the real thing? But they did. They informed us the best they could on eating habits, behavior, territory construction. We followed them to the letter. By the end of then, another five years of development, we were finished. The animals were released entirely, the architects and engineers and paleontologists went home, the lights turned on. And Christ, what a dream that was! You have no idea, no goddamn idea how amazing it was. The first night it began, when we really were finished. It was unlike anything anyone has ever experienced. Or will ever experience again. Up in the night sky the auroras unfolded, I remember. All sapphire and gem greens, blues. Rich auburns flailing with the untouchable violets. Out in their habitats the dinosaurs sounded, their ancient voices once again upon the air. They sing, not like their birdlike cousins but like whales. They make noises you can actually feel in your chest, feel in your bones and blood. Alien, unearthly. For five years, it was the best time of my life. The animals lived and bred and died, they moved, they ate, they mated. They where alive. The wealthiest of the wealthy came and paid great sums to look at them, to marvel, to drink right there on the balconies of their elevated lodges and watch living dinosaurs. Real life, living dinosaurs! It was amazing, unbelievable. Almost ridiculously awesome in every sense of the biblical awesome, of the utterly grand and titanic awesome. I knew there were people pocking around. Competitors sneaking and searching at what we were doing, studying. We hid ourselves and our work well, more so than on this project than any other. They wanted to know, badly. And eventually, they did. They found us out, our competitive nemesis. Her and her goddamn orbital satellites, eyes in the sky. I look up now and any stars that don't match I flip the bird, hoping her magnified cyclops acolytes will see me from all the way up there. She found out, probably hitting and scratching some low executive when she did. She always liked hitting and scratching, she liked the fear. Hah. Of course she did! But, anyway, I'm getting of track. The witch found us, found us good. She mines up there, you know. Asteroids, comet cores, space debris collection and dispersion runs. All up there in the blue shadow of the earth. And she knew exactly what she was going to do. It was empty that month. November, chilly and all of the leaves such a rich rusty red, rusty yellow. Gorgeous as always. The animals were doing the usual as twilight rose and the sun bowed, golden streamers in the sky mixing with liquid purplish black above and metallic reddish pink below. Thunder clouds off to the west, mighty thunderheads craggy like mountains and illuminated within by the occasional strike of Olympian lightning. I was there, in my own private lodge on a nearby mountainside. I could see the whole park, from end to end and side to side. Nestled between the mountain cliffs, a slice of prehistory right here in our world. The fireplace crackled and roared, music playing softly. I remember the stupid and ignorant smile on my face, magnifying the interactive systems on my park-facing glass window to see the various dinosaurs moving across the land. I watched, unaware. It came like the thunder out west but so much louder, so much more furious and hateful. A blinding star tearing out and down from above me, down toward the reserve. It seemed so painfully slow when I saw it, so unreal. I looked dumbly, frozen. I knew in the depths of me already, already knew what was happening and why and how. I stood frozen, slamming open the glass door to reach my balcony and look out, terror overcame by defeat within myself. I watched. It was a horrendously pretty sight as the golden-white-blue light of the asteroid came lower and lower. It cast unearthly shadows across the landscape and the dinosaurs upon it, the light of their doom, of their end catching their eyes as it neared its journeys end. It came to rest at the end of the Preserve, the base of a large mountain face many kilometers away. The light was blinding, so painful that it continued to taunt and dance even after I had shut my eyes closed. Dancing in the black ocean of fear and crumpling defeat within me. For moments it was painfully silent as an enormous, nightmarish blossom of reddish black light built and expanded from the vaporizing mountain. Fires many hundreds, thousands, hundreds of thousands of meters in size sprang upward and then were cast forward by the disturbing breath of impact. Vaporized mountain rock, contorted screaming air, fire all mixing and pushing outward at supersonic speed from the epicenter which now glowed a furious, infernal molten red. The shockwave was visible, a shattering presence which bent and broke trees as it passed forward, throwing every single auburn colored leaf into beautiful, terrible storms. Autumn in a single second. The lakes were thrown forward and out of their bases. When it reached me, every pane of glass was shattered and I felt cuts across my body, a horrifically booming sound in my ears not even a fraction of what must have resounded down there in the valley. I crumpled forward, still watching as tears and blood ran down my cheeks, watching that vaporizing cloud gain more and more and more ground. Wildfires danced and grew, lightning strikes emanating from within the cloud. Within moments, less, the entire horrific holocaust was over. The unstoppable cloud of death swept over everything in its path, finally slamming into the base of the mountain below me and redoubling back upon itself. Within I could see dancing fire and molten ground, already rapidly cooling to an ashen and glassy mix. The animals were gone, the Preserve gone. Every last bit of it gone. I was evacuated soon after, rising up above the hellscape and away. It was contained by the mountains and valley crooks surrounding the impact, largely burned out within several weeks. When I returned, I was greeted by a husk. The forests were practically nonexistent, anything still standing barely a charcoal black skeletal sketch rained with ashen obsidian stone. Lodges and cabins had been completely annihilated, buried beneath that oncoming wall of oblivion. No living things remained. The dinosaurs were lost, entombed and exterminated once again. We looked for months, searching every cranny and nook and crag. Nothing. I still return there, sometimes. That hallowed ground. It is silent, not even the wind wishes to speak over this grave. I breath in the air, leaning against a stone. It is silent.

[momscookingthebooks]

Chapter Reveal ~ Pre-Order Links ~ Giveaway

Title: Trigger

Series: Devil’s Reach Book 1

Author: JL Drake

Genre: MC/Romance

Release Date: May 16, 2017

Cover Designer: Deranged Doctor Designed

Publisher: Limitless Publishing

#ChapterReveal #PreOrder #LimitlessPublishing

Add to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/34857170-trigger

Blurb:

I was raised by the Devil himself.

Formed into a man that was unreachable.

I went from the boy with bruises to the man with a trigger.

Killing is the only thing the calms the itch.

The demons inside were a constant battle.

…until she changed everything.

When you spend most of your time

in the dark, is it smart to step into the light?

Pre-Order Links:

Amazon: http://amzn.to/2qK1ote

Amazon CA: http://amzn.to/2qJJB5o

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2qK6zcv

Amazon AU: http://amzn.to/2qJFdU2

Chapter 1:

Trigger

Click! Click! Click!

“Shit!” I turned back around, barely missing the bumper of a semi-truck. His horn blew as we drew up along both sides. Two more bullets skimmed by my head and took out the mirror above me. The trucker screamed at us as he tried to keep his vehicle straight.

Jamming my empty clip into my boot, I reached to grab my spare as another truck flashed his lights and hit the horn to alert us we were in his lane. The cliffs were too close to the edge of the road to spare us any room, and the others were gaining on us.

I pointed my empty gun at the trucker to my left. “Slow down!” When he didn’t react right away, I moved the gun to his tire. His hand went up and he nodded repeatedly.

He eased off the gas and allowed Cooper and me to slip in front. Cooper’s wheel bumped off mine, and I reached out and used my momentum to grab his shoulder to stabilize him. The roar of our bikes ripped through the mountains, alerting my men we were coming.

“Brick!” I held up my hand, and he tossed me a clip. I quickly clicked it in place with my thigh.

The minute I saw them appear in my mirror, I signaled for my men to get ready. With one quick movement, our black van skidded to the shoulder of the road in front of us. The back doors swung open, and the four of us spread apart as my two prospects popped out with their semi- automatics. It was a beautiful sight. Orange lit the dawn sky while bullets flew into their chests, blood shot across the pavement, and three more Stripe Backs lay mangled for their crew to clean up. They had taken our bait, and our plan worked perfectly. Though we wouldn’t go down for the kill, we still made our point. Don’t fuck with my club.

I smirked at Brick as we each tossed our Cabo Wabo Anejo tequila bottles off to the side.

We picked up speed and made good time well before any cops would be called.

Once we hit the city limits, my phone buzzed. The phone’s screen attached to my handlebars popped into view.

Cray: Ready in the morning.

Good. Better to let the fear of what’s to come marinate. Then to end it quickly.

I signaled to the men it was time. I decided to take the side streets so we’d be more visible and, as hard as it was, I slowed our speed to show we were in no rush.

It worked. A few local shop owners gave us a wave before they pulled their steel doors down for the night. Mud, the local surf shop owner, was out for his nightly ride and gave us a nod.

Rail and Cooper split off, while Brick and I rounded the back of our clubhouse and got to work.

***

“Ahhhh.” Spit jumped from his lips, but most of it pooled in the corners of his mouth. He looked like a wild dog. His pupils dilated when they focused on the tiny eyedropper that hovered above. “Please, no! I’ll do anything!”

Brick glanced at me and shook his head. I agreed; it was tiring. As much as I’d have liked to slap that comment right out of his head, I couldn’t fault human reactions. It was in their DNA to beg for their lives. I always promised myself that when my day came, I would take it like a man. Silently.

The heat from the hanging lamps plastered my hair to my neck like a second layer of skin. We really needed to turn on the AC.

The slaughter room, as I named it, had tiled walls up to the ceiling, easy for cleaning, and a huge industrial drain in the middle for the larger pieces we needed to wash away in a hurry. No windows, no cameras, just lots of equipment to work with.

Brick brushed the hair out of the bastard’s sweaty face so he could see me better. I licked my lips as I lowered myself to his level, and my men stiffened at this action. I never lowered myself to anyone’s level unless I was about to make a point. His eyes met mine, searching for some trace of a soul. Unfortunately, I was not born with one.

I leaned down so he could see for himself the emptiness that lived inside me. Once he focused in and got a glimpse behind the curtain and I saw this realization, I spoke quietly. “Everyone dies sometime. We all have choices, and you made yours.” I motioned for Brick to move into position and spread his eyelid open. The bright pink flesh fought to go back in its place, but it was no match for Brick’s fingers. The man shook and kicked, but my expression told him to remain quiet.

Holding the dropper above his eye, I squeezed the rubber and let the tiny drop of bleach fall and coat the pupil. His screams deafened me momentarily, but I welcomed the sound. That was fate’s way of thanking me for doing the devil’s work.

He kicked and bucked as the minute drop burned its way through his cornea, blinding and eating as it traveled into his brain. His chest heaved and sweat pooled along his collarbone as his neck strained against the pain.

The high I got off his terror made me hard, and my heartbeat raced. I swallowed hard in an attempt to lubricate my parched throat as I continued to blind his left eye. This was what I was made for. It was what separated me from other motorcycle gangs around me. I showed no mercy and punished those who needed it through their greatest fears. I knew it was only when you had nothing that you couldn’t be touched.

“Brick.” I held out my hand, and he passed me a hunting knife. Walking around the steel table, I took a deep breath.

“You saw too much,” I whispered as he fought to see where I was with his clouded eyes. “You heard too much.” I grabbed his right ear, pulled it out, and sliced the outer part off. His face twitched, his mouth opened, and his wound quickly drained of blood, but he still stayed mute. “You stole from me.” Holding his hand down, I sliced his finger off at the second knuckle. Tossing it out of the way, I pressed on his open palm and stopped the flow of blood, just to fuck with his body.

He jerked to the side and vomited in a silent cry. His mind must be spinning. Too much pain coming from too many directions could throw you off.

“You were part of this family and chose to defy me. Never again will you disobey me.” I raised the blade above my head and drove it straight into his shoulder, hoping this would be the last tip to his sanity. “Just in case you think revenge is the answer…” Brick tossed me a switchblade, while Rail grabbed his head and yanked out his tongue. The blade drove through the center.

Silence. Nothing but the hum of the lights.

“See you below.”

The voice in my head returned, so I waved at Brick, grabbed my shit, and left.

I waved at Morgan, who was on the phone on a smoke break, then fastened my helmet and wiped my hands clean. Revving the engine, I turned into the sun and drove out onto the smoldering road. The guys could handle the rest.

The engine was hot, and without realizing, I let my mind go there…

The burning poker skimmed my calf, and I jolted back with a scream. Tears streamed down my dirty cheeks as I hugged my knees to my chest. The heat burned the surface then traveled down to the muscle where it spread in a blanket of pure pain.

“Stop!” I cried out, desperate for him to get bored and move on to something else. I was four years old, and this was the fifth time he had done this.

“Come here, boy!” His huge hand swiped at me, but I pressed my back flat to the wall under the table, becoming as small I could.

His brown eyes squinted as he drew back the poker. Dropping it on the floor, he cursed, grabbed a fresh beer from the fridge, banged it loudly on the table, and left.

My heart pounded until it hurt my chest.

If he had wanted to, he could easily have climbed under there. Allen was a fit man, muscles that attracted all the wrong kinds of women, a strong jaw, and defined, broad shoulders with a lean waist.

I tucked the fear away and turned into the cool wall with my cheek pressed to it, seeking some relief from the terrible heat in my leg. Closing my eyes, I stayed under the table until morning, where I knew it could all begin again.

Blinking to clear my head, I pulled off onto a dusty path and headed up into the hills.

The yellow trailer sat on cement bricks; the wheels had been removed years ago. The slider-style windows were open, and broken blinds bounced around in the breeze. The place was a dump, and I wasn’t sure why he insisted on keeping it, but that was his decision. He had earned that right many years ago.

Backing under a shady tree, I turned the engine off and unclipped my helmet, hanging it off the handle of my matte black Kawasaki Vulcan 900.

I turned and found a beer can flying in my direction. I caught it and opened it slowly so as not to get sprayed.

“Day?” his raspy voice croaked.

I settled into an old folding chair that dug into my legs. “Three Stripe Backs down, and one of my prospects gone.”

“Anyone hurt?”

“Nope.”

“Prospect stole? Or leaked?”

“Stole.”

“What you remove?”

“Fingers. Eyes. Shoulder. Ear. A little tongue.” I shifted so the bar didn’t cut into my hip. “This shit is old, Gus.”

“I’m old.” He passed off my comment, like always. “How much?”

Removing my hat, I swiped my long hair out of my face.

“A little over forty thousand.”

Gus shook his head and rubbed his knee. Three stab wounds to the same spot would screw anyone up. “Reason?”

“Does it matter?” I tossed my empty can in the trash before I reached for another. My dusty boots landed heavily on his wooden table.

“Where is he?”

“Thought the guys could have some fun.”

He nodded.

We sat in silence. I might not talk much, but I hated the quiet. My knee started to thump, and Gus took the cue. He leaned over and tapped his phone, and a moment later the band Disturbed filled the silence, and I let out a long breath as the guitar hit my ears and calmed me.

“Hungry?” he asked awkwardly as he got out of his chair. His battered body tilted to one side as he stood straighter. His head always hung to the right because of a bullet wound to the spine. Gus was sixty, but his soul was thirty.

“No.” I downed my beer and rose. “I should get back.”

He followed me to my bike. “Meeting tomorrow?”

“Yeah, eleven.” I buckled my helmet.

“New shipment?”

“Yeah.”

“Tomorrow,” he repeated with a small nod.

Raising two fingers, I waved a goodbye and kicked the engine over.

I weaved in between traffic. The bike was a part of me, and I’d been riding for as long as I could remember. Gus always joked that I drove before I learned how to walk. It was the closest thing I ever felt to freedom.

Two headlights flashed in my mirrors, a signal for me to pull over. I waited until I was sure who it was, but he always flashed lights to me the same way. One short, one long. Easing over to the other lane, I exited at the gas station and parked on the shoulder.

The Mustang came to a stop behind me, and Officer Doyle hauled himself out of the car. I chuckled as I sat on my bike and watched him take his sweet-ass time to get to me.

“Trigger, I thought that was you.” His voice was raised to give a show to the people watching. Everyone knew my bike, and everyone loved to see me lose my shit on punk cops like Doyle.

“You found me,” I said, playing along. “Now that you have, what can I do for you?”

Doyle kept his back to the spectators as he removed his sunglasses and cleaned them with the side of his oversized shirt. “I heard your boys got into a little trouble last night.”

“Not sure what you’re talking about.” I shrugged. “What happened?”

“Eli’s boys got hit.”

Huh. “Alive?”

“Two dead, one hanging on.”

“Wasn’t mine.”

He smirked and leaned closer. He smelled like cherry chew. “And if it was?”

I laughed at his act. I’d bet Doyle had never fired his gun other than training. “You got something to say, Doyle?”

He bent my mirror to straighten his tie, and my fingers twitched to break his. “Known you a long time, Trigger. I also know when you’re lying.”

Looking into the crowd who had nothing better to do than watch, I spoke very carefully, because I knew my switch was about to flick. “You have no idea who I really am. If you have a problem with my guys, you come to me with proof.”

“Your boys better have some strong alibis.”

“Do me a favor, Doyle. Give your sister a kiss for me.” Just as he went to flip me off, I skidded my bike, kicking up a dust storm before I raced down the ramp and onto the freeway.

Letting the engine sooth my nerves as I wove through the cars, it wasn’t long until I was back in my own territory and making my way down the street and into the abandoned movie theater I owned where I parked my bike. I took the elevator up to my place.

I needed some time to think.

“We are all moving forward, and my past’s catching up. Time’s a-running out, and my days are numbered. Too strong to run, too proud to hide, for this I’ll pay, for this I’ll die,” I sang, watching the lights flicker below me. I leaned my weight into the hot stone wall that overlooked Santa Monica, my guitar propped on my thigh, and plucked the strings to one of my own songs.

I could see for miles. This was my town, and this was my spot. Everyone knew when I was here to leave me the fuck alone. I stroked flint against metal and held the flickering flame to the end of the joint. With a deep drag, the smooth smoke traveled to the bottom of my lungs. I could feel it dancing around inside me. I squinted, tipped my head back, and made an O with my lips, letting a trail of white float up toward the stars.

The joint slipped further between my fingers, and I brushed the strings, sending blues rock into the warmth of the night.

My mind raced back to this morning when everything had changed. The possibility that the club may have more rats was making my neck tick. I would need to flush them out with whatever means possible. Then I’d deal with them personally.

I put my guitar down and ran my hands through my hair, letting it drop back down over my shoulders. I needed an outlet, so I stripped off my vest and hung it over an old chair so the devil could stare at me. Pulling my phone free, I swiped to hear The White Buffalo, turning the volume up and letting it cut through the silence. I hated silence; it brought too many memories. Of him.

I removed my t-shirt, flexing my neck back and forth, then pulled my arms over my head and leaned back. My fingers cracked as I laced them together and gave a good tug. I stared at the punching bag for a second then let loose.

My lips curled from the impact that pounded my muscles like a hammer. Pain was good. Pain was easy to control. Every other emotion was just a waste of time.

Twisting my torso, I did a roundhouse and kicked the black bag high in the air.

Punch, punch, punch, punch. I couldn’t get enough until my arms locked and my throat begged for water. I wiped my face clean and brushed my hair out of my face, holding it in place with my ball hat. Kicking open the cooler, I popped open a cold beer and leaned against the rail.

Finally, the voice was muted, but I knew it wouldn’t last long.

My phone vibrated next to me.

Brick: Prospect has been dropped off.

***

Tess

I poured myself another glass of wine from the bottle that sat on my night stand. With the lights down low, I looked around my room and was thankful I was alone tonight.

Picking up the heavy book, I settled back and pulled the duvet up to my chin. My eyes scanned for the place where I left off a moment ago.

“Please stay and let me protect you.” His face is inches from hers. He gently lifts the sheet and dries the corners of her eyes. “You have to trust me.”

I let the book fall forward onto my lap, my eyes closed. Damn, I had to keep reading. Where was I? Oh, right. “Did you spend the whole night with me?”

I let the book fall again. I’d never get this book read if I kept allowing myself to become her, but should I? I reached for my bag and dumped it out in front of me and grinned at the purple lipstick that just so happened to have a fresh new battery inside. Why the hell not?

Later, before turning out the light and settling in for the night, I got out from under the sheets and looked out the window. I loved the night sky; something about it was peaceful. A flash of movement caught my attention, and I turned the lamp off so I could see better. Oh, my. “Hello, Remington Tate.” I opened my window. I was totally creepin’, but come on…

It was about ninety degrees in Santa Monica, yet this guy was wearing a hoodie. He moved about like a dancer, his fists hitting the bag. I heard the bang, bang, bang as his fists made contact with it. It was fascinating to watch. The rooftop he was on was only slightly higher than my window and gave me a good view of him, backlit by the moon. It was quite a beautiful sight.

I grew tired in spite of myself and knew tomorrow would be a busy day, including more unpacking stuff that wasn’t even mine. I dragged my gaze away from the rooftop boxer and glanced around the room. It was much better than my old place. Well, anything was better than my old place. Closing my eyes to the memory, I tried to push his scent out of my mind, although I still felt the deep ache. Tears prickled my eyes, but I kept them away. I channeled the hurt into anger—something I was a pro at. Sadness never healed anyone.

I was to start a new job tomorrow at Helmond’s Bar. It might be only temporary until I found something else. I didn’t want to be serving drinks forever, but damn, it was money, and I needed that right now.

My phone lit up, and I smiled at the text.

Matt: T-minus eight hours.

Tess: You better be there when I arrive.

Matt: Have I ever let you down?

My heart warmed a little.

Tess: Never.

Holding up my beloved camera, I snapped a picture of my rooftop boxer, hoping I had captured the light just right. I knew it would be an image I would wouldn’t easily forget.

“Night,” I whispered before I crawled into bed and slipped the book under my pillow. I hoped it would bring me good dreams.

***

Nearly falling into one of the boxes, I dug for the black leather skirt and red tank that Matt told me to wear. Once dressed, I wiggled into my high heeled boots and glanced at myself in the mirror propped up against the wall. I leaned upside down and ran my fingers through my long blonde hair to give it a little more volume. Five bike chains wrapped my left wrist halfway up to my elbow, and my silver hoop earrings swung as I moved, giving me an extra pop of color.

I was never a girl who could wear cute sundresses and carry Prada bags. There was too much shit going on inside to ever wear something so cheerful.

Grabbing my bag, I downed a glass of OJ I’d bought from the gas station across the road, and then locked the door and ran downstairs and out to the sidewalk. I wasn’t far from the address of my new job, but Matt had made some comment about how I should be careful which streets I used. Trouble was, he never said which ones. He told me to use a cab, but that was ridiculous. I’d Googled the location and saw it was only a fifteen-minute walk. Sorry, Matt, but I will not call a cab for that. Money was not something I had a lot of at the moment.

Holding the scrap of paper, I headed east and let the warm morning air wake me. That was, until I felt my bag vibrate. Not recognizing the number, I answered it, tucking the Post-it in my boot.

“Hello.”

“You want to tell me where you are this time?”

My blood pressure dropped.

“What do you want?” I held up my hand to a car to let him know I was about to jaywalk. The driver whistled, and I flipped him the bird.

“Just want to know where you are. I have that right, Tessa.”

“No, you don’t.”

There was such a long pause I looked down at the phone to see if it was still connected. After a moment, the screen indicated the call had ended. So much drama was laced up with that woman. I hurried as fast as I could. I really should have done a practice run, but moving your life from one state to another was exhausting. A few more blocks and two turns, and I shielded my eyes to read the number on the wall.

Wait. I must have taken a wrong turn. Dammit.

Turning back around and getting completely confused, I saw a few guys staring me down. I felt a bit uncomfortable but tried to act normal. With my head up, attempting to show confidence, I hurried but tripped in my stupid boots and tumbled to my knees. My phone went flying, leaving me to wince as pain shot through my legs.

“Yeah, right where she should be,” one guy called out, making me blush from head to toe.

I scrambled to stand, when one of them reached for my arm and hauled me up like a child.

“As much as you looked good on your knees, that fall looked like it hurt. You okay?” My eyes met an elderly man, maybe in his sixties, a scary-ass lookin’ dude. A deep scar ran from his right eye down to the corner of his mouth. He reeked of beer, which literally took my breath away.

“I’m fine.” I pulled my arm out of his grip and somehow plastered on a smile to be nice. I caught sight of his biker vest. In fact, they all were wearing them. A skull with a devil and a snake coming out of its eye was patched on the back of them. Satan’s Serpents.

I should have been terrified, but all that ran through my head was I was going to be late on my first day. I can’t let my best friend down.

One of the guys handed me my phone, but when I reached for it, he pulled it away. He clicked on the screen and grinned at the picture of me and my friend Mags.

“Pretty dress.” He winked and handed it back to me. “Wear it on our date next week.” My face dropped further…if that was even possible. I’d lived with men like this, and it was tiring behavior.

He started to say something else, but a loud rumble from a pack of motorcycles deafened me as they drove by a cross street. A stillness spread through all the men.

Four guys on choppers slowed as they caught sight of us. Traffic didn’t seem to mind. Sunglasses covered their eyes, but I knew they saw us. I was frozen, waiting for something bad to happen. The tension was so thick it made it hard to breathe.

A few pulled their guns, but the old man with the scar shook his head, and they stood down.

Seriously, where the hell am I?

Again, the devil made its way into my vison, only their jackets had a skull resting in the Grim Reaper’s outstretched hand. Devil’s Reach was patched across their shoulders. I noticed both jackets had Santa Monica on them.

Sensing the men were preoccupied, I took advantage of the moment and darted down the street.

I fished around in my boot for the stupid Post-it that I had written Matt’s address on.

Fifteen minutes later, and I was finally there—5627 Dustin Street.

I stared up at the rundown building with painted black windows. It was huge and wide, but the few buildings around it were abandoned and had some broken windows. I really hoped I had the address wrong. I tugged on the handle, and to my disappointment, it opened, letting out a cloud of smoke. I coughed to catch my breath, and when my eyes stopped stinging, I took in my surroundings.

Holy fuck…

“You want somethin’?” a husky voice barked at me from behind the bar. I blinked to clear the haze and observed a tall man with a long beard that stopped at his belt. Tattoos ran around his shaved head like the rings on Saturn.

I shook my head and realized it might be wise to leave. “I think I might be in the wrong place.”

He poured a shot and slid it my way, nodding for me to take it. I stepped up to the bar and thought why the hell not? At that point, I was sure I’d lost the job anyway. I tossed it back while he watched. “Where are you supposed to be?”  

I waited for the burn of the whiskey to leave before I answered. “I’m looking for my friend Matt Montgomery. I think I wrote the address down wrong.”

He studied me a moment then his eyebrow ring twitched as his eyes narrowed in on me.

“Brick! Company!” he shouted over my head.

Seriously?

“No, I’m looking for a Matt.”

“Not anymore.”

Huh?

A moment later, a door flew open and out came my best friend, who I hadn’t seen in six years, wearing a Devil’s Reach vest.

Okay…

He flew toward me, scooped me up, and greeted me with a big bear hug.

Hold up!

“Tess!” He smiled down at me through a mass of long brown hair that touched the bottom of his ears. “You look amazing!”

“You expected less?” I joked to give me an extra moment to process the situation. “Um, not sure where to start here, so…what’s with the name Brick?”

His eyes flickered with something before he spoke. “Nickname.”

“Okay.” I noticed the words Vice President patched above his new name. What had I missed?

As bizarre as the situation was, I couldn’t deny how good it was to see him. It was like hugging your blanket when you were a child. Instant comfort.

I hugged him even tighter. “You look completely different.” I tugged on his long hair. “I love it!”

He rested me back on the ground, and I swatted his arm, nodding at the fucking motorcycle bar. “Thanks for the warning.”

A guilty grin spread across his face. “I didn’t want to run the risk of you not coming.”

“How well do you know me?” I shook my head, feeling better already. “Anything is better than the house.”

He reached for my hand and slid my bracelets up to check my wrists. His lips pressed together as his finger ran over the vertical scar on my left wrist.

“I know you better than anyone.”

I pulled my hand free and pushed the bracelets back in place.

“How are you?” Before I could answer, he gave me his look. “Without the bullshit, Tess.”

Stepping back, I noticed the bartender was listening to us with no shame.

“Fine. Like I said, happy to be away. You going to show me around?”

His shoulders sagged, but he didn’t push it. Instead, he looked over my shoulder at something.

“Yeah, I can do that.” He waved around the bar. “Helmond’s Bar. Which is the club’s bar.”

“Okay.” I saw their cut picture was painted onto the wall in black and gray, and there were three women who were high on something. Two of them were draped over a chair and a bench, and the other was butt naked, spread-eagle on the pool table.

“Nothing you haven’t seen before.” Brick shrugged.

A little boy, maybe six years old, came running out from behind the bar with what I hoped was a water gun and started to shoot the woman on the chair in the face. She squinted at him before she snatched it away and tossed it across the room.

“Go get ready for school.”

I shook my head before I saw Brick point. “That’s Gus’s old lady, and his son. You’ll meet him later.” I nodded, and he went on. “Through those double doors,” he pointed to the wall underneath the Devil’s Reach logo, “is the president’s office and the meeting room. Most of the time, the doors are open, but when there’s a meeting, they stay closed and the bar shuts down.” He beckoned for me to follow him past the bar and out through another set of huge, heavy doors. My guess was they would be bulletproof.

We headed to our left first. The hallways were wide and the floors were tile. The walls were painted a dark beige, and to my surprise, it didn’t look too rundown, not like the front of the building. After a few quick glances out the windows, I saw the building was formed into a horseshoe with a party place in the middle.

“These are the bedrooms for us main guys. Pres, Vice Pres, Sergeant-at-Arms, Treasurer, and so on. This is mine.” He pointed quickly before he turned me around and started back up the hallway again. Once we passed the huge doors, he opened another and let me step inside. Two women who looked to be my mother’s age, and one guy who was about the size of a house, glared at me.

“Kitchen. No need to tell you their names. They have zero personality, and even if they did, they never leave this room, so it’s pointless.”

“Hi.” I waved, and the guy snickered something in Spanish, so I shrugged. “Never knew an MC could live so well.”

“We are not like most MCs.” Brick laughed as he opened the door for me to leave the kitchen. “Down there are more bedrooms.”

“What about that door at the end?” I noticed the same type of doors we went through to get into the living corridors were also at the end of the hallway.

“Ah, that’s to go outdoors. They’re normally locked, so just use this one.” He tapped the door in front of me. “Okay, so, for the rules.” He led me outside, maybe away from ears. I didn’t know.

The courtyard was mostly concrete, with a lot of trees that shaded the actual building. There was a huge rectangular pool with a little changing house next to it that matched the look of the stone barbecue. Tables and lounge chairs were scattered around, and an old pickup truck was off to the side, hidden between some trees against the stone wall that ran along the perimeter. The place did give you the sense of safety, that was for sure.

“I get it, it’s a lot to take in.” Brick looked up at me with one eye closed. I sat so he didn’t have to squint.

“Not that bad.”

“When you’re not working, you can be out here. We normally are. The guys will have their families over for Friday night dinners. You’ll be working with Morgan. He’s good, doesn’t talk much, but he’ll teach you lots. You got a problem, talk to him.”

“Morgan have a family?”

“Nope. You saw Gus’s old lady on the chair. Her name is Vib. She’s a junkie, but she shouldn’t be too much of a problem. They have two kids, Den and Fin. They are little dicks, but they’re family, so we love them.”

Awesome. I wasn’t a huge kid person.

“Rail and Cooper are two more main guys who live here. Rail only thinks with his dick, so stay away. Cooper is…well, you can be friends with him. I’ll allow that.”

I smacked his arm.

“Don’t touch the drugs. There’s a lot kickin’ around. Us higher-up guys don’t touch it. Trigger, the president, wants us to stay clean. You can do pot, but not coke, okay?”

“Have you ever known me to stick a tube up my nose?”

“Been six years, Tess. A lot has changed.”

“Like your name.”

He laughed darkly. “Yeah, a few of us adopted a nickname after our first kill.”

“Thanks for that image.”

“Think about Rail’s.” He laughed then stood and offered me a hand. “Come on.” He held my hand tightly as we walked back inside. “You have any problems, you come to me. Promise?”

“I will.” I waited for him to close the door behind me, and I noticed the bar had gotten a lot busier. At least the naked chick on the pool table had closed her legs. “So, where am I working, exactly?”

He tipped his head toward the bar. “Morgan,” he called out to the bartender as we joined him. “This is Tess. She’s the new bartender.” Morgan didn’t blink an eye at me as he opened the wooden latch to let me in behind the bar top. “Hey.” Matt tugged me closer. “It’s Brick now, okay?”

“Yeah, that’s been burned into my head nicely.”

“We only deal in cash.” Morgan started right in. “The guys with the skull patches on their collars drink for free. No one else, no exceptions.” I failed to mention that he just gave me a free drink. “We only serve beer and hard liquor.” He pointed to the bottles. “You clean?”

I glanced up at him, puzzled.

When I didn’t respond, he flipped my arms over and checked my skin for tracks. “Take off your shoes.”

“Pardon?”

“She’s clean,” Brick barked out as a warning. Morgan nodded once then went back to explaining things like he didn’t just ask if I shot heroin.

“You can drink, but don’t get drunk,” he mumbled and stroked his thin beard and twisted it around his finger as he thought. “Don’t call him Matt. His name is Brick. It’s disrespectful to the club. He earned that name.”

So I’ve heard, although Brick never used the word earned.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to,” Morgan muttered, and Brick seemed to agree.

Shouting from a room off to the side drew my attention, followed by a loud crash. I looked at Brick, who just shook his head as if to ignore it.

Morgan handed me another shot. “Have you ever bartended before?”

“I have.”

“All you need to know is how to read the labels, pour a shot, and count.” He tapped his glass to mine and tossed the shot back, and I followed suit.

“Any tips you make are yours. As long as the till is even, you’re good. Make sure you wear something hot, give the guys a little somethin’ to look at.”

“Seems easy enough.”

Morgan glanced at Brick with a bored expression then back to me. “I give her to the end of the shift before she fucking quits.”

“Thanks.” I glanced over at Brick, who gave me a playful wink.

A door burst open and out tumbled a man with a face full of blood. He stumbled to the bar with one eye open and the other swollen shut. I noticed Morgan stood back to see how I’d handle the situation. It didn’t rattle me; not much did anymore. Brick’s comfort with the situation made it obvious the guy was on their shit list. I slammed a shot glass down, poured some whiskey, and when he reached for it, I slid it aside.

“Seven fifty.”

His watery, bloodshot eye stared at me. It took a second, but he realized I wasn’t screwing around, and his face scrunched up.

“Bitch, give me the drink.”

“Seven fifty.” My hip cocked out as I raised my chin to hold my own.

He reached for it again, but I moved it further away. He didn’t have the skull patch Morgan mentioned, and I wasn’t going to give it to him for free. The guy leaned forward, grabbed my arm hard, and pulled me close to his face. I had to choke back the smell of blood and sweat.

“Listen, you little cuntface. You want to know what it feels like to get a fist to the —” One moment he was threating, and the next his head was slammed onto the bar top by a very battered hand.

I jumped back to see a massive man with his nose just inches from the asshole’s face. His eyes were murderous as “Get the fuck out,” hissed from his lips. He then picked him up and dropped him to the floor like he hardly weighed anything. Moments later, the asshole was gone, and I was left staring at the big, lean man with one hell of a set of deep green eyes. I forgot how to breathe when they locked onto mine. His white shirt was stained with blood, his knuckles were raw, and his bottom lip was cracked. His dark hair curled slightly under around his collarbone.

I rubbed my arm, the pain slowly easing.

“He’s out,” the man grunted to Brick. Even though he continued to stare at me. “Take care of it.”

“Will do,” Brick answered from somewhere close. His fingers brushed over my shoulder. “You all right, Tess?”

“Yeah.”

“Trigger, this is Tessa.” Brick cleared his throat. “She’s the one I was tellin’ you about.”

Trigger? Oh, yes, the pres.

“Tess,” I corrected him.

Trigger didn’t say a word but held my gaze then looked down my front and back up again. His tattooed hand tugged on the bottom of his short beard. My skin heated, my chest burned, and my throat went dry. Mother of hell, his was gaze was intense. Though I knew men like this, and they were all the same.

Trigger leaned forward to reach behind the bar, his eyes still locked with mine. He removed the whiskey bottle and tossed the cap next to me. He downed about a quarter of it then finally broke his hold to focus on Brick.

“They’re gonna eat her alive.” His voice had a little rasp to it, but my annoyance got the better of me.

“Gotta love the encouragement here, boys.” I snickered and ignored his expression. Brick sucked in a sharp breath, and I guessed people didn’t talk to him like I just did, but I really didn’t care.

I worked a long shift and met everyone as they trickled in and out of the bar. I turned a deaf ear to all conversation that didn’t include me. I felt like everyone was testing me to try to trip me up. So I kept my mouth shut and did my job to make sure everyone paid. Brick stayed true to his word to hang around and make sure I was okay.

Morgan helped me a few times, but for the most part, I got it. At the end of my shift, I took a seat in a booth with Brick, and he ordered us a late dinner.

The place was busy, the smoke got thicker, and the music pounded.

“When did you join?” I asked right before I bit into my burger.

I was surprised it was good. Most bar food sucked. I wasn’t picky. I even ate from a stranger’s plate once, but I did know good food, and this was pretty damn good.

“Six years ago.” I looked up at him. “Right after you went back. I followed a lead that my father was part of the Devil’s Reach. He’s dead now, but I got accepted in and quickly climbed the ladder in the family.”

I examined his vest and saw the skull on the front and VP patch.

“Trigger is the president, I’m vice, and Rail, who I advise you stay away from, is below me. You’ll meet him tomorrow.”

I rolled my eyes. “Do you like this life?”

He stuffed in a handful of fries and chased it with his beer. “Yup, best life so far.” He eyed me as he thought. “Did they let you leave easily?”

“What’s the bloody guy’s story from this morning?”

Brick tapped his ring against his bottle. I could tell he was getting annoyed with me dodging his questions. “Stole from the club. Does your mom know you’re here?” I was about to change the subject again, but he gave me a warning by crossing his arms.

“She knows I’m not in Vegas.” I shook my head, remembering that morning. “I need to change my number.”

“I’ll get you a new one,” he added quickly. “Are you all right in that apartment? Sorry it’s not closer, but I’m working on that now.”

“No, don’t. It’s perfect. Thank you. As soon as I get some cash coming in, I’ll pay—”

“No, you won’t.” He cut me off and glanced across the bar at someone. “Just don’t leave this time. If you need anything, you come to me, and I’ll help you.” He looked back at me then down to my stomach. “When did you get the tat?”

I closed my eyes briefly and hated that he went there. Inching down my shirt, I shifted.

“Tess.”

“Two months…after you left.”

“How was the funeral?”

I huffed loudly and pressed the pain down. “No money, no funeral.”

His jaw locked in place before he spoke. “They never helped out?”

“You’re forgetting she broke a house rule, Brick,” I muttered darkly.

“Where is she?”

“With a friend.”

“She okay?”

I finally looked at him full in the eyes. “Would you be?”

I saw his chest rise and fall while he thought about it. “No. I wish you didn’t leave me when you did.”

“You know why I did. No sense looking back. It doesn’t—”

“Brick!” a larger man with thin gold glasses and a kind smile shouted in our direction.

“Shit, I gotta go.” He moved out from behind the table. “That’s Big Joe, Trigger’s muscle. If he calls on you, go. His bark isn’t nearly as big as his bite.” He winked as my stomach turned. “Stay. If you want my room, it’s the second door on the right. Take the bed. I have a sofa. If you’re going to leave, Morgan will walk you home.” He leaned over and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and left.

After I polished off my burger and stole the rest of Brick’s fries, I grabbed my bag and headed out into the quiet street. I would rather get comfortable walking home than spend any more time within those walls.

I needed fresh air.

About a dozen bikes were parked out front, and I wondered which one was Brick’s. One was blacked out completely and looked like it cost more than a house. It was interesting, with thin gold lines that raced along the edges of the bike. If you looked closely, you could see faint drawings that faded as you walked by it. It was a bad-ass bike, for sure.

My heels pounded the pavement, and I enjoyed the cool breeze on my hot, sticky skin. I couldn’t wait for a shower.

Three blocks, then a right, six more blocks, then a…hmm…

I heard laughing up ahead and saw the guy from earlier who had my cell phone. Damn! I really needed to use my phone so I wouldn’t get lost anymore.

I slipped into an alley and hurried around the buildings. It was dark, but it was better than having to deal with those guys. I wished I knew where the border for the club’s territory was. I wasn’t stupid and knew borders meant everything when it came to motorcycle clubs.

A strong smell hit my nose, and Marilyn Manson’s Beautiful People caught my attention. Sweat, booze, and desperation swarmed in my head and brought some old comfort seeping to the surface. No windows, no sign, just the beat to the song. Pushing the heavy door open, I stepped inside. Neon purple tube lighting swirled down the hallway, escorting me deep into the Dirty Demons strip club.

The bouncer who stepped in front of me was about twice my width. He flicked his head at me to pass. No need for an ID, no weapons check, and no need for male company.

Interesting.

Three platforms had naked women in cages dancing to the beat. The main stage had two women spinning on poles, and another slid across the stage thrusting her hips in a man’s face. The customer tucked a twenty into her g-string before she winked and moved on.

It is a good living.

Slipping into a booth in the corner, I rested my tired feet and ordered a rum and Coke.

I let the music wash over me, and the hairs on my arms stood at attention as the goosebumps pushed them upward. I let my mind wander back to the good old days when things were so much easier.

Mags grabbed my arm as she stepped off the platform. “You’re not really going up there? She’ll kill you if she finds out.”

I tossed my top hat in the air and caught it on my head. “What else can she possibly take from me that she hasn’t already?”

“You’re asking for trouble.”

“Aren’t I always?” I winked and saw her devilish smile widen as she motioned for me to go on.

“There’s a military party in the front. They’re tippin’ hot tonight.”

“What about—?”

“He’s at the bar.”

I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before I took a deep a breath and felt the rush as I stepped out and locked eyes with him.

“You here for amateur night?” The waitress pulled me from my memory and set my drink down on a black napkin.

I handed her a ten and shook my head when she reached out to make change.

“When is it?”

“Every Tuesday, at midnight.” I nodded, but she stared at me. “You wax?”

I nodded again.

“Real?” She pointed to my boobs.

“Yeah.”

“Impressive.” She looked over her shoulder at her boss, who was watching us carefully. “Well, I’d be happy to see you up there.”

“Thanks,” I muttered into my rum and Coke, avoiding her boss’s nasty stare.

Settling in, I watched the girls and how they moved. Some were better than others. A few of them asked me for a lap dance, but I wasn’t in the mood. Besides, it would only make the addiction stronger.

My hips shook as I dropped to the ground in a split. I swiveled to my stomach and ever so slowly pulled myself back into a sitting position. Rolling backward, I did a somersault and hooked my leg around the pole. Using my stomach muscles, I grabbed the pole with my hand and twisted into a spin. That was, until I saw her wrap her arm around his neck and look in my direction. Her look of hate ripped right through me.

As soon as the song ended, I rushed off the stage and burst through the doors and out into the stuffy night air. I rubbed my fingers over my wrist, over the spot that nearly took me away from this hell. I needed to get away from here.

I nursed my drink until I grew tired. Waving at the waitress, I found my way back outside. I stayed in the cover of darkness until I was at the back of my building then hurried to the front and let myself in.

Pressing eight on the elevator, I sank into the corner and waited for the floor to arrive. My pillow never felt so good.

Author Bio:

Bestselling author J. L. Drake was born and raised in Nova Scotia, Canada, later moving to Southern California where she lives with her husband and two children.

When she’s not writing, she loves to spend time with her family, travelling or just enjoying a night at home. One thing you might notice in her books is her love for the four seasons. Growing up on the east coast of Canada the change in the seasons is in her blood and is often mentioned in her writing.

An avid reader of James Patterson, J.L. Drake has often found herself inspired by his many stories of mystery and intrigue.

She hopes you will enjoy her stories as much as she has enjoyed writing them.

Social Media Links:

Facebook: www.facebook.com/jldrakeauthor

Website: www.authorjldrake.com

Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/jodildrake_j

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Email: jodildrake@outlook.com    

Goodreads Link: www.goodreads.com/JLDrake    

Giveaways: Signed paperback of Trigger and an e-copy of Broken book one of my Broken Trilogy from where the story all began.

Direct link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/81aa78941299/