#this was supposed to be historical but tumble fucked up

[texass-shenanigans]

"Okay, are you ready?" Eduardo asked as he walked his little brother, Angel, to his classroom. Angel nodded, he was holding a card close to his chest, "We got here a little early, pequiño," Eduardo pointed out "So? I can give Mr. Houston my card without kids bugging me now," Angel reached up to the door knob, "Bye bye, Eddie!" he said before walking in The preschooler squealed as he ran with a card to his teacher, “Mister Houston! Mister Houston! I got a present for you!” he called out. Mr. Houston looked up from his desk and smiled. “Angel! How are you?” he asked as the boy attempted to climb onto his lap “I’m good, but lookie!” Angel shook the card around while also putting his arms up, signaling that he wanted to be picked up. Mr. Houston lifted the kid onto his lap and took the card. “Wonder what it says,” Houston said with a slight smirk. The card said ‘Fathers’ Day’ in purple marker bubble letters with orange and green designs surrounding the letters, there were doodles of flowers on the side and corners, and a crudely drawn smiley face underneath 'Fathers' Day'. He opened it up and was greeted to rather nice handwriting, "Did you write this?" he asked. Angel shook his head. "Nuh uh, my big brother did but I told 'em what to write," Angel explained, "Go on, read it!" "Alrighty then," Houston began, "'Thank you Mr. Houston for always taking good care of me, thank you for teaching me and making sure I eat, you tell me lots of cool stuff'", Houston smiled and looked over to the bouncing toddler, "'Things like space or history, you're a really good teacher and I like when you call me 'son'. It makes me feel nice. Other kids say I'm your favorite, but I don't mind(even if I am). I like coming to school everyday because I get to see you and Mr. Seguin, you two are the best! The end'," Houston pulled Angel into a hug, the child didn't mind, "Thank you for that, Angel," he kissed Angel's head, he giggled. "You're welcome, Mr. Houston!" Houston brought Angel back down just as his other students began to walk in. Later that day the kids were required to read out Fathers' Day poems they wrote that weekend, except Angel. His card was more than enough for this grade

[mst3kproject]

Godmonster of Indian Flats

If I had a dollar for every movie I’ve seen about a bloodthirsty mutant sheep, I would have... two dollars.

I was entirely willing to feature Godmonster of Indian Flats based on its strangeness alone, but it does have one connection to MST3K in that actress Peggy Browne was also in Avalanche. Another performer here, Kerrigan Prescott, also had a part in previous Episode that Never Was Fiend Without a Face, so hey, close enough!

Dr. Clemens and his assistant Mariposa discover a mutant lamb on Eddie the Rancher’s sheep farm, and take it up to a secret lab at Indian Flats for study.  This seems somewhat outside of Clemens’ claimed purview as an anthropologist, but whatever, I’m just here to watch the movies.  While the monster grows to maturity in a tank, the mayor of a local tourist town, Mr. Silverdale, is refusing to sell land to a Mr. Barnstable, who is interested in the mining rights.  We soon get the idea that Silverdale is less interested in tourism than he is in having his own private Wild West LARP, and the townsfolk have an almost cult-like reverence for him.  Eventually, their increasingly violent attempts to run Barnstable out of town cross paths with Dr. Clemens’ pet mutant, and all hell breaks loose!

Well, maybe not all hell.  This movie hasn’t got the money for all hell.  Rest assured, though, that they unleash all the hell they could afford.

The hell in question takes the form of a lumpy hunchbacked sheep creature with a rubbery sock puppet head, one long dangling arm, and a huge Kim Kardashian ass.  It interrupts a picnic, and blows up a gas station by knocking over a pump with its bubble butt.  It may or may not understand English, and it breathes poisonous gas when injured.  The puppet is pretty weird and scary-looking in the darkness of Clemens' secret lab, but out in the full light of day it is ridiculous.

Any movie with a mutant sheep monster is going to be weird, and the monster is the weirdest thing in the movie, but make no mistake – Godmonster of Indian Flats sans monster would still be a weird fucking movie. The other story going on here, Silverdale vs Barnstable, is thoroughly bizarre in itself.

Apparently it's not enough for Silverdale and the townspeople to simply refuse to sell Barnstable their mining rights.  Instead, they have to totally ruin his career and both his physical and mental health! First of all, they invite him to their 'Bonanza Days' and have him take part in a shooting contest, where the whole town conspires to make it look like he accidentally shot the sheriff's dog.  Then they hold a funeral for the dog as if it were a person.  The whole time the dog is fine – it was just playing dead, and afterwards the sheriff sends it to live with a friend.

When Barnstable still doesn't leave town after this, Silverdale's toady Phil whacks him over the head with a bottle, then shoots himself in the shoulder and puts the gun in the unconscious man's hand.  Barnstable wakes up in jail and demands a lawyer, but everybody ignores him.  Eddie and Mariposa help him escape, and the sheriff then forms a posse to hunt him down and lynch him!  At the end of the movie Silverdale triumphantly tells Barnstable that he's going to lose his job because his boss is embarrassed by all these goings-on.  At this point Barnstable also has a cracked skull and a broken arm.  He's a PTSD-ridden shell of a man and yet Silverdale is still yelling “I've beaten you, Barnstable!” as the end credits roll.

All of this might become a little less weird (but way more horrible) when I mention that Barnstable is the only black character with dialogue.  And yet, none of it is ever overtly framed as racist.  Nobody ever uses a slur – in fact, Barnstable's race is never once referenced in dialogue, not even obliquely.  You could cast a white actor in this part and nothing would have to be changed. What Barnstable seems to represent, and what Silverdale and the townspeople claim to be fighting against (Silverdale declares that he is 'the custodian of an era'), is decadence and capitalism, concepts traditionally associated with a white elite.

This in itself should be read as a commentary on race.  It's notable that Barnstable is playing by white rules.  He's a smooth businessman representing the interests of his presumably white boss.  When Silverdale invites him to Bonanza Days, he is happy to step into that role, too.  He dresses the part and takes up the six-shooter, and does a pretty good job with it.  Barnstable is a 'model minority' figure, a black man with the trappings of white success... and in spite of that, he is still abused.  Hard as he tries to fit into the white people's world, he is not welcome there.

I don't think that's actually what Barnstable is supposed to represent to the viewer, however.  The people of this town are described in the opening as 'living in the past' and we see that they're very dedicated to it.  Silverdale dresses the part of a nineteenth century gentleman even when he's at home.  Everybody dresses up in period costumes for occasions like parties and church, and the town's status as a tourist attraction requires many people to play such a role full-time.  There's a dark underbelly to this quaint little world, as we see in the opening when a barmaid steals Eddie's casino winnings, but even that fits their chosen period.

Barnstable intrudes into this world as a representative of modernity and reality. If you're paying attention, you soon realize that the 'past' the townsfolk are living in isn't like the real past at all.  The real history of this little mining town would have involved filthy, back-breaking work in the mines, and saloons full of drunks, prostitutes, and crime.  The modern town has adopted the pretty trappings of the 19th century – the clothes, the horses, and nice little shows of piety like the dog funeral – while sweeping the dirt and violence under the rug.  The latter are only to be turned on outsiders.

This fantasy version of the old west is also very, very white.  In the real world, history is always more diverse than we usually think it was – one of the historical figures who inspired the character the Lone Ranger, for example, was Bass Reeves, the first black US Marshall in the west.  The people in Silverdale's town have no interest in that.  There is not a single Native American character in the movie, and I've already mentioned the lack of other people of colour, except for a couple of background tourists.  This is an essential part of throwing away the ugly parts of the past – race brings conflict, and Silverdale and his followers want none of that. Barnstable's race makes his status as an outsider all the more obvious, both visually and as a reminder that the world these people are trying to live in never really existed.

This puts Barnstable in a very strange place in this movie.  He's definitely a victim, but never a hero – in fact, Godmonster of Indian Flats is yet another movie that doesn't have a hero – yet he is not a villain, either.  He's just some poor bastard who wandered into a horror movie and now he can't find his way out of it.

So... what does any of this have to do with a mutant sheep monster?

I dunno.  There seem to have been mutants in this area for a long time, since Clemens talks about legends of a 'mine monster' and even shows off weird fossils he's found, but how does that tie into the theme of clinging to the past?  Maybe it's supposed to be about history repeating itself, since new monsters are being born just as the mines are about to re-open?  I have no idea.

Does the monster die at the end?  I cannot tell you.  I think it dies when the truck it was caged in blows up?  The movie ends with an angry mob pushing the truck over a steep slope where they dump their garbage, while Eddie, Clemens, and Mariposa try to reveal Silverdale's own land-grab scheme.  This all degenerates into chaos and people tumbling down the hill and shooting each other, while Silverdale stands there yelling about how violence controls the masses and how he's beaten Barnstable. It's an ending that seems calculated to leave the audience going, “... huh?”.

Why is it a God monster? Now this, I do have a theory about.  I don't think the sheep is actually the godmonster – I think the titular menace is actually Mr. Silverdale! He wields a god-like authority within the town, even when his evil scheme is apparently exposed at the end, and uses it to do monstrous things!  If that's not what they were going for... then I have no idea.

I mentioned in the opening that I've seen two movies about mutant sheep monsters.  The other is Black Sheep, which is one of those off-the-wall movies they make in New Zealand when they're not doing Tolkien-related stuff.  Black Sheep was apparently inspired by Godmonster of Indian Flats, but it throws out the race relations stuff and runs with the 'mutant sheep' thing to make on of the most perfect dark comedies I've ever seen.  I would recommend it to the strong-stomached in the same way I recommended The Valley of Gwangi to anyone disappointed by Beast of Hollow Mountain – it is everything the older film should have been but was not.

[auroracalisto]

something there—chapter one

summary: the reader is a part of a great prophecy revealed to geralt and jaskier by an unnamed witch.  the only problem?  well, see, there’s multiple.  she doesn’t believe that it’s her, and she lives in 2020.

pairing: hinted jaskier x geralt, nothing really more than that, future jaskier x reader x geralt

word count: 1.7k words

warnings: mmmmm cussing.  like i probs dropped the f-bomb five times in one sentence.  female reader.  other than that, nothing.

author’s notes: i legit got this idea while driving home after work and it took me forever to figure out what i want to do with this (at least with the first chapter).  i hope to continue this, but i’m not sure how often i’ll be able to pump out parts for this.  i am super excited for this tho.  i cannot tell you how many geralt and jaskier stories i have read....... and we are not going to discuss this here.  i hope you all enjoy!!!  also i’m trying out a different format for my posts?  summary + little snippet of story if it’s a longer one?  and then the pushed out part uh

"Aren't prophecies supposed to rhyme?"

The witch looked at Geralt with an exasperated expression, before she cleared her throat.  "The two of you," she said, looking at both the Witcher and the bard, "need to find a girl with a profound knowledge in music and storytelling. A virgin maiden from lands far, far away, with a heart big enough for two others."

Jaskier looked towards Geralt, a confused look spread across his face.  

"She will help you find what it is you're looking for," she said, pointing towards the Witcher as she spoke.  "When you wake, the two of you will be teleported to her lands.  Her heart is pure enough to help you with your journey.  Her soul as pure as the driven snow.  You will have two weeks to convince her to travel back with you, and you will be able to continue with your own travels.  Or, you will be stuck in her lands until someone from our world goes searching for the lost Witcher and his bard."

"Woah, woah, woah," Jaskier held up his hands, frowning deeply at the woman.  "Teleported?  Her world—pardon?"

The witch just smiled at him.  In just a moment's time, she disappeared from in front of the two and Jaskier and Geralt were left, stewing in the prophecy she left them with.  

[]

[Your name] woke to the soft chirping of birds coming from the outside of her window.  She slowly peeled her eyes open, groaning softly.  She had stayed up until five in the morning, once again, working on a never-ending project.  It was only ten in the morning, but she had to be awake so she could call her boss and figure out what it is that she needed to do next.  The woman slowly got out of bed and placed her feet on the bed.  However, she took one step forward and she went tumbling to the floor after tripping over someone.  

"What the—"

[Your name] quickly turned around and her eyes grew wide at the sight of a man lying in her floor.  He had quickly sat up, knocking his head against her bedside table.  With a groan, he put a hand to his forehead, looking around.  His face grew pale.  "What—"

"Who the fuck are you?" [Your name] quickly asked, scrambling to her feet.  She took a couple of steps back, her heart pounding in her chest.  

The man's eyes widened as he looked over at the woman.  She began to notice how he was dressed—it reminded her of the old historical dramas she used to watch every Sunday with her grandmother.  

"Who the fuck are you?" [Your name] repeated.  

"Jaskier..."

"Okay, Jaskier, why the fuck are you in my bedroom?"

He let out a curt laugh and he leaned himself up against her bed.  "How the hell am I supposed—" he stopped himself, hurriedly getting to his feet.  "Geralt?!"

"What?" [Your name] paled.  There was another man in her apartment?  Not to mention, her quite run down apartment?

White hair became visible in her line of vision and she quickly backed up to her wall.  "What the fuck?" she breathed out.  "Who the fuck are you?  How did you get in my house?  Where's my fucking phone?"

[Your name] quickly rushed to her bedside table, grabbing it off of the charger.  She went to dial 911, only to discover that her phone was completely shut off.  The black screen never lit up.  She looked towards the men, trembling.  

The white haired man, known as Geralt, began to frown.  "We need to talk to you."

"How the fuck did you get in my house?" Geralt frowned even more.  "A witch."

[Your name] blinked a couple of times.  "Excuse me?  Are you fucking dumb?"

Jaskier snorted under his breath as he looked over at the Witcher.  

"No.  I'm not.  We need to talk to you."

[Your name] looked back down on her phone, just to make sure it wasn't just lagging.  It was an old phone, and sometimes, it would do that.  She clenched her jaw and closed her eyes.  She had nothing anymore—no family, a crappy apartment, and an especially crappy job that she was constantly pulling all-nighters for.  [Your name]'s gaze switched from Jaskier to Geralt before she gave a small nod.  

"I... fine," [Your name] said, swallowing thickly.  "Fine.  But," she looked down at her clothes and blushed even more.  "Get out of my room.  I need to at least change my clothes—"

"—that's what you're calling that?" Jaskier smirked at her.

Her eyes widened and she nearly shoved his arm.  "Get out."

Geralt had already left, and Jaskier couldn't help but let out a soft laugh.  He left the room.  [Your name] quickly shut the door and pressed her back up against the wood.  Her heart throbbed in her ears and throughout her body.  Surely, she was just hallucinating and having a heart attack.  A stroke, maybe.  Could it have been a manic episode?  

[Your name] went over to her clothes and quickly pulled out a pair of jeans and an over sized hoodie.  She combed out her hair and ran to the bathroom to brush her teeth before she came out into the hallway.  The men weren't there.  Perhaps it truly was just a bad dream.  She frowned and walked out to her living room/dining room/kitchen—three in one.  She saw the two sitting at the table.  Jaskier had quickly pulled his hand away from Geralt's, who just pulled his hand closer to his body rather than completely pull it off the table.  [Your name] blushed and went towards her kitchen.  

"Do you... do you guys want anything?"

"Being hospitable now, are we?" Jaskier sent her a smile.  

"You're both sitting at my dining room table.  Why wouldn't I?"

Jaskier rose his eyebrow, but he didn't say anything else.  

While she made a pot of coffee, he curiously watched her while Geralt looked around her small home.  He had quite a few comments to make, but his face would never show it.  [Your name] poured herself a cup of coffee and made it just how she liked before she hesitantly came over and sat down across from the two.  She cleared her throat, her finger tips gently tapping at the warmed mug before she spoke.  

"Who are the two of you?"

"Geralt of Rivia.  This is Jaskier."

She rose an eyebrow, slightly nodding.  "My name is [Your name]."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Jaskier grinned, "[Your name].

"Wish I could say the same," she meekly grinned.  "Can you please tell me how you got in my apartment?"

"Like I said," Geralt cleared his throat.  His voice was deep—part of [Your name] wanted to melt at the sound.  "A witch sent us."

[Your name] fought the urge to roll her eyes, but this did not go unnoticed by the Witcher.  He kept his eyes on her, quiet as he did so.  

"A witch sent you.  To my cheap ass apartment.  Likely story."

"He's not lying," Jaskier said.  "He's telling nothing but the truth."

"Yeah?"  This time, she did roll her eyes.  "Prove it."

"Our clothes are not enough?" Geralt asked.  "You are not from the lands we hail from.."

[Your name] looked at their clothes once more.  She had noticed Jaskier's earlier, but the more she looked, she realized how old fashioned they looked—how worn they seemed.  [Your name] crossed her arms over her chest.  She hesitantly looked towards Geralt and gave a small nod.  

"Alright.  I'm listening."

Geralt looked towards Jaskier.  Jaskier returned his gaze and he pursed his lips.  

"Are you going to tell her?"

Geralt huffed softly.  "Yes.  This witch.  We went to her for guidance.  We've been looking for a way to defeat..." he stopped for a moment, looking at Jaskier again.  "To defeat an enemy for some time.  She sent us... here, with a prophecy."

"And?"

Geralt looked at her.  

"What's the prophecy?" she asked, sipping at her mug of coffee.  The steam rose and warmed her chilled face.  Only now did she realize how cold it had gotten in her apartment.  Her heating bill must have failed again.  She cleared her throat, looking at Geralt again.  "Well?"

He frowned.  "A virgin—" Just with that, [Your name] choked on her coffee and she began to blush.  "What?"

This caused a small smirk to form on Geralt's face.  Jaskier saw this and he couldn't help from his smile forming.  

"We are to convince a virgin maiden from lands far away to come back with us to defeat our enemy." he said.  They are profound in music and storytelling."

"Definitely not me," [Your name] blushed.  I'm not profound in anything."

"Ah, so you are a virgin?" Jaskier grinned over at her.  

[Your name] just shot him a look as her blush darkened.  "What else?" she asked, looking back at Geralt.  

"They are to have a heart big enough for two others...  I am still not quite sure what that refers to.  Her heart is pure enough to help us." the Witcher spoke.  He looked towards Jaskier once more.  

Something just told [Your name] that there was something going on between the two—the looks they continued to share made her heart melt in a good way.  Every look was filled with love—one that she wasn't familiar with, but one that she would love to learn to expect from someone.

"We have two weeks to convince her to travel back with us.  Her soul is said to be as pure as the driven snow."

"Alright, alright, but," [Your name] sat her mug down, stuffing her hands in her sweatshirt pocket to keep them warm.  "What does this have to do with me and my apartment?"

"Perhaps you are the one to help us find her," Jaskier said.  

Geralt nodded.  "That is what I have come to understand."

[Your name] tilted her head back as she thought, taking in a deep breath.  "Right.  So.  Two totally hot men show up in my house and tell me I'm supposed to help them with some damned prophecy?" [Your name] looked straight at Jaskier.  "Are you sure I'm not having a stroke?"

He stared at you for a moment before he grinned.  "Hot?  Is there a reason to refer to us as hot?"

[Your name] eyes widened a bit and she shook her head.  "Just ignore that I said that.  You don't know what it means, do you?  God," she groaned softly and squeezed her eyes shut.  Clenching her jaw, she spoke one last time before grabbing her coffee mug.  "Fine.  What is it you need me to do?"

[teacup-tyrant]

SHADOW & BONE REVIEW: EP 1

HELLO.

So let's get the assholery out of the way: I have a master's in arts critique (specifically film, dance, and fashion) and these are my Very Important Educated Thoughts.™ Just kidding. They’re not important. They're only educated. Sort of. I used to do the journalism but now I only write for funzies.

These are all my reactions, thoughts, and culturally-influenced tidbits I noticed (because that is my jam). We'll talk about communist propaganda, we'll talk about transitional editing in film, we'll talk about historical dress translated to costume, we'll fangirl over our favorite moments and be sarcastic over everything else.

Let's ROLL:

- first thing's first, was that a goat on the bridge?! WAS THAT A GOAT. Is this foreshadowing already? Or did we just see the well known-star of the show already, somebody hold me

- This kind of happy intro to character backgrounds music is kind of throwing me. (This is the only time I reacted kind of meh in the sound dept.)

-Ok, that shot of the camera panning up the cane is sexy af. You know, the one from all the gifs we've been staring at the last month. We get to The Cane before you get introduced to Kaz even. Bc it’s important. I like that.

- Omfg when Kaz goes into the office and the DeKappel is hanging framed in on the wall... I am screaming

- "I only invest in one of a kind, she isn't like you. No one is." Easy does it, now

- Kaz is looking directly at the camera, directly at usssss ahhhhhh it’s kind of scary, I love it. It comes off as rather threatening, no?

- You can FELL when I scene transition is coming because they're doing that pan in pan out camera movement on a similar object, for example the painting of the fold to the actual fold, or the same motion a character is making. Takes me back to my true love and oscar winning editing team on Lord of the Rings. Imagine hadving 5 plot lines in different locations running at once (in RotK. lol at the editors, good luck making it all make sense

- Goddamn racist Ravkens, yeesh (x1)

- ZOYA. WOAH. Combing on a bit heavy with Mal, are we?

Stop talking about tumbling grisha, Mal, you’re making Alina feel worse hahah

- OH SHIT BOYS, IT'S PEKKA ROLLINS. He doesn't have a green coat, but he does have a heavy Scottish accent, so that's nice

- Alina's whole unit just got sent into the fold, ohhhhoho fuck that means everyone that died is her fault. ooooops.

- God, the skiff is just so cool. that shot of it right after they unfurl the sail is beautiful, jfc I am loving this. And the MUSIC and then a cut to silence and creaking ships noises and distant volcra. I did a presentation on sound editing in school and this reminds me of some moments from another Oscar-winning sound editing team that worked on Master & Commander

- Ship graveyard! Good way of establishing how deadly this place has been without saying it. And also the dead trees is pretty cool, I always thought of the Fold as just empty nothingness but the trees make it creepier

- A KAZ SMIRKY SMIRK!

- Casual showing of guns, always necessary

- I love how they use heartbeat sounds in the background when heartrenders are around

- I’m just really loving the sound editing, can you tell. It’s really important.

- Awaaa Inej being all like "omg saints! a sun summoner, wow, so holy!"

- OMFG HE SHOT HIM IN THE HEAD and lol Kaz doesn’t flinch

- Kaz really does stare right at the camera a lot and it’s kind of unnerving, which it probably is supposed to be, bc it’s establishing him as a no-nonsense boss, like this guy will fuck you up and be emotionless about it

- Hold on, did I miss who this mustache guy is even and why he wants Alina? I need to pay better attention

- Is the credits song the Ketterdam theme? I love me some good bouncy cello

...and that's the end of episode 1. Beautiful. Amazing. Word-building. Good sounds. Stay tuned for ep2.

ep1 | ep2 | ep3 | ep4 | ep5 | ep6 | ep7 | ep8

[scenecipriano]

Curse of The Fold (5)

Chapter Five: Haunted

Description: The year was 1692, a time where women, children, and men feared for their lives of possibly being accused of witchcraft. Two men though, don’t allow this mass hysteria to come between them. Even though the madness Janus and Roman manage to keep their relationship a secret…That is until the summer of 1692.“The only thing that could hurt us. Is the curse of the fold.”

Characters: Patton Sanders, Roman Sanders, Remus Sanders, Janus Sanders, Logan Sanders, Virgil Sanders, and Thomas Sanders

Relationships: Roman/Janus

TW: Unsympathetic Patton, Unsympathetic Remus, major character death, death by hanging, death by fire, executions, witch trials.

Other(s): Based on Salem Witch Trials and not fully historically accurate.

Chapter TW: attempted drowning, Unsympathetic Remus, forced kissing, non-con touching, knives, and blood 

—————

March 2nd, 1692 Salem Massachusetts

Roman has to get away, the town was becoming too hectic. Two executions back to back happened, one of them a woman in her early thirties and the other a man who was about Roman’s age.

He rushes through the woods, just desperately trying to get away from it all. The death was taking a toll on him, Roman just knew that it was.

“Would you slow down! I can’t keep up!” Virgil yells.

Roman forces himself to come to a halt, he glances back and watches as his skinny friend struggles to catch up, his breath coming out in short puffs.

“Apologies, Virgil… I just need to get away, that town and my father are running me crazy.”

Virgil nods and takes a moment to catch his breath before walking towards Roman, once the two were side by side Virgil gestures for his friend to continue walking at a slower pace.

“I know what you mean… The hangings are haunting me you know, to think I could have been one of them if it hadn’t been for that medicine this witch gave you,” Virgil says as he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his black trousers.

Roman glances over and narrows his eyes at Virgil, “For the last time, Janus is not a witch. You can make medicines and not be a witch, Virgil.”

Virgil shrugs and leans his head back, his dark hair tumbling past his shoulders a bit as he closes his eyes.

“Whatever you say, Roman. He better be as nice as you say he is, or I’m not going to like him.”

Roman huffs and crosses his arms over his chest, he doesn’t understand why everyone accuses Janus of being a witch. They must not be horrible accusations seeing as he’s never been tried, or maybe the others were just too scared to pursue him… Even then, Roman knows the man isn’t a witch, witches aren’t real.

‘ Or maybe they are, you’ve said it yourself. You feel an unnatural pull to this man, the way he's singing has you in a sort of trance whenever you hear it.’

Roman shakes the thoughts away, he didn’t fall into a trance whenever he heard Janus’ singing, he just found the man… alluring.  

“I was only five when my father died, and I feel like a part of me lies with him~.”

The two of them stop, Roman can’t help but smile. He gestures for Virgil to stay quiet as he pulls his friend to the sound of the singing.

“With a drink in his hand, he bid the world farewell. Such a waste of life on just a little thrill~.”

The two of them hide behind a set of bushes that were nearby, they peek out and see Janus kneeling by the round lake that was hidden from their original path’s view. The smaller man was gathering the water in buckets, setting them aside as he did.

“In my younger days, I never could find a light to guide my way~.”

Roman sighs softly as he stares at Janus, he could never grow tired of looking at this man. Oh, how Roman wishes to one day wake up next to Janus, to one day hold him tight and never let go.

‘ What the hell are you on about!? You can’t hold a man like that!’

Roman smacks the voice down, he was not about to let his father’s teachings disrupt the pleasant fantasy that he was having.

“Why are we hiding here? I thought you wanted to speak to him,” Virgil hisses.

Roman blinks and looks over to his friend, he sighs and goes back to staring at Janus. He should have told Virgil that he could meet Janus another time.

“I know you’re back there, come out and face me like a man you disgusting cretin,” Janus speaks up, not bothering to turn around.

Roman frowns when he notices how tense Janus looks, ‘ Has something happened to you, my sweet angel?’

Both Roman and Virgil move away from the hiding spot, Virgil jumps back when Janus suddenly turns, a knife held tightly in his left hand as his bicolored eyes regard them coldly. Roman frowns as the fight drains from Janus’s body, his shoulders sagging down, the hand holding the knife up drops to his side.

“Oh… It’s… It’s just you, Roman. Good… Who might you be?” Janus asks as he gestures towards Virgil with his free hand, causing the man to flinch slightly.

When Virgil stays quiet, Roman huffs and nudges him slightly, gesturing for him to speak.

“U-Um… Virgil, Mr. Wi- I-I mean, Janus Delvaux,” he stammers, avoiding eye-contact with Janus in fears of the man possibly hypnotizing him.

Roman feels his heart flutter when Janus lets out a chuckle, he watches as the beauty of a man puts his weapon away. Janus offers Virgil a kind smile as he steps forward, his right hand stretched out for him to shake.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Virgil. Please, just call me Janus or even Dee, it’s what old friends of mine used to call me. Are you the same Virgil that deals with those agonizing fits?”

Virgil hesitantly takes Janus’s hand and gives it a small shake, he glances up and offers him a small smile in return.

“Y-Yes… Thank you, by the way for the medicine. Do I… Have to repay you in any way?”

“Yes, you owe me your firstborn son,” Janus deadpans while staring directly into Virgil’s eyes.

The two friends stare at him in shock before Janus breaks down in hysterics, his laughter was loud and boisterous and honestly, it sounded like music to Roman’s ears.

“I’m kidding! Oh, your faces! Ah… No, Virgil, you don’t owe me anything. If you ever need any more just let Roman know and he can tell me. It’s not hard to make so I always have the needed supplies,” Janus explains as he wipes away an imaginary tear.

Virgil laughs nervously and mumbles a thank you before stepping behind Roman, who rolls his eyes at his friend's unnecessary fear.

Roman offers Janus a small smile.

“Anyway, how can I help you fine gentlemen on this beautiful day? Are you in need of something, or did you just fancy a visit to the old witch of the woods?”

Roman frowns.

“You’re not a witch, I refuse to hear it from everyone else, that includes you too, but no, we don’t need anything. We were just on a stroll and we happened to hear your lovely voice,” Roman replies as he tries his best to give his own version of a sauve smirk.

Janus feels his face heat up as he turns away, he kneels back down and returns to filling his last bucket with water.

“Honest, Roman, you’re such a flatterer. Tell me, Virgil, is he always like this, or am I just a lucky man?”

Virgil snorts and shakes his head, “I suppose you’re lucky because usually it’s his brother that’s trying to lay it on thick.”

Roman can’t help but notice how Janus grows tense at the mention of his brother, he frowns.

“Well… His brother must be the real cock of the town, hm?” Janus asks, his voice was tight.

“You could say that, but, Roman we should get going. We had those errands to run for your father remember?”

Roman huffs and rolls his eyes, he looks back at Janus and smiles when he notices the smaller man staring at him with those mismatched eyes.

“I’ll return later, we can sit and catch up.”

Janus watches silently as the two of them walk away, he lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He turns back to his buckets, these should be enough for his new batches of medicine and a rabbit stew he was planning to cook for supper that night.

“Man, I thought they would never leave!”

Janus tenses up when hears that nasally voice speaks from behind him, he quickly turns around and tries to pull his knife from his pants pocket, only to have the air knocked from his lungs as he’s pushed against a tree.

He grimaces in pain as Remus bangs his left wrist against the tree over and over until he’s forced to drop the knife to the ground.

“There we go! Can’t have you going for a blood sacrifice, now can we?” Remus mocks as he pins Janus’s hands behind his back.

Janus bites back a whimper at the force of which his wrists were being held.

“W-What the hell do you want?” Janus stammers, he mentally curses himself for showing his fear.

Remus hums and tilts his head, a grin breaks out across his face as he leans in close, his lips almost brushing against Janus’s.

“Something I can’t have, daddy always said I was a brat.”

Janus opens his mouth as a means to scream only to have Remus’s tongue shoved down his throat, he squeezes his eyes closed tight and does the only thing he can think of, and that’s to bite down.

Remus pulls back with a yell, blood slipping past his lips, pale green eyes glare at Janus with such an intensity that it causes the smaller man to shudder.

“You’ll fucking pay for that, witch,” Remus hisses as he grabs Janus by his hair causing him to scream out.

“Okay, so maybe he’s not so bad, but that firstborn joke was not funny,” says Virgil as he and Roman make their way back to town.

Roman rolls his eyes and goes to reply, only for a scream to startle them both. He and Virgil turn back and share a look before running towards the scream. They ignore how the low-hanging limbs snatch at them, trying to keep them away from the horrifying sound.

They both come to a stop when they hear the sound of splashing water and sharp gasps for air to their left.

‘ That’s where Janus was!’

Roman is the first to run back to the lake, leaving Virgil there to ponder what was happening before snapping out of it and following his friend.

“Oh, would you look at that! The whore of a witch isn’t fucking sinking, looks like it's the rope for you! Unless you want to make my wound feel better?”

The both of them stop when they hear a familiar nasally voice, the sound of gasping and coughing sounds along with splashing water.

“P-Please, please just leave me alone!” Janus cries.

The sound of water splashing sounds again, accompanied by a scoff.

“Wrong answer, guess I’ll just hold you here until you agree!” Remus exclaims.

Anger courses through Roman as he stomps to where his brother is, he shakes off Virgil when his friend tries to stop him. His anger only burns hotter when he sees the way Janus erratically kicks, hoping to free himself somehow.

Roman rushes over and jerks his brother away, tackling his twin to the ground.

“Ro-Ro! I thought you and Virgie had some errands to run!” Remus exclaims, a bloody grin on his face as he stares up at an irate Roman.

A gasp sounds from behind him as Janus pulls himself up and away from the lake, Roman listens as he struggles to catch his breath, coughing the whole time as he does.

“What the fuck were you doing, Remus? You could have killed him!” Roman yells as he grabs the front of his brother’s shirt.

“It’s what the whore deserves! Besides, why do you care? Unless, you’ve been sneaking around and getting your dick sucked by this pathetic, witch.”

Roman clenches his jaw, his knuckles going white from how tight he was holding onto his brother’s shirt. He wanted to hit him, but Roman knew better. If he were to hit Remus, then he would spin it into something ten times worse to their father, which led Roman onto the man’s bad side.

Roman breathes deeply and stands up, he pulls Remus up as he goes and shoves him towards the direction of the path.

“Get out of here, Remus. Don’t let me catch you around him ever again, you hear me?”

The two brothers stare each other down before the youngest relents with an angry huff, Roman watches as Remus pushes past Virgil.

“I um… I’m going to make sure he actually goes home, you make sure Janus is okay,” says Virgil, his tone meek as he leaves Roman and Janus alone.

The two of them stay silent save for Janus’s labored breathing, Roman sighs and moves to kneel in front of Janus. He gently tilts the smaller man's head back and gazes into his blue and green eyes.

“Are you alright?” Roman asks.

Tears burn in Janus’s eyes, he tries his hardest to keep them at bay only for them to slip past without his permission. A choked sob leaves his shaking form as he throws himself into Roman’s arms.

Roman holds to Janus tightly, ignoring how the water on his body seeped into his clean shirt. Roman cards his hand through the smaller man’s hair and softly shushes him.

“It’s going to be okay… You’re okay, I’ll protect you from him and everyone else…”

‘ I promise…’

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

A/N: owo

~TAGLIST~: @imma-potatoo @feminine-femme

[the-headbop-wraith]

X

3 _ 42 The Land Time Forgot

  Part 4 - Final

 An extended time later, dedicated to the intense and unrelenting search for their friend, all of which resulted in no leads or inspiration to where he might’ve been hauled off. It was possible Arthur was still within the park, but it was also as likely that he was hauled out to a parking lot and smuggled away in an unmarked van. Vivi doubted those orchestrated events, given only one person was viewed dragging Arthur away. By the build they were larger than Arthur, not the same dimensions as Lewis, but enough muscles and mass to bully their thin friend into restraints.

 Nothing positive came from Mystery’s searching. It was harder for him to track scent trails if a possession or shoe didn’t make direct contact with the ground or standing structures, such as plants or fences. Likewise, the cart that got away was speculated to not have returned to the park grounds. If he was not within the park, their search was near impossible.

The remaining three made their way through the Historically Accurate Old West district, with Mystery leading the way sniffing on the air or scanning the ground. By now, the park was nearly deserted aside from the work crews roving around, cleaning up the plots of ambient landmarks – in the case of the Old West ™ - they touched up bleached out paint on stagecoaches and trimmed back cactuses amid a gravel patch. Technical crews descended on the rides, to give last checks before the attractions shut down for the evening. Natural light faded away, permitting the intense lamps dotted across the park to award visibility to the current groups.

 “This isn’t working,” Lewis noted. “We just have to go by the security offices and see about examining those cameras.”

 Vivi sighed. “I know you’re right, but searching through all those cameras can lead us to the same situation. Trying to figure out where they went, after the train.” She paused for a moment and observed the work crews, expertly raking the gravel around a tall saguaro cactus.

 Asking people if they saw a ‘lizard man’ driving a golf cart around, had warranted many obtuse gawks, gaggles, and some giggles. Most people thought they were acting out some sort of park gag or something, and a few others asked if a hidden camera was involved. People.

 “It would be a lead though,” Vivi supposed. She gave a whistle, and Mystery whipped his head up.

 “Better than nothing,” Lewis quipped.

 Unbeknownst to the group, a golf cart rolled through the pathway of the Historically Accurate Old West district. The vehicle only halted when the driver spied the group from a distance, headed for the district exit. The driver wore a park merch hoody, and under the rustic eave of a shut-up memento shop, the shadows draped them near completely.

 “There they are,” he muttered, exasperated. He struck the steering wheel, then pulled up the phone. The pale light of the screen traced across the lower features of his face, and a downcast frown. “Last warning. There won’t be another.”

  __

  Darkness pressed in upon the expanse of the storage chamber. The noises outside, the screaming and thunder of music rolled off an hour or something ago. There was no certifiable way to figure how much time passed, aside from the pins and needles prickling through his arms, and the claws pinching into his sides.

 He didn’t recall when the golf cart lost power. It was motionless, and the steady drone of electric current – something he was accustomed to with car batteries – brought about an unnatural stillness. Like being stuck in a long abandoned, and likely haunted house. Arthur shivered.

 No response was coming from the Allosaur. It remained dormant and stiff, some of its features became perceivable as the gloom molded around his senses. He couldn’t see it, but he could perceive the presence of its hull. And the cheese-shredder claws locked into his vest.

 At this point, his vest must have been reduced to ribbons. He worked diligently for the past hour, with his wrists bent and knotted into his lower back. Through a grand deal of effort and shifting, cautiously biding his actions by the minute – fearful that any drastic movement might activate the machine (and then what he didn’t know, and he didn’t want to find out) – Arthur managed to haul his entire body up by a mere foot. But that meager amount of transfer set his bound wrists high enough to reach the Allosaur’s sharp talons, where he rubbed the thin fabric of cloth. He was exhausted and hungry, the circulation in his arms hummed. Too focused on the work, laboring to fix this latest fuck up.

 The bind on his wrists snapped. Arthur wriggled, twisting his legs beneath him. With the Allosaur’s talons latched around his torso, he was forced to squirm upward. It didn’t have a grip over his shoulders, which permitted him to get one arm free. He hesitated, thus far the Allosaur hadn’t budge, and the servos remained locked. With a lot more twisting and more effort, he heaved his waist free—

 And plummeted to the floor at Allosaur’s feet. The dust swirled around his head, and he sneezed. No response and no shift from the Allosaur. Movement. It was waiting on movement. If he could get his legs free, he might could outrun it.

 As was suspected, the claws of the Allosaur feet were sharp. He rolled his legs over and, with some fumbling knocked the binds against the dagger claw of a toe.

 Without warning the Allosaur shifted, the machine whirred to life. Arthur cringed down, trying to make himself as small and minuscule as possible. Damn! DamnDamnDamn! He winced. The animatronic creaked to life and took a step. It was moving… away? It didn’t notice him? Unable to see, Arthur remained stony and alert. The hissing hydraulics and low grumble of the mechanical dinosaur continued, becoming fainter as it roamed further away. It wasn’t coming back. Of course, it shouldn’t. The machine only knew what the puppeteer told it.

 He grappled with the bind on his ankles, tearing out bits and chunks of the threads until his legs could rip the sash free. Then, he stumbled through the murk, up until he collided with the golf cart. He stilled upon impact, certain the machine would come thundering back with a shriek. That didn’t happen. It was called away, and he was fearful of why.

 Where was it? The guy dumped it all in— Found it! He unrolled the magazine, and groped around for his phone. The screen lit up when he brushed it, and he was immediately thumbing through the contact list. Shit! He needed to get moving!

 Arthur shoved the essentials back into his pockets, save for the magazines. He used the light of his phone to gather his bearings and began moving. “Pick up, c’mon,” he grumbled.

 The third ring got a response. “Arthur!” Vivi screeched, “Where are you?”

 “I’m in the Bahamas, having the time of my life,” he groused.

 “Arthur…” she growled, over the line.

 “I dunno!”

 Lewis was in the background, yelping, “What ya mean, y’don’t know?”

 “I didn’t write up a detailed map of where he took me!” He tossed an arm high, as if they could witness the exasperation. “I’m just calling to say I’m dandee, and also I hope you three are prepped for bagging dino.” He slowed down some when the noises of the Allosaur’s jog echoed ahead. He didn’t want to test its limits, or intents. “I think it’s got your scent.”

 In the background flew some fervent discussion, Mystery barking, and Lewis proclaiming they are not prepared at all.

 “Where are you?” Vivi returned.

 “I. don’t. Know.” The floor slopped beneath his feet and he nearly tumbled. The Allosaurs reverberating march continued ahead, stinted by the curvature of the corridor. “I’m trying to get out of here, so I’m following the Allo. You guys should probably think of something, get to work. I’ll call you back here in a bit.”

 “What’re you gunna do?” Lewis called. “Art?”

 “I sure as hell ain’t gunna lasso the thing.” He had to slow down at the base of the slope and tone the voice down. Having the pitiful light of the phone didn’t benefit his vision in the abyss surrounding him, but he could make out the noises of… a metal creaking. Familiar metal creaking. The door. That was the entrance. “I’m gonna keep tabs on it, while I can. I’ll call you if anything changes.” He hung up, barring further discussion or argument to follow. Knowing Vivi, she wouldn’t waste time calling back.

 The gate clinked, and a bar of light sliced through the barrier of black. The Allosaur’s feathered shape squeezed through the thin veil, its tail zipped out of sight. From a distance, Arthur pursued, cautious of moving through the entry too quickly. He needed to get outside and get his bearings, reconnect with the others.

 It was a short ascent to reach the ground floor and the district pathway. The walls surrounding him appeared to be brick, and the ground cobblestone themed. Arthur hurried the remainder of the way out of the alley for cast access, and stopped on the curb to catch his breath. It felt good to drink in that fresh air, after hours trapped in the musty storage chamber.

 Upon raising his head back, he choked on the air. Or maybe that was a bug, buzzing around. Or it was the fresh air, and the shock.

 Across from him stood the Allosaur, stooped and snarling. That wasn’t so terrifying since it wasn’t facing him. What stole his breath away were the figures directly in its line of sight, those cutouts he knew better than anything else in the world.

 They actually didn’t have a lot of time to prep.

 The team was well on their way to security headquarters when the call came through. Arthur was all right, excited and out of breath but he managed to make a call. It was a lot to unpack, where to even begin? Then the Allosaur emerged from a narrow crevice in the castles wall. Lewis spied it first, and sagged Vivi by the shoulder before she could take another step.

 Allo locked onto them immediately. It crouched down and emitted a low, deadly snarl.

 Vivi leaned toward Lewis. “Maybe it’s vision is based on movement.”

 “This isn’t a movie,” Lewis warned. Regardless, he pegged survival on not moving.

 One of the golfcarts driven by the maintenance crews cruised by, like a tumbleweed sweeping across an old western set. The Mystery Skulls watched it go on its way and keep going; the Allosaur didn’t shift an inch.

 Woof.

 “New plan,” Lewis hissed. He began pushing Vivi by the shoulders. “Scram while the scrammin’ is good.”

 At once the Allosaur flexed the talons decorating its arms and gave a grating growl. It coiled back, gears shifting in its spine and ankles as it measured out its weight. Before it could launch, a screeching theme song began playing… off at its side. The Allosaur shuddered, and swung its snout

 Arthur was in mad dash across the pathway, phone held above his head. “Hey guys! Small world!” He gave a piercing wail when the Allosaur gave chase.

 Lewis face palmed. “What’re you doing man?!”

 A mock crystal display decorated the center of the pathway, with small multicolored chambers, and light glittering within. Arthur ducked into the small crawl space. “Buy ya some time!” He zipped through on his hands and feet; the display was built for smaller guests, with twisting tunnels and chambers within. The Allosaur got its head trapped at the entrance, while Arthur scrambled through the whole thing like a hamster.

 “Guys got the control!” Arthur sprang from the exit slide, and swung his phone up high. “He has to be somewhere around here!”

 Vivi cupped her hands around her mouth. “What doe she look like?” Lewis tapped her on the shoulder.

 “Gotta be someone around here, watching – keeping tabs.” He ran over to a cobblestone wall and leapt onto it, adding some height to his impressive stance. He curled his hands over his brows and began scoping the area.

 Vivi grabbed Mystery by the collar. “Go take care of Artie in case he runs out of lives.”

 Mystery whimpered and turned his lips down. No, you can’t be serious!

 “You got two pairs of legs he’s got one,” Vivi scolded. “It’s just a boring old machine.”

 RAWWR!

 “With teeth. Go!” She pushed Mystery off, until he got his legs working and galloped on his way. Then, she raced over to the wall where Lewis stood and climbed up. Lewis reached down and took her arm, he hoisted her all the way up to plop down onto his shoulders.

 “Not seein’ much. Aside from a giant chicken chasing a scrawny worm.”

 Vivi got into Lewis backpack and pulled out a uniocular. “The phone. He might see what our dino sees.”

 “Only what the dino sees,” Lewis speculated. He began walking along the wall top, keeping his balance despite Vivi’s insistent leaning and tugging on his shirt collar. “Did Allo hear Arthur, or did our guy see Arthur first?”

 “That’s a good question!” Vivi winced, and focused her attention the opposite way Lewis was facing. “Lew!”

 “Present.” He reached up for Vivi, to stop her from toppling off. She leaned down over his head, took his chin and angled his view around.

 “Over yonder.”

 Lewis twisted around and did his best to align his view of sight, with whatever Vivi was fixated on. It wasn’t hard to make out, a vague silhouette fitted at a balcony of some tavern themed building. The figure was not paying heed to the surroundings, but focused on the softly glowing device in their hands.

 “They could just be slacking off, and texting somebody,” he offered.. Vivi began slipping off his shoulders, easing down to the wall by her own accord.

 The figure moved their interest from the comforting glimmer of their phone, and spied Vivi with Lewis, inspecting their stance. With a jolt, the person swung away and dove off into the gloom of the balcony – towards a door or alternative exit.

 “Sure,” Vivi mocked. She tugged Lewis off the wall to ground level with her.

 “Hey!” Lewis harked, “You won’t get away this time!” He started running, leading Vivi by the hand. She couldn’t help the sappy smile set on her face. Classic Lewis.

 The door to the shop was locked tight. Lewis barreled into it and gave it a firm shake, rattling the plexiglass. “Damn!”

 Vivi fixed her headband. “He’d have gotten away anyway, by time Arth—” A sound caught her immediate attention and she whipped around. The guy had tripped, or had fallen, or stumbled on something – point was he was sneaking off behind them. The guy twisted around and scrambled on the descending steps as they flopped about, trying to dart one way or the other in the failed retreat.

 “You there!” she screamed, pointing.

 The person pulled their legs under them and charged off, towards a cluster of maintenance workers repairing a short fence post and the frayed rope. They slapped their hands over their hoody, keeping it in place while they zoomed.

 “You might as well stop running!” she hooted, taking pursuit. “We’ve done this gig a dozen times.”

 “Huh?” A touch oblivious, Lewis spun about searching for his teammate. “I uh… yeah! It’s over for you now!”

 The cloaked figure dove into one of the unguarded golfcarts and hit the acceleration. His first and only thought get away from these nuts; the last thought he had, and of miniscule importance, was the fact he dropped the phone somewhere.

 __

 It would be the most excellent of days if Arthur got out of this without getting snapped in two. He managed to gather some speed and distance on the mecha dino by taking a downward sloping path, which was open only to the maintenance vehicles and golf carts. The path was narrow, but didn’t pause the Allosaur at all in its pursuit; it did however force the machine to slow its movement in order to calibrate for the offset in its balance. That didn’t stop it from hissing and being a friggin’ terrifying attraction.

 Mystery gave a yip and hopped the decorative little lattice fence and plopped into a lush shrubbery plot. The garden ran either side of the pathway and was aesthetic in its mission to conceal the vehicles as they roamed. Light flashed through the canopy of the grove, the patterns glittered across Mystery’s white pelt and flashed over his glasses. He gave a sequence of yips as he burst through the undergrowth.

 In a breathy lunge, Arthur followed the pooch. “Getting that cardio, eh Misty?” The response was a bark. “Good tu hear!” He stumbled when scrambled off the clear path and into the thicket, his shoelaces snagging on the sinister crooked limbs.

 The two burst from the brush, leaves flying everywhere. Arthur spat out a few as he kept pace, taking the left that Mystery tilted into. A small grouping of the groundskeepers halted work blowing leaves and trimming trees, in order to behold the scene. Up until the Allosaur crashed from the barrier of trees, a terrible shriek igniting from its sound system. They scattered with yelps and dives.

 Mystery ducked and vaulted over metal guard rails, the scene encircling the zone displayed bright colored metal and cement. Arthur was above, scrambling atop the bars like some anime character in intense training. He slipped on the third to last and tumbled, crashing within the barriers. Mystery zipped back over and took his shredded vast sleeve and dragged him off behind a wall.

 A few meters away, the Allosaur came to a halt and stood steely on the pavement. Slowly and with deliberate precision, its head began moving side-to-side scanning the walls and fabrication of the park, examining cement walls and decorative displays, labeling attractions and directions to rides. Nothing caught it’s attention, despite crew members racing around in the background and bailing the site.

 Behind the wall, Arthur was struggling to calm his panting. A little black paw pressed over his lips. He frowned. “Where have those been, Mister?”

 Mystery snorted.

 “You!” Someone snapped, from the side. Arthur’s face paled and her jerked, knocking Mystery off his lap. “What d’you think you’re doing here?” The guy in a park uniform carried a clipboard, metal box combo – the same or near identical to ones used at the shop. This guy tugged at the communicator clipped to his shoulder, a garble of obnoxious static and overlaying conversations rolled through.

 “Security! I got some kid here, snuck into the park.” He took his thumb off the transmitter. “Stay put right where you are. Don’t even breathe.”

 Mystery grimaced, and brought a paw to his face. “Shh!”

 “Dude!” Arthur snapped, on the verge of tears. “Shaddup!”

 The guy blinked, clear astonishment radiating from him. “Don’t you dare tell me to shut up! You know how much trouble—”

 A bellowing yowl cut him off.

 “What was that!?”

 “Fuck!” Both Arthur and Mystery sprang up and darted around either side of the guy, provoking him to whirl around like a top.

 An instant later, the Allosaur clambered over the metal dividers of the ride entrance. Once it bypassed the obstacles, it swung its snout and all its teeth to the ride mechanic.

 “Ho-shit!” The mechanic properly noped out and took a dive into the nearest shrubs.

 It was too late for Arthur and Mystery, the two dashed down the ride dock. An open door to the side caught the hounds immediate interest and he shot in, followed by Arthur. Arthur flipped the lights off and shut the door, but there was no lock.

 “Not like it’d use the handle.” A dull thump broke his fantasy of safety, and he looked over to the Plexiglas barrier that displayed the full length of the ride, the rollercoaster train, and the Allosaur glaring in. “Is… that bullet proof? Ya think?”

 Mystery woofed. Does it really matter, ya think?

 The Allosaur shoved its snout against the clear barrier, its eyes flashing ominously in the lights cast by the attraction twisting around it.  A crack formed in the window, but the substance held firm. Snarling and hissing, it slammed its head and claws against the window. The clear material snapped in two, one portion warped and slid out of the frame. The Allosaur began climbing through, its jaws snapped inches from Arthur’s face.

 He let loose an ear splinting wail and snatched up an empty Styrofoam cup. The projectile bounced off the menacing snout. Mystery yapped and dove under the Allosaurs line of sight, he stopped at the door and stood on his rear legs scrambling at the door handle.

 “Are you nuts?!” he shrieked.

 Mystery barked, his dogs ears bobbing. Enjoy your corner!

 Arthur cursed and, following a grand deal of prayer, crawled under the Allosaur’s gnashing jaws. He was still crawling on his stomach, though he was very clear of the dinosaurs reach, even when he reached the door. With a flick of his wrist, the door popped open and Mystery bounded out.

 The Allosaur twisted, its reading and interpretation code aware its quarry was escaping. Yet, it was confined by the shattered barrier. It wriggled, talons tearing at the control panel beneath it. Lights rolling throughout the coaster track blazed, and with a gush of hydraulics not from within the mecha dino, the train carts became active. The animatronic continued the fight to dislodge itself and renew pursuit, all before it had successfully wriggled lose. Its tail swung dangerously through the docking station, nearly taking off Arthur’s head.

 Luckily he was spry and managed to stunt roll, following with a few rolls that relocated him far beyond the Allosaur’s range of movement. Mystery was galloping ahead, going for the divers end and the cultivated grove ahead.

 With a final wrench the Allosaur tore the Plexiglas loose, and swung its shoulders free. It gave chase after the targets, lunging and snapping.

 Arthur wobbled, nearly pitching over the side of the dock. The rollercoaster cart chugged into view on the leveled track, and he made the leap. “Mystery!” He whistled, and waved the dog over.

 The hound wasn’t the dinosaurs immediate focus, he still cowered beneath the feet when it snapped out. On Arthur’s lead, he sprang like a gazelle and landed gracefully on the front cart. Then, the coaster hit the divider in the track and the Mystery dog lost his balance and spiraled sideways, off the vehicle and into the shrubs below.

 “Whoa, wait! Where’d you go?” Arthur leaned over, searching the five or something foot drop. The divider activated a failsafe in the rollercoaster’s train cart, and the safety bar swung downward over Arthur’s arm, braced to the headrest. “Um?” At first, he mistaken the error as an easy fix. Pull the bar up and loose. But it was a safety mechanism, with a manual override in the control office. Somewhere. He jerked at the bar, even as the coaster train began up the steep incline that initiated the ride. “Fuck… fuck-fuck-fuck! Oh my fucks!” He tried to angle his knee against the backrest, the bar was really digging into his arm. “Feck-fo-FREK!”

 Below, the Allosaur watched with perceivable agitation as the roller coaster train inched out of range. Unable to reach its target for the time, it swung away and sought out a new location to reengage.

 There was no better option open to Arthur, but hunker down and brace himself. His mind ran through the threats and dangers, what sort of coaster was this? He didn’t see. The g-force could be enough to rip his arm off, he would be lucky if he only suffered a broken limb. Worse could happen, if he didn’t wedge himself down good and tight.

 The coaster train peaked at the initiating drop, and Arthur nearly blacked out. A ninety-degree drop loomed, and illuminated here and there were the more prominent twisty-curves of the ride. He tasted blood, he either bit his lip or his tongue, he wasn’t sure which. The others, they had no idea where he was. There was Mystery, but where was he?

 A pensive hiss issued from the coaster train when it paused and drew out the agonizing seconds. He patted through his vest and pants, searching for his phone. Then the train slid forward, gaining speed as the vehicle dipped into its full and unrestrained plummet. Its wheels rattled and the whole train vibrated. Arthur held on for dear life and shrieked.

  __

  “I say the guy ditched the giddup, and is somewhere mingling with the work crews,” Lewis theorized. He was waiting for Vivi to catch her breath, near a fence and a lush plot of trees. The acreage was mostly thick shrubbery growing beside a sheer and expansive cliff face. “Or, he could be hiding anywhere.” One hand cradled his chin, while he examined the fostered brush.

 Some of the lights across the park went off for the long hours of the night, while others remained on to stylize the attraction for all hours of the late. And also safety ordinances with aircraft and tall structures. The intrusive lamps were not the same as the on-ride decorative colors and aesthetic luminosities which thrilled the riders.

 “We need Mystery,” Vivi spoke, still gasping and hanging off the fence. “More importantly, we need to get that dino wrangled. It’s really thrown a wrench in the situation.”

 “Yeah,” Lewis huffed, trying to blow hair out of his eyes. “It kinda doesn’t let up, huh?” He bent a brow at Vivi when she snapped her head up.

 “I think something’s gone wrong. My Arthur senses are tingling.” She looked around. The scenery was placid, the maintenance guys doing their thing, not paying them any mind.

 “‘Arthur senses’?” Lewis mused, with a smirk. “Is that a thing now?”

 “I’m gonna start it, watch me!” She crossed her arms and nodded, affirming dedication.

 “Look, I’m certain the Allo didn’t catch him, or Mystery.”

 The careening thunder of the roller coaster ttain swooping by on a nearby, previously cold track, caught his focus for the moment. The churning rumble was no contest to the distinct pitch of wailing assaulting the evening sky, rising in intensity as the whole cart blasted by and then dying out as the coaster train shot out of an inverted twirl. Both Vivi and Lewis observed, deadpan.

 “Technically speaking,” he began, “it didn’t catch him.”

 Vivi fixed her glasses, cleaned them, then set them back on her face. “Somehow, I think this is worst.”

 Across the pathway, the maintenance workers began diving and bolting for the cover of the landscapes they were working around or in. The Allosaur went charging through, a white blur right in its sights.

 “All right,” she grumbled. “Allosaur two, us zilch.”

 Lewis spun around and hoped the fence. “But who’s keeping score?” He bypassed one of the signs, warning of danger to bodily harm due to the coasters proximity. A slope eased down, to the low point the coaster would pass through. In the distance, Arthur’s harrowing squeal became more pronounced.

 “Lew!” Vivi yelped, leaning over the first barrier. “What d’ya think you’re doing? Danger!”

 He waved over his shoulder. “No worries! I’m a professional!”

 “Of what?! Stunts gone wrong?” Vivi hit her fist to the barrier and winced. She wrenched around, the Allosaur gave a grating and ravenous snarl. “I’ve just about had enough of this!” In the chase of the man in the mask, or shroud, or whatever, they sped through the game zone. There were more food vendors within, along with pistol games that utilized water guns, and some that used projectile disks. If she had to, she’d go Rambo on that hunk of metal.

 In the background, Mystery was still leading the mecha dino across the district. He dove under a set of que ropes, scrambling like a spider among the poles. The Allosaur came to a stuttering halt and swayed, its feet pawed at the ground as it sidestepped. Vivi shot by without a glance, toward the entrance of the arcade and carnie games.

 While Vivi took off to initiate a fool proof plan, Lewis swung over the last and tallest fence, to place himself within the rollercoaster track lane. Above, the hurtling cart came whizzing through at a speed peaking on fifty miles an hour, minimum. Along with it, the terrorized passenger screeching.

 “Hold on Artie!” Lewis sprinted, following the overhead track as it jerked and spiraled.

 “Are you nuts?” Arthur howled. He was losing vigor, barely able to keep his legs within the coaster box. “NO! Lew! It’s too— AARRRRRRRRRRRGH!” The rollercoaster twisted and hurtled downward into a steep dip, the track cleaved through an alcove within the ground. When the full train passed through the chasm, it decelerated significantly – enough that Lewis could leap up and snag that last cart, without losing a hand or being belted aside like a ragdoll.

 “Hah! Nailed it—” Lewis nearly missed latching onto the safety bar, a fraction before the whole train flew into a sharp series of loops. Once again, the coaster is off on its bullshit, accelerating to sixty-five or something miles per hour, diving and curving.

 Whenever the coaster calmed down for a sporadic pause, Lewis inched up a cart. It was tedious, as the cart dividers were somewhat sleek and slippery from being cleaned. The full body braces assisted, in that they were sturdy and didn’t unhook.

 “Don’t worry, I’m here!” Lewis proclaimed, when he at last reached Arthur.

 Arthur glared back as the coaster inched its way up the steep climb, back at square one. “WHY! Didn’t you just shut off the coaster?”

 The grin on Lewis’ face dissolved. “Um, well, that might’ve been a worthwhile option….”

 “You meathead!”

 “Hey, I’m not the mechanic here!”

 Once more, Arthur fought at his arm trapped in the brace. “We’re both gunna DAI, and then we’ll be the latest attractions for this park!”

 “Think positive, Artie!” Lewis climbed onto the first and foremost train cart and gave the device a quick look over.

 “It’s jammed!” He tried to squeeze down, and jam his elbow under the brace. However, he was short on energy to supply, and flopped sideways when he lost his footing. Lewis wrapped an arm around his shoulder and grabbed ahold of the brace.

 “Take it easy, I’ll get you off.” The coaster came to the topmost of its track and paused. Lewis frowned. “Darn.”

 “Trust me,” Arthur wheezed, “The first nine times, and you get used to it.” They flew into the drop, and Arthur was pretty certain Lewis was clinging to him so he wouldn’t get thrown off. “Fun, eh?!”

 “We’re gunna DAI!”

 “That’s the spirit!” Arthur cackled.

 The coaster accelerated into a chute and eased off the speed, but it rumbled on with sinister purpose. Lewis released his grip on Arthur. “Brace yourself!”

 Before Arthur could inquire why, or really prepare, Lewis smashed his knee against the brace forcing the bar down hard against Arthur’s already strained arm. A pitiful creaking lurched from Arthur’s gullet as the pain zipped through his arm.

 “Sorry! Had to reset the mechanism,” Lewis huffed. He shoved the bar up and out of the way, but doubled down on restraining Arthur to the coaster cart, as the train swung into another reckless dive. His sneakers skipped across the slippery metal plate of the floor, while the coaster vibrated along the tracks.

 Down below, one of the canopies for the prize corner loomed. It was the basket hoop toss, and there was a sizable net stretched between the poles on the three sides.

 Lewis didn’t get the chance to warn Arthur. His shoe already snapped loose, and it was either get flung like a marionette or choose a landing pad. The support of the roller coaster whistled by his ear, he wasn’t really certain if they would hit the mark he aimed for – given the velocity and trajectory of the coaster’s movement. It was swinging into a turn, gaining momentum. Arthur tried to get out some other sort of noise, but he was likely still stunned from his arm that he couldn’t generate the sort of sound appropriate to free flight.

 The entire basketball court collapsed when Lewis hit the bar, which suspended one side of the nets. Fortunately, he and Arthur tumbled into the prize corral beneath, among the giant stuffed toys and packaged sport balls. A cacophony of squeaks and deflating balloons, among the toppled metal bars punctuated all ambition for recovery.

 “Ow….” Arthur groaned. “Lew. Why?”

 “I just wanted off,” he moaned. “No matter the cost.”

 “Was it worth it?”

 “Ask me in the morning.”

 “Lew.”

 “Hunh?”

 “If it’s not too much trouble… could you get off me?”

 It took several agonizing minutes for the two to untangle from the knotted snare, the mountain of cushy prizes, and each other; all in near total darkness. Aside from a lamp gleaming down on the side of the coaster, and it whooshing by periodically and rattling around the tracks, they might’ve lost track of where they’d dropped. Lewis dragged Arthur out by the collar of his vest, some of the netting remained snagged on his scrawny limbs.

 “C’mon Art, use your feet.”

 “I have been running… for five years now.” He caught himself on his fists, before his nose could smack the pavement. “Wha’s that?”

 A blazing shape zigzagged around the faux tents of carnie games, speeding as it closed in on Lewis and Arthur. At last it came in for a landing, skidding right into Arthur’s face. Lewis knelt and pet the dog.

 “Wait,” the taller figure said, a flash of worry in his face. “Wait-wait-wait… last I saw you—”

 The harking cry of the Allosaur obliterated through the screech of the roller coaster surging through, one more. It’s head twitched and the talons on its fists opened, another peeling shriek plunged through the open air as it lunged, teeth glistening..

 Arthur yelped and flipped over, fighting with his sneakers tangled in the net still. Lewis snatched up one of the basketballs and threw it at the Allosaur with all his might, the force and speed would’ve been something to admire. The sports ball merely deflected off the dinosaurs hard plastic frame. Arthur yowled and held Mystery tight—

 “KII-YAHH!”

 Everyone dove to the side, Lewis one way and Arthur with Mystery to the other. The Allosaur kept going, but it was stumbling and its feet came down in a frenzy when it lost all balance. In a fumbled miss step, the animatronic stalled and spun three times then came down in a heap beside the netted basket hoop tangle.

 Likewise, Vivi was still spinning, the bat clasped in her hands whizzing through the air before she crashed into one of the awning shields tied over a carnival game.

 “Vivi!” Lewis leapt out from behind the wall he took shelter beside, recoiling immediately when the Allosaur’s head skid into the corner of the solid barrier.

 “Did you see that!” Vivi whooped. She jumped up and swung the bat again, like a pro-pitcher. “Lew, you were all ‘I’m gunna wrestle this dino crocodile Dun-Dee style!’ And Arthur, you’re legs got all tangled! What the heck?” She mimed out another thunder-bashing swing. “And I was like, ‘Don’t touch my dog!’ Wham!”

 Arthur poked his head up from behind a stage set, Mystery latched to his skull like a koala. “Holy shit.”

 Lewis gawked. “I think I’m in love.”

 Arthur inched around and prodded the mechanical head with his foot. “Gimmie a break. All this time, we just had to release Vivi on it with a baseball bat. Really?”

 “Well,” Lewis chuckled, “you did say the metal wasn’t very sustancial.” He stood by and let Arthur beat the living bolts out of the inactive mechanical head. “Guess it was all bark, and not bite.”

 Woof. Mystery let go of Arthur and dropped to the pavement. He moved aside of the drama and flopped over. Gimmie five minutes, folks.

 “Should you really be messing with that thing?” Lewis muttered. He took a full step back.

 “I’m gonna get my kicks in!”

 “Hey! Are you listening to me!” Vivi hurried over. “But seriously, you three okay? Mystery? All puppered out?” She leaned low using the bat as a cane, and gave the poor pooch a well-deserved head rub. “You had us worried, Artie. It’s a good thing you managed to get loose.”

 The dino head stuttered, the jaw quivered and the mechanical eyes twitched. Arthur jolted and scrambled behind Lewis.

 “You know how the movies go,” Lewis mentioned.

 Arthur peeked out. “This isn’t a movie. It should’ve shut down completely, with the power source severed.” He noted Lewis had a vacant and very concerned stare, and followed the line of sight to where the Allosaur was squirming. Trying to stand, with no head. “Welp, that looks horrifying!”

 Whatever calibrated the Allosaur’s balance was gone, and also it shuffled sideways onto the collapsed basket court netting. The talons couldn’t coordinate and untangle from the woven netting, forcing the thing to topple sideways over and over.

 “I… guess it’s not going anywhere?” Lewis speculated.

 “But did you see me? Wasn’t that amazing? I never swung so hard in my whole damn life!” Vivi threw herself at Lewis, and he caught her in his arms.

 “I was a bit preoccupied with not getting trampled. But yeah, that was something else!” Lewis was about to pull Vivi in closer, but his attention snapped to a figure a distance from their gathering. A secluded, isolated figure strategically placed within the shade of the arcade patio, sifting through the gloom only enough to view the fate of the Allosaur.

 When he refocused altogether, Vivi’s curiosity searched for the cause. She frowned when her eyes alit on the same suspect. “Let’s see if we can get around him and—” The spectator either got wise to their sudden shift in mood, or freaked out completely on the loss of their asset. They took off.

 Vivi tore out of Lewis’ arms and snatched up the bat. Losing no time, she darted around the corny carnival tent stations. “I’ve had it with you!” She lined up with the guy, still barred on one side by the boarder of the shuttered-up arcade wall. There was no time to waste. With a decisive swing, the bat went whirling through the air like a saw.

 And cracked the wall short of her target. The guy kept running, but cast a fretful look over their shoulder.

 “Drat!”

 Lewis charged up behind her, winding back his arm. “My turn!” The basketball flew like it was shot out of a cannon and slammed directly into the person’s back, launching them two feet into the air. “Score!”

 The person recovered quickly, though they hadn’t gotten their bearing together. Before they could take a full and not lopsided-tipsy step, Lewis grabbed them from behind. The two toppled forward, Lewis on top of the guy and holding one of his wrists.

 “We gunna do this quietly, or you wanna make it ugly?”

 “Let me go!” The person shouted. “You don’t have the right!”

 “We don’t, do we?” Vivi retorted. She knelt beside the guy as he struggled, but Lewis was pressing measured weight onto the person. “This is a citizens arrest, my fine fellow. It would be in your best interest to cooperate until the police arrive, and we can sort this all out.”

 “What am I being arrested for?”

 Lewis pulled the person’s hoody back. “Being shady as fuck, that’s one,” he muttered.

 “Trespassing,” Vivi quipped. “I don’t recognize you, which is interesting. But I know someone who might.”

 “You! You can’t do this!” he snarled. Lewis pulled his other arm back, and Vivi applied one of the parks unbreakable wrist bands. “This is unlawful! I’ll sue!”

 “Oh no, oh please don’t.” Lewis hefted the guy onto his feet and kept him steady. “In all my life, I have never been threatened in such a way. Oh, the sleepless nights I’ll suffer.” He ushered the guy ahead, making sure to keep his elbows restrained.

 “But did you see that pitch!” Vivi proclaimed. “Out of this world!”

 Lewis snickered. “Oh Dio mío, Vivi. Calm down.”

 When they returned to the site where the Allosaur had its head cleaved off, the animatronic nuisance was still wallowing in the tattered remnants of the basketball netting. Large squeaky toys and some of the sport balls rolled around, or completely pulverized by the broken machine struggling to function without essential system readers. It looked very much like a cocooned lizard, or a spool of finely spun thread – in a clunky mess.

 Above the wall where the Allosaur head dropped, Arthur sat with Mystery at his side; the dogs head resting on his lap. He was giving the tuckered pupper shoulder massages after his traumatic and daring evening.

 “Ooh, you really did get someone,” he praised. “Y’sure that’s the guy, though?”

 “Did you call the police?” Lewis prompted.

 Arthur cringed down. “That’s Vivi’s job.”

 “You really going to do this?” the guy seethed. “Assaulted me, and now you’re trying to frame me for some… crime!” He struggled at Lewis’ grip, but made no profound effort to break loose.

 Vivi whistled. The Mystery dog shot his head up, ears high. “Mystery, hunny. We have a very special job for you.”

 Mystery slid back from Arthur and did that dog stretch, with his fore paws stretched all the way forward and his dog claws stretched to their fullest. With a shake of his pelt, he did a roll and flopped off the backside of the wall. Arthur watched this play out, apathetic.

 “Absolutely,” Arthur chimed. “You’re our guy.”

 “This is slander!” The guy erupted. Arthur lunged over the wall to hide.

 Vivi hauled out her backpack and located her phone. “I’m callin’ the cops.”

 It wasn’t actually the police that Vivi called, it was the security office, then the security office reached out to the appropriate department. While they waited for security to show up, Lewis returned Arthur’s backpack to him, and Arthur got to work on compiling the evidence the group collected. This evidence included the pictures Lewis caught while he and Arthur investigated around the park, and serial numbers from the materials torn from the Allosaur’s arm. He stuffed all of this onto two USBs the police could have, which was standard procedure for the group.

 At length, Mystery trotted back over with something in his teeth.

 “Nice going,” Arthur praised. “Didn’t crack it or anything. Clean as a whistle.”

 Vivi snatched the phone from Arthur and held it up to the guy, currently seated on the inactive Allosaur head. “How ‘bout you unlock this for us?”

 He glared at the device, the locked screen gleamed in his face. “I’ve never seen this before. Ever. I have no idea what’s going on here.” He checked on Lewis at his side, keeping him stationary with his presence alone.

 “Mm hmm.” She swept away, and returned the phone back to Arthur. Without a word, Arthur began tapping at the screen. He knelt on the ground beside Mystery, while the hound observed with all the intensity of a teacher overseeing his student. “Yet, you’re not curious about all this crazy we got here.” She motioned a hand towards the broken Allosaur.

 The machine body at long last ceased moving. It looked creepy, bent and knotted up the way it was.

 “Question.” Arthur rose and moved closer to the guy, holding the phone all the way out to the full extent of his arm. “This you?”

 It was a selfie of the guy.

 Vivi took the phone and continued scrolling. “Was it really a good idea documenting the whole process of building your dino?”

 He scoffed. “You can’t prove I built it.”

 “You built animatronics though.” Vivi stuck the phone into a plastic baggy Arthur produced. “Not a lot of people can do that. Your friends, they have a very specialized skillset.” She took the baggy from Arthur and held it toward the guy. “You wouldn’t happen to have their pics on the phone, would you? Of course not, who would do that?”

 A large hand capped down on the guy’s shoulder, and Lewis stooped. “It would be a shame if they could be cited as accomplices. Not that we’d touch the topic, pero ya sabes, that is evidence for the authorities to pick—”

 “They let me go from the team,” the guy blurted. He dropped his gaze from Vivi’s unimpressed face, and scrutinized his shoes. “When they found out I used parts from another job, to build a substitute.”

 Vivi nodded. “You and your colleagues began work for a competitor to Fanatical Hypes ™, and that resulted in the bust contract. A violation. But then you took it upon yourself to sabotage Geoff’s park, and make him fold under the pressure of those lost profits, so he’d compensate for the assets. Do I have that right?”

 The guy took a deep breath. “It’s not that simple. It was a percentile in those cancelled payments, and they still have to do something with the skins. A lot of uppity businesses do this all the time, and commissions are hard enough to get right without the client throwing a fit in the midst of finalizations. And getting the courts to recognize contract agreements, it’s a bitch! You get that?”

 “Yeah,” Vivi uttered. “We know what that’s like.”

 Where he sat beside the wall, Mystery tilted his head and raised one ear.

 The guy dipped his head further. “Trust me, I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

 “I sort of have a hard time believing the, ‘oh woes and pity me’ spiel,” Lewis grumbled. He still loomed over the cringing guy, face stern. “The animatronics you built.”

 “And programed,” Arthur prompted.

 “And programed. They’re not toys, they’re super dangerous when not handled correctly. You put an AI in a bulldozer that identifies as a raptor, and set it loose in a recreational setting.”

 “Lovin’ the PSA vibe.” Arthur remained seated by the wall working on his computer to compile essential info, fully engrossed in shuffling files. “Also, you kidnapped me and shoved lots of threats in my face.”

 “Did he?” Lewis growled. “That’s seriously F’ed up.”

 “Boys-boys.” Vivi pushed Lewis back, before he could… likely haul the guy off the ground and throttle him. “That’s not our business anymore. Now, this becomes law enforcement jurisdiction.” She pointed to a series of golfcarts ambling in their general direction. She looked to the guy. “Our job ended with the Allosaur’s capture. But I recommend you cooperate with the authorities. They’re usually a lot less forgiving than us.”

 “Y’know dude,” Arthur stood, and ejected one of the USBs from his computer. “You could’ve just not messed around with us. Taken the dishwasher with teeth and vamoosed. But making a statement, and gettin’ Geoff to crumble under the pressure meant more. You’re lucky, you know that.” He tossed the USB to Vivi.

 The guy frowned. “How am I lucky? I’m going to jail for this.”

 Arthur shrugged. “We stopped ya before this could escalate. You think soulless corporate would cave, and pay out what he’s not putting to use?” He shook his head, and sat on the wall, finishing up the last USB. “We got you before someone could get seriously hurt. But sure, it’s our fault.”

  The golf carts arrived and the enlisted law enforcement along with Fanatical Hypes ™ escort, took over the situation of officially taking the guy into custody. The engineers names was Yandel Jenkins, and there was a little more information about his history tied to the group of creatures builders that supplied assets to the theme park. However, since that was out of the Mystery Skulls hands, Arthur finished compiling and cross referencing the evidence that was collected and handed over the USBs. Whatever else the park security required, they’d assemble it on their own following involved statements.

 Hours later the group was on their way out of the park, it was very late and most the work crews fulfilling their nocturnal duties pilfered out. The area resumed relative normalcy, aside from the spare shift tugged out to organize the area where the Allosaur fell. That was way on the far side of the park.

 “Seriously a shame,” Arthur was saying, as the crew discussed the recent case. They were going through the events, trying to figure who was where when this or that situation came about. And how Arthur managed to get stuck on a roller coaster. “All that work and talent. I don’t get why people like him do it.” He walked with his arms folded behind his head, stretching out his aching muscles from where the Allosaur pinched him.

 Lewis curled a thoughtful hand over his chin. “Well, if you’re company anticipated that extra point something percentage in incurring payments, it can mean the difference in leasing and supplies. Not saying our guy was in the right, but it’s something to regard when reviewing possible motivations.”

 “Oh yeah, I guess,” Arthur mumbled.

 “My family started their own business,” Lewis elaborated. “Any little profit you can squeeze out go towards improving your services, or the product. They did it without cutting corners, and it was heckin’ hard. Food expires fast, car parts and oil has a longer shelf life.”

 Arthur shrugged.

 “I guess they’ll have the park opened tomorrow and everything,” Vivi supposed. They made their way down the last stretch, the main road to the grand entrance and exit. “We can come on by and see how it looks. Catch some more rides, if we want. Certify those lifetime passes.”

 Mystery gave a little yap and bounced ahead. He wouldn’t need to wear that ridiculous vest, either.

 A low groan issued from Arthur, and he fitted his hands down over his face. “I dunno, I’m kinda all vacationed out. I think I’m ready to hit the road. Seriously missin’ the cramped space of the van.”

 “What about the food?” Vivi prompted. “Free food. Drinks. Treats. Desserts. Concessions.”

 “Mehhh….” Mystery padded over and walked beside Arthur’s legs, bumping his knees. “Pass. Free stuff is great, but kinda burnt out on carnie goodies. Nothing beats Pepper Paradiso’s. ‘Least, when someone’s lil sisters aren’t sabotaging a perfectly good sundae.”

 Lewis groaned. “I don’t even know how that’s possible. Lechería is supposed to counteract the burn.”

 “Who said that was dairy?”

 Vivi tried very hard not to giggle. “If that’s the final verdict, we can start snooping on where we’ll go next. Hmm? Speaking of which.” She pulled her backpack around to her front, and opened it from the side. “Got a something for our scrapbook.” Unanimously, Arthur and Lewis groaned. “I promise it’s really good.”

 Pulling out a card, she began moving to one of the tall lampposts that stood beside the pathway. “Check it.” The three followed.

 “Oh please, is that what I think it is.” Arthur was first to take the side of the stiff booklet, and shifted it by a fraction under the light. “No, Vivi!”

 “What?” Lewis posed. Arthur handed him the card, and he flipped the cover back. “Oh no! Vivi!”

 She pulled her collar higher over her lower face. “The machine automatically printed it, I guess. I couldn’t leave it, you both look… excited.”

 “Excitement is an understatement!” Arthur whooped. He reached for the card, but Lewis held it up high out of his reach. “Gimmie! I don’t want my near-death experience immortalized!”

 Lewis backed away, pushing Arthur off before he could climb up his shoulders. “C’mon Artie! Calm down, we got out of this unscathed.”

 “Unscathed! My arm is numb still!”

 “Relatively,” Lewis insisted. “It’s a memento. We’ll keep it, and check it out sometimes to remind us to be more careful. Suena bien?” He arched his arm high over Arthur’s head, and handed the card back to Vivi. She secluded it away in her backpack, where it would be safe.

 “Mark my words!” Arthur hastened his steps, leaving the protective cone of light. “When you least expect it, I’ll chuck that incriminating evidence!” Mystery barked and scurried after him.

 “Admit it!” Vivi slapped an arm around Arthur’s lower back. “You love it! Ten years from now, we’ll have a great ol’laugh.”

 Lewis joined on the other side, nearly throwing the two over as he put his arm around Arthur’s shoulders. “I’m laughin’ right now. Don’t deny it. You’re smiling. Don’t smile, Arthur.”

 “Stop! That’s not fair!” Arthur capped his hands over his face and muffled a scream.

 “Try not to smile Arthur,” Vivi goaded.

 “Oh, he’s blushing!”

 “It’s too dark to see blushing,” Arthur countered. Regardless, he still fought to hide his face all the more. “Jerks.”

 “Don’t blush Arthur,” Vivi chimed. “Don’t—”

 Arthur broke free and took off in a run. “Stop it! You’re ganging up on me!”

 With a jolly bark, Mystery galloped beside Arthur, his dog collar jingling. He gave off a few yips, nearly stumbling when he veered into Arthur’s legs.

 “No we’re not!” Lewis called, staggering into the chase. Vivi skipped along, taking on a couple leaping bounds as they flashed under the bars of light.

 “What are you trying to hide Arthur!” From the distance, Mystery barked. “Really?”

 “No! Never!” Arthur vaulted through the tall cage of the turnstile and kept going. “I promise!”

 Lewis crashed into the turnstile and got stuck. “You’re laughing! Whoa… HEY!” Arthur’s wild cackling rang across the dark parking lot. “HEY!”

 Vivi caught up to Lewis and stood, observing. “Um?”

 “A little help!”

 She sighed, and got out a flashlight. “You tried to follow Arthur.” She clicked on the light. “He kinda slipped through the side here. Just come back through, carefully.”

 “OoOOh.” Lewis moved back and shuffled into the opposing slot, where guests were meant to exit. Vivi crammed in with him, and the two nearly got stuck again. However, with some shoving and bickering the two made their way out safely, and caught up to Arthur and Mystery hurtling with reckless abandon.

 Concluding a case was not always so brimming with mirth or effortless, despite how well everything turned out. There had been plenty of cases they walked out on, Failed Cases, too dangerous to continue through to a final conclusion. When they had the chance to celebrate, the team sometimes went all out. Or, such as the case with the Allosaur, it felt better to get back on the road and move on. Sometimes staying too long in one location, one that was not home base, it didn’t rejuvenate like the endless road.

 No doubt though, by the time they arrived – or collided – with the next case, they would be primed and ready to tackle the demands. There would be fascinating creatures, thrilling perils, and challenges the Mystery Skulls crew would meet.

 The night swirled around them, the four racing through the empty parking lot. It was their mission to seek out mysteries, prove what they could or debunk the frauds. Nothing but the passion for work and the ambition to find the truth, and perhaps a steady supply of coffee, fast-food, and junky tabloids.

[vtscasefiles]

Case File # 321-5

Trigger warning: blood, gore, violence, death, firearms, injury, rape mention

Case begun: 5/09/20**

Case Concluded: 5/11/20**

Case Locale: [REDACTED], Florida

Marked as Closed

I arrived in Florida, the humidity already fucking with my sinuses. How anyone can live in this swampy shithole I will never understand. But I was offered a job, and my bank account was practically beating me over the head with it’s need to be filled. The pay was too good to turn down, so I loaded up my gear and headed out.

What I wasn’t expecting was a fucking ghost pirate. I mean, of all things, how fucking cliché can you get? The client, Rosie [REDACTED], welcomed me with that famed “southern hospitality” that I’ve heard so much of.

“You the girl with the gun? I expected you to be bigger.”

Fuckin’ peachy. “Yes. I’m the girl with the gun. You got a haunting problem?” I replied, trying not to let my irritation get the better of me. I’m fucking 5′9″. I’m not that small. For fuck’s sake, I can bench two hundo with no problem. Why the -- 

[Editor’s note: this continues for fifteen minutes. For your convenience I have removed VT’s rant.]

After getting a brief rundown of the case, I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Everything pointed to a simple haunting, it wasn’t something I was considering a challenge, or even something that’d take longer than a few hours.

After doing this job, you think you’ve seen just about all the SC* has to offer. My two best friends are a lich and a witch. Yes, they rhyme, shut up. Point being is that I have never seen a haunting manifest on such a massive scale. Usually it’s restrained to a building, or a patch of land, but this...the whole fucking coast line was haunted. It wasn’t even a Cluster**, it was one. Singular. Spirit.

My first day, as the usual, was spent at the library. The spirit in question, one Captain Fresni, was an infamous pirate in the seventeen hundreds. Played a role in the American Revolution, albeit a small one. According to the books I’d found (mostly useless, but I did manage to glean some insight), his ship The Crooked Jess, was riddled with canon fire by the British. Captain Fresni, a violent fighter if ever there was one, realized there was no way out...lit every barrel of gunpowder he had on board and rammed his ship into the oncoming fleet. The following explosion wiped out three ships, packed with soldiers and set fire to another six.

I was impressed. If the spirit was Captain Fresni, as Rose claimed, then it could simply be a case of the body dying so suddenly and violently that the spirit didn’t realize he was dead. There was one passage that stood out, I won’t repeat it due to it being hella long, but in summation it stated that near the southern tip of Florida there was a hidden cove that served as the pirate captain’s base. Might as well start there.

It was around 9pm on the tenth before I even stepped foot in the cove. Immediately, the air changed. Despite it being disgustingly humid, the air turned frigid and dry. I walked up and down the coast to find a spot that wasn’t freezing, but to no avail. The whole place was a spook zone. We’re talking a good three hundred acres of land completely under the spirit’s influence. Even by a Cluster’s standards, that’s a massive area.

This area was mostly undisturbed, being a historical site. Being in the profession I am, meant that didn’t mean a roasty pile of dogshit. If I got caught disturbing anything here, it only meant one thing: prosecution, if not a bullet through my head. I’m aware of what my ethnic background means; prejudice, racism, outright hate. Hell, it’s dangerous to drive, let alone stand somewhere that I shouldn’t. So I try to be subtle. Try not to pack too much ordinance. Today I only had my duffel bag full of Elinor’s*** special ammo. I’d say it “kills” ghosts, but you can’t kill a spirit. You can however, force it to reconcile with it’s past.

The worst part about this job was I was going to wind up in the water. I hate swimming. Forget what chlorine does to the dye in my hair (red. Blood red. Always.), but just the thought of driving across the country with my clothes soaked in salty water was already putting my teeth on edge. Looks like I’d be hitting a thrift shop on the way home.

I dropped my duffel bag on the beach and sat in the sand next to it, pulling off my dad’s old combat jacket and stowing it inside. I did a quick inventory. I hadn’t brought anything major. Salt. Blessed water (courtesy of Ramona****). A black beeswax candle and, my trusty companion, Peace.

Peace is the name I’ve given to my custom-made revolver. All together, the setup weighs about three pounds. Each part bears a custom engraving that’ll combat just about any supernatural force...even so, there are some things that Peace can’t solve...even with the right ammo. But I had one solution sitting in the backseat of my car: a can of kerosene. If bullets don’t solve the problem, a liberal application of fire will.

The time was midnight, the opening of the “Witching Hour”. I had until 3am to get something. Anything. The spirit wasn’t answering to any of the usual callouts (their name, questions, requests for an audience), so I settled in on the beach to doze. Wasn’t much else to do.

Mother fucker, I wish I hadn’t.

When I woke up, it was to the freezing cold iron around my wrists. The bob and weave that told me I was on the sea. The air smelled of something...something that every fucking time I smell it, I almost lose my lunch.

Corpses.

The deck outside my cell was slick with blood and viscera. I’ve seen my share of gore, don’t get me wrong, but this was a massacre. What was worse...it looked (and smelled) fresh. The good captain had been busy, it’d seemed. What began as a simple haunting was quickly turning into something more sinister. Rosie hadn’t mentioned that the spirit was violent...though I should have assumed, given the amount posted on the job. Even still, this was...a little more than I’d prepared for.

But first there was the matter of the shackles on my wrists.

Lockpicking is an artform that every PE invests time in learning. But that’s usually deadbolts or doors made post 1970. The manacles on my wrists (though they looked brand new) were easily something seen in the eighteenth century. There was even a maker’s mark next to one of the keyholes. I’ll spare you the details on how I got out, but my thumbs ache to all hell.

The second I laid hands on the bars to my cell, they swung open...I’d never been locked in. This worried me. The spirit wanted me free...the manacles were just a precaution. Each step I made was met with the squishy splort of combat boot on viscera. I took my time, as I didn’t relish the thought of slipping and falling into the mess beneath my boots. Proud to say that I didn’t fall. Not once.

[Editor’s note: judging by the stains on VT’s clothes, she fell.]

As far as I could tell, I was on the lowest deck. The stairway didn’t lead up into the fresh air of day, but rather into what I assumed was a galley. Tables and benches had been scattered, and cooking implements rusted on their hooks. Dangling from one of those hooks was my firearms...just waiting for me.

I expected a trap, I anticipated the trap. By that I mean I picked up a piece of busted bench and hurled it at my gun. It fell off the hook with a loud clatter which had me willing myself to fade into the shadows. Nothing. Nothing but the creak and groan of the ship.

Well, I say nothing, but I distinctly heard laughter from the top deck. Feminine, bright laughter. I picked my gun up off the floor, holstered it and climbed the stairs.

There was no ghost crew, as I’d anticipated...but at the helm was a sight that still gives my heart a jolt. It’s no secret that I’m gay. I love women. But what I saw at the helm...fuck me, sideways. She was tall. 6′6″ if she was an inch. Her raven hair captured the moonlight and practically sucked it in. Her breasts were bared to the wind, heavy tattoos that seemed to glow covered just about every inch of bared flesh. I’d have thought her living if not for one thing: her eyes. Pitch black like the void.

“Ahoy, mate.” she purred, setting my teeth to clench. “Found you on my little hideaway, snoozin’ like an infant. Come to join Captain Fresni’s crew, little pet?”

“I ain’t your pet.” I snapped, glowering up at the spirit. “You’ve been killing people, Captain...and everything I’ve read says that you’re a man. Are you actually Captain Fresni, or is that just some title you picked up?”

“Funny how men’ll give the most vicious fighters a cock in death that they never had in life, hm?” the pirate snickered. I took notice then that her arms were like two thick pythons that, any other time, I’d like to see just how much weight they could hold. “I offered my services to old Georgie and he thought me funny. At least until I broke his nose.”

“Georgie? As in Washington?”

“Ye know of him? Interesting. He refusing the afterlife, too?”

Everything I’d assumed about this spirit was wrong. Captain Fresni wasn’t a man, for one. Not to mention she knew very well that she was dead. That still didn’t answer the most pertinent question on my mind. “The bodies...or what’s left of them. Was that you?”

“Aye.” she smiled, wickedly, but offered no further explanation. I was being baited.

“Can I ask why?”

“Ye just did.” a hard spin of the wheel almost sent me tumbling. “But I suppose I can oblige a pretty little thing like you.” I fucking hate being demeaned. And all attraction for this undead bitch was flying out the window faster than you could say “eat my ass”. 

I can’t remember most of her explanation. Looking back, now...it’s like the whole of that night is just a drunken fever dream. What stands out to me is her reasoning. “I only murder the dregs, girlie. Rapists, mostly. Kidnappers. Violence done to women is met with brutal retaliation. It’s the simplest way to clean up this world, savvy?”

Oh, I was savvy. Quite savvy. If anything, I agreed with her and her method. Trash like that shouldn’t be allowed to breathe, let alone exist. “If that’s all you’re doing, Cap, then I see no reason we shouldn’t go our separate ways. You have your work and I have mine.”

“Aye? And just what is your work, lovely?” I didn’t detect any further demeaning playfulness...only curiosity.

“I’m a PE. A Paranormal Eliminator. Usually, I’d have to ask or make you pass on, but as it stands...I think we can say live and let live. Well...live and let un-live.” she’d laughed at that. A warm sound that had my guts twisting around my stomach like some sort of horny serpent.

“So, you came out all this way to end the dread Captain Fresni...only to find a kindred spirit, is that what I’m hearing?” she asked, grinning like the Cheshire Cat with a Glasgow grin. “And now you want to leave, just like that. Don’t a get a kiss or a nice romp? I think I’m owed something after all. I didn’t kill you for trespassing.”

That raised my hackles. Again, this pillar of muscle was underestimating me. What I’d fought, what I’d killed. For fuck’s sake, I’ve killed enough Wendigos to put half the men in my profession to shame. There was that weird case where the woman who hired me was fucking the Wendigo, but...that’s another story for another time.

[Editor’s Note: We’ve never discussed the Wendigo-coitus case. I sincerely want to hear it.]

“Fuck you. You got the drop on me, like a coward.” I regretted the words the instant they left my mouth. I was on her ship and at her mercy. She could sink this ship and I had no idea which way shore was...let alone the hazards that went with swimming in open water.

Instead she’d only laughed. “Little girl, I’m a pirate. I’ve no intent to fight head on when I can sneak up on someone. Honor is a man’s game. It’s what gets them killed, more often than not.” Again, I agreed. I’d put enough bullets in the back of a head to know that stealth is preferable than a face-to-face fight.

“Look, I lost my temper. Can we just...end this and I can go home? We both agree on your method, and I see no reason to stop what you’re doing. Sure, the “authority” of the living world won’t like it...but no one likes them, so they can eat a steaming pile of shit.” I said, frowning. “I don’t want a fight. I just want to get paid and go home.”

The look about the spirit changed, marginally. The tattoos seemed to be rippling along her flesh(?) and her smile faded into a frown. “Missy, we still have a glaring problem we’ve yet to address. I’m one woman...and I need a crew. So, unless you’ve got a solution to that particular snag, you’re it.”

All my like for this spirit (begrudging as some of it was) vanished in an instant. “So I’m being kidnapped.” I responded, feeling my heart start to hammer in my ears. “Just like those men you killed. So, what I’m hearing is, you’re no better.”

“Watch your words, girl. Your pretty face won’t save you from my blade.” she’d snarled. It took all that was in me not to balk, though my teeth desperately wanted to chatter.

“I’m using your own words against you, Captain.” I responded, hoping I sounded calmer than I felt. “Don’t blame me if they don’t line up the way you want.”

“One more word out of you -- “

“I’ll give you two: get. Fucked.” that had torn it. The rippling gave way to something that I’d come to expect. This was no run of the mill spirit: Captain Fresni was either a wraith or a revenant. The only real difference between the two was the level of violence capable. A wraith tends to hunt one person, or their family. A revenant hunts whoever they want...and now I was on the list. I couldn’t fight her here, not out in the open. She’d tear me to shreds. Already her jaw was gaping, revealing razor teeth. Her nails, cut short, were lengthening into something akin to talons...and believe me when I say those things hurt. 

I feel no shame in saying I sprinted below deck and ducked into the galley proper. I wish I hadn’t. She wasn’t just killing people, she was eating them. Body parts, half chewed, dangled from the ceiling and littered the ground. My hand clapped over my mouth and nose to keep the smell out and my dinner in. I heard her footsteps and, as silently as I could manage, I checked my firearm. Peace was still locked, cocked and ready to rock. Well, not cocked. Gun safety, kids.

I pulled one of Elinor’s special bullets out of the cylinder. What made these so special is that, instead of lead, bone served as the projectile. The easiest way to deal with something dead is by using something dead against it. I don’t ask where Elinor gets her bone, and I think I’ll be perfectly happy to continue not knowing.

[Editor’s note: I know. It’s horrific.]

“Little pet, little pet, where are you?” she crooned. Well, I say crooned...more like...rattled. A revenant’s physiology is strange, but once they reveal their form it’s almost as if their bodies begin to decay. I peeked around the corner to see her back facing me. I took aim and...nothing. My gun clicked loud enough to sound like a scream in an empty hallway, but no roar of igniting gunpowder. She turned and...smiled. I think. “There you are.”

“Here I am.” I responded, standing on shaking legs. “Soup’s on, Captain.” she ran at me, talons held out at her sides like sabers. I did the only sane thing I could think of: I ducked as she swung. Luckily, the big swing didn’t hit me. Unluckily, she had another hand. Claw. Whatever.

So, there I was, a talon embedded in my shoulder and blood gushing from the wound like a waterfall. A little known fact about revenant wounds: leave the talon in. If it’s withdrawn the wound will immediately fester and become gangrenous. A lot of PEs have died that way.

I slammed the barrel of my gun against the base of her claw and it snapped off. She screamed her pain and rage and took another swipe at my torso. I barely managed to get far enough back in time. The fact I had to compensate for a long talon still imbedded in my shoulder didn’t mean much, as I was operating off a cubic fuckload of adrenaline. She did however manage to shred my tanktop. Which sucked, because I loved that thing. Said “Boss Ass Bitch” on it and everything...I guess I could see if Ramona would make me another one...

[Editor’s note: RIP tank top. Ramona is making another one at the time of writing.]

I sprinted past her, she’d over balanced and given me time to escape. I went down, back to the cells. I was soaked in a cold sweat by now and thankful that my hair tie had held, despite my panicked movement. I smoothed the strands away from my sweat soaked face and looked for a place to hide. Nothing was presenting itself...but an idea struck. It was a stupid idea. A terrible idea. I ran into a cell and pressed my back to the wall.

When Fresni reappeared, she was smiling. “Ran out of room to run, little rat?”

“Seems that way.” I panted. My head was spinning from the loss of blood. Thankfully, that brief moment I spent pressed against the wall had redoubled my courage...and helped me remember one little fact. “Look, Cap...I’m dead. We both know it. The second this talon is removed, my life is over...so...I guess I’m askin’ if that place on your crew is still available.”

That shocked her, if only for a moment. “You can’t lie your way out of this one.”

“No lie. Kill me now. I’d rather just go ahead and get it over with, thanks.” I said, praying that this would work. If it didn’t well...you wouldn’t be seeing this, would you?

She approached, brandishing those eight inch talons. She clicked them together, thoughtfully. “Stand still, then.” she snarled as I held my breath. “One through the heart, and it’s all over.”

Three more steps. Two. One. I stepped in and latched onto her arm, and...I bit down. I felt fetid blood fill my mouth and choke me. I immediately began to gag and then...voided my stomach, all over my aggressor.

A revenant’s true power isn’t from the change they make, though it definitely looks it. A revenant is best known for it’s insidious way of making the unreal real...so long as its concentration remains undisturbed.

When I finally finished tossing my cookies, I looked up. No ship in sight. Just a revenant, me and glorious land. The sand was disturbed, probably from all my running, and my blood left trails showing my passage. I’d been running in circles for the last hour...while she just watched.

“Shouldn’t play with your food.” I coughed, wiping my mouth. “It’s how you get killed.” she screeched in rage, her partially coagulated blood oozing from the bite mark I’d left. The talon was still lodged in my shoulder. I reached for my gun, ready to put an end to this only to pull out... “A fucking banana? Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

She roared and charged. My weapon, my baby was strapped to the rotten leather of her belt. She’d touched it. No one touched my weapon except Ray***** and myself. Not even Ramona. 

That pissed me off in a way that nothing else does.

Naturally, I charged straight for her. She took a swipe with her injured arm, but instead of dodging out of the way, I leapt into it. She made contact, but only with her palm. I felt one of my ribs crack and gasped in pain, pure instinct was the only thing that drove my fist into the shredded flesh on her arm, courtesy of my teeth. She balked and I snatched.

Peace was in my hand, albeit barely. She noticed and lunged again, sending us both into the sand. Her pirate nature showed in the way her head collided with my nose, sending fresh gouts of blood over the both of us. She thought me stunned. An easy kill. She thought wrong.

“Any last words, my pretty?” she cackled, her maw open wide. She wasn’t just going to kill me...I’d pissed her off enough that she was going to bite me. My death wouldn’t just be painful, but slow...and my soul would erode right along with my body.

“Yeah.” I croaked, feeling the end of my stamina quickly approaching. “Choke on it.” I rammed Peace as hard as I possibly could into that gaping maw, hearing her gargle in rage around it. My wrist jerked as I fired once, twice, three times. Bam. Bam. Bam. A faint gargle, a twitch...and about two-hundred pounds collapsed on right on my cracked rib, finishing the job her arm had started and broke the damned thing.

I wheezed beneath the re-corpse for...ten, fifteen minutes? When I finally managed the strength to push her off of me, I immediately emptied the last three rounds into the ruined mess of her skull. Say what you will about my methodology, but I like to be thorough. 

It wouldn’t have done just to leave her body there, for a mundane to see. The SC likes it’s secrecy and to risk exposing it? There was no faster way to end a career than to leave a loose end behind. I made the long trek back to the car and returned with the kerosene can. I stood by the raging fire until there was nothing but ash and blackened bone...though I know a certain lich who could make use of revenant bone.

All in all, a happy ending. Had a vampire doc fix up my shoulder to avoid dying of infection. Rosie paid me what I was owed and Elinor bought the bone off of me for further profit. Sure, my shoulder still hurts so damned bad that I can barely lift it, but...thanks to Ramona, it’ll be healed up in no time. Probably.

Yo-ho-ho, mother fucker. Case closed.

Editor’s farewell: This is the first case file VT asked I upload. It’s one she’s particularly proud of and one with a satisfactory ending. There may be names or terminology that you are unfamiliar with, but I have taken the time to star each of them as to explain. They are as follows:

SC*: Supernatural Community. This is self explanatory. Includes all beings, regardless of death, undeath or birth. IE vampires, ghosts, revenants, werewolves

Cluster**: A colloquial term amongst PEs. Used in reference to a small locale with a massive collection of spirits. Usually all working as a coordinated group.

Elinor***: Elinor Lyktor. Lich. Proprietress of Ellie’s, a shop frequented by PEs for their gear. Specializes in Osteomancy.

Ramona****: Ramona Torrez. Witch. A close friend of VT’s. Offers support, healing and consultation. A good 75% of VT’s equipment is blessed by Ramona.

Ray*****: Raleigh Kane. Gunsmith. Took the name Ray from her father, proprietress of Ray’s Armory. Forced into the Supernatural Community by VT during a case. Since, she has dedicated her craft to making weapons to deal with the malignant forces that threaten the community as a whole. Extensively researches customers and will not sell her works to those she does not trust.

[thedreammweaver]

With Drooping Wings Ye Cupids Come (Burton-Schumacherverse Riddlebird, Victorian AU, angst, Doctor!Ed, Patient!Oswald)

(A/N: Fuck historical/medical accuracy, this is a vehicle for angst and mutual yearning only)

Warnings: emetophobia tw, respiratory issues, sick pengu, talk of plague, talk of death, survivor’s guilt

“Mr. Cobblepot, please.” The exasperation was apparent in Ed’s voice. That morning Oswald had suffered an intense spell of vomiting up the greenish black bile that seemed to never stop spawning from the recesses of his being. Fortunately after some trial and error Ed had managed to mix up a solution that at least calmed Oswald’s insides enough so that he wouldn’t spend the rest of the day vomiting. The only issue was Oswald absolutely despised the taste.

 “I feel fine now..”

“Last time you said that you were ill for hours. I doubt the taste is so terrible you’d prefer that again.”

“It’s disgusting!”

“Sir, I find the prospect that you love the taste of raw fish yet cringe at citrus, peppermint, and ginger amusing.”

Oswald folded his arms stubbornly “That isn’t all that’s in there..”

Edward rolled his eyes “Ah, yes, there’s also valerian and juice from an apple. Flowers and fruit, how very terrifying. Now are you going to open your mouth or continue acting like a stubborn infant.”

Oswald glared at his live-in physician and finally relented. Ed felt a great deal of satisfaction at winning this battle as he maneuvered the spoonful of solution into the other man’s mouth. Oswald, as expected, recoiled at the taste “It isn’t that bad, sir.” Ed teased as he began clearing his medical things from Oswald’s night table so they could start their day, which usually started with Ed helping his employer dress. Before Ed had moved in this job was left to one of Oswald’s maids but after one occasion where Ed had done it to save time Oswald found he was much more comfortable with the man. It wasn’t that Oswald didn’t enjoy the sight of a woman between his legs lacing up his boots, but rather that he enjoyed the sight of Ed and the feel of his hands quite a bit more. It was more due to Oswald’s impatience at the difficulty his fused fingers caused than the deformed appendages themselves that rendered him unable to dress without his growing frustration interfering with his progress. After he’d procured enough wealth to always have someone there to do up all the buttons and intricate bits for him he definitely took advantage of it. Ed didn’t mind doing it, though he did have to control his blushing as he did up the buttons of Oswald’s trousers, hands brushing against his corpulent form. He struggled to focus as he moved to fastening the buttons of Oswald’s coat. Oswald himself was getting distracted at how the light coming in from the window practically lit up Ed’s ginger locks. He blushed as he caught himself imagining running his hands through them.

Oswald had been reluctant to go on a walk with Ed around the grounds after the heavy breakfast he’d had. As a doctor Ed knew he should probably be making a million changes to Oswald’s diet but as someone who had become completely bewitched by the man he had a conflicting want to see him happy. He supplemented putting a stop to Oswald’s tendency to indulge with making sure the man got exercise. “You know, I think I’d much rather have the plague than whatever this is.” Oswald joked hoarsely, as he stuffed handkerchief he’d just had a coughing fit into back into his pocket. He’d only really started going for walks when Ed showed up and being unused to it was putting strain on his delicate respiratory system. “You shouldn’t joke about that, sir.” Ed scolded as they continued walking, arms linked together, though they’d both insist it was only to keep Oswald steady if his enervated lungs acted up or in general with how unbalanced his walking could be.

“Why? Are you afraid I’ll summon it?” Oswald laughed. “Oh, of course. you had quite the run in with it I imagine, being a doctor and all.”

The plague had made it’s way into Gotham quite late, for a time there was a running joke among citizens that the city was so vile the plague was avoiding it. If only that had been the case. “You don’t want to hear that stor-“

“Who are you to tell me what I do and do not want to hear, Edward?”

“Of course, sir, forgive me.” Ed adjusted his spectacles as he began his tale. “I had just joined the practice when it hit. I couldn’t have been more than nineteen, practically still a child. That was such a hellish time...so much death, especially in a hospital.”

“How did you manage to avoid falling ill yourself?” Oswald inquired curiously, despite being so close with the man, he knew nearly nothing about his life before they’d met.

Ed found a chuckle escaping him despite himself “Oh, I didn’t. Manage to avoid it, I mean.”

That definitely captured Oswald’s attention fully, whether he meant to or not he’d wrapped his arm tighter around Edward’s “My god, however did you survive?”

Ed shrugged “I’m quite certain I have no idea.. The doctor that was meant to be telling me what to do dropped dead  himself, most of the nurses too. Soon it was just me, two other inexperienced doctors, and the one nurse who could still stand so I just..kept working.”

“What was it like...having it?”

“You want a review, do you?” Ed quipped.

Oswald rolled his eyes “Don’t be smart, I’m only curious.”

“..It was hell. For a time even after I recovered I was quite afraid I’d actually died and somehow was unaware.” Ed said grimly before clearing his throat “I still get those worries every now and then, sometimes I even feel as though I should’ve perished with my patients.. Luckily tending to you keeps me sane.” Ed said fondly. Oswald sighed “That’s one good thing to come out of me being ill at least.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Ed smiled “Tending to patients kept me sane then too. I was moved to the children’s ward after one patient complained that my ‘incessant rambling’ would kill her quicker than the plague could. Anyways, I recall everytime I felt the temptation to find some hole or corner to die in I’d force myself to look at those children and know that if I stopped breathing they most certainly would as well. That made me carry on, they were the only ones who appreciated my riddles anyways I supposed I owed them for that.” He chuckled, a sad note to the noise “There were about twenty or thirty children in that ward, perhaps even forty. I-I’m not certain, it was hard to keep count, it was as many as we could fit I do know that. Only two ever walked out...you’d think that’d be devastating but it was still worth it, even just for those two....” He trailed off, absently fiddling with the buttons on Oswald’s sleeve.

“Hmm..” Oswald hummed thoughtfully “I never figured you for the type to be good with little ones.”

“Neither did I!” Ed laughed “I found them to be great fun actual-“

He was interrupted by Oswald going into another coughing fit, making both of them stop as he once again pressed the handkerchief to his mouth. This time when he withdrew it the all too familiar greenish black was splattered across the white surface of the cloth “Oh dear,” Ed muttered as he looked it over “I’d say it’d be best if you had another dose when we get back, sir.” Oswald whined but before he could protest Ed spoke again “I didn’t survive the plague only to argue with you about taking your medicine.” He joked. Oswald relented “Fine. You’re a real bastard, you know that?”

“Yes, I do, sir.” Ed said cheekily as he and the shorter man began walking back to Cobblepot manor.

   Though Oswald was still dreading his medication, he was much more relaxed this time. When they’d reached the house Oswald felt quite like having a warm milk bath to nurse the pain in his overworked ankles. There were rose petals in the bath as well, Oswald’s fanciful tastes permeating every aspect of his life. Ed came over to the tub, spoonful of medicine in hand once again. Oswald didn’t put up a fuss this time though he still cringed at the taste. Before Ed could finish putting away his medical things Oswald interrupted “Edward?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I have such a terrible ache in my shoulders, I don’t suppose you’d be any good at massaging?”

Ed could feel the blush spreading across his face “I-I could give it a go, I suppose.”

Ed walked back over and knelt at the head of the tub and gingerly placed his hands on Oswald’s shoulders. “Get on with it then.” The shorter man instructed. Ed began slowly massaging Oswald’s shoulders, trying not to think about how soft the man’s bare skin felt, he could feel Oswald almost immediately relax under him. Desperate to distract himself from his own yearning Ed turned to a riddle “I am alive without breath and cold as death. I am never thirsty but always drinking. What am I?”

Oswald scoffed before answering “A fish.”

“Right as always, sir.” Ed didn’t mean to let the disappointment seep into his voice but it must have. “If you don’t want me to solve them you’ll have to stop catering them to me.” Oswald huffed. Ed blushed, he hadn’t realized he’d been choosing ones with answers of things Oswald was fond of. “It’s almost always spirits, birds, or something else you know I love. You really must bring me a stimulating one next time.” Oswald sighed. Ed nodded “I will certainly try.”

     “Edward?” Oswald called out when he heard the floorboards in the hallway creaking. Ed stepped into the doorway and for a moment all Oswald could focus on was how beautiful he looked in the moonlight. “Yes, sir?”

“Why are you stalking about my house in the dead of night like a specter?”

“It’s cold, I was only going to sleep in the sitting room if that’s alright. I’m sorry if I disturbed you, sir.” Ed’s drafty attic room was currently to frigid to sleep in due to the early spring weather. “Oh...alright, carry on then.” Oswald said. Ed was about to do just that when something occurred to Oswald and he found words tumbling from his mouth despite himself “Actually, Edward?” the taller man turned around and tilted his head, waiting for Oswald to continue speaking. Oswald hoped Ed couldn’t see him blushing “It..it’s quite warm over here.” He patted the bed sincerely hoping his boldness wouldn’t put Ed off. Ed looked down at the floor “Would-wouldn’t that be improper?”

Oswald fumbled for an excuse “There’s nothing improper about self preservation. My health depends on you preforming your job well and your performance depends on you getting an adequate amount of rest.” Ed, satisfied with the excuse, walked over to crawl into bed next to Oswald while trying very hard to not appear as giddy as he felt. A few moments passed before Oswald spoke again “You- erm...I figure you would warm up quicker if you were closer to me.” Ed tried to slow his breathing as he shuffled closer to Oswald, pressing his thin lanky frame to his employer’s weighty soft one. “It’s the damndest thing,” Ed whispered “My lips are still quite freezing-“ he was interrupted by a frustrated groan from Oswald.

“To hell with these circumlocutions, you wish for me to kiss you, yes?”

“Uh-..y-yes, sir, I do.” With that confirmation Oswald closed the small distance between them, pressing his lips to Ed’s and finally letting himself bring one of his flippers up to stroke those ginger locks he’d admired for so long. Ed found himself wrapping his arms around Oswald’s ample waist. He was afraid he’d offended the other man as he broke their kiss but his fears were almost immediately put to rest. “If we’re going to be so intimate you really must stop calling me ‘sir’ all the time.” Oswald said, pulling Ed even closer. “Of course, s- I-I mean Oswald.” Ed fumbled. Oswald chuckled at the other man’s stuttering before meeting lips with him once more.

[recurring-polynya]

Congratulations on the 500 followers and your anniversary!! 💞 your stuff never fails to make me (and at least 500 others) smile! And with that in mind, if you’re still accepting prompts, how about an Academy Days study session/sleepover? I’m thinking Izuru Momo Renji Rukia but you can add others if you want!

Thank youuuuuuu! Grumpy Teen Rukia is soooo fun to write! This one also goes out to everyone out that who is currently slogging their way through finals.

By the way, if anyone out there is enjoying these Adorkable Academy Hijinks, may I shamelessly plug @diademchiofthetripod​‘s Life is Like a Boat? Or if you have some emotional capacity for Sad Renji there’s always Hold On, Hold On, AKA the only good thing I’ve ever written.

📚 🍪 📚 🍵 📚

“There!” Hinamori announced, sitting back to admire her own work. “Adorable!” She paused. “You can go take a look in the mirror, if you want.”

Rukia reached up to tentatively tug at one of the ponytails Hinamori had arranged her hair into. “I’ll take your word for it. I thought we were going to study.”

Hinamori sighed, clearly disappointed over something. “I suppose so. I feel like I’ve been studying all day. Possibly my entire life.”

Rukia pulled her Kidou Theory book onto her lap as thought that would protect her from future experimental hairstyles. It was supremely weird that Renji’s perfect friend had invited her to have a “study sleepover.” It was the weekend before finals, and all the girls were doing it, piling into one another’s rooms and eating snacks and painting each other’s nails while they quizzed each other on long lists of historically dead captains and the seven principal hakuda throws and going to sleep wherever they happened to fall over. As it happened, Rukia’s snotty roommate had been dropping sharper and stronger hints all week that Rukia might want to find someplace else to sleep, so she could have her own friends over. That’s the only reason Rukia had said yes to this.

Well, maybe not the only reason. Hinamori was smart. Super smart. Rukia knew she was smart too, but not exactly in a ‘“get A’s in all your classes" way. More like in a “trick someone out of all their money and be halfway across town before they realized" sort of way. That way was not proving to be very welcome here at Shin’ou. And if she didn’t manage to scrape through these finals, Rukia was going to find herself not very welcome here at Shin’ou.

“You want to go over kidou?” Momo asked, digging through a pile of binders, each neatly labeled with colored paper on the spines. “Do you need help?” She sounded surprised. “Abarai-kun says you’re very good at kidou.”

Renji had said what? Renji never shut up about how good Momo was at kidou. She’s a genius, Rukia, she can do a couple of level 30’s with no chant, she even managed to explain it to me, howsabout that for smarts? And Izuru knows all the chants, every one, Ru, he’s got all these funny tricks for remembering ‘em, listen to this one. Rukia was somewhat dumbfounded that Renji even remembered she existed when he was with his brilliant friends.

“I’m good at doing them,” she mumbled. “The theory stuff is hard.”

“Oh, sure,” Hinamori agreed. “I could stand to brush up on that, myself. Do you want a cookie?”

“Cookie?” Rukia echoed.

“Mmm-hmm! I got a package from my grandmother just yesterday!” She pulled a tin off a shelf and wrestled the lid off. “She said my little brother helped make them, but I’m sure they still taste fine. My granny is an amazing baker.”

Rukia stared at the cookies, frozen. Rukia had stolen food and water and money and clothes from every kind of scumbag and lowlife imaginable, and never felt a speck of regret about it. It seemed absolutely unthinkable to accept a fresh cookie, baked by an actual grandma, freely offered by a girl who was kinder and more gracious than Rukia could ever hope to be.

There was an insistent rapping from the window.

“Fiddlesticks!” Hinamori exclaimed. “It’s like they know!” She scrambled to her feet and ran to unlatch the window.

Rukia watched the scene curiously. Sure, Renji snuck into her room, well, not all the time, but enough. But it seemed very strange that Hinamori, who apparently didn’t even know any curses, would also entertain forbidden visitors. 

Kira Izuru tumbled into the room, followed closely by Renji, who was carrying a double load of books. “Oh, cookies!” he exclaimed before his feet had even hit the floor. “Are those Granny cookies?”

“They are,” Hinamori sniffed, “and you aren’t touching them until Rukia-san picks hers.”

Renji nudged Rukia with his foot. “Well, hurry up, slowpoke, climbing’s hungry work.”

Kira rummaged around in his kosode and pulled out a packet wrapped in beautiful mulberry paper. “I brought tea.”

“Oh, Kira-kun, this is the expen-- good kind!”

“My aunt sent it, she said to share,” Kira replied modestly.

“I’ll fetch some hot water! Who wants some?”

“Is it extra fancy?” Renji demanded. “You know Rukia and I only drink the stuff they serve the Soul King.”

“You’re so embarrassing,” Rukia muttered, selecting a cookie that looked a little brown around the edges.

“What’re we studying?” Renji asked, peering over her shoulder while grabbing no less than three cookies from the tin. “Kidou? Good thing, ‘cuz I am definitely gonna fail that, the way things are going.”

“Rukia-san and I will get you straightened out!” Hinamori promised. “I’ll be right back! Kira-kun, can you measure out the tea for me?”

Renji regarded Rukia out of the corner of his eye as he crammed his mouth full of cookie. “You having fun yet?”

“Hinamori-san is very kind,” Rukia replied flatly, through gritted teeth.

Renji gave one of her ponytails a little tug. “This is very cute. You and Momo look like twinsies.”

“Shut your fucking trap, Abarai, or I’ll tell her you said you wanted yours done up the same way.”

“For these cookies,” Renji declared, “I’ll let her put it in a French fucking braid.”

[nelllraiser]

bela lugosi’s def not dead | nic & nell

LOCATION: the drive-ins. PARTIES: @bountybossier​ and @nelllraiser. SUMMARY: stab ? stab!!  TIMING: sometime in March

Nell had been staring for...probably much longer than was socially acceptable, squinting into the darkness towards the truck a few spots over to see if it was, indeed, who she thought it was. She hopped off her motorcycle as the movie continued to play on the drive-in screen, passing annoyingly in front of those that were trying to enjoy the film. As they grumbled about her getting in the way, she could see the vaguely familiar outline, and wasted no time in popping up next to the truck, her eyes barely managing to clear the side of it as her hands gripped the edge, her feet on tiptoe as she said in a horrendous attempt at a whisper, “Sam Hill- is that you?” 

The hunter had to do a double-take when he saw the drive-in theater on one of his nightly drives. Romance wasn’t exactly for Nicodemus and classics were fine, but what really caught his eye was the horror double-feature on Sunday: The Wolf Man and Dracula. What better way to forget about the shit of reality than to immerse himself in what humanity thought was actually going on? One large water bottle and bag of popcorn later, he was posted in the back of his truck and watching the opening credits of Dracula. He snuck a sip of his flask and reclined back against a bag of salt. He hadn’t heard the whisper at first, or maybe his subconscious chose to ignore it. He only looked over when he felt eyes on him. It was her. Nell. To keep from loudly swearing and interrupting, he shoved a fistful of popcorn into his mouth. He squinted and whispered back. “You here for the movie or are you stalkin’ me?”

Perhaps Nell had a similar reason for being here. It was simply amusing to see what twisted tales of the supernatural had managed to leak into humankind, and then see how they thought how it could make a better story if they just entirely messed it all up. Nevertheless, she still enjoyed the movie Practical Magic. Not that this was that film. Dracula was always a good way to unwind as she perhaps laughed a little too loud at the parts that were meant to be...well...scary. But it was ridiculous! Nevertheless, her bottom lip jutted out as he seemingly ignored her. “You didn’t answer my question,” she said stubbornly when he posed his own query. In another moment, she’d clambered over the side of the truck and into its bed, apparently inviting herself. “Can it be both? I choose both. Except you’d have to be cool enough to stalk.” He was definitely cool enough to stalk, she just wouldn’t admit it.

Nicodemus watched in quiet resignation as she clambered over the side of the truck like a child at the play area of a McDonald’s. “Well, fuck I’d hope it’s me,” he muttered in response as he looked between her and the screen. He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he shook his head. Honestly, a run-in at the movies was the least troublesome encounter he’d had in the last, what, three days? His sour mood sweetened some, not by a lot, and he tipped his head. “Sure, it can be both.” He paused and squinted at her. What, was he not cool enough to stalk? Why was he even entertaining that thought? Lugosi was supposed to be entertaining him. “Oh, me being not cool is the reason you’re here? Good to know, I’ll remember that.” With a grunt, he jutted the popcorn bag at her and looked away. “...I ain’t gonna eat all of it.”

Nell’s amused grin was already sliding into place at his response, settling into the truck beside him as she folded her knees up near her chin. “That’s for me to know, and you to not find out.” She wasn’t exactly in the business of telling bad-ass bounty hunters her rather...lengthy history of latching onto people she found undoubtedly cool. But she hummed for a moment as he seemed to give in a bit to her tease, and she figured she’d give him a little something. “Alright fine- it’s both, then.” Nell looked down as she said the words, fixating on the popcorn in case his reaction to her admission was negative. Hopefully, her tone might have been joking enough to pass it off as no more than a joke if need be. As the popcorn came her way, she wiggled a bit in her excitement, always quite thrilled to have food at her disposal. “Thanks!” Her exclamation was perhaps a tad too loud, earning a replying ssssh from another drive-in goer a car over. Without hesitation, she stuck her tongue out at them before turning back to Nic. “So you a horror guy?” she asked before taking a healthy handful of buttery goodness and popping it into her mouth.

Instinctively, Nicodemus shoved himself to the other side of the truck like a socially awkward dog at his first day of daycare. He took a long drag of his water bottle as he side-eyed Nell. It was troublesome trying to figure out why she seemed so keen on following him lately. And even more so, trying to figure out why it didn’t piss him off as much as he initially figured it would. He huffed and leaned his head back. “Give it time, kid, I ain’t bad at sussin’ shit out.” A snort followed at quick addition. “Annnd that was quick.” He took a massive handful of the popcorn and held it on his lap. The hunter didn’t mind her outburst, but the car over did and Nico picked his head up to stare at them. The next person that shushed them was getting a knife in their tire. His head tilted at her question before he nodded. “It’s either this or historical romances,” he said, completely deadpan. “There’s no inbetween.” Bela Lugosi stalked across the screen, cape drawn. Nic squinted. For all his night vision was worth, it didn’t help much with a giant screen behind it. It looked like someone was mimicking Lugosi just a few rows ahead. “Was this a costume showin’ or what?”

It was impossible for Nell not to notice Nic’s apparent aversion to where she’d sat in the truck, though she did her best to brush it aside. Maybe he just didn’t like sitting next to people. She tried not to take it personally. Besides, she was too wrapped up in her popcorn eating to take any prolonged notice of anything he was doing, far too pleased to have something to eat in front of her. “You don’t get that one,” she replied stubbornly. “You didn’t ‘sus’ anything. I just decided to tell you so it doesn't count.” She wasn’t sure what to make of his reply about movie preference, but tried her best to tamp down the excitement that came with the thought that they might have something in common. “What like...Gone With the Wind and stuff? The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society?” But she finally looked up from her precious popcorn at his question, joining him in squinting into the night. A light snort dropped from her. “No- it looks like maybe someone’s just really into Lugosi. Their cape isn’t even that good.”

"Nope, I sussed it with keen precision," Nicodemus said, hands slightly splayed at his sides. The slight annoyance in her face was enough to spur him on and he damn near cracked a sly grin, gaze sliding to the corners of his eyes to look at her. He adjusted in his seat, sat pretzel style, and leaned forward with his elbows in his knees. "Yup, secret of mine. 'Spose you earned it, but frankly my dear, I don't give a fuck." Proud of himself for his own spin on a line from a film he finally watched about five years ago, he tipped his head at her. Shattering his senses to make himself useful outside of his grandfather's idea of demon hunting had him constantly on edge, but there was something about the drive-in that particular night that had his teeth tight. "Fuckin' cosplayers." Except, the man ahead looked eerily like Bela Lugosi but stiffer. Like something pretending to be a human-shaped person and he was lurking close to cars, trying to snatch at something. Someone. He sat up and reached into his jacket. "That ain't a cosplayer, Nell."

Nell gave a soft eyeroll, the corners of her mouth upturned as her amusement grew. “Sure you did, old man. Just keep telling yourself that.” But her slight grin turned full force the moment he confirmed their mutual taste in films, along with a laugh that tumbled into the air with his doctored quote. “Okay, but do you watch-” Her excitement  and smile were cut short as she watched the strangeness of the supposed cosplayer unfold, eyes straining to see what was going on with a bit more fervor as she leaned forward. Crawling towards the tail of the truck, she frowned, that strange sense of something being not entirely right crawling up her neck. Shit. Nope. Definitely not a cosplayer. Nell was already making her way out of the truck to go confront the Lugosi wannabe when she hesitated a moment later, looking back over her shoulder at Nic. Sure, he was a badass bounty hunter amongst other things. But she’d rather keep him safe from any supernatural shenanigans. “You know, I’m just gonna- go- talk to them. You just uh- stay here. Or leave. Leaving would be better. Or you know actually, I think we need more popcorn. Maybe you should go get some. Please.”

The hunter lost track of their initial conversation, far too focused on the Lugosi that he couldn’t quite get a read on. Fucking damn it. Nicodemus just wanted to watch the movie, not have to deal with stabbing or shooting shit for at least twelve hours. So much for that idea. It was back in one of Dracula’s coffins. His fingers skirted along the stake held up tight in his jacket but he didn’t move. Damn it. She didn’t need to get involved in this but then there she was, urging him to go get more popcorn. He shot her a look. “You’re gonna go talk to ‘em?” He shook his head twice and pulled up into a crouch before he threw himself over the truck bed. “How about you go get the popcorn? You seem more about it than me there, Nell.” The utterance of please confused him. Was she...worried about him? He looked between her and the fake Lugosi. He had already placed himself between her and the approaching figure, a subconscious action that he’d think about later. “I’ll go talk to ‘em, alright? Get this shit sorted.” He bit at the corner of his lip. “Alright?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna talk to them!” Nell insisted, a frown furrowing her brow. Couldn’t he just go get the dang popcorn? The longer she waited, the more squirrelly she got thinking that something unsavory might be occurring only a few cars away. “No!” She insisted stubbornly, perhaps even stomping a little with the word. “You- it’s- gentlemanly isn’t it? The guy gets the popcorn? You’re from the South, right? You know!” What the hell was she even saying? This was almost as bad as telling Kaden that her biting him had been performance art. Her frustration only grew as he seemed to block her path, and she bent to look around him towards whatever was still going on with the Lugosi character. “No, I’m talking to them! Look just- please just- don’t go over there, alright?” Nic getting hurt was something she certainly wasn’t willing to risk, and her features grew a little less intense as she spoke the request. And then she was doing her best to step around him and in the direction of the disturbance, jogging her way over there.

“Well maybe I wanna talk to ‘em too, huh? Ask ‘em about their...cape an’ shit.” Nicodemus didn’t have time for this. Fake fuckin’ Dracula was getting too close for comfort and he still wanted to watch the fucking movies. At her mention of him being from the South, he let out a loud, annoyed sigh. “Oh yeah, because if there’s anything I am, it’s a southern fuckin’ gentleman.” If she meant to distract him by having him go into a Cajun French rant, it almost worked as she started to slip around and away from him. Why was she so damn keen on dealing with it alone? He grunted and spit off to the side as he took off after her. “Fuck that, we’re both talkin’ to ‘em. Just get behind me if they do anything fuckin’ weird.” He said it with finality and he looked at her as they neared the stranger. “Hey, fuckass, what are you do--” Fake Lugosi rounded on him and Nicodemus was prepared for the lunge that followed, arms up as the body hit him. He maintained balance and shifted on his feet, grabbing the back of Lugosi’s jacket to flip him over. Thankfully, he was parked off to the side to avoid people. Sans Nell, apparently. If no one noticed a goddamn thing, it would be for the better.

Damn, the Cajun French rant bait hadn’t worked. “Or you could get behind me!” Nell replied stubbornly, in much of the same tone that this entire conversation had been spoken within. Nevertheless- it was...nice that he seemed to care. But she didn’t want him to get hurt by some lame-ass vampire! The conversation slipped away as she watched the fight already beginning to unfold, and a simple exclamation of “Nic!” fell from her. The single word was mixed with worry and annoyance, not at all pleased that he was being put in this situation. She quieted quickly, though— not wanting to draw even more attention to the little scuffle that was happening over here. With reflexes that were a little too fast, Lugosi was back up, and lunging once more. “Stay down!” Nell growled between gritted teeth as she took her own turn, dropping to sweep a leg out to kick Lugosi’s feet out from underneath him. He didn’t look feral, not having that sort of crazed aura about him that vampires generally did when they were starved which meant...was he simply hunting for sport? Or just shits and giggles at a vampire movie?

The hunter’s eyes shot to look at Nell. Jesus, she was concerned. That was a funny thing that Nicodemus would seriously wonder what the fuck was about later. The vampire didn’t seem to care that there were two people actively trying to put his ass down. Nic grunted and watched, impressed, as Nell put the vampire’s ass to the dirt again. He pressed a hand against Fake Lugosi’s cold neck and pressed his face into the dirt, fanged mouth open and full of mud. “Alright,” the hunter murmured as he shifted on his heels. “Don’t know what your fuckin’ deal is but this ain’t the fuckin’ place for it, sharptooth. Don’t try it again.” The vampire hissed, or tried to, with a mouth full of dirt. He glanced up at Nell, then over to the cars not that far away. His ears picked up someone talking, whispering about what was going on over there. There being where Nic, Nell, and the vampire were. He grumbled. “Just doin’ security, keep watchin’ the goddamn movie,” he said, voice raised by a thin margin. His grip tightened on the back of the vampire’s neck as he tried to pull him up by the scruff like an angry cat. “Nell, got a feelin’ he might bolt. I ain’t got a stake. You?” The vampire went rigid at that and threw his head back, clocking Nic right in the face. His grip faltered enough for the vampire to shrug him off and do just what he said he would: bolt. Right for her.

People were watching. Which meant that magic wasn’t really an option. Nell had been trying to use less of it in situations like this even moreso than usual, all to aware of how Miriam was slinking about these days. Plus….she didn’t exactly know Nic’s opinion on witches, and wasn’t entirely sure if she was ready or not to discover it. Nevertheless, she was somewhat amused by the picture of Nic holding the pitiful creature. If it hadn’t been clear that this particular piece of trash was...exactly that, she might have fought the mention of a stake. Instead, she simply shook her head. “Not on me.” Next thing she knew, the thing was charging her, and brown eyes widened as it grew closer. A snarl curled her own lips as it closed in, and she dug in her heels. What she did next wasn’t the most graceful of fight techniques...but raising a foot to harshly kick the vampire in the privates certainly proved effective enough as he doubled over. Then she was darting towards a nearby, empty car to duck behind it under the guise of searching in the mud. Taking the chance to perform a bit of clandestine magic, she summoned a wooden stake from seemingly thin air. “Found one!” she called out before making sure she muddied up the weapon that had been sitting in her room at home not seconds ago .”Catch!” With that, she was launching the piece of wood towards Nic, for she was no longer in stabbing proximity.

Nicodemus realized the absurdity of the question right after he asked it. Right, most people didn’t normally carry fucking stakes on their persons at any given moment. Even he barely did. Only when the situation called for it. Needless to say, he didn’t expect fucking movie night to be one such situation. As he shook off the headbutt, he looked over in time to see Nell handle it about as tactfully as he would and tried very fucking hard to not grin. It failed and it lit up his face, just by a slim margin. Then she was running away and that grin faltered. Was she about to fucking leave his ass after they’d shared some shitty popcorn? The audacity. As she returned, stake in hand from who knows where, he was glad to be proven wrong. He reached up and caught the stake. In as smooth of a motion as he could, he pivoted and went weight, plus stake, first into the Bela Lugosi wannabe. The vampire gasped for a second before the burst into dust, which Nicodemus promptly blocked with his body as a couple curious humans glanced over. “Part of the show, folks. Regular fuckin’ mindfreak,” he said gruffly. Maybe it was the tone but it was enough to get eyes back on the screen that the real Lugosi stalked across. The hunter looked at Nell, forehead furrowed and eyes squinted. “Don’t you say it. Don’t you dare say we make an alright team.”

Nell couldn’t even begin to describe how beautiful the scene was while Nic caught the stake and promptly turned the vampire to dust. There might have been fireworks. The mayor might have been there promising the pair of them keys to the city for being such upstanding and badass citizens. Either way, her fists punched into the air in tandem, a wide smile on her lips! “Yes! Amazing! We kicked ass!” But didn’t this mean...apparently she wasn’t the only bounty hunter around who did other forms of hunting on the side. After all, he was the one who’d asked for a stake. “Yeah, nothing but a loser!” she called out after Nic finished his own explanation. “I’m helping,” was the only explanation she offered. Her grin had already been wide, and it wasted no time in looking as if it might split her face, eyes crinkling in a way that was also a telltale sign of being up to absolutely no good. “I wasn’t gonna say that.” Nell bent at the waist, retrieving the stake from the pile of dust, and pressing it back into Nic’s hand. “I was gonna say we make an awesome team.” With that, she began to lead the way back to the truck, intent on finishing the movie. “Do you think the popcorn’s still there?” Then, because she never knew when to stop, shit-eating grin and all, “And next time you get to be the one getting behind me. We’ll take turns.”

[mermaidmafia-official]

{ PART I: BLOOD GETS IN YOUR EYE }

taglist: @bebemoon @interluxetumbra @vampirkaninchen @blubbingbeautifully​

set link: https://urstyle.fashion/styles/2441256

. . . L I K E  B L O O D  F O R  R O S E S . . . 

Ysabelle seemed preoccupied with something - the floors, Yinmei thought - and so she decided to put her old friend out of her misery.

“Vavassour,” she said, looking down to where Ysa was standing, one hand on her hip.

“Zhang,” came Ysa’s soft response as she looked over the foyer. “Have you seen either of the cherubs? Tonight of all nights, they decide to shirk duties when I gave them the strictest order to-”

Yinmei ignored Ysa’s complaining (well, the closest that the Bloodmother ever got to complaining, anyway), instead letting a few of the rose petals from her basket float gently down the distance between the two of them, to land on Ysa’s head.

“Chatham passed his rose chore off to me,” she said languidly, and dropped a few more petals. She rested the side of her face against her free hand. “He said he did not have the time.”

Chatham was a horrible little thing, in Yinmei’s opinion - he thought her ugly, and Yinmei would have him know that if anything was ugly, it was his utter lack of knowledge about proper skincare procedures. 

I mean, for shame, she seethed to herself. If he were human, he would be an idiotic sixteen-year-old boy with pimples covering his entire face. And bad breath to boot.

Ysa swiped the petals from her hair and began walking up the staircase, her dark robes trailing behind her. “Did he say what was so pressing that he could not obey his mistress?” 

Yinmei lifted herself from the banister as Ysa approached. “I did ask,” she replied, “but he told me I ought to mind my own business.” The hideous creature. She gestured vaguely at the basket. “It’s really not a bother. They smell lovely.”

Ysa reached out to lightly flick at her collarbone. “You shouldn’t allow him to boss you,” she said, “After all, frail and aged as you are, you’re hardly suited to labor- your bones could turn to dust at any moment. Do let one of the younger girls handle it.”

Normally, Yinmei would have responded with a playful quip of her own, but when her friend mentioned one of the ‘younger girls’....

“Yes, why not have your new little friend do it?” she said, her voice a tad sharper than she’d intended. She gave Ysa a sideways glance. “It seems the least she could do after keeping the entire house up all day long.”

Ysa will get the others killed, with this obsession of hers. Especially with Sire and his wolves on the loose, Yinmei thought to herself, irritated. Amaelia’s nothing more than a distraction. Hypocritical of me to criticize Ysa for distracting herself, perhaps, but I’m not the Bloodmother of our Coven. 

And, privately, Yinmei knew that she was only giving Ysa such a hard time because of a situation that required more of her own attention than she would have liked to admit. Lately, there had been - nothing more than a stirring, really, she consoled herself - something. Something itching at the back of her skull. Something that she’d thought she’d left behind her forever, hacked to pieces and burnt to a crisp two thousand-odd years ago in a farming village that no longer existed, on the other side of the world.

If she had to deal with that, well, she couldn’t guarantee that she would be there for the Coven when the werewolves moved in. And if Ysa was distracted with her newest plaything, then they would be vulnerable.

It took Yinmei a moment to realize that Ysa was talking to her, again. “I hate to think Lia is disturbing your peace, my dear. I will see what I can do,” she said, and then she was gone.

Yinmei turned back to the rose petals, letting a few more drift slowly downwards. From her vantage point, leaning over the banister, they almost looked like speckles of blood, dotting the newly-refurbished floor.

        ━━━━━━━━━  

The Halacre Historical Society could, in Yinmei’s humble opinion, go fuck themselves. But her days of slaughtering entire towns and feasting on the bloodshed were long gone, and even Yinmei, as petty and fickle as she was when it came to mortals, could see the logic in playing nice with the humans.

...though that didn’t mean she had to like it.

She’d traded out her preferred glass eye (the one with a ruby iris) for something a little less conspicuous, just for the event. Her gown was all delicate lace and strands of freshwater pearls, and she’d left her hair long and loose, to match Ysa’s.

They were, after all, supposed to be wives for the duration of the house warming.

Ysa finally re-appeared sometime after the house warming had started, saving Yinmei from the utter boredom of dealing with the head of the Historical Society. Yinmei was not particularly tall herself, but the woman who led the Historical Society had to have been at least an entire head shorter. 

“Ah, there you are!” she called to Ysa, spotting her passing through the foyer. She pointedly raised her eyebrows, and beckoned delicately for Ysa to come join her.

“Dear,” Yinmei began, keeping her voice as cheerful as she could, given the circumstances. Ysa was wearing a lovely tailored suit of dark blue velvet; Yinmei couldn’t help but to admire it. “This Paulette Maminot, the head of the Halacre Historical Society. Paulette, this is my wife Ysabelle.”

Paulette offered her hand to Ysa. “How do you do?” she said sourly. The slight frown on her face deepened. “You two are married, then? My, my. How modern.”

Ysa leaned on her cane and grinned. Yinmei wanted to roll her eyes. “Oh, yes,” said the Bloodmother, “for several, blissful years now. Have you met the children? They should be-”

“Actually, we were hoping for a tour of the house,” the old woman interposed. “My father used to own this property- it’s been in my family for ages. I was disappointed to know that my brother sold it. I see you’ve…taken the liberty of changing a few things. Thank goodness you kept the original flooring.”

“Oh, what a shame,” Yinmei said lightly, even as she tensed. “The floors are the last thing to be dealt with. We just cannot agree on what to cover that old wood with. I say grey cork or perhaps vinyl.”

“But I just adore shag carpet,” Ysa answered, playing along. “It speaks of luxury.”

Yinmei shrugged one shoulder, nonchalantly. “You are right about that.”

Maminot looked like she’d just swallowed a lemon. Yinmei suppressed a snicker. 

“Well,” the mortal sighed, finally, “burn it down for all I care. Shall I gather the others for the tour?”

Ysa gestured her approval, and Maminot went off to gather the other humans. She turned back to Yinmei, once the head of the Historical Society had gone. “Paper, scissors, stone,” she said. “The loser plays tour-guide.”

Yinmei grimaced, but obliged.

       ━━━━━━━━━  

The tour had been positively torturous, but they were almost done. Thank the stars for that, Yinmei thought, sourly. It was women like Maminot who, in another time and another place, would have been the one insisting that Yinmei ought to bind her feet until the bones snapped and keep her eyes down and never speak out of turn-

-fucking hell. There she was going on again, about everything that she’d sworn she would forget. It was that itching in the back of her head, again, the one that made her skin crawl and bile rise up her throat. 

She swore again, silently. Sooner or later, she would have to venture east and deal with it, she knew, but for now she would grit her teeth and smile, for Ysa and for the rest of the Coven.

Yinmei managed to tune out the nonsense that came out of Maminot’s mouth, and they had just reached the last stop on the tour when a figure with a tumble of scarlet curls, dressed in a rich emerald green, appeared at the top of the stairs. 

Yinmei had enough time to let out a startled exclamation, in her native tongue, before Poppy descended on the crowd.

Shrieks filled the air. “Find Ysabelle!” Yinmei snapped, and she was on Poppy in an instant, pulling her away from her first victim. Poppy thrashed in her arms, managing to break free, and by the time Yinmei was able to grab at her again, there were already half a dozen bodies strewn around the stairs.

“Where the hell is Ysabelle?!” Yinmei roared, the smell of blood hitting her nostrils all at once. Poppy wriggled out of her grip for long enough to latch onto Maminot, whose shrill screams did nothing but add to the chaos.

Yinmei didn’t let herself panic. She didn’t have time to, because Poppy was struggling against her, raking at her gown, the humans’ blood soaking the other vampire’s dress, spilling out into the air-

Finally, finally, Ysa was there, and she and Angelika wrestled the doll-faced redhead back into her rooms. Yinmei stood in the middle of it all, covered in white lace dyed bright crimson, the delicate pearls clattering to the ground. The other members of the underworld were murmuring at the scene, concerned, and every single member of the Halacre Historical Society was dead or dying, their pained moans floating into the edge of Yinmei’s consciousness.

Ysa gave the order to burn the bodies. Yinmei stepped aside to let Chatham and Weep-not move in to do the Bloodmother’s bidding, and as she began walking in the direction of her friend, her senses slowly began to return to her.

She took a deep breath, and the scent of rose petals mingled with the heady smell of blood. 

Yinmei paused, disoriented, and then continued on her way.

[serenzippity]

May I request for a Wonho Vampire AU! Where he's sweet vamp also can it be a smut😍

Here you go, baby.

Warning: Smut

I do not own the gif. If it is yours please let me know so I can credit you.

“Did you know that ‘Do You Want to Build a Snowman?’ sounds just like ‘Papa, Can You Hear Me?’”

You stopped stirring the pot and turned around to your boyfriend. He was nonchalantly setting the table as if he wasn’t currently spitting off random, useless facts that he got from Marvel movies. 

“Also did you know that gamma rays have the smallest wavelengths?”

Turning back to your food prep, you grabbed the ladle once more and continued to turn the bubbling blood with a small smile on your face. You didn’t say anything, but the air in the room was comfortable as you kept cooking.

“Ooooh,” he said as his tone took a giddy tone. “Also technically going back in time doesn’t necessarily change the future?”

That was the straw that broke the camels back and there was nothing you could do to control the laugh that spilled out of your mouth. “Babe,” you giggled, “You’ve got to stop having MCU marathons.”

“What else am I supposed to do? I’ve seen literally every movie in existence.” He groaned, taking the silverware and arranging them in a way that was visually appealing but virtually useless. Being a mortal, he always worked hard to make everything seem normal for the two of you, even if it meant dirtying up dinnerware. He wouldn’t use it anyway, but the gesture was appreciated.

Counting down movies in your head, you tried to remember which ones you’d seen with him and which ones you hadn’t. “Annie Hall?” You asked, not remembering if you’d seen it with him or not.

“Your mom and I watched it together. It was the day you got your wisdom teeth out.” The cups came next as he created an almost perfect setting for you two.

“No wonder I don’t remember that. How about Sabrina?” The pot was simmering and you knew that it was close to being done. Just a few more moments and you could get your meal started.

“The old one or the remake?”

“Both. Can you bring me your bowl?” you asked, taking a few more turns of the bubbling red liquid.

In an instant he was next to you with the bowl, handing it over as he placed a cool arm over your shoulders. “Yes and yes. Although Julia does not compare to Audrey in anyway, shape, or form.”

You groaned out at his words as if he was talking dirty to you in the best of ways. “God I love you.”

He chuckled and placed a tender kiss on your temple as you gave him a hearty serving. His cool lips were a contrast against the heat from the stove and it felt wonderful. The arm around your shoulders tightened and he pressed closer like your own personal A/C unit. There was an immediate comfort in his presence and every nerve in your body was trained on him. “I love you too.” His voice got slightly huskier, and your close proximity was almost stifling. 

Suppressing a shudder, you began to rack your brain for more movies to potentially lighten the heavy mood. Several comedies were on the tip of your tongue but you began to add proverbial ticks to each of them. Every single historical fiction and science fiction movie was a bust. Action movies were his favorite so every single title that popped into your head popped away just as fast. You began to think of more sensual movies, but even those didn’t make the cut. One particular title stood out amongst the rest, but it was a risk to even ask him especially considering your close proximity and the hold he had over your entire being. However, your body had other ideas and before you could stop yourself the title came tumbling out of your lips like water over a waterfall. “Basic Instinct?”

“Hmm,” he mumbled as he continued to press against you. “Isn’t that the erotic thriller with Sharon Stone?” You nodded your head in confirmation, but all rational thoughts flew out the window when his other hand came to rest on your hip. “Isn’t that the film where Catherine tries to seduce Nick by showing that she has no panties on?” 

His words were punctuated by the sly movement of his body against yours. He subtly moved to stand behind you, effectively trapping you between him and the stove. The arm around your shoulder came around and rested across your stomach while the caviler hand on your waist got bolder. He reached down and cupped your tender core, causing you to quietly gasp and arch against him. His hand felt cold through your thin leggings, and the mix of heat and chill had you shivering almost instantly. 

His fingers rubbed delicately through the layers of fabric, causing you to feel jolts of ecstasy but not enough to satisfy. The pot and bowl were forgotten as he began to walk you two backward away from the kitchen and into the open living room. If it wasn’t for his arm around your waist your knees would have given out the moment his fingers slipped under the waistbands of your leggings and panties. Honed in on the parts of you that make you come undone, Hoseok’s skilled digits began to swirl around your clit in a tantalizing way. 

“You’re so wet for me baby,” he groaned as he nuzzled his face in your neck. He moved you so you were now trapped between him and the back of the couch. A particularly hard circle had you crying out and reaching to grab the cushions to steady yourself. He was making your head swim with just the simplest of movements. 

These simple gestures turned into more aggressive teasing when one of his long digits slipped in between your folds and began slowly thrust in and out of you. Soon another finger followed and you were crying out into the heated air. They quickly found that patch of nerves inside of you and stars danced behind your eyes as your toes curled in wonderment. At the same time you felt his fangs drag across the juncture of your neck before lightly nipping you. “Fuck, Hoseok!” you cried, clenching the sofa with tense knuckles. The pain on your neck mixed with the pleasure of his fingers had you coming quickly.

“That’s it baby,” he cooed, licking up the small beads of blood that dripped from the tiny marks on your neck. Hoseok held you as you rode out your high against his fingers, practically thrashing against his strong body. Once your breathing began to slow down his fingers eased up, but rather than move out of your bottoms they simply began to push the offending fabric down to completely expose you to him. You were sticky and glistening as he completely moulded your pliable body into a position that had him itching for another taste of you. 

Turning you around, he lifted you to sit on the back of the couch and stood in between your awaiting legs. “What we do now is fuck like minks, forget the rugrats, and live happily ever after,” he whispered against your mouth before pulling you into a passionate kiss. His fangs lightly nipped your bottom lip enough to have you moaning against him but not enough to draw more blood. Despite your wonderful taste, he’d never force you to let him feed off of you. 

Besides, he was itching for a taste of something besides blood as he broke the kiss and sunk to his knees before you. 

[roseategales]

100(ISH) WORDS A DAY CHALLENGE: NOVEMBER 2019 — DAY ELEVEN TO TWENTY-FOUR: WHISPER, BITTERSWEET.

rating: explicit. | categories: smut, modern au. | pairing: solavellan. | content warnings: mentions of alcohol. | word count: 2.2k.

previous days: day one. | day two. | day three. | day four. | day five. | day six. | day seven. | day eight. | day nine. | day ten.

author’s notes: idk what i’m doing. is that new tho? this wasn’t supposed to be uhhhh this long or take up two weeks afashfgsas oh well. i may actually end up using this an outline and turn it into a three chapter fic somewhere down the line, with more detail. i have Ideas.

                                                                              The main venue for tonight’s date is provided courtesy of Josephine.

Spare tickets for a new musical at one of Grande Royeaux’s theatres were given to her by an acquaintance hoping for good graces, and, as she had prior engagements, she passed them to Eludysia to do with as she pleases. It’s another modern retelling of Andraste’s rebellion against Tevinter, focused on her early life and the beginnings of the war she fought. The mythos is thoroughly known throughout Thedas of course. A centerpiece of faith and nations, it’s the subject of innumerable non-fiction and fictionalised works of controversy, so Eludysia had little inclination in carving out time to see it. But it has been weeks since she and Solas last had a night out together, and critics and audiences have raised this one to acclaim; thus, she has persuaded him and they are meeting tonight.

She wears a dress that flows to floor-length, with an asymmetrical neckline and a slit along her left leg, the shade of myrtle leaves. Her hair is bound into a simple side-braid, her makeup done with a subtle hand. Her heels and matching clutch-purse are an off-white colour. The overall effect is one that satisfies—and, she anticipates, is prepared well for the evening.

The show is at eight. In midnight black suit and tie, he picks her up at exactly six. It gives them enough time to have dinner and conversation at a restaurant nearby the theatre. They talk about the usual things: the current affairs of the city, her cases and their successes, his classes and the books he’s read, the new discoveries of the lost Elvhen empire. He tells her she looks beautiful. She jokes that he should wear a suit more often. His hand brushes her palm and she holds it. Their reconnection is natural. Smooth as the dark red wine which fills their glasses and they raise a toast to.

They arrive at the theatre on time to be seated. An usher escorts them to a private box for two, at the side of the stage. Soon, the seats below them are filled, to the very last one. And then the lights fade out. Applause follows. The play begins.

For the next half hour, they relive the times of old through the music of their own day. The tragedy of the story should be dissonant with the vibrancy of the beat, but the presented narrative is instead enriched. It’s something to be appreciated.

By Eludysia’s asking, Solas gives commentary on the historical inaccuracies and creative liberties taken. She’d be lying if she said she doesn’t prefer the deep baritone of his voice to the cast’s, talented though they are. In exchange, he asks for her thoughts. Their seats are side by side, close enough they are still be audible to each other over the orchestra. It’s close enough for their knees to touch, and for their hands to find each other’s after each applause break.

After half an hour, Solas’ hand doesn’t return to Eludysia’s. It drifts.

At first, his placement of it is innocuous—right above where her knee meets his. But then, his fingers trail a line. His touch whisper light, they wander up and up, across the skin bared by the opening of her dress’ slit, up toward her thigh. And he shifts the fabric.

Her breath hitches, of its own accord.

Solas hasn’t even begun.

She glances from the stage—where Andraste’s actress is delivering a conflicted soliloquy on her marriage to Maferath—to where his fingertips trace the curve of her thigh, back and forth. As if awaiting a decision. “Solas… What are you doing?” She asks, like she is unaware of his intent. Like she has to read his expression to glean it.

“I’m observing the show, vhenan,” he says, as if it’s obvious. He toys with her hem, but tenderness rests on his features. “Is there a problem?”

He’s offering an out. Affirming what she wants. One word from her, and he would stop. He wouldn’t question her. If she expressed any discomfort, he would let her push him away to undo it. The night could pass by without incident, and he’d bring her back to her apartment.

His concern cuts at her heart. She loves him. She does.

But the desire for this is mutual. She craves for it as much as he. So, “not at all,” she says, with a sweetened smile.

A smirk lurks at the corner of Solas’ mouth. His ivory hand dips beneath green.

He has knowledge on just how to unravel her seams, in both contexts of speech and touch. That may be the most dangerous part. She adjusts herself to help him push aside the fabric of her underwear, and his fingers are expert; he skims her inner thigh, teases at her folds, strokes slow circles around her clit, effortless. He does it all without looking directly at her, his attention still seemingly on the reenactment of the politics of the Alamarri border to an outsider’s eye. But while she tries to steady her gaze on the same, she grows wet and wanting. Her posture slackens to allow him better access. He slides a finger inside her, two, and she has to bite her lower lip to cage her gasps and moans as her hips seek and seek more and more of him.

He summons a tension Eludysia is driven to chase. She bucks forward, and he evades. She quickens her pace, and he delays his. The discordance of their rhythm is deliberate. It turns her frustrated and impelled to grasp for the cuff of his sleeve to synchronise their movements.

It’s a mistake. He withdraws.

She has to clamp her hand over mouth, muffling a scream of his name.

Distantly, as her head rests on the seat, she realises he’s remarking on the musical.

“…how vital Shartan’s role was in the rebellion. It is refreshing to see it recognised,” breaks through the drumming of the music—through her wild, erratic pulse—Solas’ tone somehow casually academic. He looks at her, wearing a spurious innocence, expectant. “Don’t you think so?”

Breathless, she laughs.

“I think…” What does she think? The only roles she cares about now are the ones she and Solas play. She is feverish, restless. The set of the theatre is reduced to a two-dimensional backdrop, fallen away and out of focus. The script’s pages are lost. She resolves to rewrite. “I think you’re enjoying this too much.”

Solas follows. “I always enjoy giving you what you want, vhenan,” he says, placing a soft kiss behind her ear. “In due time.”

He returns a long, slender finger to hover and drag along her sex. She writhes. The high ceiling is less dizzying to stare at than the stage lights and her mind.

For a fraction of a second, Eludysia weighs a plea on her tongue. Solas might relent. It’d be easy and she’d be satiated. But it occurs to her that if he keeps her on a precipice, there is a chance he will not. And she is rarely one who begs for leniency. If it’s a struggle he hopes for, it’s a struggle he will get. “How long?” she asks, for she has knowledge on Solas too.

He chuckles, shakes his head at her. Rubs patterns on her thigh to soothe. “Be patient.”

“No, no, I meant—” She wets her lips and considers him, and her laugh is of daring impulse. “—how long, do you suppose, until I can touch you the way you’re touching me now?” She ventures and leans toward him, cloying, promising. “How long until your cock will be stroked by my hands, my—”

His thumb presses her clit. Her legs squeeze and her hand flies to her mouth.

“Lest you forget,” Solas warns, the storm-grey of his eyes darkening. He parts her legs; fully revealing the left and more. The way her skirt drapes over her now is almost precarious. “I still have an advantage.”

A whimper escapes her, unhidden. She grips at the edge of her seat to rein herself. “You said you enjoy giving me what I want.”

“Unless what you want is to incite me any more than you have. That will not end well.”

She doesn’t give up. “Why? Will you bend me over and fuck me—”

“Eludysia!”

The thrust of his fingers is as sudden as his hiss. Thought is abandoned and she jolts and buries her face into his shoulder. He moves faster and deeper this time, a furor, that spurs her on and on and on until she is trembling around and beside him, smothering her keens and sobs as pressure builds, pushes her to the edge. She maintains her grip on the seat, knuckles whitening. Her hips press against him, her legs squeeze to snatch him there. Her insides are molten and the sought for high nears—

And Solas retreats again.

Strings of Elven curses tumble from her lips onto his sleeve.

Regretful, Solas calms her. His breathing is irregular, as is hers. The hand working her goes back to gently caressing her thigh, the other cradles the back of her head. He kisses the top of her hair, mumbling an apology, and ascertains if she’s all right. She collects what she has of her strength to nod and articulate an apology as well, in spite of her wound up state, and encircles his arm with hers to reassure.

There’s a sliver of Eludysia still conscious of their surroundings, the possible consequences of their actions; muted in the obscene but present. Applause is heard, a break before the next song. What would happen, if someone were to sight how she and Solas hold each other? She is ragged, covered in a sheen of sweat and her skirt askew. He is stiff and strained, fingers glistening from her slick. The balcony’s marble enclosure hides their misdemeanor, but not their unbelonging embrace.

She draws back, glances at the silhouette of the audience, then at him. “Aren’t you afraid of getting caught?” It’s a genuine question, apart from tricks and tactics. Absurdity underlines their situation like crimson ink. A portrayal of a battleground is just downstairs, and here they are, irreverent, above, with one of their own. All it would take is a slip of her voice, or for someone to look up, or for intermission to arrive. And yet, they go on.

“I calculate my risks,” Solas says, pausing his ministrations to pull at her skirt’s fabric so she is less exposed. He regards her appearance, her visage. “Not unlike you.”

Eludysia can’t help but smirk. “Referring to the dress, or?”

“You had your suspicions on how I’d respond if you chose it, didn’t you?” he sighs and stills, the statement coarsened. “Like you how you had suspicions on how I’d attempt to silence you if you stirred my fantasies.”

“Well,” she says, eyes bright as the purest emeralds, “I enjoy giving you what you like, too.”

“The games we play should frighten us,” he observes, his mouth forming a grim line.

“They would—if we weren’t aware of what we were getting ourselves into.”

“We aren’t always.”

“We’ll work on that,” she promises, and tugs on his arm. Her body is still as sensitive as a livewire, but her words are tender. Earnest.

Solas hums, and he allows himself a smile and the approval. The hand in Eludysia’s hair moves to tip her chin up, closer. “Perhaps you’ll stay quiet, then?”

It’s her turn, now, to shake her head at him. “One day, ma’lath,” she says, with a lilting affection, “you will tire of your need for restraint.”

“Ma vhenan,” he chokes, the endearment a bittersweet sound. Behind his lust, his delectation, his solicitude, is an unnameable despair. He sets it before her and indulges, “that day came when I fell in love with you.”

And so he kisses her roughly. A lash of hunger upon her, his mouth and nipping teeth inflict silken heat, his fingers finding her sex to delve in once more, so she gasps and his tongue can steal its way to entangle with hers. He conducts a new, headier rhythm, strikes in and out in concert with her need, how her hips rise and buck and pursue. He takes her moans, he takes her breath. Her nerves sing, burn, pulse. She becomes lightheaded and begins to seize as he finally, finally delivers unto her a delirium. She pushes away for air, but he keeps a vice-like grasp by the nape of her neck so their lips and her cresting cry remain sealed and secret.

There is a beautiful irony in the paradoxical act; what is meant to restrain is itself a surrender. What should conflict is inseparable. Where does one end and the other emerge?

As Solas releases Eludysia and rights her, she lets her head lay on his shoulder. He doesn’t protest. Oxygen floods her lungs, and in the equilibrium of weightlessness and the sense of gravity, a line from the Chant of Light rings crystalline: —a vision of all worlds, waking and slumbering / spirit and mortal to me appeared.

They don’t wait for intermission. He takes her home. Her dress is ripped, discarded on his bedroom floor with the rest of their clothes. She makes good on her word, strokes him with her hands, her mouth. He then has his way with her; marks her skin like she could eternally be his own. Like they’ll be all right. And together, they relish in their sounds and avowals of love saturating the room through and through.

He doesn’t know Eludysia wakes in the middle of the night to wonder at the profoundness of him and his confession, as she’d done months ago when he came to her door.

[tarithenurse]

On my mind, in my soul - 17

Prompt:  Prompt is kindly given (read: thrown in my face) by wonderful maladaptive-ninja-returns: ““Cosmic Love” by Florence & The Machines; if not Asgard then Rann of Kutch (at night because why the fuck not); and a cummerbund (like a thin studded strip around the waist, if that makes sense).” It makes sense. Pairing: Loki x Burglar!reader. Content: Swearing as usual, some violence, angst, restraining (not in the fun way), sarcastic undertones, public exposure, anger. A/N: This is the second to last chapter of this series. It’s been a pleasure to work with the awesome prompts I’ve gotten so I doubt it’ll be the last time I do something like this. If you liked it, then like, leave a comment and/or reblog <3

Lost and found

Loki is nervous and you can feel it with every fiber of your being. It isn’t like him. Restless? Sure. Agitated in any way that involved flexing his superiority somehow? Been there, done that. But nervous…now that’s different, and it makes the hairs stand on end while shadows morph into stuff of nightmares for nothing more than a second.

Maybe you shouldn’t have insisted on knowing what was going on, but the curiosity had gotten the better of you the day you’d heard Clint insist that it wasn’t up to Loki to decide.

“Decide what?” you asked, walking into the room to find more than the two of them. All of the Avengers were there, and they were staring at you in a way that made your skin crawl.

“Nothing to worry your head about, beloved.” Loki attempted to divert your attention by kissing you on the sweet spot below your ear, earning him an exasperated sigh from Stark.

“Oh no,” sarcasm dripped from every single one of Natasha’s words, “nothing except your expertise being needed, but Loki won’t share.”

Pulling back from your lover’s embrace, you looked from one to the other. “Mine?”

That’s how you’ve gotten involved in the work that you’d promised never to get into. Heroing. A little smile settles on your lips at how backwards everything has become. Dark marble under your feet sends the footsteps of you, Loki, and other tourists tumbling between the hard walls that only sparingly are adorned with paintings or tapestries of historical value. Still, if you bothered to look then this would be a treasure trove for your curious brain…but you are here for one thing.

“How can you smile?” Loki hisses as you both pause before a statue, pretending to admire the chiseled-off cock.

Shaking your head gently, you pull him down for a chaste kiss. “Is the lie too hard to sell, my dear? Silver Tongue, hmm?”

Winding him up like that probably isn’t a smart move, but you need to stay on top of things for this to work. The pen flits over the glossed map of the museum, jotting down positions of cameras, sensors, and ventilation shafts. The museum has been carefully selected to offer the right type of possible loot in combination with the strategic placement of the building to make it difficult to get away quickly which is actually something that keeps your nerves steady for once.

Several of the Avengers would be able to pull a heist off on their own, but none of them would work a case like you do and that’s the point. Without having seen your style, they can’t fake it. And it’s you that’s needed in order to set the trap for the unnamed villain that’s trying to get to Loki through you. Villain. It sounds like something from a 60’ies movie. Still, here you are, discreetly trying to get noticed by a veritable bad guy in the hopes that he’ll take the bait, show up for the “heist”, and as a result get himself caught in an ambush.

Glancing up at Loki, you feel better about the plan than he does. Don’t worry, babe, I got you to save me.

A falling star fell from your heart and landed in my eyes

…   Loki’s PoV   …

Imbeciles! Had he not objected to the so-called plan? Had he not been clear what the risks were? And look at where that got us! Snarling at the biting wind, the god lets the engine of the motorbike rev as he regains balance after rounding the last corner on the way out of the city. He is vaguely aware of the squabble among the Avengers as they divide the forces between repairing the quint-jet and scouring the area for clues. Clay-brained mongrels.

Oh, they have told him to step down, to let them do the work the moment it was clear [Y/N] has been taken. Fearing that he may do something rash, Romanova has been tasked with keeping an eye on Loki…and she will for a bit longer until the distance between the Asgardian and the illusion of him becomes to great, causing the decoy to fade. The old resentment still lingers within him, making it impossible for the former enemy to trust the Midgardian heroes with something as important as retrieving [Y/N]. At least it is mutual.

Shifting the seiðr, Loki focuses on the only consistent trace from the not very safe safehouse.

I should never have left her alone. Admittedly, she had ordered him away, claiming she could not concentrate on the plan when he kept pacing back and forth, and because the four others were there, he had grudgingly accepted and wandered off to the market.

The trail he follows shimmers in the light from the setting sun. Flattened, sandy crusts with salty minerals that makes the Asgardian think of the icy expanses of his actual home world despite the heat radiating from the ground beneath the tires. Soon, the day will come to an end, leaving only the stars to illuminate the open desert.

Loki feels the change in his magic, warning him a second or two before Natasha’s voice cuts through the communications device. Curses, in Russian and a few other languages, make the earplug crackle.

“Reindeer Games,” Stark’s voice sounds flatly, “where y’off to?”

“If I had any intentions of sharing that knowledge with you then I would have told you before departing.”

The archer quips something about almost having the jet ready.

“Was that you? The jet?” Rogers asks.

There’s a soft chuckle from Natasha. “’Course not, Cap, otherwise Tony and Clint couldn’t fix it.”

“Thank you.” At least the wench understands and who would I be to deny it. “I shall inform you when [Y/N] is safe once more.”

“Loki…” Even through the device, it is clear that the Captain does not approve. “Don’t do anything…rash.”

“I would never…” he proclaims before tossing the communications device to the ground. Of course, that depends on what someone would consider rash.

Either way, the god is gaining on his target. All through his body, the adrenalin is surging with the thrill of the chase and the figuratively magnetic attraction of a very special woman. My queen.

And in the dark, I can hear your heartbeat I tried to find the sound

…   Reader’s PoV   …

You’re not entirely sure what you realise first. It might be how bad your head’s hurting…however, equally uncomfortable contestants are found in the numbing tightness around wrists and legs as well as the distinct roughness of something that’s been pulled over your head. At least the fabric isn’t very dense, so you can still breathe relatively freely. I can see through the mesh. The discovery itself is great…the view not so much because it’s very dark, leaving you mostly with the rumbling motion and an oily smell to go by. Car…van. Maybe the brain is trying to squeeze out through any orifice in your skull, at least it feels like it.

”I think she’s awake,” a surprisingly intonationless voice offers.

”We’re all-e-most there.” That voice is distinctly male and accented like an Italian.

Two guys. Twisting carefully, it’s not easy to get either within view, but you manage to locate the owner of the first in the shadow behind the driver’s seat (where the second must be). I can deal with that. The optimism doesn’t quite seep into you as much as you would’ve wanted, but you keep encouraging yourself as you roll about on the floor of the van until you’re in a position where you dare to test the restraints. Crap. It’s not just cheap tie rips, but proper rope.

”I wouldn’t do that, little lady,” the androgynous voice offers, ”we know our knots.”

It’s a gamble. ”Why tie me up at all? ’S not like I can do anything ’gainst two people.”

”Just a precauzion, you see.” It sounds like the driver’s smiling. ”Padrone ‘as…euh…demands!”

For several minutes, the only noise is the rumbling of the engine as you’re brought further and further from the people who should’ve protected you from this. At least the first part of the plan had been a success: getting spotted as you were ”planning the heist”. Admittedly, the next part had been to plan said fake heist in a way that allowed the Avengers to apprehend the wannabe kidnappers before they got to you.

Still, you don’t exactly feel scared but more a sort of…inconvenienced? Embarrassed? At the moment, you’re not really sure what it is because of the pain.

“Did you guys literally knock me out?” you groan.

“Sí,” is the answer from the driver.

“Boss’s order?” That would place one more on the list of who to bash around the head.

“Little lady’s got a point.”

“Mamma mia! Just ah …zitta and get ‘er ready!”

Someone grunts and then big hands grab you by the upper arms, hoisting you into a sitting position before getting to work. In the dim light of dashboard, you see a knife glistens on the other side of the canvas supposed to blind you. Oh, that sucks, you manage to think before the cold steel tears through the fabric of your shirt. Just the fabric. Shred by shred, the cotton-blend is removed, exposing your bra and the tiger’s eye pendant on the golden chain. Goosebumps have spread all over your body, and now the fear is there alright. On another occasion, you might consider how the pain apparently has disappeared from one second to the other, but all you do manage is to sit stock-still despite the rumbling of the van. Barely breathing and tense like a spring while waiting for the unavoidable doom – whatever it may be. Loki!

You don’t expect a flashlight and ruffling of paper nearby. Nor the cool touch of rich fabric carefully being wrapped around your chest. Only then are the bra straps snipped and gingerly tugged away under the new layer.

“Sorry ‘bout this, miss,” the surprisingly gentle kidnapper mumbles as he grabs your waist.

Cut by cut, the shorts go the same way as the t-shirt did earlier until you lie there on the hard floor with nothing by a minuscule g-string and ropes on your lower body. Even if the immobilizing fear isn’t gone, it’s being replaced by a burning sense of shame. This is not my doing. I have nothing to be ashamed of! The words echo like a near-forgotten mantra in your mind.

“I need to stand you up on your knees, little lady,” the handler explains.

He wouldn’t actually need your consent, it seems, because he’s perfectly capable of moving your around as if you were a doll. But he does it gently, and the careful manner is continued when something like a skirt is wrapped low around your hips. Soft, flowy material that tickles you thighs and calves, yet held in place by a broad strip of the same stuff that’s wrapped around your upper body (well, technically just enough to cover the boobs). There’s a shimmer of purple in the flashlight as your stylist inspects the result. A breathed “oh” precedes a metallic jingling, something cold touches your skin before settling on the broad top-hem-thingy of the skirt.

“All ready,” your fashionista slash abductor announces.

“Perfetto.”

Already, you can feel the van slowing down, so you’re ready for when the breaks are applied inconsiderably enough to bring the contents of the vehicle crashing. Landing awkwardly (and painfully) on the side with a jingle, you add to the tally of things to be pissed about.

…   Loki’s PoV   …

I took the stars from my eyes, and then I made a map And knew that somehow I could find my way back

The cold light of the stars is cast back from the shimmering ground, making it easy for Loki to spot the structures as dark silhouettes against a world of silver. A couple of vehicles and several tents, most of which seem squalid in comparison to one. It’s the only one illuminated internally, adding circles in flowery patterns to bring colour back into the night. Orange hues come and go as the light source sways and people move to block the rays.

Undoubtedly, less dangerous men would abandon the noisy motorbike and cover the rest of the way on foot to ensure the element of surprise, but of course Loki does not need to bother with such details. Whoever is at this camp have made the mistake of angering a god and nothing can save them now.

Leaping of the machinery in the middle of the temporary village, the first guards (mercenaries, really) are already approaching with their weapons at the ready. None of them reach Loki, falling instead to the ground with knives buried in their chests.

“[Y/N]!” he yells, wanting to confirm his suspicion on where she is kept.

A half-choked yell. The sound of glass shattering. Then finally an answer, although it is from one of the supposed guards: as the only survivor within line of sight, a male abandons his weapon in favour of holding his hands above the head.

“She’s in there.” Nodding towards the large tent, a streak of grey mimics the shade of the vast landscape. “Alive and pissed, which is fair ‘cause kidnapping’s not okay even for me.”

Tilting his head minimally, Loki eyes the man. “You think your panic-laced words will save you?”

Clearly trying to find the right answer, the mercenary eventually gives up and shrugs instead. “I’s…kinda hopin’ that, yeah…got morals and shit, but I need the money and it’s hard to get out of this business.”

Honest, amusing…although still a sorry excuse for a Midgardian. “Go.”

There is no need for repeating the order, and the man hurries off, mumbling something under the breath about “why me” and “again”. It is of no relevance for Loki, however, who has turned his full attention onto the silent tent before him.

Without wasting another second, the god dashes through the lose-hanging flaps of the entrance. The knives in his hands look like fire solidified, deadly, ethereal, yet they never fly gracefully through the air as intended but fall to the canvas under his feet as he takes in the sight. Two figures splayed lifelessly on the ground with a third standing above them, the stance a fierce display of the person’s will to live and clashing perfectly with the delicate attire that barely covers the perfect body.

“About time,” [Y/N] announces drily as she straightens up, “even had to get my hands dirty.”

Glancing at the male figures on the ground, it is with a certain relief that Loki can see that they still are breathing. Would he mind that the love of his life had killed someone? No. But he would feel at fault that it had been necessary.

A flutter of purple and pink hues is all it takes for the god to be staring at the woman, appreciating the curves and show of skin displayed before him. A few steps, then she is in his arms and he gets to let his hands roam her shape under the pretence of ensuring she is unharmed.

By the time the examination clearly has a different purpose, [Y/N] slaps him away with a teasing growl. Their lips are swollen, and hair mussed from something else than the fighting. Loke is just about to come with a suggestion when the sound of a familiar jet-engine announces the arrival of Romanova, Stark, Rogers and Barton, effectively spoiling any fun that the couple could have had.

[carryonsimoncarryonbaz]

Here is Chapter 14 of Can’t Find My Way Home! 


I’ve officially determined this fic will have two more chapters–one a real chapter and the other a bit of an epilogue. Those are currently in editing mode! 

Chapter 14


Baz


I picked Simon up directly from the care home.


We’ve had the kind of afternoon I’d envisioned and now we’re sharing a curry in the kitchen at my flat.


My place is in better shape than I expected, what with me being gone for over six months. Fiona’s had someone come around to check on it once a month. It’s a bit dusty and stale, but not so bad.


It’s sleek and sterile, all modern lines and stark contrasts, but it’s home, of a sort. More than that soulless pre-furnished studio I have in Manhattan.


I spent my first year of uni living with Fiona. One year was more than enough. I found this place that first summer. Spent some of my inheritance furnishing it, making it my own. Even if that means somewhat uncomfortable ultra-modern furniture and a monochromatic color scheme. It doesn’t have the heavy, overly rich opulence of Pitch Manor or the eccentric chaos that characterized Fiona’s place. I love my aunt but she is a terrible flatmate. Between the clouds of cigarette smoke, her irrational hours, the on-again/off-again boyfriend situation, and the feral cat she’d adopted, I nearly went mad.


My flat is exceedingly neat, orderly, methodically arranged. A bit of a blank canvas still, almost like it’s waiting for me to figure out exactly what I want.


It suited me fine when I was at uni. I needed a quiet place to study. A peaceful place to sleep. It adequately accommodated movie nights with Dev and Niall. The kitchen’s first rate, but it’s not as if I entertain anyone other than the two of them or Fiona. This place is what I needed at the time.


It looks stark to me tonight.


Not as bleak as the place in New York but still there’s something off about it now. I know I haven’t lived here for months but there’s a sense of isolation when I take it in. No, maybe that’s not right. I can’t seem to find the right words to describe it.


Pitch Manor could be a featured house in Architectural Digest but it still looks lived in. Despite its historic nature and registry status, it manages to give off the sense that real people actually live there.


This place doesn’t. I don’t think it’s really hit me before. It could be an advert for a modern design catalog but the kind of place that never has any people in it—just a showplace, no depth behind it.


That troubles me.


Nothing to do about it now. I’m obliged to stay in New York until May, at least, if not longer.


We move to the main room after our meal and I flip the television on. Simon finds a cooking show he likes and I watch with him, his head resting on my shoulder. There’s none of the frenetic making out we’d indulged in last time we were together, at his flat earlier in the week.


You’d think there would be, seeing as I leave the day after tomorrow. It feels as if I’m trying to cram months’ worth of dating into just a few short days. We’ve indulged in snogging. He’s met the family. Now it’s time for companionship and just being together, soaking up his company to tide me over for the fucking brutal months of separation ahead.


I’m exhilarated at the proximity of him and terrified of his impending absence. I finally get him back, for what? A week? Only to then have to bugger off across the fucking Atlantic before I’ve had a chance to even get used to the idea of this.


“You’re thinking again.”


“I told you, I can’t help it.” I pull our laced hands to rest on my thigh. “I’m not like you. I can’t just push the thoughts away.”


“Don’t push them away then. But tell me what you’re thinking, so I can figure out when I need to tell you that you’re being a twat.”


“Well, that’d be all the time, now wouldn’t it? Isn’t that what you used to say?” I can’t help but smirk at him.


Simon rolls his eyes. “Don’t be using that against me.” He bumps my shoulder. “You’re far more pleasant now. Don’t fuck it up or I’ll have to tell Mordelia it’s all your fault.”


“Tell Mordelia what’s my fault?”


“If you get all caught up in your head like you do and start some existential drama about all this. She’ll blame me, she will, and she scares me.”


“You’re seriously frightened of a twelve-year-old girl? Don’t be ridiculous, Simon.”


“She’s may be twelve but she’s already got ice in her veins.” Simon tucks his head into the crook of my neck. “So don’t make me look bad or she’ll level me.”


I pull him closer to me, brush a kiss on his tumbled curls. How am I to be expected to just go back to Hampshire tonight? When I have Simon in my arms?


It’s intolerable.


“We could stay here tonight.” The thought’s been on my mind for hours.


Simon shifts so that he’s facing me, legs drawn up onto the sofa. “You’re supposed to head home tonight.”


“I don’t need to.”


He pushes at my knee. “You do. You’ve only got this week here. Tomorrow’s the last day you get to be with your family.” He kicks at my leg. “I’m not intending on starting this all off with your family hating me.”


I snort. “They couldn’t hate you, you numpty. They love you already.”


“They barely know me.”


“Exactly. And Mordelia’s already threatened you and Father’s invited you to Scotland. It’s a ringing endorsement.”


He laughs but quickly turns serious again. “I want to keep it that way, yeah? I’ll not be monopolizing you, when they’ve been pining to see you.”


“What if I want to be monopolized?”


“You’re impossible, you twat.”


“Come with me, then, Simon. Come to Hampshire with me. You can take the Tube from Heathrow when I fly out.”


“I shouldn’t.” Simon’s forehead creases. “I’m not sure I’ll say this right.” He tugs at his sleeve, pulling on the cuff of his jumper, then looks up to glare at me. “Don’t you take this the wrong way, you berk.”


I roll my eyes. “What is it you’re trying to say, Simon?”


“I don’t think I should go with you this time.”


“Why the hell not?”


Simon shifts on the sofa, one hand reaching up to rub at his neck. “This should be your time.”


“I’m not following you. It’s my time to spend as I choose. And I choose you.”


His expression turns achingly fond. “That means the world to me, Baz, really it does.” His hand finds mine, grip tightening on it for a moment. “It’s just that it’s important to me.”


“What is?”


“This. Us.” He waves his free hand in the air between us. “I’m lucky to have gotten these few days with you. Don’t want the little ‘uns resenting me being there and your family having this awkward extra person around, when they should be enjoying their time with you.” He shakes his head and juts his chin out.


Fuck. There’s no arguing with him when he gets this look. Don’t I know it.
I argue anyway. Because it’s what I do.


“That’s bollocks. They can jolly well enjoy their time with us. They did at Christmas. I don’t see it as a problem, Simon.” I touch his knee. “Come with me.”


His eyebrows come together. “Baz. I’d love to spend more time with you but I’m not doing it at the expense of time with your family.” His gaze softens. “I heard you. I heard you talking with your father, when we were at Ebb’s. I know how badly you wanted to get home, how much you’ve missed them.”


Simon’s not looking stubborn anymore. His expression has shifted to something far more melancholy. “I know I’m probably not saying this right.” He tugs at his hair. “Listen. I know I’m not one to talk about what it means to be with family, not having one and all. But I do know how important your family is to you, Baz, has always been to you.” He shifts closer to me. “It’ll be five months before you see them again. You should savor that time with them, without any distractions.” His grip on my hand is almost painful now. “Please?”


It’s the ‘please’ that gets me. That and the way his eyes meet mine, the intense blue of them piercing the depths of me.


“You’re sure? I know they wouldn’t mind.”


Simon shifts and then he’s pressed up against me again. “I’m sure. Not a good idea overstaying my welcome the first week we’re together.” He’s nuzzling at my neck, lips trailing up to my jaw. “But we don’t need to end the night just yet.” The words are whispered into my skin and I shiver.


I turn my head to touch my lips to his and a moment later I’m on my back, Simon above me, eyes wide, pupils blown. “I’ve got some memories I need to store up, yeah?”


And then his lips are on mine, his mouth taking my breath away, his tongue finding my own. My hands roam over his chest, his back, fingers tracing the muscles I feel there. He’s holding himself above me, his mouth and legs the only point of contact.


I want more.


I pull at him, bring him closer, yearning to feel the heady weight of him on me. Simon pulls back to look at me, balancing on one arm as his hand reaches out to stroke my face. I shift my legs and the movement throws him off balance a bit. Our legs tangle as he settles between mine, his chest pressed against my own.


“This alright then?” It’s a whisper, the exhalation of his breath warming my lips.


“More than alright.” My hands move up to tangle in his jumbled curls. I inhale the scent of him—medicinal soap, the green aroma of fresh mown grass, the crisp tang of his sweat. He always runs hot, Simon does. Now is no exception. He’s draped over me like my own personal heater and it warms more than just my body.


There’s been a frozen shell around me for so long. Thick and impenetrable, its icy surface offering no purchase for anyone intrepid or stupid enough to try to breach it.


Simon doesn’t back down from a challenge. He never has. He cuts right through to the heart of things, slashing past the obstacles in his way.


He’s not lacerating me with his words like he used to at school. It’s as if he’s wielding a blowtorch and has it pointed at my heart. You’d think it would burn but all I feel is warmth and softness, like I’m melting from the inside. 


Maybe I am. 


“You’re thinking again, you knob. Here I am trying to entice you and your brain is a million miles away.” He huffs at me. “So much for my attempt at seduction.”


“Trust me, Simon, I’m plenty enticed.” It’s true. My jeans are agonizingly tight at the moment. I close my eyes and breathe in and out. “And the only thing I’m thinking about is you.” 


He’s so near that his eyes are filling my vision, the flecks of darker blue and silver in them catching the light. “That’s alright then. I like the sound of that.” He shifts his weight and the friction nearly makes me gasp. 


I want to kiss him until the sun comes up. I want to rip this bulky jumper off him and feel his skin against mine. I want to roll my hips against his and feel the heat of him against me. 


I want to stay with him and never leave. 


Fuck New York. 


I reach up to meet his mouth, my lips avidly finding his own, the intensity of the moment overwhelming me. I’m gripping his shoulders, his weight presses down on me, his hand slides under my shirt to caress my skin. 


I want. I want so much. 


But I don’t want it like this. 


I don’t want to have this and then leave.


I can’t believe I’m doing this. It’s completely mental. But just as he didn’t want to jeopardize this fledgling relationship by alienating my family, I don’t want to risk too much tonight by moving too fast, when this is all so new for us both. 


It’s not like I’ve never done something like this before. I’m not that naïve. But I’ve never been with someone I’ve loved before. And I don’t want to rush through that. It means something to me. I want it to mean something, not be the frantic fumblings of my uni years. 


It’s all so much more meaningful because it’s Simon. 


I regretfully drag my lips away from his. “I’m going too fast, aren’t I?”

  
Simon’s flushed, dazed as he blinks down at me. He swallows, throat rippling with the motion. “No. It’s on me. I let my enthusiasm get the best of me, yeah?” He shakes his head. “That usually doesn’t happen that easily for me.” His eyes find mine again. “I always feel so awkward. But not with you, Baz. Somehow not with you.” He looks bashful. 


He goes to shift away but my arms keep him close. “It’s not that I don’t want to, Simon, I do.” 


Christ, do I ever. 


I keep my arms around his waist, my fingers gently running up and down his back. “If you think I’m having regrets about leaving you now … I’d find it near impossible to go if we went any further tonight.” I swallow and raise one eyebrow in an attempt to lessen the vulnerability my next words expose. “I … ah … I might perhaps have a tendency to be a bit clingy.” 


I’ve only had one consistent boyfriend in my life and I wasn’t even that fond of Sebastian, but I am quite regrettably a bit of a cuddler after intimate encounters. My face is on fire. I may burst into flames on the spot. I’ve never admitted such a weakness to anyone before. 


Simon doesn’t look appalled or confounded by this humiliating admission of mine. He looks entirely delighted. “Clingy, you say?”

  
“Shut up. I never should have said anything.” I would sink into the oblivion of the sofa cushions if I could. 


He strokes the side of my jaw and turns my face to his again. “I like that, Baz. I like that a lot.” Simon leans down to brush his lips against my ear. “I can be clingy too.” 


And just like that, he’s done it again. He’s taken me at my most exposed and emotionally compromised state and not only accepted what I’ve said but made me feel safe and secure in his regard. 


I don’t know how he does it. 


Fuck. I think I said that out loud. 


Simon shrugs, lips curving up as his eyes meet mine. “Dunno. I just say what comes in my head.” He goes up on his elbows. “It’s true though. The clingy part.” 


His face is the one deepening in color now, as he keeps talking. “There wasn’t much contact at the homes, yeah? The matrons didn’t really let themselves get attached. Nobody did. I think the only human contact I really had, once I was out of the nursery, was when I’d get into fights.” His brow furrows. “I got in a fair number of them.” 


“I’m faintly aware.” We’d had our share the first few years at Watford.


He shrugs. “Yeah. Sorry about that. It was one of the only ways I had to get my feelings out and feel connected to anything.” His jaw clenches momentarily. “I got moved around a fair bit. Never at a place for more than a year or two.” His brow creases. “None of them were ever home. The only place that ever felt like that was Watford.”


I sit up a bit. This is a far more serious conversation now, and I feel like I need to have all my focus on what Simon is saying. He rarely ever talks about the care homes. I shift until my back is against the armrest and I sit up even further. Simon give me a quizzical look. I don’t say anything, but I open my arms to him. He moves to follow me, sliding in at my side, back against the sofa cushions and his head on my chest. I can’t see his face but I think he prefers it that way for the moment.


“Go on,” I say.


He shifts a bit and then slides an arm around my waist. I bring my hand up, fingers coming to gently stroke the hair at the nape of his neck.


Simon sighs. “One of the very first things I loved about Penny was how she wasn’t afraid to be near me, not even first year. She’d hug me and sit next to me, lean into me when she was cold. I’d never had that with anyone. No one had ever willingly come into contact with me, other than to bash my face in or shove me.” He burrows further into my chest, the warmth of his breath seeping through my jumper. “I liked it. It made me feel cared for, yeah?” 


My family is not the most demonstrative but I know exactly what he means. After my mother died Fiona would always make a point of hugging me. Every time she was with me. When she’d get to the house, when she’d leave. When she’d put me to bed. Sometimes to the point of driving me mad, but I still relished that contact. 


My mother was the best at hugs. I remember that about her. Tight, all-encompassing hugs. Warm and firm and safe. 


Daphne’s not a big hugger but she never shied away, once she married Father, from making sure I knew I was loved. She followed Fiona’s lead and even though I know it’s not second nature to her, I’m grateful for the effort she made.


“I know what you mean, Simon.” 


“I told you the intimacy part of things felt awkward with Agatha. It did. Just didn’t feel right somehow. But I loved having the physical closeness—holding hands, hugging, having her tucked under my arm when we’d watch movies. That was the best part.” Simon’s silent for a moment. “That was really the part I missed when we broke up. Not our conversations, or our kissing, or making out, truth be told. It was having someone to hold.” He pauses again, voice lowering. “And someone holding me. That’s what I missed.” 


My fingers sink into his hair, nails lightly dragging across his scalp. 


“It’s not that way with you though, Baz. Doesn’t feel awkward. I feel … I’m not even sure I’m going to say this right, I’m never good with words.” His voice is barely audible when he speaks again. “There’s just something so familiar about you. It’s comforting, I guess. Reassuring.” Simon’s fingers grip my jumper. “Watford’s the only home I’ve ever known. The only place I felt I belonged.” I have to tilt my head down to hear his next words. “In a room I shared with you.”


He sighs and holds me tighter. “So I get it, Baz, I get it.” He turns his head up to look at me, a shy expression on his face and his cheeks coloring again. “I might be even clingier than you.”


I bring my other arm up and around his shoulders. I brush my lips to his forehead. “Watch it now, Simon. You know how competitive I get. I might just take that as a challenge.”


He laughs and buries his head in my chest again. I could stay here all night, on this sofa, with Simon in my arms.


In truth I can’t, because my furniture is so fucking uncomfortable. There is literally no padding on this armrest. It’s digging into my back. I’m sure to have a mark. The cushions are far too rigid as well. It’s like my arse is sat on a plank.


What the fuck was I thinking when I bought this ridiculous angular sofa? It’s fine for watching movies with your mates but absolute rubbish for this kind of thing.


I’m going to have to rethink the whole décor. 


But I can stand it, for a bit longer, because I’ve got Simon in my arms and I don’t want to let him go.

Simon


We stay on the sofa for a long time, me cradled in Baz’s arms, my head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. It’s late. Past time for him to get home. 


I don’t want to move though. It still astounds me, how arousing I find Baz and at the same time how achingly comfortable. I’m glad he pulled us back. I wasn’t thinking clearly. All I could think about was how much I wanted him, how much I needed to feel closer to him, how the thought of him being so far away was so much more painful with each passing moment.


He says he wouldn’t have been able to leave. I don’t know if I would have been able to let him go. 


It’s not like that for me, usually. The physical intimacy, I mean. Not the hand holding or kissing. I can manage that just fine. I like that. 


It’s the other stuff that usually freezes me up. Makes me jittery, nervous, awkward. 


But not tonight. Not with Baz. With Baz it felt … it felt right. It felt comfortable. It felt safe. 


It felt like belonging. Like coming home. 


I finally sit up and run a hand through my hair. Baz is heavy-lidded, ready to fall asleep by the looks of him. “You need some tea, Baz? Before you head back?”

 
“Are you really making me go home?” There’s a hint of a smirk so I know he’s teasing.


“You know I am. You promised.”


“I did no such thing.”


“You implied.”


“Wrong again.”


“Come on, you prick, you said you agreed with me.” 


“I did not. You just assumed. I never actually agreed to anything before you ravished me with your charms.”


“I never managed to ravish you, you tosser.” I’m grinning at him now. There’s no one like Baz for banter like this. I never used to call it banter. I used to call it him being an arse. 


“More’s the pity.” He’s smiling now too. 


We move to the kitchen and Baz puts the electric kettle on. He drinks his tea while he leans against the counter, his arm around my shoulders. 


I feel like we’re moving in slow motion now, every moment an attempt to drag out our time together. Tying my shoes seems to take ages. Baz keeps adjusting his coat.


We’re silent as the moments tick by, making our progress out of his flat, down to his garage, finding his car. It’s like a series of snapshots, the images imprinting on my brain—the way the light hits his face, the line of his coat draped over his shoulders, the feel of his fingers intertwined with mine.

Baz


The drive to Hampshire gives me too much time to think. Each mile that takes me away from Simon drags at me, like there’s a magnet in my chest pulling me back towards him.

Simon


I’m just drifting off to sleep when my mobile pings.


Baz: I’m back in Hampshire. 


Baz: I miss you already. 


I miss him too. I text him just that.

Baz


The aeroplane door shuts with a dismal thud. This is it. I’m headed back to New York. Any romantic ideas I’d entertained about turning back are put to rest now that the doors are closed and the plane is pulling away from the gate. 


Five fucking months. 


It feels like a fucking lifetime. 


My phone is in aeroplane mode, the last text I sent to Simon unanswered on my screen. 


Five months. 


It’s taken me almost five years, a job thousands of miles away, a miserable drive across the entire east coast of America, and traversing the Atlantic by plane—not once, but now almost twice in the span of a week—to realize that the place I feel the most content, the most myself, the most at peace is wherever Simon is. 


Five bloody months doesn’t seem so insurmountable when I think of it like that.


I’ll be coming home to him.

[katecarteir]

semi charmed life | chapter two | 2.8k | teen| 

“You guys have kept in contact this whole time?” Bill asked, brow disappearing underneath hair line as he looked like his old friends in amazement. “And you guys are.. what? Room mates?”

Eddie avoided looking at Richie as he answered. “Yeah, uh… room mates. Something like that.”

[or: the adult!losers reunion, done 2000s sit-com style, just like we all deserve.]

PREVIOUSLY ON SEMI CHARMED LIFE:  She hadn’t been able to explain it to her husband, either. Tom didn’t like surprises, and he very much did not like surprises that including his wife packing up half her belongings and getting on a train. Belongings she was still carrying on with her, which was only drawing more eyes to her. Tom Rogan was a good guy, but as Beverly had learned slowly- not the best husband. | “Please just tell me.” “I’m pregnant.” |  Stan pressed his head against the head rest of the seat. “I did some shit that I’m not proud of. My best friend… I… I was so desperate to get away from this place, and I kind of betrayed him.” 

“Okay, no. You are not wearing that.”

Richie made a scandalized noise and looked down at himself. He was wearing a pair of acid wash jeans, with a wildly flower print shirt tucked into the pants. His hair seemed messier than Eddie had seen it in almost five years, almost as though Richie had gone out of his way to make it seem fly-away and out-of-control. Richie blinked innocently up at his husband. “What’s wrong with it?”

Eddie scoffed, pursing his lips to hide his genuine amusement. “You realize it’s not 1994 anymore, right? Just because it’s your high school reunion, doesn’t mean you need to dress like we’re still in high school ourselves.”

“Well, actually, my love,” Richie waggled his eyebrows. “It’s yours, I’m just your arm candy. Besides, I want to make sure everybody remembers who I am.”

Eddie frowned sadly, rubbing at Richie’s forearms. “Don’t… I’m sure nobody is going to forget Trashmouth Tozier. But you don’t need to actually wear your clothes from high school.”

“But Eds,” Richie mock whined, pressing quick kisses to the top of Eddie’s head. “I’ve kept them for an entire decade for this exact reason.”

“Okay, you can wear whatever you want,” Eddie laughed light. “ But I won’t let you be my arm candy dressed like that.”

Richie frowned slightly, pulling back and toeing at the carpet. “In my defense, I won’t really be your arm candy, will I? I’ll just be Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier, showing up at a high school reunion he doesn’t belong at.”

Eddie made a small, sad noise and moved to wrap his arms around Richie’s mid section. “Baby… we talked about this, I thought we agreed it was best we didn’t tell them.”

“No yeah,” Richie shook his head, cupping the side of Eddie’s face. “It is what’s best. It’s not even that, whole thing… it’s just. This should be my reunion, and everybody there is going to know it. And I can’t even, I can’t even tell them what I actually accomplished with my life because I’m proud of it but… To them, I’m just gonna be regular old Trashmouth working on the radio and living with Eddie Kaspbrak from high school.”

“Baby…” Eddie leaned his head onto Richie’s shoulder. “Fuck whatever they think, we have such a good fucking life. They’re not entitled to know anything about it.”

“I just…” Richie crinkled his nose and exhaled shakily. “I don’t deserve to go to a fucking Derry High reunion as somebody’s date. That school was my bitch.”

“Its still your bitch,” Eddie beamed up at him. “This whole world is your bitch.”

Richie kissed Eddie lightly, smiling against his lips. “Have I ever told you that you’re the love of my life.”

Eddie chuckled. “Probably once a day for the last twelve years. But you’re the love of mine, so that’s okay.”

 →  →  →

Beverly fiddled with the collar of her black dress as she walked into the front doors of Derry High School. The Losers had all agreed to meet in the very front foyer of their old school, right in their old pre-class meeting spot. Standing already there was none other than Ben Hanscom, Beverly’s heart hitching in her chest at the sight of him. She barely had time to register Ben’s appearance before the high school aged girl with the long black hair caught her eyes and she let out a small noise.

Eliina Tozier seemed to hold herself with a strength of pure confidence that her brother had yet to master in high school. In a simple black dress and her hair falling down her back in soft curls tumbling down her back, she looked close to elegant with all of her mothers’ beauty. The girl had been nothing but a child the last time Beverly had seen her, a maximum of seven years old, but she stood before her now looking nearly a woman grown. The age difference between Richie and Elii had been extreme- Elii had been a toddler when Beverly had become with Richie- and he’d always been pretty open with explaining that his sister was a simple “save the marriage” baby.

“Elii Tozier, as I live and breathe,” Beverly chuckled, giving the girl a quick hug. Richie’s sister had never been a large part in the Losers dynamic, never being the type to go running behind her brother the way Bill Denbrough’s brother Georgie always had been. The only time Beverly ever really saw Elii was the rare few times the Losers gathered at the Tozier house, and Beverly hadn’t given the child much thought since turning her back on Derry.

“Signing in?” Elii asked, giving a forced smile. Beverly nodded and followed her over to the set of desk sitting outside the cafeteria. “You’re married, right, Bev? I think I saw your name earlier, but you’ve changed your last name.”

“I- yeah I got married,” Bev said, clearing her throat awkwardly. “A few years back, yes. It’s Rogan now.”

Elii nodded and rummaged through the pile of visitors passes and tossed Beverly hers. She fought back the wince as she saw BEVERLY ROGAN written in large, black letters on it and smiled at Richie’s little sister.

“I’m supposed to check you guys for alcohol and all other stuff that’s not allowed on the property but,” Elii shrugged and smiled smugly. “You guys are coming with my brother, who’d probably be living in a ditch on the side of the road downtown if it wasn’t for Eddie Kaspbrak, so I’m just going to assume you guys are bringing in booze and let it slide.”

Beverly though of the bottle of wine hidden in her purse and smiled blandly. Even when they were all children, Elii had adored Eddie and is just seemed to be a simple common traits amongst all Toziers. Ben glanced over to the pair in confusion, his own visitors pass sitting around his neck. As Beverly turned away from Elii, she smiled up at Ben. “Little harsh on Rich there,” she chuckled.

Ben shrugged. “I guess. WE don’t really know what happened after graduation except that he went to live with Eddie. We don’t know how Richie handled it-“

“And neither does my sweet little sister,” Richie’s voice carried over to them as he waltzed into the building with Eddie by his side. Beverly’s eyes trailed over Richie’s truly horrific outfit and felt a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Eliina sided with her daddy in the divorce and decided that she was too cool for her big brother.”

“I was too cool for you before that,” Elii called over without looking up from her stack of passes. Richie rolled his eyes, marching over to the set up entrance.

“Checking in?” Elli’s partner asked sweetly, smiling up at Richie. “You’re Elli’s brother? Richie K-“

“TOZIER.” Richie said loudly and passionately. Elli looked up from the stack and gave her a brother a deeply confused look. “Yep. That’s me, Ricardo Tozier. Signing in! Tozier. That’s my name!”

Beverly and Ben glanced at one another, raising his eyebrows in unison, and Eddie pressed a hand to the middle of his face. Elii handed Richie his pass, which he promptly draped around his neck and tucked inside his shirt.

Elii shook her head. “Okay, I know you’re like… super weird all the time but you are being really-“ Elii cut off when the sound of the front door opening caught the attention after everybody standing around. Stanley Uris came into the building with a beautiful woman who could only be Patty, his fiancée. Elii and Richie’s face darkened in an eerie unison, Elii pursing her lips and nodding once.

“Excuse me,” she said to the ground around her, tapping her hands on the wooden table before turning away quickly. Richie smiled after with a sad look on his face.

“Guess there is somebody she hates more than me after all.”

 →  →  →

The room was blasting with 90s hits and Eddie was seconds away from excusing himself to take four Advil in the school bathroom.  Beverly had managed to stay at their table for maybe fifteen minutes before being found a group of girls that definitely wouldn’t have given  her the time of day in high school but somehow had fallen in love with her tiny clothing line and was dragged away. Mike and Ben were having some passionate conversation about some historical documentary that Eddie hadn’t been able to focus on. Stan and his fiancée, Patty, were seated together looking as happy as they could be to just sit around and absorb the conversations around them. Bill was swirling around a cup of dark pop and looking thoroughly like somebody had run over his puppy right in front of him.

“Big Bill!” Richie clapped his hands in Bill’s face, and chuckled. “Cheer the fuck up! Where’s the so-called movie star candy of yours?”

Bill cleared his throat slightly. “She uh- she went to our place in New York early. Wasn’t feeling up to the partying after our trip, I guess. I don’t know. I don’t really care.”

Richie blinked and glanced towards his husband with a single raise of his brow. Bill sighed and rolled his eyes. “I guess we had a fight, I don’t know. She told me something and I didn’t react the way she wanted me to, so she felt I don’t know if she’s left left or just… I don’t know. She… Audra is pregnant.”

Richie whistled lowly, but Eddie could see the dancing behind his eyes. “Oh damn. Kids. Fuck ‘em, eh? Who fucking wants those little… smelly…. things.”

Eddie grinned, bringing the back of his hand to rub at his mouth. His eyes caught Mike’s over the table, his friend frowning slightly and frowning. Eddie coughed loudly, quickly bringing his drink to his mouth and chugging half the glass. Richie was smirking at him all the while.

“Yeah, well, whatever.” Bill shook his head angrily. “Can we just talk about something else?”

“Uhh…” Ben stammered. “Stan, have you guys picked a day for the wedding? Or given it any thought at all?”

Stan and Patty’s hands came to clasp together on the table and Eddie felt Richie go stiff beside him. Eddie reached under the table and squeezed Richie’s thigh. “We haven’t started talking about the wedding yet,” Stan answered happily. “Its enough to be engaged honestly. We met her first year at Georgia State- it was already my third year- and honestly I think I fell in love with her the second I saw it. When we started dating, I knew I was the luckiest guy in the world.”

“Yeah,” Richie scoffed. “It sure is lucky you were able to go to Georgia State, isn’t it, Stan? Luck has got to be the only thing that explains it.”

Stan’s face paled, and Patty looked around the table in confusion. Eddie squeezed his eyes shut, heart tightening in his chest. Ben and Bill both looked between Richie and Stan like deers caught in the headlights. “Rich…” Mike said slowly, sounding half sympathetic and half cautionary.

Richie forced a smile. “Okay, yeah, no. I’m out.” He shook his head, pushing up from the table. He moved through the crowds of old classmates with a surprising amount of grace. Eddie sighed and placed down his drink but felt Mike’s hand wrapping around his wrist before he could stand.

“No, Eddie. Wait.” He said softly, making eye contact with Stan from across the table. He nodded once towards Stan. “Go.”

Stan seemed to bounce in his seat for a moment before sighing and standing. He moved through the same crowd, flying out in the hallways. Richie was walking not far ahead of him, bouncing his fists against the lockers as he walked past them. “Richie! Wait!”

Richie let out a loud, humourless laugh as he slowed to a stop a few feet ahead of Stan. He didn’t turn around, but Stan jogged up towards him. “Look, I know I deserved that okay? I probably deserve way worse than that. But Richie, it’s been ten years, man. I’ll regret what I did to you every day for the rest of my life but I’d really like to move past this. You were best friend for fifteen years before that, and I… I’ve always missed you.”

“You know….” Richie shook his head and frowned. “I thought I was past this, I thought I was easily eight years past what you did. But now I’m here, looking at you and having to listen to you go on about what a great experience you had at school and how in love you are and I…. I want to be happy for you, Stanley, but I can’t. Because you stepped on me to get it.”

“Richie, I’m sorry…” Stan’s voice wavered, nearly broke.

“You almost destroyed me,” Richie snapped, eyes blazing. “I couldn’t go to school, I couldn’t even graduate. I almost had to stay in this absolute hell hole, just so you wouldn’t have to admit failure. So fuck you, Stanley.”

Richie turned to walk away but Stanley grabbed his arm and tugged him back. “What I did to you, Richie, was the worst thing I’ve ever done. I was so caught up in my own issues that I didn’t even think about the consequences of what happened to you. And I am so damn sorry.”

“That apology is about ten years too late.” Richie stared back off down the hallways and Stan could do nothing but stare after him.

 →  →  →

“So,” Bill said, attempting to break through the awkward tension that had settled itself around their table. “Since we’re just unloading all our old high school baggage- Benny Boy, how’s that old flame for Miss Marsh burning?”

Eddie chuckled. “Just because Trashmouth left doesn’t mean you need to replace his lack of filter, Billy.”

Bill beamed at him, winking once. “What can I say? We were a pretty incestuous little group back then. I’m surprised not more of us dated back then.”

Eddie quickly finished the rest of his drink while Mike eyed the side of his face.

Ben was shaking his head. “Torch still burning or not, she’s not Miss Marsh anymore. She’s Mrs Rogan. And that’s all that.”

Eddie hummed. “Don’t be so sure about that. I’m not seeing a husband anywhere, and there wasn’t even an excuse to why. And if it means anything now, I was always routing for you guys.”

“Ditto.” Mike spoke up, smiling softly.

“Wow!” Bill cried in a mock-wounded voice and the entire table broke down into youthful giggles.

  →  →  →

CUTEST COUPLE. Richie traced his hands over the words, smiling softly as he took in the appearance of himself and Beverly Marsh at fifteen. Hair that hadn’t been tamed on either part, paisley patterns and braces on Richie’s teeth. Himself looking like the best thing that could ever happen to him was standing there with Beverly Marsh in his arms, having their picture taken for their high school yearbook.

“I’d almost forgotten about that,” Beverly voice came towards him as she approached from behind. Cheeks a little flushed and bottle of wine in her hands, she swayed up to Richie and leaned against him. Her hand came out to trace the words alongside his. “I think… I think you, Richie Tozier, are the only good guy I’ve ever dated.”

Richie looked down at her with a bemused smile. “Beverly, aren’t you married?”

Beverly pressed the bottle of wine to her lips and let the liquid fill her mouth. “It’s all bullshit, you know? Love, marriage? It’s a trap.”

Richie got a small far away look in his eyes as he accepted the bottle offered to him. “Nah, it’s not. Not if it’s the real thing.”

Beverly watched Richie drink, narrowing her eyes and frowning. He eyes landed on the pale ring of skin on his finger and she furrowed her brow. “Richie… are you married?”

Richie hummed, wrapping an arm around Beverly and pulling her flush against him. “Look at those dumb kids,” he gestured the bottle towards the photo of them laid out on the table of memories from 1991-1995. At them, smiling up at the camera as though they had absolutely no problems to ever concerned themselves with. “Absolute dumb fucks.”

Beverly nodded against him, taking the bottle back. “I’m still convinced that Ben rigged those results so we’d win.”

Richie chuckled. “I paid him fifteen bucks to do it. A little cruel looking back on it, given out absolutely in love with you he was but hey- I didn’t know a lot of things about a lot of things back then. I don’t think I even had a functioning brain until junior year.” Beverly laughed and Richie glanced down at her once more.

“Bev? Are you going to go back to your husband?”

“I-“ Beverly stalled and took another swig of wine. “I don’t know.”

Richie nodded. “Well… there will always be room in my and Eds’ place for you. As long as you’re able to keep a secret.”

Beverly though of her life and chuckled. “It’s what I’m best at.”