#*marcus thread*

[thearcherbrothersx]

Closed starter for @svftlove / Muse: Marcus Archer

"How much longer are you going to keep pouting?" Marcus sighed, grabbing himself a beer from the fridge before turning back to the blonde. He'd only just come home and she'd started on her usual bullshit. He pulled his gun out and put it on the table beside him before he took a sip of the cold liquid; no use hiding shit from her, considering she'd already seen plenty of what he did. "It's been weeks, Juliette and it's getting fucking boring."

[batmanbeyondrocks]

The Revolution will be televised 📺

Credit: Marcus Joyner@marcjoymedia

[luriddaze]

CLOSED for @theknifeinyou

"so, were the twins well-behaved? they really do seem to like you, but they've scared off a sitter or two. that's my babies.." marcus chuckled as be poured some mofd whiskey into his glass of cola and moved to sit down beside them with a half-buzzed grin on his face.

[thearcherbrothersx]

Yeah, she definitely liked it filthy. Lots of dirty talk; crude words, a bit of degradation. The way she'd clench around his fingers every time he said something nasty to her, even when he called her a little slut. She may not have replied, she may not have battled her way through her embarrassment to any real semblance of response at all, but her body knew what she liked - and it was very clear about it.

Well fuck, leaned into his favourite moniker so fucking easily, it almost made him purr. Her head pulled slightly at the hair in his grasp, a weak attempt at a nod. "Yeah? Please what? You want Daddy's cock to fill you up? To use you like the pathetic little hole you are?" Marcus pulled his fingers out of her, and snapped his palm hard against her ass. "You won't get so much as an inch if you can't ask for it," he added then, his voice shifting from mocking to demanding. "Be a good fucking slut for me, baby." He delivered another slap. "Beg for it. Tell Daddy what you need."

Delaney's fingers curl around the edge of the desk , her thighs trembling ever so slightly as she bites on the inside of her cheek . Her chest heaves slightly , doing her best to keep herself steady as his fingers work inside her . She had never imagined that she'd have given in to this. Or that Marcus would even want to touch her like this outside of the agreement that they had. Apples of her cheeks are permanently flushed at this point , gasping quietly when his fingers start to pick up the pace. You little slut . That makes her clench on his fingers , thighs trembling slightly as she swallows the lump in her throat . Delaney moans slightly when his fingers fist into her hair , tugging her back slightly. She whimpers softly when he turns her head so that he can see her face , pressing her lips together as she trembles against his desk. It's embarrassing the effect that he's having on her with the way his fingers are just fucking into her . She wants to drop her head, but she can't . She moans at his words , clenching on his fingers before she nods the best she can . "Daddy . . . please."

[writermuses]

In the gap between the Australian Grand Prix and Suzuka, Marcus made sure to head home for a few days to see his family and check in with the crew. The McKenzie MC knew that Mark was never going to patch in the moment he'd gotten started carting. The talent was obvious and they saw the once energetic dream find some of his light again. Still, there were other talents he had since he'd stopped talking, like an acute observational awareness that, combined with his dramatic driving skills, made for a fantastic look out and get away driver for some of the MC's shenanigans. Mark, like the rest of them, was loyal to a fault- with or without the cut. As he walked up to Ignition, spinning the keys to his McLaren 600LT on his finger, Hadrian pulled up on his bike and parked next to him. "Where am I taking you after we drop your bike off?" Back at Mac's bar. "'Kay, grab me when you're ready to head out of here." You going to find Tinker Bell? "Stop." But with a nod at Hades, his brother walked into the front of the mechanic's shop with a grin and Mark b-lined toward the garage.

There'd been a lot on his mind, Trinity was a mechanic the MC trusted and she knew enough sign language to be more than a professional asset but a personal one. Leaning against the wall, Marcus watched her bent under the hood, biting his lip when she came up in seemingly slow motion. He knocked on the frame of the car to announce himself once her head was clear of any surface if she jumped and he smiled at the girl who was initially nicknamed the 'tinker' because the McKenzie clan had her on their repairs, but as the 'belle' of the garage the nickname then stuck— at least with the crew. "Hey, Tink. You got a minute to talk? I think I might need your help with something... but it's a big ask."

closed starter for @midnightsaboteur

[cravemore]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤmcdonalds    in    bags    ?    check.    atop    a    posh    bar    roof    with    twinkling    lights    ?    check.    still    tipsy    from    the    booze    at    the    beach    ?    triple    check.    it’s    exactly    what’s    led    marcus    to    grabbing    a    handful    of    fries    and    unflatteringly    shoving    them    into    his    mouth.    ❝    my    god,    that’s    so    terribly    good.    i    can    feel    my    body    shutting    down    —    but    worth    it.    ❞    reclines    on    the    ledge    of    the    fountain.    

[bluerevs-a]

ﾟ✧ closed , lovetique .

the girl’s voice was silvery and saccharine sweet, red painted fingernail trailing up and down marcus’ forearm as if she were carving her secrets into him. he floated through the conversation as he was supposed to. he plied himself with alcohol because it made the dialogue easier.  if he found the will to focus hard enough, she really wasn’t the worst that he could do. part of him felt guilty, and even a little cheap, but he knew that this was a part of the process of moving on. when the bar announced last call and she pulled him out and into an empty alleyway, he realized how long they had been talking. it made him feel worse, to be in uninterrupted conversation with someone for hours and be so unaffected. when she kissed him, he felt nothing. not even a twitch of emotion. but he kissed her back, because he was supposed to. he held out, sure that some sort of passion or enthusiasm would come along if he tried harder or if he got greedy enough. he waited, and unsurprisingly, nothing in him stirred. it had been five weeks now, and marcus began to wonder if his heart had been locked in a tourniquet for too long – if the organ had went ahead and died all together. this wasn’t moving on.

when they say goodbye, much to her disappointment, marcus knows he should stumble home. he smelled of whiskey and faint perfume, his head pounded in his skull, and the copious amount of alcohol in his bloodstream did little to diminish the chill in the air. when the mist of rain starts, the decision is even simpler. but marcus knew where he wanted to be, and the last place was his apartment, haunted with the relics of the only person he wanted. so, ending up at elena’s front door wasn’t much of a conscious decision, his logical mind was left back at that grimy bar two miles back. no, this was more of a 'all roads lead here' decision. he felt relief that all his walking wasn’t entirely in vain at the sight of her car in the driveway and the light on in her bedroom. the mist of rain had morphed into a soft drizzle, and the chill in the air had become oppressive. hand reaches to knock on the door until it dawns on him that she didn’t live alone, and god only knew that he didn’t have the wits about him to feign conversation with anyone else tonight. pulls out his phone, nearly drained of battery, the time reading 2:32 AM. if he were in better spirits, he probably would’ve laughed at the irony. 

finger groggily presses her contact photo and the phone stutters, as if the device knew it was a bad idea, then proceeds to die in his hand. an agitated groan rises from his throat as marcus shoves the phone back inside his pocket, the pounding in his head only growing more severe from the setback. steps back, working hard to think through the thick fog that clouded his mind. helplessly, he stares up at her illuminated window. the night owl, he thinks to himself. the loose gravel of her driveway is loud beneath his shoes, and the fog is temporarily lifted as he grabs a few handfuls and pitches it up toward the glass. most of it misses it's intended target, his aim obviously skewed, but it doesn’t take long for her familiar silhouette to appear above him. marcus can feel the kickstart of his heart and a genuine relief floods his system, suddenly reassured that his heart was actually still there after all. he meets her confusion with a finger pointed toward the front door, doing his best to communicate between a pane of glass and the rain coming down. he’s posing a question, and when elena’s silhouette disappears from view, marcus can only pray that she’ll answer how he hopes.

it’s this period of waiting that anxiety rears its ugly head. he honestly had not thought his far. for the past five weeks, marcus had moved through all of the appropriates motions of his life; he had gone to work, answered his emails, ate enough. frankly, he survived. but his mind had operated like a broken loop pedal. reiterative and unwavering of her, her, her. only her. they had never been together, but both of them knew that they were very much together. and even if it had only been a few months, but he still was nursing deep wounds that refused to even scab over. maybe he should’ve felt ridiculous for being so inconsolable, but she had left some sort of indentation on him, and interpreting thoughts or words regarding it proved impossible.

the door swings eventually open to her, staring at him, dumbfounded and confused. marcus can feel his ribcage working overtime to keep his once idle heart at bay. “i know,” he says, voice cutting through the white noise of the rain. he tried to cut her off at the pass, before she could turn him away, before she could even say utter a word. “i swear to god, i’ll be quick.” normally so pragmatic and rational, marcus now fought hard to hide the slur in his speech. he had to use his time wisely. “i kissed someone else,” he announces suddenly, watching her face twist at the revelation. “i thought it was what i needed to do. i thought that it would help me move on, help me get over you and everything you ever made me feel, but i was wrong. it only made it worse.” his gaze was anchored on her tiny frame, finding looking at her to be a painful challenge. “look,” takes a step closer to minimize their distance, voice brimming with conviction, “i understand that whatever borrowed time i had is already up, and i know that you have your reasons — but i’m in love with you, ” understands the heavy vow that falls from his lips, the atmosphere immediately shifting into one that felt much, much more desperate. “i needed you to know that, even if it doesn’t change anything. i couldn’t walk away from this—walk away from you, without you hearing me say it.” rain water seeped through his clothes and he was shaking, but not from the cold. “and i know that i’m drunk right now, but i won’t be tomorrow morning ⸻ i’ll wake up and still be so in love with you that i can’t fucking think straight.”

[thearcherbrothersx]

The way her eyes widened at the cost of the answer she wanted almost made him laugh. Surely, she must have contemplated the few things she did have to offer in exchange and come to one conclusion or another? Or perhaps she truly had walked into this conversation blindly, without any real idea of what might happen. Perhaps she was so desperate for answers, she'd accepted the risk. And yet, perhaps... not so desperate that she would comply?

His eyes followed her movements, like a predator tracking its prey, but he remained seated. "Oh, but I do. Every stitch." He made a gesture over his empty glass, fingers gathering in a pulling motion, and it began to refill, a bottle in the cabinet by the wall simultaneously losing the exact same amount of liquid. Meanwhile, his eyes never left Victoria. "Of course, you could always refuse." He shrugged his shoulders lightly, nonchalance dripping from his tone as he smirked. "If you'd rather wait for the unknown."

She didn't like the name. Not because it was particularly demeaning, but because she didn't like the odd sensation it brought to her stomach, especially when it was aided by the look he raked over her body. "Very well, then." She reluctantly concedes, knowing no amount of pleading would cease the name, especially when he seemed to get such enjoyment out of it. As it were, she feared she had much more pressing matters to concern herself with, one of which being his denial to actually answer her original question.

Victoria waited nervously as he considered. She couldn't begin to fathom what he would ask of her, she had nothing to give. No money, no riches, no land. Not unless he let her go back home, which she found incredibly unlikely. She also found it unlikely that he would ask for any of those things, seeing as he appeared not to be lacking in anything given the state of her surroundings.

"What?" She practically squeaked out, her heart plummeting into her stomach. That's what it was, the only thing she could potentially offer. Her hand self-consciously rose to the top of her dress protectively as heat rose to her face. "Surely you don't- not every-..." she trailed off hesitantly, forcing a nervous chuckle while taking a step back.

[thearcherbrothersx]

Closed starter for @loveisliquor / Marcus & Pandora 002

Marcus had spent a few days getting settled, reacquainting himself with the family while stubbornly fighting the ever present magic that pulled at him, urging him to seek her out. After all, she'd walked away from him, and even if she'd told him to seek her out later, the Dominant in him bristled at the notion that she was in charge; that she had the right to dictate the terms of whatever this was.

But wedding plans were underway. In fact, his mother and grandmother had set that ordeal into motion almost before they'd had a chance to welcome home the prodigal son. He wasn't surprised, really. After all, he'd made all of them wait years longer than they'd expected, and they wanted to capitalize now that he was home... before he had a chance to leave again. So he'd been sent to get her for a dress fitting, and given an appropriately ridiculous reason to seek her out, he finally did...

******

He found her in the library, materialising directly behind her in silence - at a perfect angle to see exactly what she was looking at. "Huh..." was all he said to alert her to his presence - besides the spark of his magic as it finally connected with hers once more.

[borawinters]

closed for: @marcusyoung

where: rock and bowl

"Do you need me to request the guardrails for you?" Bo asks over the sound of the bowling ball that had been thrown rolling down the gutter, every pin that had been standing before it had been released by his teammate still standing, "The ones they use for the children."

[thearcherbrothersx]

She took her by surprise this time and the grunt when her lips once more met his own told her as much. He was quick to recover though, her touch igniting once more the flame inside him, and he reached out. This time, when his hand found her it was his whole arm that wrapped around her, drawing her slender frame against him with a firm yank on her body. He groaned audibly, tipping his head slightly to deepen the kiss between them while his fingers dug into the soft flesh of her side. The need was all consuming, a heavy beat that forced the blood in his veins to rush faster. His magic lashed out to meet hers, powerful and ruthless, coiled around her to capture it, force it to bend to his.

And then she was pulling away from him again - and surprisingly, he let her - possibly because the scent of burning wood distracted him enough to bring him out of the haze he'd been in. He straightened, turning his head slightly to watch the tree, gaze turning slightly thoughtful as he watched it die down and then heal. "Sure..." was all he replied, though his voice was tempered, clearly distracted by his own thoughts. When he felt her shift in his arms, he let go of her and directed his gaze back to her dark eyes.

There was a distinct narrowing of his eyes when she spoke then, but he held his tongue, focusing instead on licking the remainder of her taste off his lips once more. He very much doubted his family knew what to expect from him these days, but he had little chance to reply before she was walking away from him. Yes, he could have stopped her. Part of him wanted to so badly, it manifested as a tangible itch in the tips of his fingers. But he didn't know her, and given how little experience she had with men, he decided against it. "I don't think I'll have much of a choice in the matter..." he muttered more to himself than to her, and then shook his head.

A gust of wind picked up, lifting fall leaves off the ground at his feet - and then he was gone.

*********

La Fin

There's a part of her that wants to hear him say it. The words unsaid, hang around her neck, a quiet reminder of her glorious purpose. It is infuriating, to be prisoner again, to magic, the one thing that had never betrayed her. Their bond takes on new life, the longer she stands here and she's aware of the power of it, stirring in her blood-- looking for him.

She has nothing to compare this hunger to. There had been no awkward fumbling as a teenager, no sneaking around-- Pandora had been too busy for the frivolities of youth. Instead, she had studied, plotted, and dreamed of patricide. Now, she can think of nothing else but the gnawing in her gut, the unending thirst for him-- the need to close the minuscule distance between them and drink him dry. She can still feel the quiet vibration of his groan against her lips and she wants to feel him again, solid, and real against her. She stays stock still, certain even the slightest movement would send her hurtling into his arms.

Their magic hangs heavy in the air between them, and she blames it for the way she shivers when he traces her bottom lip with his finger. It sends a jolt through her skin that skitters down her spine and her lips part slightly in surprise. Desire stirs in her gut-- and it's there in the dark depths of his eyes--and God-- he wears it so well. "Fuck, indeed." Her eyes fall to his lips and then back to the murky depths of his gaze-- and a decision is made, at least for now. She closes the distance she'd sought out, and gives in. This time, her magic roars. He is pure, heat-- and she's burning up from it--writhing in the unrelenting graze of the flame. She's bolder now, bold enough to cup his jaw, another point of connection, and the magic thrums happily--greedily. He's in her veins-- and she can't bring herself to want any differently.

This time when she pulls away, it's because she smells burning. "Oh--" The tree in front of them was on fire. "I'm sure that happens all the time-- every time a witch has her first... or second kiss." She clears her throat and watches the way the flames dance up the trunk. She relates. She murmurs a soft spell, and the flames die-- and the tree heals. She takes a step back from him, then another.

"Your family is probably waiting for you." It's a quiet dismissal, an out to give herself time to process...this. She can feel her mind's desire to flee. There's a part of her that wants to run away, for as long as she can manage it, but even the idea sends a strange sensation through her chest. She needs space desperately. She turns to walk away, makes it a few steps before she turns to face him-- "Come find me when you're done."

And then she forces her feet across the clearing and prays the space does something for her composure. If her hands are still trembling when she makes it to her room, well-- she pretends not to notice.

[hexweaver]

‘    he   calls   himself,   the   emerald   warlock   &   self   proclaimed   himself   to   be   my   arch-nemesis.   ’   dip   of   concerned   brows   /   valley   of   crevices   that   cast   shadows   with   𝓪𝓰𝓰𝓻𝓪𝓿𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓭   expression   'pon   frontal   view.   a   swift   raise   of   her   hand   &   a   flick   of   her   wrist   ,   𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐓   𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓   /   dancing   fire   that   decorated   above   her   cranium   ;   showcasing   an   image   ,   one   that   was   freshly   made   by   her   memory   of   her   encounter   with   the   warlock.   on   the   witches'   road,   he   ｅｎｄｅａｖｏｒｅｄ   to   steal   her   magic,   but   the   combined   power   of   Cerridwen,   Nicneven,   &   Oya—goddesses   who   enhance   feminine   and   diminish   masculine   energies—allowed   Wanda   to   outsmart   him,   leading   him   into   their   mystical   realm.   yet   he   had   managed   to   get   away   too   much   to   her   annoyance.   ‘    While   he   could   cast   a   curse   on   Ireland,   I   was   able   to   undo   it   in   the   end,   but   he   eluded   capture.   ’

( SC ) / @renownedagent

[arcanae]

where: outside of Cherry on Top

who: Esmeralda & Marcus / @darkenedroad

Work had been pretty hectic after Esmeralda had to comfort a crying employee when a customer drunkenly starting screaming at them and all Esmeralda wanted to do now that work was done for the day was relax. She wasn't paying much attention when she walked directly into someone leaving Cherry on Top. "Oh, shit. Shit," She cursed, stumbling back and catching herself before looking him over. "Sorry, my fault. You alright?"

[dramatisperscnae]

[my muse was unexpectedly kidnapped, found a year later barely alive, injured, and bound.]

@resignedworkaholics

It had happened. Of course, it had happened. He knew it would the second the thought occurred to him only a few moments after finding out that the man he loved with a vigilante. Dick had disappeared. More than just disappeared - he had vanished into the air 12 months ago and Tim had been the sorry target to have to come to the house and tell Marcus when there had been no sign of him at the end of patrol. He'd held it together in front of Tim and then trashed the place as soon as the teen had left him to it. Marcus had had to tell him to leave, he still regretted how nasty he'd been but he didn't need someone babysitting him when he had a job to do. It had been a very long 12 months of barely any sleep and even less sanity. Marcus knew Dick wouldn't be pleased with him when he found how just how many people had been screaming, writhing on the floor at his hands but he would be okay if Dick was mad at him. Because if Dick was mad then Dick was alive. And alive he was. Skin and bones and covered in blood that Marcus knew was his own. New or old, it didn't really matter. He should have made them scream more. His hands were gentle for the first time in a year as he crouched next to the shell of a man who had been his partner; fingers gently checking for a pulse and then working to untie him. "Dick?" He said softly, forcing himself not to sound like a man who had been crying for so many days. "Hey, handsome, can you hear me?" Never in his life had he thought he would be able to pick Dick up... Yet, he was certain he would be able to lift Dick and take him home as soon as he was sure that wouldn't cause any more damage.

He'd tried to keep track of the time. Done his best without the aid of clock or light or regular feeding schedule. It had to have been weeks. Months, maybe. Surely someone was still looking for him, weren't they? Tim or Barbara or Jason…?

Marcus?

God, Marcus.

His siblings' faces had featured in what dreams - and nightmares, and hallucinations - he'd had, but Marcus…his lover had been front and center, the one thing he'd clung to above all else. The one name he could never speak. He had to keep Marcus safe, no matter what the cost. Had to keep Marcus safe, and had to get back. He'd promised, hadn't he? That he'd always come back. Always.

And so he'd tried. There had been quite a few escape attempts, each punished more harshly than the last, but he'd kept trying. He had to. Until finally they'd just chained him down here, had their fun, exacted whatever revenge or punishment they wished and let him writhe in his chains until they left grooves in his wrists and ankles. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten. The last time he'd had water that hadn't been poured more over his face than in his mouth, half-drowning him rather than slaking his thirst.

And now there were fingers at his throat, making him try to jerk away, groaning softly in protest. He barely noticed his restraints being loosened, removed; everything already hurt, what was a little more pain? But his name, that voice…a voice he knew instantly. He forced his eyes open, tried to focus. Dark curls, green eyes, he knew that face. How could he not know it? One hand twitched, tried to lift as too-dry lips moved, parched throat trying to speak. Marcus…

[writermuses]

Open to: Anyone (mun/muse/fc must be 21+) Plot: A little pre-Sprint Race flirting with your muse interviewing him on the grid. Muse: Marcus De Vrise, 22, is a hearing but non-verbal F1 driver for McLaren. He uses ASL and his brother or another member of the team will voice for him.

"I'm really happy with how the car was running in the quali and I'm looking forward to the sprint. It's great to be near the front and to do better than my teammate who has been having a great season. Miami has been a great time so far and I'm looking to have a good time on track and off afterwards, whatever the outcome. Any suggestions?" He smirked, the implication that he was clearly eager to get some more time with them.

[theusashfield]

self-para; 001 ( the mines )

( the consequences of this. ) where: the mines

( tw: blood, injury, fire, burns )

it had been reckless, and stupid, but theus had never been known for his consistent smart decisions. he could be reasonable for only so long - eventually, he got bored and craved chaos, chasing it like a shark tasting blood in the water. still... he maybe should've thought of his daughters before he got himself killed.

he felt the magic tracing his skin, like the cold, sharp edge of a knife being drawn across his arms, his neck, his throat. he had only a few moments, his eyes going wide and his hand flying to his throat before the magic sliced through his skin and hot blood flowed. it spurted from his wounds in a shock of red, dyeing the wool and cotton of his clothes, and coating his fingers pressing against his neck.

shit shit shit shit shit SHIT SHIT-- relax. think. don't panic. use your head.

stop the bleeding.

with his free hand, theus resisted the panicked urge to grab at his neck and reached into his pocket, bringing out his lighter. he sank to his knees, hitting the snow hard but he barely registered the pain as he fought to keep calm. he clicked the lighter, and the second he saw the bright spark and a flame, he activated his magic. he dropped his glamour, needing his full focus, revealing his long, pointed ears and the burning orange, amber and red of his eyes.

his breath was shakey, but that was enough to make him realise the wound wasn't deep enough to kill him... yet. he got the small flame, focused it small and hot, white hot, and brought it to his neck. he gritted his teeth and groaned harshly, near screaming behind his teeth, as he held the flesh of his sliced neck together and burned the wound closed. the flame moved around the circle of his neck, cauterizing himself, as his nose burned with the stench of burning flesh and his eyes watered from the sensation. he leaned into the pain to withstand it, almost drunk on it.

when the flame made the full circle, he took a harsh, shuddering breath, the flame going out as he leaned forward with a guttural, pained groan. sweat dripped down his face, but he saw the hand that gripped the lighter was dripping blood, and he remembered the magic in his arms.

fuck.

with a heaving sigh, he clicked the lighter again, his thumb slick with blood and slipping each time. eventually, his thumbnail caught, breaking as he managed to click it. he took the flame, small and hot, and burned his coat at the shoulder sleeves, ripping them off. his shirt underneath was soaked. he repeated the motion, pulling off the blood-damp sleeves to reveal the wounds on his arms. a circle on his each, an open line from his wrist to his elbow on both inner arms, stopping only at another circle just before his elbow.

the wounds were deep enough to bleed, but he had time. he had to have time.

he took the flame, and split it into two. he had to work fast. he took a deep, shuddering breath. he wishes he had something to bite down on, he worried he'd crack his own teeth the way he ground them, clenching his jaw so hard that veins bulged up his temple. the pain was twofold this time, but he didn't falter. he burned his own flesh again, cauterizing the wounds closed to stop the bleeding. the sound that left his lips when he finished was weak, pathetic, almost a sob. he slumped forward, head resting in the dirt, as he held his arms close to his body.

he hated how he bowed to these fucking mines, and whatever entity lay deep within.

he stopped another sob from leaving him as he breathed, hard and deep. he was slick with sweat, and coming down from the high of the pain. with weak, feeble movement he sat up, then got to his feet, shaking and stumbling like a newborn fawn.

he dared to lift his eyes to stare at the mines once before, swallowing once, then turning and walking away, back down the paths to the woods. he intended to go back to where he'd left marcus, but had to stop and take a seat on a fallen tree covered with moss. the wind whispered in the trees, but he noticed that the birds didn't sing here. he looked down at his arms, resisting the temptation to touch the fresh burns. his arms shook from the effort of holding them up.

it hadn't been an attempt at his life. it had been a warning shot. if that thing had wanted to kill him, it would've cut deeper, deep enough to slice his windpipe. instead, it just wanted to taunt him.

i could kill you if i wanted to.

with a soft sigh, theus picked himself up off the fallen tree, and continued back down the path. he needed to see a healer for this shit.