#I better fuckin do it or get use to fire and brimstone now

[gxlden-angels]

Not to ride Bezos's dick, but Shiny Happy People is free on prime video rn with ads and it's got all the hits including commentary from Fundie Friday, an interview of Paul and Morgan that's currently making Paul meltdown, and a summary of the "Joshua" generation

It is about the Duggars, so please be careful when viewing due to the nature of the documentary. There will be discussions of things like child sexual abuse material, child abuse, cults, and fundamentalism

[beetleblunt]

Nowhere to go

Summary: When Michael sees Trevor waiting for him, it brings up old memories, and even older feelings

(Mikeys pov for all dolled up)

TW: mom and dad are fighting again :(

Words: 2,880

ao3 link!

Something in between a sigh and a laugh escaped Michaels lips as he set his phone down and dropped his head, his quiet afternoon by the pool turned bittersweet. It was true that the second he was within Trevor’s immediate vicinity, shit always seemed to hit the fan, but there was still no denying the twinge of excitement in his chest at the thought of seeing his old friend again. The last time they’d met, it had ended in a fight, considerably smaller than the ones that usually landed both men in months long brooding sessions(or benders), but still a fight.

Trevor had mentioned an upcoming score he’d just finished planning, saying he could fit another set of hands into the plan if he tried, but Michael just shook his head, wishing his friend luck, but wanting no part in his schemes. This was just enough to slowly spiral into strings of insults from the both of them before abruptly parting ways.

The next evening, Michael was standing in his side of him and Amanda’s shared closet, buttoning up a charcoal grey suit jacket when she approached him.

“And where are you off to?” she lilted, running a hand along her husbands back.

Things between them had been better lately, not perfect, but better. Michael had been working on another movie with Solomon and staying out of trouble, and Amanda had given up the comforts of coaches and pool boys. The fights hadn’t stopped, but they were few and far between, and even the kids seemed a little happier lately.

“Ah, drinks,” he hesitated, considering lying but deciding against it “with uh, trevor.” Michael held his breath, knowing what this was likely to cause, and he was right. Amanda’s hand halted and she took a step back.

“What the fuck Micheal?” she whispered slowly,

“I know-“ he tried to interrupt

“Oh, you know?” she let out an angry laugh, “No, if you knew, you wouldn’t be letting that fucking psychopath drag us back down!” she said, roughly poking at his chest.

This went on for some time, Amanda shouting continuously, Michael managing to fit a few spaced out, unheard- or just uncared for words between her tirades. Eventually though he snapped, raising his voice above hers, his tone just brutal enough to allow a firm layer of fear to settle in Amanda’s chest, and a tightness to consume her stomach and throat.

“Fuckin’ enough,” he barked “he’s my best fucking friend, Mandy, like it or not, and shit you know what? He’s one of the only people that even listens to me-“

“bullshit!” Amanda cut in,

“Bullshit? Oh, that’s rich!” Michael took a step back now, a short, breathy laugh came from his smirking mouth, “I’m not your fucking therapist, Michael!!” he mocked loudly in a high pitched voice “and god knows the kids picked that one up quick too,” he added, sounding more dejected now.

Amanda opened her mouth to say something, but decided against it, instead just staring up at Michaels teary eyes for a moment before taking a few steps back, and walking away slowly. She always seemed to run off once Micheals rage dampened, even if it was mid-fight. She sure seemed to enjoy getting a reaction out of him when she could see the fire and brimstone in his eyes, but she never quite knew what to do with his sadness- save for kicking him when he’s down- but this time, a guilty look crossed her face before she left him alone.

Micheal took a deep breath, and wiped his eyes dry with his sleeve. He took what was meant to be a quick look in the mirror, but ended up spacing out glaring at his stubble filled cheeks. The thought of shaving crossed his mind, but when he took his phone out and found he was already running more than a few minutes late, he thought against it and made his way out of his bedroom and to his black Obey Tailgater.

Different possibilities and outcomes for the night passed through Micheals head during the short drive, worries of Trevor fighting, harassing, or downright killing some random innocent plagued him. Though somehow, more than anything, he hoped the night wouldn’t end with tensions high.

Finding parking in Downtown Vinewood was never easy, and this fact held up especially tonight. After about twenty minutes of slow laps around the surrounding blocks, Micheal slammed on the gas, speeding towards a spot he seemed to noticed at the same time as another, much bigger, car. By the grace of something, he managed to swerve into the parking spot, just barely avoiding side swiping the nose of the too-late SUV. The other driver honked a couple times before moving on to continue looking. Meanwhile, Micheal sat, gripping the steering wheel, trying to steady his nerves. He checked his phone and saw that it was a little past 9:00, he was later than he thought, but surely with a little half-hearted groveling, Trevor would be satisfied and forgive him. A few seconds of nervous fidgeting later, and the man was making his way towards the brightly lit up club at the end of the block.

Any confidence Micheal had gained during his brisk walk to the doors quickly drained the second he spotted his best friend waiting at the table. There Trevor sat, clearly impatient, sipping on a dark glass of whiskey, but his knit brow and clenched fist on the table weren’t what stopped Michael in his tracks. It was the little red dress he was sporting, with poorly applied matching lipstick. A heat ran throughout his body at the sight, turning into a chill after a couple seconds of reasoning with himself. He took a few stumbling steps backwards before turning around and running out. His hands shook and his heart was beating as fast as his mind was running as he walked down the now seemingly longer than before sidewalk. Quick flashes of his past, wanting looks and tangled lips flashed over Michaels vision as tears welled up and he stumbled off of the sidewalk, and up to his Tailgater. The second he got in, he dropped his head and banged it gently on the steering wheel a couple times before letting out a choked sob. When he got past the images of his days that were long behind him and could finally think straight, he began to sort through the possibilities. The idea of it being some kind of odd or cruel joke was ruled out quickly, Trevor wasn’t the type to do or say things without meaning them, and besides, Mike was sure he’d seen this happen before, once, back in North Yankton, minus the tight red dress, of course.

Sometime after the second or third score they’d pulled together, Trevor had invited him over, claiming to have something about the last job he wanted to go over, but when Michael walked in, he was led to a dimly lit kitchen that Trevor had converted into a little dining area, with two chairs and a small table topped with candles, wine glasses with what was very clearly just beer in them, and two plates containing slices of a once frozen, now very burnt lasagne. It was only after processing the “romantic” dinner in front of him that he noticed what trevor was wearing, and how genuinely nervous he looked. Never having seen his friend in anything formal outside of the ill-fitting suits they’d worn for one job, he was actually fairly impressed with the white dress shirt and dark blue jeans Trevor was wearing, and later that night, he was even more impressed upon taking it all off for the very first time of many.

Micheal stayed hunched over the steering wheel thinking for a little while longer. Some long buried part of him begged to rush in there, kiss him quickly, softening the angry man before he’d even have time to shout; to say he’s sorry he’s so late, and have a good night with Trevor, just like the old days, but he’d chose to force those feelings down the day he’d decided to kill Michael Townley. There were times back when he still thought trevor was dead, when things got tough with Amanda, he let his mind wander back to the cold nights they’d spent together, a time in his life where he’d felt the warmer than ever; but those days were long gone, now Trevor was back and he wasn’t the same boy who’d vomited at the scent of smoldering brains after sticking a flare gun in a man’s eye. Hell, he wasn’t even the same boy who left his “dying” ex-lover and friend behind to bleed in the snow. He was an undeniable force of terror who could kill with a look, and Michael had put those days behind them. Trevor had not.

With a shaky breath, Michael started the car and backed out, pausing in the street for a moment. He didn’t want to go home and face Amanda about this, he didn’t even know what he’d tell her at this point. As much as he craved the comforts of liquor, he didn’t want to go to a bar, he preferred solitude over anything else- just as he came to this conclusion, a long hooonk yanked him from his thoughts, so he quickly settled on just cruising the crowded streets of Los Santos.

Some time later, Michael was finally pulling back up to the familiar grey gate. He took a while before stepping out of the car, and when he did, Amanda threw opened the stained glass doors dramatically,

“So, how was Trevor then? It’s a surprise to see you back before sunrise.” she said flatly, standing in front of the now closed doors behind her and narrowing her eyes, as if she wasn’t planning on letting him through.

Michael decided that now was an appropriate time to lie, “Oh, good,” he stated carefully, but confidently enough to pass as a truth, “just, no energy for the usual stuff, turned in early.”

“uh-huh” she said slowly, nodding to herself

He now noticed the way she was nervously shuffling and looking behind her, and when he heard the faint sound of footsteps rushing from the living room and glasses clanking, he started to put the pieces together.

“Fuck me..” he muttered to himself, looking away from her and running a hand down his face.

Amanda’s eyes widened, a deer in the headlights, “Mikey, no-“

“DON’T YOU FUCKIN ‘MIKEY, NO’ ME” he roared, “I walked away from fucking everything for you, and again with this shit?” he was quieter now, but still yelling, “Who the fuck is it, huh? Fabian? That fuckin tennis prick? The “cute little gardener” I just hired, huh?” he took an angry step closer, and his voice broke a little more with each man he listed, but just before he could make it to the door to find out for himself, a deafening sound of metal scraping and tires screeching rang throughout the yard, causing Amanda to jump back flat against the doors, and Michael to spin on his heel.

The gate had been half open when Trevor slammed into it, and his red Bodhi was swerved into the outer corner, the front was pretty crumpled, but most of the damage seemed to take to the bent up bottom of the gate and the windshield. Michael wasn’t sure what damages had come from Trevor’s no doubt reckless driving on the way, and what were caused from his crash, but he didn’t dwell on it either.

Everything else left Michaels mind as he rushed towards the truck, who’s wheels were still screeching, a clear sign the driver was either out cold, or too fucked up to notice he’d crashed. As Michael neared the truck, the wheels stopped, and even in the dark, he could see Trevor’s head lower itself to the steering wheel.

“T?” he plead, “T, ba- buddy,” he stuttered, trying not to let his emotions completely drown out the logic he’d worked so hard on lately. The fight between him and amanda had melted away most of the resolve he’d had to seeing Trevor again, but he still knew there had to be a line in their relationship. As Michael opened the door to the Bodhi, his wife finally spoke up from behind him as she got a better look at the man slumped over in the seat. She asked something about his dress that Michael didn’t really pay attention, let alone respond to, his attention was too focused on the man in front of him. When Trevor didn’t even so much as look up at him, or do more than mumble strings of incoherent bullshit, Mikey took it upon himself to get him shifted in the seat so that he could hoist him over his shoulder. When Trevor was settled as comfortably as he could get on the bigger man’s shoulder, he finally turned to face Amanda, and their two kids, who had made their way outside when they’d heard the commotion.

He expected her to have any semblance of concern or compassion for the man who’d he still considered an uncle to their children, or at the very least to ignore him as he passed her. He was wrong. She pushed the kids, who looked more confused than anything, behind her.

“No,” she looked horrified, but somehow not surprised, “he is not welcome in my home, you-“

“My home,” He cut her off, glaring past her at the jacked up pick-up truck in the parking spot to the side house that he’d somehow missed when pulling in. If going out for drinks with Trevor, even despite their complicated history, was all it took for Amanda to start up her cheating habits again- if she’d ever even quit- he knew it would just get messier from here on out.

“Why don’t you take uh, your mystery lover and stay somewhere else tonight? His place, hotel, I don’t care.”

Amanda scoffed “You can’t choose him over your family again!”

“Again??” It was Michaels turn to scoff, “I seem to recall a time when I fuckin’ abandoned him for you!” he started to walk past her, but stopped to look back at her “and I wouldn’t choose anybody over my family, just you.”

With that, Michael made his way inside to go lay Trevor down on the couch so he could get the truck moved and the gate closed. Before he set him down though, for just a second, Mikey let himself be acutely aware of the way Trevor’s coarse skin felt underneath the hand he had placed on the back of his thigh, a brief fluttering in his stomach brought a smile to his rough face. This only lasted for a moment though.

The front door loudly swung open, and Amanda stomped up the stairs behind him; only to start kind of packing, kind of slamming or throwing expensive decor around. By the time she was back downstairs with two large suitcases packed at her sides, Michael was standing in the living room talking to Tracy and Jimmy, and Trevor was laid down on his side, a steady steam of drool soaking into the cushion underneath him. Amanda cleared her throat and looked at the kids expectantly.

Tracy glanced awkwardly between her mom and dad before speaking up, “Um, I’ve got like, dance class and stuff in the morning, so, I’m just gonna…” she trailed off, not wanting to further anger her already seething mother.

Jimmy took a half-step behind his sister, but still cut in before Amanda had a chance to argue “Yeah, and I’m still all partied out and junk from the last time we stayed at a hotel!”

Amanda nodded solemnly, and the two quickly shuffled around their mom and up the stairs, hoping to avoid the rage their father had always taken the brunt of.

Amanda avoided Michaels eyes, scanning the room as she searched for something to say to him. When she didn’t speak up in time, Michael did.

“Fuck, Mandy,” he began quietly, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “we were doing so good.”

“Were we?” she demanded

Michael shook his head, “I guess not,” his voice broke again, and tears burned the back of his eyes, another “I guess not.” was all else he could manage.

Amanda grabbed the suitcases and pulled them out behind her, but for the first time that she did this, she wasn’t leaving Michael all alone in that big, would-be-empty, house. This time, he still had his kids, something he was beyond grateful about. Although he was still feeling mildly betrayed about the trick date his friend had tried to set up, he hoped that in the morning he would also have Trevor.

For the first time that night, Michael was calm. He let the feeling wash over him like waves against hot sand as he sat down in the little armchair near the couch with a glass of whiskey in hand, half listening to the mindless television playing quietly in front of him, half to the deep snores of his closest friend, his partner in crime.

[belliesandburps]

Quick-Fic:  Hot-n-Cold (Aidan x Isole Post-Stuffing Fic)

I’ve been busy with writing the interactive fic, patreon pieces as well as some of my remaining commissions.  And it’s been a good hot minute since I’ve written anything for my OC’s, so I thought I’d write a really short quickie featuring my kinky fire-n-ice duo, Aidan and Isole.  :P

“BRRREEEEEUUUUURRRRAAAAAAPH!!!!!” 

Isole's soft, ghostly white face grew several shades pinker upon watching his boyfriend slump back on the couch and belch heavily.

The boyfriend in question, Aidan, sighed contently and gave his taut, bloated belly a couple of hearty pats of satisfaction, each pat giving off this satisfied thumping sound, like slapping a big, ripe watermelon.  “Gruuh...fuck, I’m stuffed...” Aidan growled, running his hand up and down his bare swollen stomach.  It stuck out by a little over a foot.  His normally tight and concave abs had been incredibly thinned out, now barely visible over the very noticeably distended middle.

His bloated stomach emitted a deep gurgle.  Feeling another burp coming on, Aidan smacked his chest and threw his head back, letting loose another big, throaty burp that sent a small plume of fire spewing out of his mouth for almost three seconds.  Isole’s blush grew brighter at that crude display, especially the fiery part...

“Excuse you,” he teased in his youthful yet calming voice, before sliding over to Aidan nestling up against him.

Aidan blew smoke out of his mouth and right into Isole’s face, smirking a fang-filled, cocky smirk at his younger boyfriend, muttering, “Tch, y’know ya love it...”

Isole fanned the smoke away from his small nose and coughed slightly, blushing...a little more brazenly, and responded with, “Am I complaining?”

To emphasize his point, Isole placed his small, chilly palms directly over Aidan’s taut, burbling gut.  The young cryomancer slowly ran his right palm up and down that firm, watermelon-sized belly, listening as it burbled pleasantly with the sensation.  His hand reached the upper crest of Aidan’s distended stomach, then glided down to his tight underbelly, stroking its smooth surface from side to side.

Aidan shuddered at the feeling, moaning shamelessly as he slumped back and made his bloated stomach push out a little more.  “Ohhhhh gods...” Aidan groaned, smoke spewing from his maw as his boyfriend continued tending to his middle.  “Dude, yer hands are like magic sometimes, I swear to the fuckin’ sun gods...”

“So you’ve said,” Isole teased, patting Aidan’s belly and shuddering at how good each thump felt against his palm and how much better it sounded.

Isole leaned down a little, resting his head against Aidan’s bulging belly.  The intense warmth radiating from Aidan’s flesh contrasted Isole’s ice cold body, becoming this relaxing, almost inviting kind of warmth.  And the gurgling emanating from Aidan’s overstuffed stomach was music to Isole’s ears.  He could hear that powerful organ breaking down a meal large enough to more than comfortably feed a dozen or so people. 

The churning was so rich and intense that Isole could practically envision himself inside of Aidan’s belly.  It would be such a tight fit, hotter than the desert sun, and reeking of brimstone.  He could picture the fleshy yet slimy organ all around him, rippling as it churned heavily, pleased with its meal.

Isole wasn’t sure why his mind always went there, but it never failed to leave him shuddering in a pleased sort of way.  He lovingly traced his finger across the center of Aidan’s belly, circling across his shallow navel.  Aidan bit his lower lip and groaned with pleasure at the feeling.  His navel was always especially sensitive, and the feeling of that cool index finger sliding inside of his bellybutton and tracing around inside of it never failed to rile Aidan up.

“Fffffuck, that’s good...” Aidan growled, gripping at the couch as Isole played around with his navel.  That pleased growl intensified when Isole’s chilly lips pressed down against Aidan’s bellybutton with a loving kiss.

After pulling his finger out, Isole was leaning against Aidan’s lap at this point, using both hands to knead into Aidan’s taut stomach.  His hands groped that warm, bulging belly while his fingers dug into that drum tight flesh.

The kneading caused Aidan’s stomach to burble and churn heavily.

In response, Aidan threw his head back and released a deep, brassy belch.

“BRRRAAAAAAUUUUURRRRRAAAAAAAAAPH!!!!!!!!!”

A small cloud of smoke spewed out of Aidan’s mouth along with his stomach gases.  Isole subtly sniffed at the brimstone-scented eructation and blushed, pressing down into Aidan’s belly even harder...

“HOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUURRRR-UUUUUUUURRRLLLOOOOORRRPH!!!!!!!”

A massive, HEFTY-sounding belch rolled out of Aidan’s maw, causing more smoke to spew out from his throat as that deep burp blasted past his fang-filled maw.  The crass eruption hitched in Aidan’s throat halfway in before the rest of the smoke-laden gas poured out of him with a greater deal of rumble, thanks to the way Isole pushed his knuckles into Aidan’s belly mid-burp.

Aidan gasped when it ended and glared down at Isole with a growl.

“Tch, lil punk...”

“You have to admit, those probably DID feel good to get outta your tummy, wouldn’t you say?”  Isole asked with an innocent, albeit flustered sort of smile.  Just to emphasize his point, his palm pushed down against Aidan’s jam-packed gut firmly.

Aidan grimaced and brought a fist to his mouth, muffling a HUGE burp in his mouth, one which rumbled in his cheeks for a good few seconds and had Aidan squinting hard from the sheer volume of gas rolling up his throat all at once.  When it passed, he breezily blew a considerable amount of smoke past his lips.  Aidan huffed, then thumped his chest, letting loose a deep afterburp, then rolled his eyes.   “...Ugh, don’t fuckin’ say ‘tummy’, dude.  What are ya, six...?”

“Would a six year old do this?”  Isole asked with a sly smirk on his face before leaning down and slowly running his tongue across Aidan’s navel, licking his bellybutton firmly and shamelessly.

Aidan’s grumpy expression immediately shifted as he bit his lower lip and moaned.

“Ngh...that’s not fuckin’ fair, ya punk...”

Isole smacked his lips and grins a flirtatious sort of grin up at his boyfriend, drumming his fingers across Aidan’s tightly stuffed stomach, adding, “Is it my fault I know all your buttons?”  He tapped his index finger over Aidan’s bellybutton a few times to punctuate his point.

“I’mma pay ya back fer that, ya kinky lil fucker...”

“Don’t tease me with a good time,” Isole responded, eager for any kink-related retaliation...

[ladyshandioftheendless]

Shandi’s StarTerror Saga 12!

I knoooow I’m terrible with the constant cliffhangers! But they’re so good right?! Everything flies off the rails from here! >3

~Shandi

The trap has been baited, now to cast the lure.

MAKE ME FEEL AGAIN Part 12

“STARCHILD!!!”

Vinneketh startled everyone in the Chamber with his awakened shout. Demon held him close to quiet him down. “Hush, Treasure. What about StarChild? Did you see something?” 

“He is in danger!! We must help him!!” 

“We’re not going anywhere until you have fully recovered.” 

“Demon!!” 

“I will not risk your health in such a way.”

“Then go by yourself! I will join you when I am able. Please, Beloved. He needs you now.” 

Demon opened his mouth to protest but one look in his husband’s eyes stopped him. “Very well, Treasure. I will go. I owe those assassins for what they’ve done to you anyway. Now they’ve all but ensured my wrath. They will burn.” He kissed his husbands hand before disappearing in his flames. 

Back on Earth, collective concern was growing between Nikki, Heather and Eric. “Don’t you think he should’ve come back by now?” Eric asked, looking out his window again. “I do.” Heather agreed. “He knows how important it is that we not stay here very long. I don’t like this at all. Something’s wrong.” Nikki just sat in his seat with his head hanging low and his arms crossed. His leg began to shake from his growing anxiety. “Dammit..not Princess..” 

“Demon’s here!!” 

Eric ran off the bus to welcome him with Heather following. “It’s great to see you! How’s Vin? Is he alright? Are you here to help us? We think Paul’s in trouble!  He went to visit Ace and he hasn’t come back! You don’t thi--” Demon settled his hyperactive bandmate with a hand placed on his head. “Relax, little Fox. Yes, Vinneketh is fine. Yes, I’m here to help. And unfortunately yes, Paul is in trouble. Vinneketh sent me here because he had a vision.” Heather frowned. “Did he see anything that can help?” Demon shook his head. “He only told me that he is in danger, and that’s enough for me. We’ll have to figure out the rest on our own.” 

“Or maybe not.” 

Nikki stepped off the bus with an infuriated look on his face. He moved past the others to confront Slash, who was walking up to the bus casually with his hands in his pockets and a cigarette in his mouth. “You got a lot of fuckin’ balls just comin’ here like you haven’t done nothin’. What the fuck do you want?” 

“YOU!!” 

Demon grabbed Slash by his collar, his eyes burning with rage. “WHERE IS STARCHILD?! IF DON’T TELL ME I SWEAR TO THE GODS BELOW THAT I WILL MAKE YOUR SUFFER UNTIL YOUR DYING BREATH!!” Slash barely reacted, even with the brimstone smoke seeping from Demon’s mouth invading his nostrils. “Careful~” A strange noise made Nikki grab Demon’s shoulders and pull him back before a rattlesnake hidden in Slash’s jacket could sink its fangs into him. “If you’re gonna be rude than I’ll just be on my way.” Nikki scoffed. “Just tell us, asshole. Cause I’m pretty sure I couldn’t hold him back if he went for you again.” Slash handed them a white envelope sealed with gold wax. “Congrats. You’re all invited to a special party on Hanoi. And you..” he pointed to Nikki. “..and your Crüe buddies are the guests of honor. So take my advice and RSVP as soon as possible, cause your boyfriend’s in a bit of a fragile state..and the host has no tolerance for being stood up.” Demon snatched the envelope and opened it, finding a photo of StarChild’s terrified face solidified in stone. It quickly melted in his fiery grip. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HIM?!” Slash just held up his hands. “It’s not me you should be askin’. We’re just the hired guns. Our client’s got plans of his own now. Better get a move on~” He turned and walked away as casually as he walked up. Heather was just about to blow her top. The nerve of that guy!! If only she had her powers..she would’ve put a hell of a curse on him!! She turned and glared daggers at Nikki. “This has gone far enough. You’re going. You’re going to save him. And you’re going to make this right.” Demon raised an eyebrow. “Am I missing something?” 

“He and his friends are the ones the assassins are really after! You just got caught in the crossfire! And now they’re using poor StarChild as bait! There’s no doubt in my mind that their ‘client’ is Hanoi’s Prince. He’s gone crazy and he needs to be stopped. I think..I heard Red Lotus say something about the Sisterhood going to Hanoi before and helping them..” Demon nodded. “They did. But they were blocked off from returning by a barrier.” Heather sighed. “The Sisterhood’s magic is good..but Fae magic is far more powerful. We’ll need Sphynxia’s help. Demon why don’t you go with them? Eric can take me back to KISSteria so I can tell the Sisters what’s happening.” Demon set the envelope on fire and cast it aside. “I’d like to see them stop me.” Nikki slowly backed away. “I’ll..just go get the others..” Eric’s hand began to shake as he took Heather’s. “Please be careful. I dunno what Vin and I would do if we lost both of you..” Demon patted his head again. “Nobody is going to be lost. Not if I have anything to say about it. We’ll do our best to stall them until you bring help.” Heather smacked his shoulder. “Just make sure you can keep your temper in check until that time comes, Demon Man~” 

“I’ll try. That’s the best I can do.”

“Do it for Vin~” 

Demon watched as they disappeared in a flare of orange energy. The Crüe stepped out of the bus, Mick with his guitar, Nikki with his bass, Vince with his microphone and Tommy with his drumsticks tucked under his arm. “I assume you’re ready to go.” Vince nodded. “This shit’s been hangin’ over our heads long enough. It’s time to go end it.” With one last nod Demon transported them all to Hanoi.

M sat upon his throne, looking at his new StarChild statue with wicked glee. “Not to worry, dear Prince..your precious Anarkian will come for you..then perhaps I will force you to watch me obliterate him~ Ohhh..such sweet suffering~” With no small amount of effort, Nicholas managed to slip past his guards and leave the Palace in search of the new arrivals. 

“I’m going to save you, Michael..even if it kills me.” 

To be Continued!!

[italicwatches]

I Couldn’t Become a Hero, so I Reluctantly Decided to Get a Job - Episode 01

I regret nothing. …Well, I say that now. I’m not entirely sure if this show will be any good, but it’s one whose title has had me curious for a while. Will it be silly and fun, or will it, I don’t know, turn super rapey or something? You never really know when you go down this road. So join me, won’t you? it’s I Couldn’t Become a Hero, So I Reluctantly Decided to Get a Job, episode 01! Here we GO!

-We begin with fire and brimstone. A volcano erupting! And then, to a temple ruins! It’s a scene right out of an incredibly anime version of Jason and the Argonauts, as our armored hero fights against a batch of skeleton w…knights, only for a harpy to come swinging in! He’s saved by a woman…in…

-Okay it’s one of these.

-Because that wouldn’t even qualify as Sexy Samurai in a decade-old shitpost video. So our hero, Raul Chaser, is willing to rely onYUP THERE GOES HER ARMOR. So she’s like Darkness but without the joke that she’s into this kind of treatment. A small army of skeletal archers pour on the arrows…When lightning comes down from the skies, brought by their other companions! Fight, war, and reach the giant leading this army! Strike him down, and they pass the exam! The woman races in, sprints up the giant’s arm, rams her fucking sword into his EYE…

-And Raul backs her up with his RAUL SLASH, carving deep through…

-Hard cut to the light of day. The hero school has been shut down. Demon Lord got defeated(probably by some fucker from another world), sooooo they don’t need to keep training brave heroes. They’re all fucked. They’re fuuuuuucked.

-Episode 01: I Couldn’t Be a Hero, so I’m Working the Register

-Hard cut to the Leon Magic Shop, where Raul has to sell suburban couples on enchanted washing machines. Magically guaranteed to remove even the most stubborn stains! But they’re not interested.

-TITTIES.

-Meet a perky bubbly young lady, Nova, who does not realize how sexualized she is. I’m sorry. Anyways, Raul is in a bit of a bind, too, since he hasn’t gotten a raise and his credit card bill is coming up this week…When a nerd comes in looking for some vintage cassette tapes. You’re in luck, they have some…! And suddenly the store is mobbed by vintage audio enthusiasts here to buy out the entire stock. Then they’re gone as fast as they came…

-And you know what, I don’t think those tapes are super vintage. I just spotted totally-not-Kodak film behind the counter. I think this is just set in the 80s-90s equivalent of this world. Plus, after a hoodie-clad blonde comes in, the CRT television in the corner plays Conveniently Timed News about how the cassette maker I-ONE has gone out of business! They just couldn’t hold their own against cheaper, ‘good enough’ cassettes and equipment from the competition while still making a profit. It’s a legitimate tragedy whenever that happens.

-And the blonde is getting mad and wants them to get the manager right now…Which is when Nova runs off to handle inventory. Escape, Nova, escape while you can! So Raul is forced to do it…Which is when the blonde slams a resume down. And is here for an interview. When the blonde forgets the resume…And so Raul’s able to read it, and holy shit.

-Raul bursts into the interview room with the resume, because you cannot seriously be thinking of hiring the demon lord’s child, right boss? HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT?! You literally wrote it on your resume. W, Well, you’re supposed to tell the truth on those, aren’t you?! Anyways, busty lady boss has decided that Fino here will be joining the shop. It’ll be a good experience! Fino, Raul. Raul, Fino. Please get along.

-So soon Fino’s in the store, looking at all the stuff, and there’s some really cool things that humans have made. Like magicvision, and magic cassettes, and magic…You know what I’m just going to spoil it for you now. It’s 80s-90s level tech, made with magic. I’m not going to bother to specify anymore. It’s a fuckin’ TV, it’s cool that it works because of fairy dust or whatever but I’m calling it a TV. Anyways Fino never had a personal TV growing up in the Demon Castle, and is all oooooh and aaaah.

-Well, you know what else you didn’t have growing up in the Demon Castle? A broom. Get sweeping, rookie. …Yes sir! And then Convenient News comes back on to talk about the anniversary event for the demon lord’s defeat two years ago. Quick flashback, to how that day totally fucked Raul’s life. A young man, two steps away from a degree in a job that literally no longer existed overnight. His entire party was shattered. They’re stuck in dead-end jobs and with crushing college debt, and nothing to show for it except broken dreams and a bitter envy of those who actually benefitted from the changing order…

-…Damn. That’s…Damn.

-Eventually it’s later in the day, and Raul is continuing to struggle with getting Fino to, you know, work like a proper employee…Also shocking twist Fino has long lovely hair. And that’s when a rough, tough…Dirty old man comes in off his slick dragon-pulled hotrod. And he’s here to peek up Nova’s skirt and grope that ass. Fino immediately decides this shit has to be stopped…When the old man reveals he’s gonna be buying a lightbulb. One lightbulb. Every time. The perfect excuse. And now Fino is…Shall we say, confused. Are humans like dogs? Is butt stuff just part of the communication?

-Does Fino need to bend over? Fino stop bending over. FINO NO. FINO PUT YOUR BUTT AWAY. NOVA DON’T ENCOURAGE THIS.

-Lunch break, at last. Raul is able to sit down and have some food from the convenience store…A place with some old friends who worry about the dork, and look after each other.

-Back in the store, the boss is talking to her assistant manager, Viser, and trying to explain her disinterest in bringing in another company into the shop…When they spot Raul working with Fino at the register, over the security cameras. And cut down to the actual register, where Raul’s decided that the actual core of Fino’s problems is a lack of respect. Rethink everything. Back to zero. This job means they are lesser than the customer. Yeah it sucks. Deal with it.

-…Fino doesn’t know how to do that. Well try on Raul. Okay! …Fino you’re being demonic again. This isn’t a battle, you stupid dork. Are you a chuuni or just stupid?

-Fino is just trying to copy how Dad used to talk! Your dad was, literally, a demon king. THE demon king. There is, quite literally, no worse example you could mimic for this lesson! …You know what, start with the manual. But first, come on, to the repair room. They also do repair work.

-Oooh, what’s that? It’s a toaster oven. And that?! A humidifier. And…And Fino touches the humidifier, and causes a surge of water, electricity and magical energy that knocks the poor idiot into the far wall! Raul’s stuck carrying Fino into the break room to figure out a plan that doesn’t involve calling a doctor and getting into trouble, and oh, great, a note from literally everyone else who works today listing their reasons they’re not here right now. Awesome. Just awesome.

-Right, first step, get these ruined clothes off of Fino. …Fino was not wearing anything under that hoodie. And that’s how a pair of big, bountiful, ladylike breasts come wobbling out.

-And that’s when Fino wakes up.

-So.

-This isn’t great for either party. And both of them are having a freakout, until the actual events that happened get all laid out. …Please put some fresh clothes on, Fino.

-And eventually, it’s the tail end of Fino’s first day, and she gets to have a uniform! Now sweep the walkway. By hand. With this broom. Welcome to working life, kid. When a sweet old lady passes by praising her hard work, and Fino thanks her, and the kid might just do okay in this world. Maybe.

-Night comes, and Raul stops at the convenience store for dinner, having a brief chat…But as he walks by the shop on his way home, the lights are on?

-Because Fino is in the back, washing down by hand in the sink?! What are you DOING?! She’s got no house, so this is her house now. …That’s not…That isn’t…You can’t just…Do you have any idea how terrible dish soap is for hair and skin? I’d question focusing on that angle over all the other things Fino’s done wrong here, but at the same time, I mean, there comes a point where you just have to find the smallest bite of the elephant.

-And as Raul helps her dry and generally make herself presentable, they end up talking about their own pasts. Raul, who came from a tiny village only to see all the great marvels of modernity in the city, and Fino who lived an even less modern life in the castle…Despite everything, there is a connection of friendship there, and Fino’s starting to learn human society. She might just do okay here yet.

-Credits!

-Aftercredits! Fino touches the turbo button on the hair dryer and…Uh…It makes a biiiiig boom. She has a scary amount of magic in a world that runs on the stuff.

Hmmmm. Well, it’s not so bad that I’m gonna drop it, but man, the fan service in this one is dense…And a lot of it is pure camera-work, too, not actions actually willingly undertaken by characters. It’s honestly a shame. There’s a lot of interesting conceptual meat in this. It really didn’t need big bouncing tits and panty shots everywhere to be a good show.

Oh well. Sometimes I watch super amazing stuff and my job is just to show that amazingness to you. Sometimes, I watch not-so-great stuff and my job is to separate off the good stuff and bring it together into a better piece. If this one’s more the latter, that’s fine. We’ll just have to get a better vibe on it next time, in episode TWO of I Couldn’t … Job! Wait for it!

[survivingthejungle]

in honor of this recent dope ass eclipse here’s a couple words for my favorite vampire biker gang.

__________________________________

It was common knowledge amongst the residents of Santa Carla, California that being alone at nighttime was particularly hazardous to one’s life. When the sun went down, bad things happened. But what those residents didn’t know was that bad things were bound to happen whenever the moon and her friends came out to play.

All those residents, of course, except for the local witches. Granted there were only two- you and your mother- but two was enought for one town. Especially one that had enough supernatural activity to begin with.

Those rebellious teenage motorcycle fanatics, who seemed like they could pose a much bigger threat than breaking in windows and stealing snacks from the local 7/11 if you stared at them long enough. The very few who knew, or at least had an idea of what they were, kept their mouths shut, if only to protect their own wellbeing. What they were. Those half human, half parasite hybrids who preserved themselves by taking the lives of others, those supernatural, otherworldly beings who only came out in the dark. Those vampires.

What the residents of Santa Carla were unaware of was that, contrary to popular belief, could go outside into the sunlight without bursting into flames, never to be seen again. No, unbeknownst to most, these beings would forever be able to go outside, regardless of whether the sun was out or not, so long as the moon could block it. For just a few short hours, so long as some part of the sun was obscured by the moon, vampires were free to roam about wherever they liked. The moon, after all, is where they got their power from.

Little did these vampires know, however, that witches’ power comes from the moon as well. And with this eclipse coinciding with your 17th birthday, you’d finally receive your supernatural powers to help you keep their threat at bay. All your life you’d been successful doing herbal magic, natural magic; the kind that you could sustain through real, tangible, physical objects. On every witch’s 17th birthday, however, she received her supernatural powers as well. Getting them on an eclipse granted something extra special for her, however. When her power comes from the moon and the sun overlapping, she- you- not only has control of her elements during the daytime and night time, but also reigns superior over any other supernatural in her realm. Those vampires were in your realm. Whether they knew it or not, you were officially in charge of them.

For you, this meant that you had the ability to control them- you could freeze them in midair for all you wanted, you were basically telekinetic. That didn’t really matter to you, though. All you cared about today was making sure you did everything within your power to stop anyone from being exsanguinated by the rebellious undead.

__________________

The slightest shadow fell over Santa Carla when the lost boys opened their eyes and left their subterranean pile of ruins.

“Damn,” Paul said, smiling, “Been a while since any of us got some sun. This what two P.M. looks like around here?”

A car, your car, pulled to a stop overlooking Hudson’s Bluff. You planned on getting out as soon as you parked, but you were a little too busy dancing to Maroon 5, so you waited until the song finished before you actually got out of your car. The vamps were relaxing by their bikes, staring at you, slightly dumbstruck and at a loss for words. Your 5'6 self walked straight up to them, lanyard hanging on your neck, sunglasses colorful and reflective. “Listen. Here’s the deal,” you started. Why waste any time with politeness dealing with serial killers? “I know what you are. And you know what you are. Let’s not pretend to be clueless, ‘kay?”

David was at a loss for words, but wouldn’t reflect that in his facial expressions or the way he carried himself to stand toe to toe with you, staring down at you menacingly. Or at least trying to. You weren’t scared of him, you had no reason to be, you were in charge of him! “And just what,” he smirked condescendingly, “exactly, are we, kiddo?”

“Give it a rest, David. You and I, and Paul, and Marko, and Dwayne, know what you all are. But let’s cut to the chase.” You sidestepped him, giving him a moment to let the shock register on his face before he turned to you again. “You no longer have the freedom to run around completely unsupervised killing anybody you feel like. I’m assuming you have yet to realize I’m a witch?”

Paul, of course, was having a field day with this. He didn’t like your vibe at first, but you were cute, and assertive. And you got David to lose his cool within the first 2 minutes of meeting him. That deserved a certain amount of respect, in his book. He wanted to play along. “And what does that mean, little miss?” he asked you.

“It means, and I’m sure David remembers this, that as a witch who’s seventeenth birthday is during a total solar eclipse, in the simplest of terms; I’m officially in charge of you punks. What I say goes. and I say no more killing. There are plenty of other ways to survive.”

“And what are you gonna do if we don’t listen to you?” Dwaye tried. “We get enough babysitting from Max as it is.”

“Maybe I didn’t clarify this, but… I said I was in charge of you. I meant all of you. Like… All the vampires around here. All five of you.” They circled you now, like a flock of vultures.

“What if do we keep feeding on people?” Marko asked you, twirling a strand of your hair in his hand. It was relaxing as hell, and a damn good distraction technique.

“Try me and find out, prettyboy.” You broke the circle and headed back to your car.

As you walked away, David called out, “We gonna be seein’ you around much?”

“Don’t have much of a choice! It’s my JOB to ‘be seein’ you around’ now!”

“Why aren’t we goin’ for her?” Dwayne asked, “She knows too much!”

“Relax, she’s not gonna do anything. Witches hate blowing their cover.”

“I like her,” Paul shrugged.

David rolled his eyes. “Keep it in your pants.”

_______________________

“Tadpoles? You in?” You called into the boarkwalk comic shop. The Frogs were notorious for preaching fire-and-brimstone in regards to the undead, and if you wanted to maintain any sort of peace between the magical, undead, and mortal, you’d have to talk it out with them. You headed to the back, and found the two brothers alongside some blonde kid.

“Hey, beat it, lady,” The one wearing a ridiculous red bandana around his head told you, once he turned around and realized someone was standing there. You figured that one was Edgar. “We’re closed,”

You scoffed. “Ha. Listen, I don’t know what you’re up to right now, but if it involves messing with the vamps who live down in that cave, you better cancel your plans. They’re not gonna be a problem anymore.”

“How do you know about vampires, girl?” the taller, tanner one asked. Had to be Alan.

Rather than respond to his borderline sexist attitude, you just flicked your wrist and made a shelf full of comic books fall to the floor while maintaining eye contact. “It’s kind of my job, punk. I’m serious. If you start some unnecessary beef with my guys, we aren’t gonna get along to well. You mind you business, we mind ours. Deal?” You held your hand out.

The blonde one spoke up. You hadn’t heard of him yet. “Well uh… I don’t think that’s gonna work out too well. See, these vampire dudes, they kinda turned my brother and his girlfriend into halves, and, well… the only way to turn them back is to kill them. So… We kinda have to kill them.”

You immediately cracked up. “'The only way?’ Kid, really? Who told you the only way to turn back a half is to kill some vampires?”

“Not just any vampire. The HEAD vampire,” said Edgar.“

“Honey… No. You are so, unbelievably, misinformed. There are plenty of ways to turn back a half. Good thing you found an ACTUAL professional before you did something you’d regret. Where’s your brother and his girlfriend right now?”

“Uhhh… back at my house, why?���

“Come on. Let’s go pick ‘em up and we can get this whole deal sorted out right now.”

______________________

Back at your home, the Frogs, the blonde one, Sam, his brother, Michael, and Michael’s girlfriend, Star, all sat in a circle at the table in your greenhouse. It took about 20 minutes, but you finally finished mixing a concoction of herbs, liquids, and spells before pouring two glasses and placing them in front of the halves. “Drink up. It’ll be easier if you close your eyes and hold your breath.”

Michael grimaced. “Are you sure this will work?”

“Tell me if you can still fly and grow fangs afterwards, let’s find out.”

_____________________

“Hey David, we aren’t, uh, actually lettin’ that girl tell is what to do, are we?” Marko asked.

“'Course not. Four of us against one little witch? She wouldn’t stand a chance,” he responded smugly.

“I sure hope you’re not talking about me!” You spoke up from behind the 4 of them. Paul immediately smiled upon seeing you; he thought you were just a trip. If they were all being honest with themselves, they all liked you to some extent. Dwayne admired your dedication to protecting others, David liked how you weren’t afraid to speak up to them, and Marko liked how you just seemed to have a llittle quirk about you. Paul, for the most part, just thought you were pretty, but he also appreciated that you seemed to have a sense of humor and you looked like the kind of girl who would be fun at parties. “I’ve got nothing against you all, really, but I’m being completely deadass when I say that if you start fuckin’ shit up around here, you’re gonna regret it.”

“Chill out, girl!” Paul told you, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “It’s in our nature. Can’t argue with nature.”

“Watch me.” You slipped under his arm to get out of his grasp.

_____________________

No more than 5 minutes later, the sun was totally eclipsed by the moon, and onlookers stood staring up on a packed beach, completely oblivious to their surroundings. The boys picked off some passed out drunk and left the scene so quickly, no one noticed they were there in the first place. They hurried back to the cave, not even entertaining the possibility that you knew what was going on or you would try to stop them, but when they found themselves frozen in place, feeling as if they were being crushed under tons and tons of pressure, they were unpleasantly surprised. "What the fuck have I been telling you all day? Seriously, I was hoping we could get along but, if y'all keep doing shit like this, I’ll just get rid of you right now.”

You appeared from around a corner at the entrance of a cave, your arm outstretched towards them, making a claw shape with your hand as to hold them in place. You sent the passed out drunk guy up to the top of the cliff with your other arm. “Jesus, girl, let us go! This don’t feel too nice!” groaned Paul.

You refused. “This is your last warning. Get a blood bag supply or something, go vegetarian, but no more killing people. You’re too grown to be doing childish shit like that. Do we have a deal?”

They agreed, and you finally released them. They rolled their necks and arms, trying to losen up again. David looked absolutely enraged, and his line of sight was focused directly on you. “Don’t ever do that again.”

You shrugged. “Don’t give me a reason to then, buddy.” The moon was beginning to move out of the suns way now, their time was running out. “Alright, I gotta babysit now, but stay outta trouble. I’ll be back around later tonight, I’m outtie! See ya!”

They boys reentered their cave. “I’m gonna kill her,” growled David.

“I’m gonna marry her,” mused Paul.

___________________

I’m way too into this it’s going on wattpad i’ve made up my mind I have so much more i wanna say but i’ve been writing this for days, i’m back in thr flow, i go back to school on tuesday and i’’ve been procrastinating on all my homework but…… at least I wrote for yall

also im gonna go ahead and pretend that time periods don't exist because if i want to write about jammin to maroon 5 during a total solar eclipse in the 80s u can bet ur ass im gonna

[cant-icle]

very lazy kinkmeme fill

prompt: Ryuji/Ann cuddling. “ Nothing sexual. Can Ryuji be large little spoon? These two deserve all the happiness”

i agree, they do deserve all the happiness.

She’s his second visitor in the hospital.

They’ve grown apart over the years, time transforming them from rambunctious kids into sullen teenagers, with history and memories and shitty adults the only thing they still share. He’s heard the rumors about her and Kamoshida; he’s sure she’s heard the rumors about him by now as well, with the way the Shujin rumor mill grinds.

He’d really thought he could take anything Kamoshitty could throw at him.

The agony radiating from his leg tells him over and over how wrong he was.

“Highly aggravated stress fracture,” the doctor had said, flipping through his fancy-ass medical charts, not like Ryuji’d been paying any attention at that point. “Possible ACL tear. You’re looking at surgery, and at least two weeks of bed rest. After that…”

After that wouldn’t matter. Bed rest, recovery time, none of that shit matters, his leg is fucked. All that matters is his mom sitting by his bedside holding his hand, that worried furrow he hates between her brow, talking to the doctor in hushed tones. When he asks her to leave the room with him she hesitates, tries to meet Ryuji’s eyes.

He can’t let her. He stares at the gross gray wall on the other side of the gross gray hospital room, and squeezes his eyes shut when she kisses his forehead.

It’s not like he expected a ton of people to come see him, but he’d thought at least one of the track team’d show up, but no. Ann is the first, aside from his mom, and she shows up two days later when he’s already settled home, aching and furious and bored out of his skull.

She still knows where the spare key is kept. She lets herself in bold as you please, calls out “Hey, Ryuji! I’m not breaking into your house, I promise!” light and airy. Ryuji’s bedroom is tucked back away from the front of the apartment; he doesn’t catch a glimpse of her till she walks into the room with a bouquet of flowers and a plastic bag that smells like it’s full of takeout.

“The hell are you doin’ here?” he asks, pain and unfamiliarity making him ruder than he should be. “Do you just go barging into people’s houses on the regular?”

“Just yours,” she says, shoving a stack of manga off of Ryuji’s dresser to make room for the bag full of food. He can smell it from the bed; his mouth waters. Mom’d left him snacks and stuff, but he’d eaten ‘em hours ago, and she’s not due back till late. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner, no one on the track team wanted to say what happened.”

“What, that I ran so hard my effin’ leg broke?”

“No.” It’s a quiet, grim word, and her eyes are downcast when she turns to face him. “About Kamoshida.”

“Don’t say his fuckin’ name here,” Ryuji snaps, and god what he wouldn’t give to roll over, to face away from that pity-filled gaze, but if he so much as rocks wrong his leg flares up like a fireball. He’s stuck here, stuck in this stupid bed in this stupid house in this stupid town and he’s never gonna run again—

“Sorry.” There’s footsteps, and then Ann sets a paper plate full of curry onto his lap. He struggles to his elbows; she sticks a pillow behind his back before he can reach for it himself. “I hope this is okay. I’d’ve brought ramen, but that’s not really the best thing to eat in bed.”

“And curry is?” Ryuji mutters.

“Shut up, it’s better than ramen. Better for you, too. You’re welcome,” she says pointedly. “I came all this way—“

“No one asked you to.”

“Do you want me to take my curry and go, Ryuji?” Ann snaps, full of fire and brimstone. Ryuji jerks his head up; that’s a tone he remembers from his childhood, when they’d play pirates and robbers on the playground. That’s a tone he’d thought faded long ago, smothered by cruel comments and over-long looks from passers-by. “Because I will.”

“Don’t,” he sighs, and picks up the plastic fork she’d set beside him. “Um. Thanks.”

They eat in silence. When Ryuji is done Ann offers him seconds; he declines, and she takes his plate out to the garbage for him.

In her absence, the silence is overwhelmingly pointed.

No one came. Not one of them. What sort of effin’ friends are they?! Were they all that afraid of Kamoshida?! He’d thought—

He’d –

He doesn’t hear Ann step back into the room, doesn’t see her with the heels of his hands pressed into his eyes, trying to hold back the tears threatening to escape. What a fucking mess he is. No wonder no one came.

He can’t bring himself to shrug away the hand that falls onto his shoulder.

“Boys are so stupid,” Ann sighs, squeezing his shoulder once. “Shove over.”

“Shove—what?” He drops his hands to blink up at her, baffled.

“You heard me.” She walks around the edge of the bed to get to his other side. “It’s the left leg, right? If I sit on the right it won’t hurt you?”

“Uh,” Ryuji says dumbly, but it doesn’t matter because she’s already climbing into his bed. “What, um. What are you doing.”

It’s a dumb question. She’s snuggling up behind him, over the blankets. Her knee nudges his uninjured one; when he lifts it she shoves her own underneath. If she was smaller, it’d be like she was a backpack, but instead it’s just…awkward.

Awkward, but weirdly comfortable.

“Call it payback for when I lent you money at the aquarium,” she suggests, settling down more firmly behind him. She’s overly careful not to jostle his leg, and he wipes his eyes roughly with the heel of his palm. “Or compound interest, whatever.”

“You’re chargin’ me for climbin’ into bed with me?” he asks thickly, swallowing around the gross lump of tears in his throat. “That’s bullshit—“

“Shut up,” she says kindly, and wraps her arm around his waist over the blankets. “Where’s your remote?”

Wordlessly, he grabs it off the nightstand and turns on the tv at the foot of the bed.

They used to do this as middle schoolers, before the stigma of cooties, before boys vs girls, before Ryuji dyed his hair and Ann grew up and out. They’d come over to Ryuji’s apartment and curl up together on the couch to watch after school cartoons. Ann wanted to avoid the sterility and the loneliness of living with caretakers as her parents circled the globe; Ryuji just wanted someone to watch cartoons with.

She sighs into his neck as the familiar strains of the Digimon opening fill the room. “Do you want something to drink?”

He shrugs, just enough to move her head without dislodging her.

“Too bad. I’m comfy.” She re-settles her chin on his shoulder, and he uses the corner of the sheet to wipe his eyes surreptitiously.

“This is weird,” he says softly. “Why’re you—“

“It’s only weird if you make it weird.” Her tone is snappish, but her voice is soft. “Just…pretend it’s like it was a couple years ago.”

“We’re way too big to pretend.”

“Are you calling me fat, Ryuji?!”

“N-no! I just—augh, girls are so weird! You come into my house, you bring me curry, you crawl into bed with me—“

“You’re making it weird! I told you not to make it weird!”

“It was already weird without me making it weird!”

“Can you just accept that someone cares about you for once, you idiot?” Her arm tightens, like she wants to thump him. He remembers the punches she used to dispense on the playground in middle school and flinches a bit. “It’s not weird.”

“You’re weird,” he mutters, face hot.

“No, you.” She sighs. “It’s been a long time since we were this close.”

“Yeah. It’s—“

“Don’t. It’s not.”

“Nice.”

“Oh. That, yeah. It is nice.”

“Yeah.” He swallows. “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” she repeats. “It’s fine.”

They fall silent, and watch cartoons till shadows fill the room, and though Ryuji’s leg throbs with the beat of his heart, he’s weirdly, absurdly content.

[itsclydebitches]

Preacher Summer Secret Santa Gift: A Three Flower Bouquet

Title: A Three Flower Bouquet 

Summary: Jesse's said before that their lives resemble the start of a bad joke: an ex-preacher, a rich wedding planner, and a foul-mouthed bum all walk into a flower shop...

Fandom: Preacher

Words: 4,574

Warnings: None (except maybe cursing, but if that bothered you you wouldn’t be watching this show lol) 

Pairings: Jesse/Cass/Tulip

Where to Read it: Below the cut or on AO3 (AO3 recommended for formatting)

A/N: Hello, @homelygrantaire!! I come bearing a gift! Just so you know I had a blast writing an OT3 flower shop AU, so I really hope you enjoy this little present. Happy Summer Secret Santa! 

A Three Flower Bouquet 

Week One

Jesse had once read in National Geographic that there were only six degrees of separation between him and every other person on Earth. A friend's colleague's niece's kindergarten buddy grew up to be the wife of the barista who once served the President a cappuccino, that sort of deal. He'd never put much stock in that kind of science-y nonsense, though it might go a long way towards explaining how the hell the three of them kept ending up in here together.

A former preacher, a bum, and a renowned wedding planner all walk into a flower shop...

"We're the beginning of a bad joke," Jesse muttered, hefting his watering can like a pistol. He aimed it at Tulip's head. "What can I do you two for?"

"I need BIG flowers," Cass said promptly at the same time that Tulip went, "The Montoya order." They turned to glare at one another. Jesse just shook his head.

And so the day began.

***

The first time Tulip walked into his shop she was all figurative fire and brimstone—except for the literal fire at the end of her cigarette. She'd commanded the small space with all the ferocity of an army general, laying out a series of rare and rather large orders that she'd need from him within the coming months. At no point did she give her name—which, Jesse would come to learn later, was because she assumed everyone should already knew it—and paid him no heed when Jesse insisted that this was too large a job for his small, out of the way establishment.

She needed tulips, dammit, and she needed them now.

Jesse had been wrist deep in soil at the time and he’d felt is oozing between his fingers, this woman already grating on his nerves, spine, and driving a steak straight through to the back of his skull. He had to take a deep breath and deliberately release his fists, lest he crush the fragile roots just a hairsbreadth below. Jesse turned with a smile.

"I've got some," he said, probably sounding less amiable and more like he was constipated. While passing a kidney stone. God he hated these richie-rich types. "I've also got a contact an hour out who can make up the rest, but it'll take a bit. Really, ma'am, you're better off hitting a larger store."

The look she'd turned on his was pure in its intensity. Jesse's shop was filled with a color and life that didn't belong in Annville's desert, but this woman didn't belong in his shop, not with that sharp tailored suit and three-inch heels. She'd torn the sunglasses from her face and for the first time Jesse got a look at searing black eyes.

"I'm Annville born and bred," she drawled. "I'm loyal."

Jesse couldn't help punctuating her words with a disbelieving laugh. "You're Annville?"

"Fuck yes I am, you got a problem with that?" And one hand curled into a waiting fist, actually rearing back in preparation.

Oh damn. She was Annville. Alright.

Jesse had raised his muddied hands in surrender and went behind the counter to clean up, getting the order forms ready as she prattled on about her work as a wedding planner, her name in the magazines, how the flowers had best be fresh despite the climate because the Livington's were not an easygoing couple.

Jesse weathered her prattling about wanting whites, or maybe pinks, no, wait, maybe something two-toned, and each time she changed her mind it was another scratch out with the pen. By the time he actually got to flip the order around for her to sign it Jesse had determined that small town pride and stunning good looks didn't make up for this kind of nonsense.

Except then she signed Tulip O'hare and suddenly Jesse's day was fantastic.

"You're a Tulip," he said slowly, "in need of tulips..." Jesse looked up with a stunning grin and Tulip, bless her, just rolled her eyes instead of decking him good.

"Yeah, like I've never heard that one before." She threw his pen back on the counter. "I'll be here next Thursday. You'd best have my flowers."

"You doubt me?"

"Oh good god yes."

He'd laughed because yeah, their 'good god' had doubted him too and Jesse had eventually decided that growing things was better than sticking a dead, white collar on his neck every morning. He'd shed his chain like some kind of dog, mangy and still a little bit feral. But now Jesse had bright colors, heady scents, and the picture of someone like Tulip O'hare just begging that he come through for her. Jesse let his eyes follow the sharp lines of her bodyand thought that he could get used to this kind of clientele.

"Thursday then," he agreed. "It's a date."

"It's definitely not."

Tulip had put her cigarette out in his potted iris and honestly? If it had been anyone else Jesse would have had them leaving his store in pieces.

But she was something entirely.

***

Cass was something else too. Holy shit.

Jesse rubbed at his forehead, unconcerned that he was smearing soil over his skin. What had begun as a headache had blossomed (ha) into a migraine of epic proportions, all due to the skinny little twerp half sitting on his counter. Cass had come in for the first time exactly 69 minutes after Tulip left—a fact Jesse only knew because he was that obsessed with when he could close shop—and if that number didn't encompass the man's entire being, Jesse didn't know what would.

He'd known Cass for a handful of seconds. It was one handful too much.

"Back up," Jesse said. He sighed. "You want a cactus?"

"Yep."

"But mine are too pretty?"

Jesse gestured to the small collection of cacti sitting over by the windowsill, most of them in teeny-tiny pots that people found cute and not too intimidating to take care of. They still weren't overly popular though. People could see dry, prickly brush on their way to work everyday, or outside their bedroom window, free for the taking. No, they came to Jesse for the lush and the colorful, things he either had to import or that he grew himself, so slow that sometimes it was hard to part with them. No one in Annville wanted to buy a freaking cactus.

Except this asshole.

"Look at 'em!" Cass said. His voice held enough indignation that Jesse did look again, half expecting the view to change. "They're stupidly pretty. All fuckin' green an'... an' small." Cass pushed his hands palm to palm to demonstrate their smallness, looking pretty angry about it.

Jesse just stared. "...thank you?"

"It won't do. How they hell am I supposed to give Laura somethin' like that? She'll think I actually like her." Cass shook his head despairingly. "The fuck am I supposed to do now?"

That day had felt like something straight out of the Twilight Zone. Jesse was a small town boy with a small town business and he'd gotten used to his routine over the years. That routine sure as hell didn't include a stranger than normal customer, let alone two back-to-back... and yet, let it never be said that Jesse Custer couldn't roll with the punches.

"One sec," he said.

Jesse's backroom was a mess of tools, soil, and vegetation. On his bench was a pot of very dead petunias, the poor things all shriveled and brown. It wasn't his fault the damn things were finicky in this weather and honestly Jesse wasn't bemoaning the loss of those pink flowers, not when they were that cheap to come by. The plan had been to take back the pot and move on. Now Jesse snagged the whole thing, a few dead leaves trailing behind him.

He set the pot down in front of Cass. "This Laura of yours... she the one down at the auto-shop?"

"Yeah! One in the same."

"That woman's a piece of work."

"You're telling me."

"So how about giving her this?"

It was surreal to be presenting that run-down plant like it was something actually worth selling, but sure enough Cass' eyes lit up at the prospect. In that moment Jesse saw the whole situation clearly, how a man like Cass might think that breaking things off with a shitty gift—rather than just some good, old fashioned honesty—might be the way to go. Decked out in a whole collection of ratty clothes, Cass looked like the kind of creative asshole you only ran into once in a blue moon. He wore at least three torn shirts that as a whole nearly succeeded in covering his chest. His jeans were colored over in marker, like a freaking middle schooler's, and that was definitely weed doodled down on his left knee. The only reason Jesse knew his name was because Cass had a "Hello! My name is ____" sticker plastered on his stomach and he could only guess where he'd picked that up. Maybe one of the church's monthly events. It would fit. Jesse was pretty sure the guy was homeless. He kinda smelled homeless.

"I had my heart set on a cactus," Cass sighed. "But I guess a dead thing is better than just a looks-dead thing. Here," he rummaged in his jeans and pulled out three super wrinkled dollars, jellybeans, and a nearly empty packet of Camels. "Does this cover the shit you weren't even planning to sell?"

Jesse raised an eyebrow as he slid the offering across the counter. He left the jellybeans. "How were you gonna pay me if you wanted the cactus?"

"Duh. Was gonna pay you with a kiss. Gotta move on sometime, don’t I?"

Cass winked, grabbed his dead plant, and sauntered out the door with what he probably thought was a seductive strut. Despite the absurdity, Jesse did find himself staring at Cass' ass.

"Aw hell," he said.

***

Week Five

In the two years since he'd chucked the collar, beat up a few old contacts, collected their funds, and started up his shop, Jesse hadn't seen anyone of particular interest come through the door. Emily often came in on the church's behalf, asking for whatever was fresh and cheap to put up front. Jesse honestly didn't know if she did that because they really didn't have the funds, or because she couldn't stand to look at him long enough to actually choose something herself. Probably both. She'd taking his defrocking worse than most.

Others mostly picked up flowers on their way to and from service. For their windowsills. Their gardens. Local weddings, funerals, stupid boys looking to make up with their girls (of which Cass was in the obvious minority). Jesse had resigned himself to a life of flower mediocrity until those two assholes had plowed through at sixty miles an hour.

It wouldn't have been so bad if they didn't keep showing up together.

"I thought you ran a clean establishment, Jesse."

Tulip said it with all the rancor he'd come to expect of her, looking none too subtly at Cass’ grimy attire. A month had passed since she'd grudgingly complimented the tulips he'd provided and in that time she'd no more warmed to Cass than she had to dressing down. Today was a blue, pleated skirt; bright yellow top; killer heels and jewelry fine enough that it could probably feed Jesse for the rest of his miserable life.

Tulip kept a healthy distance between her fine clothes and Cass' scruffy self.

"It's a flower shop," he said. "These things grow in dirt." Cass shook a nearby plant for emphasis. "Manure, luv. Or does your fancy little life not cover some literal day-to-day shit? If you do go is it on a porcelain throne?"

Jesse slowly and carefully leaned his head into his palm. It wouldn't do for Tulip to see him laughing.

He had to hand it to her though, she was a master of manipulation. Tulip kept scrolling through her iPhone, occasionally holding up some pic or another against one of Jesse's flowers, typing out some notes, took a pic of her own... it was only after three long, agonizing minutes had passed that she looked up and said blandly, "Sorry. Did you say something?"

"Jesus fuckin' christ."

"Better question." Jesse raised his hand like a schoolboy. "Are you two assholes actually going to buy something?"

"I like your orchids," Tulip said, for the first time actually taking her eyes off Cass. "But I think they're a little classy for the Taitts. They're humble folk, you know? They need something bright with those white table cloths, just nothing that's going to distract from Laura's dress—it's not a very nice dress, can't afford anything more eye-catching. I do worry about the bridesmaids upstaging her—so maybe those sunflowers. Yeah, over there..." She completely missed Cass 'yapping' with his hand behind her back.

"I've only got enough for five vases," Jesse warned.

"That's fine. Humble, like I said. They've only got enough people for five tables anyway."

As Tulip rummaged for her credit card Cass slipped to the floor (he'd been sitting on the table with the lilacs, a smudge of pale brown amongst all the purple) and sauntered up behind Tulip. Like a kid faced with a dog, too stupid to know he'd get bit, Cass curved his hands around her waist and leaned into Tulip's back. He pressed briefly there before peeking out over her shoulder.

Except miracle of fucking miracles, the pretty doggie didn't bite.

"Uh," Jesse said.

"You better be cleaner than you look," Tulip muttered, still shifting through her purse. Cass waved his arms in demonstration and wow. He was clean. Relatively, at least. Jesse was still trying to re-boot his brain when Tulip said, "Ah!"

"No, no." Cass pushed her wallet back down. "This is on me, luv."

Tulip scoffed. "You can pay for five bouquets?"

"Well, not in the traditional sense, but Jesse and I have got a tab going, don't we?"

They most certainly did not. Cass' 'tab,' established after his first dead-plant purchase, consisted of promises he never kept and a pair of lethal puppy-dog eyes he wielded with precision. Over the last few weeks Jesse had given the man not perfect, but still serviceable flowers in exchange for all sorts of stupid trinkets and words. He liked to think that he gave Cass lilies and irises because he felt bad for the freeloader. It probably had more to do with Cass' obscenely pouty lips.

He was pouting right now, clearly begging Jesse to help a guy out. His arm moved numbly and somehow (dammit) Jesse ended up signing over the month's largest order for free.

"Enjoy," he said automatically, still staring at Cass' hand wrapped just under Tulip's breast. There were 'thank you's and sly glances and when they finally left the shop, Jesse followed them like the scoundrel he was. An apron, muck boots, and pollen dusted t-shirt sort of ruined his look though.

Still, Jesse could move silent when he needed to and what he found in his spying were his two favorite customers hoofing it to Tulip's Fiat 124 Spider, a car so fucking immaculate that it had no place on Annville's dusty streets. It seemed a shame then for the two of them to immediately start defiling it, both literally and figuratively: Tulip hiking Cass up onto the hood of the car, straddling him as he kept them balanced, the kiss that sent flecks of spit down to sizzle on the paint job, Cass' muddied boots leaving streaks on the tire. It wasn't any voyeuristic guilt that finally turned Jesse away. Just the disappointment that neither of those figures were him.

Of course, all that changed when Cass came back twenty minutes later.

"Crush my sunflowers in your enthusiasm?" Jesse muttered, forgetting for a moment that good, respectable businessmen didn't follow their customers out of doors and watch them going at it like bunnies on a sheet of hot metal. He ducked his head over seed packets and thus missed Cass turning the little sign from 'open' to 'closed.'

In fact, Jesse determined not to notice Cass at all until he was making himself at home between his legs.

Cass dropped to his knees and looked up with a rakish grin. If there was a god in this world maybe he wasn't so disappointed in Jesse's career change after all.

"Told you I'd pay you back," Cass said. He pinched a mouthful of jeans between his teeth and tugged, running hands up under apron and shirt. "Just didn't say how, now did? Think this'll clear up my tab?"

The answer Jesse gave was tangled as a vine because by then Cass was pulling down the zipper, palming the wet spot on Jesse's jeans, breathing deep like he enjoyed the scent of both of them together. Jesse gave up on words entirely and when he looked up there was Tulip standing just outside the storefront, watching them with a cigarette between her lips. There was a sunflower in her hair. She caught Jesse's eye and winked.

"Fuck you both," Jesse muttered, tugging hard at Cass’ hair.

He pulled off only for a moment. “Pretty sure that’s the point, eh?”

***

Week 13

So. Those two showing up at the same time—probably not a coincidence after all.

"Do you even like each other?" Jesse asked one Saturday morning, re-potting a Peperomia. "Do you like me? I'm honestly curious."

"You're serviceable," Tulip said as Cass licked his finger and made a sizzling sound. Right. Jesse didn't know why he bothered. It wasn't like any of them were built for straight answers, the kind of lovey-dovey declarations you got in the movies and on TV. Besides, didn't actions speak louder than words and all that shit?

If they did, their actions told Jesse that they were both complete and utter assholes. Also that they had nowhere better to go.

"This place is awful on my allergies," Tulip moaned, pulling a Kleenex from her purse. "And I was supposed to Skype with a potential client an hour ago." She checked her phone and shrugged, too lazy to move from the tiny chair Jesse had dragged out from the back room. Tulip flapped her hand at her face in a sad attempt to start up a breeze. "And your air conditioning sucks."

"Non-existent," Jesse countered. "Its been busted for weeks. The hot house stuff likes it, but..." He trailed off, staring at Cass who'd scrounged up an ancient GameBoy. He leaned against Tulip's legs and periodically peeled her skirt off of his bare back. It was that kind of heat. "Hey. You could fix the damn thing. Earn your keep if you're gonna hang out here all day."

"No," Tulip said. She kept fanning her face, eyes closed.

"Maybe," Cass said. Which meant 'no.' Dammit.

"Excuse me?"

The three of them turned as an older woman snuck in through the door, opening it so slow and careful that the bell barely rung. Her nerves didn't seem to ease when she spotted Cass and Tulip. If anything, she looked like she wanted to sneak back out.

"Welcome to Flowerworks," Jesse said, hurrying up to the front. "Sorry. Ignore them. They're just friends of mine."

"Is that what we are?" Tulip murmured and Jess flipped her the bird behind his back. The client latched onto his arm as Jesse carefully guided her away from his two fools. Her hand was brittle and fluttered like a bird against his arm.

In fact, the entirety of her looked frail, too thin and breakable for a place like Annville. Hair that was white and thin as cotton candy waved about her shoulders, and her dress—powder blue with a sensible belt—hung on her awkwardly, too big despite the 'XS' tag Jesse could see peaking out from the collar. She looked like a good breeze or a decent curse would send her topping to the ground, and Jesse hurried her over to the remaining chair next to the chrysanthemums, lest she fall and break something here where awful things like suing might get involved. Jesse then took a healthy step back once she was settled. Old people gave him the creeps.

"It's good of you to come in, Mrs...?"

Her mouth worked silently. The woman looked up at Jesse and her expression told him that he'd said something unexpectedly shocking, crude even. Finally, she smiled, but it was a small, awful thing.

"Sawyer," she said. "But I suppose it's 'Ms.' now. My husband died last night."

Behind him, Jesse heard the strangled noise that Tulip made and Cass' tiny "...aw shit." Mrs. Sawyer didn't seem to hear. She reached out a bony hand and gripped the edge of Jesse's apron, the parody of a small child and her mum.

"Howard needs white lilies," she said urgently, gaining some energy. "Although, yes, he never expressed any interest in flowers. Said they were commercial gimmicks. What's the point in spending money on something that's just going to die?" Her voice broke hard on the last word. "But they're coming for him later and I can't leave his grave bare I just can't I—"

"We have lilies," Jesse interrupted gently. He gripped her hand." Plenty of white."

"I woke up next to him," Mrs. Sawyer said. "I've done that every morning,” and all at once she sobbed and put her head between her hands.

This wasn't the first time Jesse had dealt with a distraught customer, but usually they were more composed than this: just slight, hiccupping cries or silent tears that slipped down the cheeks. He was used to anniversaries and useless birthdays, not the immediate aftermath. He floundered, turning to Cass and Tulip, only to find that their support was already underway. Tulip left at a brisk walk to the café down the street, returning with tea and plenty of chocolates. Cass filled the silence with any sort of prattle that seemed to soothe her. As Jesse bundled his best lilies in a black bow, he heard him telling Mrs. Sawyer that he'd once been a preacher. When she looked up with a disgusting amount of hope Jesse couldn't meet her eye.

Mrs. Sawyer left with their awkward condolences. She didn't pay a cent.

"Fucking hell," Cass said. He leaned into Jesse's shoulder as Mrs. Sawyer shuffled out of view.

"Yeah," Tulip agreed.

"What a mess she is. Like a broken doll or somethin'. It's fucking awful." He lit a cigarette with shaking fingers and for once Jesse didn't yell at him for getting smoke around his flowers. Cass took a draw, passed it to him, and Jesse next passed it to Tulip. Cass blew the smoke up at the ceiling, nice and slow.

"Think that'll be us someday?" he asked.

"Can only hope so."

***

Week 27

Flower shops felt like they were always standing still. There was something about the slow growth of the plants, the heady scents that added a dream-like atmosphere, and the contrast to the outside world that made it all... removed. Despite flipping the 'open' sign to 'closed' each evening, Jesse had the distinct feeling that time never actually passed here. Maybe it was a quality that all stores possessed. Maybe it was just his.

Or maybe it had something to do with Tulip kissing him.

"Hey, hey, hey," she pulled back and pinched Jesse's side, merciless. "Don't fuck up the hair. I've got a video call at 2:00."

"Plenty of time to fix it," Jesse murmured, starting in on her neck instead.

"You obviously know nothing about hair care."

"I know some other things though..."

Tuesdays were always slow for some reason and Jesse felt no guilt in dragging Tulip to the back room, especially not after she'd been gone two weeks, supervising a wedding in Oklahoma. She's brought back a sweat-stained invitation and a piece of stale cake that Cass had still eaten with relish. He'd gone out to 'work' (hustling the locals at poker) while Tulip had remained.

She was something to behold now, stretched out across his table, her skirt hiked up and her shirt pulled down. Cass was quick blowjobs behind the counter and late night secrets he’d never admit to in the morning. Tulip was slow and worshipful. She gave you nothing but absolute focus. It was rare for any of them to end up in an actual bed.

Jesse slid off the end of the table so he could put his mouth to work below. Tulip's thighs were the color of his soil, stretch marks pale like veined leaves, she trembled as gently as a petal.

He stupidly wanted to tell her that she was prettier than any flower in this store. Jesse knew she'd kick him for it.

Panting, Tulip propped herself up on one elbow and grinned. She reached behind her, fumbled, and snapped off the plant nearest to her. It was a little spring of aster.

"Got you a flower," she whispered.

"You stole it from me."

"Do you care?"

He really, really didn't.

***

Week 52

Six degrees of separation. They couldn't brag about knowing the president or the pope, but fate had certainly brought three distinct people together. More importantly, it refused to let them go.

"We should go on a trip." Cass said it with all the enthusiastic optimism of a toddler. "Just fuckin' drive outta this joint for a while. You know, see the sights, take in the open road, go all the way to the sea." He raised his hand and squinted, the horizon just beyond his reach.

Jesse snorted. "And who's paying for this idiotic romp?"

"Don't need no cash. You just drive an' shit. Take whatever you're given."

"Just drive," Jesse said. "With that gas you can't pay for. On the food we can't buy—"

"Don't be a shit spoil-sport about it."

"I'm rich," Tulip offered. She looked up from her phone when the room was silent too long. "What? I am. So if we're going anywhere it's in something nicer than whatever beat-up trash you're picturing."

"A camper."

"Absolutely not."

"Where would we go?" Jesse asked, because suddenly it all seemed possible, in as much as the three of them ever planned for anything. Not just the trip either, but that they'd be around each other long enough for more trips. Vacations. Growing old. Life.

"Anywhere." Cass skipped around the room until he found the oxeye daisies. He plucked one and not for the first time Jesse marveled that he wasn't run out of business by these two.

"Who'd watch the store?"

Tulip shrugged. "Wait it out. Cancel orders for a while, sell what you have, give a few things to Emily. She can keep them in the church..." For once Tulip wasn't smirking or glowering his way. "It'll be here when we get back."

"Suppose it will," and just like that Cass knew he had won.

He slid back onto the counter, messing up papers and knocking the poor cash register nearly off the side. Cass twirled the daisy between his fingers before plucking off a petal.

"Hey!" but before Jesse got indignant, Cass spoke.

"He loves me, he loves me not. She loves me, she loves me not..."

Oh. Alright. So the three of them watched, confident in where they'd finally land.

[jessipalooza]

A Fix

By the time the White Widow reached Quel’Thalas, the crew was stunned by what they saw. The harbor was sheer chaos - ships crowded one another in attempts to both dock and flee, quel’dorei jumping ship and swimming to shore, some even caught beneath the hulls and being pulled down into the depths. Billows of dark smoke hung above the city, clouding the colorful spires...and the stench of death, fire, and brimstone permeated the air.

Quel’Thalas’s docks were too far to see the details of the riots, but the crew could only assume that what chaos there was on the water, it was compounded on land. And so it came of no surprise when the captain’s low, gravelly voice barked the order, “Brace and moor her here! We ain’t goin’ any closer. This is fuckin’ good ‘nuff.”

It didn’t take long for the crew to immediately get to work on their tasks to stop and anchor the ship while Vinny shouted over the heads, “Y’hoid the cap’n! Get to woik! Drop the fuckin’ anchor here! Let’s move, move, move!”

As the sails were brought down and the anchor was secured, Karsteth’s sharp whistle paired itself with Booker’s vicious barking and bells being rung, signaling a line up. Any crew member that was not currently working on a task made their way to the top deck and stood in assembly, looking up at their captain beside the helm.

Karsteth’s callused hands rested on the railing as he leaned forward. His eyepatch was secured, hiding his scarred eye, but the other was visible - and for the worst. The blue arcane light was dimmer for whatever reason and it looked bloodshot, framed by heavy bags against pale, clammy skin. He was doing his best to hide them, but his arms gave away the shakes. He stank of alcohol and his agitation was apparent in his expression, his stance, and the scratch of his nails against that wooden railing.

He looked just as bad as the other few quel’dorei scattered about the crew, looking as though they were going to be sick. One of which was Esme, sporting a bruise that along her neck from her recent ‘conversations’ with the captain. For some reason, the bruise just would not heal - and she had an inkling that it had something to do with whatever sickness was ailing them.

“We’re here to get some fuckin’ answers,” Karsteth started, looking over his crew with a deathly glare. He swallowed down, his breathing ragged for a moment. “Ships’ve been fleein’ this shithole of a land...and I wanna fuckin’ know why.”

Because I offered you the idea, Esme thought to herself with bitterness. They must be fleeing from something. They have been fleeing from this. Whatever this is.

“We’re gonna take advantage of this shit. They ain’t payin’ close ‘nuff fuckin’ attention to recognize the ship, so we’re gonna get to work and pick as much off as we--” He paused in his speaking to turn his head. Cough after cough scratched at his throat and his hands gripped the railing until his scabbed knuckles turned white.

In the crowd of the crew, Esme felt her heart grip with an odd sense of hope. She wanted him dead. She wanted the coughing to turn to blood. She wanted him to drop to his knees, fall over the railing...anything.

But as he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, Karsteth braced himself back on the railing and continued to speak.

“While the lot’a’ya work on the ships in the harbor, I want someone to find out what the fuck is goin’ on.”

Before he had even looked to her, Esme knew that he meant her. When his one visible eye centered on her, she pursed her lips and struggled to swallow down the taste of bile in the back of her bruised throat.

“I’m sendin’ the lil’ fuckin’ bitch,” is what he said, but she saw the unspoken addition in his gaze. You run and you’ll fuckin’ regret it.

The crew murmured and Higgins next to Esme looked down at her with a sneer and a muttered comment about her smell.

Y’remember what happened last time.

“She’ll have twenty-four hours. The rest’a’ya have forty-eight. After that, we’re leavin’.”

As Karsteth broke into another cough and reached for the flask at his hip, Vinny picked up the slack and shouted over the crew, “Y’HOID HIM! GO! GET STARTED! MORE Y’GO, MORE GOLD TO GO ‘ROUND AND PAPA LOVES GOLD!”

As the crew turned to do as ordered, Esme’s ears flicked at a lower addition by Vinny.

“Oi, oi, oi, not yous. Get over here.”

She felt tired. She felt achey. She felt as though she was going to be sick. She felt itchy and dizzy, heavy and light...she felt as though she could barely keep her eyes open but sleep was forever out of her reach. It was with considerable effort that she turned and moved towards Vinny at his behest.

“Y’got--”

Karsteth’s coughing fit broke into speaking, his voice smoky and saturated with irritation at his current state - at their current state. “You got twenty-four hours, bitch. Y’get in, y’find out what the fuck is happening to us, y’find a fix, y’get out.”

His boots were heavy against the deck as he descended the small ladder until he was in front of Esme and beside Vinny. Leaning down, he placed his face directly in front of hers, his dim blue gaze burrowing into her own. He stank of whiskey and vomit, musty and stale from the last few weeks. And she knew she was not much better.

“Y’know better now than to fuckin’ run,” he said evenly. “It wouldn’t take much to find ye in this. Y’ve seen me hunt. Y’ain’t here in twenty-four hours...I’ll find ye. And I’ll make ye wish ye were fuckin’ dead. Nothin’ compared to last time. We got an understandin’, lil’ bitch?”

Even as Esme struggled against the uncontrollable urge to shake and the threat of vomit rising in her throat, she stood up straight. She kept her shoulders squared and her chin up. And she did not dare look away from Karsteth. Not even as she heard Vinny scoff with his ever-helpful side commentary.

“She looks like fuckin’ shit, cap’n.”

Karsteth did not immediately respond and neither did Esme. The two looked at one another as his threat resonated through her gut. Eventually, she took a shuddering breath and bit back against the need to cough.

“...Aye, captain,” she said, her voice straining.

After another second, Karsteth leaned back and sniffed at the air once. “Aye, she fuckin’ does, Vinny. So get the fuck outta my sight, bitch. Twenty-four hours.”

Esme did not need to be told a second time. Turning, she started to leave, stumbled once, and then hurried faster.

Royce was the one that was given the job of rowing her to shore. He was a young human and one that had quickly embraced the crew’s hatred of Esme in order to fit in. Amongst the other men and women, he was cruel, but when it was only the two of them in the dinghy, he was remarkably silent. He was more concerned with checking (and rechecking) his fresh tattoo as he rowed than he was with taunting or even acknowledging Esme.

As the bottom of the boat scraped along the shore just south of the docks, he cleared his throat. “Captain said twenty-four hours. You got twenty-four hours.”

Had she not been struggling with vertigo and sickness, Esme would have been out of the boat before Royce was able to even say that much. But she had to take her time and brace herself on the edge of the boat. She nodded, clutching a small satchel over her shoulder and grabbing hold of a ratty brown cloak that had been allotted to her for the ‘journey’.

“Aye, I know, Jenson,” she said with considerable strain.

“If you’re not here in twenty-four hours, I leave without you and it’s the captain who comes back,” he pressed.

“Aye, I know.”

“And you know what he’ll do--”

“Fuck, Jenson, I know,” Esme snapped, shooting an irritable and blood-shot look over her shoulder. But at the sight of his rising anger, she quickly pulled the cloak around her shoulders and started to rush as fast as she could towards the docks.

Behind her, she heard him shout, “Hope you take fucking longer!! Make it twenty fucking hours!!”

Royce continued to shout obscenities until she was out of ear’s reach, but even before then, his words blurred together, hidden behind the heavy beating of her heart and the ragged breaths she took. She felt as though she was going to be sick. Dizzy already, the chaos surrounding the area made it worse. What chaos they thought they had seen from the deck of the White Widow was compounded at least thrice over on land.

Crying, shouting, screaming...she understood some of Thalassian, but it was garbled in her mind. People were in lines to try and find their family members and loved ones, fights were breaking out over passage out of Quel’Thalas or stolen food, blankets, and the like.

She had never seen so many like her in her entire life. So many Quel’dorei…. All of them had long ears like her, blue eyes...and all of them looked as though they were sick, itchy, dizzy. Everyone was agitated, scared, at the ends of their ropes.

Esme had to be swift of feet to slink away from a fist fight that had erupted on the dock - both men stumbling into a small cart that had weeks-old fish stinking up the place. Seeing the punches thrown, she quickly ducked out and away.

Where would she even start? How far were the city gates? She needed to find out what was happening. Did anyone know? Nobody looked as though they had any answers. And if she did not come back with any….

She grimaced at the thought, her ears pinning back against her skull. The bruise around her neck throbbed and she tugged the cloak tighter around her shoulders.

Thank the gods that most were able to speak Orcish as well. She was able to speak in what Thalassian she knew and Orcish to gather directions to the city. The journey was long and took nearly an hour or more, but eventually, she reached Silvermoon City. It was in no better state than the docks. There were sections that were ghost towns and others that were packed tightly, officials at the ends of lines of people. Perhaps they were dealing out rations of some sort, or perhaps it was a registration of some kind…. No matter what it was, Esme wanted no part in it. Even though she knew amidst the chaos that it would be easy to slip in and out unnoticed, she was still wanted - as was the entire crew of the White Widow. And even if rotting in a Quel’Thalas prison was a mercy compared to what Karsteth would do, she had no intention of finding herself at risk of either of those endings.

“If we had followed the Light!!!” came shouting as she turned a corner. It was a Quel’dorei with a bloodied lip, a patch over his nose, and a wrap around his head. He wore white and black robes and had a tome in one hand. “If we had followed the Light closer like our mortal brothers!!”

He stood on a pile of rubble broken down from the towering wall and a small collection of people had gathered around him. Some nodded, others booed and shouted at him to silence himself. Esme watched momentarily, her brows furrowing as his shouts swam like molasses in her mind.

“This is our fault for not being pure enough!! This is our punishment for not following the Light’s guidance!! We must go towards the Light now, not away from it!! Resist--”

A woman let out a shriek from the crowd, jabbing a crooked finger into the air. “Fuck off! I didn’t do shit to earn this!”

“No, listen to me!” he shouted back, trying to speak over the woman as she turned to urge the others away. “Resist!! Do not seek out easy solutions for punishments justly deserved!!” He looked desperately to the crowd and while most were turning away, there were a few that stayed.

One younger Quel’dorei in particular, looking tired and honestly even sicker than Esme, nodded along, his chestnut hair dirty from rubble and the lack of hygiene in the wake of...whatever had happened.

As Esme turned to leave, she heard the shouts of the crowd and then the shouts of the man against them, fading into the background: “You understand, yes? What was your name? Dewmorning - tell them! We must follow the Light!! Resist the temptation!!”

With a bitter shake of her head, Esme found herself more confused than before. Resist what? Punishment for what? What had happened? She had heard something of a fallen prince of Lordaeron, she knew vaguely of dead rising from the ground - but what did it all have to do with this sickness that she felt inside? For an instant, fear gripped her at the thought of dying and being risen, but she struggled to calm herself before she would be sick. She had not been able to eat anything, after all; vomitting would prove itself to be very painful.

Easy solutions, the man had said. What solutions--

“Find your solace here!!”

Esme’s ears perked and she turned to try and follow where the shout had come from.

“You needn’t die of agony!! You needn’t feel the way you do!! Come find your solace!! A silver per!! That is all it takes!!”

Stumbling forward, she followed the voice around the corner. She had never stepped foot in Silvermoon City before but she knew a bazaar when she saw one. Remnants of shops lay in rubble against a tall wall with smoke rising from behind it. The air was thick with the stench of death, but still there were street peddlers. Or were they?

Lines and lines and crowds and crowds of desperate, sick-looking Quel’dorei clamored over one another towards a raised platform where these ‘street peddlers’ were. They stood in front of large boxes that rattled like glass was inside whenever they were moved. It was a curiosity enough to cause Esme to pay attention and shift forward for a closer look.

“PLEASE!!” a woman screamed at Esme’s side. “FOR MY CHILDREN!! THEY WILL DIE!! THEY ARE IN PAIN!!”

A mother. Esme’s nose twitched and she turned with the intent to offer the woman a sharp look, but she faltered when she noticed a strange difference. Green? Her eyes were green. A sickly shade of green that she had never seen before.

Without a care as to if it was rude or not, she continued to stare until she noticed the man next to the mother also had green eyes. In fact, a few in the crowd did. A closer look proved that the peddlers themselves, whom did not looks as though they were suffering from any sickness had green eyes.

She allowed herself to be shoved to and fro from the surge of the crowd as a crate was taken down and opened. The peddler reached in and withdrew a crystal the size of his palm, tear-dropped in shape, and sickly green in color and glow.

“Find your relief here, my brothers and sisters!! Stop your sickness!! Stop your pain!! You need only take this crystal!!”

“PLEASE!!” came cries from the crowd.

Esme’s ears pinned back and she turned to watch people step up and shove money forward to claim a crystal. Some did not even wait until they walked away to take a breath from the crystal and her eyes widened at the sight of that sickly green glow seeping from the crystal and into the one that held it. But as soon as they did, they looked overwhelmed with relief.

She watched them, one by one, move to the side and grow calmer and calmer, washed over with comfort. A closer glance showed her that the greener a person’s eyes were, the healthier they looked. They were not itching or clammy like she was. They did not look as though they were struggling to keep food down. They did not look as though they had not slept in days or weeks.

“A silver per!” the peddler shouted, divvying out the crystals for those that paid. When the crowd grew too large, the seller looked to the armed body guards to the side and order was put back into place. It was obviously a system that had been in place.

Esme groped down to the satchel. A silver per. She had nothing. Not even the pathetic scraps that were called her shares. She had nothing. But if she had nothing, she would get nothing. And she would return with nothing. And if she returned with nothing….

Again, the bruise around her throat throbbed as a wicked reminder. There was no choice of failure. Just as there was no choice to run. Her back still ached from the last attempt.

Movement caught Esme’s eye from behind the peddler. The lid of one crate shifted. She squinted and as the crowd surged forward, so did she - whether she wanted to or not. Closer and closer, she got to the stage, and while the crowd desperately had their attentions fixated on the peddler - on the crystals - she watched the background.

It was a woman. An adult or perhaps younger by the look of it. Harsh black hair and a black tattoo on her neck, another on her arm as she swiftly reached into the crate. One, two, three - she plucked a few crystals out before disappearing behind the crates once more.

Then a shout. Then two shouts.

“THIEF!!” one of the armored guards shouted - and from behind the boxes, the woman dashed out.

Attention was pulled away for a moment in the chaos. Esme could see a few others contemplate being as brazen as the woman and as some tried, the guards pushed forward.

Immediately, Esme took advantage of the situation. She had no choice, nor did she have time to even try. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. It always started as a tangle - the shadows licking at her ankles and slithering up her legs. The crowd was so focused and in a haze of desperation and anger that it was easy for her to slip into the shadows and out of the crowd.

Concentrate, she reminded herself. You have done this before.

She sunk low to the ground and crept around the stage, being wary of the guards that had not yet joined the riot that had began to break out. Where the tattooed woman earlier had stolen from the left side, she stole from the right. She struggled against the bitter taste of bile in her throat and pried off the top of one crate. A shaky, sweaty hand slipped inside and she took in a sharp breath at the sensation of the crystals when she touched them.

They were hot. They were tingly. She could feel the energy radiating from them, and something about it made her feel uneasy. But she had no time to think about it or mull over the possibilities of what that gut feeling could be.

She grabbed crystal after crystal. She hurried, stuffing the satchel at her side with as many as she could carry and as there was the song of steel being drawn from a sheath, an announcement that the riot was getting even worse, she turned and scrambled off the way she came.

Esme emerged from the shadows, stumbling, coughing, and running past the small crowd surrounding the man that had shouted about the Light - and was still shouting. There was something that struck a chord within her that made her pause when, amidst the clinking of crystals in her satchel, she heard his voice above it all.

“RESIST!!”

She was still only for a moment before the reality of how long she had spent in that accursed, fallen city dawned upon her. She had to return. She could not afford to take much longer.

She could not afford to resist.

[ Part 1: Withdrawal ]

For mentions: @pyrar (Vinny) | @isei-silva (Deyaenus) | @stormandozone (Baelisian)