#like I could understand Craig. He's been in the band a long ass time.

[blown-blooms]

Learning Jay got kicked out moodboard

[irwinkitten]

reputation | a.i

pairing: reader x badboy!ash notes: blame @asht0ns-world for this one. she’s been teasing me with the idea of badboy!ash for weeks and now the day has come where i actually wrote it lmao warnings: violence, mentions of blood, smut word count: 2.9k! 

---

Ashton knew he was being petty. But he couldn’t help himself. She’s told him to stay home, to amuse himself since she clearly wasn’t enough to hold his interest. That argument had rattled his gut, a fleeting feeling of fear rushing through his veins. He knew it was stupid, and it’d been so long since he’d last been in love, but he was sure about her. 

She was sweet. So sweet that it could rot his teeth, but he loved it. He enjoyed how she treated him no differently. She wasn’t afraid to put him in his place, especially when he’d been egged on into a fight. She’d puncture his ego but countered with enough praise for it to be a backhanded compliment. She was the only person who could get away with those. His eyes watched her across the bar. He knew that his brightly coloured hair would be easy enough to spot in a crowd, but he knew that there was enough people in to hide him. He just wanted to make sure she was safe. It was when he spotted her talking with Craig and he could feel his blood boil slightly. They’d been rivals since childhood. What was a schoolboy rivalry, turned into bloodshed as they grew older. They always seemed to get caught up in the wrong place at the wrong time. Ashton knew his friends worried but he was always careful. But this time, he wasn’t sure he could be careful. He drained the whiskey, watching as Craig’s hand slid around her waist, his hand curving her ass and Ashton could see the minute she became uncomfortable. He forced himself to stay there, watching as she pulled away, his strength overpowering her momentarily before the palm of her hand jabbed up against his nose and she stumbled away as he let go of her, the howl of pain muted by the loud music. He watched as another woman took hold of her un-injured hand and watched as a group of them surrounded her. He could see her body shaking and anger flooded him as he clocked Craig leaving to the side alley. Sliding a twenty on the bar, Ashton ditched his seat and followed after Craig, forcing himself not to look at her as he neared the group of girls. The door clanged shut behind him and Craig looked up from lighting his cigarette. “Well well, looks like Irwin can’t handle his alcohol or women.” His voice sounded nasal and he was proud of his girl for inflicting such damage. “You should learn when a lady says no, she’s not asking you to change her mind.” He growled quietly, ducking the punch that came his way. He knew Craig’s style. He went for a right hook before doubling with a gut punch before feeling the fist collide with his cheek. Ashton changed his tactics almost immediately then had Craig pinned to the alley floor, his knuckles repeatedly going to his face. “Piece o’ fuckin’ shit.” Each word was punctuated with a hit, blood covering his knuckles as pain flooded his hand. He missed the sound of the door clanging shut. “Ashton.” He stopped at her voice, his eyes lifting up to see a look of steel in her eyes, despite her worried features. “He’s learned his lesson. It’s time to go.” He landed a last punch before getting up. “Doubt any lady would want to date, let alone sleep with your ugly fucking mug.” He spat before adjusting his jacket and allowing her to take his hands and inspect his knuckles. “Sorry sweetheart.” “We’ll talk when we get back to yours.” She muttered quietly.

He didn’t argue with her tone or the look on her face as she ordered an Uber. He didn’t fight her touch as she pulled him into the back of the car, her fingers running over his bloodied knuckles. Part of him wondered if she was repulsed by how he was, by who he was.

When the car pulled up to his place, he hadn’t even registered her thanking the driver as she pulled him out once more. He’d seen the stink eye the driver had given him, and had he been in a worse mood, he would’ve snapped.

But with her hand in his, he found his voice was lost.

She didn’t say a word as he opened his place up for her, she simply guided him to the kitchen, making him wait as she headed up stairs. It took him a few moments to realise she was collecting the first aid kit she’d forced him to keep so that she wouldn’t have to take him to the hospital so often.

Resting against the counter, he quietly waited for her, scrolling through his phone until her footsteps alerted him to her return.

She was quiet as she pulled herself up onto the counter and from the look she gave him, Ashton knew she wasn’t up for any kind of argument with him.

So he quietly placed his phone beside her, settling himself between her legs as she took a hold of his hands first and tearing open the antiseptic wipe. He grimaced.

“Why is it you that’s always gettin’ into fights?” Her voice was gentle when she finally spoke, but he flinched all the same because he could hear the steel behind her voice that brokered for no arguments. “Fucker didn’t like you sayin’ no. So I had to teach him a lesson. Am I not allowed to defend you now?” His voice was harsh, but her eyes met his and she raised an eyebrow. “I’m a big girl, Ashton.” He smirked before a hiss escaped his lips as she dabbed the antiseptic wipes across his bloodied knuckles. She snorted. They fell into a silence as she continued to clean his knuckles. With her position on the counter top, his body slotted against hers, it took everything in him to not allow his thoughts run errant. He gave another sharp hiss before his tense body finally relaxed and she allowed herself a small smile as she moved from his knuckles to his cheek. Ashton held himself still as her fingers were gentle across his skin, and his eyes fluttered shut at her touch. He was losing the battle of wills, and he knew it. “You make it so damn difficult for me to not love you.” He finally broke the silence and her lips curved up into a smile, even though he couldn’t see it. “You make it easy for me to love you, Irwin. But you make it fucking difficult for me to try and tell you.” His eyes shot open, shock loud and clear in his features as he studied her face, trying to determine if she was lying to him or not.

She wasn’t and he could feel his heart soaring as he took a leap of faith, knowing that she would see his vulnerability immediately. He was never like this and it terrified him, but he knew that he loved her endlessly.

“Can you understand why I get into fights now?” His voice was gentle, it was different to the harsh tones she was used to. Her fingers finally dropped from his face and gripped his button down shirt. “Doesn’t mean I like it, but I get it. Doesn’t stop me from loving you any less though.” And he didn’t hesitate, dipping his head to press his lips to hers. “Good job I love you too, princess. No one can touch what’s mine.” He murmured and she smirked against his lips. “As long as those other cows know that I won’t let them touch what’s mine either.” And he chuckled. “I’d love to see that. Maybe I can buy you a leather jacket to match.” His voice was quiet as she hummed against his lips before they moved down the column of her throat. “I’ll just wear yours.” She gasped out as his fingers gripped her hips tightly. A warning. “Don’t expect to leave this house unmarked if you do, sweetheart.” He groaned against her skin and she let out a soft moan at the vibrations.

Her legs hooked themselves around his waist and he couldn’t stop himself from grinding against her, desperately seeking some kind of friction. The noise she made as she registered his hard on, made him grin against her skin.

“You do this to me, sweetheart. Every fuckin’ time. So god damn beautiful.” He murmured, dragging his lips back up to hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers tugging the ends of his curls softly and the noise that he made, sounded delicious to her ears.

“Off.” She all but demanded of him, her hands having moved from his neck to slide underneath the leather jacket. As she pushed, he let it slide from his arms, dropping to the floor as his lips met hers again.

Her head pulled away as her fingers were now tugging at the hem of his shirt, making him chuckle.

“Demanding pretty thing tonight, aren’t you sweetheart?” His voice was teasing her and she simply pouted in return.

He lifted his arms, grasping the back of his shirt and pulling it off, tossing it to the side, letting his fingers ruffle through his curls. His eyes watched her as her own eyes dropped to his chest, trailing back up to his face.

“Like what you see?” His question was a tease, intending to make her react. But she simply smirked in return.

“Absolutely.” And he groaned as she kissed him, her lips parting beneath his whilst her hands roamed his chest. His own hand had slid to the back, tugging at the zip of her dress and she didn’t protest as the fabric dropped to her waist once her arms were free from the straps.

She pushed herself up slightly as he stepped back a bit, her legs falling from his waist as he tugged the fabric off, letting it drop to the floor with his own clothes.

Ashton was never one for being speechless, but there she was, sitting on his kitchen counter in her underwear and he couldn’t find the words to compliment her. The coy smile he received told him she knew exactly what she’d done.

Stepping back into his spot, his lips were by her ear.

“Did you plan on me having you tonight, sweetheart?”

“Absolutely.” She breathed in return as his fingers slid underneath the band of her panties, a strangled moan escaped her and he let his lips tug and bite at the skin on her neck.

He was slow with his fingers, making sure they curved to hit the spot that had her gasping out his name. As his thumb circled her clit, he could feel her hands move to his biceps, gripping tightly.

“Ash, baby-” Her whine was cut off by a moan as her legs shook and she came, his fingers till pumping in and out, helping her ride it out as her breathing returned to normal, her fingers releasing their grip on his arms.

“Ass off the counter baby. I need a treat to make me feel better.” And she laughed as her palms moved to the counter, lifting off once more as he tugged the underwear off.

Once her ass hit the counter once more, he pulled her as close to the edge, her legs going over his shoulders as he knelt down. He hummed in appreciation when her fingers found his hair and he began to mark up the skin of her thighs, biting and sucking his way closer.

Once his lips reached their goal, his tongue licking up her folds before finding her clit, she was a mess and his cock was painfully hard. It was easy for him to unbuckle his jeans and shove them down, freeing his cock as he continued his ministrations on her, the moans he was receiving in return was loud and he loved it.

The second time she reached her high, she was pleading.

“Baby, please. I want you in me.” and the way that she looked, her pupils blown, her skin was warm as she tried to catch her breath, he couldn’t deny her one bit.

Ashton couldn’t stop the groan escaping as he slid into her, feeling her nails almost claw at his back. He knew there would be marks in the morning, but he’d left his own on her, it was only fair she returned the favour.

His fingers returned to her clit and he knew he was getting closer. Her name tumbled from his lips as he came, his fingers bringing her to another orgasm second later and his forehead was resting on her shoulder, lips gently kissing the marks they’d left earlier.

He pulled out, earning a soft groan from her, making his lips curve up into a smile before pulling up his jeans, buttoning them up before coaxing her to wrap her legs around his waist once more. She eyed him carefully as he settled his hands under her thighs and picked her up, earning a small squeak as her arms wrapped around his neck instantly.

“Warn a girl, asshole.” She grumbled, making him laugh as he made his way upstairs.

“Where’s the fun in that? Not to mention, you could've easily guessed.” His tone was playful, earning a pout in return.

“Considering I’ve been fucked good, you’re lucky I can form coherent sentences, Irwin.” His eyes met hers before they both cracked, laughter echoing through the empty house as he reached his bedroom and headed to the ensuite, placing her on her feet.

“How about we shower first, and shower only,” he cut in when her mouth opened to protest, “and we get some rest and maybe breakfast in the morning?”

Instead of giving a verbal response, she unhooked her bra and stepped into the shower cubicle.

“How about we take individual showers, since I can’t trust those wandering hands of yours and we snuggle?”

“You’re going to absolutely ruin my reputation, woman.” He grouched in return before obliging and heading back into the bedroom, her laughter following him.

He couldn’t wipe the smile off his face though.

Whilst she showered, he headed downstairs to lock up, picking up the discarded clothing before making his way back upstairs. He re-entered the bedroom just as she stepped out of the ensuite and her eyes turned to the clothing in his hands.

“We can wash the blood out pretty easily if you want to keep the shirt, handsome.” Ashton’s eyes dropped to the shirt in question, shrugging in response. He had a few that held old blood stains that he couldn’t wash out properly.

“I can get a new shirt. It’s no biggie.” He tossed the shirt to the hamper, resting her dress and his leather jacket over the back of the chair before he ditched his jeans and boxers. He didn’t bother hiding the smirk at the sound of the sharp intake of air.

What he didn’t expect was the light sting on his ass as her hand hit it, his head turning to catch the grin on her lips.

“It’s a good looking ass, what can I say?” Was all she responded with and he laughed as he headed into the shower.

Once clean and changed into a pair of sweats, he held back the groan at the sight of her in one of his graphic print tees and her underwear, sprawled across his bed.

“You’re trying to kill me, I’m convinced.” He muttered as he crawled over her body, a giggle escaping her lips before he kissed them.

“Absolutely. Gotta take the title of troublemaker now.” The tease was harmless, making him roll his eyes as he settled onto his side, her body curving against his, head pressed against his chest. His lips found their way to the top of her head, taking in a deep breath for a moment.

She was safe and in his arms.

“I don’t want to wake up and this have been a fucking elaborate dream.” He muttered and she sighed as she pulled her head back, lifting her hand to rest on his cheek.

He leaned into her touch.

“I’m not going anywhere, I promise. The world sees you as a delinquent, but I’ve always seen you as a person. You’re allowed to be happy Ash, and if you’ve found that with me, then good. Because I’m happy with you.” Her tone was soft, her voice caressing his name and he melted.

“I love you.” He finally whispered after a moment of silence, his arms pulling her impossibly closer. She smiled as she pressed her lips to his.

“Hey, I love you too, even if you can be the biggest asshole in the world.” At this, he snorted, pressing another soft kiss to her lips once more before they settled down.

Maybe she would ruin his reputation, but it’d be for all the right reasons.

---

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[theyearoftheking]

Book 2: ‘Salem’s Lot

Success is my only motherfuckin' option, failure’s not Mom, I love you, but this trail has got to go, I cannot grow old in Salem's lot So here I go is my shot Feet fail me not 'cause maybe the only opportunity that I got

-Eminem, Lose Yourself

The mere mention of ‘Salem’s Lot has had my brain playing this song on repeat for weeks. And after reading ‘Salem’s Lot, I’d like to point out to Eminem that it’s actually quite difficult to grow old in ‘Salem’s Lot. You’re more likely to be turned into a creepy vampire than grow old and die of natural causes in The Lot. But I feel like if I were to ever address this with one Marshall Mathers, he’d punch me in the face. So I guess I’ll just rest comfortably with my superior Stephen King knowledge. 

This was my first reading of ‘Salem’s Lot, and while I enjoyed Carrie; I feel this was the book that made the Stephen King “style” a thing fans are all familiar with. I’m not going to dive into the entire plot and every character, but the format of the book, and the relationships the characters form will be familiar to all King fans. Let me explain.

Part One: The Introduction 

The book is divided into three parts. In Part One: Marsten House, we learn about the lovely little town of Jerusalem’s Lot, and start feeling a creeping sense of dread every time the Marsten House is mentioned. We don’t know why we feel creepy dread quite yet, but the feeling is lurking in our stomach like a slimy gas station burrito. We also experience a meet cute between Ben Mears and Susan Norton. Ben is a writer, hanging out at the park, trying to forget all the negativity and bad juju he experienced the first time he lived in ‘Salem’s Lot. But now he’s back, living at Eva Miller’s boarding house, working on his next novel. Susan sees him in the park, and just so happens to be reading one of his books. She asks for an autograph, and he inscribes it, “For Susan Norton, the prettiest girl in the park...” The rest is history. Well, vampire, bloodshed history. But romantic history none the less. 

Later on, Ben Mears references The Haunting of Hill House, which was an inspiration for this novel. He tells Susan the subject of his newest novel is,          ”...it’s about the recurrent power of evil...” Art imitating life, ammiright, Steve??? 

Part one also gives us our first (of three!) Wisconsin references. Ben decides to hit up the local watering hole, Dell’s, where he runs into fellow boarding house resident, Weasel Craig. To hear Ben describe it, “...his breath alone could have made Milwaukee famous.” I mean... we do love and brew a lot of beer in this city. But you can imagine my disappointment when in the next paragraph, Weasel orders a pitcher of Budweiser. Gross, Weasel, You deserve to be taken out by those vampires. 

Part one continues to give us plenty of local color, and describes the residents of the town (spoiler: don’t get too attached to any of them). Part one ends with some creepy goings-on at the cemetery, and some children disappearing, and later re-appearing in slightly alarming form. Oh, and a lot of bodies at the morgue start disappearing. Never a good sign. 

Part Two: The Dread Explained, and the Start of Shit Going Sideways 

Part Two: The Emperor of Ice Cream is when the beat drops. But before all of that, we have our final two Wisconsin references. King twice mentions a Packers Patriots game everyone in town is anxious to watch. Ok. I have questions. So many questions. How did Steve decide on this particular football match-up? We’re not division rivals, we don’t even play in the same division. The Packers and Patriots play each other once in a blue moon. Wouldn’t the Bills or the Jets have been a more sensible selection? Maybe the Dolphins? Maybe they were good back in 1975? I don’t know. I do know I personally love Packers/Patriots games because I love seeing Tom Brady pout like a little bitch on the sidelines when our inconsistent defense shows up and decides to tackle him. Repeatedly. It’s a miracle Brady doesn’t trip over that lower lip more.

But I digress. Part two is where shit really starts to go wrong, and we understand the problems plaguing ‘Salem’s Lot are the result of a powerful vampire, Mr. Barlow and his keeper, Mr Straker, moving into Marsten House. That’s right... it’s a vampire book, kids. These two keep a low profile by buying a creepy old murder house, and running an antique store full of old junk in town. As you do. 

King holds true to a lot of the traditional vampire stereotypes: they only come out at night, they are burned by sunshine, they sleep in coffins or boxes, they need to be invited in, and they can be repelled by a crucifix or some holy water. No glittery, pretty vamps here. Sorry, Twilight fans. This probs isn’t the book for you.

Part two of the book is filled with creepy passages full of suspense. You know, those parts when you find yourself cringing and chanting, “No! No! Don’t crawl into the creepy old murder house during the day! I don’t care if you think the vampires are sleeping! This isn’t going to end well!” I know most people have those moments when watching movies... but this book (and King in general) usually brings out all the creepy, cringy feels for me.

So, Ben, Susan, and their ragtag band of friends begin to understand the vampire problem, and realize they need to address it before everyone in town either flees, or becomes part of Barlow’s vampire army. One member of their merry band of vampire killers is a little boy by the name of Mark Petrie. Mark lost two of his best friends in the initial round of vampire attacks, and feels guilt about this. If they weren’t on their way to his house to play with his models, maybe they wouldn’t have ended up as part of the un-dead. As a result of this guilt, Mark wants to help the grownups fight the vampires. He’s a bad ass kid. I hope my kid would behave the same way if we were fighting a vampire onslaught in Milwaukee. 

King best sums up their crew of vampire killers as, “An old teacher half-cracked with books, a writer obsessed with his childhood nightmares, a little boy who has taken a post-graduate course in vampire lore from the films and the modern prenny-dreadfuls...” 

Accurate af. 

Part Two ends with a passage I have to share... “The ordinary fellow isn’t half so leery of the superatural as the fiction writers like to make out. Most writers who deal in that particular subject, as a matter of fact, are more hardheaded about spirits and demons and boogies than your ordinary man in the street...” 

Part Three: The Real Action, All the Deaths & the Conclusion

Part Three: The Deserted Village wraps everything up. Almost all the residents of ‘Salem’s Lot are turned into vampires, including almost all of the vampire hunters with the exception of Ben and Mark. They ‘nope’ right on out of ‘Salem’s Lot and head for Mexico. Because they’ve seen some shit, and they need to live in perpetual sunshine where they never have to fight vampires again. Only, Ben can’t stop reading the Portland Press-Herald and realizes shit is getting real in Maine again, and they eventually need to go back. Poor Mark; it’s bad enough he lost his friends, had to stake both his parents, and killed the vampire’s keeper. But now he needs to go back? Ugh. 

Part three also gives us two coveted Dark Tower references (because, The Beam). 

“Ann Norton drew the .38 from the pockets of her wrapper like some creaky gunslinger from beyond time...” 

Oh snap. It’s coming. Da da chick, da da chum! 

I’ve also failed to mention much about Father Callahan. He was the Catholic priest of ‘Salem’s Lot who suffered a vampire bite despite his crucifix and holy water bath, and was last seen on a bus getting out of town, drinking cheap truck stop liquor. But we’ll see him again. ‘Tis ka. 

All and all, a very satisfying book, and I’m very glad I’ve finally gotten around to reading it.

In summation:

Total King Wisconsin Mentions: 4

Dark Tower References: 2

Book Grade: B+

Rebecca’s Definitive Ranking of Stephen King Books:

Salem’s Lot

Carrie

Next up is The Shining; which is perfect since Wisconsin is expecting its first major snowfall this weekend. Fun times. 

Until next time- long days and pleasant night, readers!

Rebecca

[fightevilandthengetblownup]

FIC: Then You’ll Be Sorry

—

Ten years was not typically a long time for him. It was a bat of an eye, or a few days vacation topside, or even just a blip on the overall radar of his existence thus far. Not as short as some other demons perspective of the time, and no where near as long as a silly little human’s perspective of it.

But dealing with her? The decade since he’d nabbed her from the rack had been almost an eon for him.

“What is all this, Jo?” Crowley found himself growling in distaste the moment he entered the woman’s room - when did he start thinking of it as her’s and not his, he didn’t know for sure but there was no way he wanted it back in it’s current condition. “You have a count to three to explain why there are streamers all over these hallowed walls.”

“Well, ya see,” The blonde span about on the ladder she was standing on, pressing the end of a string of fairly lights into the walls of the room with what looked to be an iron nail - and how in Hell did the little human manage to get a hold of iron in Hell? Crowley was going to have to begin doing more thorough inspections of what she got up to and whom she spoke to at this rate - before tugging and pulling the lights into place. There was a mischievous and devious look on her face as she looked down the ladder at him that would have filled him with dread if he hadn’t grown accustomed to her flights of fancy over the last decade. “Tems thought I should throw a little party, you know.”

“This is Tems idea?” He didn’t stop the incredulous look upon his face from growing even as he waved a hand to steady the ladder for the girl with his powers as she slowly clambered down. As she drew the ladder away, Crowley wished he had a drink in his hand. “And what exactly was this party for, darling?”

“It’s been ten years since you finally came to my calls and decided to save your hide!” Joanna’s face was a slightly redder tone than normal, the only part of that smug, shit-eating-grin upon her face that seemed to be out of place. As she moved down and around the room, the fairy lights she seemingly had covered over the ceiling caught the light on the crystals of her dress, the one and only thing that seemed in place from the wardrobe he had so carefully curated for her over the years after one too many fights about the assault on his eyes that were her flannel choices. “So Tems thought I should celebrate, given it is such an unusual occasion for someone to get off the rack early, after all.”

Crowley definitely needed a drink for this. He could feel a headache beginning at the corners of his mind just thinking about it. It couldn’t have only been ten years with the nightmare that was now bouncing around the room from wall to wall, over the settee and around the bookshelves. Had to have been longer, he was certain of it.

Pouring out a glass, his glass in the glasses he’d always kept in this room felt strangely rhythmic the way that they were never moved in all of her changes, of his Craig, Crowley let out a loud groan as he watched the blonde jumping about the place in a flow of grey and red chiffon.

She was up that ladder again, this time trying to hang a band of pink peony flowers - again, where was she getting these things? - along the top of the bookshelf. He could spot other clumps of them about the rest of the room, a vase full on almost every flat surface and wreaths and bands of them atop each other high surface like the other bookshelves and the canopy of her four-poster bed. Jo was reaching precariously as she flung the corner of the band on the final shelf. “So us gals were goin’ to hang out a little - I made sure to cross both of ‘em off of your schedule for the rest of the week, so you can stop your poutin’, and added that fool Declan in instead so maybe you could have some fun rakin’ him over some hot coals-“

"How many times must I tell you, you do not have the right to change the schedule of-”

“Maybe I’d believe it if I didn’t write half ya fuckin’ schedules for you anyways, hmm?”

“If I had it my way, you’d be strapped up on some rig with some demon working you over right now, Joanna.”

“And yet I remain unaffected!” The blonde chirped back cheerfully to his darkly growled words.

It drove Crowley mad that no matter how crass or disturbing his threats were that she would let them wash off of her like water off a ducks back. It was to do with power, and it drove the King of the Crossroads, and one time King Of Everything, round the bend that he did not often hold it where the pretty hunter was concerned.

“Regardless of that, whom is it you have so deigned to reorganize my schedule regarding, dear?” Crowley asked as he sank into his chair and watched the blonde bounding about the room like the overly energetic monster she was. “I am assuming this includes my best demon given it was her suggestion, correct?”

“And your other up-and-comer too.” Jo replied as she fussed with a section of flowers on the desk near the drinks trolley with what seemed anxious energy. He had not seen her this fazed since the time he’d spotted that wine-guzzling bastard accompanying her through the halls last year but that had been an entirely different energy than was filling the room now. “Bela and Tems, and I think I heard that Ruby’d made a jaunt down here if you promise not to try and side track her.”

“Ruby? Really?”

“You better not still be holdin’ shit against her right now-”

“You do not dictate what I do or do not do in my domain, Jo. I may be kind enough to give you some leniency due to your particular circumstances,” Crowley snarled the words back at her, fingers drumming against the crystal as he flicked his other fingers up throwing the girl back against the nearest wall like a rag doll. The glare he got in response was in no way different to the looks of distaste he was used to from the other whenever such acts had happened before. “However this may come as a shock to you - but you are not in control here.”

There was a scoffing sound from the blonde that crawled under his skin as he stood from the chair and moved towards her. Jo’s head was tilted away from him but there was that annoyingly cocky smirk on her face he knew too well and he could feel the heat rising inside him, the desire to wipe that look from her pretty face boiling up.

As the girl opened her mouth to talk, the demon found himself waving his hand again - silencing her and wiping that blasted look off her face as well. At the same moment, every flower in the room set alight burning and smoking around the confined space. There were flames crawling across the walls from the shelves and licking at the lace canopy of the bed. Flaming, charred petals fell down upon the coffee table and desk, as the smell of smoke began to fill the space as the fairylights flickered on and off in the surge of power. If there was the scent of burning flesh as well, it would smell like the pits again.

“Now that I’ve taken care of those tacky flowers-”

“Phurhknuu!” Crowley felt his own smirk form in return at the sour look upon the girl’s face.

“Sorry, Joanna, couldn’t quite understand that, want to try again?” The demon found himself laughing at the snarl he got in response, moving towards the other. Her jaw was jutted out stubbornly however, and Crowley approached slowly before gripping tight on her offending chin. “As I was saying, those have been taken care of, and now-” There was a wave of his other hand before the chalice appeared from the desk in his hand. A swirl of the thick red blood and the next moment the voice of his assistant bubbled out. “Lola, be a dear and schedule both the lovely Tems and Bela for the next three months.”

There was a strangled noise of disagreement from the blonde, but he simply slid his hand up over her mouth, smearing the red lipstick up as he twisted the skin lightly, as the other demon’s voice simpered out, “Of course, your Lola will organize this right away.”

“And dear, if they disagree - it will be retraining with the hounds for the next year.” That got a surprised noise through the thick blood as well as a hissed noise from beneath his hand. Crowley could see the displeasure building on the blonde’s face as he waited for the “Yessir” before throwing it away - blood splashing upon the opposite wall as the chalice clattered to the floor. “Now, have you learnt who’s in control here yet, Joanna?”

The blonde snarled back, and snapped her teeth out at his fingers before she seemed to realise he’d returned her voice back. “Oh fuck you, Crowley!” Joanna hissed, scowl firmly on her face.

“That doesn’t sound like you’ve learnt anything yet, dear.”

“Shove it up your ass, you dick.”

“Still doesn’t sound like it-”

“You can’t fuckin’ control me like this you asshole. I’m not one of your fuckin’ demons to push around, Crowley,” The hunter snarled the words out at him, and from the corner of his eye he could see her hands twitching to pull back from the wall and reach for him. Probably to take a swing, that was always her first point of call, but was unable to move more than an inch from the wall. “You’re not my fuckin’ husband, and you ain’t my fuckin’ dad! You can’t control me like this!”

“You’re right, little Joanna. I’m not your daddy or your husband, darling,” Crowley moved his hand along her jawline to tug her head upwards by her hair, fisted at the nape of her neck with a harsh jerk. He could still see the defiance flashing deeply in her eyes and smirking back, the demon felt that heated anger boiling up again. “But I am your King, and you will learn to treat me as such.”

---

“And exactly what is it?” The words were somewhat hissed out, a bite behind their meaning clear as Jo shuffled her feet awkwardly.

“Why, dear, it’s my newest find.” The host replied, the hand not currently holding his typical glass wrapping around her bare shoulder with a tighter grip than she was used to. It was something she had noticed about the demon - when he spotted something that interested him or he thought held worth, he would hold onto it for it’s worth - and Jo felt the uncomfortable nature of having suddenly been dragged into something settle heavily into her stomach. She had spent time over the last few years with the older demon, usually playing card games or chess where in the game was more metaphorical than real as the Prince tried to worm out of her her secrets or as he would sometimes say ‘hidden value’; but never had the times she’d been invited to his quarters had it been ever more than the two of them and the two dark shadow demons that followed his command. “I found her a few years back, just wandering the halls would you believe? A little soul freely walking the halls of Hell.”

“Interesting, I’d not heard we had a vermin problem lately. Perhaps someone should get onto that.” Jo’s eyes darted across to the demon that spoke as she was coralled into the room further by the hand on her shoulder, quickly running an evaluating look over the other as her hunter skills kicked in to assess the situation she now found herself. The dark skinned demon held himself in a way that set her hackles up already, as he sat back calmly on one end of a lavish leather couch - one arm spread across the back cushions while the other stacked and restacked five golden coins upon the arm rest beside him. “Can’t have too many scurrying about like cockroaches unchecked.”

“You think I’d find something there are multiples of, Mammon?”

“I think you over estimate the worth of.. it.”

“It has a name, you know.” Jo found herself snapping back, arms crossing under her chest, without meaning to. She was supposed to stand back and observe, maybe make informed choices of when to interact after getting the lay of the land, but somehow thirteen years in Hell had yet to ingrain any patience in her.

“And it also speaks.” The tall, elder looking demon that had been hanging about near the so-called Mammon cut in over her as she’d opened her mouth to respond, a sardonic twist to his lips. “Does it do any other tricks, Vassago? Have you toilet trained it? Taught it to sit on command? Pouring your wine for you?”

“That would be the one thing he would desire from a little pet, isn’t it?” The only other woman in the room spoke, breezing past Jo with an elegance that made her want to beg the woman for lessons in how to make her own dresses flow like there was a windmachine following her around. The woman stopped momentarily to pin the greying demon with a somewhat icy look at the scoffed noise she had gotten in response. “Where did you go and pluck this one out from now, you old thief?”

“I told you, Gremory, found her wandering the halls around here.”

“And exactly what was a human soul doing wandering the halls and not over in the pit then?”

“That’s the real mystery, dear. Such a valuable little thing to have gotten out before turning, wouldn’t you say?”

“It is unusual.” Mammon answered sharply, his dark eyes raking over her with a speculative look. “Tell it to answer.”

“Again, I’ve got a fuckin’ name, you know.”

“That’s not relevant, roach. Now, how come you are not still in Lilith’s playpen?”

“My name is Jo Harvelle.” Jo found herself shrugging her shoulder and freeing herself from the grip on her arm, and if she’d bothered to look would have noticed the almost bemused smirk on the older demon’s face as she stalked towards the one speaking to her. She thought she recognised the name - not much to do in Hell but read and learn, and when she got back to Earth, she sure as heck was going to be the best demon hunter the world had ever seen after all those books Crowley and Vassago alike allowed her access to - and found herself pursing her lips as she approached the demon. “And if you want to know anythin’ about me - then you’re goin’ to have to address me correctly, you poncey bastard.”

Next second she was on the ground, face smushed to the mahogany floorboards that made up the flooring in this description of Hell. Vassago had decked the space out to his taste it seemed - or rather, Jo thought, he had barely lifted a finger given how her room had looked when she’d taken it over from Crowley in the first place - and now she was getting an up close and personal view to the quality workmanship of the floors.

Tilting her head slightly, she could see the almost bemused look upon the demon who’s powers were flexed upon her crushing down like a ton of bricks on her chest as well as what she thought might have been an almost adoring look for a split second upon the stiff lipped British demon that was still standing behind him. Vassago crossed through her line of vision to take a seat on the arm chair nearest her between the coin-clinking demon and herself, before gesturing at the gorgeous older blonde woman to sit as well. The sheer lack of movement to assist or distract Mammon from his flexing made her grit her teeth, growling quietly to herself as the pressure grows while the demon smirks.

“Oh that is much better,” Gremory quipped as she sank into the chair beside the host, crossing her ankles right in front of Jo’s face that felt like too sharp a move to be accidental. “How do you put up with it’s insolence, Vassago?”

“Usually she is quite well behaved-”

“Oh like you know what that phrase means.”

“You still hold that against me, love?”

Jo could hear a sound she was sure was a loud sniff from the other woman, and found herself biting down on a snort of her own at the bickering between the two. At the very least it distracted her from the pain of the force pushing her ribs down hard over her knees where she was bent up and squashed to the floor still.

“Regardless of that, Mammon, if you could release my little trinket-” Hearing the demon finally speaking up - even if it was in such terms that would usually make Jo roll her eyes or snap back at the idea - the blonde couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief as the pressure let up enough to allow her to sit up on her knees slightly more comfortably, though she was barely able to lift her head or shift from a disturbingly subserviently bowed position. Looking about, she caught the demon she’d grown to know’s eye carefully before receiving a tiny nod in response. “-Much appreciated. She definitely requires a little more training before I add her to the long term collection, wouldn’t you say?”

“I had thought you were thinking to replace your coldfish bed finally-”

“Not now, Naberius.”

“Oh? Don’t like the speculation that your old news, Gremory? I mean, the thing is a pretty little blonde like you used to inhabit, back in the day.” The British demon - Jo recognising the name as another Marquis from her reading, and from the look of it, quite a sourfaced one at that - replied as he cocked an eyebrow towards the glowering blonde demon. He moved almost catlike around to sit on the other end of the couch the Prince was occupying, and sat with what Jo thought was a little bit more show than the move needed - like a bird settling into a nest and ruffling it’s feathers far too much before settling. “Perhaps that is what it is doing off of the rack. You did say halls, right Vassago?” The demon waited for a knowing nod from the now smirking Prince, before adding cruelly. “If it were these halls, then clearly Lucky the Leprechaun is resorting to the trash as well as the filth from next door.”

“What was that?” An Irish voice cut through the room, and Jo found herself turning her head towards the entryway to see two more demons’ legs entering the room with equally commanding strides. The voice was unfamiliar and she couldn’t recognise either demons’ styles as any of those she had crossed paths with in the years she had been in Hell. She tried to tilt her head to look through her hair at the pair but that was too hard an angle to achieve as her shoulders were still forcefully slumped forward and a weight still sat upon her neck. “Why must that fool be discussed every time we gather?”

“Careful there, Naberius, you wouldn’t want to infuriate your fellow Marquis would you?” The blonde demon responded after another haughty sounding sniff filled the room as Jo could see the two newcomers sink into the two spare armchairs across from what she thought was an old married couple from the little bickering she’d heard thus far. Gremory appeared to wave a hand before smirking and adding in a fake whisper. “If he thinks you’re talking about that little monster, he might not stay in the funny human form - might even suggest you boys take it outside like a real dog on bird fight.”

Jo felt a chill run down her spine at the words, goosepimples blooming on the bare skin of her back in an obvious fashion, as she caught a growl from the other side where the new arrivals were. Something about the suggestion, the wording, the concept of hearing anything about him made her push up harder again at the force still pressing against her with an audible groan. There was no other ‘little monster’ that was connected to Crowley, and that whoever had arrived had a connection to him - Jo’s stomach twisted sharply at the idea she might possibly be able to lay eyes finally upon the demon that had done the other so wrong so long ago - and clenching her hands into fists of the flowing skirts of the dress she wore that day and drawing blood on the crystals that were littering it.

“There now, friends, we should be better than such squabbles. Mammon, we’re supposed to be having a good time - not letting humans get under our skin,” The only familiar and even sometimes friendly voice cut through the tension as if to distract from the flickering starts of a fight, and as Vassago rose to his feet - Jo felt the pressure on her back lifting almost completely from her shoulders as he flung a hand wide. “Besides, what would it look like to let some little girl get any sort of reaction from such basic words?”

For her it was a long moment before she recovered from the struggling against the power forcing her downwards, to jerk into an up-righted kneeling position - eyes going straight to the two unknown men’s faces with the fury from that time surging through her. Neither were familiar, neither looked particularly interesting or like the vision she had had in her mind of the demon she planned to torture to the brink of insanity if she ever managed to locate and get her hands on them. One was a strikingly interesting looking man who was reclined in an armchair with what she thought was far too much style over substance from the look of him; while the other was a little rougher looking and was staring down the sneering woman rather than noticing anything else at that moment.

“There’s a human?” There was a thick accent to the new man nearest her’s voice as he spoke, something Scandinavian or European but she couldn’t work it out any clearer than that, as he turned his attention about the room as if searching for a sign. Jo bit down on the corner of her lip to stop from smiling at the theatrics now that the pressure was off of her neck and the coin-counter was determinedly keeping from looking at her as he had before. “Ah! There it is. What is another human doing off the racks?”

“Another?! I’ll have you know this one is a unique collectors item, Furfur-”

“I think not. I saw three of them just last year in old Lilith’s quarters-”

“You saw no such thing-!”

“Of course I did. Bit worse for wear than your own perhaps though.” The demon replied casually, shifting in his seat as he raised a brow across at the spluttering host with a tiny, almost imperceptible twitch of his lips. Jo wasn’t sure if the name made sense to her, but she was sure he’d be listed somewhere when she got back to her room to read up on this next demon with a scowl. Next second, her scowl transformed into a look of shock as she looked towards the other newcomer as Furfur added, “You recall seeing them, don’t you Amon?”

“There’s not supposed to be humans running free in Hell,” The words were practically growled out from the Marquis as he tilted a head curiously across the space towards their host for the event. Jo could barely hear any of the words as the itch as to what had struck a chord with her about the demonness’ words clicked in her mind. Struggling to her feet immediately, a flush growing across her cheeks and neck at the fabric swishing and catching around her legs so unlike anything she knew the other had ever seen her in, the blonde felt slightly woozy as she stared straight at the demon she’d never seen without the black, thick fur. “What have you done to find this one, Vassago?”

“For the third time - she was brought here by that pompous joke of a demon Crowley, and I just thought to...”

“Liberate her for yourself?”

“Yes, thank you dear, perfect. I just thought to liberate her for my own collection of interesting items.”

“Why did he-” Amon’s words cut off immediately as Jo finally found her eyes meeting his dead on, a strange look upon the strange face shifting as the sole demon that truly knew her in the room finally noticed her. Her blush got deeper at the slight tilt of the Marquis’ head and the tiny crease that formed between his brows as he stared back at her. There was a long, tense and quiet moment, for her - though she was sure there was someone talking from the dull sounds of voices she could hear but not take in - before the demon jerked out of his chair sharply. “What is she doing here?”

“Does nobody listen to me when I speak?” The host’s voice held a tinge of frustration as he sank back into his armchair and if Jo had looked she would have seen him rubbing at his worn temples with a sigh. “What does it matter what she’s doing here? I’ve decided to keep her for now while I uncover why the girl got removed from the rack so early-”

“You mean you don’t know? I would think it was fairly clear what that fool took her for.” Gremory replied, twirling her own wine glass between one hand and gently swirling the contents. “Or has it been that long for you?”

“You know he’d never dare without your consent, Gremory.” The Dane’s words got a triumphant and smug look from the blonde, while the host sank deeper into his seat with a weary sigh.

“Why does it matter to the Marquis though what it is doing here-” Mammon’s voice cut over the other’s with the telltale clinking sound of his coins continuing to pile and stack over themselves. “Amon, what does it matter to you?” There was a pause as all five demon’s turned towards the now standing demon as he continued to pin Jo with a perplexed frown. “Amon, Marquis, what-”

“What are you doing here?” The man let out a wolfish growl as her stepped towards her, and Jo found herself stumbling back a step away from him as he approached, hands tugging and holding her hemline up just enough to avoid stepping on it as well as be prepared to flee at a moment’s notice. “Why aren’t you-”

“Demonic? Crowley likes his existence too much.” She found herself replying quietly as she took another two steps back at the approaching demon’s bulk, feeling very much as if she was staring down the monstrously sized wolf she was used to rather than just a rather tall man. There was a harsh growl in response to her words that had her stumbling back again, tripping over her skirts as she whispered out quietly, “I... I’m waitin’ for him-”

“Ah, ah, ah, Jo, don’t go sharing secrets I don’t want out.” The timing of the voice, laced with amusement was impeccable to always arrive at the worst possible time for her. Over the bulk of the Marquis’ shoulder, she could see the bemused smirk of the Scottish demon standing in the now open doorway to Vassago’s stolen domain. “Besides, I doubt the dog would be particularly interested in your tall tales.”

“I am very interested, actually.” The words were gritted out, and Jo couldn’t help but think the flash of fury across the demon’s face as Amon ran an eye over her again meant something may have been misinterpreted as he drew closer to her. “Since where does a Crossroads demon have the right to remove souls from the pit, Crowley?”

“Since now, Marquis.”

“The Leprechaun thinks he is above the heirachy it seems-” The cold tone from the couch came like a whip, Mammon’s eyes focussed upon the interloper with a disdainful look. “As if a little term from a group of cowards validates him in some way.”

“Perhaps he is still spreading for the first one after all?”

“Gremory, dear, you may have just struck on the truth-”

“Isn’t that the Marquis’ area of expertise?”

“True to that, Amon what say you? ...Amon?”

Jo barely heard a word of the bickering and snickering demons as she found herself staring up at the glaring seventh demon’s face as he stared her down. It felt like the concept of hell being hot and sweltering finally made sense under his glare, a trickle of sweat rolling down her open back as the blonde tried to restrain from blurting out all of the questions she had - how was he doing, what was he doing, where was he, why hadn’t he come for her yet.

“What are you doing here, how come you’re not turned yet?” Amon’s voice was exceptionally quiet under the sound of the bickering behind them, and Jo felt herself sucking in a breath as the demon’s yellow eyes flashed between her and where Crowley had moved another step into the room with a speculative look on his face. “What are you doing with him?”

“Crowley took me down for- I told him that Gre-”

“Don’t say his name.”

“I.. I’m waiting for him, and Crowley just.. took-”

“I saw an opportunity, Marquis,” The King of the Crossroads seemed to appear at her side, as if he had known immediately the pair left unobserved by the bantering demon group would talk and talk of something that Jo knew the other would not appreciate. She felt her implorying stare shifting into a furious glare as a hand spread across the bare skin at the base of her back, thumb rubbing almost possessively across her skin. “And little Joanna is a fantastic piece of ass, I mean entertainment in the mean time, isn’t that right darling?”

Jo opened her mouth to snap back at him, only to be interrupted by the sound of a barked laugh from the group behind them. “Oh Vassago, you really have been lying as much as myself, haven’t you?”

“I’ve no idea what you mean by such a claim.”

“Attempting to pass off Crowley’s flavor of the month as if it is anything special?” The Dane asked with the blankest of looks as he surveyed the glaring trio, eyes moving from Jo’s face to those of the demons on either side of her with a considering look. There was something a little too know in his face, and the way he quirked a brow up at the tall Irish-formed demon made Jo shudder, before slapping a hand out at the stroke of the fingers against the line of her dress after it. Furfur appeared to stare down the seventh demon as he spoke aloud to the group, “Perhaps that is the truth of all your so called finds though, Vassago. After all, how valuable can one really call an artwork by some little human who’s name no longer exists in the world, what is the worth of some jewel that can be recreated through science these days. What is the worth of some little girl that a known man-whore has taken on?”

There was the sound of a sigh, and Jo could feel her lips twisting at the familiarity of Vassago’s frustrated noise from the demon - he made it often enough when Jo would dance around or deny him an answer as to why she was removed from the rack, after all. “From what I have discovered, it’s more flavor of the decade than month, Furufr.”

“Really? You’ve kept to one for a decade, red-eyes? My my, perhaps you’ve gone native.” Naberius’ voice cracked out, and Jo could see the way Crowley’s eyes flashed for the briefest second to their black depths in reaction to the call, before the other added sharply. “And such a dull choice of one from the look of it.”

“Oh that is it!” Jo snapped out sharply at that comment. Shaking her head though, Jo gave her own sigh before jerking away from the grip of the Crossroads King and tall wolfish demon. “You know what? It’s really not necessary my bein’ here for you all to speculate upon my existence.” Shaking her head again and brushing past the demons near her, she barely restrained herself from stomping a foot as she looked at the Danish demon with a scowl. “I am not a flavor or anythin’ like that, I am not dull or boring, and I am not a trinket, a cockroach or a plaything. What I am is sick of you all.” As she hissed the words out, Jo found herself turning her gaze to each of the assembled and sitting demon lords, as if her words would have any impact or anything but trouble for speaking up.

There was a short second, before Jo found herself struggling for breath as if a force grabbed her around the ribs tightly and was beginning to boil her from the inside, and the next moment she was standing in the centre of her own room as Crowley moved to pour himself a drink from his drink cart.

“Wha-”

“What happened?” The other asked, swirling the brown liquid in his glass with a small smirk. “What happened was you were about to be obliterated by one, or maybe it was more than one, of those elitist fools, darling. You almost got yourself splattered across my walls and I would hate to have to put you back together again, Jo.”

Jo found herself gaping for a moment before she moved to sink down in the seat beside the other with a sigh. She’d not gone there expecting anything that day - Vassago had said something about his wife being around and wanting to show Jo off to her, but she did not expect the sheer number of demons, the sheer power that would fill he room, and especially not the wolf-in-human-clothing to be there.

There was a quiet moment as Crowley sipped his drink, before she grabbed the glass from his hands and polished off the liquor herself with a hiss - thinking over how strange it was to feel more comfortable with the King of the Crossroads than with his best demon friend.

---

[thedeaditeslayer]

Trunk Space Interview - Dana DeLorenzo.

We fell in love with Ash Williams as easily-impressionable preteens, marveling in his brazen foot-in-mouth false bravado, but had his recent sidekick Kelly Maxwell been with him 30 years ago, we’re sorry to say that the chainsaw-wielding anti-hero would have been an afterthought. Portrayed by Dana DeLorenzo in the Starz series “Ash vs Evil Dead,” currently in its third season, Kelly is, as she would say, a breath of mother f@#?ing fresh @ss air!

In reality, DeLorenzo is also one of those freshly inhaled breaths. Eager to discuss her place in the Evil Dead universe and genuinely grateful to have been invited on board, the Ohio native is ecstatic to see her character take more of a leadership role this season, which she says will culminate in a moment that has Kelly seizing upon an opportunity in a extremely unforgettable way.

We recently sat down with DeLorenzo during a bomb cyclone (yes, that’s a thing!) to discuss where the series has impacted her life the most, the star dust that follows Sam Raimi when he leaves a room, and her mother’s spot-on chainsaw impression.

TrunkSpace: How has “Ash vs Evil Dead” impacted your life the most?

DeLorenzo: Oh man, that’s such a hard question to answer because, first of all, brevity is not my strong suit. I’m trying to answer questions in a short amount of time. It’s tough, and something that big and magnified is… something that huge of a topic is still hard for me to articulate. Let me try.

Well for one thing, it gave me a steady job in the entertainment industry, which has been something I have been dreaming and making birthday wishes for my entire life, and just busting my ass, really. I’m from Youngstown, not really the hotbed of entertainment. I’ve just always loved to perform. It was very innate. I was telling jokes to myself on my Fisher-Price tape recorder when I was three, cracking myself up with my “Sesame Street” stuffed animals. It was one of those things that always drove me. And my parents have always kept me very grounded, and are two of the hardest working people I know. So in that sense, I never really thought that it would ever be something I could do for a living, I just always wanted to pursue it on the side. I was working five or six shifts a week, 12 hour shifts on my feet, when I got this audition, in fact. The bar that I was working at was incredible and kept me afloat all those years in LA, for like five years. It was called Beer Belly. The fact that I get to wake up every day and do what I love, I’d say that is the biggest thing. And then there are all the little branches. I mean, what a thrill as an actor to be on a show like this, that has all the things. I get to flex so many muscles. I get to learn so many incredible aspects of the craft, whether it’s doing stunts in action, or doing comedy, which is my number one love, opposite Bruce Campbell, the king of one-liners and comedic timing. Or, I’m there walking in the woods with Xena: Warrior Princess. And also, I get to do drama, and obviously, the horror. I have gotten to cross off so many things on my acting bucket list.

TrunkSpace: Well, and from an outside perspective, that seems like one of the amazing things about being involved in a show like this, is that, anything is possible. You could show up to work and be doing anything on any given day.

DeLorenzo: And that’s really how it is. We move very quickly. So many of the days, things get switched around, and all of a sudden, I’m hanging upside down by my ankles in a tree fight, and then the next day I’m getting covered in blood and viscera with a cannon being shot at me. It definitely keeps it exciting and keeps you on your toes. And that lends itself to the final aspect which is, having fans is obviously something new for me. I’m just so grateful because, this is so sincere, meeting fans gives me life. It’s such a symbiotic relationship to the point where I actually think I get more excited to meet fans than they are to meet me, where I’m the one creeping them out. I’m so intense all the time and I’m so passionate. I mean, I am Italian, that comes with the territory. Truly, when I get to do these conventions or comic cons and meet them, they’re the ones usually backing away from me slowly, asking for security. I just get so filled with love and passion, and as an actor that’s such a great feeling, ’cause the work is the reward, to be honest, for me. I go crazy when there’s nothing going on and I’m not shooting. Right now, usually we’re shooting in New Zealand at this time, and so, I’m having a little bit of a panic attack not being on set. But luckily, I can go to some of these conventions to meet fans and it’s like, how great to have people, first-hand, in your face, and be able to respond to your work and get as excited as you were to shoot it. That, to me, has been the crème de la crème. Like I said, considering my roots and considering the journey and the real tough road it took to get here, there’s not a day that goes by that I am not grateful and feel so lucky to be on the show about a guy with a chainsaw arm. Who knew?

TrunkSpace: As it relates to the fans, this franchise, more than a lot of the genre franchises, it feels like people have a sense of ownership in it. It’s almost like they found their indie band that they loved and they want to share it with their close friends. How long did it take for you, being a part of it, to feel that ownership as well?

DeLorenzo: You know, I don’t know that I feel ownership in this, I just feel like I’m a cog in the wheel. But in terms of when did I feel like people were receptive, to welcome us as part of the group… pretty early on.

It’s interesting you say that because I was actually terrified at the possibility that it could go in a very different direction. And that’s not a secret, if you look at the early responses, when it came out that finally, after, what was it, 20 or 30 years, they were gonna have a follow-up to “The Evil Dead” with Bruce Campbell, the response was a little bit, what’s the word I’m looking for?

TrunkSpace: Cautionary.

DeLorenzo: That’s exactly the word, cautionary, or even adversarial. And understandably so. I knew the franchise, I was a fan. It’s about one guy, and finally, finally, here we got ’em again, Bruce Campbell, doing this next leg, transitioning from film to television, and what, he’s gonna have two sidekicks? So I was a little worried that, “Oh boy, what if they hate us?” Luckily, I’d say, straight away, from the very first time I got to meet fans… I think it was New York Comic Con before the show had aired, so we did a huge thing there for like 2500 fans… and they just went nuts. Then, I think my first convention was in Chicago, my home away from home… I’ve lived there for 10 years… and it was Days of the Dead, and only three episodes had aired of the first season and already I was blown away by how receptive they were and how immediately they invested in Pablo and Kelly. And I have to give credit to Rob Tapert and Bruce and Sam (Raimi), and our showrunner at the time, Craig DiGregorio, because they knew what they were doing. They knew that in order to let this character, Ash Williams, this flawed human being that we know and love, they knew that in order to let him still be that character with some often offensive, sometimes ignorant comments and views, they knew that in order to let him still be him, they needed to surround him with someone who has a heart and who was his cheerleader, and also someone who is willing to go toe-to-toe with him and call him out and also sort of be the common sense.

TrunkSpace: It’s a new layer that didn’t exist before, this wonderful family element that binds them all together.

DeLorenzo: Absolutely. You hit the word, which is the buzzword for Season 3, because for two seasons we built up this family and even have introduced, or brought back members of Ash’s family. His father, played by the great Lee Majors, which I think is one of the best additions to the show. And then, of course, we have Cheryl, his sister, which, oh my goodness, what a thrill for the fans, the lifelong fans of the franchise, to have that. But now, for Season 3, we introduced a daughter, his actual daughter he never knew he had. So there is so much great richness and conflict that now directly affect Pablo and Kelly, who the audience has grown to love, and you see how that sets that in motion. Now it’s the family that is bound by blood, and the family that is bound by bloodshed, and I love that. I love watching Ash Williams, the last man on earth who should be, now have to be responsible for a teenage daughter, no less, who already has the rebellion that a lot of teenagers have, but then with the same stubbornness of Ash Williams. It gives a whole new meaning to sins of the father. It is heartwarming but also so funny, and often very real and emotional, and I’m very excited for fans to see how Ash grows just enough this season in such a real and fantastic way.

TrunkSpace: From what we could tell, this is the longest time you’ve ever spent with one character. What has that journey been like for you to discover somebody over an extended period of time?

DeLorenzo: It has been one of the greatest thrills of my life because I absolutely love my character. I love Kelly Maxwell, and that, again, is a testament to the writers and to the showrunners, but also, Sam Raimi set the bar from day one, about collaborating and letting me bring my own aspects or thoughts or different layers that I wanted to bring to the table. From day one, they have been so receptive and collaborative, and I think that always lends itself to being… when creatives all work together for the same goal, it takes a village to create a strong character. I’m talking down the line, not just collaborating in terms of dialogue and in terms of ideas and who Kelly Maxwell is, it’s been collaborative from behind the scenes.

So, it has been such a magnificent experience, and I feel like art imitates life imitates art, because Kelly’s journey has been very similar to my own journey playing Kelly. That sounds so meta, but it’s true. (Laughter) She was thrown into the fight against evil, I was thrown into this. Yes, I’d been working for a long time, but I think I had no more than eight seconds of screen time on any major movie or TV show. Also, just how she came into her own, how she became her own warrior by her own right, I feel like I can look back at where I started and I feel a lot more comfortable in these shoes now… and in this purple leather jacket.

I have nothing else to compare it to, so maybe we should add this to the other ways that this show has impacted me, because I’ve never gotten to create a character and never before have been able to have so much creative input in a character. That’s been a huge thing for me, and again, something that I’m just so happy and grateful for.

TrunkSpace: The bar has been set high with this job. Any future jobs will always be compared to your time on “Ash vs Evil Dead” now.

DeLorenzo: Oh yeah, I’m screwed. (Laughter) But also, it taught me a lot, and I feel like this was such its own beast, if you will. I feel like not all the characters I play will I be able to find so many ways to bring out these little aspects, so I feel like every character is different. So even if I don’t get to collaborate again, at least I have this. But I do feel like, in my experience, there are many people in this industry who do believe in the good of creating together. If you look at any of the shows that are successful, and beloved, you hear the same thing every time, that everyone gets along, everyone takes part, everyone stays in their own lane, that kind of thing. So I do feel like it is possible. I hope there’s more of that to come.

But yeah, nothing will ever top the moment that Sam Raimi sits you down day one and says, “Hey, I’d really like you to help me rewrite this scene.” And you’re like, “I’m sorry, Sam Raimi, what?” I thought he was kidding. I’ve said this before, he is both the least and most intimidating person in the room, in the sense of, when he talks to you, you’re the only one there, he’s looking at you, he makes you feel so good, he listens to what you have to say, and then he walks away, and you’re like, “Holy shit! That was Sam Raimi!” You’re talking to him, it’s like Sam the butcher from the grocery store and you go, “Hey man, how you doing?” And then he walks away and there’s like this trail of star dust that’s left in view.

TrunkSpace: (Laughter) Well, what’s amazing about Sam is that, where he doesn’t get enough credit is that he really kick-started this whole superhero craze with what he did with the Spider-Man franchise.

DeLorenzo: Absolutely. And also, things like the POV of the object, that was him. He created that whole thing of like, the ax flying from the ax’s point of view. I mean, how genius? So again, I would have been happy to be Screaming Extra #72 in a show like this. (Laughter) Which, by the way, I think that was my biggest credit before getting this show.

So I’m just so grateful to all of them, the producers that took a chance on me, because I’m not the typical horror stereotype. I’m not the beautiful blonde with blue eyes who can scream. I’m a very different-looking, different-sounding character or person that screams like a 75-year-old man. I really thought I was never gonna get this job ’cause I actually can’t scream. I have nodules. My mom, when she saw the first episode, she was like, “That was great but why didn’t they dub your screaming? You sound like you’re a 75 year-old man.” Mom, you’re not wrong. I cannot scream.

TrunkSpace: How great is it that your mom is in on the lingo with dubbing and stuff like that? That’s awesome!

DeLorenzo: (Laughter) Oh, I know. Whenever my parents will call me, immediately after the show airs, this is what I get every time… her impression of a chainsaw. So the show aired. “Hi, Mom and Dad. What’d you think?”

(DeLorenzo does an impression of her mom doing an impression of a chainsaw.)

And it’s actually pretty good. But it’s so funny, ’cause this is not my parent’s cup of tea or anything, but they have grown to absolutely love the show. They give me their full Roger Ebert critique.

[doomedandstoned]

The Doom Doc Traces Metal’s Heaviest Genre To Its Roots

~Review by Shawn Gibson, with Billy Goate~

The story of doom begins two generations ago in the UK with a band called Black Sabbath. An important new film, titled The Doom Doc, seeks to connect the dots from those early days to the present, just one city away from Ozzy, Tony, Geezer, and Bill’s Birmingham roots. Directed by Connor Matheson, the Sheffield documentary was released the same year as Black Sabbath played their last.

DOOM /do͞om/

noun

      death, destruction, or some other terrible fate

verb

      condemn to certain death or destruction

The Doom Doc made its timely appearance in 2017; the year Birmingham legends Black Sabbath decided this was (really) The End. Roughly an hour-and-a-half north, we’re met by the hustle and bustle of Sheffield, England. Traffic is awash in a glowing red hue. Pedestrians going to and fro in crowded movements reminiscent of a group of ants.

Sheffield is home of Def Leppard, Human League, and Pulp for the mainstream. For the underground, it’s home to Kurokuma, Regulus, Ba'al, ARAE, and a steady swell of others who are making sure the UK doom scene stays on the map right where Black Sabbath left it.

We hear the voice of Craig Bagshaw, who lives in Sheffield and also fronts Holy Spider Promotions. He tells a tale of going to a party and one of his mates answering the door with a screwdriver in hand and a wild look in his eyes. Upon entry, Craig's friend tells him that he's got some MDMA and he's already toasted. There is an argument about quality of said MDMA. Craig's friend then takes his belt off and starts whipping his mate’s asses as if he was their dad! He screams some twisted gibberish about the Holy Order of the Spider.

Most everyone reading this understands how DIY metal is and even more so with doom and sludge. Jack Newnham of Slabdragger argues, "You’ve just got to make your own scene. You've got to make it happen! If you don't, there isn't a scene." Not surprisingly, heavy music for these folks has become a lifestyle. "It goes beyond hobby to a lifestyle," insists Slabdragger’s Sam Thredder.

Doom may mean different things to different people, but to George Ionita of Kurokuma and ARAE, "Doom’s like fucking apocalypse! It's like when it rains down on you, like when it's so heavy...When we come out with a heavy riff, we'll take off our plugs and stuff and just fucking mosh. That's what doom is! It's the pleasure inside, when I close my eyes playing the song and I see visuals.” George has an example in mind for us, too. “We've got this song about a fucking volcano. I close my eyes and I think about the volcano. I see the volcano overflowing, exploding. It's boss! It's all I've got to say."

Bandmate Joe E. Allen chimes in: “You don't go to doom-sludge shows to hear nice melodies and to hear someone singing nice songs. You go because you want feel like something heavy hitting you in the chest and that's the kind of shows we put on with Holy Spider. We don't want something that feels like a normal metal gig. We want to do something that feels like you’re on some other plane of existence. It's just mashed together into this experience of really loud, really. Really extreme heavy, affecting music."

Sheffield-based writer Rachel Genn serves as narrator of The Doom Doc, tracing doom metal all the way back to the almighty Black Sabbath.   Sabbath changed everything and influenced everybody. They’re the first band to tune down, she recounts, because Tony Iommi had to in an attempt to play guitar after an unfortunate industrial accident clipped several of his fingertips. The incident is recounted in Tony’s own memoir, Iron Man: My Journey Through Heaven and Hell with Black Sabbath (2011).

"That started the whole thing," affirms drummer Vinny Appice of Black Sabbath, Dio, and Heavy & Hell fame. "Tony plays in the pocket, playing these chords. You wanna hear doomy chords? Just let Tony riff for a little bit. It's amazing! That's why we call him Mr. Riff -- The Riff Doctor!"

"Yeah it's all about Sabbath really, isn't it, to be honest?” turning back to Slabdragger’s Sam. “Like, they just smoke weed all the time -- so did all the bands in the ‘60's -- and they make the music we pretty much make."

Rachel sums it up nicely for us all: "Doom metal is a subgenre of metal and involves very slow tempos, extremely loud volumes, repetitive, sometimes psychedelic, riffs, and long compositions. Lyrics dealing with evil negativity, spirituality or fantasy. It’s the musical equivalent of wading through black treacle."

I’ve not had an experience with black treacle, but it sounds tantalizing.

"I think like one of the main things with like the Conan guitar sound is, in general, that the fact that the guitar is tuned to drop F, which is totally, ridiculously low,” Says Chris Fielding of Conan and Skyhammer Studio with a chuckle.

Breaking down doom even further, the documentary tells us where the subgenres of sludge metal and stoner rock fit into the equation. "Sludge is like a wilder, greased-up version of doom,” we’re told. “It was Melvins from Washington who first begun the sound." The Seattle band, of course, famous for its punked-up doom tendencies. Other bands like as Eyehategod, Sourvein, Thou, and Crowbar would go on to define the genre even more distinctively.

Speaking of which, the great Kirk Windstein now makes an entrance to tells us about the sludgey roots of the venerated NOLA band Crowbar. "We had come from thrash backgrounds and all that kind of shit. We were like, We just want to do something completely different. We're burned out on it. We kinda just did the opposite of what everybody else was doing. Everybody else was tuned to E standard, playing 1000 miles an hour [so we] tuned it down to fucking B and drop A, playing super slow. We felt it made it a lot heavier.”

It appears that Kirk has been caught up in the Spirit at this moment in the interview, as he then exclaims: “God it's so fucking heavy! There's no way to describe it. I love heavy music!"

Cheers to Kirk Windstein and his earth-shakingly heavy riffs.

In the '90s there was another scene that must be mentioned to understand the evolution of doom metal. Several states down from Washington, another important development in heavy music was taking place in the much sunnier terrain of the southwest. Most famously, bands like Kyuss and Fu Manchu dabbled in fuzzy, tuned-down rock ‘n’ roll, which we simply call stoner rock. Stoner bands began appearing not only in California, Arizona, and Texas, but all around the freaking world.

Rob Graham of the Sheffield-based Wet Nuns and Drenge mentions being a little irked by the term stoner rock. “I think it's sad when any form of expression becomes just about the drugs that the people are into,” he says, while also noting: “It's pretty cool to smoke weed and listen to heavy music.” A better word to focus on? Blues. “To begin with we were sorta just a blues band. Like we were this thrashy kinda garage blues band. Bored, creative people that wanted to really [make] fuckingly stupid loud music.”

As the conversation goes along, we stumble upon a familiar theme: “Somewhere along the way we stumbled across this like kinda thing heavy, so heavy!” Rob says, notably enthused. “That's what we're about we were trying to be as heavy as we could be. It's like trying to run in a swimming pool! It's like being stuck in a tar pit and melting. That's what it conjures to me, anyway."

Anyone up for little skinny dip in a lake of treacle?

While “stoner” may be used in a derogatory sense, there’s no denying that marijuana has been a huge influence for doom metal and stoner rock bands alike, leading to the advent of stoner-doom. If Black Sabbath started doom’s love affair with their ‘71 single “Sweet Leaf,” bands like Electric Wizard and Sleep (with their monumental opus, Dopesmoker) forever married Mary Jane to The Riff. Others, such as Weedeater, Weedpecker, Bongzilla, BelzebonG, Dopelord, Dopethrone, have become important mile markers for the scene.

"Yeah the two seem to go hand in hand," says Kez Whelan of Terrorizer Magazine and Nottingham doom-grind act Shrykull. “Even though it's associated, that sweet leaf is the influence it isn't for everybody in the doom scene.”

Not everyone is down with the dope, however. Craig and Joe’s counterpart in Holy Spider Promotions, Terry Larkin, is introduced to us next. A UK doom fan, he is quite; a marijuana fan, not so much. "I was never really into the whole listening to music and smoking weed. It doesn't affect me nicely at all!” He does seem to contend that we can get high on the music composed by a musician under the influence. “They can actually channel it into the music effectively giving the listener that same feeling, too." Music makes you high? That’s a thesis we can get behind.

Kirk Windstein returns, because you know he has stories to tell from all those years hanging with Phil Anselmo, Pepper Keenan, Jimmy Bower, and the rest. "A lot of the guys did smoke weed,” he recalls, “so we were very creative sitting in a circle together with a good buzz, you know, coming up with shit that ended up being great. Down was much more of a collaboration and a jam session type thing. So we jammed from fuckin’ in the afternoon until whenever -- fuckin’ two o’clock in the morning. By then, everybody was tanked or high or whatever might be. We were able to come up with some great music doing it that way!"

By this point in The Doom Doc, we’re clear on at least one thing: doom, whatever the flavor, is about keeping it real. You’ll never be short of songs about the despair, depravity, and greed in this dog eat dog, eye for an eye world of ours. Doom metal bands are straight shooters. Whether it concerns religion, politics, or human nature, they call it like they see it.

"Bands like us and in our genre and the whole nine yards, we write and speak about reality," Kirk says. "A lot of people are scared of reality. The truth hurts. A lot of people try to sugarcoat it [and] sweep it under the rug. I think it's important. People always ask me, you know, ‘Can we talk about this, can we talk about that?’ I’m like, you can ask me anything you want. I might not answer, [but] chances are I'm gonna.” What he says next really resonated with me, as I’m sure it will with many of our readers: “I think it’s really for people struggling, you know, with depression -- or its alcohol and drugs. It's very important for them to realize they’re not alone and other people have been there."

Ethan McCarthy of Primitive Man chimes in: "We're writing about real life stuff, you know, so it's like a way to release bad feelings about life's shit, if that makes sense." It makes good sense to me.

"I don't know what we're into, but I fucking like it!" proclaims the great Bill Ward, adding: “You know, for me, playing in a loud, aggressive band, which is what Black Sabbath was, it’s the most comfortable, sonic, and heartfelt place one could be.”

Doomed & Stoned’s Elizabeth Gore and Hugo Guzman were fortunate enough to contribute to this portion of The Doom Doc, visiting the Black Sabbath drummer at his studio in Los Angeles.

This scene we invest in. We choose to nourish this garden.

"Doing a live gig,” Bill Ward says, “I need to thrash and to play and get everything out of me and reach that place of satisfaction inside. I like to come off the stage wasted...It’s very sexual. It’s like, you know, it’s the same thing we have to do when we get together and have sex!" Oh, Bill. You do have a way of leaving us speechless.

“Playing live on stage gives me that same feeling," Bill continues. "That's what music is supposed to do! It's supposed to go wherever it's supposed to. It’s pretty simple. I find no faults, no judgement, you know. Leave that to someone who’s more righteous. As far as I'm concerned, metal's fucking metal!"

Returning now to Joe E Allen from Kurokuma: “I remember Conan being extremely atmospheric, extremely heavy, extremely loud -- and that was only amplified by the way we were feeling. It was almost a transcendental experience. I was touched by the finger of doom that night!"

As a vested fan of the genre, this was pretty much my “Hell, yeah!” moment of the documentary. From start to finish, The Doom Doc is an evident work of passion. For fans of doom, it should be required watching. I’m not sure how newcomers to the genre will take it -- it’s hard to be objective when you listen to it, write about it, play it, and live it. Nonetheless, this 90-minute film is a welcome entry into a fairly small collection of documentaries on the heavy underground. Hopefully viewers will be inspired by it to dig into their own local scenes and do a little riff-mining of their own.

Upcoming Screenings of The Doom Doc

International Film Festival Rotterdam (Holland), January 2018

Desertfest London (UK), May 2018

Bristol (UK), May/June 2018

Brutal Assault (Czech Republic), August 2018

Look for The Doom Doc on DVD by this summer at www.theDoomDoc.com

UPDATE!

The Doom Doc DVD is now available pre-order, with worldwide shipping and streaming options availalbe.   Visit: thedoomdoc.bigcartel.com

[shrbrt-blog1]

Slaves and Secrets at The Loving Touch in Ferndale, Michigan

Tuesday, September 19th, Stacie and I made our way out to Ferndale to check out the Slaves and Secrets tour. While I may have taken way too long to get ready, I blame the dabs. We made it there just in time to watch the last two bands. Both were plagued by delayed sets due to technical difficulties that seemed to be all on the venue's staff. It's not to say that things didn't get fucking wild because they did. I'm just saying when you push sets back and give musicians time to drink and party, more than they definitely need to, then you should expect what happened as normalcy. 

Secrets were great. I had a really fun time shooting their set and was stoked to see Slaves up next. Of course, more technical difficulties delayed the Slaves set. I was right up front for the whole set. I saw the line of shots for the band and the one for Jonny. He continued to ignore his side stage comrades pleading with him to drink water and did another shot. Now what happened next is more of a fluke than anything. Jonny ran up to the front center of the stage and I could tell he expected the monitor to be permanently in place. It wasn't.

So there went Jonny Craig into the crowd and it did not look fun or entertaining, it looked fucking painful. No one was expecting it not even him. See the angle on the one twitter video that circulated all the dweeby music blogs the days after the show only show him go in and stand up and choke a guy.

Shout out to those websites, by the way, they make me feel better about the work I put in to get these gigs on my own. I don't have a money backer or investor. I don't have an editor or even a 2nd person involved with the content creation. So I fucking laugh my ass off every time I go to a show that ends up having a Twitter or Instagram video go viral via these websites. Instead of sending their own journalists and doing actual work they just go on twitter and use the twitter search bar. No shame in shitty hustle, but it's still weak as fuck to me. That's their way of doing things, it's just not mine.  If you ever see me post a video from someone's cell phone it will be from my phone or the person I am at the shows with, whether that be Stacie or one of my friends. Otherwise, that shit is a fucking REPOST, NOT A GOD DAMN FEATURE or BREAKING MUSIC NEWS! So Jonny stands up and chokes a guy in the crowd, the video showed it to be way more violent than what it was. At the same time the first couple songs a guy kept screaming "Play that Emarosa song!" I mean.. come on. People are so fucking lame. All I know is Jonny's fans have a thing with having him choke them. His persona and reputation proceeded itself that night. It wasn't rare form, it was exactly what I expected to happen. I wasn't surprised by any of it. I saw how much he drank in a short span, I knew he was going to get too fucked up. I'm a recovering alcoholic trust me, I knew what was going to happen next... The show got cut short by 4-5 songs? Jonny walked off stage before Colin demanded the TM to get him back on stage and finish the set. He did eventually. At that point, I was packing my gear up in the bag and Stacie started yelling to look behind the stage. At that time I turned and saw Colin and Jonny going at it for a quick few seconds.   

WHY WASN'T THIS ON FUCKING TWITTER?

Because no one actually does their fucking homework. Again, they just go on twitter and search bands that they think cause drama. So who is to blame? A singer who still can't figure out how to drink responsibly, or a group of journalists who sensationalize an alcoholic's battle with road life? I love that this is going to be hidden on my page for a while. Maybe one day more people will know about it. A bass player punching a singer isn't rare, the idea that these websites think that, actually makes me laugh kinda like Ron Swanson. Bands throw down regularly when booze or drugs or both are involved. I don't think any drugs were used that night besides booze and probably some Michigan Medical Marijuana. You're talking about a band of musicians here not coworkers at a law firm, you have to have that familial love or when shit like this happens it brings on the end like it did last year. Obviously, they worked some shit out to keep going through the antics and shit that seems to follow them around. Let's not forget this is the band who got attacked with knives for wearing skinny jeans. Anything more than cracking a joke about someone's fashion is unnecessary. We all later found out it was an anti-gay attack.  I am of no influence but I will say this, drink less and smoke way more weed. Calm the fuck down. You could be struggling like us dickwads who cover your shit. The world is yours to lose, I don't understand what the issue is here. I love the music and obviously, you guys do too. So get right and do the damn thing properly and take it to the next level. It's fucking worth it. Then again what do I know? I haven't had any real success as a musician. Do what you're going to do, we will still be here to talk about it.

Stacie thought for sure the band would be done, I laughed knowing that wasn't going to happen over that shit, as we walked to the car eagerly to go home and smoke weed before crashing sometime pretty late, I realized I actually love covering shows with a camera and words than I do playing them. So no matter what, Jonny got me to solidify that what I was doing with my life is better than what I was doing a year ago. 

I woke up the next morning to see posts from a bunch of music sites and I just waited for an actual account from someone who saw everything. It never came, IT NEVER CAME! Instead, they just reported about how he fell off the stage and choked a fan. Which is fine, but without context, he looks a lot worse than he should be portrayed for THIS night. If you want to be a dick about the guy for other shit go ahead, I just think he had an off night with way too much downtime and booze. Then again people don't research, they see headlines and immediately form opinions they will go to hell and back for. That to me is fucking absurd. I think we love to build talented people up but there is nothing better than seeing them fall. So there's a ton of people who are fed up with that kind of behavior. And well, if the door guy wasn't nice to me and let me in any way, I would have turned around and gone back Downriver. Since they forgot to put a dude on the guest list, the only thing that would have come from that night would have been one lonely twitter video. Instead, there are over 100 photos for you guys. Thanks. Shoutout to the bands for making it incredibly eventual and entertaining. Might not have gotten to hear "I'd Rather See Your Star Explode" but that's fine. If you share or re-post photos, please give the artists, Shrbrt.com, and myself credit.   

[thorne93]

Savior

Prompt: This is for @amarvelouswritings 700 follower challenge. My song was Lady Antebellum - Just a kiss. The story takes place right after Loki lands on Earth (before he visits Berlin) in Avengers (so he hasn’t caused any damage yet).

Fandom: Marvel - Loki x Reader

Word Count: 4160

Warnings: language, suicide/suicidal thoughts, domestic/spousal abuse (emotional and physical), depression...?

Notes: First Loki fic on here (I doubt it’s as amazing as others I’ve seen). Beta’d by the ever amazing @like-a-bag-of-potatoes

~~~~~~~

You ran into the office, winded, stressing about how late you were - 25 minutes, for the--was it the tenth time this month? You winced as every bone and muscle hurt on you, thanks to your asshole husband.

“Y/N,” your boss said as he strolled up to your desk.

“Yes?” You turned instantly to face him. He had always been a rather lenient man for your tardiness and excuses to run home or leave early.

“I’m sorry Y/N, but this is unacceptable. You’re late again. This is the eleventh time this month,” he said, trying to be gentle.

You were getting fired.

You moved in closer and tried to whisper as terror took over your body. “No, Mr. Roberts, please. It won’t ever happen again, I’ll work overtime and you don’t even have to pay me. Please, I can’t lose this job.” You were begging and you hated to do it, but you had to, you were the only one who could support you and Craig. If Craig found out you lost yet another job, he’d take all of his endless rage out on you-your face, your stomach, your arm, your hair...You cringed thinking of the damage he would inflict.

“I’m sorry, we just can’t. Collect your things and leave your key with Julia at the front desk.”

Your heart sped to a million miles per hour. How was this happening? Because that’s how life always happened for you. Your parents abandoned you at a young age of three because they couldn’t be bothered with raising you. You bounced from foster home to foster home until you met Craig, who at first seemed sweet and charming, but as soon as the wedding band was on your finger, it was like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

You met in college, but it didn’t take too long before Craig had pressured you to quit college to take care of a home for the two of you. You tried to state that you didn’t have kids yet and there was no reason you couldn’t both take care of the home, but he wasn’t having that. You left college, became a housewife, until Craig’s love for the bottle and the drugs took over and couldn’t hold down even a burger flipping job. You worked as Mr. Roberts assistant for eight months now and it started as usual, Craig let you get a few good months in then he’d start making you stay later and later in the morning, missing more and more. This morning he was throwing beer bottles at you to make his breakfast.

This would be the fourth job in 3 years you’d lost due to his lazy, no good, addicted ridden ass. You hated Craig but you didn’t know how to get away. With your spotty work record and no family or friends to turn to, you couldn’t afford a divorce attorney and even if you could, you were sure he’d kill you before he let you leave him. If he didn’t, he’d at least find you afterward.

You’d cleaned out your desk, your chest constricting from dread as you climbed behind the wheel of your beat up old car. You could always go to the park, or the mall, or somewhere else and not tell him until you got home. You could pretend they let you go at the end of the day.

So you did. Even though you were nervous as hell, and anxiety was rippling through you like electric shock waves, you tried your best to have a good day at the park, you even went and got ice cream, anything to take your mind off the inevitable beating you would be facing when you got home.

Eventually, you knew you had to face the music. You drove into the busted driveway you and Craig shared, grabbed your box out of the back seat, and went inside the broken home.

“Craig, I’m home!” you called out, because if you didn’t address him, he’d be even more of a dick.

“About god damned time! Where the hell have you been?!” he asked, storming out of the kitchen. “I need dinner.”

“It’s only 4:30,” you said in a tired voice.

“What are those boxes? Did you get fired again? Dammit, woman!” His arm reeled back and slapped you so hard you fell to the ground. You thought to fight back but usually that just made it worse. Craig was 6’4 and stocky, he could usually pick you up with one fist, no problem.

“I got fired because you made me make your fucking breakfast,” you growled. At this point in your three year relationship, you’d known what you just said would land you a terrible reaction, but what was the fucking point? You’d lost your only family, your jobs, never had real love….at this point, what did it even matter?

As if on cue, he kicked your stomach. It hurt, but you were numb to it. You no longer cried when the hits, kicks, and stomps came. You laid on the old carpet, taking hit after hit until he was too tired to give any more. You laid for the longest time, just thinking of nothing. Thinking and wishing you were dead. Dead, Heaven, or Hell, had to be better than whatever this life was offering.

After some time, you finally stood up as he sat and smoke and drank, watching some shitty show on an old as hell TV.

“I’m going to go to the store,” you said quietly as he ignored you and you slipped outside. The snow had really picked up since you left work that morning. It was cold, sure, but now it was at least a foot thick on the ground. You dug out the tires from the snow, got in, got the heater going as high as it would go, and started off toward the store for dinner. You weren’t hungry, you were just going to appease that idiot back at the house.

You drove into the giant snowflakes, shivering, your abs hurting from every move you made. The darkness was alleviated by all the white all around, helping to reflect your headlights off of everything. You came across the old bridge you passed every time you went to the store and suddenly a morbid thought crossed your mind.

You pulled over as far as you could off the road and sat there. The idea you had was incredibly far fetched, ludacris, damnable….but it was so inviting.

Getting out of your car and shutting the door with shaking fingers--at this point you didn’t know if you were shaking from cold, fear, or anxiety--you approached the side of the snow covered bridge. Staring down into the icy waters below, it was terrifying, looking at the black liquid running over rocks. You knew this river was deep - the current would either drown you as it held you under and carried you far down the river, or it’d pin you against a rock.

As you climbed on top of the thin, metal railing, you hadn’t realized you were crying, but why wouldn't you be? You were about to end your life and no one would care. Your parents certainly didn’t. You tried to reach out to them many times and they snubbed your requests at meeting. None of your foster homes had ever been kind. Your husband certainly wouldn’t miss you, he’d probably just do coke in your bathroom and find the next whore to sleep with. You had no friends, no neighbors to care. You lived in a small town with no prospects. The only thing you think you would miss was the idea of having kids, but you sure as hell didn’t want them with Craig. You’d simply fade away in death as you did in life.

You were sure you wanted to end your life, but did you want to do it this way? Cold water seemed so harsh. Maybe the cold would cause a heart attack and instant death. Maybe your lungs would collapse. Maybe you’d get hypothermia and get that warm, languid feeling you’d always heard people talk about. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

You gripped the icy steel in your right hand as you tried to muster the courage to just let go. Right as you were about to, a voice called to you.

“What are you doing?” the smoothest, most charming voice asked. It wasn’t demeaning. It sounded more...inquisitive than anything else.

You turned back to your right to see a man in a long black coat, green scarf, and a cane? He had long black hair and pale skin, he was certainly the most handsome man you’d ever laid eyes on but where did he come from? There weren’t houses around for another couple of miles.

“Who are you?” you asked in return rather than tell this stranger what you planned on doing.

“I’m Loki Laufeyson of Asgard,” he answered as if it was obvious.

“You’re...who? Of where?”

“Forgive me, I forget you Midgardians are a little slow. I am Loki, of Asgard.”

You didn’t take offense to his remark, at this point in your life that was the least of your worries, but who was he? What was a Midgardian? What was Asgard?

“I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“Asgard is a place far from here. It’s my…” He almost said home, but bit his tongue. “I come from there. I’m...a prince.”

Great, an insane fool. “If you’re a prince, then I’m the Queen of England.”

“You’re a queen? Why are you out here with no guards, no chaperones, no king? Why are you on the side of a bridge in frigid weather? Surely your followers must be worried about you!”

Loki didn’t understand the sarcasm.

“No, I’m not a queen. I was just being...sarcastic.”

“Ah. I see,” he said, understanding forming on his face. “If you’re not a queen, then who might you be?” he asked as he continually came forward.

“I--I’m Y/N,” you answered.

“Well, Y/N, if I recall, humans can’t plunge into waters below freezing temperatures and have much hope for survival, so tell me, what are you doing up there?”

You sighed as you carefully got down off the railing, wincing slightly as the movement jarred your insides that were bruised. Why did this stranger of all people, care about you?

“I was...I was trying to end my life,” you admitted, hugging yourself and avoiding the handsome man’s gaze.

“What on Midgard for?” he asked, his eyes narrowing on you.

“My life isn’t...what you’d call fabulous.”

“No one’s usually is, but that doesn’t mean you should end it.”

“How would you know? You’re apparently a prince, which I still don’t buy. Did you escape a looney bin?” you demanded.

“A what? No. I’m a prince. What can I do to show you?” he asked, suddenly craving your approval, your trust.

“I don’t know, show me a crown or something, I guess,” you suggested, feeling silly. You were arguing with a supposed prince in the middle of a snow covered bridge, late in the evening, contemplating suicide.

He pondered it for a moment as he brought his slender hand to his chin. You couldn’t help but admire him, he was lean, tall, handsome, confident...yet somewhere in his blue eyes you saw that look of damage too, he must have endured something, what it was you weren’t quite sure of.

“Ah, here.” He held his hand out and a glowing rose fizzled in between his fingers.

“That’s amazing,” you breathed, completely enchanted at the beauty of it. “How did you do that?”

“Your world would call it magic, mine would refer to it as ability and science.”

You took the rose he offered and smelled it, it even had a fragrance.

“Thank you.”

“Now that you accept I’m not of your world, would you tell me why you were going to end your life? It seems like a rather silly thing to do to me.”

You shrugged. “Perhaps it is silly,” you said as you stroked the petals of the glowing flower. “I just...I lost my job today and I had tried so hard to keep it. My husband is...for lack of a better word - a very bad person. My family abandoned me when I was little. I suppose...I have nothing left to live for.”

Loki stared at you a moment. It was nice to talk to someone, especially so...kind.

“So why didn’t you make them suffer?”

The question took you off guard.

“Because it wouldn’t be right. Just because I’m suffering doesn’t mean I can do that to them. It’d just be easier if I left this world.”

This surprised Loki. You shared a common past of pain, being abandoned by family, no mate to care for you, no true friends. Yet, his idea of revenge was to take what he thought was his, rule over a planet as Odin thought he couldn’t, but here you stood before him, a gentle creature who rather than exact her revenge, you were just going to get rid of yourself.

“I know how you feel,” he suddenly said.

“You do?” you questioned. “How could you possibly know?”

“Believe it or not, royalty have personal problems too. My father abandoned me as well. I was taken in by the king, raised as his own, he promised me the throne, but he always knew he’d give it to his biological son.” He shrugged as if he didn’t care but you could see the pain and betrayal in his expression. “I have no partner, I have no friends to call my own except my half-wit oaf of a brother…”

“I’m sorry,” you said simply. “That sounds lonely.”

“It was. I actually came to your planet to...take over it, but I don’t know about that plan now.” He laughed lightly, the sound amazing to you.  

“Why would you do that?”

“For what I was denied. I was promised the same chance as Thor yet, Odin chose Thor, who was not ready for the throne.”

“And you are?” you asked gently.

“I’m not sure. I...I suppose I wanted to prove a point to the king,” he informed his head held high.

“You know, it’s not always what you do that impresses people, but what you don’t do.”

“What do you mean?”

“It sounds like this king of yours needs you to prove yourself. Has Thor ever controlled any sort of planet or land?”

“No…”

“So why would you think you doing it would impress him?”

“I--I don’t know,” he said, stammering. You didn’t think his icy cool exterior could crack like that.

“Maybe...instead of invasion of another planet, you could go back and discuss it with your brother and father…?” you offered.

“I’m not too sure. They last thought I was dead.”

“Why’s that?”

“I faked my death, fooled them into believing I fell into an abyss. From there, I was taken in by the Chiaturi…”

“What did they do to you?” you asked, as you noticed his eyes had flickered away and looked distant and pained.

“How do you know they did something to me?” he demanded with some vile in his voice.

“It’s obvious, you don’t exactly look like you want to be here. You look...lost to me. Maybe this Chiaturi people are using you or manipulating you.”

He laughed ever so slightly. “You’re exceptionally observant.”

“Maybe, near-death clarity,” you tried with a shrug.

After a moment, he said, “Could you promise me something?”

“What?”

“Will you not end your life?”

You frowned as you looked at the handsome stranger. “Why?”

“Your world needs more people like you.”

You didn't respond except for pursing your lips.

“I, uh, I'd like to take you home, if you don't mind.”

“Home?” you said, your head far off with thoughts of what your life would become if you didn't end it tonight. It seemed bleak.

“Yes, where you live? Surely you don't live here. I just want to make sure you're safe at home.”

“Alright.” What could possibly be the harm? You walked to the car and you noticed that you had forgotten that you had even felt cold. Loki got in beside you as you started the car and pulled out into the snowy road. You turned around and headed home, fearful of Craig.

Neither of you said anything as you drove for 10 minutes to your house, the quiet was peaceful.

“Let me walk you to the door,” he offered kindly.

“Okay.” You got out and he walked with you as your cold hand fumbled with the keys, after a moment or two, the door flung open.  

“Where have you been?!” Craig bellowed.

“I'm sorry. I was just out--”

“Who the fuck is this?” he asked, looking at Loki.

“Um. A friend? This is Loki.”

“A friend huh? You fucking him?!”

“No, Craig--” you began to protest but he grabbed you by the hair and yanked you into the house.  

Right as you tumbled into the wall, you saw him about to swing again before Craig fell toward suddenly onto the floor. Loki was standing over him with his fist clenched, his eyes burning with rage.

“How dare you hit a woman?” Loki seethed. “You cowardly runt of a human.” He kicked Craig and you weren't entirely sure you wanted to stop him.

“Get out of my house, freak, before I call the cops,” Craig warned as he clutched his stomach on the floor. The sight of him being the one in pain at the hands of another probably gave you more satisfaction than it should.

“I’m not leaving until you apologize to Y/N.”

“She doesn't deserve my apology, the lazy whore.”

He bent down in Craig's face as he said, “Poor choice, my friend.” He stood and kicked Craig one more time before he suddenly wielded knives in both hands.

“Loki, don't!” you begged. “Don't kill him.”

Loki's pained face turned to you. “But he beats you. If I don't stop him, then he continue to do it.”

“But killing him isn't the way.”

“What if I took you from here?”

“What?” you asked, flabbergasted.

“Yes. Come back to Asgard with me. We’ll leave all this wretchedness behind. You said

I should make amends, right?”

“You'd do that?”

“Of course.”

You thought about it. What could possibly be worse than where you were now? Even if Loki turned out to be just like Craig, at least it was a chance, a shot out of this hell you’d come to call life. No job, no money, no prospects, no children, and a husband that hated you. Not a whole hell of a lot keeping you here.

“Then yes...take me away from this suffering,” you requested.

“As you wish.” He stood up and helped you up as he said, “Heimdall, I'm ready to come home.”

After a second, a huge tunnel of light landed around you in your living room and with Loki’s arm around your waist, you were sent soaring upward, a kaleidoscope of colors around you as you suddenly landed in a giant golden dome.

“Thank you, old friend,” Loki said.

“Your father wishes to see you,” a man informed that stood on a raised stand in the middle of the dome in a neutral voice.

“Of course.” He looked at you and took your hand. “This way.”

You walked along a bridge of light and color for a long time until you came up to a golden, glowing, enormous palace. So either you had died and this was Heaven or you really were in some other planet, or plane, or world named Asgard.

Together, you entered the palace and after a long maze of corridors, you finally ended in a small room where an older gentleman, and older woman and several guards were.

“Father,” Loki started as he walked in and you realized you were in the presence of a king. Insecurities enveloped you.

“Loki, where have you been?” the woman asked. “And who is this?”

“Let me explain,” Loki said.

“Alright. Loki, you talk with your father and I’m going to help this young woman freshen up.” The Queen stood and came up to you. “Come with me, dear.”

The Queen, who introduced herself as Frigga, helped you into an ornate gown and had two maidens do your hair.

“Where are you from, dear?” she asked as she put makeup on you.

“I’m from Earth.”

“Ah, is that where you met my son?”

“Yes, we just met tonight. He saved my life.”

She stopped applying the eyeshadow and she looked at you. “Did he now? How noble.” She smiled at this knowledge.

When you were finally done, Loki came and found you as he asked Frigga if it was alright if you stayed with them.

“I don’t want to impose,” you said shyly.

“Nonsense, sweet girl. You can stay here as long as you want,” Frigga insisted. She smiled and left you with Loki.

“What did your father say?”

“He said that he was disappointed I didn’t come back home. He apologized for not telling me the truth. He said that Thor has been looking for me and will return home now.”

“What about the throne?”

“He said he’ll put us through various tests to see how we do. He said he’s going to try and be a fairer king and father to me.”

“See? Communication is all you need,” you said, smiling, feeling like royalty talking to a prince in a pretty dark blue gown.

“You were right,” he said as you began walking aimlessly with him, his arms behind his back. “You know, I’ve never opened up to anyone.”

“Me either,” you admitted. “It’s easy with you though.”

“I feel the same,” he informed with a genuine smile. His mood seemed 100% better now that he was home, now that his animosity was settled.

“So what do I do now?” you asked as you ended up at a balcony under the stars and cosmos, the view taking your breath away.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, back home, I had a job, a home, a husband. I don’t have that now. What can I do in Asgard? Farm? Make jewelry?”

“You could simply do as my mother does. She reads and practices magic.”

“I’m hardly magical.”

“I beg to differ,” he said quickly, making butterflies erupt.

“I mean, what should I do for a job?”

“Why don’t you relax? Your life doesn’t sound as if it was easy. Maybe, just for a little while, you could simply be by my side during some days? I could teach you how to fight, how to wield a sword, we could read. Do you like to read?”

“Mhm.”

“See? There are a few activities we could do together.”

“Alright. I’ll do that, then.”

“Excellent.”

You wanted to kiss him so bad, under the moonlight, the stars, everything. It all seemed so wonderful and perfect and for the first time ever in your life, you felt happy, which is what terrified you.

He must’ve felt it too, because he leaned in and you stopped him.

“No I don't want to mess this thing up. I don't want to push too far. Just a shot in the dark that you just might be the one I've been waiting for my whole life.”

Loki nodded as he leaned back. “We don't need to rush this, I suppose. Let's just take it slow.”

“Right,” you agreed. But the fire burning inside both of you was blazing, and you wanted to kiss him.

“But...Just a kiss on your lips in the moonlight, wouldn’t be so bad, would it?” he asked with a coy smile.

“Loki, you mischievous devil,” you teased as he leaned in again, and this time, you didn’t fight it. His lips were tender and gentle against yours, molding perfectly with yours. It was sweet, and quick, with an undercurrent of heat.

He lead you to your private quarters and bid you a good night, with just a kiss. As he walked away and you slipped into your suite and began to get ready for bed, you thought to yourself, “I know that if we give this a little time, it'll only bring us closer to the love we wanna find, it's never felt so real, no it's never felt so right.”

With your old life happily behind you, you slipped into the best sleep of your life, ready for a happy beginning tomorrow.

[chulochingoncomelon]

Fecal Incontinence

Going into our Senior year, Kyle was captain of the hockey team, I was captain of the rugby team, Megs and Josh were first chairs in band, and Charlie was our buddy. Charlie, we found out through high school, was the son of a trucker. Thats why when he was bored, he would always act like he was driving a truck and shifting gears. He didn’t have a lot of money, but he was the best of guys, and one of my best friends. If someone joked about his appearance, or his deep southern draw, Kyle and I made sure they never laughed in his direction again. At Prom last year, Kyle and I split the costs to make sure Charlie got to go. This year, Charlie would save our asses.

It was after one of the final football games of the year. Our team was the worst as usual, but that didn’t stop us from celebrating a minor loss. We only lost by two touchdowns. Kyle and I “acquired” a twenty-four pack of Natural Lite, Nattie for short. I drove an old, beat up, 1984 beamer. Red. It was built like a tank. But, what I loved most, is the fact we could keep a cooler full of beer in the trunk and all I had to do was pull down the armrest in the back, and it would open right into the trunk. Perfect.

After the game, Kyle, Charlie, and I were waiting on Josh. While we were waiting by the band room I hear a tap on Kyle’s window. Kyle, sitting shotgun, looked over and saw Mr Adelot. Yes, Craig’s father. Along with his social awkwardness, Craig was also the son of the band teacher. Kyle slowly rolled down his window.

“Hey gentlemen,” Mr. A said in his stuck up, nasally voice, “what are you four doing tonight” “Four,” I ask. “Yes four. You, Mr. Kyle, Mr. Charles, and Mr. Joshua.” I always hated when he used our names like that. “Every Friday, you four get together and drive like a few hooligans when you leave here, and was wondering what you are doing.”

“Well, sir,” i stammered, “we usually just drive around, head to the movies, or go to a little get together, is that a problem?”

“Oh, of course not,” he sheepishly grinned, “ just wanted to know what my son would be getting into with you boys tonight.”

“Your son?” We all said darting looks around each other, confused as hell.

“Well, of course, my son, Craig. He was so excited when I mentioned that you wanted him to join your group tonight. Here Craig,” he reached over and opened the passenger door, “now don’t be out too late and have fun.”

Craig slowly appeared from behind his father, grinning. As his father leaves, we are just staring at him. Josh hops over, sees Craig and asked, “What the fuck you doing here ate-a-lot,” and sits down in the back seat in the already opened door. Charlie reaches over and punches him in the left arm, telling him to be nice.

“He’s apparently joining us tonight, per his dad, so shut up and let him in” I said shaking my head in disbelief. Josh got out of the car, pointed to the middle seat, and said harshly “get in, lots”.

Craig got in the car and immediately started chatting. That nervous chatter where you don’t breath you just talk to have some kinda of noise. We screeched out of the parking lot, and about two blocks down the road, I slammed on the breaks and pulled over. I turned around staring at Craig and said. “Plead, just shut the fuck up, Craig. Do not speak. Do not think. Do not waste my oxygen. I don’t know why you are here but we are stuck with each other for the night. All five of us. You will not speak a word about our antics, to anyone. Now, since you are in the middle seat, you are responsible for our beer. If someone is getting low, your only job is to pass them a fresh beer from the back. K?”

He nodded nervously, but I knew he was happy just to not have to spend another night listening to Bach or Chopin. So we left and started drinking. All was going good as we drove around, when all of a sudden, Craig says, “um guys, how long are we gonna continue to drive with these cops behind us?” I look in my review mirror and see three cops with lights blaring. How I did'nt notice, I have no clue, but there they were. Oh shit. I see the school up ahead and pull into the band parking lot. We called it that because it rested beside the band room entrance that lead to the rest of the school.

we pull in. The three cop cars pull in around us and all three drivers hop out with guns drawn. I, stupidly, hopped out with hands up in the air. Before I could say anything, I hear, in a familiar voice, “Drew? Is that you?” It was my neighbor, and fortunately a police officer. “What the hell are you boys doing?” He then turned to the other two cops and told them it was ok, that he had it from here. He walked over and saw the rest of the guys and Craig. He slowly asks, “Is that…Craig? Craig Adelot? What is he…” I interrupted him saying, “long story, but he’s hanging with us tonight.”

“Why don’t you boys pull over to the band wall there, and i will pull up on your right. Drew, once over there, you need to get out of the car and come talk to me, understood?“I nod up and down and get back in. I tell the guys to shut up and I will handle everything.

We pull up to the band wall, I get out and walk over to Officer Wright. “Get in,” he said. I walked around the front of the car and open the front passenger door and get in. He turns to me and asks, “What the hell were you three doing? Do you realize that rookie cop saw you blasting through not one but four, FOUR, stop signs? He didn’t know what the hell was happening! Your lucky he didn’t start shooting your ass when you jumped out of your car like an idiot.” The whole time he kept ripping into my ass. While I was listening and nodding my head in understanding, i could see my car rocking back and forth. Out of no where Josh opens the door and gets out. I continue to nod at Officer Wright as I look over his should at what was going on.He looks in my direction and with a grin puts a finger to his lips and starts walking towards the front of the building. He walks up to the far corner, just at the edge of the headlights shining on the wall. With his back turned, a dark stain on the wall appears. He’s fucking peeing on the wall. Trying to keep a straight face I watch in horror as Josh shakes and runs back to the car. Once in the car, i see it rocking around a few more times, violently this time, and all the windows roll down.

“Well, Drew, what else do you have to say for yourself?” Officer Wright questions. “I understand sir. Will pay more attention and will slow down. Absolutely right, I was being stupid and uncaring of others.” “Good. I am going to let you off with a warning. A few last things. One, we are going to drop Craig off at home. Where are you boys heading after that?” “Charlie’s” I said without thinking. “Okay. When we arrive at Charlie’s I want the rest of you to go in and not leave for the rest of the night. And when you get there I want one of his parents to wave at me. And last, Tell Josh if he has to take a piss again, not to do it in front of a cop car, the port-o-potties are right over there.”

I get out of the car and hurriedly get back in mine. I immediately start chewing all the guys out, especially Josh, for being such an idiot. As I am looking around I see Kyle, Josh, and Charlie all have their shirts pulled up around their noses. “What the hell are ya’ll doing?” I ask. “Josh pulls down his shirt just enough to mumble out in a giggle "take a smell,” and just as fast pulled it back up. I take in a big draw. The absolute horrible stench that singed my noise hairs was gut wrenching. I never smelled a smell so foul in all my life. “What the hell is that?” I ask as I quickly followed suit with the rest of them. Josh now laughing hysterically, while pointing at Craig, says, “Craig…he shit himself. He was so scared he shit himself!” I could not believe it. He shit himself in my car. I had it with him. The whole time as we drove to Craig’s, I was cursing so much, I think I invented at least four new words. We pull at the edge of his driveway. Josh gets out. Craig slowly gets out and starts walking up the driveway, looking like a cowboy who has been on his horse all day. Josh runs back and while laughing some more, tells Officer Wright. I look in my review mirror and see Officer Wright face palm and shakes his head. Josh runs back and gets back in.

We leave Craig’s and I tell the guys where we are going next. Charlie, stutters out, “Guys, my parents are out of town, what are we gonna do?” As we are going back and forth trying to plan out what we are going to get out of this mess, I see a glimmer in Charlie’s eyes. We pull up to Charlie’s, and before I even get the car in park, Charlie hops out and takes off running to his front door. “Fucker is gonna lock us out!” Josh says as he darts out behind him. Kyle and I look at each other, shrug our shoulders and get out of the car. We get inside after the other two and Josh is pacing in the living room. “He’s fucking locked himself in his parents room, what the hell is he doing?” He asked rhetorically. And then Charlie, or should I say Charlie’s “mom” appeared. Charlie had run into his parents room, grabbed his moms bathrobe, bra, and a mop head that was kept under the sink. Bra was stuffed with socks. Mop head on his head with the rest of handle down the back of his shirt, he tied a towel around his head, and threw on the bathrobe over everything. The three of us are staring st him and Kyle says, “No way in hell this is going to work. Charlie walks over to the front glass door. Half peeks out and gives a wave at Officer Wright. Officer Wright acknowledges with a quick "bleep bleep” of the siren and pulls off.

I collapse on the couch in amazement. That just happened. Tonight I was almost shot down by an itchy finger rookie, Craig shit himself in my car, and we fooled a cop with a mop head and a bathrobe. My night is complete. I lost my buzz an hour ago, Im going to sleep.