#like its a thing. his bed .. no... his whole room a lit slaughter house when he's done fr 🧎

[helliontherapscallion]

Bonding (Adrenaline Junkie Chapter 12)

Part 1     Part 2     Part 3     Part 4     Part 5     Part 6     Part 7     Part 8     Part 9     Part 10     Part 11     Part 13     Part 14     Part 15     Part 16     Part 17

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: nightmares, swearing, mentions of death/injury

Word count: 3,383

(A/N): it feels good to get back to this story

A week and a half went by in a flash. In that time, you and Arthur grew closer. You absolutely loved how he was so interested in innovation and engineering, you felt like he was the perfect choice for your apprentice. To pass the time, you would teach Arthur the basics of redstone working. You taught him everything from how to properly store it to the beginnings of using repeaters. Occasionally, Philza would join you two in lessons.

“Then, you just connect the repeaters together with redstone and set each for the desired times. Et voila! You have properly working timed pistons.”

Looking up from your demonstration, you stifle a chuckle at the two sitting in front of you. Arthur, the ever vigilant student, was frantically scribbling down notes into the journal you gave him, his face scrunched in concentration and his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth. Your father, however, looked downright confused. The poor man was staring down helplessly at the two repeaters in front of him, the whole set up he had looked slightly flimsy in structure. Redstone dust messily formed a line between the iron contraptions with the occasional tiny break in the dust. Judging by the positioning of the repeaters themselves, they were in the right place but they were haphazardly placed. Sure the positioning of the two repeaters relative to each other would work, but it was just something that you wouldn’t do. You always hated clutter in your contraptions. The only true flaw in his build was the messy line of redstone. 

You walked over to the table your dad was working at and started to explain why the machine wasn’t working. “So your only mistake here is the cleanliness of your redstone. With it being this messy, there are plenty of potential breakages of the wiring,” you gently swept the redstone into a neat line with your hands and watched as the entire contraption glowed red. Pistons started moving in succession of each other in timed bursts. “One more thing, just a little nitpicky thing, the repeaters are set right, they’re just… messy?” You watched as Philza watched the movement of the pistons with a blank look before he looked up at you with a slightly annoyed look. 

“Other than that, the settings of the repeaters were set right!” You sheepishly grinned at him before realizing that he wasn’t going to be reassured by your weak reassurance. You looked over to Arthur, “Arthur buddy you wanna try?”

You watched as his eyes lit up in excitement as he looked up from you from over the brim of his journal. Without a word, he quickly got to work. You and Philza watched him as he continuously looked between his journal and his work.

“I didn’t know working with redstone was so hard. I just thought it was easy with how fast you invent things,” Philza said dejectedly. 

You reached over to pat him on the back, “it took me a while to figure it out. I remember four years ago when I started I was completely lost.”

You felt the vibration of his chuckle, “I remember when you almost crushed your wing in a piston. You were so lucky it only caught the ends of a few primary feathers.”

You chuckled bittersweetly, “not that it matters. I lost that wing a few months after that.”

You could practically hear his mind start churning, “but you made a new one, you can still fly.”

“It’s not the same Dad. I hate having to spend thirty minutes putting the sensors on my back. I can’t feel the air moving through my feathers anymore. It feels like a part of me is constantly missing and this hunk of useless metal doesn’t take that feeling away.”

He fell silent as he continued to watch Arthur work. You always felt bad whenever you dumped your trauma on him, he was always looking for ways for you to feel better. But there were just some things that couldn’t be fixed with reassurances and small gifts. He didn’t understand that and you didn’t have the heart to tell him that his kind and caring nature would never get you your wing back. It was gone forever and nothing can bring it back. 

You tried to not be bitter about it, it happened three years ago afterall, but you couldn’t help but feel a bitter taste on your tongue and a pang in your heart whenever someone mentions a time when you still had both wings. Whenever someone mentioned you having both wings, you could still remember the feeling of the air working itself through the nooks and crannies of the spaces between your feathers, the way that both wings would hang off your bed because they were too large (you never got to ask Philza about how he covered his wings), the way that they would both puff up behind you when you tried to intimidate your brothers during a snowball fight. You didn’t want those memories, they were of a better version of yourself. You didn’t want to be reminded of what could’ve been if you didn’t go deeper into that damned cave. 

“...Sorry, that was uncalled for.”

“Don’t apologize, I should’ve realized how you felt before bringing it up.”

“It’s not your fault, you didn’t know.”

You watched as his eyebrows furrowed and he looked at you with confusion, “why’re you just now-”

“(Y/n) I think I did it! Come look!”

Without a second glance at your dad, you hurried off to inspect Arthur’s contraption. It was perfectly set up; the redstone was in a neat line with no breakages, the repeaters were set perfectly and spaced evenly apart, and the pistons were successfully moving together in timed spurts. 

You grinned at Arthur, “well done! This is perfect, you’ll be moving onto making your own inventions in no time. I couldn't have asked for a better apprentice.”

Arthur basked in your praise and listened to your words like they were being sung to him by an angel. He was practically beaming with how proud he was of himself. If the redstone smeared on his cheeks could be activated by emotional response, it would be glowing a brilliant red. 

You reached out to wipe away the redstone from his cheek with your thumb, “why don’t you go clean up so we can grab some lunch. I bet you’re hungry.”

“I’m not hungry, I just wanna work with you more!” Arthur tried to convince you, but the rumbling of his stomach told you otherwise. You chuckled as the redstone slowly got camouflaged into his reddening puffed out cheeks. 

He looked away in embarrassment as he started to stalk up the stairs, “...I’ll go clean up.”

Alongside teaching Arthur the basics of what you know, you were working on a plan to somehow release the souls from the Warden’s captivity. You felt a sort of survivor’s guilt when you thought about how you returned to your family and Hugh did not. Your family could survive without you, but Hugh was Arthur’s only family. It was unfair that such a kind, loving boy had his only family ripped away from him at such a young age when he needed his brother most. The least you could do for Arthur was free his brother’s soul from it’s endless torment. 

You kept a journal that you would write out your plans in. The plans ranged from fighting the Warden with your very limited swordsmanship to blowing the entire cave to smithereens. No matter what plan you came up with, it would always result in you getting seriously wounded or dying for the last time. Most of the plans you came up with wouldn’t work anyways; the Warden was just too powerful. Asking Philza or Techno was out of the question, you didn’t want to risk their lives. That, and they would never let you go kill it. This was something you had to do on your own. 

The mere thought of facing the Warden stressed you out extremely, giving you more and more nightmares about the monster. 

The Warden somehow entered your house. You could hear it’s booming footsteps working its way through the hallways and stopping at each room. You could hear how it slaughtered your family brutally. You could hear their screams slowly becoming integrated into the horrid cacophony of the souls’ as their souls were absorbed into the Warden’s being. Finally, as the Warden reached your room, you could hear your family’s voices over the harsh screaming of the other souls.

“You promised me that you wouldn’t let it get me.” Arthur.

“I thought you’d always protect me.” Tommy.

“Why’d you let me die?” Wilbur.

“I’ve done so much for you and you just let me die.” Techno. 

“It should’ve been you.” Philza.

Just as the Warden’s clawed hand swung down towards your face, you bolted up from your bed and flattened yourself against the wall scanning your room for the Warden. There was not a single thing out of place in your room. You wiped away the tears that were streaming freely down your cheeks and grabbed your automatic crossbow you had leaning against your wall. Grasping it with an iron grip and your finger hovering over the trigger, you reluctantly left your room and made your way down the hallway. You opened Philza’s door and peered into his room. You could see his wings sprawled out behind him and his chest rising and falling gently. He was still alive. You closed the door quietly and made your way to Wilbur’s old room where Arthur was currently sleeping. Bracing yourself to find his corpse, you opened the door.  You only saw a mop of brilliant red hair poking out of the blankets. You couldn’t see movement, oh god was he even breathing? You rushed over to his bed and pulled back the covers. 

You could see his peaceful face looking back at you. Putting your hand under his nose, you held your breath as you waited for air to hit your hand. Finally after what seemed like forever, you felt a gentle burst of air hit your hand. You covered Arthur back up and stalked out of his room. Your family was alive. The Warden was still in that cave. It was just a dream. It was just a dream.

You glanced at the clock, it was about half past four in the morning. You’d have to wake up in about two hours, so you just made your way down to the kitchen to make yourself a cup of coffee. Not that you’d be able to go back to sleep after that nightmare anyways. Time moved infinitely around you as you became engrossed in your thoughts. You needed to make better plans to kill the Warden. You needed to be better. 

You didn’t notice when Arthur and Philza entered the kitchen. You were fully zoned out staring at the now cold cup of coffee in your hands, lost in thought. It wasn’t until you felt a hand on your shoulder that you snapped out of your trance. Recoiling violently and reaching for the crossbow you had propped up against the chair, you whipped around and pointed the weapon at the thing that touched you. Instead of the Warden standing there ready to devour you, you were met with a startled Philza stepping back with his hands in the air. Arthur was hiding behind him fearfully. 

Your eyes widened as you lowered the crossbow. You could feel your wing start to puff up and retract itself back in reflecting your horror as you hastily put the crossbow back onto the table. “I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t- I wouldn’t do that. Shit what time is it, I haven’t made breakfast yet. I’ll start. I'm sorry.”

You pushed passed them as you rushed over to the chest and pulled out the ingredients to make pancakes. Your shaky hands struggled slightly to pour the exact measurement of flour before someone stopped you. 

“(Y/n), I’ll make it.” It was your dad once again.

“No, I got it.”

“(Y/n), I’m not asking. Go sit down.”

You sighed as you started walking to the table. You could hear Arthur’s breath hitch in his throat when you grabbed the crossbow and stalked up to your room to hide it. You could feel guilt, shame, and horror rise up from deep within you from what you almost did. You couldn’t believe that you almost just shot them because of your stupid delusion. It would’ve been fatal too, your automatic crossbow never failed to kill. It was one of the many downsides to the weapons you invented, you had to live with the fact that people are getting killed because of your inventions. In a way, you indirectly killed many people per day. 

You walked down the stairs as slowly as you could so you could avoid having to face them. You couldn’t forget the look of pure fear on Arthur’s face as he hid behind Philza, you were the cause of that. You promised that you would protect him and he fully trusted you to do so. This morning you took that trust and destroyed it the second you reached for that crossbow.

When you reached the dining room, you sat down as far away from Arthur as possible. You could hear Philza pause his movements when he saw you enter the room before he started stirring again. He was probably trying to see if you came back with a stronger weapon so he could protect Arthur. You were a monster.

Soon enough breakfast was ready and a hefty plate of pancakes covered with maple syrup was placed in front of you. Breakfast went by quietly, the only sound coming from the clanking of silverware against plates. You didn’t eat much of your breakfast, you were too busy trying to think of a way to apologize to Arthur and Philza. In the middle of your thought process, you were interrupted by Arthur’s voice.

“(Y/n)?”

You jumped slightly and looked up at him, “yeah?”

“Can you look at my blueprint? I got an idea for something yesterday and I wanna see if you think it’d work.”

You looked at the young boy in slight confusion, “...Sure just finish your breakfast first.”

“I’m done, I’ll go grab it!”

Without giving you any warning, he jumped out of his chair and raced up the stairs.

“You gave us quite the scare this morning hun. What happened?”

“I’m sorry-”

“Don’t apologize, just tell me what happened.”

You sighed and ran a hand through your hair, “I just had a bad nightmare last night. I couldn’t go back to sleep so I just… came down here to wait a bit so I could make breakfast.”

“Nightmares are understandable, but why’d you have a crossbow?”

“I thought I needed something to protect the house if it came.”

“If the Warden came? I thought you didn’t get nightmares about it anymore.”

“Well, I still do, just a lot more frequently-”

Arthur burst through the door and ran over to you, slapping the paper on the table in front of you. You squinted at it, trying to decipher the messy handwriting. It was a layout of a secret door, which was popular in the world of redstoning. You didn’t have the heart to tell him that though, especially with how excited he was to show you what he made. So, you smiled at him.

“It looks good buddy, do ya wanna try to build it today? I can help you.”

“Yes! I’m gonna go get dressed so we can build it!”

He once again dashed up the stairs, leaving you and Philza alone in the kitchen. Philza chuckled, “he reminds me of Tommy when he was that age. Except… a little more mellow.” When you didn’t respond, he turned to look at you. “What’s wrong?”

You sighed, “he was so scared of me this morning. I promised to protect him and I almost ended up killing him.”

“...Ya know I almost stabbed you and your brothers multiple times when you guys were younger because you guys startled me right?”

You felt the corners of your mouth twitch, “of course I do, and you would always get us ice cream after.”

“Did you ever resent me for it?”

“No, you were just trying to def- oh, I see where you’re going with this.”

“Ever the keen one,” he chuckled. “Arthur’s more understanding than most kids his age, I bet he understands that you didn’t mean to do that. You just gotta make it up to him.”

“Alright, thank you Dad. I think I’m gonna go get dressed so Arthur doesn’t have to wait long. I think if I have him wait any longer he’s gonna explode.”

After you got dressed, you walked downstairs and grabbed the materials Arthur would need and a couple of extra supplies you might need. Walking outside, you were met with an excited Arthur. You two worked on his contraption all day. You knew exactly what he needed to do to fix any problems that arouse, but you only gave him little hints that would push him in the right direction. You wanted him to stop relying on you so much for the little things. Sure, you were always going to be there for him when he was stuck, but you wanted him to be more independent. 

Eventually, the sky took on hues of pinks and yellows as the sun started to disappear behind the treeline. “It’s getting late, Arthur. You made good progress today.”

He nodded as he walked alongside you back into the house as you led him to the couch. “Arthur?”

He looked at you, his brown eyes clouded with exhaustion and confusion. “I’m so proud of how fast you’ve improved. I have something for you.” You reached into your bag and pulled out a new pair of goggles and leather gloves.

“I know it’s not much, but-”

“I love it.” He whispered as he stared down at his presents in his hands. Without warning, he flung himself into your side as he tightly hugged your midsection. You froze before you wrapped your left wing around him in a feathery hug. Your hand reached up to stroke his hair as you chuckled. “It’s no problem kid, you deserve it.”

You two sat there for a bit before you patted his back, “dinner’s almost ready. Let’s go clean up so my dad doesn’t throw a fit. You have redstone and dirt all over you.”

After you two cleaned the dirt off from your faces and hands, you led Arthur down the stairs. You nudged his shoulder when you got to the end of the stairs, “race you to the kitchen!”

You broke off into a speed walk as Arthur started to sprint, laughing boisterously as the distance grew between you two quickly. Grinning, you shouted out, “oh no, I can’t go any faster! You’re gonna win!” 

You dramatically yelled out a stretched out “no” as he bolted into the kitchen and sat at the table. You sped walked into the kitchen and sat next to Arthur. “How’re you so fast? I couldn’t catch up to you if I tried.”

“Yeah, you’re a speed demon Arthur!” Philza agreed from the stove between laughs. He forgot how much missed having his kids race each other to the dinner table, having Arthur around the house was really refreshing for him. He was ecstatic that you were getting closer to Arthur, it meant that he was going to get another grandson soon. 

Dinner went by a lot smoother with laughter and banter being tossed around freely. Arthur would not take the goggles off and wore them proudly at the top of his head. Philza would cast knowing looks over to you when he was sure you were looking at him, which confused you, but you just brushed the feeling aside. You were happy sitting at the table eating with your little family; you couldn’t wait for your brothers and nephew to finally meet Arthur. They’d get along well with your apprentice. Until then, you have a mission to complete involving a certain monster. 

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[bebr-sobe]

Something Tells Me He Knew All Along... (Benedict and Sophie Bridgerton)

-o-o-o- 

‘Sit.’

…

‘Sit.’

…..

‘Sit!’

All the caller received in return was another head-cock riddled with confusion.

‘Owhh, come now Prince, you were doing it so lovely before.’ Sophie pleaded, seeing her whole afternoon’s work crumble before her very eyes. Bending slightly, she tapped her hands to her knees repeatedly and cheered, ‘Come on, sweet boy, siiit…’

The enchanting chestnut eyes of the pup lit up as he trotted over to his masters, looking decidedly pleased with himself.

‘No-no-not come! Sit! I did not mean-’

The corners of Benedict’s mouth began to twitch with the delicious temptation of a grin – but he hid it well; choosing instead to raise his hand to his mouth with faux understanding.

It certainly did little for Sophie’s ego that her husband had been the one to successfully teach Prince to “come” in the first place. Obnoxiously quickly, too.

Petting his dark fur in defeat, she upheld. ‘He did do it before. I swear it.’

‘I do not doubt you.’

And truly, Benedict was being sincere with his comments - despite his clear amusement at the situation. For Prince had to have done it. There was no other reason Sophie would have disturbed him in the middle of the day, when she knew full well that he was working, to show off her latest accomplishment.

Gazing down at the slump in her shoulders, he knew that her pressured posture stemmed from the fact that, naturally, at the behest of one’s wife, he had dropped everything for the occasion.

Not that he minded, of course…

The time of day nor the very circumstance needn’t have mattered for him to do so. There were so few things for Sophie to do in the countryside that Benedict supported anything his wife showed even the slightest grain of enthusiasm towards.

Be it the most minute of matters at the most inopportune moment - he was always willing to set aside any task in favour of encouraging her interests.

They kept to themselves for the most part and Sophie was forbidden from so much as laying a finger on a cleaning utensil (that feat was a constant effort from both him and Mrs Crabtree). She had also managed to devour the cottage’s entire book collection within a month or so and thus, he was mindful of how difficult it must be for her at times.

Ergo, it was the very reason he had gifted the pup to Sophie in the first place; a companion for the long days and nights he spent otherwise occupied in his makeshift studio.

Their lifestyle was not straightforward by any means. He doubted anyone else could do it - not even his siblings.

But it was theirs. And against all odds, it worked for the two of them. For they’d shaped and moulded it that way from the very beginning.

In the past, Benedict had always thought of the abode as a retreat - somewhere he could escape from the suffocation of London and the watchful gazes of the Mama’s there eyeing him for the marriage slaughter (his own included). But ever since he and his wife took up residence full-time, it was no longer a casual place of residence for him.

Suddenly it was home. And yet, he knew it was not the four walls that made it home.

Sophie’s presence was as warming as the noon sun and she soothed him by simply being there. Even when he could not see her, he knew he did not have far to go to remedy the fact.

He knew that he could easily catch her nose deep re-reading a book, sat upon the windowsill of the study in a most unladylike manner – and all the more attractive for it.

He knew that if the lines in Mrs Crabtree’s brow seemed deeper on occasion, it was because Sophie had pestered her to, one way or another, contribute to the household duties and thus, had grinded the housekeeper’s patience down to its very core.

He knew that if Sophie was fussing over Mr Crabtree, it was because Prince’s blatant enamour with the man and his tantalizingly diggable flowerbeds had crossed over once again. (After the act, the pup naturally felt it made them great friends indeed. Not surprisingly, Mr Crabtree did not return his affections.)

He knew that if she shuffled into his studio at all hours of the night, a blanket wrapped around her so that she may lie on one of the couches simply to be close to him whilst he worked, that she was feeling lonely - an action that always stung Benedict. 

In response, he always made sure that the next day was paint-free and reserved for quality Sophie time.

Yes, he knew their routine quite well.

And he would not change a single thing.

‘Oh please, Princey, sit!’

And just like that, the dog’s backside parked itself down onto the grass and Benedict swore he’d never seen his wife so happy. 

He daresay not even on their wedding day…

‘Ah! See! He’s doing it! I told you he would!’ She hollered, leaping to her feet and into his arms.

‘A triumph.’ He conceded. ‘Truly a triumph.’

And it was made all the more triumphant when her lips hit his in utter joy. A deep and rewarding kiss that made his toes curl in his boots.

He must remember to slide Prince a sliver of his pork at dinner in gratitude…

-o-o-o-

It had taken only a few short days with the newlywed Bridgerton’s for Prince to decide that Benedict was his alpha and that he must shadow his every move. 

Exactly the opposite of what Benedict had hoped for – he was supposed to accompany Sophie!

Not that it bothered her in the slightest. She and the pup spent enough quality time together for Sophie to know that he “cared” for her. But the way his bottom half would shake around wildly whenever Benedict so much as entered the same room as them, she swore that his tail would likely break the furniture it swatted against.

Without fail, the sight warmed her deeply every time and the couple had to admit that it was love – pure and simple.

And so, just like that, it soon became routine to them as the trio lived in acceptance of the dog’s allegiance.

That was, until a month or so later…

-o-o-o-

Laying down his brush, Benedict took his thumb and index finger and rubbed his eyes soothingly. He was truly spent and could not bear to look at the landscape before him any longer for fear he might fling it out the window.

He blinked a few times to try and restore his natural vision before turning his attention to his left.

Sophie was sat lazily in her nightgown and robe on one of the couches, embroidering his initials into the new set of handkerchiefs she had gifted him as Prince lay with his head in her lap.

Knowing full well it was not fair to keep either of them up any longer, Benedict lifted from his seat and declared that it was “bedtime, I rather think”. 

Sophie ceased her work and smiled up to him gratefully, more than ready for bed.

With a quick whistle, he made for the door to conduct the nightly practice of taking Prince out to the gardens for one final “relief session” before the morning.

He was all but out into the hallway before he realised the usual patter of paws on the wood floor were not following him. Ducking his head back into the room, he noted Sophie staring down at the dog and the dog staring back up at Sophie.

Benedict creased his forehead before calling. ‘Come along then, Prince!’

And still, nothing.

‘Well?’ Sophie smiled down at Prince, a mixture of confusion and encouragement. ‘Off you go...’

But the pup stayed put.

After a most baffling back and forth, the lady of the house ended up having to be the one to take the pup out that night.

And the next night, as it played out...

… and the night after that.

-o-o-o-

‘You’ve stolen my dog from me.’ Benedict proclaimed one early morning as the trio lay in bed. Sophie was curled up against Benedict as Prince rested at the bottom of the blankets warming her feet.

‘Oh hush! I have done no such of the thing.’ She chuckled hoarsely.

‘Perhaps he is in want of a mate…’ He began, his voice unable to hide the humour behind it. ‘And seeing as you and Mrs Crabtree are his only viable options, he has picked a most treasured prize indeed?’

‘Benedict!’

God, he loved it when she used that tone with him. Especially... when it meant she called out his name in such a manner.

‘Well, if that is not the case…’ Benedict mused, unhooking his arm from around his wife and reaching down to pet Prince’s scruffy chest, much to the pup’s delight, he wondered. ‘Then whatever has gotten into you?’

-o-o-o-

‘Perhaps one of my tonics might cure the matt-‘

‘No!’ Benedict proclaimed, before catching himself. ‘Ahem- no, that won’t be necessary Mrs Crabtree. I’m sure it is only a passing illness.’

Expecting a scolding about how “effective” her concoctions were, he was surprised to find Mrs Crabtree lean into him – subtly requiring his ear. ‘Poor Mrs Bridgerton has not so much as touched a scrap for nigh on two days, Sir…’

Indeed, Sophie had laid holed up in their bedchamber barely able to glance at a soul with a mystery illness. All the while, Prince lay dutifully at her feet.

Benedict sighed miserably. ‘I am aware.’

‘Perhaps we might call for the Doctor, lest we be sure it isn’t something more serious…’

As he opened his mouth to protest, he caught the housekeeper’s eye and saw that she was inflexible. Mrs Crabtree had experience beyond his comprehension and so, with one look, he knew not to argue.

‘Mr Crabtree!’ He beckoned, never taking his eyes off of the man’s wife. As soon as the middle-aged groundskeeper appeared into the hallway, he decreed. ‘Fetch the doctor at once, will you?’

-o-o-o-

‘Plenty of bed rest, Mrs Bridgerton.’ Doctor Mayweather decreed, pulling the corners of his leather bag shut. ‘A lap of the grounds here and there for now, but no more.’

Benedict had immediately promised that whenever she wished, he would take her arm so that she may walk as long as she felt comfortable. Sophie nodded; her eyes swelling with tears.

‘Well, I wish you luck Madam. I expect these visits will be much more frequent from now on.’ Doctor Mayweather beamed, nodding his head towards Benedict, who was perched on the side of the bed, and then his wife, tucked under the covers, before taking his leave.

Once alone, Sophie whipped her head up to her husband. 

Mercy - was there such a thing as being so happy one could simply… burst?

Benedict instantly returned her sentiments, clasping his wife’s hand and pressing a hard kiss to the back of it; words all but failing him momentarily.

They were to be blessed with a child… far sooner than either of them expected!

A black ball of fur, happy that the stranger had left the premises, jumped back up onto the bed and settled himself over Sophie’s blanket-covered midriff contently.

Immediately, his owners grinned.

With a twinkling eye, Benedict figured. ‘Something tells me he knew all along...’

-o-o-o-

I have absolutely no idea where the inspiration for this came from other than a sweet thought that just popped into my head and I immediately ran with it. It’s waffley and not good, so I greatly appreciate your time if you made it to the end. 

Once again, the support shown on my previous two posts have meant more than I can say and are probably what made me want to do another upload. So thank you, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. 

Wishing you all good health and happiness!

(Photo credit)

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game - CH103

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

-----

Chapter 103: Slaughter Secret Society (V)

{cw: slight nsfw, sexual harrassment - I’ve marked the start and end of the scene in question with ++ and included a summary at the end if you wish to skip this.}

Help: How do I pretend to be a gay man without moral integrity but keep my moral integrity at a hedonistic party? Urgent, online, etc.

Answer: Hold steady first, then look for straight men to flirt with.

Qi Leren, who had made up his mind, calmly talked and laughed with Mrs. Kathleen. Obviously, when straight women and gay men know each other's orientation well, neither side will be too distracted. Qi Leren felt that this was probably called courtesy-flirting.

Fortunately, the bottom line of Mrs. Kathleen's moral integrity was still there, and the communication between them was limited to courtesy-flirting instead of courtesy-sex. She quickly recommended her male subordinates to Qi Leren, and showed him her "goods" in a row like a salesman.

The utterly hopeless Qi Leren looked at the group of coquettish men despairingly.

He, absolutely, did, not, want, to, go, one, round, with, men!

"Most of my subordinates like women, and these are not exclusive to men. Don't you like them?" Kathleen always paid attention to Red’s face. Although he kept smiling, he was always absent-minded and seemed to be not interested in her subordinates.

Ashley looked at Red nervously. The mask covered half of his face, revealing his deep red lips. He took a sip of wine and pointed towards a pair of men and women in the corner who were exchanging life experiences fiercely. "Is that man your subordinate too?"

Mrs. Kathleen looked intently and smiled softly, "Oh, Sid? He’s the lover of a female subordinate. Apart from his body, there’s really nothing commendable. If you insist on me saying it, his performance in bed is fine. Are you interested?"

Red’s mouth hooked up, and he lifted Mrs. Kathleen's hand and dropped a kiss on it. "Thank you for your recommendation."

With this, he left Mrs. Kathleen and a melancholy Ashley, and walked to the corner with the light gait of a cat.

The whole party scene is full of unpleasant smells, the smell of wine, smoke, and various drugs all mixed together, making people indulge in desire, and the crazy music was earth-shattering. Young men and women dancing on the dance floor got carried away, and the pressure of survival was forgotten. They indulged in passion and unscrupulous actions.

It was sad and pathetic.

Obviously, there was lively music everywhere, and there were people who had fun everywhere, but at this moment standing in the crowd, Qi Leren felt very lonely.

After all, this wasn’t a place where he should stay. He had to find a way to get away without being noticed…

He vowed to force himself to keep his eyes open to the end, mind over matter.

"It's the most pleasing thing in life to light a cigarette afterwards." A mysterious man dressed in a mask sat down beside Sid. Sid, who was entering the sage time*, paused. Instead, his female companion gave a charming smile and moved to kiss the mysterious man in front of her.

*{E/N: “sage time” means being post-orgasm. I’m pretty sure the implication is that Sid and this girl just got off together.}

A slender finger touched her lipstick-covered lips to stop her: "I'm sorry, madam, I'm not interested in women."

The woman rolled her eyes, picked up the clothes that had fallen on the ground and put them on her body, and walked away without looking back.

Sid, who’d been abandoned by his female companion, looked at the mysterious man warily. He’d never seen this man at the party. He remembered that Mrs. Kathleen had told them that a distinguished guest would come to the party this time…

Wait, what did he just say? He wasn’t interested in women? Then the question was coming. He is sitting here to…

Sid's cold sweat immediately flowed down.

{++}

The man in front of him looked at his body with great interest: "Your muscles are very good, and your ass is also quite firm. I once had a lover as strong as you, but unfortunately he’s dead. Seeing you reminds me of him."

Sid, a straight man who was forced to be naked in front of a gay man, felt deep pressure. The man in front of him had long legs, a thin waist, and white skin. At first glance, he was the type that was easy to play. Apart from gender, he was impeccable. He also knew clearly that he couldn’t offend the man in front of him, but… But heaven, have pity on him. He was a straight man!!!

His dull reaction seemed to make the man in front of him only more interested. As light as a cat, he rolled over and sat on him, slowly lighting himself a cigarette. The thick smoke made his slightly upturned lips have a charming allure. "Would you like one?"

"...Okay ...Okay."

The man straddled him, his long fingers stroking his muscles. The cold fingers aroused goose bumps on Sid's skin. He crouched on him like a snake, put a cigarette in his mouth, and then lit him up with the cigarette he was holding.

The faint light burning from the cigarette butt was very ambiguous in this hidden corner. The masked man flicked the cigarette butt and the ashes lightly landed on Sid's collarbone, burning slightly. The man breathed a sigh and blew away the ash that had fallen on his skin.

The smell of the smoke cascaded over his naked skin, even more arousing than the sensation of the cold fingers.

The man laughed in a low voice, and the light brown eyes hidden behind the mask stared at him: "But compared to a cigarette, don't you want to try the one I have lower down?"

Sid’s face suddenly changed. What, this shameless gay guy wanted his chrystanthemum?!

"Hm? What? If your technique is good enough, I don't mind trying again, as long as it can make me feel good..." The man pushed his knee towards the place where he was still weak, and he let out an embarrassing sound, tempted by the proximity.

The pale Sid looked at Mrs. Kathleen for help, but the latter nodded to him, telling him to do it!

As a straight man, he never expected to encounter such a crisis. If he couldn’t get it up… would he be killed? However, the desperate Sid was left unrequited. The mysterious man whispered an address into his ear, then climbed off of him, adjusted his clothes and smiled at him: "I’ll be waiting for you there. Don't make me wait too long."

{++}

With that, he walked lightly through the crowd and returned to Mrs. Kathleen.

"Do you allow take-away?" Red said cheerily, and Mrs. Kathleen clinked her glass.

"Of course, but you don’t need to. There’s a back room here that has everything you want," said Mrs. Kathleen.

"When people ‘communicate’ with each other, it’s also the time when people are least prepared. I prefer to be on my own site," Red said lightly.

Mrs. Kathleen expressed her understanding and politely sent him out of the door: "The selection ceremony is in a week..."

Red took his cloak from the waiter and put it on his body. He took off his mask and said to Mrs. Kathleen, haughtily and reserved, "It's just a ritual without suspense. The winner can only be me."

"I wish you all the best," said Mrs. Kathleen.

"Thank you for your kindness. Oh, have my 'pizza' come to me in half an hour. I have to prepare some 'good things' first. " He smiled and turned away.

As soon as he walked out of the bar, Qi Leren gave a long sigh of relief. Although he stayed in it for only half an hour, it felt like a year. As a great young man in the 21st century, he really hadn't seen this kind of battle before. He’d almost let his expression slip several times. Fortunately, he was covered by the mask and finally didn't show his feelings.

Qi Leren had considered rejecting Mrs Kathleen's "kindness" directly, but doing so would obviously cast a shadow over their cooperative relationship. The best way was to make a proposition first, and then find an excuse to send the person away. Time is short, he had to hurry and meet with the extra sent by the Trials Office who would make a guest appearance, together put on an act with him for "Mr Takeaway", and then drive the man back on the grounds of "I met a hotter one on the road, so you can go back and continue to pick up girls". The perfect plan.

Back near his temporary stronghold, Qi Leren whistled, and then went back to the house to wait for the people in the Trials Office to contact him. Soon he heard a slight footstep on the second floor, and he whistled again to signal that there was no one else in the room.

The footsteps were getting closer and closer, and someone came down the stairs. Qi Leren looked up, and his calm expression instantly solidified on his face.

"Ning... Ning Zhou?" Qi Leren, dressed in strange clothes and heavy make-up and smelling of alcohol and tobacco, immediately jumped up from the sofa, looking both embarrassed and nervous.

Ning Zhou's eyes stayed on him for a few seconds, then he frowned and asked coldly and stiffly: "What is it?"

Qi Leren felt awkward enough to burst into tears. Could he tell Ning Zhou, who was conservative and introverted, that he needed someone to undress and help him now? He had to replace him!

"Who else is nearby besides you?" Qi Leren asked, deathly pale.

"Miao Li."

“……”

Heaven will kill me!

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The author has something to say:

PS: Can you imagine how much the heart collapsed when the author modified this text to unlock it...

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Editor’s Notes: 

Summary of ++: “Red” acts suggestively towards Sid in a way intended to make him uncomfortable. Sid is instructed by Mrs. Kathleen to go along with it. Before anything can happen, Red pulls away and tells him to come to his house later so they can continue.

So, as indicated by BMBL’s end note, this chapter as it’s currently found on JJWXC has been edited from its original version due to being locked for sexual content, ~however~ the version you have just read is the uncensored one! I’ve been using two different mtls (the one I originally read and the one available on mtlnovel) and I was surprised to find that the one on mtlnovel is the uncensored version! Imagine my shock when I went to compare a sentence and suddenly there were butts.

For those curious, there’s actually not a ton different between the two. The censored version has removed Qi Leren commenting on Sid’s butt, several mentions of naked skin, one mention of Qi Leren stradling Sid, the mention of Sid’s “chrysanthemum”, and Qi Leren’s wandering knee. Also, it’s worth mentioning that any time I’ve used the word “sex” here, it was either censored or replaced by some innuendo originally.

Please look forward to the next chapter, it’s a good one ;) ;) ;)

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[ghofransanakli]

the room

Like one, on a lonesome road who,  Doth walk in fear and dread, And, having once turned round, walks on,   And turned no more his head;  Because he knows a frightful fiend   Doth close behind him tread.                               -Coleridge’s_ Ancient Mariner_-

> A few weeks ago, we endured the agony of my mother’s death in a very tragic accident. This crushing event left us empty and almost lifeless as the sharp fangs of remorse tore at our hearts and souls. Every corner in our home, nay, the whole town , brought back so many haunting memories, every centimeter carried her voice, her presence and her picture. Me and my father, no matter how hard we tried, we couldn’t bear that weight, especially with the fact  that her body was nowhere to be found.

My father utterly refused to adresse the subject and insisted on helping me recover from my melancholy urgently, and as a solution he resorted to leaving my childhood house behind and with it our disastrous past. 

In a surprisingly short notice, my father claimed that he found a lovely house far away on the countryside. He appeared to be very keen upon leaving ,yet, on the day of our poorly planned departure, I couldn’t help but notice how oddly distracted he was ; more than once, I caught him staring off blankly into the distance as if he was seeing something that I could not. 

When we reached our desired destination, I was amazed by how enormous and soiled the house was, the doors were so rusty as if it were never before imprinted by the foot of a man. It stood majestically upon a steep hill, and in the light of the day it looked to me rather like a castle with its high tower that overlooked the town. It seemed like a product of a twisted imagination.

My father was very eager on settling us in as quick as possible so we started cleaning right away. My dad moved about in the house as if he knew the huge place like the back of his hand. And what left me in utter shock is how he was at his wit’s end when I tried to open a wooden box I found in a cupboard and how firm he stood upon throwing it. As he yanked it from my hands he started muttering undistinguishable words to himself and he went even further to burning it. In an attempt to shake off the strange behavior of my father, I decide to go around the house and get a little more acquainted with it. It was immense and had five floors, every floor bore 6 rooms and some of the rooms had one single  bed covered with rugged dusty sheets.

However much I tried to ignore the heavy feeling that pressed down on my bosom, it just kept growing heavier with every chamber I entered , and by the time I got to the fifth floor , I was captured by anxiety and I felt choked and trapped. This floor was a tower it only had a porch and another shut room. I raced to the porch and took a deep breath trying to lift my dampened spirits, but the gruesome scene before my eyes knocked the air out of my lungs; all around the house slithered a garden covered in dead flowers and undesirable weeds, here and there I spotted ghostly marble gargoyles whose eyes were fixed on me like daggers with a wolfish grin on their faces . What startled me even more was the absence of human company; the only neighbors we had were the far off murky lake, an abandoned church blackened by the soot of ages and the leafless trees of the forest surrounding us. In the faint light of the October setting sun the branches looked like bony hands stretched out to incacerate me. In this fallen empire,only the icy breeze seemed to whisper a mute warning.

The perished realm before me distressed me to a greater extent, so I turned around and examined the closed chamber. I felt myself be pulled towards it, when i reached it i put my hand on the knob and softly twisted it, it was shut. I turned around  and my father was behind me in such a sickly pale appearance, and started frantically talking and warning me against ever approaching that floor again. In the scheme of his panic and my fright I caught a look at his obscured  eyes and I saw something that I failed to root out but it certainly sent chills down my spine .

That night I couldn’t sleep a wink. I was intrigued, and I couldn’t help but be lured to the room as if by an unseen force. I lit a candle and headed to it. 

Twisting the handle of the door it immediately gave in with no struggle letting out faint creaks as it slowly opened. On the inside, the room was even darker than the rest of the house. The floor was covered in a thick layer of dust as if it wasn’t opened for over a century. Its window was open, yet, through it u could not see the stars nor the full moon of that night . The walls were covered in shelves full of books. 

In the middle of the room stood a wooden desk, on it sat the very box I saw my father burn earlier, I Approached it slowly, it was intact, it had no trace of burns or damage. I opened it, inside, I found a stack of letters messily written as if by the hands of a madman. I picked them up just to find, under them, an old picture of a man in a pearly white suite bearing an expressionless face and gazing blankly at the camera. His stare chilled me to the bones and as I brought the picture closer to the candle I was horrified to recognize the man as my father.

With shaking hands I flipped the picture . On the back the date “October 1920” was inscribed in a scarlet ink. And to my terror I saw splashes of thick blood appear all over the picture. I was petrified. I couldn’t lift a limb as the blood drenched piece of paper fell to the ground . And in the silence of this damned night , I heard faint whispers but I failed to decipher them as if they were of a foreign language. 

Suddenly an eerie nauseating smell filled the air , and I felt a warm breath on the back of my neck, I was trembling with fright, every motion of any muscle or fiber in my body was suspended, when I saw a dark shadowy silhouette in the corner of the room and slowly it started edging closer and closer to me . I could feel the blood curdling in my veins and with a rush of adrenaline I found myself running for the exist. the distance seperating me from the door seemed to grow with every step I took, and when I finally left the room I didn’t recognize the house; the walls were covered in splashes of dried blood and the staircase disappeared. I was stuck in a corner in front of the appearance as it floated towards me. 

In the silver of light coming from the porch, I saw its features and I recognized them. It was my mother. Her eyes bleeding on the white nightgown she was wearing. She had her throat sliced open oozing curdled blood she jumped at me and let out a deafening high pitched scream that put the fear of god into me she started feverishly repeating:”He killed me! It’s him! Your father ! RUN! RUN!” 

Petrified with fear I closed my eyes. And in an instant everything was enveloped in a grave silence. I opened my eyes and the house was back to normal. I found the staircase and i ran. By the time I reached the gates my bare feet and ankles were covered in wounds, but I barely felt a thing, adrenaline ignited my veins like a match.

In the stillness of the night I heard my father let out a devilish laugh I turned around and he was leisurely walking towards me with a nightmarish smile on his face. I hastened my pace and threw myself into the dark maze of the woodland  as the branches tore at the exposed flesh on my arms and face. My sweat drenched clothes clung to my skin, I coud feel the cool night air slash my skin like freshly sharpened knives .

Suddenly he was in front of me blocking my way. I was horrified as he proceeded towards me, I felt tears of terror sliding down my cheeks, and I started pleading him , yet all he did was let out loud laughs and in a blink of an eye, he grabbed hold of my throat and pressed with brutal force. He kept repeating the words:”I warned you! I did all of this for you! To protect you! And you disobeyed me ! ” And with that everything went blurry, I could not breathe or move. I fell to my knees and he didn’t let go.

I caught a glimpse of the twinkling stars shining bright in blissful ignorance of my miserable state. Then, as my soul was quitting my corpse, I started shaking furiously like a slaughtered lamb, and in an instant I couldn’t feel a thing. 

I was gone.

[httpjeon]

❝take the throne (Ⅰ)❞ myg

― summary: you leave your safe home with the mysterious yoongi to escape the kingdom

yoongi/reader | vampire!au | angst, fluff | 3k ↬ content warnings: mentions of humans being killed, human genocide, sort of dystopian society elements

a/n: hey guys! im really proud of the world building i was able to do in this fic! i really hope you enjoy it! even though it has no smut, i hope you like it regardless!

→ blog masterlist     → series masterlist (coming soon)              →pt2

Sharp claws reached for you as you ran, the bitter cold air whipping at your face making it burn. Twigs and leaves snapped beneath your feet, your breath coming out in foggy clouds as you panted. You could hear it panting behind you as well, mixing with snarls and hisses.

You were scared.

You ran out of stamina, it didn't.

And you were getting tired, slowing down from exhaustion and the cold.

It was below freezing, you were only shielded by a flimsy, tattered night dress and a cloak you had slid on when you left your cabin to investigate the noises from outside.

You weren't prepared to be faced with gleaming red eyes and sharp fangs poised to rip your throat out.

When you took off, you had no idea what you were doing or where you were going.

Your bare foot caught an unassuming tree stump, sending your hurtling into your cold, hard ground. The beast immediately took advantage of your vulnerability and pounced on you.

You could see the hunger in his eyes as he grinned, lowering his mouth to your neck in preparation to bite.

"It's time," It whispered before crunching down on the flimsy flesh of your neck.

Your eyes snapped open and you shot up in bed, hands immediately going to your neck, pulling away to make sure there was no sign of blood. Heaving a sigh, you flopped back into bed.

It had been dreams like that one after another ever since the newcomer came to your village.

He was a quiet young man, around your own age. He was pale, hiding most of his face and body from those around him. When questioned, he had revealed he lived in hiding very close to a city, but had managed to sneak further into the country.

It was dangerous for humans to be near cities, ever since the King declared that all humans be executed as he attempted to turn the Kingdom of Atrea into a vampiric stronghold. Cities were overrun, ruled by the vampires whereas humans who had escaped, were pushed into the country to hide.

You wondered exactly how the mysterious stranger had managed to live for so long near a city. But looking at how pale he was, due to lack of sunlight, you could guess he had been hiding somewhere deep -- inside a cave, perhaps.

It was still dark outside, only the moonlight illuminating your room casting shadows on the walls around you.

Knock knock knock.

You shot up in bed once again, eyes wide in surprise. It resounded again, three knocks on your front door.

You stood up from your bed, grabbing your lantern off your bedside table, turning the switch so it lit up. The wooden floor was cold beneath your bare feet as you stepped out of your bedroom.

Three more knocks again.

"I'm coming!" You called, hurrying over to the door, pulling open the latch that kept your door locked.

Opening it, you were shocked by the familiar pale face staring back at you.

"Yoongi?" You whispered, hurriedly ushering him inside, even though he seemed unaffected by the snow falling. "What're you doing here?"

"I came to talk to you," He responded coolly, taking his hood off and taking a seat on a nearby chair. You took a seat with him, still getting over the fact he was literally in your house.

"What about?" You asked, placing your lantern on the table so it illuminated the both of you in its dim yellow cast.

"I need to leave," He breathed, leaning back in the chair so it creaked loudly.

"Leave? You just got here. There's nowhere for you to go," You shook your head, brows furrowed as you met his blank gaze. "There isn't another village for miles, it'll take days to find another place. It's the middle of winter, you can't leave!"

"No, I mean I need to leave this island," His words shocked you into pure silence.

"That's impossible," You choked out.

You were baffled. The borders were heavily guarded to make sure no one could enter or leave the Kingdom. Anyone who attempted to do either were executed on the spot. The King kept the island a reclusive Kingdom.

"No it isn't," Yoongi sighed, resting his elbows on the table. "There's a little village not far from here--"

"No there isn't Yoongi, I've lived here my entire life. There's no other village nearby!"

"Village is...a broad word for it. It's just a couple of people living in seclusion," Yoongi explained. "And I'm going to go the moment I get a chance,"

"Take me with you then," Your words seemed to startle him as his eyes flew open wider.

"What?"

"You heard me,"

"But...this is your home?"

"And being human here is a death sentence. If you can escape then I can too. So take me with you," You urged, leaning forward closer to him. "Please,"

After a moment of silence, Yoongi breathed out and "okay".

"Be ready to leave at any time," He ordered just before he vanished back through your front door.

You were left sitting by your lantern light alone, as if he had never been there to begin with.

His arrival came just a week later, it was the warmest night of the season and you were awoken by three knocks on your door.

"Time to go," He said, holding his own lantern but you noticed he didn't have a bag of belongings with him. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"As sure as I'll ever be," You breathed, throwing your rucksack on your back. You had packed it with some food items and various things of value just in case.

You felt sentimental leaving your childhood home behind and your belongings but, you also knew this was a once in a lifetime opportunity.

You didn't have any family left and most others who lived in the village kept to themselves, avoiding doing much to gain attention from anyone. They were weary, as were most humans during those times. Anything could change at the drop of a hat; the King could send an army across the countryside to find the humans left in hiding to slaughter them.

As the sun began to peek over the horizon, you let out a weary sigh. Yoongi wasn't very comforting company. He was silent most of the time, walking several steps ahead of you.

"Are you alright?" He asked, looking over his shoulder.

"I'm just wondering what the plan is here," You admitted, jogging a little bit to walk by his side.

He didn't seem effected by the walking at all, he wasn't even breathing heavily.

"A friend of mine is nearby, we'll go see him and see where we go from there," He explained simply, leaving no room for you to argue. "So do you have a plan?"

"I don't really know," You admitted. "I just want to get out of here. I've heard the other Kingdoms are free. Maybe when we get to one of those, I'll have an idea of what to do,"

"When? Are you that optimistic?" He asked, flashing you a small smile.

"I like to try," You muttered. "No sense in scaring myself out of this with what-ifs, you know?"

"That's fair," Yoongi nodded, stepping widely over a puddle of melting snow. "Right now we're safe. Searches don't get conducted this far out anymore. But the more we move around, the more we're in the open -- there's a bigger chance someone will catch sight of us. So we'll need to be more on guard the further we go,"

"Are there still settlements near cities?"

"Only a very few," Yoongi said. "They're in very poor conditions. Villages that're out here are much better off -- a lot of humans who are trapped near the cities don't even have houses. They're still a lot of nomadic humans as well, too scared to remain in one place and feel they're better off constantly on the move,"

"But I lived in one place my whole life and I've never once met a vampire,"

"That's true. But not everyone shares the view that that's the best way to live,"

"And constantly on the run is?"

"Some people don't have a choice," You hummed at his words, taking them in. Before you could respond, he grabbed your wrist -- cold shocked up your arm at the touch. "There,"

You followed his gaze, furrowing your brows when you didn't see anything. There was nothing but a horizon of trees -- the beginning of a forest.

"Where?" Yoongi chuckled, tugging your wrist lightly to get you walking again.

You obediently followed, letting him lead you to the treeline. Once you were past the first few trees, you finally noticed the small cottage that was situated, settled against the trees so that it blended. Beside that one, there were two much smaller cabins but Yoongi disregarded those, instead going straight into the larger ones.

"Seokjin," Yoongi greeted easily to the man sitting in a chair with a book in his hands.

"It's about time you go here, Yoongi," The man sighed, putting his book down and waving the two of you in. "And who is this?"

"_____, she helped me out when I first moved to her village,"

You grew flustered at his words. It wasn't truly help, you were just being neighborly. Everyone in the village was weary of the newcomer, barely speaking to him but you had stopped by where he had been staying in a small tent to give him blankets and some food.

"How kind," Seokjin nodded. "Well _____, my name is Kim Seokjin and I'm an old friend of Yoongi's,"

"I-It's nice to meet you," You stuttered, feeling frozen over the power his stare held.

"So where is Hoseok?" Yoongi asked, finally taking a seat.

"He's currently located in Canne, he has been there for the past several months. I've made him aware of your...movements and he's fully prepared to help. However," His eyes turned to you. "I'm not so sure how he'll feel about your...addition,"

Canne? A city?

"Hoseok will help no matter what, you know that," Yoongi declared, making Seokjin snicker.

"You're right, how silly of me," He stood up suddenly, giving you a good look at how tall and broad he was.

He sauntered over to a bookshelf nestled in the corner, pulling out a small book and flipping through several pages before pulling out a loose piece of folded paper. When he sat back down, he handed it over to Yoongi, who eagerly opened it. As you looked over his shoulder, you were surprised to see a handmade map.

"Jungkook made it before he left," Seokjin explained. "It's a map of Loflia including the various settlements both vamp and human that surround Canne. He highlighted the trail you are to take that will get you there safest and without much trouble. I can't guarantee that you won't run into trouble as you'll be entering the city territory but, it's the best we were able to come up with,"

"How is Jungkook? Jimin?" Yoongi asked, eyes never leaving the map.

"Last I heard they're both well and living safely in Ashor,"

"Ashor? Wait, you know people who have escaped Atrea?" You gasped, looking to Yoongi, who sighed.

"Yoongi, does she not--"

"Seokjin, Hoseok, Jimin, Jungkook and I were childhood friends," Yoongi cut Jin off, giving him a sharp glare, making the bigger man raise a brow curiously.

"A few years ago, we all decided to try leaving. We hatched a plan but Jungkook and Jimin were the only two brave enough to execute it," Seokjin picked up a picture frame beside him, handing it to you. "Yoongi, me, Jungkook, Jimin, and Hoseok respectively,"

You gazed at the picture, noting both Yoongi and Seokjin looked the same. The other three -- they were just as beautiful as the two you knew.

Jungkook had big, round doe-like eyes and a big bunny-like smile. Jimin had his arm thrown around Jungkook and was smiling fondly at the camera. Finally, Hoseok was leaning against a tree, a small smirk on his lips with his arms cross over his chest.

"So Jungkook and Jimin escaped? And now Yoongi is trying to escape?" You gaped, eyes wide as you stared at the two friends.

"It was done successfully twice, and it's my turn next," Yoongi explained. "We're all going to meet together in Ashor," You noticed how fondly Yoongi gazed down at the photo of his friends, touching their faces.

"It's been about a year since Jungkook left and about 8 months since Jimin," Seokjin sighed, placing the picture frame back where it was. "After Yoongi leaves, it'll be Hoseok's turn, and then mine,"

"But you're the addiction now," Yoongi smiled, placing his hand on your shoulder and squeezing.

"It's the first time we're doing two at once," Seokjin admitted.

"So wait, how are we meant to get into a city?" You asked. "It's overrun by vampires and the second they smell humans, it's over for us," Seokjin sighed at your question.

"You can't hide it from her, Yoongi,"

"Jin," Yoongi snapped.

"Hide what? What is it?" You squeaked, looking desperately between the two of them.

"What we are,"

You froze.

"Wh-What...what does that mean?"

"We're vampires," Yoongi grumbled.

As soon as the words escaped his lips, you shot up from your seat and backed away.

"What?!" You felt your entire body begin to tremble. "You-You're one them?! Ho-How?"

"That's a dumb question," Seokjin mumbled but clammed up at a single look from Yoongi.

He stood up, stalking over to you until you were backed into the corner. You were sure, now that you knew he was a vampire, that he could hear your heart racing.

"I'm not going to hurt you, _____," Yoongi breathed, gripping your upper arms to halt you from running.

"But you're a vampire!" You shrieked, attempting to shove him away. "Y-You've slaughtered and executed thousands--millions of humans! With no second thought about it whatsoever! How do you expect me to trust you?! How do I know you're not just going to lure me to the city to have me killed and then all your vampire friends will move in and slaughter the rest of the humans in hiding! You know where my village is!"

"I will not do anything of that nature," Yoongi explained, keeping his voice calm as can be.

"And I'm just supposed to trust you?!" You cried.

"Yes," His simple answer had you freezing, looking at him in utter confusion. "I have done nothing to hurt you or give you a reason to think I would,"

"But you're--"

"I know what I am," Yoongi sighed. "But I have absolutely no intentions of hurting you or any other human senselessly. I have no desire to,"

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" You whimpered.

"Because I haven't hurt you yet, have I?"

He was right. All his touches so far had been nothing but gentle -- touching you as if you were made of glass. He was minding his strength with you, no doubt. He hadn't even shown any sign of hunger towards your blood.

"Wh-What if you need to feed?" You sniffled, feeling tears prick your eyes.

"I don't need to,"

"What?" You shook your head. "But vampires need to feed to live. If I'm the only human then..."

"No that's wrong," Seokjin suddenly spoke up. You had forgotten he was even there. "The humans tales have been altered through fear as the time passed. Vampires don't need to drink human blood by any means. We don't have to drink blood period. We can survive on just regular human food. Fruits, vegetables, animal meats; they'll all sustain us just as they would a human,"

"Then why do vampires...kill us?" Your eyes moved back to Yoongi, who was stiff at your question.

"Self-indulgence," Yoongi mumbled.

"What?"

"Human blood is...delicious to us. It's like the best wine, the finest chocolates, it's...indescribable. It's almost like a drug. You taste it and you suddenly want more and more and more," Yoongi hissed.

"H-Have you...tasted human blood?" You squeaked.

"Yes," Yoongi admitted, making you flinch. "It wasn't particularly by choice,"

"What do you mean?"

"Sometimes," Seokjin spoke up again. "When you're in a situation where human blood is offered, you have to take it. There's only a small potion of vampires who have no desire to hurt humans, who only with to help and sympathize with them,"

"They'll kill a vampire who even tries to help a human, ______. You have to understand, we as vampires have to hide the fact we don't want to hurt you or we'll die too. So yes, I drank it but that was once. I didn't let it control me and I never will do it again. After I get off this godforsaken island I will do everything in my power to fix everything the King has done,"

His declaration left you stunned. He looked at you with such fierce passion that you couldn't find it in you to even think of doubting him. Without a second thought, you threw your arms around him in a hug. He relaxed immediately, wrapping his arms around your waist and returning your hug.

"I believe you, Yoongi," You breathed. "But,"

You pulled away and finally moved out of the corner to sit back down. Yoongi and Seokjin followed your lead and sat where they were before.

"But what?" Yoongi pressed.

"How am I going to go into a city? You can get away with it, you're a vampire but they'll know I'm human 50 yards away,"

"_____," Yoongi reached over, taking your warm hand into his ever-so-cold one. "No matter what, I will do everything in my power to protect you from those monsters.They won't lay a hand on you without going through me,"

"But--"

"Don't worry, ______," Seokjin smiled, placing his hand on top of Yoongi's over yours.

"They'll have to listen to me," Yoongi declared, the look in his eyes showing how serious he was in his declaration.

What does that mean...?

© httpjeon 2019. do not modify or repost.

[cozy-the-overlord]

Safe and Sound

Word Count:  2836

Summary:  Since the war ripped through her village and took her husband from her, Ainsley’s only priority has been shielding her young daughter from the violence. At night, she fears even that is too much to ask for.

A/N: Here’s a story I’ve had in my head for a long time. Again, it’s based on the Taylor Swift song of the same name. Safe and Sound always captivated me because it’s so different from any of Taylor’s other work-- it’s genuinely eerie, and hauntingly beautiful. This is kind of what I always imagined the music video should have been like. That probably tells you something about my mental state, but whatever. Hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading!

The woods were silent and still under the blanket of darkness. Most nights, there was something to pierce the quiet: the rustling of leaves in the breeze, the delicate song of a lonely cricket singing in the distance. But tonight, there was nothing. Midnight smothered the trees with its noiselessness.

Ainsley didn’t like the silence. She sat at the windowsill, absentmindedly looping yarn around her knitting needles as she peered out at the forest. The world was almost never silent, and when it was, it was usually hiding something.

Across the room, Mallory snored softly. It never ceased to amaze Ainsley how deeply her daughter could fall asleep in such a short amount of time. The little girl needed only to rest her head against the pillow and she would be unconscious to the world for the next several hours. Hellfire could be raining down from the heavens and Mallory would still sleep through it.

Something flitted across Ainsley’s line of vision, and her head snapped to the right, half expecting to see a horde of the Liberty Brigade leering outside window, black visors glittering in the moonlight. But there was nothing: just the shadows of trees stretching in the moonlight.

Her heart pounded. She wanted desperately to light a candle, but such a comforting flicker of warmth wasn’t worth the risk of someone noticing the light through the trees. Ainsley didn’t know who was out there, if anybody, but she had heard enough stories from the village to fear what the forest could be concealing.

“We had a rider from a village down south,” Old Norm the shopkeeper had told her a few weeks ago, when she last had to go into town for supplies. “He said the Brigade came at night. Barged into houses and ripped the children from their beds. Blew the brains out of anybody who tried to fight back.”

Ainsley was horrified. “Why? Why would they take children?”

“They need loyal citizens. You know, at their capital,” Norm spat the word as if it were poison. “They like the kids because they don’t fight back.”

“That’s not what I heard.” Norm’s scruffy-haired apprentice leaned over the counter as he handed her the fabric she ordered. “They’re building an army, see?” he said. “They’re using them as kid soldiers. They want to be ready, you know, just in case there’s another war.”

The woman running her hands through the wrapped soap bars had yet another story. “They take them to sacrifice to their heathen god,” she whispered. “That’s how they won the war: on the blood of our babies.”

Ainsley pulled Mallory closer to her waist. “Don’t say such things,” she hissed, covering her daughter’s ears.

“It’s the truth,” she insisted. “They take those from villages that opposed them in the war. They’ll be here for us, sooner or later.” Ainsley shuddered.

To say that her village opposed the Liberty Brigade in the war was to say that a starving man was a murderer for killing a rabbit to eat, but she doubted the Brigade would see it that way. It was all very simple in their eyes: if you supplied men to the old government, you supported the old government. Never mind that the old government sent warlords from the palace to pound on your doors with their rifles, demanding all able-bodied men report for duty immediately.

When they came, Ainsley’s husband had stood from his loom with all the serenity of a man at peace. As she packed his knapsack with shaking hands, he lifted the shotgun from its hooks above the door and blew the dust off the barrel. It was all very quiet, almost like a dream when you’re just waiting to open your eyes and come back to your senses. Ainsley remembered how he knelt next to Mallory, wiping a tear from her cheek with his thumb.

“It’s okay, little dove,” he said, his smile forcefully bright. “I’ll be home in a little while. You won’t even know I was gone.”

When he stood to hug Ainsley, the smile was still there, but only just barely. She squeezed his shoulders so tightly she thought he might break.

“I love you,” he whispered in her hair. Ainsley’s eyes burned. When she repeated the words, her voice was so hoarse she could barely hear it.

He kissed her forehead. “I’ll be home soon. I promise.”

She remembered standing on the porch as he walked down to the truck, cradling his knapsack. The monstrous vehicle was already gorged with young men from the village, and she wasn’t surprised to hear him greet someone good-naturedly as he climbed into the back. She wanted to cry, but Mallory was already whimpering, and so she scooped up her daughter and held her tightly to her breast.

He wasn’t coming back. Ainsley knew it, felt it in the overwhelming emptiness in her chest as she watched them drive away with her husband. She breathed through her mouth, hoping to somehow exhale the lump in her throat. She failed. Instead, she clung to her daughter tighter, hoping that Mallory didn’t notice her tears.

That night, Mallory wouldn’t go to bed until she had lit a candle in the windowsill.

“It’s dark outside,” she told Ainsley solemnly. “We need to make sure there’s light so Daddy can see us when he comes back.”

Ainsley forced a wet smile. “Of course, sweetheart. Of course.”

Two and a half years later, Mallory still insisted upon lighting the candle every night.

“He’s gonna be so happy when he comes back!” she gushed as Ainsley tucked her into bed one night. “When he sees the light, and he knows we’re waiting for him! He’s gonna run in and wake us all up.”

Ainsley said nothing. She had long since run out of replies to her daughter’s unhampered confidence. Instead, she kissed Mallory on the head and snuffed out the candle once she was asleep.

Outside, the silence persisted. Ainsley sighed and tried to throw herself into the knitting with a new fervor. Winter was on its way, and Mallory was in desperate need of a new sweater. She had grown so much in the past year, when she tried on her old one it barely fit over her head…

But the disconcerting hush kept pressing against the cabin’s wooden walls, filling the air with noiseless threats. Ainsley’s movements slowed, her eyes drifting back to the black abyss behind the glass. A shiver ran down her spine.

Shouldn’t the quiet be a sign of safety? Wouldn’t it be loud, if the Liberty Brigade were to invade the village? Their tiny cabin was a few miles away, for sure, but Ainsley felt that she would still be able to hear the sounds of slaughter. Why was she so on edge?

She scanned the trees again, jumping at every odd shadow. They truly were isolated here. During the war, she had been grateful for it: raiding parties attacking the village were unlikely to find their way to her doorstep. Now, the loneliness frightened her.

Something moved. Ainsley’s head snapped to it. For a moment, she forgot to breathe.

There was a light behind the trees. A small, tiny little ball of light, bobbing behind branches, slowly, every so slowly, making its way towards the cabin. Besides it, another appeared. And another. And another.

Soon, the whole tree line was awash with lights.

A beam flickered across the window. Ainsley dropped to the floor, needles clattering on the wood besides her.

The light traveled across the wall behind her, unhurried yet deliberate. Ainsley frantically gulped air underneath the window.

It’s them! Oh God, it’s them!

Snippets of stories flooded her ears, stories of massacre and kidnapping and blood-soaked teddy bears. Ainsley squeezed her eyes shut and forced them from her head. Mallory. She had to get Mallory out of here.

The light cut out suddenly, dousing the room in shadows. Ainsley could hear voices now outside, as well as the angry hum of a motor. She crawled across the floor to Mallory’s trundle bed.

Placing a hand over the little girl’s mouth, she shook her gently, whispering urgently.

“Sweetheart, wake up. We need to go.”

Mallory awoke with a start. “Wha—what?!”

“Shhhh,” Ainsley’s eyes flickered to the door. Nobody had begun pounding on it yet, which had to be a good sign. “Everything’s alright,” she whispered. “We just need to go now. There are bad guys outside.”

“Bad guys like the ones Daddy’s fighting?” Mallory asked, matching her mother’s hushed tone.

Ainsley nodded. “Get your sweater and your shoes. We’re going to the barn.”

As Mallory stumbled to the chair where she had left her tiny sweater, Ainsley pushed up the moth-eaten rug in the center of the room. The trap door underneath was rusty, and it took a good deal of prying for Ainsley to yank it up. It practically screamed as she forced it open. Ainsley fervently prayed that the men outside were hard of hearing.

Underneath, a ladder descended into a dirt tunnel of inky black.

“Hurry, Mallory!” Her daughter hobbled to her, rubbing her eyes.

“This sweater is too tight,” she complained. “It hurts my neck.”

“I’ll fix it later.” There was someone knocking at the door. Ainsley tried to hide her shaking hands as she lowered Mallory into the tunnel. She fumbled for the door handle before she slipped inside.

The knocking grew more insistent. The wooden walls vibrated. “Liberty Brigade!” A deep voice yelled. “Open up!”

Ainsley dropped into the tunnel, closing the door behind her.

“Mommy?” whispered Mallory. “It’s dark in here.”

“I know sweetheart. Just take my hand.” Ainsley pulled her down the path, the thrumming in her pulse only marginally faster than her step.

Her cattle-herder father-in-law had dug out this tunnel ages ago, as an easy method to get to the barn when the blizzards rolled in. She hadn’t known him long before he died, but he had often bragged about it as his proudest achievement.

“Took me four whole summers to clear the damn thing. I ‘bout thought it would never end. When I finally got it done, I’d spent the whole day running back ‘n forth down there just ‘cus I could!”

Ainsley wondered if he had ever pictured this.

When they finally got to the second ladder, Ainsley made Mallory wait at the bottom while she checked the area. Gradually she pushed the door open, just barely enough for her to peer out.

The barn was deserted.

“Okay, sweet, come on!” Mallory was quiet as Ainsley pulled her up through the tunnel.

“Where are we going?” she finally whispered, shivering in the chilly air.

Ainsley hugged her close. “Out the back,” she replied after a moment. “We’ll go into the woods, towards the village. We’ll have to be very, very quiet, but it will be alright. We can hide with the owls.”

Mallory frowned. “I don’t like it out there. It’s too dark.”

Ainsley donned what she hoped was a comforting smile. “I know, darling. We’ll have to be brave.” She nuzzled her hair affectionately. “We just have to make it until sunrise. Once the sun comes up, everything will be okay.” The Brigade, to her knowledge, never raided after dawn. They’d be alright. They just needed to make it through the night. “Come on.”

The barn wasn’t incredibly distant from the cabin, but it was far enough away to allow for the two to slip into the trees unnoticed by the Brigade. Ainsley cast a quick glance back at the house. The black suited figures surrounded it, guns raised, their glossy helmets glowing in the moonlight. She shook herself and forced her attention back to the task at hand.

Mallory hobbled alongside her, panting softly.

“Are we going to find Daddy?” she asked.

Ainsley forced a smile, although she doubted Mallory could tell in the dark. “Maybe.” She desperately hoped they wouldn’t. Not tonight…

A shout broke through the woods. Behind them, engines revved.

Oh God, they’ve seen us.

Ainsley snatched Mallory’s wrist to yank her along faster. The little girl stumbled, leaves crunching under her feet. Ainsley scooped her up and started to run.

“I’m big!” Mallory protested. “I can walk by myself!”

“Hush!” Ainsley hissed. Trees flew by her head, their clawed branches grasping at her hair. Ainsley ducked down in an attempt to see better. Mallory wailed.

The smell of diesel infected the air, and Ainsley realized with horror that she had taken them far closer to the main road that she intended. Frantically, she cut to the left.

Where was she going? What was the plan? Ainsley could barely see three feet ahead of her, let alone process what was happening. Behind them, trucks rumbled through the forest belching smoke and threats. She gulped air and ran faster, ignoring her burning calves.

Vroom!

Mallory cried out, tightening her grip around her mother’s neck.

Ainsley whipped her head back for a moment. Motorcycles?

Black silhouettes behind white lights weaved in and out of the trees in answer.

She clutched Mallory as close as possible. Faster, run faster! But her legs were giving out, and Mallory seemed to be getting heavier with every panicked step.

The motorcyclists were upon them in a second, zooming by her so fast that she tumbled to the forest floor with a scream. Ainsley curled into the fetal position with Mallory beneath her. Her chest burned with each ragged breath. She was crying, she realized, strangled sobs just falling from her throat. Mallory clung to her shirt and cried too.

The motorcycles continued circling, but their small motors were soon drowned out by the groaning of the big truck pushing its way in from the road. Masked brigadesmen marched forward brandishing their weapons, glossy boots stamping the dirt in unison.

They had never stood a chance, Ainsley realized as the Brigade surrounded them. They had always had the upper hand. She swallowed bitterly. Why did they bother with so many resources on the two of them? Why was it so damn important to hunt down the reclusive single mother and her tiny helpless daughter?

A gun barrel bumped the back of her head. “Sit up.”

Ainsley pulled herself to her knees. She held Mallory as tightly as she could, practically digging her nails into her shoulders. Mallory sobbed quietly into her shirt.

The distortion from the headlights made it nearly impossible to make anything out. Figures moved in and out of focus.

“Hands on your head.”

Ainsley didn’t move. The barrel hit her again.

“Now!”

She couldn’t let go of Mallory. Mallory, who had wrapped her legs around Ainsley’s ribcage like a sloth clinging to a branch and appeared to have turned to stone.

“Please don’t hurt her,” Ainsley whispered.

“No one’s getting hurt. Hands on your head.”

She didn’t believe him, but what else could she do? She raised her hands to her head. Mallory clung to her chest.

The brigadesman behind her called out an order that she didn’t quite understand. Two others appeared in front of her, seemingly materializing out of the shadows.

The barrel smacked her head once more. “Relinquish the child.”

They sacrifice them to their heathen gods….

Ainsley couldn’t remember who had said it, but the words were seared into her brain. Her arms flew to Mallory.

“No, please—”

Something collided with the side of her head. Glossy gloves had Mallory by the shoulders. Ainsley was screaming, thrashing against another pair of arms holding her to the ground. Mallory howled.

“Let her go!” Ainsley kicked wildly. A grunt, and then she was free, scrambling after the man carrying her sobbing daughter away. Somehow, she pulled herself to her feet. “Let her go! Let her go—”

A shot rang through the air, quickly followed by two more.

She didn’t feel anything at first, just a tap on her back, then another, and another. It had been so long since she had heard a gun fire that she didn’t even register it at first.

What she did register was her daughter’s screams.

“MOMMY! MOMMY!”

She had to get up. Wait, she was on the ground? How did she get on the ground? When she tried to move forward her insides burst into flames.

“MOMMY!”

Mallory’s voice was getting smaller now, farther away.

Sacrifice to their heathen gods

No, no, no not Mallory, they can’t take her not Mallory…..

Engines revved. Lights cut in and out. Voices, but they were fading too, fading fast…

She couldn’t hear Mallory any more…

Nonononono……

It was cold here, in the woods. Cold and sticky. Did Mallory have her sweater? She hadn’t finished it yet….

But Mallory was gone. Everyone was gone. It was just Ainsley, laying in this cold, wet, dark wood alone… but it wasn’t that dark. Things were getting lighter, actually. She supposed the sun must be coming up early. Little pinpricks of light pushing through the trees….

That’s why they’re gone, she thought. Everyone knows they don’t raid after dawn.

[sinsofaconfessor]

Security

Amid the darkness in the dead of night, Arie peak, dark shadows of pine trees swaying in chilling winds, cropped by brisk white snow. Even in the dead of summer this high up, snow remained.  There, a home of wood and brick nestled at the higher part of the peak remained lit, three stories of wood and bridge, designed in more human theme than elf. Syred stood alone amid the snow, levitating through magic, words mulled in his mind over and over. “ I Hate it here.” He knew she meant something else, but he also knew that the spawnlings were stifled, and likely to become more and more restless without given more space. If anything, this was for them. A high setting to prevent any archery from having advantage, arrows would have to be shot upward and lose momentum to gravity, check. Dense woods for consistent cover, Pine trees for lack of a vantage inside them? Check. Snow for ease of audible and visual tracking, hard to hide in with the known assassins colors? Absolutely. Wolves howled in the night, causing the pale figures ears to quirk, thoughtful. He’d prepared for this for some time, a quick raid of his storage from a burned shop in Stormwind, a hidden vault and he’d been prepared. Shadows billowed around the snow, pure white coated in deep blackness. Tendrils breaking fresh powder as they’d begun drawing runes, etching them into the dirt beneath the snow, against rock, tree bark. Glowing runes with detailed inner workings, traps of magic. Arrows, they used Arrows and portals. They always worked in groups. They feared little he remembered, recalling the fight. They improvise and use other things, they’d used his candles against him, which means they had to never get another clear shot again. More shadowy decoys? No, they’d confuse the spawnlings and have them run into traps. The witnesses likely knew not to fire on the decoys any longer with how much he’d used them to distract them prior. Syreds thoughts ran through contingency after contingency, Plan A, through Z. Every tree present within several hundred yards became marked with Runes, all designed in new ways. Woods outside his home would become certain death for people above 4 feet tall. The ground was littered in Armor, dark, jagged and pointy. Cursed metal with new runes crafted on the inside. Magic primed to Animate the Armor when other trap runes were stepped on, turning the cursed metal into an automated murder machine powered by fel and arcane. Six sets of Armor designed and crafted to make any Archmage of Kirin Tor or anyone well studied proud. Short of Actual Golems, animated cursed armor lusting for blood was clearly a terrifying adversary. These were humans, Men, fragile in frame and yet they had stolen some of his inventions, his death charms. Gaining a Killing blow on any of them would be hard... unless.. No, A Mass Dispel stored in a rune would disable the other traps.

Tendrils spawned and dissipated, magic moving across the span of several hundred yards at the males whim, carving the runes he’d brought to thought,  some runes crafted Portals, small traps that would suck up one poor victim and drop them into a distant desert. Divide and conquer, with fewer assassins, one could be pinned down, the charm removed from them and -then- slain. A mask..Slowly he’d levitated himself up to a hill, guiding magic tendrils to carve long lines and borders, a circle of runes around the house, masking it’s presence to those outside its influence, making this house appear to be little more than a small mountaintop of no true regard. An old protection, but still quite reliable.

The howl of wolves grew louder, the elf turned to look over his shoulder to find a pack of four very large, black furred wolves staring him down, watching him in the dead of night. Syreds hands fell behind his back, watching, waiting as the four began to circle him.When they closed in, shadows closed around the whole group. When it was over, one wolf lay dead in the snow, shadowy tendrils had broken its neck, the other three found magic weaved through their minds, their world, their perception altered. Their knowledge and understanding changed and altered. They knew only now Syred led their pack, that his home was theirs, that these woods were theirs to roam and protect and any unknown were to be hunted and slaughtered.

A minor touch...a personal one. Syred wouldn’t mind feeding three extra mouths, especially when it meant three extra pairs of eyes. Eyes that may not be suspected. They had spies? They wanted to play this game, Syred would -not- live in Squalor ( Or what he called squalor) For the sake of hiding.

The wolves wandered around the house, catching its scent, the woods around and back into the night in search of food, one less in their pack, but with four new additions.

Syred turned back to the unused home, unused aside from the 7 rooms inside the basement he’d fashioned for a hidden home.  To most, Seven rooms may seemed extravagant. To Syred who had moved from 40 rooms, to 20, and now to 7? It was an outrageous downgrade. Slowly he approached the front door, knocking on the wood. An Elderly man answered the door. “ Oh, hello stranger! Me and my wife were just about to go to bed...Would you mind coming back tommorow?” A Dimissive wave from the pale males hand dispelled the shadowy magic, the Elderly man and his wife faded, dispelled from their life. Shadowy tendrils finding the runes on the Ceiling and drawing the magic from them, preventing them from returning for now. He’d made one walk through, looking over an unused childrens bedroom, two larger beds for two growing girls, toy chests, lights powered by magic slowly activated with Syreds entry. An upstairs hallway leading to a fairly empty study, master bedroom,dressers, clothes, supplies all designed for when the threat had been removed. He’d been planning for when they were all safe for some time, but hadn’t considered mortals needs for simple things, sunlight, open spaces. Perhaps he was just a little out of touch, though he’d never admit it. A bathroom with plumbing fuelled by magic for hot water and other comforts that Syred normally refused to do without.He’d found himself at the end of his inspection of the home in the study, pulling open a drawer and procuring four small pouches, all with tiny bone charms inside along with a large gold coin with a symbol carved within. Each tied with leather strings and bound tightly to prevent anything from being removed without effort. Then... He moved downstairs, finding the locked Cellar and opening the doors. “ Amarah, Ari..come here! I’ve got a....” He stared down at the satchels. “...I have....A...Gift for you both.” How hard it was for him to say it, how much he struggled with the verbiage. He hated struggling with things, but he’d get over it eventually. This wasn’t what Ceri meant when she said she’d hated this place. This is what he told himself. This was better for the spawnlings though. He’d add more security outside later.

[thejokersenigma]

Christmas Fan Fiction Advent Calendar 2017 - Day 2 - Ivy x Harley - Part 1

Ok, so I’ve not really properly written these two characters before, so I apologise if they’re not great, but I didn’t want the whole month to only be Joker :)

Hope you Enjoy!

MASTERLIST

Ivy suddenly became conscious, and she had to wonder for a moment what had woke her, when she heard a loud crashing from the direction of the kitchen. She rolled her eyes knowing exactly what it was.

Harley was up to something.

Crawling out of bed, she didn’t bother to tackle the messy nest of hair on top of her head, instead she stormed straight across the room, throwing open the bedroom door and strode the small distance across the bungalow to the shabby square kitchen. She stopped in the doorway to the kitchen, finding Harley was skipping back and forth between the counters and the tiny table, both of which were piles high with carboard boxes, some suspiciously leaking colourful strings of light and Ivy could see glimpses of the shiny, rounded surface of baubles. Ivy raised a questioning eyebrow at the young girl prancing around the room.

Harley stopped in mid flounce when she noticed Ivy in the doorway. “Mornin’ Red!” She squealed excitedly, her grin wider than her face and Ivy noticed she was holding a bundle of tinsel in her arms. Ivy raised a questioning eyebrow at her and Harley suddenly seemed to register Ivy’s dishevelled, half asleep, appearance because her grin change to a sheepish look of shame, and she cringed back slightly in apology. “Did I wake you?” She asked timidly. Ivy’s look gave her the answer. “I’m reeeeaaalllyyy sorry, Red…” Harley whined in apology, stepping back, away from the red headed woman, hiding her tinsel out of sight.

“What are you doing, Harl?” She asked, frowning at the boxes, ignoring the fact she should be annoyed, and more intrigued about what had got Harley so riled up so early in the morning.

Harley’s grin returned instantly as she realised Ivy wasn’t going to chide her “It’s December 1st!” She exclaimed excitedly.

“So?”

“So, it’s Christmas!” Cried Harley, bouncing up and down on the stop, no longer troubling to hide the tinsel.

“No, Harls. It’s the first of December.” Ivy pointed out in a bored tone, moving into the kitchen and picking up a strand of light between her fingers, a look of slight disgust on her face. “Christmas” She corrected, “Isn’t until the 25th of December.”

“But ya gotta put the decorations up before then!” Harley exclaimed as though the thought of anything else was insane. Ivy’s expression didn’t change as she threw the lights back into the box.

“Could you at least wait a few weeks?” Ivy asked, continuing to look over the other boxes, not wanting to open any of them in case Christmas suddenly erupted out.

Harley’s smile dropped completely now, her lips quivering and her whole body hanging dejectedly, the tinsel limp in her hands. Ivy sighed loudly in exasperation. Great. Now the girl was going to mope around the house for the next couple of weeks or until Ivy gave into her. It was like living with a 3-year-old.

“Urgh.” She groaned, “Fine, Harl! Fine!” She resigned, “Hang the bloody things up!”

Harley jumped immediately back to herself, giggling excitedly and diving into the pile of boxes. When she emerged, she noticed Ivy walking back toward her room. “Don’t ya wanna help, Red?” She questioned, innocently.

“Not really Harls.” Ivy muttered continuing to walk away.

“But RRReeddd!” Harley whined at her friend’s retreating back, “Christmas is all about friends and family and coming together!” She explained, hugging a large plastic Santa she had found. Ivy rolled her eyes again in annoyance. Guess she wasn’t getting a lie in today.

“Fine.” She groaned, rubbing at her face in exhaustion. “What do you want me to do?”

  “What is that?” Ivy asked across the room as Harley grabbed something gold from a box. Harley frowned, lifting the object up for her to see.

“It’s a star.” She explained, showing it to her plainly.

“No.” Ivy said, annoyance in her voice. “It’s a tree topper. You have a Christmas tree don’t you?” She accused.

“It’s plastic!” Harley promised quickly, panicking and hiding the tree topper behind her back.

“I don’t care if it’s made from bricks!” Cried Ivy in indignation, “It’s encouraging those blood thirsty murderers to saw down every pine tree within the state!” She shouted. “We are not having a Christmas tree! I am not supporting plant slaughter even with imitations!”

Harley gulped, hanging her head in shame. “Sorry, Red.” She apologised glumly, she knew better than to whine or pout to get her way now. A plastic tree had been her only hope, but she knew how strongly Ivy felt about these things. Harley dropped the plastic star back into the box, looking forlornly at the baubles she had hoped to hang on her tree.

Then Harley’s eyes suddenly lit up with an idea, “Can I hang the tree decorations around the house instead then?” She asked anxiously, still slightly nervous of Ivy’s temper.

Ivy looked at her with a calculating expression. “Fine.” She allowed, and Harley squealed with joy. “But nothing with a Christmas tree on it!” Ivy called after the bobbing blond pigtails as Harley raced off through the house with a box of clanging decorations.

Whilst Harley threw baubles in every available space in the house, Ivy continued to dig through the storage boxes – though rather more unenthusiastically than Harley had been. The girl had collected quite an assortment of Christmas junk and Ivy wondered how she could possibly have owned all this much stuff – and moved with it – when she would have been constantly on the run, moving from hideout to hideout with that psychotic ex-boyfriend of hers.

Ivy examined the boxes, finding labels on all of them from a storage company in Gotham, with a fake name attached. Ivy could see Harley now – going each year to her storage and transporting all these boxes to the newest warehouse or abandoned factory to then spend the next few days decorating every inch of the gloomy place. Ivy guessed the Joker hadn’t even noticed the change - or the amount of effort the kid would have went through to make the place look nice.

Ivy clenched her jaw at the thought as she continued to look through each of the boxes. She hated that clown, and what he’d done to the poor girl that now roomed with her. What was worse, Ivy thought, discovering a rather heavy box full of photos, was Harley still clearly had a thing for him. Shifting through the mass of images, Ivy pulled out random polaroids, all of depicting the same theme each time – a picture of Harley and the Joker in different Christmas scenes. In none of them, did the crime lord look at all happy - most of them seemed to be Harley grinning and taking the picture, whilst the clown could be seen in the background, busy ignoring her. Ivy would have bet the Joker would have backhanded the kid across the room if he knew anything about these pictures.

Ivy continued to flick through the box, though it was almost painful to do so, occasionally she would pull out one to look at it better before she then replaced it with a strong surge of pity for the poor kid and her huge heart.

Just then Harley came prancing into the room and Ivy jumped back from the box like she had been stung, and, instead, busied herself with the one next to it. The last thing she wanted to do was draw Harley’s attention to it she - she’d probably completely forgot about the box of Christmas memories and if she did see it she was sure it would drag the kid back into the slump she always got in whenever she thought for a moment about the clown. Ivy could only imagine it would be worse this time of year.

“All the baubles are up!” Harley declared happily, making her way straight to another box. She grabbed and edge and peered into it, then picked it up, shook it to confirm her suspicion and then threw it to the floor when it came up empty.

She quickly moved onto the next one, sidling up to Ivy and – in the merry mood she was in – swung her hips so they bumped Ivy’s playfully and letting out a giggle. “Le’s see what’s next.” She cried gleefully, clapping her hands together. Ivy could only give her a forced smile, knowing all too well what was going to happen next, but Harley didn’t seem to notice – clearly use to the lack of enthusiasm. Ivy’s fears were confirmed, however, when Harley flung open the flaps of the box and caught a look at its contents. Immediately her lips formed a silent ‘Oh’ and her arms went limp as she stared down into the depths. She slowly reached in, scoping up a large pile with her two hands and letting the photos fall blindly through her fingers. Ivy cringed mentally as to what was bound to happen next.

“Harl?” Ivy asked after a short while of this repeated behaviour. Harley looked up at the voice, but Ivy wasn’t sure she was seeing her, and her eyes were shiny with tears waiting to fall. Harley held up a single photo and Ivy mentally cringed at what was bound to happen next when she saw the image – Harley taking a selfie with a large grin and thumbs up, whilst J was bent over a desk, studying a blueprint intensely with his back to her.

Harleys lips began to wobble and then the tears came in floods. She tried to speak, but it was all indistinct blubbering that Harley couldn’t make out - though she was sure she heard the word ‘puddin’ between the racking sobs.

Ivy managed to pry the image from the girls fingers and led her over to the nearby sofa, helping her drop onto the cushion, the tears still running fast. Ivy didn’t want to leave her there, but she turned back to the kitchen and gathered up the pictures Harley had dropped, throwing them back into the box and then quickly moving the box to her own room, shoving it unceremoniously in the bottom of her wardrobe. She wouldn’t get rid of it. Harley wouldn’t want that. Not yet.

The problem now out of sight, and hopefully soon out of mind, Ivy returned to Harley who had now curled herself into the sofa, sobbing and sniffling with her head buried in a cushion.

Ivy fell onto the small bit of sofa left next to her, placing an arm around her shoulders. “Aww cheer up, Harls!” She comforted, “You don’t need him anymore! Us girls can have our own fun!”

Harley lifted her head up from the pillow and Ivy had to try hard not to recoil from the puffy red mess. “Really Red, ya mean it?”

“Of course, Harls!” She encouraged, “When have I ever not been up for some girl fun! Now, let’s have some herbal tea, we’ll finish decorating the place, then we can hit the town and make sure everyone regret that it’s the holiday season!”

[nitrateglow]

Halloween 2017 movie marathon: The Shining (dir. Stanley Kubrick, 1980)

“You've had your whole fucking life to think things over! What good's a few minutes more gonna do you now?!”

Frustrated writer Jack Torrance (Jack Nicholson) agrees to spend the winter as the caretaker of the picturesque Overlook Hotel, with his meek wife Wendy (Shelley Duvall) and troubled young son Danny (Danny Lloyd) in tow. Problems brew to a boiling point as the alienated family spends their days in the remote resort: Jack’s encounters with what may or may not be malevolent ghosts bring his already-existing resentment toward his wife and son to the fore, causing him to engage in ever-more sadistic and violent behavior. As his father and the sinister atmosphere of the hotel grow more hostile, Danny, informed by the Overlook’s telepathic chef Halloran (Scatman Crothers) that he has a psychic ability known as “shining,” attempts to contact the outside world before he and his mother are butchered.

As it is with James Whale’s Frankenstein, discussing Stanley Kubrick’s 1980 adaptation of The Shining can prove a daunting task. Everyone and their grandmother seems to have an insane interpretation or conspiracy theory about just what the hell it means. Stephen King enjoys bitching about it every few years. It is endlessly parodied and homaged. But as with James Whale’s Frankenstein, I’m going to talk about it anyway, because my reaction to this movie is a strange one, at least by my standards. When I first saw The Shining, I didn’t find it that scary. If anything, I saw it as more of a black comedy with a lot of suspense. Over repeated visits, most horror movies lose that visceral edge that comes with an initial viewing, but The Shining somehow grows more frightening every time I come back to it—and yet, despite its disturbing themes and eerie atmosphere, I would argue that in Kubrick’s oeuvre, few films are as optimistic. (No, I’m not crazy!) Unfortunately, most of the discourse surrounding this movie is ridiculous, all Illuminati and government conspiracy—but never fear: if you have not seen the film, rest assured that it is a fine horror picture; you do not require a tinfoil hat to enjoy its considerable artistic merits and entertainment value.

Placed alongside the other horror movies I’ve covered in this marathon thus far, The Shining does not seem particularly gothic: it lacks the chiaroscuro aesthetic of Frankenstein or The Mummy. Compared to The Cat and the Canary and subsequent haunted house films, The Shining’s Overlook Hotel is picturesque and contemporary, with not a hint of dust or decay to be seen on the premises. Everything is bright and well-lit—perhaps even over-lit and garish. There are no shadows hiding ghouls or spooky paintings, only kitschy 1970s decor. But if there is a running theme throughout this film, it’s making normal things look as creepy as possible. The stillness of the abandoned hotel, not to mention the way these already disturbed characters are kept in close quarters within it, creates an eerie atmosphere from the moment the Torrance clan set foot on the premises.

Like all great gothic stories, The Shining concerns itself with how the horrors of the past linger in the present, and the Overlook Hotel has no shortage in that regard. Despite its glamorous past, where the “jet set” of the 1920s and 1930s used to hang in the lavish ball room, the Overlook has its share of atrocities, such as the desecration of the Native American burial ground it was built over or the young family slaughtered by the former caretaker a decade before the events of the film take place. The Torrances bring their own baggage: Jack and Wendy’s marriage is already strained, and Jack’s one instance of drink-induced physical abuse of Danny has marred the family dynamic even further. Evil is a constant presence in this film; it infuses the hotel and Jack’s mind, though slowly. Much of the suspense comes from this slowness; I think Kubrick is the only filmmaker who could make the audience jump out of their seat just by throwing an intertitle at us unexpectedly (I’m not even kidding). A series of intertitles are inserted between segments, counting down to the climax where Jack decides he might want to give the whole “murder my wife and child” thing a try. These measurements of time start out broad, but slowly become more specific, counting down to the minute. It is such a simple strategy, but an effective one in making us fear for the more sympathetic characters.

And that’s not getting into the ghosts! I’m not often frightened by paranormal stories, but The Shining’s ghouls are the sort that make you nervous about getting out of bed to use the bathroom at night (I know this from experience). The famous Steadicam use adds to the ghostly ambiance, gliding swiftly through the Overlook’s labyrinthine corridors. The iconic tricycle sequences are so creepy because the camera movement makes it seem as though Danny is being stalked by something. Then there are the ghosts themselves, who manage to be incredibly scary without ridiculous spectacle. The creepy twins are ingrained into the popular culture, of course, but I’m especially unnerved by the eroticized woman in the bathtub or Charles Grady, the former caretaker played by Kubrick regular Philip Stone. There’s something far, far more malevolent about them, as they both represent Jack’s ultimate desire: to break free of his family by any means necessary. They also possess a stillness that makes them creepier than any CG-generated ghoul could ever dream of being (see the remake of The Haunting if you need ample proof of that).

Unlike the book, we are never given extensive backstory for any of these characters; however, Kubrick and co-writer Diane Johnson are wise to allow us to make our own inferences about the messed-up family life of the Torrances just from the way they behave around one another, because this approach prevents the movie from being bogged down by too much verbal exposition. When the Torrances in public or attempting to be “normal” in private, their conversations are bland and trite—even strained— almost like people re-enacting normality, the kind of family bonds you might see on televised sitcoms. Jack’s feelings toward Danny are ambiguous; I can never quite decide if part of him loves “the little son of a bitch” or if he’s always resented him. The scene where Danny sits on Jack’s lap and asks him if he would ever hurt him or Wendy might be the most uncomfortable scene in the movie: the way Jack plants a kiss on his son’s forehead feels performative, forced, just like his unconvincing denial that he would ever hurt his family. However, it’s clear his marriage was never ideal. Not once does Jack ever look upon Wendy with anything other than barely contained contempt or tolerance. One gets the feeling that Jack probably married Wendy out of obligation rather than love, while the opposite was true for her. From her frumpy wardrobe and intense efforts to be supportive, Wendy comes off as a woman who has settled—and settled hard. Her few moments of joy in the hotel are with Danny, such as when they run through the Overlook Maze for the first time.

Kubrick is often accused of being a “cold” filmmaker, but the strong love Wendy feels toward Danny in this film belies any argument that this adaptation has no emotional core. I know some people find Shelley Duvall’s Wendy annoying, but I could not disagree more. She is heartbreaking and believable as a woman with so little confidence that she tries to make a miserable marriage to an abusive man work. She’s trying to make the best of a bad situation, but even she has her limits and that limit is Danny’s well-being. Once she believes Jack is a hazard to her son once again, she is fully against him and fights like hell to survive the night. Danny Lloyd gives one of the best child performances I’ve ever seen in a movie. He captures both the alienation and cleverness of this young boy, all without precocious cuteness or terrible line readings. By the end of the movie, both Wendy and Danny have to rely on their inner strength and wits to escape Jack, who gradually becomes more beast-like as the ghosts of the past overtake what little tolerance he already had in regards to his wife and child.

I don’t think anyone in their right mind would argue Kubrick is a feel-good filmmaker; most of his mature films criticize society, emphasize the absurd tragedy of the human condition, and border on nihilism in their philosophy. However, after 2001: A Space Odyssey, The Shining has the closest thing to a happy ending in all of Kubrick’s filmography, even as it does remind us that evil is a constant presence in the human heart. Nevertheless, even if evil is eternal, it can be escaped—and coming from the guy who made such bleak works as A Clockwork Orange and Full Metal Jacket, that is quite a sunny message! As a psychological horror movie, it remains influential, with The Babadook, Black Swan, and The Neon Demon being just three recent films which have felt its impact. It is a work which bears repeat viewing well; for most, repeat viewings might be necessary. I’ve seen it four times and I still haven’t gotten a solid interpretation of it yet, and this keeps it evergreen.

[beforethemoor]

20/04/04 | JH American Tour Diary Pt2

Step once more into the psyche of Jon Harper, with the middle section of his US tour diary. Read on, it's worth it...

I decided to pack lite on this tour, which means that I have absolutely no fresh clothes to wear. Hey I meant well... There will always be time to find a launderette. How wrong I was. Should have spent the day off in Arkansas dealing with the dirt but the locals were impeccable, the beer was cheap. Fine Southern ladies who promised to show us where the best late night drinking spots were. However we ended up in T.G.I Fridays. There is a bunch of guys at the bar drinking car bombs, (shooting pints of Guinness with a shot of Baileys in the top), and the whole place smells of onion rings and burgers. One guy told me that he was of English descent, many generations ago. I told him that I was of Middle Eastern descent, many, many generations ago. He asked me how I stood on the war. I was very careful. People have guns and trucks and boats and opinions out here and not much else.

It’s been a week or so now but I can’t stop thinking about New York. Hopefully tonight and LA will live up to those early gigs. New York, Toronto, Texas, Hoboken... Shit! Where else? I can't even remember what Chicago was like or Boston for that matter. Ok, it’s slowly coming back. Randy, our record company representative for Chicago took us out for Chinese food where they refused to sell me beer as I didn't have any ID on me and they thought that I looked under 25. Thanks! I didn’t really need a beer anyway as I had consumed enough to kill a horse the day before. The Chicago gig was at the same place that John Cusack DJ's at in High Fidelity and just across the road is a boarded up shop that they used as the set for the record store. Chicago is cool and I am beginning to like the place. We went for a ride in Randy's car downtown to the Virgin Megastore He had arranged for us to do an in store DJ and signing session. Randy is a cool guy but has slipped into saying everything in a faux English accent and things are getting very Spinal Tap. A guy called Madrid was interviewing us as we put on various records we like. My choice of Chikinki's ‘Fucking with our clothes on’ didn't go down to well with the general public. It is only 11am. Detroit was a really good as well. The place looks like a shit-hole. I liked it straight away. It’s one of the places that they warned us about venturing too far. So far all the places that people say are dangerous have been the best nights out and Detroit is crazy. Crazy girls, shooters and Bowling! Sex, Drugs, Rock and Bowl! The gig isn't very busy but we are well received. Sundays are a strange night it seems. I think we did ok. I had fun and that's what counts.

Right, gotta play this gig then stay awake for the Rockies. Not going to miss the view like I did in Norway just because I drank too much. The pictures of the Fjords that the guys took looked amazing. Maybe one day I will get back. This beer is going to my head. Keep forgetting that we are a mile up. Maybe the gig will be harder like Fuji. Altitude gig sickness! It was the heat that got you in Japan. It's just cold here. I feel a bit paranoid now. Starting to think that all the photos that I have taken this tour won't come out. I’ve taken some beautiful shots. Mainly desolation. Mainly just things that I feel don't fit with how I view the world. Like the mission of hope out in the Washington ghetto that was all boarded up and fenced in. I really hope I get that one.

I’m not sure what part of town we are in but there are hardly any lampposts. It looks like this tiny bar in the middle of a crazy Industrial estate, just outside the glass high-rise of downtown Denver. I stood in the middle of the road for a long time today and not one car came. It is Sunday but it's like a ghost town around here. The Barman says it gets busy after eleven but who would come out this far? Maybe people don't come out until it is truly dark and cold. Like Vampires! Paul told me I looked like a vampire. "You were looking great at the start of the tour now you look like death. Crazy when guys gotta go into rehab at the end of a tour". Rehab?

The main street last night was theme bar central. Every bar was either Hollywood inspired or authentic Irish. Some private cops told us to move along because we were loitering so we went to one of the more Hollywood inspired places. Everyone just wanted to play pool and chill out. The burgers are great but I should have tried the Buffalo instead of the beef. Millions roamed wild and they just slaughtered them on the plains and left them to rot. Either that or herded them up and pushed them off the cliffs to save bullets. Cut their pelts off for the money and took their tongues for what was thought to be aphrodisiac qualities. Just so they had room to raise Beef herds and to cut off the American Indians food supply. They could have lived forever on Buffalo. Great Mozzarella as well! Here in the land of the free, just not free from fear.

I fear the click not working. Makes things hard when you can't hear anything and you have to play by sight. Watching a little red LED buzz along a keyboard. Dallas was shocking for me. Ben seemed to like it but I had the worst time at a gig ever. Got so pissed off I busted up my hands punching the Hi Hat. Blood everywhere. Sometimes it feels good to lose a little blood. Like a pressure release! After the show we all got drunk on the bus with some promoter women who were in Texas. Well, I got drunk. I don't think that they took to kindly to my bleeding and slurring. I went to bed to lick my wounds. It was a great venue. Sonic Youth are playing it very soon, which surprised me a lot. I would love to be there to see Sonic Youth playing in a tiny venue.

Surprisingly I felt fine the next day as we drove to Denver. Took about 14 hours with nothing out the windows. Nothing for miles and miles but golden grass matted by the wind into thick clumps of cropped hair along side the railroad tracks. Wooden shacks and rusted cars parked forever outside white washed farms with corrugated iron roofs and grain silos. Every so often we pass a huge sign by the road that reads "XXX girly bar next junction".

It happened again. That’s two nights in a row. Soundcheck was fine but when I came to the gig my electrics completely stopped working. Even all the backup plans I made failed. Worst gig ever! Plus to make matters worse I forgot my sunglasses so had nothing to hide behind. Hit the Jack pretty hard after the show and played pinball with the bar owner. Fell asleep and missed the Rockies.

Highway 70 cuts straight through Utah towards Vegas. This place looks like the surface of the moon, all canyons and rockslides. People are just starting to get up and Paul decides to stop for coffee at a place called the Sleepy Hollow motel. He has been driving for probably five hours now and there is still a long way to go. Again there is nothing for miles and miles. I’m starting to worry that a rock is going to come bouncing down the cliff and in through the window like the start of that sexy beast movie. You never see the one that gets you! Best close the window. It's hot today. Really hot! But there's still snow on the hills and this place is beautiful. I think maybe the most beautiful place I have ever seen. I recently watched Once upon a time in the West to get in the mood for the American tour. There is a how it was then how it is now photo gallery on the DVD and nothing has changed. The roads are bad though and trying to sleep on the bus is like how I imagine riding a rodeo bull to be. Or being a rodeo clown that didn't get out of the way. Trying to type this is proving to be one of the hardest things I have ever done. Roberto informs us that it will be another four more hours to Vegas! Keep thinking about movies like Casino. Lots of people buried out in the desert. At least Vegas is a day off. Must clean my clothes. It's very important now, as it seems like the Jimmy Kimmel show in LA has been confirmed which will be our first ever US TV show.

Right so the Vegas plan is a little Roulette or Black Jack, win a fist full of dollars and buy lots of tasty vintage drums to ship back to the UK. Depending on how much I win maybe even a nice restored '66 mustang coupe. I need to replace my car that street punks dismantled in North London last time we went on tour. Not only did they steal the engine, wheels, doors and lights. They also took my windscreen wipers and my RUN DMC tapes. What do people need to steal used windscreen wipers for? More people who need to lose their hands. The landscape has changed again and the fear of death by falling rock has passed. It's turned now into little house dwarfed by the giant fucking prairie next to the massive mountains. It's the kind of landscape you expect to find dinosaur bones bleached white in the sun. This is Tornado country and I just saw my first one. The hills are red like blood again. I should have brought my red leather shoes if we are going to meet the Wizard. I read the book so know how to deal with that evil witch if the tornado strikes. This place reminds me of the original Star Trek. Star Trek and Bill and Ted.

The sign reads ‘Exit 26 Joseph’. We are still heading west on 70 and it feels like I have seasickness. Paul doesn't slow down for anything or anybody and the only thing to do is look out the window. The view is amazing so it’s worth it. I love the mountains. I get excited like a kid. I just want to climb things.

It’s about time I brushed my teeth but doing that means looking in the mirror, which I have been avoiding over the last few days. Worried that I am falling apart. Not getting any sleep or having anything decent to eat. Playing with all manner of different chemicals to enhance the day. Today its mainly coffee. Truck stops do such a wide range of exotics. French bean vanilla cream roast! All I just want is some normal coffee and a little skimmed milk. Our pizza and burgers diet is driving me insane. I dream about salad. All I want is fresh green Italian leaf salad, fresh prawns and feta cheese. They just fry things out here. Actually my dreams have been pretty bad over the last few weeks. Keep dreaming about pulling people from plane crashes, and my grandma who is really unwell.

Paul keeps talking to truck drivers on the CB radio. They have their own language. Chat mainly consists of police radar traps and what’s wrong with your bus or truck. "You’re about to lose yer load buddy, whole back of yer trailer's wide open". He's driving standing up now. The landscape's changed again which draws my attention back to aimlessly starring out of the window. There's nothing out here on highway 70 but pylons and it feels like the Romans built this road. I would lose my mind, forever driving along a road with no corners. The others are watching "Caddyshack" in the back lounge. We bought a whole wealth of 80's movies to pass the time. 15 hours driving gets pretty boring especially at nighttime so we have been hitting the Bill Murray classics and drinking beer. It gets pretty hard when the only choice you have is to go back to bed. Weird Science is my favorite so far. Kelly LeBrock is amazing but she's probably about 43 now.

Peter Malkin just phoned and said that the Carson Daly show is confirmed. Fucking hell. That's great! “He didn't make it to the New York show but his boys came down and had good things to say”. This means we will play a New York Brooklyn show, the Carson Daly show then fly to LA for Coachella if all goes to plan. God bless America. I'm starting to love this place. There is a sign in the opposite direction saying Salt Lake City. I wish we had had more time to see these places but I suppose we have a long way to go and a short time to get there. Just passed another huge sign advertising a whorehouse. "Memories last a lifetime". Paul says there's a great one in Vegas he has heard about. He says he will take me there if I want. No thanks; I think I would rather get a steak and some salad. "24 Hour Steak and Lobster, $14.99, next exit". Sounds good but we stop when we get to Vegas.

TV shows in New York, that's really good. I love New York. I think maybe it's the best city ever. Moving to east London was fun but New York just kicks you in the head. It's gritty and I like gritty. The week I spent with Kieran living in a hostel on Times Square was one of the best weeks of my life. Just walking the city everyday. Guggenheim. Central Park. Wall Street. Watching people play chess outside in the park in East Village. That Park is amazing. Skateboarders. Chess players. Punk bands. Yoga. Wild horses. Not in New York, out here in the desert. We just passed them. Exit 36. 150 miles to go! I don't know how Paul does it. The man is a machine. Never gets tired. Some guys in a pick up just passed us and they have taken a real interest in who may be onboard. They slowed right down to have a look. The windows are tinted so you can never tell. We parked next to another tour bus in Dallas. That one was driving Joan Baez. I thought that it was a guy but Didz informed me that she used to be Bob Dylan’s Girlfriend in The 60's. I suppose with a name like Joan it makes sense. Something's wrong. I can feel it. The hills are red again. Like those pictures they sent back from Mars.

There’s nothing out here in the desert except hundreds and hundreds of trucks, a huge Wal-Mart distribution center and a bus full of foreigners. They also have golf courses in the desert. Neatly manicured paradise running alongside the trailer parks. I’m starting to think that everything is too big. In Arkansas it took me an hour on foot to cross the interstate just because wanted to see what was on the other side. You really need a truck to go anywhere fast around here. People are scared as well. I remember the taxi journey on the first day from Washington airport to downtown DC. The driver thought that we wouldn't last an hour. He said, “Don't go out after dark cos it’s a strange place! People will kill you for five dollars around here”. We did go out and it was a strange place. I’ve never seen so many churches and so many booze stores.

Must have taken a lot of dynamite to build this road. We just drove through a huge mountain range and my fear of death by falling rocks just hit me again. Must find out the percentage of fatalities by loose stones. This bus is a big target and they don't have nets like in the Alps. Still is a net going to do much to stop a half-ton boulder? There are lights twinkling out in the desert and we are coming up fast on the Virgin River Casino. This is the first of what will be hundreds and I’m really not sure what to expect now apart from palm trees, green grass, neon, and miniature versions of European tourist spots.

That pretty much sums it up. The food was crap and the air was heavy and hot. Trying to find just a bar on the strip where you can drink and not part with your cash gambling is proving to be the hard. They even have slot machines sunk into the bar. Our hotel is on the strip next door to Circus Circus. We asked for double rooms, which was a mistake, as we should have said twins. Now Fish and myself have a double bed to share. I can live with that though as he keeps himself to himself. It's nine pm and I’m feeling sexual, tonight is going to be a good night. Andy P and the six of us head out into the Vegas night. By some crazy coincidence it seems that we have all dressed in exactly the same clothes. Circus Circus is our first call and I manage to lose three dollars in a slot machine but I am still feeling lucky. There is a live circus going on upstairs with a guy standing on another guy’s shoulders with another guy on his shoulders and they are jumping a skipping rope. I would hate to be the guy on the bottom. It must be murder on your back. I think this is the casino that they shot fear and Loathing in. I remember the revolving slot machine carousel. We leave there pretty soon and I think that we are all starting to realize that this town is full of lost dreams. Sell out city. The stardust is our next point of call. Just a little further up the strip. I am drawn to a machine with Marilyn Monroe on the front. I was sat under her in the Hollywood restaurant in Denver. It was a massive ten-foot high print of her skirt blowing up. Made me feel like I was looking up her skirt all night. Anyway I stuck in my mind and I was drawn to the machine. Really not sure what the game was or how to play it but I put a five dollar note in and chose 10 lines at 3 per line and hit spin. It's a winner $83.75c. Oh yeah! Las Vegas is looking up! I found the others in the bar and they couldn't believe it. Andy had won $7 and Kieran $0.40c. $75 dollars up so far. Not bad for 10 minutes work and having no idea how to work the machine. Our table was ready and I was ready to eat. The menu is filled with fried food again. Bad meal. The restaurant is filled with huge people who are not talking to each other. Whole families sat around tables in silence just eating ribs and barbecue sauce, and we are attracting a lot of attention as we laugh. The strip is very busy. All the twinkling lights are very exciting but there are no bars. We head over to the Belagio which is a paragon of wealth and massively over the top with it's indoor fountains and rose gardens. Got to get out of this place. Ben suggests the Hard Rock Hotel. As we are leaving a huge guy turns to his friends as we walk past and says, "Hey did you see those faggoty looking guys, fuck"!

The cab driver to the Hard Rock hotel is from Bulgaria. Kieran asks if he is from Sofia? He replies that he supports Chelsea and do we think that they will beat Arsenal on Wednesday? The cab costs $10. The Hard Rock is not a bar. Well it is a bar but it is mainly a casino. The waitresses are all wearing open fronted t-shirts showing all of their black bras and leather hells angel’s caps. There are also many professional girls wandering around searching for guys who have money and pay for their rides. This place is really pissing me off. At the entrance to the Hotel there is a glass case with a 1974 Gibson Les Paul owned by Pete Townsend. Guitar number 9, (he used to number his stage guitars for ease during gigs.) with an extra pickup and switch fitted. These things should not be put in cases for fat gamblers to stare at. It's like rich people who buy sports cars and keep them in garages or galleries that store paintings. These things should be used to their full potential. There is also a 70's Sparkle Ludwig used in the shop to store Hard Rock hats and bandanas and the light shades in the casino are made from 22" Zildjian Ks. Fuck This Place! We are here now though so I am going to play some black jack and drink some tequila shots. Andy and me sit down at a free table and the croupier shows us that we have to signal everything that we want in order for the army of people and cameras that are watching every move to understand what we are betting. I change up $20 dollars into chips. The minimum bet is $10 per hand and a hand takes about a minute to play. This could get messy quickly! The first two hands are winners. $20 up! Over the next two hours Andy and myself are up $100 then down to nothing and back up again repeatedly. Most hands are winners but a run of bad luck wipes you out in five minutes. It's a lot of fun and if you are gambling drinks are free. Andy manages to pull himself away $65 dollars up. However I'm not so lucky but walk away, with my original $80 winnings, after two hours have neither lost nor won anything. To the bar! Fisher has fallen asleep at the table, as he was one of the only people to stay up and see the Rockies. The waitress thinks it's very funny. Ben, Andy, Kieran and myself stay to have a few more beers while the others head off back to the hotel. We have to leave at 10am so a little sleep could be good. Sell out city. Full of wankers, arseholes, pimps, plastic people, tourists and prostitutes. Nice place to visit but I wouldn't want to die there.

The bus is broken! We are just outside Las Vegas at Whiskey Pete's and the power generator is not starting so we have no power and no air conditioning, which isn’t so good on a long drive in a crowded tin can through the desert to LA. We stop and an hour later find out we have to go back to Vegas to get the bus fixed. This is starting to be torture, as it seems we will never escape from Las Vegas. Paul turns the bus around and we begin the drive back into the city. Suddenly he hits the brakes and we are all thrown around the bus. Kennedy is running around shouting that the trailer is on fire and everybody has to get off. Great the trailer has all our instruments in. Shit! It turns out that a wheel has blown out and set on fire, the trailer is fine and we are all fine. There is just a little smoke and the smell of burning rubber but it will take sometime to fit a replacement. I wander of into the desert to look for rattlesnakes and take some pictures while they change the wheel. Nothing out here but sand and dead bodies!

The final part of the diary will be posted later this week.