#man i struggled with this even though it was supposed to be a chill piece to do during the livestream

[qoojira]

Will I ever stop drawing Fearne? Unlikely.

[catholic-character-tournament]

Round 4 - Catholic Character Tournament

Propaganda below ⬇️

Matt

Matt's faith in the show is really important and well explored; one of the first scenes of the show is Matt going to confession (or, well, talking to his priest since he's not really confessing at that point). Matt struggles a lot with what he's supposed to do; everyone's telling him to kill the villain and he kinda wants to, but he literally says: "I know my soul is damned if I take his life". He struggles with his faith and goes with his doubts to his priest, and it's beautiful—also when he finally gets a costume for his vigilanteing he chooses to dress as the devil, lol. (His priest tells him that nothing makes people run to Church faster than the feeling of having the devil on their heels.)

a lot of the show is about how he justifies his vigilante actions with his faith, and whether he's doing the right thing in trying to help people or just using it as an outlet for his anger. the literal first scene of the show has him in a confession booth talking to his priest (who is a really interesting character too). this is not the scene I was talking about but it's such an excellent scene with matt talking to his priest: https://youtu.be/XHZ3NbEIDdw

canonically catholic but dresses like a demon to be quirky

honestly i dont wanna type too much but i feel that matt is a great example of someone who battles with his faith because he rarely loses his faith but rather fights with why he was made the way he was and put through what he was. He believes himself to have the devil inside him but believes that God put him there

ok in the comics barring the most current run matt has Mostly been a non-practicing Catholic that very rarely actually does any catholic Activities but ends up falling back into the Mindset and very occasionally dramatically taking confession (ex. in that one issue where he takes confession, basically tells the father that he is uniquely terrible and is thinking about violently murdering someone and when the father says "you can be forgiven" hes like "AUGFH-- NO!!!!!!!!!!" and runs out) when he's gone through some shit. and i love that its so relatable

This guy so catholic he spends an ungodly amount of time just chilling in the church. And goes there whenever there is a moral conundrum about killing people being Bad even though it would solve a lot of problems and stop said people from killing other people. This happens every other episode. Matt is the Catholic Guilt Guy. There's actually a lot of catholic stuff in the show as a whole. Just a compilation would be like three whole episodes long.

Hes great hes catholic enough to not outrught murder people but not catholic enough to not fuck before marriage hes a bisexual disaster at all times hes besties with a priest might i add hes great hes my special little guy

his catholicism is a huge piece of his characterisation he was raised by nuns in a catholic orphanage, the first scene we ever see him (as an adult and not a flashback) is him going to confession, he is good friend with his priest and has regular debates with him, etc also in s3 he has a huge crisis of faith after he lost A Lot where he stops believing for a while and it's linked to his identity crisis where he actually wants to kill another person (a hard line he previously chose never to cross) and wants to be only daredevil and not matt murdock, when he is both and needs both to exist also when he was a kid his grandmother used to say "watch out for the murdock boys, they've got the devil in them" and it created a surprising lot of his issues

So he's both catholic in the comics and the show but he's More Catholic in the show. Like, raised in a catholic orphanage by nuns (ONE OF WHICH IS HIS *MOTHER*), second scene in the show has him in a confession box kind. Matt Murdock goes out and gets the shit beaten out of him nightly and also beats the shit out of other people and purposefully leaned into devil iconography as his theme. When his nurse friend says, he takes a lot of punishment without one complaint he says "That part's the Catholicism." It is a Core Aspect of his character (at least in the show). He makes me insane. Also the same chemicals that blinded him created the teenage mutant ninja turtles and everyone should know that.

They went to confession to a priest who they had saved as their costumed counterpart and the guy recognized them by the voice, proving that it's possible and everyone else is just dumb

he takes "i wanna fight god" to new and incredibly violent levels, while also being a sweetheart and a goofball

Actually strictly WILL NOT kill criminals. Goes wayyy out of his way to avoid it. Fights with the Punisher about it. Goes to confession booth after nightly vigilante excursions. Feels so much guilt. "How have you been holding up?" "Like a good Caltholic boy" "that bad huh" - actual conversation with his priest

So Daredevil struggles with his mission as a crime fighter because killing criminals goes against his faith. He makes it a point to not kill criminals, believing that even bad people deserve a second chance. This philosophy puts him at odds against The Punisher, who is a relentless killer. As a Catholic myself, while I love the concept of a morally conflicted superhero, I think the worldbuilding around Daredevil is lacking. If he struggles with violence and killing, why doesn't he pray to warrior saints like Saint Michael, Saint Ignatius of Loyola (a former knight), or Saint Joan of Arc? Why isn't there a community of other Catholics he can turn to for guidance, considering New York City has a sizeable population of Catholics? And why are the churches he goes to always empty? Doesn't he know that the Catholic Church supports the just war theory? I think that would have made his burden more bearable.

He goes to church and confesses to punching people and says "imma do it again can i apologize in advance" and the father dude says "no you're meant to stop now" and Matt says "no" and they do this everyday. I'm not remembering it properly but this is a canon interaction i swear

HELLO HI YES I LOVE HIM AND WILL INFOR DUMP ok so. he is a vigalantty and he got named daredevil and he is an orphan and after the age of 12 was raised in an orphanage at a Catholic church and his therapist is his priest via confession abd. also his mother is a nun he has a whole mental breakdown over god and called Job a pussy because he liked god until he got better and liked god again he said "I'm dearedrvil and not even god can stop that now" and he's so cool

matt is a freakish little babygirl who was raised by nuns and definitely has religious trauma. i hate him so much (affectionately)

he’s literally fucking insane about it i don’t know what to say here. he thinks he’s chosen by god to go on some sort of holy quest to save hell’s kitchen. joan of arc ass.

i already know hes in by default j just wanted to give him a personal shout out i love this angsty catholic dweeb

how practicing he is depends on the run, but in my favorite he is quite literally confessing to a member of the last extant order millitant who happens to be a priest at a church in hells kitchen.

i love him for having the funniest version of a trope i usually hate (person gets into confession booth and asks forgiveness not for what they've done, but for what they're about to do). usually this trope just looks silly to me bc like. the priest would just say "i can't do that" and you would have to either awkwardly explain yourself or just Leave. it's funny when matt does it because fr. lantom is probably like "what are you gonna do???" and matt's like "lol. lmao. 😊 hehehe." anyway we love this angry catholic man who dresses up like the devil to beat people up in hell's kitchen

I'm sure Harrow is lovely and I respect the space lesbians but listen to me. Listen.

Matt Murdock is the Catholic character of all time, and if you make him lose, I am blowing up this website and everyone in it.

He is Catholic. His mother is a nun. He grew up in a catholic orphanage. Half the episodes in the show include him going to confession. When he needs therapy, he talks to his priest. He dresses up as a devil partly because of the Catholicism.

One time he got godly powers on loan from Heimdall (see below), and he did a lot of good with it, and then the second it was over he just... well. Also see below!

This man's every coping mechanism is Catholicism.

Please vote for Matt in the @catholic-character-tournament because he's the best and most realistic representation of what it means to be Catholic. Someone who's been punched and bet and crushed by life but still gets up every day to try. No, he's not a nun like his competition but he's not less devoted because of that. Not everyone is called to service. In the day he works at a defense lawyer to help people. Not for the money but to help people not get screwed over by the law. And at night, he dons a mask and beats up assholes when the law fails them. Is he perfect? No, that's the point. Matt is a broken man who is just trying his best to do well and live like Jesus.

He fully embodies the Catholic doctrine of faith and good works. He has faith in what he's doing even if others challenge him. He believes in forgiveness and repenting even when going up against "the devil."

64.media.tumblr.com

"The people you murder deserve another chance." ... "No, Frank. To try again, Frank. To try. And if you don't get that, there's something broken in you you can't fix, and you really are a nutjob." "You think God made you a one-man firing squad. But you're wrong. There is goodness in people, even in you. And you're gonna have to kill me, 'cause I'm never gonna stop coming for you, until I take you down."

Daredevil Season 2 Episode 3

He (tries) to love his enemy. He believes in Elektra and Frank and maybe Dex and their ability to change. To be good. And when he can't, Matt refuses to compromise on his morals. While not quite "turning his cheek" he never scoops to their level. Because they don't get to destroy who he is.

Daredevil Season 3 Episode 13

All he does is for the love he has to his neighbors, his community. He loves New York. Not for self-fulfilling needs or for the money or for the fame. He does it because he believes in justice. Because the law was created by humans and is inherently sinful.

"But his competition met God and was disappointed and blah blah"

Daredevil is more grounded (at least the show, maybe less the comics). So now, Matt doesn't met God. But he sure gets mad at him. All of season 3 he angry at God for all the trauma he expired.

"You see, that was me, Sister. I suffered willingly. I gave my, uh... sweat and blood and skin without complaint. Because I too believed I was God's soldier. ( chuckles ) Well, not anymore. I am what I do in the dark now. I bleed only for myself. ( scoffs )" ... "You might hate God right now, but the feeling is not mutual." "No, I don't hate him. I've just seen his true face, is all."

Season 3 episode 1

As a Catholic I don't really want to fight God in a parking lot. Well I do but not in the same way that I've understood (primarily Jewish people but probably other Abrahamic religions) want to fight God in a Denny's parking lot. I want to yell and scream and cry at God and for the feeling to not be mutual. For Him to never stop loving me. As long as I have faith, He will reach out his hand.

Miles

He was raised in Brooklyn, New York by a Hispanic Puerto Rican mother, so odds are he was raised Catholic.

His mom says "Ay Maria/Ave Maria, este nene me tiene loca!" minor spoilers for Across the Spider Verse, he tells his mom "Benicion" and she replies with "dios te bendiga" (blessing and God Bless you) (or something I don't remember, I've only seen the movie once)

clips

Rio saying Ave Maria

Miles says "bendicion" to his mom

There's something so catholic about the sacrifice Miles makes to be Spider-Man. Putting himself on the side to help his community. And not because he thinks he'll be rewarded with lots of money or praise, but because he loves his community. Good works are not mere external deeds, but the works of love. And love is not mere feelings, but the works of love (charity)

Miguel hates Miles for also being raised Catholic but not having any of the guilt tm

[lxndonorris]

tender touch - Dando

Lando Norris x Daniel Ricciardo (Dando) Theme: Smutish, Teasing, Touching prompt: "That wasn't part of the plan. But I'm not complaining." Daniel surprises Lando during an ice bath to congratulate him after qualifiyng word count: 1060+ taglist: @game-set-canet, @mcl4r3n @maxiel-jpg Editors note: I'm still a scrub writing driver ships, so if you have any tips, advice or something like that, feel free to tell me!

It's qualifying day, and even though the sun has already set, the heat is nearly unbearable. Lando managed to perform quite well and got 4th place, right behind two Ferraris and a Mercedes. He is happy and craves nothing more than an ice-cold bath. Luckily, all of the teams prepared that little treat for their drivers; it was the least they could do after wearing those racing suits inside their cars for over an hour.

Lando, stripped down to a pair of black swim shorts, makes his way toward the more secluded area hidden inside the paddock, where his personal ice bath is waiting for him. He asked for some alone time, just to chill and rest. It was an eventful qualifying, and he's so relieved to be performing the way he wants to.

One foot at a time, he enters the cauldron and lets out a long, guttural groan. All of his muscles, his skin, and his mind are aching for some short-term relief.

"Oh fuck." He growls as he lets his whole body sink into the water. It's a sensational feeling—his entire body is tingling blissfully, and shivers run down his entire back.

"Mhmm." Lando closes his eyes and makes himself comfortable before he dunks his head into the water. He's been sweating heavily, his hair is messy, and all he can think of is staying inside this cauldron for an entire week. That's how good it feels. Just chill and relax.

He emerges and struggles to keep his eyes open, but someone is standing right next to him—a bigger figure with a very familiar scent.

"There you are, Lando." Daniel's voice echoes through Lando's head, and he smiles. He runs a hand across his face and through his hair.

""Here I am." He growls deeply and proceeds to subconciously stroke his own chest just below the surface while he looks at him, standing there wearing his usual Alpha Tauri attire.

Daniel smirks and squats down, steadying himself against the cauldron so their faces are on the same level. "I was hoping to find you here." He says it softly and tilts his head.

"You found me." Lando licks his lower lip quickly before he moves in closer toward Daniel, so they are face-to-face now. The smell gets way more intense; it's Daniel's cologne, a very familiar, woody-aromatic fragrance. "What are you going to do now?" He mirrors Daniel and moves in even closer, so their lips brush over one another.

"Congratulate on P4." Daniel breathes right into Lando's mouth once he gasps before leaning in and kissing the man lovingly.

"Mhmm." Lando purrs, embracing these enticingly soft lips on his own. Unable to help himself, he reaches for Daniel, running his wet hand along his neck.

"Fuck." Daniel gasps, pulling his lips just inches away. "That's cold." He giggles quietly and stares into Lando's beautiful eyes.

Lando smirks and narrows his eyes. "Why don't you come in? It's much better here." He grins and lets his eyes wander all over Daniel's face, knowing that he also wants to cool down.

Daniel bites his lower lip and leans his head back. He is supposed to meet a few guys from his garage to celebrate the results as well, but he can't deny the temptation. "Fuuck." He growls again once Lando strokes his neck one more time, and more and more drops of cold water run down his neck.

"I wish I could, but..." He hesitates, but instantly Lando pouts and moves backward. Daniel, looking at his boyfriend's puppy-dog eyes, starts to stroke his own chest through his shirt. "Fuck it." He grunts, causing Lando to smile brightly.

Satisfied, Lando watches him undress. One piece at a time, Daniel exposes his beautiful physique until only his boxers remain. Mindlessly, he starts stroking himself again—his chest, his tummy, and even further down to his thighs.

Daniel knows how to put on a show, running his hands through his hair, his beard, and further down to his chest. He even flexes his biceps and shows off his well-trained form. He winks at Lando, who's visibly getting more and more into it with an open mouth and his hands hidden inside the water, touching himself gently.

"Fucking hot." He grunts as Daniel strikes a pose. His own boxers are giving away his excitement as well, and there is no way to hide it now.

Daniel's skin flushes with more and more color with every stroke of his own hand. "Just for you." He points at Lando, who is blushing now too.

Then, Daniel steps into the ice bath, and just like Lando before, he lets out a long, guttural growl. "This is amazing." He groans and sinks quickly.

"I told you." Lando says, and as Daniel leans his head back, embracing the cold water all around him, he moves in closer again, so he's right in front of him.

"That wasn't part of the plan." Daniel smirks. "But I'm not complaining." He kisses Lando once, then twice, with both of them embracing each other's bodies with their hands.

Lando feels hands all over him, running along his spine, his waistline, across his chest, his abs, and teasingly between his thighs. At the same time, he steadies himself against Daniel's firm body, feeling his heaving chest with every deep breath he takes.

"You're so handsome." Daniel breathes deeply, with his hands embracing the other's entire body.

"Daniel." Lando groans into his friend's mouth as the latter starts to feel the desire building up inside his swim trunks. Both of them slide a hand between their bodies, between their thighs, feeling each other's bulge grow immensely.

"Is this me?" He breathes down Lando's neck. "Or just the excitement for P4? Daniel's hot breath burns on his skin, causing him to let out a low, guttural moan.

"A bit of both." Lando regains his composure and lets his hands feel the chest some more—the hard nipples, the tensed muscles, and how Daniel's breath quickens with every little touch. "I'm glad you came." He is panting slightly as he starts to grind his hips against Daniel's hand.

"So am I." He smirks, and they both start to grind on each other, embracing one another fully.

"I missed you." Lando growls, running a hand through Daniel's hair lovingly.

Daniel, loving that gentle touch, gives in to Lando and hugs him. "I've missed you, too."

[tortoisesshells]

Writing ask: 4, 7, 11, 16 & 18

4. ... with dialogue I'm proud of:

I've yet to find a character whose dialogue I've enjoyed writing quite as much as Jed Foster's. From the Mercy Street (but with vampires!) extended universe/pastiche/whatever -

“Are you this surprised when the rains arrive in April, Nurse Mary? Or, if I may dabble in plain Yankee with you, when the sap begins to run in March? We are in an army hospital. They send us, among other things, their dying.” “These men were not dying,” Mary insisted. “The difference between ailing and dying is a very thin one, then.”

7. ... that I nursed in a daydream before finally writing:

Ch. 21 of Customs and Duties was a weird one - I had it in mind for over two years before I got to it, but because it was, at heart, a chapter about imperfectly understood illness and quarantine I ... sort of lost heart for it, by the summer of 2022. Still, it's a turning point for Customs, and I had been looking forward to writing it.

Would she pick a fight with him, next? He supposed she might, though he was not inclined to give it to her. After a few moments of uneasy silence, Norrington took a risk and held out his hand for the pry-bar, and Elinor Treat reluctantly handed it to him. Without the tool she had been half-brandishing as a weapon, she seemed – exanimate. A puppet with its strings cut. The pry-bar felt damp in his hand, and he was unpleasantly surprised to find it had left red marks where he had taken hold of it: blood. Not his. “Mrs. Treat,” he said, very quietly and slowly, “Mrs. Treat, are you hurt?” “What? – oh. That.” Elinor Treat seized a kerchief from her pocket, and wrapped it around her hand. “I thought it had stopped bleeding days ago.”

11. ... with characters I want to write more in the future:

I miss Them (the cast of characters of potc). Here's from the last non-drabble I wrote for them.

Here, Elizabeth began to sift through her assets. It was a quick endeavor: a few dozen palm trees, a few dozen casks of rum, the damned pistol that Jack was guarding as though it were a token of a lover, the fire which was too small to even be seen clearly from the other end of her new home. In her great-grandmother’s time, when London burned nearly to the ground, the smoke could be seen from the surrounding counties as though it were a tower to the heavens – but she had not London to burn. That made lumber precious, didn’t it? Elizabeth had a brief, frustrated sense that she might have a better idea of how long she could keep the island ablaze if she had paid more attention to the consumption of fire-wood in her father’s household, but of late she’d shied away from the house’s accounts as though she could keep her future away likewise. She sized up the palm trees she did have, and, careful to be quiet, padded through the darkness to get a sense of how great around the trunks were – how long they might burn. If she were to set the island alight –

16. ... from a recent piece I want to brag about:

This is clever only to me, but, from nor light, Nor certitude, nor peace

"Her fingers were numb – centuries had changed many things about Collinsport, but the wind at Widows’ Hill was ever the same – bone-cracking, blood-chilling, cold. She struggled with the knot at her neck."

I cannot resist some foreshadowing - Vicki, the narrator, eventually is hanged (she gets better. mostly.) - hence the attention paid to the struggle with the knot at her neck. No one said anything about it when I posted, so I'm being annoying about it now. (there's also a point where Jeremiah quotes one of the first things his doppelganger in the 1960s said to Vicki, which clearly a man in the 1790s couldn't know anything about. surely.)

18. ... from that one WIP everyone has that has no plot, just vibes:

From my "Will Turner finds promotion to authority vastly overrated" post-AWE fic:

“The only deal I am prepared to offer you, Mister Beckett,” said Captain Turner, wearily, feeling as impatient as he ever had alive, “Is that which is available to all deceased souls. If that is of interest to you – see Mister Maccus, there. If not, get out my way.” Will didn’t look to see what choice Beckett made, and either his half-hour’s practice of the posture of authority or the dreadfully carved doors dissuaded any further complaints. The pipe-organ of the cabin seemed to be laughing at him.

send me a number and I'll send you an excerpt of my writing!

[newwwwusername]

Chicago (2002 Movie) - Velma/Roxie - Pride Month Prompt 7 : Internalized Homophobia

Warning : Alcohol use, vomiting Prompt : In which either a gay male character or a lesbian character struggles with internalized homophobia and either their partner or a friend helps them Headcanons : Bi!Roxie, Lesbian!Velma

Once they were touring together, it was pretty inevitable that Roxie and Velma would end up fucking.

Sure enough, a few weeks in, they both got super plastered after a show and suddenly Velma's hand was down the blonde's pants and it only went downhill from there.

The next morning, Roxie woke up and was suddenly overcome with disgust at what she and the other woman had done.

"Oh, shit" she breathed out as she realized. Velma, ever the light sleeper, woke up at the first word.

"I have the worst fucking headache" she complained, not yet realizing the crisis her... Business partner was currently experiencing.

"Shit, shit, shit" Roxie repeated a few times before rushing to the bathroom of the hotel they were staying in and vomiting into the toilet. Not because of the alcohol, though.

"You good in there?" Velma called out halfheartedly as she got up and wobbled into the kitchen to get water and make breakfast.

"Fuck off!" Roxie called back. Velma rolled her eyes, still not catching onto the fact that Roxie was panicking.

It wasn't until Roxie left the bathroom that she fully took in how disheveled and freaked out the woman was.

"You okay?"

"What the fuck did we do last night!?"

"What didn't we do is the real question..."

"Velma, I'm serious!"

"We fucked" Velma told her bluntly and Roxie looked about ready to puke again. "Chill out, blondie. You're perfectly decent in bed"

"I can't... We can't-"

"It won't happen again if you don't want it to" Velma reassured her as she looked over the eggs she had in the pan. "Fuck, I think these might be a little burnt"

"I'm not supposed to... You're a girl, and-"

"Are you okay with burnt eggs?"

"Are you even listening to me!?" Roxie asked, pissed off. Velma looked at her again, her expression unreadable.

"What do you think is so bad about us having sex?" Velma asked her, though she didn't seem particularly judgmental. "Seriously, blondie. You've fucked plenty of people before"

"No girls"

"So?" Velma asked. "No one saw us. We're fine"

"But, I'm not supposed to-"

"You murdered your side piece and having sex with a girl is where you draw the line?" Velma asked, laughing slightly. Roxie went quiet. "Seriously, Rox. You're fine" she tried to assure to the best of her ability. Luckily, Roxie seemed to be calming down slightly. "Now get back in bed. I fucked you I might as well be a good one-night-stand and serve you breakfast like a gentleman"

"No man's ever done that before..."

"Well, I'm not a man, sweet pea" Velma replied with a slick smile. "Seriously, go back to bed before I drag you there"

"Yes, ma'am"

Do not repost on other sites! If you want to participate in this month's challenge, there are 30 LGBT-centered prompts that you can find here

[cha-mij]

Ineffable Ambiguity

AO3 account - Chamij

Chapter Two: Athens 399 BC

Summary:

Aziraphale and Crowley meet by chance while visiting Athens.

.....................................................................................................

It had been another beautiful Athenian day. The sun was setting west of the Parthenon and Aziraphale thought it stunningly beautiful. He had always thought Athens beautiful. He had been walking along an avenue canopied either side by pomegranate trees. The silken red flowers bloomed overhead while the center of the road was decorated with plants and statues.

“Reminds me of the garden” Thought Aziraphale. “I wonder where that sword of mine ended up”.

As he took his evening walk, he came across a commotion. Hundreds of male Athenians had gathered and were clearly unhappy about something, though the shouting intermingled and became unintelligible.

“Is that you, Angel?”

Aziraphale turned and saw Crowley. Clothed in a black chiton with red rim and draped in matching chlamys to keep out the chill of the early summer evening. With his characteristic black eye pieces that hid his serpentine eyes from human glare, the red rim of the cloth added to the red of their hair to make Crowley look resplendent. Aziraphale smiled, then looked serious and fully extended his arm in protest

“Back, foul demon or feel God’s wroth as I smite thee!”

“You just can’t resist, can you?” said the demon, shaking his head.

“You never know who might be listening!” Aziraphale said for what must have been past the hundredth time since they had saved Job’s children together.

“Oh, do shush Aziraphale. You know no one cares enough to listen. Besides I doubt even heaven could hear you over this racket”.

They both turned and looked at the mob.

Standing ahead of the mass was a lone man dressed in pale blue. Portly, bearded, and attempting to look unafraid.

“This something to do with you lot, Angel?”

“I don’t think so. I assumed it was some hellish mischief since you’re here. It spoiled a perfectly lovely evening.”

“That man’s what you could call a friend of mine. He’s been on trial all day. This rabble are his so-called jurors.”

Aziraphale’s perplexity was obvious.

“What did he do that was so heinous? Is it something you made him do?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve tempted him to do nothing he wouldn’t have already done, and that is to face this trial with as much dignity as he can. His crime, Angel, was “corrupting the youth of Athens”. By that I mean poor Socrates there educated them until they asked questions about their deities.” Crowley looked down, and softening their voice added “nothing good comes from asking questions of deities”.

Aziraphale felt for his companion. They had fallen because questioning some of God’s decision making isn’t what angels were supposed to do. Crowley had created the Pillars of Creation which lay in the Serpens constellation and so their punishment after falling was to become a snake, and thus lose the ability to see the reds and yellows that made up the pillars. Able only to see the blue and green surrounding it. Aziraphale would never say aloud, but he had always thought that punishment particularly cruel. Crowley had turned bitter after that and had sworn never to see those pillars again. Aziraphale had met them right at the dawn of the nebula but had never heard their pre-fall name. Knowing them only as Crawley – the Serpent of Eden, and then as Crowley - the demon who went with hell only as far as they could.

Unlike almost any other being of hell Crowley still possessed good in them. Aziraphale had been surprised when, instead of having to be persuaded against for-filling their task to destroy the children of Job, Crowley had already plotted a genius plan to save the children, and thus fool both heaven and hell. Aziraphale, having struggled with the idea that God had wanted to destroy all that her favourite human loved simply to win a bet with Satan, had dared to try to save them and was shocked to find the demon had beaten him to it.

Aziraphale had learned two lessons that day. Firstly, that there was good in a demon. Secondly, that he could find himself at conflict with the affairs of heaven. He was greatly affected by the latter. It meant there was a chance he too could fall. For fraternisation, and for asking questions.

Socrates had given a valiant attempt at defending himself against the accusations of asebeia. He simply could not see how his refusal to believe that the gods did bad deeds like humans did could be classed as desecration. The mob, however, saw otherwise and demanded the death penalty.

Aziraphale and Crowley watched as Socrates was taken to his cell.

“I just cannot understand how God allows punishment for teaching people to question their surroundings”.

“You, Angel, must have a different God than I do”.

Aziraphale blushed with embarrassment. How could he have forgotten who he was talking to? He took Crowley’s hand and quietly apologised.

“I’m sorry my dear”.

“I know. Let’s get something to eat from the Agora, eh? Perhaps I could tell you all about Socrates?”

“I’d like that”.

The pair ate, drank and talked. The next day both were among those that visited the jail cell to suggest Socrates escape. Crowley outright planned to miracle him out of there, but instead listened quietly to Socrates’ resolution that he would never choose escape. He reminded them he could have asked for exile as punishment, but to leave his precious Athens under such conditions would be a fate worse than death. He chose instead to drink hemlock, and that day had been replaying in Crowley’s mind for months

[gible-love-nibles]

Kisses Under the K.onohana Branch

Safeshiptember Day 1: "Sharing your very first romantic kiss"

So I originally wasn't going to post this thing: leave this forever in my personal D.iscord server just to look at every now and again. Maybe share with some friends if they asked nicely.

But now I'm posting it here on the blog because it just so happened to be almost done when the prompt lists were coming out and it was basically Day One's prompt.

So. Yeah. Enjoy. Also I barely edited word choice here, I die like a man. (This is. So self-indulgent 🫡 AND it ran away from me at the end so. 🫡🫡🫡)

Word Count: 2.3k

Taglist: @crickiss @heart-of-aspiration @halsdaisy @sosawl @homosexual-fast-dancer @jocelynships @imaginemyshipswithme [If you want to added or removed, tell me in a comment or tag!]

(Please reblog! I like reading tags :])

A quiet afternoon underneath a tree overlooking the Nipponese countryside, brush in hand and easel at my side. The temperature was perfect, no one else for miles. What could be better than this?

Well… maybe my brush skills.

I frowned a bit at my work. I kept telling myself that practice made perfect, and that I hadn't used ink much. I was still getting the hang of it. But still… it was hard not to be a little frustrated that my painting didn't seem to be shaping up.

"Maybe I need to stop looking at it so hard,” I muttered to myself. I put my brush down and went to lay my back against the tree trunk. I sighed deeply as I slid down, taking in the peace of my surroundings.

Maybe just a quick nap… that would be the rest I needed.

But I perked up upon hearing a song play on the wind. The song from a flute. And it was close. Which meant only one thing.

I couldn't help but let out an annoyed huff.

Waka.

Of course I knew he meant no harm (he was extremely helpful actually)… but I was a touch irritated by the guy. He was too… perfect, I guess. Pretty (objectively), talented with a flute and a sword, could tell prophecies (supposedly)… what couldn't the guy do?

I closed my eyes to pretend I was asleep, hoping that maybe he wanted to bother someone else.

The music stopped, and I heard a branch rustle slightly from above. No sound of a landing.

"What marvelous work here."

No such luck then. Darn.

After a moment—

"Not even a hello? Have you fallen asleep?" He sounded… close. Too close.

I opened one eye, but both widened in surprise right after. Waka was almost right in my face: close enough that I could see where his hair cover didn't quite get every strand and some blonde locks poked to frame his face, or his piercing blue eyes or—

He pulled back with a smile and a chuckle, clearly enjoying my reaction. "Good morning, ma cherie."

"Hello, Waka," I said flatly. He didn't seem to mind as he went to sit down next to me. He met my cool stare at him back with a cool, charming smile.

"Enjoying this wonderful day, are we?"

"Mhm."

"And you're the one who's painting that lovely landscape?"

"Yes. I don't think it's quite as marvelous as you say it is though. The painting, not the land."

"Whyever not?"

"It's..." I struggled to find the words. "It's... not up to where I think it should be, I guess. There's a disconnect between my perceived skill and my actual skill."

"Hmm... are you having fun with that piece?"

"I... suppose so. It's nice being out here, at the very least."

"Then you should be focusing on that instead of if you're good enough. Focus on the positive, not the negative."

"Yeah... I guess you're right."

Waka made a satisfied sound in his throat and leaned back on the tree, eyes closed like he was going to take his own nap.

"...Do you ever get tired of being perfect?" I joked.

He cracked one eye open. "Perfect?" He let out the start of a laugh. "Ma cherie, I am anything but perfect."

It was meant as a tease, but it sounded almost... hollow. Like there was more loaded in that phrase than he was letting on. A tiny chill went through me.

"Wh-What do you mean by that?"

He noticed my shift in tone and tried to shift the topic. "The festival is shaping up to be the loveliest it's ever been this year."

"Waka..."

"What, with no more eight-headed beasts making snacks out of fair maidens."

"Waka."

"I'll have to try some of Kushi's famous sake—"

"Waka." He finally paused, but he didn't look at me. "You know I don't think you have to be perfect, right? I like you just how you are."

"...Thank you. But it's not about that."

"Then what was that about?"

"It's rude to say this to a lady, so forgive me... but I envy you, ma cherie."

"M-Me? Why me?"

"Well... not quite you, specifically. I envy... mortals."

"Ah. I get it." Waka sat up in surprise. "Well—! I think I can grasp it at least."

"How could you—"

"You're a celestial being, right? Can live way longer than a mortal. When you live that long... you're just... on a different playing field than everything else here. You stay the same while everything else moves around you. Fast."

"...Very wise. Very wise indeed. Soon, all you're left with is you… and your mistakes."

I started reaching out my hand to cover his hand, but I chickened out and opted to place it next to his. "I'm... so sorry Waka."

"Why are you apologizing? You didn't do anything."

"I know, it's just... I wish I could help—"

"It's long in the past now, and I'm trying to fix my messes. That's the best I can do now." Now he was covering my hand with his own hand. "Besides, you lending an ear is helping plenty."

"Just... focus on the positive, ok?"

Waka chuckled a bit. "That sounds familiar."

"I guess we're both hard on ourselves, huh?"

Waka didn't respond and looked down, losing the little smile he had.

"Hey…" He flicked his eyes to me. I started to open up my arms. "If you need anything, like an ear or a hug, just—“

Waka threw himself at me with so much force, it felt like Ammy tackling me. I landed with my back on the grass. Thankfully, it didn't hurt much.

Meanwhile, Waka held me in a bear-trap grip. He didn't say anything; I wasn't even sure if he knew he did it.

His hair cover was soft like bird feathers, and it was hard not to notice he smelled like stardust and peaches. I was really hoping he couldn't feel how hot my face felt.

Eventually (after me trying to give him some comfort by hesitantly rubbing his back), we were leaning back on the tree.

"…Apologies, ma cherie. I'm… not sure what came over me…"

“I-It's alright! All you really did was startle me. It's fine, really.”

He didn't look convinced. Silence.

I cleared my throat and stretched out my arms again. "Just… if you want to try again, without tackling me.”

It took him a few moments but he did hug me again. He was gentler this time, but there was still a noticeable grip. He rested his head on my shoulder and nuzzled into my neck. I felt myself getting warm again. Maybe to distract myself, I spoke up again.

"Listen… You don't— have to, be anyone for me. Wh-What I mean is… You don't have to be the Tao Master, or the great prophet, or the Moon Cave's protector, or whatever else people are calling you. You can just be… Waka. You don't have to impress me with any fancy title or power; I just like you how you are."

"…Really?"

"Really! Honest! That's the 100% truth."

Waka pulled himself up to look me in the face, and he just… stared. I couldn't read his expression.

Silence stretched on. I could feel each second passing slower and slower.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I cracked. "I— I'm sorry, I shouldn't've—“

I was stopped by Waka cupping my cheek with a hand.

"…Thank you, Clare. You don't know how much that means to me, ma lune."

He was smiling— a warm, genuine smile— as he leaned over and left a long, gentle kiss on my cheek. Time really did seem to freeze then.

His lips stayed on my cheek when he finished. "Ma lune…" He whispered.

I thought I felt my heart stop for a few seconds.

When he pulled back, Waka let out the start of a laugh and desperately tried not to follow it up. "I think I went a little too far." Despite his cool facade, his cheeks were dusted red.

"N-No!" I immediately retorted. "You didn't go too anything! I just…" My heart was still hammering, so I clasped a hand over it. Waka watched with amusement, but it was impossible not to see the affection in his gaze.

Quiet tried to settle in. Quiet for some reason, I didn't like.

"So… um…" The more I thought about the question I wanted to ask him, the more awkward it sounded. Still, I clearly had his attention by how his expression shifted to intrigue. Couldn't back down now. "Do girls… Er, are there… Other……"

Waka smiled and brought a hand up to my cheek again. "No. Just you." He stroked my cheek with his thumb as he cupped my other cheek and leaned in, only inches away from me now. "You have no need to worry about anything like that, ma cherie. You captured my heart the moment we met, and every second we spent together only snared me in more. There's nothing that'll change that."

I noticed that his eyes kept subtly darting to my lips. My heart thundered in my chest, and I felt myself holding my breath.

"…May I?" Waka finally whispered. "I promise I'll be gentle." I couldn't find my voice, so I nodded instead. "You're sure?" Another nod. "Alright. Just relax. No reason to be scared."

Hard to relax when you're so pretty and looking at me like that and—

Stop overthinking. That's why you're so nervous. Just... don't think so much. Breathe.

I let go of the breath I was holding. In, out. In, out.

"S-Sorry... Just... excited...? Anxious, b-but-! Excited."

Waka smiled, then took one of his hands from my face and cupped my chin with his index finger and thumb. If my face wasn't on fire before, it sure was now.

"I feel exactly the same, ma lune."

He tilted my head just enough to press his lips to mine in a soft sweet kiss. My heart felt like it exploded for a few seconds, but it calmed down as it went on and my eyes closed. It was pure bliss.

I was a little out of breath when Waka pulled away, just enough to stop the kiss but his lips were still next to mine.

"Do you know how long I've waited to do that? Far too long. But now... you have me completely. I'm going to stay by your side for the rest of time. I don't want to be without you again. I love you, Clare."

It took me a bit to really register what he said; my head was still swimming from the first kiss. But when it did hit me, I felt myself get all warm again.

Before I could think to try and hide my face, Waka captured my lips again, more excitedly than last time, more fervently. He wrapped his arms around my neck, and I melted in his arms.

I nuzzled my face into Waka's neck after that kiss, being very certain my face was on fire. Waka just chuckled and planted a little kiss on my head. "You're just adorable, baby~" He said, sweet as honey.

He then took one of my hands in his own, and started to kiss it. First each tip, then where each finger bent, then the back; then he turned it over and kissed the palm and the inside of my wrist.

I felt myself burning up all the while and a tiny shudder went through me from each little kiss. My throat would barely let me talk.

"W— W— Wa—"

I looked up enough to see that had gotten his attention, but my heart skipped from seeing how he looked at me. There was so much affection— raw, unfiltered love— in his gaze, my throat seized up.

"Yes, ma lune?" He asked, low and soft.

"Wh— What… are you— doing?"

His smile grew and he hummed a bit. "I suppose… I'm thanking you."

"Th-Thanking me? F-For what?"

"Oh… Too much to simply just say. There's so much you've done that you've never been properly thanked for."

"L… Like what?"

His eyes gained a small mischievous glint. He started to kiss up my arm; after each one, he'd have a thank-you and a reason at his lips.

I was hardly listening to any of them; I was too busy processing this affection.

Waka went up my arm, planted a few on my shoulder, a couple on my neck, then (with a little tilting of my head) went up to my jaw, my cheek, and then finally kissed the corner of my mouth before another quick kiss on the lips. Finally after that, he watched me for a bit before letting out the start of a laugh and touching my forehead with his.

"Oh ma lune… You make me the happiest man in Nippon."

It took a unbearably long time to find the words in my throat (though in real time, it was probably only a few seconds).

"W-Waka…"

"Hm?"

…I had to think long and hard on how I wanted to word this. "…Not that I… didn't enjoy that, but… could you, tone it down a bit for next time? Just a teeny tiny bit?" My voice became smaller with each word.

Waka was quiet, and I worried he didn't hear me. But then: "I really did go too far this time, didn't I?" His voice was caked in embarrassment.

"I-It's… it's alright. Really."

"I doubt that. I'm sorry, very sorry; it's just—"

"Been a long time?"

"…Yes. A very, very long time. …I'll tone it down from now on, or at least warn you beforehand. I promise." He was quiet again before adding a bit sheepishly: "It's fine to keep holding you, right?"

"It's fine Waka. You're very comfy."

He let out a sigh of relief and relaxation settled in. The wind blew through the field, bringing a pleasantly cool breeze.

"Clare?"

"Yeah?"

"…Thank you."

[sirowsky]

Part 12 - We're Not Okay

Pero Tovar and Female Reader (nicknamed Bee) Modern AU

You're all struggling with the knowledge that something bad is gonna happen, trying to prepare as best you can. But of course, nothing ever goes according to plan.

Creator chooses not to use Warnings! This is 18+ONLY! I’m happy to elaborate on what to expect from this part via DM.

And I'm sorry again for the delay, my head's been in a Din kinda mood lately. But I'm coming back to this with a vengeance, so if you're squeamish about blood and stuff, you should steer clear.

Word Count: 5961 Masterlist(this story) Author’s Masterlist

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   When Abby had come to that day, it was the happiest you’d been for what seemed like a long time. Her left lung had been badly damaged and would never be able to function as well as it had before, but she wasn’t at all concerned by that.    You’d hugged her carefully but for a long time, crying with relief and repeatedly thanking Pero for saving her life, and when she’d stopped crying herself, Abby had asked exactly what had happened.

   You’d told her what you knew from your perspective, leaving Pero to explain as much as he’d felt comfortable with concerning his involvement, and you’d both been quite surprised when she hadn’t even flinched at hearing him describe what he’d done to her attacker.    Together, the three of you had sat there in the living room, sharing your experiences and airing out all the questions and worries that had plagued you all ever since things had gone sideways.    And afterwards, you’d felt such a peacefulness.    But you should’ve known that it wouldn’t last.

   Days passed without a word from Jones, making all of you more and more tense, because you knew that bad things were coming, and you were just waiting for shit to hit the fan.    You all tried to keep each other’s spirits up, and there was plenty to be happy and excited about, but the dark cloud that loomed over you all managed to infect everything with a touch of fear.

   Pero told you that even this was a tactic, making all of you nervous and interfering with your sleep so that you’d be good and anxious by the time they decided to strike, and as much as you tried not to let yourself fall into that trap, you still did. Piece by piece, the stress ate away at you, and there didn’t seem to be any way to stop it.

   Because how were you supposed to sleep soundly when you knew that the house could be attacked at any moment, by people so skilled at their craft that they could kill people in a crowded street without being noticed?    He was oddly calm, though. But then, this was the life he’d lived for a long time before William had left, and that time had been as safe and cared for as he’d ever felt before he met you.    Still, it was boggling your mind that anyone could consider something like this ‘normal’.

   “Is he always so… controlled? Under stress, I mean.” Abby asked one evening.

   The two of you were sitting at the dinner table, having tea and looking at the pouring rain outside the windows, while Pero and Dean had gone out to bring the horses inside for the night. They normally slept outside, but the rain was icy cold with the looming winter chill, and you’d all decided that no one would go out alone, which was why both men had gone.    Two of the dogs were outside with them, and the other two were in the kitchen with you, while Groot was leaning against your legs under the table.

   “Pretty much,” you replied, “He’s not as detached or insensitive as he looks, but he’s very good at keeping himself sharp and prepared, even when his emotions are flaring.    Pete was… an extreme situation.”

   “Because of you.” she stated, but there was a question hiding in there too.

   “Yeah. In that fight, he was more animal than man.” you said, still struggling to put words to what you’d seen that day.

   “And you’re worried that he’s gonna get like that again?”

   “Honestly… I’m mostly worried that something’s gonna happen to me, which I know sounds kinda self-absorbed, but I mean because of what he might do if he lost me.    I’m not sure that he’d be able to stay human at all.” you confessed.

   “He’s not gonna let anything happen to you, babes.” she cooed.

   “It’s not gonna be that simple this time,” you countered, meeting her eyes and feeling your own fears creep into the words. “These guys are as well trained as he is, he’s not gonna be able to outsmart them, or have any advantage against them in a fight. Pete was a fly on a wall compared to the Falcons, Abs.”

   “Then why is he still calm?” she challenged. “If he was truly afraid that he can’t protect you, then why is he okay with leaving your side at all?”

   That was a good point. And it made you wonder if he had a plan of some sort that he wasn’t sharing with you. Some way of tipping the odds in his favour.    You didn’t think so, but just the idea gave you chills, and you gripped your mug a little tighter.

   “I don’t really wanna think about that.” you whispered.

   “Okay, then here’s a completely different question: have you guys talked yet? I mean, have you had the talk?”

   You knew what she meant by that. The future talk. The ‘where do you see us in ten years’ talk, the one where you decided if your interest, dreams, feelings and wants aligned.    Joking about proposals wasn’t exactly a good way to judge whether you actually wanted the same things in life, and while you were prepared to both kill and die for the man, you didn’t really know much about what he wanted.

   Obviously, you knew that he absolutely saw you in his future, but life was more than that. Life was where to live and work, what company to keep, what interest to pursue, whether or not to build a family and all the complications that that entailed.    And you had no idea what he thought about those things.

   “No. There hasn’t really been space for that.” you said after a minute, still whispering for some reason.

   “Okay, just checking. Cause I know that I was all freaked out about him before, but obviously I’m no longer scared of his deadlier sides, now that I’ve been on the other side of that fence. But I’m still kinda reeling over how fast you two have become inseparable.” she said, and there was earnest curiosity in her voice.

   “It’s really not complicated, I just love him.” you said with a shrug.

   “All the more reason-…”

   “To have the talk, I know,” you interrupted her. “We will, but we have slightly more concerning matters to focus on right now.”

   “Not that that’s stopped you from engaging in carnal distractions every chance you get.”

   She deliberately waited until you’d lifted the mug to your lips before she said that, making you splutter tea everywhere.

   “Abby!”

   “It’s not like I’ve eavesdropped, or anything, you’re just not exactly discreet about it.” she said.

   And with her voice now equal parts mirth and irritation, you were reminded of the conversation you’d had with her in the woods behind your house that day when she first met Pero, concerning her lack of a porn-collection. It made you snort at her.

   “I’m barely even aware of anything else when I’m with him, so I wouldn’t know.” you huffed back, and she coughed a little laugh.

   “Well, good for you.”

   She was smiling, but you wondered if it was as genuine as it appeared.

   “Hey… I know it hasn’t been possible because of your injuries and being in the hospital and all but, how are you coping with the lack of carnal pleasures?” you asked, letting the playfulness fade away.

   “You know, trapped in the hospital, even when I was getting better it never really occurred to me. It wasn’t until I was leaving and saw this cute guy at the information desk that I felt the craving, and obviously I couldn’t do anything about that because I knew that something was up with Kate.    And now, I’m just happy to be safe. I don’t even feel that itch.    Guess Pete cured me of that…” she finished with a kind of sad smile, and you sighed.

   “Not to be the downer, but there’s no cure for addiction, Abs.”

   “Not to counter, but even if my lung could cope with that kind of strain right now, I don’t think I’d want to.” she said, with a familiar little crease of confusion appearing on her forehead.

   “Well then, there’s hope for you yet, darling.” you said with an exaggerated flare, just to draw another laugh from her, which worked.

   “Time will tell, I suppose.”

   “And you’re really okay with knowing what Pero did to him?” you asked, probably for the fifth time.

   “Are you kidding?!” she all but erupted, as her emotions flared. “I wish I’d been the one to do it, I’d have gutted him too. Fucking prick and waste of space asswipe motherfucker.”

   As odd as it might sound, that made you laugh, just because of the petulance in her frame as she delivered that highly improvised tirade of insults.    You were short on laughs recently, and with the tension having been so high for so long now, every opportunity to smile was a welcome reprieve.

   “I know I’ve said it too many times already, but I’m so happy to have you back, Abby. I’ve missed you.”

   “Same to you, boo. Now, tell me: what are you gonna do about the studio?” she inquired, stopping your thoughts dead in their tracks.

   You scowled at her, scrunching your nose and turning your face to the side, indicating your displeasure with the topic, but she wasn’t letting it go.

   “You know you can’t keep avoiding it, it’s literally your future.” she pressed.

   “I know that, I just…” you tried, but these were difficult thoughts that you’d kept well away from coming into any sharper focus, let alone tried to put into words.

   You sighed heavily and rested your elbows on the table, staring out at the rain as if hoping that it could wash all your troubles away.

   “I have the strength and resilience to rebuild it, if I put my mind to it, but I just don’t know if that would make any difference now.” you finally gave her, but your voice was stocking up.

   Your eyes drifted down to your splinted left hand, tracing the lengths of the still swollen and slightly crooked fingers, and tears started building with the onslaught of hurt that the sight of it always caused you, but which you always held back.

   “Fingers aren’t like other limbs, Abby. Once they’ve been broken, they rarely ever return to the same exact functionality and precision. I might never be able to draw that well again, so how can I start planning anything at this point? What am I supposed to do if it turns out I can’t draw at all anymore?”

   Tears slowly trickled down your cheeks as your eyes fell shut, no longer able to take the sight of the damage. The potential loss of most of your identity.

   “I’m not good at anything else. I never have been.” you croaked, feeling the truths of your circumstances settle in around you like water at a great depth, threatening to crush you.

   “That’s not true,” she countered softly. “I know for a fact that you’re good at anything you put your mind to, and on top of that, you’re a great daughter and the best fucking friend anyone could ever have.    And yeah, maybe you can’t make money off that, but it’s a solid base to build on.    I know that none of this is particularly comforting right now, because what you want is to go back to how it was, but my point is just that you’re gonna be okay, Beebs. No matter what.”

   You nodded meekly, feeling simultaneously weak for admitting that you felt helpless, but also relieved to have voiced your fears, finally, three weeks after the fire and the abduction.    There wasn’t really much you could do about the future until you knew if your hand would retain full function, so you felt like you were just treading water at this point, unable to go anywhere.

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

   Another two weeks passed without anything strange or worrying happening, which in and of itself was worrying, primarily because every new day threatened to drive you all insane.    The need to let yourselves believe that you were safer the more time passed, colliding hard with the inescapable fear of the opposite, created a continuous tug-of-war inside your minds that you couldn’t stop or even surrender from.

   Each day you grew increasingly tired and sick of this nothingness that somehow hung over you, as well as the maddening inability to do anything about it.    And eventually, your nerves reached their limit.

   “How fucking long are we gonna go on like this, Pero?” you demanded, setting your coffee-cup down a little harder than necessary.

   You were alone in the house that morning, after Dean and Abby had gone to the store, and it was the staleness of the conversation between you that for whatever reason ended up being the thing that triggered you.

   “Look at us!” you gestured to the general surroundings. “We sit here, day after day, growing more and more lifeless by the hour. Are we really just supposed to endure this shit until these assholes decide to kill us?    Because if we’re about to die then I’d prefer to actually feel alive before they get to us!”

   “Do not talk like this, pintora. We are not going to die.” he calmly declared, and somehow you felt dismissed.

   “No? Because that’s what it feels like.”

   “I have told you before, this is the tactic-…” he tried, but you cut him off.

   “Driving us insane, or stressed enough that we make some giant mistake – yeah, you keep telling me that, and guess what? I’m starting to feel like playing into their hands just to get this shit over with.” you challenged, and something… rough appeared in his eyes.

   “If you wish to die, then there are plenty of knives in that drawer over there.” he said, pointing to the correct drawer in the kitchen, while leaning closer to you from his seat beside you, with a hard expression set on his face.

   But you just kept your eyes locked on his in defiance, until he sighed and allowed the frustration to fade away. He knew that this was fear, and he understood it, feeling the strain of the wait himself.

   “I know what this does to you, my love. It is exactly what I have done to many targets over the years, so I need you to trust me,” he continued, letting softness find his features again. “I need to know that you can handle this.”

   “And I’m telling you that I don’t know if I can anymore,” you tried, feeling the daunting weight of hopelessness threaten to drag you down. “I’m not trained, or experienced, or particularly hardened by life. I’m just an artist with largely normal problems before all this happened.    I’m not like you.”

   “And that is a very good thing. You should never be like me.” he said simply, with something unpleasant to his tone. Something judgemental aimed at himself. But it was only there for a moment. “We will get through this, Bee. However impossible it seems now; we will be alright.”

   You wanted to believe him, but your brain and heart seemed somehow disconnected right then, unable to come together to let hope and love dilute reasoning and uncertainty.

   “Is there anything you can do?” you asked almost timidly.

   That was a question you’d steered well clear of until that moment, because you were absolutely terrified that the answer would be yes. That there was some scenario he’d considered which might give you an advantage, because it would likely mean he’d have to go off on his own.    But you’d said it now, so all you could do was hold your breath and wait for his answer.

   “Nothing that would increase our chances of survival. Not against these men.” he answered solemnly.

   It felt strange to be so relieved and yet so disappointed at the same time.    He looked pained as he bent over to grab your waist and pull you into his arms and lap for a comforting hug, although if it was to comfort you, or himself, was anyone’s guess.    That day however, for the first time, it didn’t help either of you.

   You tried to distract yourself as best you could for the rest of the day, spending a lot of time with the dogs and the horses since they at least kept you calm.    But later that evening, it came. The call that you’d been dreading. The one that made it all too real and too horrible, even though it was what you’d been waiting for.

   You were all at the dinner-table, everyone on edge but trying to joke and relax as best you could. It didn’t really work anymore, but you still had to try.    The burner phone was always in your pocket, and you’d gotten so used to it just sitting there quietly that when it suddenly buzzed, you jumped two feet in the air, bouncing up to standing, before you realized what was happening and quickly dug it out.

   “Kate?” you’d barely even gotten the one syllable out before she was already shouting at you over a terrible racket on her end, which you later identified as a roaring car-engine.

   “Bee, they’re coming for you! I just got a rapport that two Polaris 4-seater RZR 1000’s got stolen from a local dealership! That’s the best all-terrain vehicle you can find here, and perfect for someone looking to get to a house in the middle of the woods without using any roads! It’s them, I know it!”

   “Shit…” you turned your eyes on Pero, “They’re coming through the woods. Now.”

   Kate paused only long enough for you to relay that, then continued.

   “I’m driving as fast as I can, but they’ve got an hour’s head start! So, if you’ve got a plan, now’s the time to execute it! I’m gonna call you back in 30 minutes, and you better fucking answer!” she ended the call, and suddenly you felt numb.

   The only thing going through your mind was: am I gonna be alive in 30 minutes?    But then Pero’s hands were on your waist, turning you towards the front door and then his dark voice rumbled, “Boots, jacket, dark hat. Now,” and then he was gone, and you felt as though you lost all sense of balance without him.    Abby was still sharp, though, and pulled you along into the front hall where you both started digging through drawers and throwing things on. She helped you with the boots since you couldn’t do laces with your hand.

   When they returned, Pero was wearing a holster that held throwing knives in a snug fit down along his ribs, while Dean was in full tactical gear, except for his bullet-proof vest, discarded to allow faster and smoother movement, but with a gun strapped to his leg.    He opened the front door to call the dogs in, and while he quickly fitted them with their vests, capable of withstanding stabbing, and deflecting glancing hits from bullets, although not direct ones, Pero handed you a pocket-knife.

   It was a stiletto, the kind where you press a button, and the blade automatically stabs out of the handle. It was a light but seriously well-made piece, and you got the feeling that this one couldn’t be found at the local hunting shop.

   “Put it somewhere you can easily reach it, and if you get the chance, use it. Do not hesitate, amor, do you understand?” he said, taking your head between his hands to make you look him in the eye.

   You just stared at him, suddenly realizing how much you regretted ever thinking that you wanted this over with, because now all you wanted was more time.    Tears quietly fell down your cheeks, and he quickly but tenderly kissed them away, before turning to Abby and handing her an identical knife.

   “Same goes for you. Do not hesitate, because these men will not.” he told her with a stern nod, which she reciprocated while taking the weapon.

   Then Dean announced that the dogs were prepped and ready, and a hint of comfort finally found your heart when Groot took his place beside you.

   “What’s the plan?” you asked, looking from Pero to Dean, but it was your partner that answered.

   “I am working off assumptions, mainly that they want me alive, but also that they will not spare any of you. But what is certain is that this house is not safe, not against them. It is too easy to break into, set fire to, or blow up, all without us ever seeing them coming.    The dogs can tell us if someone is close, and give us a good approximation of where, but not exact enough to have a chance to shoot them through the walls.    So, our only hope is if we can see them coming, and that will only be possible where there are no walls.” he explained quickly, and you felt your blood pump faster.

   “You mean, going into the woods… on foot?” you said, and he nodded.

   “I will lead, you and Abby will follow, and your father will cover our backs.” he instructed and then moved to the door and turned off all the lights, inside and out, with a master switch. “Stay close to me.”

   And suddenly it was all too real. Too much, too fast.    You wanted time to stop, or at least slow down, just for a while, just long enough for you to find your footing again. But that was a ridiculous thing to think, because even if you’d had months to prepare, you still wouldn’t have felt any less terrified in that moment.

   Not waiting for anyone to confirm they were ready, he slipped out into the darkness, followed by the four dogs before your dad urged you and Abby to get going.    With Groot glued to your side, you took your best friend’s hand and snuck outside, feeling more exposed than you’d ever felt standing naked in front of someone.    And that was as far as you got before it all went wrong.

   The dogs reacted so fast that at first, you didn’t even realize that they’d broken formation.    They only ever barked or growled in warning, and under the command to defend with lethal force, no warnings were required.    Like panthers in the grass, or missiles through water, they silently vanished all at once as they identified a threat that you couldn’t perceive, but which was close enough to set them on the hunt.

   Groot remained with you though, and before you’d had a chance to grasp what was happening, Pero had grabbed your hand and was dragging you and Abby away towards the stables so fast that you were stumbling in your efforts to keep up.    He wasn’t limping as badly anymore, but now, under the pressure of such danger, there was no trace of weakness, despite the damage his calf-muscle had endured.    You’d only gotten maybe thirty feet when the first sounds reached you, and you tried not to listen.

   95% of the time, the dogs were defenders, guardians, keepers of peace. But in those remaining five percent of the time, they were weapons, pure and simple.    Deadlier than knives or even worse things, they were trained to silently approach, fixate on whichever soft spot was most easily accessible to them, and attack until their target’s hearts stopped beating.

   Like most predators, they’d go for the throat if that was available, and if it wasn’t, the other places they’d target were the upper arms, trying to bite into the femoral artery, or the groin or inner thighs for the same reason.    But if a person was armed, they’d also go for the hands, to disarm and make sure that no new weapons could be acquired. And they never held back or gave up. One would have to kill them to stop them.

   Your back was to the sounds that came streaming towards you as you ran, and if you’d thought that seeing Pero cut Pete open was the most disturbing thing you’d ever experience, just hearing dogs literally tear people to pieces, instantly changed your mind.    Because you could hear how the skin ripped, and the blood sprayed. The bizarre gurgling of crushed throats. The sickening thumps of bones breaking between jaws.

   To their credit, they didn’t scream, but you did hear grunts as they attempted to wrestle the canines, and then the heartbreaking whine of a dog being badly injured. But no shots sounded, so it had to be a knife that caused the damage.    You kept tracking as much of the events behind you as you could, even though you mostly just wanted to cover your ears, because you needed to know if someone came after you.

   Four dogs vs. a three-man team. That was the presumption. So, even one dog down theoretically meant even odds.

   You reached the stables gasping for breath, and turned to see how Abby was doing, since her lung had to be causing her pain after that sprint, and you were relieved to see her in good shape, albeit panting hard.    Your dad was right behind her, but when you turned back to ask Pero what the next move was, he was gone.

   Confused, you turned in a circle just inside the open doorway. Had he disappeared into the thicker darkness further inside? Or…    Dean caught you and prevented you from running back out, when you realized that he had to be somewhere out on the yard.

   You knew better than to scream at your father, or speak at all, since it could give away your position, in case the Falcons hadn’t seen where you went, but you squirmed harshly against his grip, even though you knew that you had nothing on the man.    The outside lighting was turned off and there was no ambient light from the city reaching this far out into the wilderness, so the yard was shrouded in complete darkness, save for the tiny glimmer of starlight from the clear sky above.

   But as your eyes adjusted, you could still make out shapes and movements in front of the house, you just couldn’t tell if it was dogs or people, or which people.    Your focus was abruptly shifted, however, when Groot growled.    Also under the command to protect, he wouldn’t make a sound unless he could tell that there was danger, but not where it was coming from. A head’s up to you, rather than a deterring warning against an enemy.

   Out of seemingly nowhere, a black figure appeared in the doorway, and before either you or Dean had reacted, Groot launched towards it, jumping up at the head, undoubtedly aiming for the throat.    They disappeared out onto the lawn in an audible scuffle, and then suddenly another figure appeared in the door, this one instantly aiming a gun towards the three of you.

   But your father was holding his pistol too, so when a shot went off, you couldn’t tell which one had fired, only that you were pushed aside, further into the stables, and your mind screamed at you to run.    Not your heart, though. Everything you loved was right there, you would never be able to just get up and leave them behind, but this was also entirely beyond your ability to do anything about, so you were left lying frozen on the floor.

   Before any more shots went off, there was an odd thump, and then the black figure slumped into a pile on the ground.    Pero had to have thrown a knife at him. That was probably why he’d left, giving himself a better vantage point. You were sure that he was close, though, and it was incredibly soothing to know.

   But that momentary comfort was upended completely, when someone grabbed you from behind, put a hand over your mouth and started dragging you out through the back of the stables.    Neither Dean nor Abby noticed, because you’d been out of their field of vision when he got to you, and the thick leather glove over your mouth and nose prevented even small sounds from escaping you.

   Desperate, you jumped off the ground and tried to kick something, a wall, or a rake or pitchfork leaning against one, anything that might happen to be close enough, anything that would make a noise.    But you only managed two kicks before the lack of oxygen made itself known, forcing you to stop.

   He had you. And he was gonna use you against Pero, either as leverage to force him back into their ranks, or just to hurt him.    Regardless, he’d be stripped of all options, either forced back to that animalistic rage, or robbed of all his strength and rendered powerless.    Because that was the power you held over him.

   You were so deprived of oxygen by the time the unknown man had dragged you through the backdoor, that your arms flopped down at your sides, and your right hand bumped against something.    With little more than seconds left before you’d start losing consciousness, you dug the stiletto out of your front jeans pocket and tried to think where to aim.

   Your brain was sluggish and uncooperative, but this was your one chance, you had to make it count, to cause as much damage as possible.    The way his arm was wrapped around you restricted your reach to his lower body, so you’d have to go for the groin, but you also had to time it right. The way he was dragging you meant that his hips were regularly close to your backside, and regularly further away and you couldn’t afford for the small blade to not reach its target.

   One step, then you bumped against him, another step, then another bump.    On the third step, not sure about the timing but simply out of time yourself, you slipped your hand back to right at the top of your buttocks, with your thumb against your tailbone, and hit the release.

   A barely even human wail of pain sounded behind you and the hand over your face vanished along with the grip around your chest, sending you crashing to the ground, gasping for air, but feeling better with each breath.    Still aware that you were in danger, you rolled and crawled away from the man’s reach, while he squirmed on the ground, clasping his groin where a dark fluid was pouring out, leaving a glistening pool in the short-cropped grass.

   You’d managed to hit an artery, meaning he’d be dead soon, but that was of no help to you if his friends were still alive, or if Pero believed that they’d succeeded in taking you, so you ignored the pins and needles in your arms and legs and got back on your feet.    There were still stars sparkling around in your vision when you located the backdoor again, and headed inside, moving on unsteady legs back towards the front opening.

   But getting to it, you found it empty now. No sign of your father or Abby, or Pero. So, you stepped out onto the front lawn, walking back towards the house, not even sure why but you just needed to move.    Something was wrong, you could feel it. Everything had gone too quiet.    A low whistle brought Groot to your side, closely followed by Abby. She was okay, thank goodness.

   “Bee, what happened?” she asked, her voice betraying the still frantic beating of her heart, and chilling fear that sat under every inch of her skin. But you ignored her question.

   “Where’s Pero?” you demanded, your own voice a lot steadier than you’d thought it would be.

   Dean answered you, appearing from your left, carrying one of the dogs that was seriously injured, back to the house.

   “It was all a ruse to keep us busy,” he explained while you fell in behind him, matching his pace and trying to understand what he was saying. “The people that the dogs first attacked weren’t Falcons, they brought a team of local talent to act as decoys. The Falcons were among the ones that came after us in the stables.    The one Groot got was another decoy, but Pero got one of them.”

   “And I got one behind the stables.” you interjected, and he nodded without prodding further.

   “Good, then it’s just the one of them. He’ll have better odds that way.” Dean continued, but what he’d said confused you.

   He’d reached the house then, and you opened the door for him, stepping in and turning on the master switch again, flooding the house and grounds with light, revealing all the dogs covered in blood and panting, but only one seemed to be harmed.    Which was good news, but somewhat unimportant to you right then.

   “Dad, what do you mean by that? Where is he?” you demanded once again, and he answered you without taking focus away from the animal in his care.

   “He ended up in a fist fight with the last guy, and he didn’t win. The Falcon managed to lure him further away, then knocked him out and dragged him onto his ATV.”

   Your stomach turned so violently that you had to swallow a few times to keep from hurling.

   “They took him? He’s gone?” you managed to choke out, suddenly feeling faint again.

   “Like I said, it’s one on one, and those are good odds for a man like yours.    Now, I know you’re scared to death, buzz, but you need to stay calm. I’m gonna help you find him. As soon as I’ve got this under control, we’ll take the other dogs and track the vehicle with my four-by-four. I know these woods a lot better than them, we’ll-…”

   You heard him cut himself off when you ran back out, and you heard him shout something after you, but it was lost in the noise of the wind as you sprinted to the stables and took Happy out of her box, just as your phone rang again.    There wasn’t time to answer so you just threw the phone towards Abby, who’d followed you outside.

   “Tell Kate what happened and that I’m going after them.” you shouted, before leading Happy out by her mane and spurring her into a run the moment she left the stables, swinging yourself up to her back using the forward momentum.    She had no gear on at all, not even a halter, and you weren’t gonna waste time on putting anything on, you’d just have to hold on for dear life.

   Groot was right there with you, just as you knew he would be, so you called out “Track Safe” and pointed towards the back of the property, which meant that he should set his nose in that direction, looking for any scent he recognized as someone you’d told him was safe.    And since the only people you’d declared to be that to him were Abby and Pero, you knew that he’d track the latter.

   You’d ridden a lot as a child, and even more after your mother had died, and Happy had always felt so attuned to you, so eager to work with you, and despite the stress and the odd circumstances, this was no exception.    She allowed herself to be steered by just your legs while you held onto her mane and leaned low over her neck, seeming to know to stay on Groot’s heels, as the dog darted into the lead and took you into the pitch-black wilderness at full gallop.

===============

Link to Part 13

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging, I would dearly appreciate it.

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[waterparksdrama]

ok now do Greatest Hits

took me a while, sorry anon but i needed to be in a certain mood for it and i'm more willing to listen to this in full even if it's long.

greatest hits - as far as intro songs go i think this is a good one. i like the vocal effects and the way it builds into this stormy atmosphere before going quiet again. 8/10

fuzzy - FUCK YEAH FUZZY WOOOOOOO!!!!! this song is so chewy i don't know how to explain it. the song is about awsten's sleepless nights/sleep paralysis/nightmares but in a really fun way and there's no annoying lyrics here i literally cannot complain about this song the bassline is godly. 10/10

lowkey as hell - and from that hype we are brought back down. i was kinda meh about this song when this came out and i'm still like kinda meh about it lol. it's very much a waterparks song (big rock chorus, lyrics complaining about something stupid that no one else would really) but nothing that really makes it stands out. i think the lyrical sentiment of trying to be there for someone whether it be fans or friends despite your own problems is sweet though i will admit. 6/10

numb - when this first came out i was like "this just sounds like a fandom b side" and what do you know i was close enough. good song to hype up to live i will admit it's a lot better like that than studio recorded. another fucking song complaining how fans only like him when he's sad and more lyrics that were tweets he put in a song for some reason. which. eye roll. c'mon man. 6/10

violet! - i like the transition from numb to this it's fun. a more pop oriented song with it's 80s pop like guitars in the beginning before evolving into this sparkly chorus. lyrically it's about a supposed stalker fan awsten had and with some of these exaggerated lyrics it's hard to tell how real that is, but his own mindset on the situation is clearer than that. i like it. it's fun and tells a story regardless. 7/10

snow globe - when this came out i was listening to a lot of classical piano so i really dug the intro because it reminded me of this piece called la campanella. i like the cold atmosphere it builds with the heavy autotune and desolate synths. lyrically, this follows awsten's self doubts and experience living as a public figure, how he simultaneously experiences loneliness while thousands people know him (loose term) from his music to his online posts. one time i used one of those online mashup sites to create a mashup between this and frou frou foxes in midsummer fires by cocateau twins and it was godly. 7/10 but the remix i got for it gets 8/10 bc shoegaze.

just kidding - cmon man. a song about feeling like shit, what else is there to say. the song chronicles awsten's mental struggles of feeling hated with a touch of implications of using someone as a distraction from this while being passive aggressive to them at the same time. sonically, it rides a sort of chill emo rap wave you might hear as background music to a lofi anime beats youtube if awsten wasn't singing specifically during the chorus where this annoying vocal effect sort of sounds like it's mocking his own words (which i guess is the point? but still). the song is more annoying than sympathetic for me and i don't understand why de'wayne and travis rallied for this song so hard. 4/10

the secret life of me - okay we're back to decent songs again. the sparkly guitars and drums remind me of a classic sonic game soundtrack. the song follows awsten's disassociation after just kidding, where instead of being caught in throes of reality, he gets caught in a maladaptive daydream of better things. i do that too so i can't really bitch here. 8/10

american graffiti - titled after a george lucas movie that was made to "appeal to the mainstream", it's a song about becoming a spectacle of fan interest and dealing with those expectation (believe me you don't have to tell me the irony of me reviewing any of this rn). awsten said this song was supposed to be a "pop punk but make it good" sort of thing so essentially they just made a neck deep song. the song reprises and seems to twist the lyrics from lowkey as hell ("if you need me, i'm here now") showing how that while it is good he can be so accessible, he's so accessible to the point that it's kind of meaningless to the general public. 8/10

you'd be paranoid too (if everyone you knew was out to get you) - wow another self reference. who would've thought. it's another fucking song about anxiety and living as a public figure and at this point in the album when it's so long and repeated so much it's kinda just like "do you have other things to complain about or..." sonically it feels kinda basic with it's rock anthem feel. there's a weird dichotomy between the suicidal lyrics and the ones that try to be lighthearted and it's just. well it's a song. 5/10

fruit roll ups - i like the transition. not much i can say about other parts of this song. was the autotune always this grating. anyways this song follows awsten trying to use random shit he bought as an excuse for someone to try seeing him. instrumentally, it's a lot better but oh my god these vocals and lyrics. i'm not even that convinced he even likes this person that much. also i've had band nerds tell me the song is actually in 6/8 time which makes awsten's statement at the beginning a lie. 4/10

LIKE IT - you guys know how much i love horrible music (i help run a waterparks blog after all) so when i heard this i was like "oh my god this is like modern the blue poptarts, my favorite terrible band." everything down to the rapping feels like a refined version of "it ain't easy being gangsta". again, it's another complaining song, but i think it works better than the other ones because it's not as tonally jarring and gets away with being bitchy by being so ridiculous instrumentally. i feel like he's like one line away from saying that old "cruisin down the street in my tight jeans" line (i learned that was an eazy e interpolation a couple years back isn't that weird). 8/10

gladiator (interlude) - i like the instrumental i don't like josh madden because he's another shill in the madden family and also one time someone said he looked like a thumb so now when i hear this i just think of that. either way his rambling about gladiators as an allegory for working in entertainment becomes very relevant to the next song 6/10

magnetic - the genius page may have rejected my annotations to this song but just remember i am always right. linked to gladiator, this song deals with awsten's internal battle between his public persona and his personal life, which bleed into each other and gets him lost in everything and nothing with things he hates. i love this song i can't lie. not only is this a pretty good lyrically, the electronic tinged guitars are so addictive and crunchy in all the right ways. god and the ending??? god it's so good. 9/10

crying over it all - a love song to someone that doesn't exist lol. a sweet song to someone that's supposed to stay behind once the band is gone and awsten exists outside of that. i really like zeph's backing vocals in this it really adds to this dreamy fantasy the song tries to build. 7/10

ice bath - the sister interlude to the intro title track. a song using the intro vocals and "wakes up" back into reality and awsten gets caught back into his materialism to cope with his mental struggles. 6/10

see you in the future - a song that essentially a chaotic ramble of awsten's life at that point that for the most part settles on focusing on the future (for better or for worse). a lot of these lyrics are probably just tweets awsten never sent amongst the random shit and attempts at insight in his life. it's. certainly a song but i can't lie the drums at the end are so primal and larger than life i remember screaming so hard when otto was doing that live. 6/10

in conclusion, a lot of this album is complaining about the same thing (i mean what waterparks album isn't that at it's core really), but it makes up for its (usually lyrical) faults in some songs with its out of this world, chaotic production. it is still a solid 3/5 stars in my book and this relisten made me realize it's been so long since i overplayed magnetic that i can enjoy it again so thanks for that sort of anon. greatest hits more like greatest shits *ba dum tss*

-iz

[whumping-in-the-wings]

Back with another update! I’m slightly nervous about this one; I wrote it in little bits and pieces as an attempt to de-stress during a ridiculously heavy school week, and somewhere along the line, it turned into a pretty whump-heavy piece. Which I of course worried incessantly about for almost three hours before I realized that this community literally exists for the purpose of whump and it would be really hard to write too much of it. So enjoy!

(As an aside: the proverb Hugo says to Sacha is a French saying that translates to “it’s not as though you have to drink the sea.” Basically another way of saying something shouldn’t be all that hard, but we don’t have a similar proverb in English, so I decided I’d better translate).

CW: emotional whump, humiliation, dehumanization, verbal abuse/threats, magic-based slavery, a thoroughly unpleasant whumper

Taglist: @starlit-hopes-and-dreams (let me know if you’d like to be added to the list!)

Perfect Sorrows: Part Two

Previous | Masterlist | Next

The burst of adrenaline that came along with Sacha’s hasty retreat from the study lasted only as long as it took him to reach the bottom of the front stairs. He was much slower on the kitchen staircase, dreading the prospect of having to face the others with his cheek still red and throbbing from the sorcier’s slap. Hugo would notice- there wasn’t much Hugo didn’t notice- and he’d have to explain himself, admit that he’d made a mistake, and suffer through another of the butler’s haughty tongue-lashings. Ondine would be only too happy to start in afterwards, with the kind of mood she’d been in all day. He’d get no sympathy from either of them.

Not that he blamed them for it. As Monsieur Camille had just reminded him, they didn’t make mistakes. They didn’t struggle the way he did. It all came naturally to them; it was their nature. It was supposed to be his. More than once he’d overheard them wondering why it wasn’t, debating what had gone so wrong when Monsieur Camille had made him.

He wished sometimes that he could overhear them come up with an answer to that question. He certainly didn’t have any himself.

But he could only linger on the stairs so long. Eventually, fearful of the consequences if he waited any longer, and still dripping wet with the thought of the kitchen fire growing more and more tempting by the second, he made his way down the last flight of steps and slipped through the door as softly and silently as he could.

As he’d thought, he wasn’t quite soft or silent enough. “Well?” Hugo demanded the moment he’d come in, still not bothering to glance up from his papers.

“It was nothing,” Sacha answered, hoping his voice had steadied enough not to give him away. “Just…something about that nevermore powder he had me work on yesterday.”

He moved closer to the stove, trying to make it clear that he wasn’t interested in talking any further about what had happened. But it wasn’t Hugo’s cool, cultured voice that answered him. It was a deeper, rougher voice, as harsh and unpleasant as the downpour outside, and it sent the same chill up Sacha’s spine.

“And that’s what you call nothing, is it? That’s not the story I heard.”

Slowly, almost unwillingly, Sacha turned back around, knowing already what he would see. Sure enough, the groundskeeper was sitting across from Hugo with his feet propped up on the table and a bottle of whiskey clenched in his meaty hand, grinning his ugly sneering grin.

Laurent wasn’t a tall man by any means, but he was strongly built, with a cruel, craggy face and more muscle on one forearm than Sacha had on his entire body. In name, he was both the groundskeeper and Monsieur Camille’s bodyguard; in practice, he was anything else the sorcier needed him to be- a thief, an enforcer, sometimes an assassin. Sacha had disliked him even before he’d known all that, if for no other reason than Laurent had never liked him, either.

He wasn’t the only one. Hugo’s pursed lips told Sacha he was none too pleased to have the groundskeeper’s sopping-wet boots so close to his papers, and Ondine was rattling around her pots and pans with even more annoyance than before. But neither one of them would say anything. They never did. They couldn’t. It wasn’t just that Laurent was a dangerous man. It was that Laurent was the one thing the rest of them weren’t: human.

But then again, it was never the other two that Laurent bothered with.

“The story I heard,” he continued, “was that you couldn’t even manage a simple bit of magic without making a mess of it. And I heard it straight from Monsieur Camille himself, so it’s no good trying to deny it.”

Hugo let out an exasperated sigh. “Not another failure, Sacha! Ce n’est pas la mer à boire! Is it really so difficult to do as you’re meant to?”

“I’m sorry,” Sacha tried to say. But no one was listening to him. He could only stand there shamefaced as Laurent plunged into a gleeful account of exactly what had happened, sparing none of the humiliating details. The magic powder had not only failed, but had had some strange effect on Monsieur Camille’s inborn magical abilities, leaving him briefly incapable of performing so much as the simplest of tricks, an inconceivable embarrassment for one of the most powerful sorciers in Paris.

“I don’t see him that angry very often,” Laurent finished. “I was half hoping he’d decide you’re more trouble than you’re worth and let us all finally be rid of you.” He sighed in mock regret. “But no such luck, it looks like. You wouldn’t get a second chance like that from me, I can tell you that. I’d have magicked you right back into a…well.” He took another long swallow of his whiskey, grinning that awful grin around the rim of the bottle as he watched Sacha’s reaction.

He’d broken the sentence off on purpose. The dim, desperate ache that always lingered somewhere in Sacha’s chest expanded itself suddenly into a hard, painful knot of longing. That was the real reason why he hated Laurent so much. Not because he was truly human while Sacha wasn’t, not even because he was cruel without having any reason to be, but because he knew what Sacha had been before. He never gave away the secret, but he never let Sacha forget that he could have.

Sacha spoke before he could think better of it. “Then it’s a good thing I don’t belong to you. You’ve had your laugh, Laurent, now just leave me alone.”

The words were no sooner out of his mouth then he regretted them. The groundskeeper never, ever stood for one of the creatures telling him what to do. Even Hugo, whose position as the butler should have made him second only to Monsieur Camille, couldn’t give orders to Laurent. And now Sacha had done just that.

He cringed involuntarily, all too aware of the thin white scar under his eye, his reminder of what had happened the last time Laurent had gotten angry. The man was unpredictable when something had provoked him; sometimes he answered with harsh words, sometimes with his heavy fists, and there was never any way of knowing which it would be on a given day.

The groundskeeper’s jaw tightened, just for a moment, a tiny muscle standing out on the side of his face, something hard and dangerous flashing through his eyes. Then, unexpectedly, he relaxed. “Oh là là, look who’s finally grown a bit of a spine in that scrawny back. I was beginning to think Camille had taken it along with your fur.”

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms lazily behind his head. His next words seemed directed more to Hugo and Ondine then to Sacha. “You must be getting tired of seeing me in here. I only step in now and again for a bit of company, especially on a wet day like this, but it seems I always end up causing you nothing but trouble. You’re counting the minutes until I leave, I imagine.”

“You have as much right to be here as we do,” Ondine began, more out of politeness than anything, but he waved her off.

“No, no, you are, and I don’t blame you. Here I am getting in your way while you’ve still got plenty to do before tomorrow. I’m distracting you, taking up more than my fair share of the table, and look, Ondine, I’ve stomped all over your clean kitchen floor with my muddy boots. Shameful of me, really. Shouldn’t be making you put up with it.”

He really sounded as though he meant it. If the look in his eyes had matched his apologetic tone, and if that jagged sneer of a smile still hadn’t been hovering around the corners of his mouth, Sacha might have believed him. But he knew better, so he watched warily as Laurent, in one smooth, easy motion, swung his feet off the table and planted them on the floor. “You, boy,” he demanded, carelessly flinging down a rag that had been left on the table after polishing the silver that morning, “come clean these off for me.”

And once again, there was nothing Sacha could do but obey. That was the advantage of being really, truly human: not only that they couldn’t give Laurent orders, but that they had to obey any orders he chose to give them. He edged uneasily closer, afraid to come within reach of the groundskeeper’s fists. Then, in confusion, he stopped. Laurent was making no move to take the boots off.

His hesitation didn’t go unnoticed. “What’s the matter, boy?” Laurent said roughly, though his sneer had turned smug and satisfied. “Don’t your knees work?”

It shouldn’t have happened, it shouldn’t have even been possible, but somehow everything inside Sacha managed to rebel at the idea of giving in to this. He swallowed hard, tried to speak and found he couldn’t. He just stood there, frozen, his mind swirling into a fog of too many feelings to name. The silence stretched on, turning first into an awkward, and then into an unbearable thing.

“Sacha, do as you’re told,” Hugo began finally, but Laurent cut him off before the words were half out of his mouth.

“Non. He won’t mind so much if it’s coming from you. I want him to do it because I told him to.”

Almost against his will, Sacha took a step forward. He could do this. He could do as he had been told, do what he had been made for. He could do it, no matter how demeaning it was.

He could do it, but that flaw deep within him, that slight imperfection he could never overcome, whispered that he didn’t want to, shouldn’t have to, and he couldn’t bring himself to take more than that one step.

Until Laurent spoke again, with that same casual cruelty in his gravel voice. "I'd get on with that rag if I were you, boy, or I'll make you lick them until they shine like a mirror."

When Laurent made threats, they were best believed. The scar was only the slightest taste of what he could do. Sacha’s blood froze in his veins, and the brief battle within him was immediately lost, simply because there had never been a chance it could be won. Swallowing down both his pride and the stinging lump that rose in his throat, he dropped to his knees on the cold wooden floor and set silently to work.

It was no easy task. The leather was worn and full of tiny creases, and the heat from the kitchen fire had caked the mud of the Paris streets into every last one of them. But he kept at it, eyes down and face flaming, knowing all too well that there was nothing else to be done.

He refused to look at Laurent, or at anyone. But he didn’t have to look to know that the groundskeeper was savoring every minute of this. His harsh laugh rumbled unexpectedly through his muscular frame, making Sacha flinch back a little. “Look at that. Seems as though you can do something right, after all.”

After this morning’s encounter with Monsieur Camille, the words cut deep, and he hardly knew which one he hated most: the sorcier, the groundskeeper, or that small, traitorous part of himself. If only he could be like the others, if he could do what he was told and never question it, never mind what anyone said or did, never feel anything at all, then Laurent would never have had any power over him. But he wasn’t like that, no matter how hard he tried to be. Something was wrong in him, something was broken, and whatever the crack was, it was spreading, getting harder to keep in check. Soon enough he wouldn’t be able to control it at all. Soon enough they would all know how useless he truly was, and then it would be back to the cold black emptiness of whatever he had been before…

He interrupted his own thoughts and bowed his head quickly back to the task, not wanting the others to notice the salty mist that had sprung, unwelcome, into his eyes.

[ohanny]

my full, unhinged, cleaned from a 4am notes app ramble concert review of...

... the dream show 2 in berlin

mark lee mark lees just about as hard you'd expect a mark lee to mark lee so prepare a spare pair of undies

haechan proved that not only does he eat cds for breakfast, his ancestors have done so for at least five generations to prepare for his arrival

jeno is somehow even more handsome in real life

jisung is WAY more handsome in real life (that man has busted through any and all baby gates and is making everyone around his distressed)

chenle is just dirty

jaemin literally smiles all the time and i thought i was prepared for it since i know it's his thing but nothing prepares you for it. he smiles like sunshine but also like he knows he could kill you?

you know when it's quiet and then all of a sudden this clear, full, bell like note belts out? yeah, that's renjun. all the time.

i actually enjoyed the songs i normally skip (for example my first and last because "oh, you hate happiness" - my friend) more than the songs i was really hyped for (7dream version of hello future)

like if i am being brutally honest, i was a bit worried when i saw the set list because i love hype, high energy, hard hitting music and i'd classify over half of the songs played as chill/vibey/bright and since dream isn't - or better wasn't hahaha - one of my ult groups part of me was nervous about how much i would like the show and if it would be worth paying for the trip and ticket for the few songs i was initially feeling must-see-sadjlakjfklsfj about. but i enjoyed it SO MUCH. it was amazing, i don't regret a thing and i enjoyed every second of it and past me was a big idiot and if you have a chance to go see them, do it. they're so fun and captivating on stage and draw you in with their energy no matter what the beat of the song is.

i really liked the stage design and all the video graphics playing during performances. AND THE LASERS. seriously, so many lasers i felt like i was at a transformers rave

dreaming might be one of the best nct songs out of all the units

i was also in a glass box of emotion and the emotion was not appropriate for public

no but seriously, put me in a glass box. i would look like a greased up turkey leg spinning in a transparent microwave but i would own it.

also it is ironic that the song is called quiet down when everyone is literally screaming their heads off. they want a wave? we'll make a wave. they want us to yell out team slogans? sure. chant zhong chenle? absolutely. they say go trigger the fever? well fuck covid safety protocols then! but quiet down? QUIET DOWN?!?!

also you need sturdy bleachers for trigger the fever because they will make you jump and i was worried the seated section would collapse for a moment.

these men have arms

saturday drip was everything and i wanted and more but i am still bitter because i thought i filmed it all and got the most epic angle of the run down the catwalk, jump, confetti explosion moment only to realize i was never in the video mode and just snapped a photo in the beginning and held my phone up the whole time :') silver lining: i did manage to snatch a piece of saturday drip tho

you can find the amazing artists behind these freebies on twt as @ emi_kimpi and @ zoru_zoru

haechan: *hits an angelic high note*

the audience: *ruins it by screeching like pterodactyls over him*

jisung has such a distinct tone to his voice and every time he sang or rapped a line my heart did a little thing

the crowd went apeshit over glitch mode but give us an english version of beatbox and everyone is struggling because what do you mean english? ENGLISH? we are supposed to know english words now?

the most awkward moment of the show was that vcr making us practice the wave because there was no music, no audio, just subtitles going like "hello! starting from the right... let's do a fan light wave! 1... 2... 3... amazing!" (though we really would've needed the practice when mark made us actually do it hahaha, nailed it on the second try tho!)

i went into this concert with no fixed dream bias but like a very definitive top 3 and an idea who it would be and then, out of nowehere... renjun. the least likely, never was on my radar for a bias candidate member. i am still in denial over the fact jeno was there in his poor excuse of a shirt, grinding, and my eyes kept straying. but for real, you cannot overstate the charisma renjun has on stage. he is like a hypnosnake. i am having a crisis.

every individual member made an effort to speak something in german in every single ment they did and i heard it was the same with french in paris and english in london and it was honestly really heart warming

mark needs less watermelons and more fried eggs

[a-shared-experience]

The first stop of my day was the last stop on Sunday. Ya gotta face your fears or they’ll consume you. The station was quiet except for a disheveled man in psychosis at the bus stop.

We chose not to engage and kept walking. At the bottom of the stairwell we find the woman I’d taken to the hospital for burns and she’s writing in a journal and crying.

“ I hate it here. I’ve been homeless for 4 years and never get used to it. “

“ I don’t think you’re supposed to get used to it babe” I tell her.

She tells me she’s up on 20 different charges and is trying to hide out from going to jail at least until her first granddaughter is born.

I congratulate her and she tells me she’s ashamed of who she is and wishes the drugs would take her feelings away.

“We both know that doesn’t make it any better. Don’t be ashamed of how hard you’ve struggled girl, love has a way of seeing beyond all the mistakes ya know. Today is a new day, tomorrow is a new day. Things don’t have to be like yesterday”.

She tells me her friend died last night beside her, she was 22.

“ I couldn’t save her “ she weeps

“ I’m so sorry. I have lost so many people too. It’s insane really. It’s ok to grieve , to cry, to be angry. It’s ok to feel.”

“ I don’t even know why I’m here , I think everyone is just losing their minds and taking their anger out on me so I wanted to get away”

“ to be honest I was nervous to come here because something similar happened to me but I think when shit gets dark we gotta show up with all our light and be the kindness the world needs. When people hurt us… it’s not because we deserve it , it’s reflective of their inner world, their pain.”

“ I’m just a piece of shit”

“ one cannot grieve without first loving. Remember that. Remember your love”.

Next station I see a man pointing finger guns at the glass in the pedway. He’s amped up and agitated. I don’t make eye contact as I walk by. I’ve been stripped of naivety and no longer feel comfortable working with psychotic breaks. I’m mad at myself because I know I’m trained in it , I know I’ve worked a lot of magic in this realm but everything has changed. My body still aches from the attack and my mind is tiring living in constant hyper vigilance. There’s different levels to this kind of attunement. I went from watching everyone’s movements to trying to predict everyone’s behaviour. There’s a lot of psychosis in this city. On my way to work there was a young man in such a state and a grown man passing by who was looking at me for safety and I thought about how crazy that is. I pass through the lrt station on my own and the guard stops me and randomly says, “ this job isn’t safe for you. You don’t know what some of these people are capable of. You shouldn’t be out here alone”

I wonder why he chose to say that today after a year of simply saying hi , smiling, and asking how my day was.

Later in the day a guy with face tattoos tells me he just got out of jail. He oddly knows more about astrology than I. I’m intrigued. He talks about Pluto entering Aquarius and I say “ I thought it would be chill, like everyone would be kinder and care about humanity”

He’s high on fent and pint and looks me dead in the eyes and says, the world will be split by three , as if three dimensional, ai robots, people who don’t change and become a sort of cancer that gets killed off and people like you who are spiritually ascending.

I thought was weird. I changed the subject to art and addiction and cognitive behavioural therapy and it catches the attention of a young girl . She tells me she’s a cancer zodiac as she tries blending concealer over her black eye. “ everyone’s dying. Everyone left this kid in the hallway at the mall , he was turning blue. They just got up and left. Can you believe that. I tried cpr. No one had any narcan. He died. I don’t think I’ll ever get off this shit. My mom had 8 kids and we all grew up in the system , I don’t even know them. She must be really strong though , to lose 8 kids and still have the ability to get up each morning. I lost 1 and I’m falling apart”

She’s severely sleep deprived and rambling on meth. I’ve known these rambles for many years , it’s like every heartbreaking trauma just squeaks out matter of factly- in this state of numbness that leaves the listener breathless.

I give her narcan and tell her she did the right thing. We talk sublicade and finding purpose. We talk for a long time. A young security guard opens the door leading to the stairwell and yells, “ seriously move , get out of here”

I flash my badge. “ you must be new, that’s seriously unnecessary don’t you think? I’m doing a mental health assessment so … we won’t be moving thanks”

The thing is… everything is like a domino effect right now. The influx in people needing immediate help following the encampment closures has caused an overwhelm to the different divisions of our teams and has made higher ups want to cease operations.

There’s too much visible crisis and it’s making everyone uncomfortable.

The concept of less help doesn’t make sense to me.

[tortledimlr]

The Dead of Winter

Hey everyone! This is a commissioned piece by a good friend of mine. They'll be reading it on their youtube channel, which I will have here once its officially made. If you like this piece and want me to write something for you, please read my commission rules before dming me. Thank you.

TW: Bodyhorror

The Dead of Winter

I should’ve listened when my friends told me to wait until summertime. I should’ve listened when the elderly Native American told me to ignore any sounds I heard from the woods, to stay inside during the night.

But I didn’t listen. And now here I am, hiding in a cabin in the middle of the freezing Alaskan wilderness, thousands of miles from anyone who cares.

My idiot decisions began in September, when I got what I thought was the offer of a lifetime. 6 months of solitude and silence in beautiful Alaska to write my book. I was ecstatic of course, and immediately called to get it set up. 

At the time, I’d only written short stories for newspapers and websites, not nearly enough to make a liveable wage. I’d tried a million times to write a full book, but I either never had the time or was facing writer's block. This opportunity seemed to be the perfect chance to get my book done, and in the scenic mountains…well, it was perfect.

“Are you sure about this, Beth?” My roommate, Sarah, said, watching me pack my bags with a somewhat worried look on her face. Her honey blonde hair was still wet from her shower, and my heart skipped a beat as I looked at her. I shook it off and looked back down into my bag.

“Yeah,” I answered, gently tucking my new, unripped jeans into the duffel bag. I’d bought an entire new wardrobe for this trip, as none of my southern California clothes would keep me warm. “It's just a couple months, I’ll be fine. Plus the house is supposed to be fully supplied for the stay.”

Sarah huffed a bit as I zipped up the bag. “I’m just…I mean, you’re not really built for that kind of weather. Have you even done any research on winters in Alaska?” I looked up to see her cross her arms, and shrugged.

“A little bit,” I said. It was a lie. I actually hadn’t done any research, I just didn’t want her to spend the next six months worrying about me. She pursed her lips as she watched me swing the duffel bag onto my back. “Chill, Sarah. I’ll be fine.”

I could tell that my words didn’t reassure her, but I couldn’t stay any longer. I had a flight in 30 minutes. I let her drive me to the airport, and she didn’t bring up the trip anymore, except to ask me to call her once I landed. I told her I would. 

Before I got out of her car, part of me wanted to admit my hidden feelings for her, but I kept it to myself. Even if she did reciprocate my feelings, I was about to be gone for 6 months. There was no way she’d be up for that.

The flight was roughly five hours of pure boredom that I spent trying to outline my book. I had the characters and the plot down, but I was struggling to get the timeline down. After a few hours, I just closed my laptop and shoved it back into its bag. By the time I did this, it had been three hours, so I decided to take a nap for the rest of the flight.

The drive out to the port was quiet, the taxi driver being mostly quiet as we drove. Like I’d thought, the landscape was beautiful once we got out of the city. The trees were huge, and just as we reached the port it started to snow. It was…breathtaking. I could feel the inspiration gears turning in my head.

At the port, I met with an elderly Alaskan Native who would be boating me to my destination. We made small talk on the boat, though it was much too loud to talk about much other than the normal pleasantries. When we finally arrived at the dock of the island I’d be staying on, the elder helped me take my bags up to the cabin. I could see it from the docks. It wasn’t huge, but it had a sort of rustic elegance about it. And for the next 6 months, it was mine.

I talked with the old man more as we walked up the small hill to the cabin. It left me a little winded, but we arrived there with little issue. As I was unlocking the door, the old man pointed out a shed on the edge of the property that held firewood in case the power went out. He told me if I thought it needed refilling, to call a week ahead so I didn’t run out beforehand.

The inside of the cabin was cozy. The kitchen and living room were one whole room, and there was a short hallway that led to the bedroom and bathroom. I set my duffel bag on the couch as I looked around at the room. One big stone fireplace, a comfy looking couch, and a wood burner stove in the kitchen.

“What was it you said you were out here for, again?” The old man asked, making me look back at the doorway. He wasn’t looking at me, though. He was staring out into the woods.

“Oh, uh, just trying to get some writing done. I figured the scenery around here would help inspire me,” I answered, sitting on the arm of the couch, facing him. After a long, quiet, awkward moment, he looked back at me.

“I see. The land around here is quite inspiring,” He said. His voice was very deep, in a way that kind of commanded attention. “Tell me, what do you know about the myths and legends of this area?”

I blushed in embarrassment then, knowing I’d have to admit to not doing my research now. “Not much, honestly. I was just eager to get out here.” I smiled sheepishly, and he nodded, looking back out at the forest.

“Do an old man a favor?” He asked after another quiet moment. I nodded even though he wasn’t looking my way. “Try to avoid going out at night. No matter what you hear, or see. There are…animals that come out at night and, no offense, but you don’t seem equipped to handle them.” His lips twitched almost into a smile, and I nodded once more.

“No offense, taken. I’ll stay inside overnight,” I promised, and he let out a sigh. I wasn’t sure if it was relief, or something else. 

“I should be going, now. I’ll be back to check on you before mid October,” He said, and I bid him goodbye. I watched him walk down to the docks, climb into his boat, and ride back off to the mainland.

I quickly grabbed a few logs from the shed before hurrying back to the cabin. For some reason, what the man had said rang through my skull. Over the next couple of days, I found myself triple checking the cabin locks before going to sleep. It was strange, to say the least.

Over the next two months, I found myself diving into my writing with a newfound passion. This island affected me in a strange way, and I was more than happy with how the writing was going. I hadn’t heard anything, or seen anything, outside at night, but every time the old man stopped by, he asked whether I had gone out at night since his last visit. For some reason, I felt like I would be disappointing him if I had decided not to heed his warning.

On this particular visit, he seemed extra worried. He was bringing me my last bits of perishable foods before I’d be stuck here alone until March. Half of me wanted to ask him what was wrong, but I didn’t want to pry in case it was something personal. As we carried the last box of frozen meats into the cabin, he finally spoke to me.

“Listen, kid,” He started, wringing his fingers nervously. I looked at him with my head slightly cocked to one side, waiting for him to continue. He hesitated a bit before clearing his throat, and starting to talk again.

“I don’t want to tell you what to do, or how to live your life, but it's going to be a hard four months out here on your own. If at any point you decide you want to leave, you won’t be able to until the water unfreezes, and even then it could take weeks. I want you to think about your decision,” He said, looking at me with deep set, nearly black eyes. I turned away from him to start putting the meat away. 

“Thank you, for your concern,” I said, trying to sound as sincere as possible. I really was thankful. “But I already flew out here, it would be a waste to leave before my time here was up, y’know.” I tried to sound nonchalant, but the way he talked was almost like he was trying to keep me safe. From what, I had no idea. 

I heard him sigh again, and this one was quite obviously in disappointment. “If you insist…just remember what I told you when you arrived. Don’t go out at night, no matter what.”

He left a few minutes later, and while he was walking down to the docks, I noticed he kept looking back at the cabin with a worried expression. I was having second thoughts about my decision, but by the time I reached the cabin door, his boat was already too far away. I went back inside and locked the cabin door.

Despite my general unease, the next couple weeks passed by without issue. I had a lonely Thanksgiving eating homemade burgers and found myself missing Sarah more by the day, but otherwise it was quiet. I continued my writing, and on December 1st, I’d finished five chapters.

It was on this night that it started. I’d gone to bed early, having had a quiet celebration with a glass of honey mead the old man had gifted me back in October. I was a lightweight so the one glass was enough to send me to bed. I guess it also was enough to keep me from doing my normal nighttime routine.

I don’t know what it was that woke me up, but I suddenly found myself staring at the moon through the bedroom window. It took me a few moments, but I suddenly realized how very cold it was. I jerked up from my bed just in time to see a shadow rush past the bedroom door. I jumped up to chase whoever it was, though I had no idea what I would do when I reached them, and when I got to the end of the hallway I saw the front door of the cabin was wide open. 

My heart dropped to my stomach, and I found myself stone cold sober. I slammed the door shut without checking outside, and locked it tightly. I stepped back and stared at the door for a long time. When the adrenaline finally subsided, I felt the chill of the air. I shivered all over and walked over to the fireplace, setting a fire up as quickly as I could with my shaking fingers. 

Once the fire was up and burning, and the warmth spread through my body, I felt myself relaxed enough to pick up my phone and check the time. It was nearly four in the morning. I wondered how long the door had been open, and how long that shadow had been staring at me. Had they touched me? Had they taken anything?

I shivered again, but not from the cold this time. 

I waited until the time had shifted to 8, but the sun hadn’t come up yet. I silently cursed as I remembered that I’d be stuck without sunlight until March. I hoped that whatever that shadow was kept out of sight during the day so I could collect more firewood. 

I tried not to think about the event for the rest of the day, trying to get back into my writing, but every bump or hoot from outside had me running to the door to make sure it was locked. It was always locked, but that didn’t stop me from worrying. I didn’t get much writing done that day.

In the weeks that followed, I spent most of my time making sure the doors and windows were locked, before going to bed uneasily. I avoided going out at all during that week. I didn’t even like passing in front of or looking out of the windows. I always felt like someone or…something was watching me. I was afraid of what I’d see if I looked.

On Thursday - at least, I thought it was Thursday - I ran out of firewood. As I tossed the last of the logs into the fireplace, I felt my stomach turn. Did I wait until the fire burned out? Did I try to go out now?

I checked my phone to see the time. Presumably, it was nine in the morning, and yet it was barely dawn. I steeled myself, and looked out of the window to see if there was anything close to the house, anything I should worry about. My eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness outside, and when they did, I saw nothing. Just the snow, the trees, and the shed. 

I looked back at the fireplace, at the last bit of firewood burning away, and sighed. I would have to go out. If I was quick, maybe whatever was out there wouldn’t catch me. I told myself that while I pulled my heavier clothes on, though I wasn’t sure I completely believed it. 

Before long, I was at the door, staring at the locks. My mind was struggling to convince me that it would be okay, that I could move fast enough to evade any attacker. I was frozen in place for a while before I finally unlocked the door and opened.

The cold outside was almost painful as I trekked across the yard towards the shed. It was only 10 feet away, but it felt like I walked a mile. The wind tore at my jacket. When I finally reached the shed, it nearly took the door off the hinges. I didn’t remember the wind being this rough when I opened the door…how long had I waited to open it?

I didn’t have time to stand there and think it through. I grabbed an armful of wood, forced the door to the shed closed, and started back towards the cabin. But something stopped me in my tracks. It was quiet, so quiet I almost didn’t hear it. But I did hear it.

A low whistle. I felt my hair stand up on the back of my neck, and despite all the warning signs in my head screaming, I turned to look in the direction of the whistle. There, at the edge of the property, I saw its glowing eyes for the first time. I was too far away to see what was attached to those eyes at the time, but I didn’t need to see it to know I was in danger. 

The logs nearly fell from my arms as I ran back to the cabin. I swore I heard the sound of heavy footsteps following me, but when I got through the cabin door and looked out, there was nothing. Just those same, glowing eyes, watching me from the woodline. I slammed the cabin door and locked it. I even went as far as to push the recliner in front of it.

I didn’t sleep well that night.

Christmas Day was less than exciting. Other than my constant paranoia, I was lonely, and I was starting to wish I had left when that old man told me too. On the brightside, I’d managed to find a good spot to connect my laptop to the wifi, and watched a few cheesy Christmas movies while eating my rather sad Christmas dinner. 

I’d written more of my book since the incident. For some reason, the fear lit up inspiration inside of me like fireworks. I was halfway done with the book by now, and if I made it to March, I was certain I’d be finished with it. I just needed to survive until this horrible vacation was over.

As the weeks went by, I found a somewhat normal schedule to getting firewood without getting caught. I learned to pay attention to the weather outside. If the wind started to pick up, or a storm rolled in, it meant the creature was there. Don’t ask me how I knew but…somehow, I knew that whatever it was had some control over the weather. I learned to ignore the weather, the whistles, the howls, and even the power outages that the storms sometimes caused. As long as I didn’t go outside, I knew I was safe. 

It wasn’t until mid January that I broke my rule for real. I was busy writing, having gotten to the final chapters of my book. As I finished one of the chapters, I heard a blood-curdling scream from outside. It was one, short burst of a scream, and I tried to ignore it, at first. I hoped it would go away.

But it didn’t. There was another, longer scream, and for some reason, I got up from the kitchen table and moved to look out of the window. 

Nothing. Just blank, snowy, white emptiness. I searched the treeline with my eyes, looking for something, someone, but there was nothing. 

I hadn’t yet noticed that it had gone completely silent, at least, not until there was a loud thump on the roof. The sound was so sudden it made me jump, and I instinctively backed away from the window. There was a series of stomps as whatever was on the roof walked across it. Its steps stopped directly above the kitchen window, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

It was so silent in the cabin, bar the soft crackling of the fire, that I could hear it growling. It was so soft of growling that I didn’t register it at first, but it was definitely there. I was just considering my options, when I heard a familiar voice speak.

“Don’t go out at night,” It said in the old man's voice. But it wasn’t the old man's voice, not really. There was something more sinister about it that gave me goosebumps. I found myself sinking to the floor and crawling under the table. I wasn’t sure if it was a smart place to hide, but it was the best I could do. 

“Don’t go outsiiiiiiide,” It sang, and I saw it for the first time. Its spindly, bony fingers traced along the glass of the window, its skin drawn so tight against the bones it looked like its muscle had been drained out. Like a corpse.

Its face came into view, and I so badly wanted to run. To take off to my bedroom, and to hide under the bed like a child. But I was frozen in place, staring at the not so human face that was now making eye contact with me. Its skin was ashen gray, and its eyes were wide and black. They were full of animalistic hunger, but human enough to be more terrifying. As its face continued to come into view, I could see its nose and mouth, or, lack thereof. Its nose was gone, leaving only two holes where it used to be, and its lips were gone, like it had been chewed off. Thinking about it now, the word ‘wendigo’ comes to mind.

It smiled at me, showing off a row of sharp, yellow teeth, and when it opened its mouth, the old man's voice had morphed into something far worse.

“Come…out…siiiiiiide,” It said without moving its lips, and I finally unfroze. My body moved on instinct, without thought, and I took off to the bedroom. I slammed the door behind me and pushed the bed in front of it before I was finally in control again. My breathing was ragged and heavy, and the sound of glass breaking in the other room made me gasp.

I’m writing this on my phone now. I can hear it in the living room and kitchen, breaking things and talking in that…voice. I’m so scared. I don’t want to die. I want to go home, I want to finish my book. I want to tell Sarah I’m in love with her. 

I hope someone finds this. I hope someone can get in touch with her…

[not-the-usual-suspects]

Thrown Through the Rift

He hadn’t been entirely sure how it had happened, but as he pushed himself up off of the pavement he could feel the blood drip down his face. He’d been injured, but at least he was still alive. In one piece.

One glance up towards his father’s motorcycle, told him that he was the only one to feel that way. He let out a grunt as he struggled to push himself up off of the ground and onto his own two feet, but had to take a moment to catch his breath.

He wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline, or something else entirely, but something in his body told him that he wasn’t supposed to be here. Something was very wrong.

An inpatient growl to his right caused him to glance over and see an almost silver canine sitting there, tail wagging as the paws continued to pad against the concrete. It seemed friendly enough, but he’d seen enough junkyard dogs to know that it could very well be nothing more than a ruse.

Still, he cautiously raised a hand towards it, and the dog immediately snuggled against the new human contact.

The man laughed, now less concerned about the blood that covered the right left side of his face. It seemed like things would continue to go up if he had a companion like this by his side.

“Marley! Where are you?!”

The woman’s voice caused him to look up towards the source, and he didn’t even notice the dog had bounced back from him until it started to let out a low, rumbling bark. As if to alert whoever called for it where it was, and that it didn’t want to leave him.

No less than ten seconds later, the man had to catch his breath. The woman who had turned the corner had such an unusual beauty to her, that she had to have stepped out of one of his magazines.

===

Felicity stopped dead in her tracks. Her hound had managed to find not only a rift - which she’d only heard rumors of up until that point - but also the unfortunate survivor of the jump through it. His bike was trashed, and he was injured. Though... it didn’t seem like he noticed it at all. “Oh my god, are you okay?!” She moved quickly to kneel down next to him and examine his injuries.

The man laughed a little bit, and tried his best to reassure her. “Babe, relax. It’s just a small cut.”

He wasn’t sure if she’d heard him, but when she pushed some of his hair back to examine the “small cut” for herself he let out a small hiss of pain. She shook her head after a moment.

“If by, ‘small cut’, you actually mean ‘this might need a handful of stitches’, then yes. It is a small cut.”

He frowned at that, and cautiously brushed his hand by where he thought the cut was. The fact that his hand came away covered in his own blood didn’t help his nerves at all.

The dog let out another low bark, but this one was softer. And somehow more urgent than the ones he’d heard before. Felicity glanced quickly over her shoulder, then hooked both of her arms under one of his to help him up. “Follow me, and keep your mouth shut!” she said, her voice near a whisper. “I’m not about to get in trouble saving your ass!”

He was about to ask what she meant when she unceremoniously let him fall behind a crumbling piece of architecture, then whistled for her dog. It came bounding over, and she gave a very stern command. “Sit, Marley. Hush.”

So it was the dog that was named Marley. The man let out a small hum as she knelt next to him, carefully peering over the wall. Though when he turned to look, he didn’t like what he saw.

The light from the rift was almost piercing in the low light of the concrete jungle, but he could still make out his broken motorcycle along with the forms of several Sniper units. The largest one out of the group appeared to have saw blades attached to the shoulders, which he admittedly thought was cool, but the voice sent chills running along his spine.

“Madame is not going to like this...” The voice growled with a sinister, almost completely metallic tone to  it. “The more these damned rifts keep popping up, the less time I have to play with the prisoners.” The Sniper then turned and waved a hand to the others, who began to walk towards the edges of the rift. Though, he stopped next to the bike, his gaze seemingly right on them.

Had they been spotted?

A small scoff escaped him, and he summoned a metal blade to cut the bike down even further, until it was nothing more than useless scrap. The blade vanished, and he turned to head down one of the alleyways.

The other Snipers had managed to place some kind of signal blocker at each “corner” of the rift, and once they were turned on it slowly began to shimmer and waver. The man was more confused than ever as his only obvious way of getting back home disappeared as though it were a trick of the eyes.

The Snipers collected the blockers, examined the now darkened area to see if anything else was out of place, then turned and followed the first one down the alley.

Only when they were gone - and he couldn’t hear their footsteps anymore - did he have the confidence to speak. “Uh... d’you wanna explain what the hell just happened? Or--”

“Not out here.” Felicity stood up with a huff, and brushed her capris off before she hooked Marley up to the leash once more. “Too dangerous. Come with me, and I’ll explain once we’re not out in the open.”

Don’t really have a choice, do I? He let out a huff of his own as he stood, though he took a moment to ensure that he wasn’t going to fall over, then carefully took steps to follow her away from his mangled bike.

He was going to get some damn answers before the day was over.

[bxynjolf]

plotted starter ! // @aelathehvntress

His deceit had been penned from the very start. A scrolled sealed with false affluence had been delivered earlier to Jorrvaskr by an urgent courier. The contents spun quite the woeful tale indeed:

A Nord, hailing from Winterhold, had been blessed with Zenithar's humble heart. For, in Zenithar's steadfast labor, his family had built an everlasting wealth against the brutal winters of his deep, beloved Northern home. They labored not for riches or for glory, but for purpose: a far more virtuous goal than any other. Skyrim did not dawdle, she did not fumble, and by the Nine, she surely would not grow lax on their behalf. Despite the original claim, their centuries of honest labor had built them a considerable wealth. Though, whenever temptation plucked their doting senses, a token served to recall generations' of reverent diligence. The heirloom's beauty had dulled over the passage of time, yet oddly, its value had soared. Fashioned originally as a meager amulet, the iron chain hung strong while a delicate stone inlay was grooved from decades worth of thumbing. What made the piece near priceless was Zenithar's verse carved in stoic contrast to the gilded anvil, the markings made by one famous priest:

"Come to me, Zenithar, for without you, like a child, I might fiddle and fret when only through struggle and labor may I craft a work worthy of your name and the name of my patron."

All that had been told was technically true. Some sorry bugger was indeed hailing from the North, and he had unfortunately lost this near and dear trinket that had allegedly sworn in centuries of trade success---

But that man was not Brynjolf.

And, that man was most certainly not the fellow that slunk his way through the shadows of Whiterun, gait silent but steadfast.

The letter had done well to craft his clever façade. It presented him as Brynjar, that sorry sod seeking to avenge the gut-ripping theft. Fortunately, his evening arrival had been conveniently excused, as he'd quoted delays due to Skyrim's wicked weather in the missive earlier. In truth, he merely wished to avoid catching Whiterun's guards during broad day. Not that he supposed they'd still have his profile plastered over the stone in those wee prison cells considering….Ah, well. The odds were they'd forgotten that little transgression by now anyways.

His letter set a mighty framework. Now, he stood to embody it. Refined leather boots were coupled with a simple, but noble merchant's tunic. He'd foregone the Thieves' pride, no longer carrying any sign of his Guild's allegiance at all by first glance. Naw, instead roguish features were framed with a thick collar of hare fur. A wool cloak was pinned to his person, aiding in rebuffing that wretched, creeping chill of winter's eve. Traditional braids kept wild locks at bay during his travels, sans the few flyaways that occasionally beckoned a blink of annoyance. He'd not shaved either. He'd opted to neaten his unkempt facial hair instead. Simply put, Brynjolf was a merchant built of Nordic tradition and generational wealth; no rosy-cheeked milkdrinker sniveling over his stolen pride would be found here. The sheathed steel at his side would ensure that. So, fixing himself a grim expression, he wrapped smartly upon the Jorrvaskr's looming door without any further ado. He'd requested their aid, and with luck, they'd answer.

[emerald-notes]

Your Wish Is Granted

Fandom: Tale of the Nine Tailed

Characters: Lee Rang, Reader, Reader’s stalker.

(y/n = your name)

Requested by @skater-girl1997​

It was like a dream. I still have to look at the piece of newspaper, that I have put on my wall, to remind myself that the night was actually true.

I went to a nearby bar to get some drinks to help myself sleep. But it was a wrong idea, coming to the bar alone. I saw Alex.

Alex started following me on Instagram last month. He sent me a text saying that I looked pretty at a party. Naturally I replied with a ‘Thanks’. But since then, he kept texting me all the time even though I showed no interest in talking to him. After a while he started to show up everywhere I went. Finally, he asked me out and I told him that I wasn’t interested in him at all.

That should have been the end. But instead, Alex decided to stalk me. He would not approach me directly but will look at me from a distance. It was driving me insane.

He was there, at a corner, pretending to drink while glancing at me every now and then. I couldn’t let him know I was alone. I desperately looked around me to find someone to talk to.

And then, I saw him. A handsome man in all black. His hair was dark and so was his eyes. There was an unmistakable hint of charm about him. Most importantly he seemed to be alone.

Without thinking what to do next, I went to him straight and hugged him.

He struggled to push me away but I whispered in his ears, “There is a man following me. Please help!” Then I let go.

He glanced behind me and saw Alex looking at us. He gave a sly smile and nodded at me, “Do you want me to get rid of him?”

“I would love to get rid of him. He is been stalking me for the past few days. It’s creeping me out.”

“Your wish is granted.” He said.

I didn’t understand what he meant. But he ordered two drinks for us and gave one to me. “If you want me to pretend to know you, we have to talk, right?”

“Yeah. My name’s y/n. What’s yours?”

“Lee Rang.” he replied rather dramatically.

There is something in the way he talks. It makes me curious and gives me chills at the same time. “How old are you?” I found myself asking.

“How old do you think I am?”

“I dunno. You look so young and ancient at the same time.”

He laughed, “Good thing that you said ancient!”

I was about to ask what that means when Alex came to interrupt us. “Who is he?” he asked with some authority.

“As if I have to answer that.” I muttered.

Lee Rang stood up and went closer to Alex. He said something like, “Aren’t you supposed to be somewhere?” Then suddenly Alex left without saying a word.

“What was that about?” I asked.

Lee Rang again came back to his seat. He looked at me and said “Finish your drink. We’ll go for a walk.” I felt suffocated inside the bar. So I accepted his offer.

We were walking while the chilly air of the night surrounded us. I had a sudden urge to hold his hand. “Are we still pretending to be together?” I asked.

“Will it hurt if we do?” he raised his eyebrows and smiled at me.

I felt something silly going on inside me whenever I see that smile of his. I grabbed one of his hands. He let his fingers slipped between mine’s. We were walking hand in hand just like a couple. The moment felt so magical.

At a little distance I could hear sirens and a lot of people gathering over a tree. I could tell by the look of it that some accident might have happened.

I said, “Let’s go and check.” and let go of his hand and ran to the spot. Pushing my way forward I saw a car was hit at the tree. There was a boy inside who stayed motionless. As I looked closer, I saw that it was Alex.

I quickly looked around searching for Lee Rang. But he was nowhere to be seen.