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ilovemygaydad · 5 years

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title: a-haunting we will (absolutely fucking not) go

pairings: lamp and background demus/receit/dukeceit

summary: virgil got a job at a haunted house, and he invites his boyfriends to come check it out.

warnings: sympathetic remus and deceit, sass, a bit of swearing, pretty much panic attacks, haunted houses, hospitals are mentioned two or three times but it’s just the theme of the other part of the house, screaming, caps at the very end for a sentence, being an asshole, arguing, insults, making out is mentioned, a few kisses, contortionism, mention of blood/gore, creepy dolls, like three mild sex jokes, crying, and possibly something else

a/n: i swear this is fluff okay,,,,,,,,, anyway this is from @hiddendreamer67‘s october prompt list, which i will..... hopefully be following for the rest of the month. today’s word is “fear.” well, the first word is fear, and i’m going in order so sh

a/n 2: all fics for this list will be under the tag “#october 2019 fics”

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“I know Virge said it wasn’t that scary, but…” Patton trailed off, wringing his hands in anxiety as the three teenagers stared up at the looming figure of Gloomy Valley Haunted Hause. “I dunno, guys… This seems pretty spooky.”

With a grand flourish, Roman swept his boyfriend’s hands into his own. “Patton, darling, there’s nothing to fear so long as I, the dashing Roman Knight, am here to protect you!”

“Roman--” Logan tried to scold, but he was immediately cut off again by Roman.

“Hush, stardust! We must forge ahead towards victory!” Then, softer, he said, “And Virgil really wanted us to come visit. He says he’s got a pretty sweet costume.”

The argument--if it could even be called such--was won over as soon as Logan gave a fond eye roll. The three boyfriends made their way into the front lobby and were immediately met with the sight of Roman’s twin brother making out with his significant other.

“Ew, Remus, god, you can’t even keep it in your pants for your job?!” Roman screeched and covered his eyes.

There was a soft chuckle and some shuffling as Remus presumably slid off of DC’s lap to fix his scary makeup. “I’m on break, idiot. Plus, none of the managers ever come out to check if Dee’s actually doing the front desk job, so we can do literally whatever we want.”

Roman made a face but uncovered his eyes when he felt Logan’s hand on his shoulder. DC hadn’t even bothered to clean up the black lipstick that had been smudged around their face, but they’d moved to their perch behind the desk. They smiled innocently at Roman and said, “Welcome to Gloomy Valley Haunted House--the best haunted house in all of Blooming Valley. We offer discounts to threesomes; would you like that?”

Patton made a harsh choking sound, and Logan went bright red, but Roman simply glared daggers at his brother’s partner. “Oh, you’re very funny, DC. Have you thought of taking up being a comedian, or are you just going to live your life as a joke?”

“Are you going to become a bird? Your eyeliner is big enough for you to fly away!”

“Take it back, you son of a bi--”

“Oh my god,” Logan cut in with an exasperated sigh. “Will you two children please shut the hell up?”

DC scowled but turned back to the desk computer. “Would you like tickets for Haunted Hospital or Alice in Frightland?”

“Um, whichever one Virgil does,” Roman answered.

“Do I look like your boyfriend’s keeper?” DC snarked with an aggressive eye roll.

“Ugh, fine. Remus, do you know?”

Remus snapped his compact closed and nodded. His makeup, now in its full glory, made him look like a possessed doll. “Yeah. He’s on the Alice side with me.”

“That one, then.”

“Three tickets for the Alice in Frightland tour,” DC said in their fakest customer service voice. “The tour starts in a half-hour. Your total is thirty dollars.”

Logan quirked an eyebrow. “It says that the tickets are only five dollars per person.”

“Yeah, and I charge a one-hundred percent idiot fee. Fork it over, Camazotz.”

“That wasn’t even a clever insult,” Logan muttered as he handed over three fives and a handful of change.

After they received their tickets, the trio sat down on the loveseat pushed into the corner of the room. Logan and Roman sat next to each other, and Patton huddled into Logan’s lap. It didn’t mind Roman that Logan was picked over him because he knew that Patton was looking to distract himself from his worry by making out, and Roman still hadn’t figured out if he even liked making out. Plus, he was completely content to curl into Logan’s side and occasionally receive a peck from either one of his boyfriends.

They were eventually called into one of the starting rooms and got a briefing on what would generally be inside. Roman appreciated that. He’d know what to look out for in case he needed to get ahold of Patton before he got too spooked.

It was pretty mild for quite a few rooms if Roman was being honest. Patton had only really been scared once, and that was because the “White Rabbit” was rather gory and creepy looking. All in all, it wasn’t that bad.

The room that Remus worked in was about five or six rooms in, and it was… something. There were four human-sized dolls around the room, generally sitting in piles of toys or at a little tea table. All of them were completely still except for their eyes, which followed the group around wherever they went. Needless to say, it was unnerving as fuck.

They picked their way through the room slowly, carefully avoiding any misplaced toys that could be a tripping hazard; although, Logan seemed to be the only one truly worried about that. Patton was clinging on to Roman’s shirt for dear life as he glared at the actors. Roman might have found that endearing if he, too, wasn’t scared out of his mind. The room was honest to god terrifying, and Roman had already decided that he wasn’t returning to the haunted house based on the past thirty seconds alone.

But they were so close to the door--it was just a few tantalizing steps away! They were almost there, and then they would be free of this pediophobic nightmare forever.

Roman was just about to reassure his lovely, darling boyfriend that they would be okay when an actor dropped down from a hidden compartment in the ceiling and dangled right in front of them by a rope tied around their foot. The three teenagers screamed and scrabbled to grip each other in terror. The actor’s face looked extremely cracked and broken, and the leg that they weren’t being suspended from dangled lifelessly backward. Black, soulless eyes stared at them.

“Stay here and play with us,” it suddenly cooed, reaching out to grab them.

That kicked them into high gear, and they sprinted through the rest of the haunted house like madmen. They didn’t stop until they were back in the lobby, where they fell in a heap on the floor. Roman was crying, and so was Patton, and Logan seemed to have gone completely nonverbal. A family in the corner of the lobby eyed them suspiciously, but none of them cared. They were terrified. Rightfully so, Roman might add.

After a few minutes, they had all calmed down enough to move to some chairs to wait for Virgil. They were all a bit disappointed that they’d missed him in the haunted house, but the sadness was far outweighed by happiness to be out of there.

“Hey, guys!” Virgil called from behind them, and they turned to find the actor who had scared them. They stared in awe/horror for a few moments before Virgil said, “Guys?”

“Dude, what the fuck,” Roman finally exhaled.

“What? I work at a haunted house, and I’m a gymnast. What did you expect?”

It took a few tries, but Logan managed to sputter out, “You said that this h-haunted house w-was q-q-quote-unquote ‘lame.’”

“Yeah, and it is.” Virgil rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “I mean, our side is way better than the hospital--that one fucking sucks--but… it’s nothing special.”

“That is such bullshit,” Patton muttered. “I’m never taking your word for what is or isn’t scary ever again.”

“Aw, Patty, baby. Won’t you give me a kiss?” Virgil teased as he twisted himself into a bridge and scuttled towards his boyfriends.

DC’s shouts of “Will you four please get the fuck out” were barely heard over Roman screaming, “BEGONE, FOUL DEMON!”

#sanders sides fic #lamp #ts deceit #ts remus #sympathetic deceit #m writes things #m writes lamp #m writes demus #demus #dukeceit #receit #still don't know if we've decided on one name or not so who gives a fuck i guess lmao #roman sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #october 2019 fics

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carcosuh · 4 years

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❀ *ﾟ lucy hale. female. she/her. ⇝ hey, isn’t that carcosa lusk? i think that the twenty-five year old from breaux bridge, louisiana works as a bartender, but outside of that they spend a lot of time at henderson. i hear they are self-critical + blunt, but they are also known to be independent + adaptable. consider giving them a visit at their home in desert oasis apartments and get to know why they’re called the phoenix.

hey, sugar plums !! you can call me ari and i’m very excited to be here ! i can’t wait to read about all of your wonderful muses, as well as introduce you to my three precious hot messes. if you’re interested in plotting with carcosa, please feel free to hit that heart button or slide into my dms at any time !

just a quick heads up: carcosa’s intro is probably gonna be the longest because her backstory is the only one i’ve ever fully written out in great detail, so apologies in advance for the length !!

stats

full name: carcosa odette lusk

nicknames: cars, cosa

height: 5′0

occupation: bartender

relationship status: taken ( in a relationship with CYREK PALLAS-DEXICOS )

date of birth: december 29th

zodiac: capricorn

mbti: infj

ennegram: type one ( the reformer )

alignment: lawful neutral

temperament: melancholic

positive traits: independent, wise, rational, focused, adaptable

negative traits: self-critical, anxious, blunt, stubborn, misguided

biography

tw for brief mentions of domestic abuse

carcosa was born to norma and marty lusk, a dysfunctional couple that knew more about ripping out each other’s throats than raising a kid. most said norma came out of the womb untamed and vicious; a love for drugs and a terrible temper some of her most memorable traits. marty was just as unpredictable and angry, a devoted member of a feared mc who always seemed to have more redeemable qualities than his wife. they had her young; only keeping her because “abortions were too damn expensive,” as norma would kindly put it. her parents had always been attracted to the outlaw lifestyle, never cut out for the role of law-abiding citizens. breaking the law was more fun than following it, and while marty at least gave some sort of half-assed attempt at cleaning his act up when their little bundle of joy came along, norma didn’t bother. poppin’ the kid out meant going back to business as usual, as far as she was concerned.

by the time carcosa was three, slamming doors and screeching tires were a routine in her home, as well as the occasional visit from law enforcement whenever her parents’ spats pissed off the neighbors. she grew up used to one parent or the other taking off for days at a time after their nastier bouts, always telling herself that they’d come back eventually. though she quickly found herself thankful for the days when it was her mother that had stormed off, realizing how much easier things were when she and her father were left to their own devices. she’d always ask her father why he and norma were still together if all they did was fight, her question always met with a chuckle and something about lawyers costing more than they were worth.

once carcosa hit five, temper tantrums became a common thing whenever it was her father’s turn to leave. she’d wail and sob, begging marty to stay, or at the very least, take her with him. norma despised this, hurt and furious that her own daughter would favor and cling to him. when carcosa spat her first “i hate you” at the age of thirteen, the insult was met with an empty beer bottle to the head, leaving her with a scar just above her right temple. a painful and bitter reminder to never speak those word again. marty took the child for a few days after flying into a rage, promising norma that he’d kill her if she ever touched his kid again. after that, marty did his best to keep carcosa close to him. he took her along wherever and whenever he could, giving her little glimpses into his life with the club. the young teen was fascinated by the rough and tough lifestyle, finding some sort of comfort amongst the leather and rumble of harleys. it was better than being home, and the days when marty left her behind always caused a riff in their relationship, carcosa left to wrestle with the idea that even still, there were times where her father would pick the boys over her.

at sixteen, carcosa did everything in her power to ensure the fact that she’d be home as little as possible. if she wasn’t out and about or working, then she was with her father or burying her nose between the pages of a book. crime novels and mysteries were her only method of escape when she couldn’t leave the four walls of the lusk home, giving her some sort of solace from the constant battles. it was also at this age that carcosa began to find so much wrong with the life she’d once been so captivated by. she didn’t believe in that “white power” horseshit, didn’t have the same morals (or lack thereof) that some of the members seemed to carry. rolling with an mc was nothing like in her books or movies, but rather a slippery and dangerous slope. she still loved her father and the men he called his brothers, understood that in their line of work you did what you had to do. but by the time eighteen rolled around, carcosa had it sealed in her mind that she wanted better than the lives her parents lead – something that she could be proud of.

life took a turn for the worst at twenty-one. marty lusk had turned himself over to local law enforcement, confessing to several weapons charges, including the trafficking of firearms. carcosa shattered, knowing that the charges stacked against her father ( plus his prior convictions ) meant that it’d be quite some time before she could see him without a wall of glass separating them. she demanded to know why he’d do such a thing. why he’d just give himself up – why he’d leave her, though some small part of her already knew the reason. “i did it for the boys,” was his dignified answer. she was heartbroken and confused, wondering why he’d throw everything away for a god damn club. how could he protect them, but leave her in the dust? perhaps it was never meant that way, but the damage had already been done. just like that, her father had been ripped away from her, leaving her with a junkie for a mother and feeling as if once again, she was only second best when it came to the club.

it’s taken some time, but as of current day, carcosa’s mostly worked through her misplaced anger towards the mc. she forces down the twinge of bitterness, reminding herself that whether she likes it or not, they lost marty too. besides, who has time for resentment when you’re constantly chasing after and cleaning up the messes left behind by your addict of a mother? currently, carcosa works as a bartender in order to make ends meet. despite norma’s blatant disapproval ( and some of her own buried resentment ), she still finds the time to call and visit her father whenever the chance arises. she’d never have the heart to completely cut the old man off, their talks and his occasional words of wisdom sometimes being the only thing that keeps her sane. however, there are times when he asks his daughter for not so small favors pertaining to the club, his loyalty never faltering from behind bars. with reluctance, carcosa finds herself carrying out these deeds, if only to ensure her family stays in the mc’s good graces and marty remains protected while serving out his sentence. but each time she’s asked to get her hands dirty, carcosa runs the risk of ruining the better life she’s so desperately trying to build for herself.

bonus information

after marty’s incarceration, carcosa inherited his old beater of a pickup truck. she may or may not have to sit on something in order to see over the steering wheel, but it’s probably best not to mention it.

she LOVES mystery and true crime novels.

her favorite artist of all time is johnny cash.

she originally wanted to major in criminal justice or forensic sciences, but with her unstable home life and the majority of the financial responsibilities falling onto her shoulders after her father’s arrest, dreams of community college eventually faded into the background.

i’m dumb and forgot to mention it in her bio, but carcosa and her family moved to nevada when she was twelve. they left the swamps of louisiana and headed for the deserts of nevada so that her father’s mc could build a new charter, with marty’s help of course.

wanted connections

literally any and all connections are welcome for this sweet baby ?? i’ll probably update this later with a few loose ideas on some connections i’d love for her to have, but if something specific popped into your head while reading that MONSTER of a bio, please don’t hesitate to shoot me a message !

#primmintro

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mysteryshelf · 7 years

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BLOG TOUR - Big City Heat

Welcome to

THE PULP AND MYSTERY SHELF and the May Mid-Month of Mystery Week!

DISCLAIMER: This content has been provided to THE PULP AND MYSTERY SHELF by Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tours. No compensation was received. This information required by the Federal Trade Commission.

Big City Heat: A Brack Pelton Mystery

by David Burnsworth

on Tour April 24 – May 26, 2017

Synopsis:

Lowcountry bar owner and ex-Marine Brack Pelton heads to Atlanta in the wake of a panicked 3 AM phone call. A woman is missing and Brack’s friend Mutt is in danger. Brack’s old flame, investigative news correspondent Darcy Wells, now lives there and is set to marry another man. If Brack was honest with himself, and he usually wasn’t, he’d realize that the missing woman isn’t the reason for his visit. His Semper Fi buddy Mutt can handle himself just fine.

When Brack and Mutt team up to find the woman, the Atlanta underworld revolts, the two biggest players target them, and people start dying. Most people would size up the situation, call it impossible, and walk away. But most people are not Brack Pelton. Impossible situations are his specialty. He made it through Afghanistan and when the military commanders mistook suicidal tendencies for leadership qualities they promoted him. Can Brack succeed at finding the woman, protecting his friend, and winning the girl without destroying the Capital of the South? Not since Sherman’s march across Georgia has the city of Atlanta been in this much danger.

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery Published by: Henery Press Publication Date: April 25, 2017 Number of Pages: 212 ISBN: 9781635111996 Series: A Brack Pelton Mystery Book, 3 Purchase Links: Amazon 🔗 | Barnes & Noble 🔗 | Goodreads 🔗

Read an excerpt:

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me… Psalm 23:4

Atlanta, Georgia, Wednesday night, Mid-May

Brack Pelton waited in his Porsche by a no-parking zone in a very bad part of the city and watched someone he thought he knew well climb out of an old Eldorado convertible. The man entered a ramshackle building with a neon beer mug shining through its one dirty window.

Easing away from the red-marked bus stop, Brack found a better location down the block and pulled in. Before getting out of the Porsche, he woke Shelby, his tan mixed-breed dog slumbering in the backseat, and pulled a forty-five from the glovebox. He verified a round was chambered.

Shelby licked his lips and gave a quick bark as Brack slid the pistol down the back waistband of his cargo shorts.

Patting his dog on the head, Brack asked, “Ready?” A needless question. Another bark affirmed Shelby’s stand on things.

“When we get inside, your job is to find Mutt. Okay?” Shelby licked his face. Brack knew that as long as their target hadn’t escaped out some back door, Shelby would find him. Mutt was one of his favorite people. Brack’s too. That was why tracking him like this went against everything he believed in doing.

Mutt was the one who often rode shotgun with Brack as they’d right Charleston’s wrongs. Now Mutt was the one in the crosshairs. Thanks to an early morning phone call from Cassie, Mutt’s girlfriend, a life depended on answers his friend would give. The forty-five wouldn’t come out unless trouble came up.

The barroom’s rusty screen door screeched open. Shelby darted ahead, already focused on his objective. Brack entered a time warp. Uncanny how even the sour bar wash fragrance and cigarette smoke were the same. Through the old familiar haze, he imagined Mutt standing behind a peeling Formica counter pouring drinks to patrons who could barely afford their rent. Somehow, Mutt had managed to replicate his termite-infested watering hole three hundred miles west of where his original joint stood before some spoiled neighborhood brat burned it down.

“You lost?” A very large African-American man wearing a soiled wife-beater chalking a pool cue confronted the white newcomer.

Meeting his gaze, Brack said, “No. I’m looking for a loudmouth Marine named Mutt. If he’s here drinking, the rounds are on me. If he owns this place, I’m going to beat the life out of him.”

“Big talk coming from someone in yo’ shoes,” he said. Four other men flanked him, two on each side, all with arms folded across their meaty chests. Five soiled wife-beaters in a row. A worn-out AC unit clicked and sputtered, failing to condition the polluted air in the establishment.

Shelby seemed to take longer than usual to find Mutt. Only one thing could sidetrack him. But no women had ever been present in the original Mutt’s Bar in Charleston. They’d been afraid to enter the place.

Maybe Atlanta women were different. Casually Brack removed the half-smoked cigar he’d been saving in his pocket and lit it. The only faithful friend he had left at the moment was his own adrenaline. Brack was angry at Mutt and wouldn’t mind working it out of his system on these five gentlemen facing him.

Three more joined them. Okay, these eight gentlemen.

Brack felt more gather behind him. His wayward dog better have a real good excuse for not warning him.

Taking a drag on the stogie, he exhaled a cloud of smoke to add to the carcinogenic fog. “It’s going to be a bad day for some of you.”

Chuckles echoed around the room, undoubtedly at his expense.

Mutt pushed his way through the gathering mob. A few inches over six feet, he’d replaced his boxed Afro with a close trim since the last time Brack had seen him. His clothes were of a more recent vintage, another change, and to Brack’s untrained eye, quite stylish.

“Opie, you always got to do things the hard way, don’t ’cha?” Brack couldn’t decide if he wanted to punch him or shake his hand. The fact that his friend sported a bridge that replaced his missing front teeth also caught him off guard.

Shelby was not with Mutt. From behind, Brack heard the gruff words, “You want us to take this cracker out back, Mutt?”

Mutt knew as well as Brack did that they were greatly outnumbered. But Brack figured Mutt also knew that a few of his patrons would spend the next few weeks in the hospital if things went south.

Before either of them could say anything, a husky female voice came from somewhere in the crowd. “You got the prettiest dog.”

All the men turned in the direction of the voice. Through a break in the undershirt line, Brack observed a heavyset black woman in a way-too-tight purple body suit. Clearly she’d fallen in love with his dog. Her extra-long orange day-glo fingernails scratched behind his ears.

Sitting on his haunches with closed eyes, Shelby flapped his tongue and panted in what Brack recognized as pure bliss. Two other women wearing similar attire also gave Shelby their full attention. Brack was about to get pummeled by eight or more hulks itching to right the wrongs of their world, yet his dog had managed to pick up what looked like all the women in the establishment.

The spokesman for the wife-beater ensemble said, “We ain’t finished wit you, white boy.”

Brack turned back to him. Mutt got between them. “Easy, Charlie. He’s my brother.” The men looked at each other as if Mutt and Brack could possibly be related. Of course, they weren’t in the traditional sense.

“Summertime” by Billy Stewart began to play somewhere in the room. A real classic.

Circling Shelby, the women moved their ample hips to the beat. The dog, in plus-sized heaven, spun around, not sure which lady to kiss first.

A fourth woman Brack hadn’t noticed until now came from behind the bar to stand beside Mutt. Almost as tall as Brack, with dark brown skin, a buzzed haircut, and toned figure bordering on muscular. Her inked-up arms momentarily distracted Brack.

The man Mutt called Charlie said, “I don’t care who you think he is. He ain’t got the juice to come in here talking about beatin’ you up.”

Mutt turned to his old friend. “You said you was gonna beat me up?”

“Something like that.” Brack cocked his head. “I get a call begging me to drive here from Charleston. It’s Cassie. She’s scared half to death because some men threatened her, and she doesn’t know what you do when you leave her house late at night. Put yourself in her shoes.”

The woman bartender looked at him. “You must be Brack.” Mutt interrupted. “Opie, I’ma tell you like I tol’ Cassie. What I do is my bidness. She ain’t got no right to ask.”

Charlie moved in like he was about to throw a punch. Before Brack could react, the toned female bartender grabbed Charlie by the shirt collar and said, “You really don’t want to do that.”

Mutt said, “Easy there, Tara. We all friends here.” She didn’t let go. Charlie backed off. Brack dropped what was left of his cigar on the floor, crushed it with his foot, and turned back to Mutt. “You better tell me what’s going on, or I will beat the ever-living daylights out of you.”

***

Author Bio:

David Burnsworth became fascinated with the Deep South at a young age. After a degree in Mechanical Engineering from the University of Tennessee and fifteen years in the corporate world, he made the decision to write a novel. He is the author of both the Brack Pelton and the Blu Carraway Mystery Series. Having lived in Charleston on Sullivan’s Island for five years, the setting was a foregone conclusion. He and his wife call South Carolina home.

Catch Up With Our Author On: Website 🔗, Goodreads, Twitter 🔗, & Facebook 🔗!

Tour Participants:

Giveaway:

This is a rafflecopter giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tours for David Burnsworth and Henery Press. There will be 1 winner of one (1) $15 Amazon.com Gift Card and 5 winners of one (1) eBook copy of Big City Heat by David Burnsworth. The giveaway begins on April 22, 2017 and runs through May 29, 2017. This giveaway is for US residents only. Void where prohibited by law.

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BLOG TOUR – Big City Heat was originally published on the Wordpress version of The Pulp and Mystery Shelf

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