#and drew a fucking black goat for no reason that i had to go out of my way to accommodate

[skull-storm-daily]

7/26/2022 (mantis god deck) (bonus)

#inscryption #kaycee's mod #mantis god deck #skull storm daily #i had a LOT of issues recording the run and my laptop can barely take the strain with literally nothing else running #which is very much reflected in the recording. inscryption was SUFFERING while OBS was open #not to mention all the fuckin. misclicks and horrifyingly unoptimal movements i took #and drew a fucking black goat for no reason that i had to go out of my way to accommodate #but HELL yeah- soon enough i'll take the all challenges leaderboard by storm #and NOBODY can stop me #>:)

[smashing-teacups]

Missing J/C goodbye scene, 5x02

A/N: Hi y’all! Just scribbled down a quick goodbye scene between Jamie and Claire in 5x02, as I feel like we were missing that in this episode, hm? Their reunion is coming up in 5x03 and Sam has mentioned it’s one of his favorite scenes in the entire season, so I’m not touching that one! I’ll let the masters do their thing. But on the front end, here’s a wee thing I wrote this evening. All mistakes are my own; it’s quick and simple, didn’t even run it by a beta (or title it for that matter, haha)

____________

Jamie rose before dawn, early enough that the rustle of quilts and sag of the mattress didn’t fully wake me. I was still heavy-limbed and lethargic after spending the night entwined with him, unhurried and savoring, burning the feeling of one another into flesh and bone to take with us when we parted. Rolling into the warm depression his body had left behind, I breathed in the scent of him (of us) and drifted off again with a low hum of satisfaction. 

He was purposefully quiet as he moved about the room, dressing in the pale grey light of pre-dawn. It wasn’t until I heard the repetitive clink of the metal buckles along the length of his boots that I stirred in earnest, lifting my head with a snuffling breath. 

“You’re up early.” I squinted across the room at him in confusion, knowing full well that he didn’t plan to leave until after his men had filled their bellies with a warm breakfast.

“Aye,” Jamie agreed huskily, his morning voice an octave deeper than usual. “Thought I should see to my chores ‘fore I go.” He finished the row of buckles along his left boot and switched to the right while I stretched languidly, arching my back and toes into the cool sheets before coiling back into my ball of warmth. 

“You didn’t have to do that. I would have taken care of it.”

My husband glanced up at me with a throaty Scottish noise and a shrug. “Ye’ll already have to take up my slack while I’m gone. Dinna want to burden ye wi’ today’s work as well.” He finished the last of his buckles and crossed the room to me in a few strides, bending to capture my lips in a soft kiss. He smoothed a thumb over my cheekbone and down my chin, his eyes half-closed and trained on my mouth. “Go back to sleep, a nighean,” he murmured, and kissed me again.

Admittedly, I was tempted. It was still dark, the air beyond my cozy huddle of blankets discouragingly cold, and as we’d spent very little of the night actually sleeping, I was still plenty tired. Left to my own devices, I might have hunkered down and dozed blissfully until noon. The only thing preventing it was the recognition of how precious little time remained for us to be together before Jamie left for God-knows-how-long on Tryon’s bloody crusade. Savoring every moment afforded to us had been a hard-earned lesson, carved painstakingly into the shells of our hearts over the course of twenty long years.

Pushing the quilts back, I shook my head and swung my legs over the side of the bed, a prickle of gooseflesh rippling over my bare skin at the exposure to the stark morning air. “No,” I insisted, fumbling in the darkness to find the shift that had been hastily discarded on the floor the night before. “I’ll come with you.”

He waited for me to dress (I was quick about it, eager to bundle myself against the bitter chill), then wrapped an arm comfortably around my waist as we strolled out into the quiet, unfinished house. 

“Some tea first?” I asked softly as we walked by the kitchen. 

Jamie’s steps faltered for a moment as he considered it, but he shook his head. “Nah, I’ll bide for now. The animals’ll be restless for their breakfast, and I want to turn that new colt out for a bit ‘fore I go.”

I nodded, laying my head in the crook of his shoulder as we walked out onto the porch and down the path toward the barn. He was right, of course; heedless of our nocturnal activities and the ungodly hour of the morning, I could already hear the stamping of hooves and blowing snorts from the horses. Clarence began to bray excitedly when he heard us approaching, and that set off the chickens and the goats and the white sow. By the time Jamie lifted the bolt on the barn door, the whole bloody lot of them were in a cacophonous uproar.

The two of us exchanged knowing, exasperated smiles, then wordlessly set about our individual tasks: I filled grain and water buckets, Jamie climbed up in the loft to begin to heave down bales of hay. Once all of the animals were munching contentedly, I set to work milking the goats while my husband groomed the horses. With my cheek resting against a warm, bristly black belly, I listened to Jamie murmuring to one of the mares in Gaelic, smiling at the phrases I did know (“be good for the mistress, aye?” and “there’ll be apples in it for ye” and “bite her and I’ll tan yer bonny hide”) and closing my eyes to simply listen to the lilting cadence of his voice through the parts I didn't understand.

The comfort of it, the utter tranquility of the morning dawning golden and crisp and beautiful around us as we worked, was enough to fill my heart to the point of aching. After all our years of strife and suffering, sacrifice and separation, I finally had everything — we had everything — we’d ever wanted. We delighted in the simple pleasures of the farm, the land, the community, our family, each other. I had a booming medical practice where I finally felt useful, and Jamie had blossomed effortlessly into the role of laird that he had been born to fill. 

But of course, fate simply couldn’t bloody well let us alone. 

There was always another fucking war. Another battle, another conflict, another reason to tear Jamie from my arms and into the line of fire. It seemed these moments of tranquility would forever be fleeting for us. 

Perhaps that was the price we were meant to pay for challenging history, bending time itself to accommodate our love. 

Peace, after all, had never been part of the bargain Jamie and I had struck. 

So be it. I’d said it once before, and meant it: I would have him any way I could.

Setting the milk bucket aside, I went to Jamie in silence and wrapped my arms around him from behind, bowing my forehead into the valley between his shoulder blades. He paused at once with the brush at the horse’s withers, turning his head slightly toward me in silent inquiry. 

“Keep working,” I murmured against his back. 

I just need to hold you.

I didn’t need to say it for him to understand. He did as I bid him, and resumed his characteristic quick darting flicks as he brushed the horse. I closed my eyes, moving with him, memorizing the way his scarred skin stretched beneath my cheek, the way the powerful muscles of his shoulders rippled as he worked.

After a moment, he abandoned his task altogether, letting the brush drop softly into the hay at our feet as he turned to face me and wrap me in his arms. 

I need to hold ye too, Sassenach.

I didn’t cry, and neither did he. But we ached together in silence, swaying gently from side to side, my face tucked into his neck and his into my hair. 

In the distance, I could hear the stirrings from the other cottages; tenants waking to the new day and starting chores of their own. Within a few minutes, I knew we’d hear the telltale squealing of our grandson in the cottage just down the path. 

The world around us was waking. 

Which meant my time with Jamie was quickly running out.

We’d say goodbye here, alone. Later there would be people everywhere; we’d exchange nods, smiles, pleasantries, a quick and chaste kiss before an audience.

But here, I could say what I truly meant, and so could he.

“If you do find him,” I whispered against his skin, “make it quick, Jamie.” I pulled back just far enough to look him in the eye, and swallowed the lump in my throat. “For both your sakes.”

His eyes burned red for a moment, and he sniffled hard, dropping his forehead against mine. “Christ, don’t let it come to that,” he prayed, his voice barely a whisper.

“You told him to be hard to find,” I reminded him, squeezing his shoulders. “And the mountains are vast. You’ll make your excuses. Hm? Lead the wild goose chase as long as you can.” He nodded against me, and exhaled shakily. “But if…” I swallowed again. “If you do find him...”

“It’ll have to be me,” he agreed hoarsely. “I’ll no’ let him hang.”

“I know,” I whispered, and smoothed my hands over his stubbled cheeks. My husband stared down at me, earnest and terrified, and I drew him in with a soft, desperate sound, kissing him with everything in me. I stood on tiptoe and pulled him close, wishing I was big enough to wrap around him, make him feel protected, the way he did when I needed his comfort. The best I could offer was tenderness, understanding; shared affection and history with the man he was forced to hunt, defying every last one of his instincts. 

I loved Murtagh too. Jamie knew that. I don’t know if it helped him, but it was what I had to offer. 

When at last our kiss softened into grazing lips, I nuzzled the tip of my nose against his and murmured against him, “Ride slowly, Jamie. Wander. Take the long road around the mountain. Buy whatever time you can.” I drew back to look at him, to make sure he saw the honest permission in my eyes. “We’ll be alright here. I promise.”

“Aye,” he breathed, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. “Ye run a tight ship, a nighean. I dinna worry about the Ridge wi’ you at the helm.”

“Good,” I said, and gave him one more firm kiss on the lips. 

Jamie held fast though, tightening his grip on my waist. “I do worry about you, Claire. Ye get so deep into tendin’ yer patients that ye forget to tend yerself. Be mindful, aye? Dinna do anything reckless wi’ yer own safety while I’m no’ here to grouse at ye for it.”

I smiled, swaying my hips with his and humming faintly in amusement. “I promise to imagine your most disapproving face every time I get a bright idea, hm? We’ll see if it makes any more difference than when you’re here to give it in person.”

He fixed me with his best exasperated glare, and my smile softened. “I’ll be careful if you will, soldier,” I offered quietly, rubbing my palms over his shoulder caps. 

Jamie made a decidedly Scottish grunt; caution and self-preservation were not either of our strong suits. Still, he nodded as he leaned in to capture my lips one last time. 

“For your sake, then, my Sassenach,” he vowed, “I will.”

#Outlander fanfic #smashing-teacups #jamie x claire #missing scene #5x02

[tommyplum]

- transcription by maggie of @tommyplum

You see the idea I fucking hate the most, right, is that everything starts off perfect, yeah, and then it gets worse. That is demonstrably not fucking true. Some things are just born bad. Some people are born with no intention to do anything good on this earth, and they carry out their plan to deceive and cheat and rob and de-sanctify all that is holy just because that is the way that they were born. That's how they are. That's what they do, it is relentless. Relentlessly! Their creed runs thus: if I can, I will rob you. If I must I will kill you, if you let me I will fuck you, when I've fucked you I will leave you.

My father, Alfred Solomons Senior, was such a man with such a creed. He was a dispenser, a dispenser of semen to the gullible and the bewildered, a maker of bastards on a scale unseen since Genghis fucking Khan. A barbarian for whom every empty womb was Rome. He planted the seeds but he did not tend the gardens; he stayed only long enough to piss on the compost. And behead the roses to sell at Summerstown at the market there. With his stolen roses in his pockets he would leap the garden gate, leave them behind, only to send around marzipan, tobacco, and Portugal Water, which he did – he sold out of his suitcase, right, at sixpence a bottle.

At least, that is what I've been told. Yeah, so I'm fucking told, because all I ever saw of him was his fucking hat! It was hanging on the wall, on a nail, above the seat where my mother washed other people's laundry. That hat was a holy relic. Was size eight-and-a-half, made in Luton, where the hat-makers go insane on the fumes of their trade and leave little messages sewn under the hat-bands. The message in my father's hat was this:

THIS HAT, RIGHT, IS A KETTLE. IN WHICH TO BOIL UP YOUR WICKED DREAMS AND MAKE A SOUP OF YOUR SOUL.

It is the hat that actually I wear to this day. It still smells of Portugal Water and when I wear it the schemes and proposals come out of the darkness as if seeping out of the felt and the leather that is stained with his erotic sweat. My mother washed bedsheets. My father was a fucking hat. No kisses, no bedtime stories, just parcels of sheets to deliver to the hotels and the brothels of Camden Town for nothing more than black bread and a pinch from the priest who would then open up his robes when I passed and from that, I drew my dark and accurate conclusions on religion.

So, Alfie Solomons Junior grew untended and wild, a stem with a-hardly a root sticking up like a skinny cock out of the gutter so every nasty little Christian kid walking by their nasty little Christian school with their gropey old Christian masters could kick it down, and stomp on it, and shout, "It was you lot who killed Jesus, ahhh! So have that in your belly, and have that in your face, and see it as charity we're not nailing you up like you did our Lord." But every time I got stomped down I fucking stomped back up again, mate. I survived out of spite. And instead of learning how to fight, I learned how to put right the wrongs done unto me tenfold. A hundr—a thousandfold, yea, unto the fucking stars, right? By using the bit of my body that God had cleverly put inside a strong bone box so the kicks and the digs could not reach it.

The bit of me that is my brain. 

With the help of the alchemy of my Portugal Water hat, and the strong bone box, I processed the schemes and solutions the mad hatters of Luton and my father had put there; my brain a factory producing schemes and solutions, dodges and speculations, ways around, ways to undermine, a trickle at night and a flood in the day when I unlock my bakery and smell the aroma of secrets, and sin, and begin the process of accumulation. 

I am the chairman of Alfie Solomons’ Aerated Bread Company, of Bonny Street, Camden Town, to be precise. My two vice chairmen are Mister Threat and Mister Violence, and the former I prefer, but! But. The latter is necessary to support the former, because without  violence there is no threat, and without threat there is no accumulation. Without accumulation? Well there's just no fucking point, mate. 

As a baker, I occasionally sell bread. As a bookmaker, I occasionally let the fastest horse win. As a landlord, I occasionally have a roof fixed. But mostly I find it is quicker and it is easier to deal with the complainant, right, rather than deal with the complaint.

From all of this you are drawing your conclusions: Alfie Solomons, begat from a bad man, and – beguiled by a hat-band – became a bad man who inspires bad men to do bad things in bad ways to good people who have bad bad luck! But is good enough to at least admit he's a fucking bad, bad man! Hnnnnff.

…but. Consider this, right? In all my years, yeah, as a baker in Camden Town, I have overseen – I have organized, or otherwise been responsible for – the deaths, right, of thirty-five fucking men. All of whom, I'll have you know, attend my dreams each night in various disguises, in regular order, with no pattern or logic to it but with the consequence that I wake up each morning in sheets that have been – they have to be wrung out, from sweat, right, by my maid Edna. Who, it should be noted, I have never had an evil thought about in fifteen years because when she washes my sweat from the sheets she reminds me of my poor mother, now residing in Hell and washing the robes of Satan himself.

So. Thirty-five men, thirty-five times … I am a bad man. But here is where mathematics comes to my rescue. Logic rides in like an accountant on a penny-farthing just in time to wave proof of mitigation before moral bankruptcy is officially declared, yeah? Here it is, ahrummm, here is what logic puts forward in my defense:

In France, right, Passchendaele for example, take one day, one hour, one fucking second: I am standing, right, in the uncultivated mud, a stem with hardly a root; in my hands, I have an artillery shell. It is the size and weight of a newborn baby. A little bastard, made in Birmingham, sharp-nosed, the colour of the morning sky; and in that one second, one fucking second of one day, of one month, of four years, in that one second I feed that baby to the upturned mortar barrel arse-first. I turn, I put my fingers in my ears, and … BOOM. I send my baby into the morning sky, to do the only job it was ever, ever intended to do. Two seconds later, another boom, and there, in the mud, over there, lie thirty-six men.

Brown bread.

The thirty-six killed by the soldier, right, are just as dead, right, as the thirty-five killed by the baker. But the thirty-six, they do not attend my dreams and are not there in God's ledger counting the good against the bad. I was given a medal for the thirty-six. But I took a bullet from the Peaky Blinders for the thirty-five. So.

Therefore, my beloved congregation, I will leave you with this conclusion, right:

There is no good and there is no bad that is categorical in this world beyond the calculations of powerful men, right, who shift the definition according to their own selfish schemes of accumulation. The only things that are categorical are life and death, and for argument's sake we say life is good, and death is bad – purely, purely, for argument's sake. Which means … which means my father was fucking right, mate. You dispense your semen, you piss on the compost, you deadhead the fucking roses, leap the garden gate, take what you’ve stolen to market and you sell it at a reasonable price, leaving behind only your hat and the scent of your fucking wares, mate.

That is the creed of Alfie Solomons. A lame shepherd among nimble goats who nevertheless at the stable doors shall be counted and accumulated as lambs to my gentle slaughter. Because never forget this, right:

Alfie Solomons is always waiting.

#tom hardy #peaky blinders #alfie solomons #the gospel of alfie solomons #steven knight

[oneiroi]

First Hunt

I sat down on a fallen log and shrugged off my ruck, letting it thump heavily onto the forest floor. I was surprisingly calm, given the circumstances, as if my mind had flipped on autopilot. Without thinking, I produced a pack of cigarettes from my shirt pocket, brought one up to my lips, and lit it. After replacing the lighter and the rest of the pack I hunched over and drew deeply. I exhaled, resting my elbows on my knees, then withdrew the cig and watched it shake in my hands. Maybe I wasn't so calm after all.

The panic hit me again. All at once like a blow to the chest. I must've sat there and cried for hours. Not that soft, dignified weeping either. I mean the sort of sobbing that makes your entire body ache and soaks your face with tears and mucus. Real ugly crying.

You'd think someone in that state would be at their absolute limit. That if the situation got anymore dire they would simply keel over and die of shock. I guess I didn't. I heard a twig snap behind me, and fight-or-flight kicked in. In a moment I was on my feet with rifle in hand, now-forgotten tears still dripping from my chin. I whipped around and locked eyes with an owl, hardly three yards away from me. In my state of surprise and relief, all I could do was stammer out, “Uh, hey there.” Guess I spooked it, because it flew right back off the way it had come.

I shook my head and tried to take stock of the situation. I was miles into the forest, and I did not know the way out. I had about a day's worth of water, but the only food was back at camp. I had my cell phone, but no battery. I had my rifle and six loaded magazines, most of which were stuffed into my ruck along with a change of clothes.

I weighed my options and found that I really only had one: find my way back to camp. Then what? See how long I could last on canned beans and granola bars and wait for someone to wander down the trail to save me? Unlikely in these parts; I had been sent out here for a reason, after all. At that moment I fully believed that I was going to die in those woods. Nevertheless, I decided there was no sense in waiting around where I was, so I lit another cigarette and began walking in what I guessed was the direction I'd come from that morning. I had snapped branches and left boot-prints and depressions where I'd stumbled and fallen in the mud on my mad run away from camp, so it was not difficult to retrace my steps. Time-consuming given the distance adrenaline had carried me, but not difficult.

As soon as I caught a glimpse of my green tent a chill ran down my spine. Rifle shouldered, I crept up to camp as quietly as I could and looked around. Everything seemed to be as I'd left it. My tent stood upright with a single large gash down one of the sides where I'd cut it open to make my escape. Ash, dead coals, cookware, and firewood were scattered all over the camp. Ben's orange tent was torn to shreds, the canvas in tatters and the poles snapped everywhere and in every-which-way. And it was empty, which came as a surprise.

I had been expecting a body, or at least some blood, but there was no trace of Ben anywhere. The destroyed tent and sleeping bag were the only evidence that I hadn't come out here alone. Even his gun, ruck, and boots were gone. I let out an awkward, choked laugh and fell to my knees, relieved that my friend might still be alive out there, somewhere. 

But where the hell had he gone? The only obvious tracks I could find were my own blunders from the previous night, and if he'd gone to find me he certainly would've succeeded. He was the one that actually knew what he was doing out here, and even I'd managed to follow those tracks.

I searched for a lead until sunset, careful not to stray too far from camp, and came up with nothing. I certainly didn't want to be wandering through the woods in the dark again, so I prepared to hunker down for the night. I dug a few fuel tabs and a can of beans out of the ammo can we'd been storing our odds and ends in and started a small fire. My stomach was tied up by nerves, but I forced myself to eat a bit before I crawled into my sleeping bag.

It was very difficult to fall asleep, what with the circumstances and the hole in my tent, but I managed it eventually. I dreamt that I was wandering through the forest, naked. There was a deep warmth in my gut and a sort of mindless euphoria. The trees were singing to me in soft, soothing tones, and the branches bent before me to clear a path deeper into the wood. Eventually I came to a giant tree, carved into the likeness of a man. Great branches sprouted from his head, formed into magnificent curved horns. The roots at the base of the tree were in the shape of a rough throne, upon which sat a tall beast. Broadly human in shape, but with the head of a goat and long, predatory claws for fingers.

The beast opened its eyes when I approached and stared at me, still as stone, without so much as a twitch of the nose. I knelt before it and found myself speaking, "Ave imperator, morituri te salutant." The beast's clawed hand came to rest atop my head, and with that everything went black. 

It felt as though I was falling and suddenly, as if from all directions at once, I heard a woman's voice, "You, my favored son, must not succumb to the Beast's call. Have no fear on this night, for I am watching over you."

I was awoken by the call of an owl. It jolted me upright in my sleeping bag, immediately alert, and within moments I was outside of the tent with my rifle at the ready. The owl sat on a branch at eye level on the other side of camp. It took flight the moment I looked at it, wings beating silently in the night. I thought for a moment about how bad of an idea it was to begin looking for Ben before first light, but I lit a cigarette and began walking anyways.

I walked to the owl's perch, and continued straight from there, my path lit only by the light mounted on my rifle. I had no idea where I was going or what I was looking for, but something was urging me forward. After an hour of walking, I heard the baying of wolves break out close by.

I rushed towards the sound to find Ben sitting motionless against a massive tree, which I immediately recognized as the one from my dream, where the great Emperor of Beasts had sat upon his throne of roots. It lacked the carving and the throne, of course, but it was unmistakable. Two wolves circled him, hunched down with ears lowered. As I stood and watched, they began to approach him, slowly but surely closing their circle. One of them finally darted in, and time seemed to slow to a crawl. I brought my rifle up to bear but hesitated for a moment. I very clearly remember thinking, "I'll hit Ben if I miss," to which I heard the woman's voice reply, "You won't." I pulled the trigger only once and the pouncing wolf crumpled into the mud as the rifle's thunderous report echoed through the woods. The flash blinded me for a moment, and when my eyes opened the other wolf was gone.

I rushed over to Ben to find his head and face caked in dried blood. I reached out and touched his shoulder, causing him to jolt awake. I had to hold hold him down as he thrashed and raved, shouting in a language I didn't recognize. We struggled for a few minutes before I heard something large running towards us. Something with hooves. A great deer crashed into the small clearing and darted through to the other side, quickly vanishing in the thick brush. The sight of it calmed Ben immediately. I had released him in fright at the animal's sudden appearance, but he simply lay there staring towards the sky.

His voice came in a breathy whisper before trailing off, "High on a stag the Goddess held her seat…"

I looked at him, breathing heavily, and asked, "Fucking what?"

He broke down sobbing, and we just sat there together for a while. Eventually he sat up, the tears slowed, and finally stopped. He wiped his face, smearing dirt through the dried blood. He staggered to his feet with a nervous chuckle and turned to face the tree. Casting a glance at me, he spoke, “Well, here we are.”

“So, what now?” My hand anxiously ran up and down my rifle’s handguard as I spoke.

Wordlessly, he stepped back away from the tree and motioned for me to do the same. We stood there and stared at the monstrous tree for a long while. We both knew what had to be done but there was something holding us back. I swear I could almost make out the tree singing to me, just as it had in the dream. I felt at peace, there before the Emperor’s tree, but there was something else gnawing at my mind. “You, my favored son, must not succumb to the beast’s call.”

I held my breath, raised my rifle, and fired all twenty nine rounds left in the magazine straight into the tree trunk. Something black and viscous oozed from each new wound on the tree. Ben and I watched in awe as the leaves withered and fell before our eyes like rotting snowflakes. 

After a few moments Ben turned towards me and spoke, "Hell of a first hunt, hey?"

"Yeah," I replied, "Let's get out of here."

The hike back out was uneventful. We walked through our campsite, but didn't bother to take anything with us aside from the ammo can. We marched dutifully and silently back to the more well-established trails, and finally reached the trailhead at midday. We climbed into Ben's truck, still without another word exchanged between us, and I fell asleep nearly immediately.

I dreamt of myself and Ben in a wondrous temple. I watched from afar as Ben knelt before a marble statue of a maiden clad in a green mantle. He stayed perfectly still save for his lips, which were mouthing a silent prayer. I watched him for a few moments before approaching another statue, this one a muscular woman holding a shield and spear. I threw my arms around her, buried my face in the nape of her neck, and wept softly. The marble grew soft and warm, and I felt strong arms embrace me as a hand ran gently through my hair. She made me feel safe, loved even. I never wanted to let go, but all things must end.

Ben woke me with a slap on the chest. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and looked around groggily. "Right, here's your place," he said.

He had clearly cleaned up his face somewhat, but his forehead was still smeared with blood and dirt. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Ben smiled warmly and said, "It's nothing. I'll call you in a few days, alright brother?"

"Yeah, I'll see you."

I went into my apartment and shrugged off my ruck, letting it thump heavily on the carpet. I felt safe back in my own home, but I was preoccupied. Lost in thought, I produced a pack of cigarettes from my shirt pocket, brought one to my lips, and lit it. I replaced the lighter and the rest of the pack, and that was that. My first hunt had been a success, and I would spend the next few days resting and waiting to be called again. Ben had warned me that the first hunt would be the hardest; I only hoped he was right.

[koltarmi]

things i noticed/liked/thought while i was watching anastasia live ver 2.0

This past summer, I got the chance to go see Anastasia again and was lucky enough to see it with a whole new cast! At that point, Zach Adkins had become the principal Dmitry, Molly Rushing was Anya, Ken Krugman was Vlad, Max Von Essen was Vlad, Lily was Vicki Lewis, and the Dowager was Janet Dickson. 

Details are below:

Act 1

Kelli Youngman did an extra twirl trailing behind the rest of the Romanov sisters

Dima sounds real pissed especially in the beginning of he song. He gave off a kind of old movie conman vibe with the attitude and accent in "A rumour"

Ken did some preening in "a rumour" when talking about hobnobbing with the Royals

Dmitry yells "WE'LL BE OUT.” in the attitude one would say, "BYE, WE OUT BITCHES”

My first crush ever was on the animated Dmitry solely because of that belt on "the biggest con in  history" gave me chills every damn time. I was so pleased that Derek exceeded my expectations and I was always worried no one else could compare, but damn was I wrong because Zach did as equally well on that.

Instead of raising a chair in defence, Dimitry hides behind the couch he was lounging on.

Zach's Dimitry doesn't have the biting sarcasm of Derek's version, which is great. Who would want to watch the same performance after all? It's softer and he drawls his witty remarks which still have the same amount of sting as Derek's Dmitry who's remarks are quick and blunt.

Ken's Vlad does this over the top bow when he introduces himself to Anya.

Molly's version of Anya and Zach's version of Dimitry reminded me more of the dynamic between the two in the movie.

MOLLY'S VOICE WHEN SHE SINGS "In My Dreams” 😍😍😍😍

When Vlad teaches Anya how to walk properly, she sticks her arms and out and sort of bounces along which Vlad then mocks doing the flappy arm thing from “Paris Holds the Key”

Ken's Vlad adds a lilting tone to the end of some sentences giving them a touch of humour.

Anya's breakdown in “Learn to Do It” is not teary. In fact, it's the complete opposite. She is absolutely pissed off.

Vlad does a tsking sound when Dimitry tries to argue with Anya while she's angry.

When Dmitry steps on Anya's foot while they're dancing, Vlad looks so exasperated and says, “Just... just...just...” cue loud sigh. 

When Anya kicks Dmitry's shin, a scolding voice.

The third time around he takes in a deep breath and counts in a higher pitched tone. 

Dmitry looks so offended when Vlad says Russian was for common folks like him. 

The Russian telephone that works line he chuckled for a long time before realizing oh fuck his boss didn't find that funny.

When Anya is brought in, MVE's Gleb doesn't use intimidation. He acts more like the good cop.

When he does realize who he's talking to. His demeanour changes and he stutters before dismissing the officers with a wave of his hand and a "eep" like noise (this is like the best I can describe it).

After he says it's the uniform and the office that make the bad impression, he proves it by plastering on a wide grin.

In the last refrain of “The Neva Flows”, Anya sings the refrain along with him playing the part of a loyal comrade who knows better now, except she stops when he sings, “The Tsar lies cold”.

The drunk guys aren't as excited when they tell that the Tsar is drinking his vodka in hell. Instead the sorta half mumble and sound tired.

Love the way James Peirce says, “Girrrrrrrrrlfriend” and how the group of them sway in a circle to look at Anya.

Molly chasing after those guys while screaming was adorable and hilarious.

In the beginning of “My Petersburg”, for the first few verses Zach sort of says-sings them, belts on the first “Petersburg” then goes in to full force singing into “I've bartered for a blanket/stolen for my bread”.

At the end of the first verse, he nods his head forward and tells Anya, “Come on.”

Zach growls the line “rough company” and holy shit i was shook.

Why did they cut Anya and Dimitry singing “You and I on the fly/just in time” I love it so much.

His response to Anya when she says that neither of them has a family is so earnest it hurts me. Derek's Dmitry says it hesitantly almost forgetting he's conned Anya into this, while Zach's Dimitry is softer and assures her that her family is waiting for her in Paris and I honestly don't which interpretation I like better because I love both of them.

The tone he uses when he tells Anya the object she's holding a music box is exactly the same when he tells her it's broken and that made the audience chuckle.

When Anya opens the music box, Dmitry throws his hands up, rolls his eyes in exasperation, and walks away when Anya opens up the music box on her first try. 'Of fucking course she got it open on her first try,’

When he asks her how she opened it, he sounds more curious than he does confused.

The seats we had this time were way closer to the projections on the wall and holy shit, they look even more magical up close that I wanted to touch them. 

My sister teared up by the end of “Once Upon a December” because the song made her so sad and nostalgic at the same time. 

Dmitry sounds so regretful when he tells Anya that they don't have enough to get out of Russia.

They drop a coin when Dmitry tries to give Anya back her money and for the rest of the scene and the next one, I kept worrying someone would slip on it. 

When she talks about how stubborn Dmitry is she says the part about him being almost as stubborn like her in a somewhat bragging tone.

Molly's singing when during the little reprise of “In My Dreams” about the diamond is just absolutely gorgeous.

Man, Constantine Germancos and the rest of the ensemble singing “Stay, I Pray You” gives me chills everytime. Hearing it live is just so much more gut wrenching than the album. For the first stay, I pray you, he holds the word “stay” a little.longer and DAMN.

Anya rolls her eyes and gets up to walk around the train when Vlad says he loved the diamond studded watch more than Lily.

Lyrica Woodruff and Kristen Smith-Davies made a really an exaggerated motion of scooting over when Zach had one foot on the bench that got a chuckle out of a few people.

Anya slides off the top of the bench she's sitting on when the train comes to a sudden stop.

When the jump off the train the scene turns black, but for some reason this time the lighting from the two offices (Gleb's and his superior officer's, which was on stage right) made it bright enough that you could see Molly, Zach, and Ken hurry offstage

MVE's “Still” 👌🔥✔👌✔👌👌🔥✔🔥🔥🔥👌

When Vlad says that Anya will break his heart, he laughs it off. But when Vlad tells her how he'll never see her if she's accepted as the real Anastasia, the realization of his friend's warning hits him like a ton of bricks.

TBH, a little disappointed Dmitry didn't bound offstage like a young goat, he just ran.

Molly's smile is absolutely radiant when she finishes “Journey to the Past”.

Act 2

Vlad's shaggy beard is gone when they change into their fancy Paris clothes.

Zach is a much better dancer than Derek. The boy's talent lies in his voice not his coordination while Zach seems to be a better balance between vocal power and dance. 

The look Anya and Dmitry shared as they circled each other was goddamn magnetic and when he offers a hand to dance and she gets twirled away by someone else the look on his face is so disappointed that it wrecked me. 

Molly's “Crossing a Bridge” is so full of hope it makes me emotional. Her voice singing that song is so pure???!! Like that's the only way I feel describes it correctly.

I don't remember if Christy did this, but when Vlad announces he's going to try find Lily, Anya reaches up to neaten Vlad's bowtie in a good luck gesture of sorts.

Vicki Lewis' Lily is not as comedic as Caroline O'Connor's. She has much more serious and drier humour, which perfectly compliments Ken's Vlad.

The best way I can describe it is Vicki's Lily is basically a Vodka Aunt ™

This Count Leopold is less slimy more pompous.

MBP's Dowager is full of grieving and sadness while Janet's Dickson's is tired and bitter. Also the way she drags the word “Cleaveland” with disgust was pretty funny. 

The way she sings “tell them/no more” she really puts emphasis on the “no more” which makes her sound so defeated. 

At the entrance of the Neva Club, Lily says this to the doorman after greeting her a good evening: “The only good thing it means there's one day less.” She then laughs and says she's being Russian and with a deadpan expression and tone she looks out to the audience and says, “I love life.”  which is such a big mood. 

When everyone is passed out at the Neva Club during “Land of Yesterday”, Vicki's Lily is dancing and drinking from an empty vodka bottle without hands before she wakes them all up by belting a high note.

When Lily and Vlad go outside to talk and she acts cold to him, she very purposefully drops her handkerchief and Vlad rushes to pick it up.

During “The Countess and the Common Man”  when Lily says she loved him, Vlad pauses for a few seconds looking for the right words to say before hesitantly replying, “You loved me,” which got a chuckle out of the audience.

The two really drew out the part where they're exhausted. Vlad was finding his pulse while Lily took a breath and stretched. 

Ken and Vicki really went at it. Like she straight up was feeling up his butt. 

The part where he belts “the Common Man”, Vicki wrapped herself around his leg which made them look like the cover of bodice-ripper harlequin novel. 

MVE's reprise of “Land of Yesterday” The man has a voice like velvet. 

When Dmitry rushes in to reassure Anya, he sounds so genuine and honest. It's clear he's head over heels in love with her and he's forgotten the whole thing is a con. 

After Dmitry sings his part in “In a Crowd of Thousands” Anya scoots a little closer to him when he sits back down at the bed. 

BOTH MOLLY AND ZACH'S VOICES IN THE SONG MY GOD, IT MADE THE AUDIENCE FELT LIKE THEY WERE INTRUDING ON A PRIVATE MOMENT.  

So when Anya sings that young Dmitry was “not too clean”, Derek used to act jokingly offended but Zach's Dmitry is just so enraptured by Anya telling her side of the story he's just smiling at her the whole time like wow pro tip get yourself a zach's version in Dmitry who looks so lovingly at Molly's Anya cause that's true love. 

That loving smile becomes a look of shock, confusion, and the slightest bit of hope when Anya goes, “And then he bowed.”

I LOVR THE WAY MOLLY SAYS, “You didn't have to. I remember.” It's not surprise or shock at the sudden memory. She says it like a fact. Water is wet, fire is hot, the sky is blue, and I remember the boy on the street who made me smile, it was you. It's been you all this time.

The rush towards each other, so utterly happy, but then Zach's Dimitry suddenly realizes what's he doing and freezes. He pulls away from Anya and that look on his voice is so similar to the look he had in PHTK when she gets spun away from him. 

So I timed this as soon as they walked offstage, Zach had about 55 seconds to change while Molly had about 70 seconds to change.

Quartet of the Ballet, man. The lyrics are the same, but sung by different people who have different interpretations of the same characters is whole new damn experience. 

Zach and Max's voices went really well together and I want a duet between them immediately. 

In “Everything to Win”, Zach sings beautifully and then says "wHY PANIC NOW??” and resumes his lovely singing which got a chuckle out of the audience. Boi looked like he was gonna lose his goddamn mind. 

When Anya comes out, he asks her in a hopeful voice, “What happened?” and her stoic facial expression turns into one of complete and utter betrayal and anger.

The confrontation between Maria and Dmitry is a totally different tone, because neither them holds back and basically yells in the other's face.

“I was hungry and desperate when I met you, but I wasn't dishonest. I hate you for that.” She says the last sentence so quietly you can almost miss it, but damn if that doesnt hurt I don't know what would because we've seen an annoyed, violent, and angry Anya. This quiet anger and betrayal is so much worse.

When they're back in the hotel and Anya is packing her things, she throws the doll Dmitry bought her and it falls to the ground. And when she's ripping  Vlad a new one, she rips the medallion looking thingy from his suit and throws it on the ground.

Again, Janet's Maria is again tired and bitter and it really shows in the scene between her and Anya.

When Maria and Anya hug, Dmitry is in the background, the doll she threw away in his hand.

Just like in “Land of Yesterday”, Vicki's Lily belts a high note to silence the press in “The Press Conference”

The confrontation between Anya and Gleb is just so intense. He tries playing the good cop card again, when it's clear she won't fall for it, he becomes more clear with his threats. 

I remember seeing video of Christy adding this move in The Neva Flows Reprise where she falls back into the chair and Molly does it as well, she backs up into the chair as if this conversation physically hurts her and pushes her back, defeated into the chair, head slumped.

When he demands one last time, who she is, we see the Anya we know and love return in full force. Her head and spine that was slumped straightens as she stares him down and walks toward right into his gun, proudly declaring that she is The Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevena Romanov.

And it seems her confidence and courage in her identity weakens Gleb's. His hand shakes as he points the gun at her chest. He tries to point it at her head, but that just weakens his resolve and he crumples into the ground, dropping his gun. (If I haven't made it clear, I fucking love MVE's interpretation of Gleb)

The whole conversation between the two after this is softer and filled with quiet understanding and regret. And they part as comrades both knowing the truth.

The way Zach's Dmitry says, "I don't want to be in love with someone I can't have," is so bitter like he believes that now that Anya is proven to be Anastasia he will never be worthy of her love, which he is 110% wrong.

Molly's Anya says the line about her first kiss with a prince like a fact. 

When they kiss, Dmitry is shocked like his wildest dreams has come true before he realizes this is real and just gently kisses her back.

#anastasia the musical #molly rushing #zach adkins #max von essen #ken krugman #vicki lewis #janet dickson #anastasia broadway

[colesterstrudel]

Drabble Masterlist

Okay so. These aren’t every single drabble I have floating around out here. But they’re all the ones from my recent soiree into drabbles. Will be updated as more drabbles are posted. 

Organized by superstar. Beneath the cut.

Adam Cole

This wasn’t meant to be a date, but we’ve had such a good time and now it’s 2 am and I should really go home...

Aleister Black

“Don’t shut me out.”

“Take. It. Off.”

I have you shoved against the wall but now I can’t stop looking at your mouth.

Baron Corbin

“I don’t need a hero, I need a husband.”

“Quit it or I’ll bite.”

“I need you to fake date me.”

“You’re hot, shame about the personality.”

“I made the mistake of thinking ‘this can’t get weirder.’ Sorry.”

Bayley/Sasha

“I didn’t say ‘sex party’ as in orgy, I said ‘hex party’ as in witches.” 

Bayley/Elias

We were dancing but all of a sudden it’s a slow song and we’re standing here awkwardly staring at each other.

Becky Lynch

You said you’re going to leave, but I don’t want you to go and if I don’t say something now...

Big E

“We bet and you lost, so you have to do it.”

Bo Dallas/Dean Ambrose

I just told you I liked you but now I’m shy and say, “never mind, forget it” and why are you looking at me like that?

Bray Wyatt

“I’m pregnant.”

“Looks like we’re gonna be stuck here for a while.”

“Don’t touch me. We’re fighting.”

You said you’re going to leave, but I don’t want you to go and if I don’t say something now...

Cesaro

“You’re so fucking hot when you’re mad.”

Corey Graves

“And when did you plan on telling me about this?”

“You said my name in your sleep.”

“Make me.”

Dash Wilder

“Get out of my face before I hit you.”

“Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”

“For the hundredth time, I’m not your babysitter.”

“Cuddle me.”

Dean Ambrose

“Stop it! It tickles!”

“You haven’t even touched your food. What’s going on?”

“I can’t stand seeing you like this.”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

“Are you jealous?”

We slept in the same bed for space reasons but now we’re just waking up and there’s something about your bleary eyes and mussed hair.

Congratulations! One of your dreams has finally come true! Let me give you a big hug and wow, you’re warm.

We were pretending to be lovers but I’m not pretending anymore and I have to know if you feel the same way.

Dean Ambrose/Nikki Bella/Reader

“You’re acting like this is your first threesome.”

Dean Ambrose/Sami Zayn

“You should see me in my old uniform. I’m pretty sure it still fits.”

Drew Gulak

“This is a totally inappropriate soundtrack.”

Fandango

“If I die you’ll be sorry!”

Elias

“I made the mistake of thinking ‘this can’t get weirder.’ Sorry.” 

I just told you I liked you but now I’m shy and say, “never mind, forget it” and why are you looking at me like that?

Erick Rowan

This wasn’t meant to be a date, but we’ve had such a good time and now it’s 2 am and I should really go home...

Finn Balor

“Is that...Is that my bra?”

“You should marry me.”

“Give me a reason not to turn around and walk away right now.” & “I don’t love you anymore.”

“Are you hitting on me?”

“Did you buy me...lingerie?”

“I love you. I just love her more.”

We slept in the same bed for space reasons but now we’re just waking up and there’s something about your bleary eyes and mussed hair.

Jeff Hardy

“Time changes people.”

Kevin Owens

“Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy.”

“Quit moving, I’m trying to sleep. Wait...are you...what?!”

“You’re hot, shame about the personality.”

I’ve got you shoved against the wall but now I can’t stop looking at your mouth.

Congratulations! One of your dreams has finally come true! Let me give you a big hug and wow, you’re warm.

You said you’re going to leave, but I don’t want you to go and if I don’t say something now...

Luke Harper

This wasn’t meant to be a date, but we’ve had such a good time and now it’s 2 am and I should really go home....

Maryse

“You might not like me, but you definitely want me.”

Neville

“Come over here and make me.”

“Sit in my lap.”

Pete Dunne

“Bite me.” “If you insist.” 

Roman Reigns

“The skirt is supposed to be this short.”

“I don’t do hugs.”

“You, me, popcorn, two liter Dr. Pepper and a movie. You in?”

“Quit it or I’ll bite.”

“He creeped me out. I’m not gonna lie.”

“D-Did you just make that noise?”

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Bite me.” “If you insist.”

Sami Zayn

“What if I told you I’ve been in love with you since I was eleven?”

“I need you to fake date me.”

“Do you want to kiss as bad as I do right now?”

“I made a mistake.”

“If you want me to get naked, you’ll have to convince me it’ll be worth my time.”

“I was scared and I ran.”

“You might not like me, but you definitely want me.”

We’re hiding from the authorities and it’s very close quarters in here, I can feel your body against mine.

Samoa Joe

“Did they hurt you?”

“And when did you plan on telling me about this?”

“I’ll kick his ass if you want me to.”

Wait, my hero’s secret identity is...you? To be honest, I’d always kind of hoped...

I just told you I liked you but now I’m shy and say, “never mind, forget it” and why are you looking at me like that?

Seth Rollins

“I don’t do hugs.”

“You got a cute butt.”

“Slushies aren’t just for kids, fuck society!”

“Can we just watch a movie and fall asleep on the couch?”

“Why do you only kiss me when I’m sleeping?”

“Just don’t buy a goat. I don’t care what you do, just no goats.”

“How long have you been standing there?”

“If I die I’m going to come back and haunt you.”

“If we get caught I’m blaming you.”

“Why are you walking around naked?”

“If I die, you’ll be sorry!”

“You love me as if I deserve you.”

“I want to hike up your skirt and take you right here.”

“I love you. I just love her more.”

We slept in the same bed for space reasons and now we’re just waking up and there’s something about your bleary eyes and mussed hair.

This wasn’t meant to be a date, but we’ve had such a good time and now it’s 2 am and I should really go home...

We were pretending to be lovers but I’m not pretending anymore and I need to know if you feel the same way.

Seth Rollins/Dean Ambrose

Oh my god, I thought you were going to die. Please don’t ever scare me like that again.

Shane McMahon

“You’re so fucking hot when you’re mad.”

“You said my name in your sleep.”

Sheamus

“You’re just leaving me here? At least have the decency to finish me off with a stick.”

Sonya Deville

“If a zombie bit you, I’d be heartbroken, but I’d also shoot you twice in the head.”

Stephanie McMahon/Mickie James

Oh my god, I thought you were going to die. Please don’t ever scare me like that again.

Triple H

“Really? Right now?”

“I’m pregnant.”

We slept in the same bed for space purposes and now we’re just waking up and there’s something about your bleary eyes and mussed hair.

Tyler Breeze

“I may be an idiot but I’m not stupid.”

Wade Barrett

“You know you want it, sweetheart.”

Xavier Woods

I have you shoved against the wall but now I can’t stop looking at your mouth.

We were pretending to be lovers but I’m not pretending anymore and I need to know if you feel the same way.

Halloween Drabbles

The new tenants of the house I’m haunting are being haunted by another ghost. War ensues. Dean Ambrose

I sliced my hand open trying to carve a pumpkin for my crush and s/he saw the whole thing and now has to drive me to the hospital. FML. Seth Rollins

Trick, or treat? Becky Lynch

My crush invited me to a haunted house and I agreed even though I’m a complete scaredy-cat. Bray Wyatt

I’m, like, 85% sure my neighbor/roommate is a supernatural creature, even though they shouldn’t technically exist. Finn Balor

I was invited to a costume party my crush is attending but wasn’t able to shop for a costume until the last minute and everything left is terrible. The problem: costumes are mandatory. Seth Rollins

Supposedly, Halloween is the one day the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead is the thinnest. I take advantage of this and try to summon the spirit of my grandma, but end up summoning someone - or something - else instead. Demon!Finn

I found an old storybook in my basement and, having nothing else to do on Halloween night, decide to read it. I somehow got sucked in and now I’m trapped and please help. Samoa Joe

I give my crush cupcakes for Halloween. S/he has an allergic reaction to one of the ingredients in them. Carmella

Only on Halloween are vampires able to enter one’s home without permission. Bo Dallas

#wwe imagine #masterlist #master list #wwe drabble #wwe fanfic

[cjwritesfanfiction]

Possession

Summary: Everyone knew by now that Alex was Thomas’s alone. Right?

Author’s note: This drabble is based off of @katzun ’s sinners au. Look at her art FIRST to understand the dynamic between Thomas and Alex. TW: MINOR VIOLENCE, MENTION OF BLOOD ——————————————————————— There were a couple of things that demons had in common that really annoyed Thomas.  Most of them looked down on humans,  with the exception of James and a few others.  Now, this didn’t really bother Thomas before.  But, that was before Alex came into his life.  Alex was a headstrong, courageous, and incredibly smart human whose wit rivaled Thomas’s own.  No matter how wonderful Alex seemed to be to Thomas, he couldn’t change how the other demons thought about humans.

In hell,  humans were possessions. It was a way to show rank,  power,  and status.  The beauty of a pet told demons you were of high status and should be respected as such.  Thomas had always made sure to have beautiful pets.  In fact,  it was Alex’s attractiveness that drew Thomas to the human.  The fact that bruises, cuts, and scratches made Alex look even more beautiful was a nice bonus. 

But,  the thing that separated Alex from Thomas’s pets in the past was that he hated being ordered around.  Every command Thomas gave the human was met with resistance, which infuriated Thomas to no end.  Usually, Thomas would force Alex to do what he wanted,  but today was different.  A major headache had prompted Thomas to let Alex have his way.

Earlier that day, James had informed Thomas that there was a problem at the gates that he needed to deal with personally.  Normally,  Thomas would have no problem leaving his domain, but now Alex was here. He couldn’t leave his human alone for that long, which was the reason for Thomas’s headache. 

Thomas wanted Alex to wear his collar.  Alex refused to wear it.  There isn’t any need to go into further detail about their two and a half hour arguement except for the outcomes.  Alex got his wish.  Thomas got a headache.  Still,  Thomas was sure to keep Alex right in front of him to convey one thing to the other demons: “he’s mine”.

The problem at the gates seemed to be a complicated one.  The demons who lived near the gate were the youngest and least powerful demons in hell.  With that being said,  they were also the most mischievous. Some of the upper level demons were complaining that the younger demons were stealing their property, but none of them had enough power to do anything about it.  While Thomas was talking with one of the victims of the alleged thefts,  Alex had wandered off because he was bored of hearing about problems that didn’t concern him.  After about twenty minutes, Thomas noticed that Alex was gone. 

“Where’s Alex? ” he asked James, who was thumbing his way through the reports. 

“I thought you were keeping an eye on him.”

“I thought he was with you.”

A feeling of panic and uneasiness settled in the pit of Thomas’s stomach.  Although Alex didn’t wear his collar,  Thomas’s mark was still present around Alex’s wrist notifying other demons that he was taken.  The mark of Satan would be enough for upper level demons to leave Alex alone.  However, lower level demons underestimated his power and would be quick to challenge his position. Anxiety quickly festered into rage and anger.  How dare someone even think about touching his Alex?!  Didn’t they know who he was?!  Thomas felt his skin burning and his hands caught fire.  James quickly looked away and stepped out of Thomas’s way.  There was only one thing on Thomas’s mind. He needed to find Alex.  ————————————————————————- Meanwhile, Alex was doing his best to keep some lower level,  demon freak off of him.  Unlike Thomas, this demon looked less human. Thomas was able to shift his body into whatever he needed depending on the situation.  But,  this demon was stuck in his true form.  Ugly horns curled out of his head, and his body was covered in patchy goat fur.  Alex had the suspicion that he used to be human.  The demon went in again trying to get Alex to kiss him.  Alex promptly kicked him in his sensitive area and screamed at him. 

“Stay the fuck off me, asshat! ” he yelled grabbing his wrist.  Everytime the other demons touched him, it burned his skin as if fire was touching it.  “Thomas might not be here, but I don’t need him to kick your ass! ”

The demon growled and grabbed Alex’s hair pulling the human towards him.  “Shut up, pet!  You will do what I say! ”

“I said, fuck off! ” That snide comment earned Alex a hard slap in the face.  A little trinkle of blood rolled down his cheek and dribbled down his chin.  A single drop of blood hit the floor before the small hut started on fire and started to burn down. Alex looked towards the door and only saw a sea of black.  In the center, there was a pair of pissed off,  yellow glowing eyes glaring towards Alex and the demon who had kidnapped him.  The demon opened his mouth to say something, but then he suddenly burst into flames. He screamed until he couldn’t anymore and fell to the ground with a thud.  He wasn’t dead,  but he felt all of the pain of being burned to death.  Alex was scared, and his ears rang from the screams of the demon laying on the ground. He looked back at those eyes and reconized the burning passion in them. 

“T-Thomas? ”

“Alexander. Come.  Here. ”

Alex swallowed and stood up stepping over the demon on the ground towards the dark mass.  When Alex finally reached it,  possessive arms wrapped around Alex and squeezed tightly, not letting go.  And Alex let them hold him until they got home.  By that time, Thomas had cooled down, but he still had his possessive streak.  He let go of Alex,  and Alex turned to face him.

“Thomas I-”

 A pair of lips crashed against his surprising Alex.  Alex quickly got over the initial shock, welcomed the kiss, and pushed back.  Mouths slipped open. Kisses quickly changed into a sloppy, open mouthed makeout session.  Alex and Thomas fought each other for dominance as Thomas shifted his body weight to pin Alex on the bed beneath him.  Because of Thomas’s leverage, he eventually earned dominance and Alex allowed him to trail kisses down his jawline and neck.  A cold metal collar was pushed shut around Alex’s neck unmistakingly marking him as Thomas’s.  Thomas growled in delight and left dark marks on Alex’s neck before saying one word that excite Alex and sent shivers down his spine. 

“Mine.”

#jamilton #alexander hamilton #thomas jefferson #james madison #tw: violence #sinners au #dat collar thing ;)

[sometimesrosy]

Whenever The End

rosymamacita

Summary:

It's the night before the conclave and the end of the world is nigh. Clarke and Bellamy needs to sleep and Clarke convinces him to share her bed. But waking up in his arms crosses the distance they've kept between them.

Notes:

again it took me all week to get this out. but i managed before the episode that will joss it. this does not count for my Alpha Male Bellarke fic celebration. I just needed to get it out before I started those. Who knows about typos, seriously. Hope it's not too rough.

If you have any prompts for Bellarke fics you’d like me to write in celebration for Bob’s win of Alpha Male, send me an ask. I’ll make an official announcement when I post my first one. Which is actually done, but needs an edit. 

Read on AO3

It had been a long night. Clarke sighed and stretched her back.

Bellamy saw her and bumped her with his shoulder. “You should get some rest. It’s going to be an even longer day tomorrow.”

She sighed even more heavily. “The conclave.”

He pressed his lips together in a tense line and they shared their feelings of dread. “They’ve got Octavia isolated with the other candidates because they’re afraid we’re going to plan some brilliant skaikru maneuver and cheat them out of their battle.”

Clarke snickered at his grin and then yawned. She covered her mouth. “Sorry.”

He shook his head. “No seriously. Get some sleep.”

She looked up at him. “What about you? You going to keep watch?”

He gave his own heavy sigh. “No, I’ll go bunk with the rest of our delinquents. Gotta keep them in order. They’re camping in that meeting hall downstairs.”

That wasn’t right. Clarke frowned and grunted.

“What?”

“Don’t camp out with the kids. You need to rest, not take care of everyone else.”

“Sure,” he half laughed.

She raised her chin. The stubborn goat. “Sorry. You need to rest. You’re coming with me.”

“You’re not the boss of me.” He cocked his eyebrow at her. “Where are you taking me?”

“I have a room. I have a big bed.”

“You want me to sleep in your room?” He didn’t mention the bed. “The same room as the last time you were here?”

“Different room. Smaller, but I still have a bed with room for two.” He drew his eyebrows down into a frown. “Roan wants to keep an eye on me. Uneasy alliances.”

“Away from everyone else? I don’t like that.”

Suddenly she knew how to get him to rest, away from all his responsibilities with Arkadia. “Hmm,” she hummed. “No guards, either. Just Azgeda.”

“Fuck Clarke. You can’t…” he combed his fingers through his hair, clearly distressed. “How many times are they going to keep you captive? I’m not letting you stay there alone.”

Clarke ducked her head so he wouldn’t see her grin. “Then come on. I’m so tired.”

“Me too,” he sighed, and he let her lead him up to her room. When she closed the door behind them, she felt nerves shoot through her to be alone with him in her room. She shouldn’t be nervous. He was her partner. He was Bellamy.

She looked over at him and he seemed just as tense as she was. He went to the window and looked out. She followed, stood next to him. “Tomorrow it will all be decided. And we just have to wait. And watch.” She could feel the anxiety coming off of him in waves.

“She’ll be okay, Bellamy.”

“You can’t know that.”

“I believe it. Come on. We need to get some rest.” She reached out and took his hand. His eyes shot up to meet hers. She saw him swallow. She gave a little tug on his hand as she stepped back. He didn’t move. “Sleep, Bellamy. We need sleep.”

He looked down and nodded, following her to her bed. She dropped his hand to take her jacket off. Then sat on the bed to unlace her boots and set them on the floor. He watched her. Unmoving.

Clarke smiled at him sadly. Then she lay down on her side, sliding her clothed legs beneath the covers.

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to sleep, Clarke.”

“Me either but we should try.”

He didn’t answer. He just took off his jacket and hung it next to hers, unbuckled his holster, setting it down carefully and sat on his side of the bed. She didn’t roll over to look, but heard the thump of his boots on the floor and then the bed tilt as he lay down next to her.

He let out a big sigh. “I’ll probably be tossing and turning all night.”

“Me too,” she half laughed. “Good night, Bellamy.”

“Good night, Clarke.”

She blew out the candle and closed her eyes.

***

Warm.

Safe.

She came to wakefulness not wanting to leave her dream. Happy.

Her eyes fluttered open.

Bellamy.

It wasn’t a dream. The dawn was just beginning to lighten the horizon. She slept with her head on his shoulder, fully pressed up against his side, his arm curled around her, holding her there. Their legs were tangled together. His shirt was rucked up and her hand lay on his bare stomach. She could feel him breathing. Calmly. Peacefully.

“Oh,” she breathed, not really willing to move. Instead she let herself enjoy it. This close she could see the spray of his freckles on his cheeks, and the fan of black lashes that rested there. The little scar above his lip that had always been there as long as she’d known him. She had to smile. She never got to see him this still. He was so warm and solid and he smelled like forest and a little bit musky. She liked it. She nestled a bit into his neck. That smelled even better.

His skin was so soft there. She didn’t expect it would be, but there was no reason for that. It was just that she knew his hands were calloused and rough. The contrast sent a shiver down her back. Her breathing sped up. She couldn’t help it. Very gently, she pressed her lips against neck. Almost involuntarily, her hand stroked his belly. She felt the coarse hairs there at his waistband. She should stop.

She stilled her hand and let out a frustrated breath.

“Mmh,” he said. His chest filled with air and pressed up against her breasts. She didn’t move. “Clarke,” he said, before his eyes were even open. She leaned back slightly to look at him. His lips were curved into the slightest smile. He pulled her tighter to him.

“You don’t have to get up yet, Bellamy,” she said and the words were barely a whisper. “It’s still dark.”

His eyes opened then. He blinked and looked at her. “Clarke?”

“Mm,” she said.

He started to pull away. “I”m sorry, I didn’t mean to—“

“I’m not,” she said, and wrapped her arm around his waist, holding on. She hid her face in his neck. “I’m not sorry at all and I don’t want you to let me go.”

“What?”

“Don’t let me go, Bellamy. I like being in your arms. I like how warm you are.”

“Okay,” he said, wary. He put his arm back around her, and rolled into her so he could let his hand stroke up and down her back. “You’re okay, Clarke. I got you.”

“I am okay. Because you’re here. I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Clarke,” he said. His voice carefully neutral.

It wasn’t enough, for Clarke. “I like how you smell. I like how you feel pressed up against me.” She took a deep breath and let him feel her breasts up against his chest. “Do you like how I feel pressed up against you?”

His throat bobbed. “Clarke…”

“We’ve never been this close before, Bellamy.”

“No we haven’t.”

“Why haven’t we?”

He was barely breathing. “So many reasons.”

“Are there any reasons why we shouldn’t be this close right now?”

He let his breath out then licked his lips. She watched his tongue and when she met his eyes again, they were dark and heavily lidded. “I can’t think of any at all.”

Bellamy cupped her face in his hand and tilted her head so he could kiss her. His lips were so soft, so gentle against hers, she felt her heart break open. She threaded her fingers through his hair and opened for his tongue, kissing him back.

He made a noise, low in his throat, and a bolt of need shot through her. She clutched at him. He rolled and pressed her into the bed. Both hands freed, she ran her hands hungrily over his arms and his back, pulling his shirt up so that she could feel his skin. His skin. Oh his skin.

Warm and so soft. How could it be so soft? Her fingers tripped over scars. She didn’t remember him getting those. She missed so much time with him. He’d been through so much. He was always in harms way.

“Hey, hey, no,” he said. Lifting up on his elbows to look at her. He brushed her hair back from her face. “What happened?”

She was crying. She hadn’t even realized. His voice so tender. A fresh wave of sadness washed over her. He tried to roll off of her and she wouldn’t let him.

“Don’t go Bellamy. I don’t want you to go. I want you here. I want to know that no one hurts you again.”

“What?”

“These scars. I didn’t know they were there. You deserve kindness, Bellamy. Not wounds. Not scars.”

“What?” he said again but this time he smiled. His voice filled with humor. “Clarke, in case you haven’t noticed, we’ve been at war since we got here.”

She laughed and pushed him over until she was sitting on top of him. “Well one way or another that will be over in 5 days.”

His face grew grim. “But not yet.”

“No not yet.” She let her fingers drift down to the scar on his side that she had noticed first. “I want to make you feel good, Bellamy. I want to give you kindness. I want to give you—“ love. She was about to say love. Her heart stuttered.

“You know,” he said, his hand skating up the outside of her thigh. She swallowed. “Back in Arkadia, they’ve decided they want to live as much as they can before they all die. Drinking. Dancing. Fucking.” His eyes fluttered up to hers. Her breath faltered. “Maybe that all is a way to spend time until you die, but I don’t think it’s enough to live for.”

“To live for…” she repeated.

“Not fucking,” he said.

“No?” She hid her eyes from him.

“No.” He took her wrist and pulled her down until they were lying side by side again, faces next to each other on this feather stuffed pillow.

“I figured out what I wanted to tell you that day on the beach.”

She should look at him but she couldn’t.

“There was too much to say then. Too much I wanted to tell you, but I think I found the way to say it.” He brushed her hair back from her face. “Clarke, look at me.”

Clarke was afraid. She dragged her eyes open and forced herself to look at him. “What if this is it, Bellamy? What if Octavia loses and we’re shut out of the bunker. We don’t have any other options left?”

Bellamy made his sad regretful face. “Yeah. What if?”

Clarke dragged in a deep breath, unable to look away from him, now.

“I love you.” Clarke blinked. Time stopped. “And you don’t have to feel the same or say anything, but I do. I love you. And I wanted you to know, whether we’re saved or damned. I love you.”

There were no words. Maybe there were too many words. Instead she crossed the space between them and kissed him. And it was real. And it made her blood thrum through her veins. And this was where she needed to be, right now in this moment.

“Love me,” she said. “If this is it for us or we make it through the praimfaya, will you love me now?”

“I love you always, Clarke.” She reached for the hem of his shirt and he helped her get it off and when she went to take hers off, his hands were already there. They disrobed each other. With mouths and hands and skin and passion, they loved each other. They brought each other to heights Clarke had never experienced before. They held each other, trading soft kisses and caresses as the beautiful dawn broke across the sky and spread pink light into their room.

Life was beautiful. Life was precious. Clarke clutched at Bellamy.

“I can’t say it,” she said. “If I say it, you’ll die.” She inhaled the scent of his skin, his warm pulse matching the beat of her heart.

“I won’t. But don’t say it. You don’t need to. Just be with me.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, his arm wrapped around her. His other hand lazily making a path up and down her stomach, making her shiver.

“I’m with you. Until the end.”

“Whenever the end is, huh?”

“Whenever it is,” she agreed. “We’ll do it together.”

His hands kept stroking her. She sucked on his pulse. She would be up for this until the very end. Then the horn sounded across Polis. It was time for the conclave.

They both stilled against the other and took a deep breath, simultaneously. They let their breaths go.

“You ready?” Clarke asked.

“Nope,” Bellamy said.

They laughed, and got dressed, because it was the end of the world.

#bellarke #bellarke fan fiction #bellarke fanfic #bedsharing trope #oh yeah #we're not getting it in canon right now so here have some romantic canon bedsharing

[sevralships]

“Bloodlust”

(Entry for asterism-pinoideae’s Creature of the Week Challenge. Mine was prompted by the Journal 3 entry on Giant Vampire Bats)

When young supernatural investigator Stanford Pines hits a road-block in his study of Gravity Falls’ Giant Vampire Bats, his mysterious muse encourages some unorthodox research. TW bloodplay, TW vampirism/autovampirism, TW cutting/self-harm, TW all sorts of fucked up Bill stuff, TW Stangst. Billford. NSFW, 4370 words

It had been a long night and Stanford’s body was weary as he hiked homeward through the trees. It wasn’t late in the day, no later than nine in the morning, but the humid heat was already becoming stifling. He had shucked off his jacket and undone the top couple buttons of his shirt, but he was still overdressed. He grumbled under his breath as he walked, feeling very tired and frankly, a bit cranky.

Not only had the night been long, but worse, it had been unproductive. Stanford had established a little makeshift camp up in the mountains, just down-wind of the caves that the Giant Vampire Bats inhabited. He had chosen the position due to its being down-wind, to avoid the perplexing and likely dangerous creatures catching his scent and deeming it too appetizing. He had not, however, given enough consideration to how miserable it would be to sit on a rock all night drowning in the scent of bat droppings. Even the stench of guano would have been worth it if he had learned anything, but he had left his stake-out post this morning with no more clues than he had started with.

“This town baffles me…” he muttered. He had not been in Gravity Falls for very long, but its strangeness (and the strange behavior of its residents) had been immediately quite apparent. It was that very strangeness that drew you here in the first place, Stanford, he reminded himself. It was why he was here. Not just why he was in this town, but it was also literally why he was here, sweaty, over-tired, stinking of bat excrement, and trudging through the woods, when he ought to be quietly nursing a leisurely cup of coffee. He should have suspected, perhaps, that in a town with so much strangeness that the people would adapt. He certainly had not anticipated the reluctance, the denial, the desire to turn the other cheek and pretend there was nothing abnormal at all. It seemed ludicrous, in a town where bizarre things were around every corner, that the people should be so willfully ignorant.

Ford realized he was scowling and took a deep breath. It won’t do me any good to pout about it, he thought, willful ignorance is fairly universal and I’m the one who was naive to expect it to be any different here. It had been wishful thinking, after all. That, perhaps in a place with so much weirdness, there would also be more acceptance. More of a place for him, more appreciation, more acknowledgement that he wasn’t just a freak, but special.

As if summoned by his griping thoughts, He appeared. The color bled out of Stanford’s surroundings in that way that wasn’t quite familiar yet and he felt him before he saw him, “HEY THERE, FORDSY!” he said, in that strange voice that Ford seemed to feel in his spine as much as hear in his head.

“Bill!” He said dumbly. His muse had chosen him a scant month before and he had not yet gotten the hang of casually greeting such a wise and celestial being. His legs mechanically kept walking through the grey landscape, Bill floating pleasantly along beside him.

Bill laughed and Ford smiled politely with him. He had observed that Bill often laughed when nothing funny had been said, as if he always had some inexplicable glee to express. He regarded the strange triangular being beside him, finding the simplicity and strange symmetry of Bill’s visage to be somehow pleasing. Bill’s aura was rippling in time with his laugh, his eye crinkled joyfully. Ford was so fortunate to have been blessed with a muse of such good humor and agreeable temperament.

“SOMEBODY’S FEELIN’ GRUMPY,” Bill observed, in the wheedling tone one might use to ask if their dog wanted a treat, “WHAT’S WEIGHING DOWN THAT BIG HEAD O’ YOURS, SIX?”

Ford’s cheeks felt suddenly warm, a bit embarrassed of his petty complaints now that it was Bill inquiring, “Oh, it’s nothing for you to concern yourself with,” he assured Bill. This splendidly wise entity had for some reason seen fit to choose him, and he’d be damned if he was going to waste Bill’s valuable time.

“AW FORDSY,” Bill protested. He sounded disappointed but somehow still like he was grinning. Ford tried not to wonder about how little either made sense considering Bill’s lack of a mouth, “DON’T HOLD OUT ON ME! I THOUGHT WE WERE PALS, YOU ‘N’ I!”

“We- we are!” Ford insisted, hoping he had not upset his muse too greatly, “I mean to say, I would be honored to be considered amongst your friends,”

Bill laughed heartily, “THEN TELL ME! WHAT’S BUMMING OUT MY NEW PET?”

Stanford laughed nervously at the word choice, but brushed it off. Bill often said things that seemed a bit odd or off-color, but Stanford assumed that sort of thing would come with the territory of being an ageless keeper of knowledge. Your vernacular might end up a bit dated and strange, “I am merely frustrated by my research,” he said, hoping to downplay how irked he was feeling.

“BUT YOU’RE A GENIUS!” Bill pointed out and Ford’s heart soared at the praise. He had always been a genius, but he had rarely been told as much, and surely not by anyone with Bill’s authority.

“You’re too kind,” Ford thanked, “I misspoke. I suppose it’s not truly the research that has frustrated me. I don’t expect the bats to make it easy for me, but the lack of cooperation from the townspeople is infuriating!”

“HM,” Bill said, rubbing under his eye as if thoughtfully stroking his chin, “THOSE PEOPLE SHOULDN’T CONCERN YOU, FORDSY,” he advised, “WHATTA SHEEP LIKE THAT KNOW THAT A PRODIGY LIKE YOU DOESN’T?”

Stanford tried to ignore the bright red flush he could feel on his face at Bill’s flattery and tried to play it off with a small laugh, “It’s funny you should say that, Bill, because sheep are all they’ll talk to me about!” Bill gestured for Ford to continue, “There have been disappearances in the town, and I suspect the Giant Vampire Bats are responsible. Many livestock animals, but more importantly, a couple people! An old woman, a homeless fellow, and a young child!” Bill’s face remained impassive (insofar as one could read the expressions of a triangle) so Ford kept on, hoping to underscore his point, “When I have inquired with townspeople, all they want to talk about is how many of their sheep have gone missing! How many cattle, how many goats! Innocent people are likely dead and these people…” Ford scowled, “They joke about it being mosquitoes!”

“OH, SWEET FORDSY,” Bill cooed, and Ford tensed, unsure if he detected sarcasm in his muse’s tone, “YOU BIG SOFTIE!”

“It doesn’t matter if I’m sweet,” Stanford said, his voice having picked up a slight defensive edge, “That won’t help me to deduce why these bats would be interested in eating humans!”

Bill laughed again, harder this time. His small black hands clutched over his tie, as cackling laughter shook his strange luminous form. Ford’s footsteps slowed a bit as he curiously watched his muse’s amusement. Just as he was accepting that he would never be able to puzzle out what had set Bill’s laughter off, the sage being stilled his laughter and without having to catch his breath (Ford supposed that made sense, as surely he didn’t actually breathe) exclaimed matter-of-factly, “BECAUSE HUMANS ARE DELICIOUS! ”

That stopped Ford in his tracks and he knew he pulled a face, “Bill, you’ve got to be joking!”

“DO I-HAHAHA!-SOUND LIKE I’M-AH! HAHA!-JOKING?” Ford opted not to answer, mulling over what Bill was implying. Was it possible Bill was not as altruistic as he seemed? Ford frowned, “AW, C’MON, FORDSY, -HEH...HAHA- DON’T BE SO CLOSE-MINDED!”

“I’m sorry, I don’t believe it’s close-minded of me to reject the idea of eating fellow humans,” Ford said a bit tersely.

“SHEESH, KID, NO ONE SAID ANYTHING ABOUT YOU EATING FELLOW HUMANS!” Bill gave Ford’s shoulder a teasing punch. The spot tingled strangely. Touches in this odd grey in-between were always strange, “ALL I’M SAYIN’ IS THERE’S NO BIG SECRET YOUR BATS ARE HIDING! THEY EAT HUMANS BECAUSE YOU’RE TASTY! ”

“...How do you know that…?” Ford asked, quietly, hearing the doubt that tinged his own words.

“OH, IS THAT WHAT YOU’RE WORRIED ABOUT?” Bill laughed fondly and reassured him, “YOU REALLY ARE A SOFT LITTLE HUMAN! I’M NOT GONNA EAT YOU!”

Although the idea of Bill eating him hadn’t actually entered his mind, he was glad to hear that those were in fact not Bill’s intentions. It did not however, entirely settle the unease in Stanford’s mind, “But Bill…”

“OH, THEY WERE ALL WILLING SACRIFICES,” Bill clarified further with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Ford blanched. Still not what I was getting at, “...Willing sacrifices?” he repeated, morbidly intrigued, “You’ve accepted sacrifices?”

“NONE OF THEM WERE AS SMART AS YOU, TRUST ME, YA DON’T NEED TO BE JEALOUS,” Bill said. Taking in the nonplussed look on Ford’s face, he explained, “NOT THE SMART ONES, BUT LOTSA HUMANS WOULD LINE UP TO SPILL THEIR GUTS ON A GOD’S ALTAR!”

His muse had never referred to himself as a god before. From a young age, Stanford had rejected religion in favor of science. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing any faith could explain better than what could be learned through even-headed logical observation. He was committing his life to explaining the unexplainable, finding the facts behind those things that most people waved off as fantastical. What a stroke of irony that he of all people should be favored by a god. He supposed the title fit Bill as well as any other. He was unfathomably wise, ageless, powerful, and the very spirit of generosity, offering his help and asking nothing of Ford in return. Stanford could not deny that he felt a deep awe in Bill’s presence.

He stopped in his tracks, and looked down at his feet, reminded suddenly of their Rabbi’s voice when he was growing up, describing how Moses was made to remove his sandals by the burning bush for he had stood on hallowed ground. Neither he nor his brother had ever taken that story or any of the others much to heart, but at this moment it seemed apt. Maybe he’d simply never understood what it meant before.

It only took him a moment to snap out of his uncharacteristic reverence. He raised his gaze to Bill again. The muse, or perhaps he was a god, was watching Ford with a look of curious bemusement. Ford wondered again how such a nondescript face could convey so much, when he remembered his initial confusion, “You don’t have a mouth,” he said flatly.

“WELL, YA DON’T HAVE TO BE RUDE,” Bill snarked, a laugh hanging close by.

“No, no, pardon me, I’m not trying to be rude,” Ford said, “How do you know how anything tastes if you don’t have a mouth?”

“OH THAT! LIKE THIS!” Without warning, Bill blinked and when his eye opened again, it wasn’t an eye at all but a fanged grin. The sight ought to have frightened Ford but it sent a thrill down his spine. This creature, be he a muse or a god or something else entirely, was a mystery that only grew more enticing. A black tongue wet Bill’s new lips and to Ford’s shock, the sight aroused more than curiosity in him. Before he could even wonder if it was normal for one to desire a deity, Bill was dragging his tongue up the side of Ford’s face. The lick tingled, more intensely than a less intimate touch, it prickled like a prolonged static shock. But as fast as the contact was there it was gone again. Bill smacked his lips and said, “LIKE I SAID, HUMAN IS DELICIOUS!”

Stanford stared as Bill’s mouth closed and opened again as an eye. He hoped his unbidden feelings of lust weren’t apparent, desperately forced them to the back of his mind, “Is… is that all you meant… by delicious?” he asked.

Bill laughed, “‘COURSE NOT! SURE YOUR SKIN TASTES FINE, BUT IT’S THE BLOOD THAT REALLY PACKS A PUNCH!” Ford hmm-ed thoughtfully, unsure what to say to all these new revelations about Bill, “YA REALLY CAN’T KNOCK IT TILL YOU TRY IT, SIX. ANYWAYGOTTAGOSEEYAAA,” And with a jarring suddenness, Ford was blinking his eyes open. He had continued walking along in a trance in that threshold where Bill seemed to dwell and he was not far from home now. He began walking more briskly, eager to get out of the heat and into a cold shower.

---

An icy shower, a few hours of dreamless sleep, a couple stiff drinks, and Stanford still couldn’t quiet the turmoil of his thoughts. Worry about the Giant Vampire Bats had given way to far less welcome concerns. Was there such a thing as gods? Was it absurd for a mortal to desire a god? What was so ‘delicious’ about human blood?

“What’s come over me?” he asked himself, disbelieving the strange trajectory of his own thoughts. He had always had such a clear idea of who he was, of who he wanted to be. And none of this quite fit into the picture he had of himself. The pursuit of knowledge had always been of the utmost importance to him, but this all seemed somehow different. These were not questions that could be answered with recorded data, these demanded something from a much darker more primal part of the human mind. The very part of his mind he had always tended to keep tightly shut. It seemed the arrival of his muse, this bizarre god (if that was really what he was) had presented more questions than answers.

Not nearly for the first time, Stanford caught himself wondering what Stanley would say to all of this. What would he think of Bill? Ford wondered, What would he think of me? Stanley had always hated hearing his brother called a freak, even when it was Ford saying it. How could he begin to understand what his twin’s research in Gravity Falls meant to him? Thinking about Stanley only made this all harder to parse. His complicated feelings about his estranged brother would have to wait. There had been a time when Stanley had been his partner in crime, but those days were long past and Ford had a new partner now. He knew that with their powers combined, he and Bill could achieve great things.

His face was already a bit warm from the liquor, but he felt his cheeks getting hotter. I’m only starstruck, he told himself stubbornly, That’s a perfectly reasonable response to a deity, is it not?  He had never experienced religious zeal and he wasn’t entirely sure that this was how it was supposed to feel. The memory of Bill’s ink-black tongue snaking over his sharp teeth came unbidden into Stanford’s mind yet again and he felt his trousers growing tighter. He groaned, grateful he was alone but embarrassed nonetheless. Religious zeal most certainly did not involve that. He tried in vain to ignore his body’s response to the thought of his muse, trying instead to consider the likelihood that some faiths incorporated sexuality more than the lax reform Judaism in which he’d been brought up. It was definitely true, but he was still quite sure that what he was feeling was wrong.

He shut his eyes in frustration, willing his bloodflow to return to normal and leave his penis out of this. After a moment it started slowly to work, and Ford immersed himself. He focused on the mysterious blood, flowing dark and unseen beneath his skin. He realized too late that he was getting too caught up in the thought, that his mouth was watering. Bill wouldn’t lie to me, he reminded himself, not sure if that was more comforting or unsettling, “It’s only blood,” he said out loud, opening his eyes and staring down at his hands, crossed on the table in front of him.

He spread all twelve fingers, looking down at the broad palms and extra extremities that had garnered so much teasing and self-doubt over the years. It always surprised him that something so stupid should make such a big difference to anyone, including himself. It didn’t make him any less functional or valid, it was just a strange genetic accident. Just like any other trait a human might have, it was just a blip deep down in their chromosomes, in their DNA, in their blood.

The blood is the life! Stanley would say, in a bad Transylvanian accent. Ford smiled bitterly at the memory of watching black and white movies with Stanley. How simple things had seemed, how far away it all was from Stanford’s present. He stared at his hands, the way the pads of his fingers were slightly rosy. He pressed his thumb and forefinger together, watching transfixed as the pressure turned his fingertips white before he released and watched the blood rush back. He had never been so curious about what lay underneath his own skin, but now all at once it seemed he couldn’t stand not knowing.

He stood up abruptly, the legs of his chair squeaking noisily against the linoleum. There was a short list in his head of what he would need and he set about gathering it all. This was no different than any other experiment and thinking of it that way made it so much simpler. Of course there was no way he was going to hurt anyone else, but this was research and he was his own willing lab rat. When he returned with his arms full, Bill was waiting.

“YELLO!” he greeted cheerily, “I GUESS OUR TALK REALLY WET YOUR APPETITE!” he cackled at his own joke, watching as Ford arranged all the things he had gotten neatly on the table. There was a boxcutter with a new blade, a bottle hydrogen peroxide, some sterile gauze, and medical tape, “A BOY SCOUT IS ALWAYS PREPARED, EH?”

“I wasn’t a boy scout,” Ford said a little stiffly. He wasn’t sure when Bill had pulled him back into the grey trance of this threshold space, and he didn’t like that he hadn’t noticed. Bill’s presence made it somehow more embarrassing that he was actually doing this.

“I’M JUST YANKIN’ YOUR CHAIN, FORDSY,” Bill said making a small tugging motion with both hands, which created an odd tightness in Ford’s gut. He ignored the sensation as best he could. He took a small pad of gauze and wet it with the hydrogen peroxide. First he used the gauze to thoroughly wipe off the boxcutter blade, and then did the same to his left palm. He dropped the spent piece of gauze on the table absently, steeling himself for what he was about to do, “WOW,” Bill said, in an impressed tone that made Stanford’s chest swell proudly, “YOU’RE ONE HELLUVA HUMAN, SIXER.”

Hearing his muse’s earnest praise gave Ford the little boost that his nerves needed. As if it was the most commonplace thing in the world, he guided the blade to his sterilized left palm and pressed. His hands did not shake, and he hardly flinched, although it was more a result of surprise than pain. It took practically no pressure for the keen blade to break his skin and it happened easier than he’d expected. He watched as the dark blood surged up around the metal. Bill made a pleased oohing sound and Ford’s pulse quickened, reacting to the pain and the thrill of impressing a god.

Hypnotized by the sight of his own skin parting cleanly beneath the sharp knife, Stanford slowly dragged the boxcutter across his hand. He hissed involuntarily at the feeling, the pain acute and immediate. It hurt, but there was a harsh satisfaction to it as well. All of the confusion and doubt from only moments before fell away, and everything distilled into the exquisitely simple pain of damaged tissue. His half-cupped palm was filling with blood and he watched it dreamily for a second before putting down the boxcutter. He glanced at Bill and was stricken by what he saw. He hadn’t realized how close his muse had come, entranced, and did not expect him to be so near. His single, unnerving eye was trained on the blood pooling in Ford’s hand, his aura wavering in time with the perpetual low hum he was emitting. It was an entirely inhuman sound, requiring no air, but something about it stirred Ford much the way the sigh of a lover might. Bill met Stanford’s gaze and widened his eye slightly, as if raising an eyebrow coaxingly.

Without breaking eye contact for an instant, Ford lifted his left hand to his open mouth. An instant later, his palate was flooded. He had tasted blood before, as anyone who has sucked a papercut or lost a tooth had, but never had it been anything like this. The taste was agonizingly rich, bitterly metallic and salty and almost sweet all at once. It tasted dark and heady, like the ozone smell of pressure before a storm. He heard his own soft moan, surprised by it, as he slowly swallowed, wanting to prolong the sickeningly decadent feeling of his own blood sliding down his throat. The sound Bill was making changed in response to him, the pitch moving higher and somehow Ford could recognize that it sounded hungrier.

He licked along his own hand, his tongue feeling strange against the fresh wound and Bill’s eye was glued to the contact. Ford realized absently how hard he was, but unlike before, he no longer felt embarrassed by it. With the way his muse was watching him, it suddenly no longer seemed wrong or unwelcome. It seemed like a shared secret, something certainly taboo, but not a crime he was committing alone.

Stanford somewhat reluctantly lifted his mouth from his palm. The straight angry line of the cut bled again at once, that strange dark red swelling up temptingly. He wasn’t going to drink from himself again though. He lifted his eyes from his hand to look at Bill. He was floating as near as possible without touching and Ford could swear the normally clear lemon-yellow appeared to be tinged just slightly a pinkish-orange. His aura was glowing brilliantly, dizzyingly bright, and the sound he was making set Stanford’s teeth on edge. Bill’s eye was glued to the seeping wound, and Ford extended the hand slightly to him, “Would you like to taste me?”

The sound Bill was making changed as he blinked slowly. It took Stanford a second to identify why it had changed, taking on a warmer, throatier, even more maddening tone. Then Bill opened his mouth, and the reason became clear. Where a moment ago it had been a sound abstractly produced, it was now a starved growl being emitted from an actual mouth, “I’D LOVE THAT,” Bill’s mouth said, and watching his voice actually come out of his mouth sent a shiver from the top of Stanford’s head, down through him to settle achingly in his groin.

Bill’s small black hand reached out to steady Stanford’s wrist, his tongue lolling out of his mouth to wet his lips before moving languidly across Ford’s palm. Ford cried out at the contact. The touch of Bill’s hand was one thing, but his mouth was entirely different. Just as when he had licked his cheek in the forest, it tingled electrically. It was excruciating pleasure when his tongue would meet the rawness of the open wound. Bill moved his tongue thirstily against the small gash, making wet obscene sounds of pleasure. He closed his lips on Stanford’s palm and sucked, his tongue never stagnating. Ford hardly knew his free hand had moved to touch himself through his pants, it had been so involuntary. He stroked himself vigorously, shamelessly, the edge so close that his toes curled. Bill seemed to sense Ford’s urgency and his teeth prickled against Ford’s skin as his tongue dragged firmly against the cut.

Stanford cried out again as he came harder than he ever had before. Bill’s mouth did not release his hand until Stanford’s orgasm has subsided to rattling gasps and tremors. Bill laughed a bit airily and said a little smugly, “THAT’S ALWAYS WHEN HUMAN BLOOD TASTES THE BEST,” Ford gave a weak grunt in acknowledgement. He felt a hand on his hair and realized his eyes had fallen closed, and opened them. Just as he did, Bill’s tongue darted out to lick a couple lingering drops of blood from Ford’s lips. Without an instant’s hesitation, he opened his mouth, inviting a kiss from Bill’s strangely irresistible mouth. His tongue tasted like blood and felt like lightning and Ford drifted guilelessly in the bliss of kissing his muse. The kiss ended and when Stanford opened his eyes, Bill’s mouth was gone and had been replaced by the return of his eye, “YOU DID SO WELL, FORDSY,” Bill said, and Ford’s head swam with pride and relief at the praise, “YOU’RE EVEN MORE VALUABLE THAN I THOUGHT,”

Without another word, Bill disappeared. Stanford blinked at the color in the world around him, at the absence of Bill’s touch and voice. His mouth tasted like rust and his hand was bleeding on the table. Dutifully, almost robotically, Ford sterilized and dressed the wound, lingering wistfully over the small incisions that Bill’s teeth had made. After he cleaned up, he dragged himself in the direction of his bed, appreciating the sticky wetness in his pants. It was a bit uncomfortable, but he was grateful for it nonetheless. As he fell into bed, there were a million and one thoughts clamoring at the door, begging entry to his mind, but they would have to wait. All he cared about at the moment was that he had pleased his muse.

#billford #cotwc #creature of the week challenge #giant vampire bats #sevralfics

[doomedandstoned]

MedEvil Madness Plagues Portland!

~By Billy Goate

March has been a month of madness and I confess given the woes of the world, it's been hard to think of a better word to describe the state of things! Consequently, you've been having your fill of madness this week in the music we've share in these page. What the hell, let's just embrace it. This weekend, March 24th & 25th, the heavy revelers of the Rose City will be congregating at Kenton Club for MEDEVIL MADNESS. The two-dayer is happening in my own backyard and features some new names, so I'm excited to check it out. Tiah Keever of Red Crow Booking is organizing. Every time I get up to Portland for gigs, Tiah is there -- for years, a staple supporter of the scene.

Like many of us, Tiah's story begins with a case of so close, so far. "One day about three years ago, I was invited to see a friend’s band at the Kenton Club," Tiah says, speaking of the now defunct post-punk no-wavers Ultragoat (great band name). "Up until recently, I'd been living near the venue, but rarely went. I can’t give a logical reason for it, but I had basically sat out a decade of local shows."

As she approached the venue, she saw a tall, lanky fellow with a big smile sporting a tank top with Black Pussy emblazoned in cursive. "I thought, this guy must be going to the concert, but he’s headed in the wrong direction. As I crossed the street, I said, 'Hey, the show is that way!' Turns out this was, Dean Carroll, drummer for Black Pussy. How embarrassing to have him say, 'Oh, I’m in the show.'"

Whatever awkwardness she felt melted away as the evening advanced. "The show was packed, a lot of friends were there, and I met a people who would become friends and cohorts in rock appreciation." After introductions to Disenchanter and the visiting Mothership, Tiah was hooked. "From that night forward, I have made it a priority to go soak up our musical offerings and," she says. "I feel like I’m doing a pretty good job of it."

Five months from that show, Tiah's enthusiasm and flair for networking developed into organizing full-fledged shows herself. Local booker Jimmy Armstrong from Sandy Hut (now with Twilight Café and Bar) took her under his wing. Her first billing was a nice fat slice of Portland stoner goodness: Full Creature, Hosmanek, and Deep Fried Boogie Band.

Tiah was hooked. "I like organizing and the thought of connecting bands I thought would sound good together." As an independent promoter up against a recent spate of closing venues, she can only curate so many shows, sometimes just one a quarter. All told, MedEvil Madness was quite a feat to put together.

"I have been wanting to put together a fest for at least two years, but the timing never panned out because there were so many other things happening -- Stumpfest, Northwest Heshfest, Hoverfest, Ceremony of Sludge, NO Fest, Festicide...sheesh! -- but eventually, I just had to tell myself, make it happen!   Everything about this show is low key and DIY, because that's what I know from growing up in Portland."

I asked Tiah to give us a breakdown of the acts she's booked for each day, and I'm personally pumped about this lineup.

Night One

HZ

Opening MedEvil Madness is Billy Anderson’s solo project, HZ (pronounced "hertz"). I've only seen it once, but obviously it intrigued me. Solo projects, man! They take a lot of nerve and obviously if anyone can pull it off, Billy can. He’s opening the show Friday night so you need to be on time to witness his sonic orchestrations. It’s a special treat to have Billy play, to hear what music he is personally creating. It’s pretty amazing.

Mammoth Salmon

Last Vestige of Humanity by MAMMOTH SALMON

Mammoth Salmon has been one of my go-to bands for quite some time now and bassist Matt Howl designed the concert poster for the fest. I first heard about them when they were playing a show with Moondrake. See how the web is spun? One band leads to another leads to another. That is why most of these bands are somehow intertwined. These guys are salt of the Earth. This will be a tour sendoff show for them. If you haven’t heard them yet this is a great time to start, the band is really dialed in!

Old Kingdom

Magic Closet EP by Old Kingdom

Old Kingdom is one of my favorite heavy bands in town. I'd seen The Ax, which both Jon and Adam were in, and I remember trying to book them and they weren’t available, but told me about their other project, Old Kingdom. My mom was in attendance for that show and said, “These guys are really loud.” It cracks me up. They are really fucking loud. The lineup has changed some since, with Aaron Powell now playing bass. Anyone who's heard Sons of Huns can attest Aaron is a beast on bass. An already heavy band somehow got heavier.

Phantom High

Phantom High is a brand new band. John I know from his band Diesto and all the awesome screen printing he does and Rich I know from Moondrake. This will be the first time anyone will be seeing this line up, with their new drummer, and I’m super stoked to have them debut on Friday and finish the night out.

Night Two

Robots of the Ancient World

Robots by Robots of the Ancient World

Can't think of a better band to kick off the next day of MedEvil than Robots of the Ancient World. I met Caleb attending another show and was invited to one of their shows. I checked em out and liked what I heard. When Moondrake was playing with Slow Season at Dante’s, they were looking for an opening band. I checked with Robots of the Ancient World and they were all systems go. Having started for Truckfighters just this month and Brant Bjork the next, their star is definitely rising. Over the summer, they're taking the show on the road. That’s exciting, but even more exciting is the news of their first full-length recording next month. You’ll dig their otherworldly vibe!

Battle Axe Massacre

The Phantom by Battle Axe Massacre

Saw these dudes perform with Moondrake and Warpfire at Dante’s and they were just awesome. I was headbanging and something hit me in the shin and when I opened my eyes I saw it was Larry Pike’s drumstick. I picked it up and put it in my cowboy boot for a souvenir. BAM has a brand new album out, 'The Phantom' (2017) and I really liked their intense sound. It’s pretty special to see them at Kenton Club, as they rarely play Portland. They are up second so, seriously, don’t be late!

Owl

Screech by Owl

Do I need to say anything about Owl? I am over the moon that they are coming up from California to do my first festival -- I can’t even fathom it. I first heard of Owl from local reviewer Mike Stender. One day he said, “Oh, have I got a shirt for you. It’s this band called Owl; I think you’ll really dig them.” I was like, “Why would I want a shirt from some band I’ve never even heard of?” Ohhhh, snap! Checked them out on el interneto and Mike was totally right....smitten. Fast forward to August 2015. They were gigging at Bunk Bar with two of my favorites, Pushy and R.I.P...but... it was the same day as Hoverfest. As the fest drew to a close, I realized there was still time to catch Owl and I got a lucky right and caught them just in time.

KLAW

KLAW by KLAW

These lovely fellows came down from the Emerald City to Kenton Club last summer with another Seattle band, Greenriver Thrillers and our locals Cougar. That show was a total blast! I’ve only seen them that one time and am really looking forward to their return and thrilled it’s for MedEvil! All the guys are really nice and they rock out!

SkullDozer

Thin by SkullDozer

These Guys.   Ben House is a great vocalist. Justin Morgan on the guitar kills it every time and now they have Jay Erbe on the drums, formerly of Disenchanter, and he's fantastic! These guys have a minimalistic approach, but I mean that in a really good way, i.e. they don’t need a million things going on at once to convey their tone. I’m really looking forward to them closing out the fest for me on Saturday night. What an honor to have the bands I like also become my friends!

MedEvil Madness takes place March 24th and 25th at World Famous Kenton Club in NE Portland.   Admission price is $5 per day.   Details of Day One can be found here and for Day Two here.

#D&S Interviews #Medevil Madness #Portland #Oregon #Festival #Doomed & Stoned

[ecotone99]

[AA] Petty pieces.

In an environment where you could be killed at any time by rocket attacks, meal times in Afghanistan were an unlikely stress point. Half of the forward base would descend on a small concrete mess hall at the same time to jostle over meager rations doled out by angry Afghan cooks, which inevitably led to a bloodless melee. For this reason I deliberately forewent the edible food, and waited until just before the mess closed before presenting for whatever scraps were left. One evening it was just myself and a table of three sullen Afghan soldiers in the mess, when a siren wailed over the base. It didn't signify any immediate threat, but it did mean we had to urgently RV with our units.

I cast aside my tray, and trudged out of the mess behind the Afghans. On hitting the door, one of the soldiers uncapped his canteen and splashed it behind him, hitting me in the face with his dirty Afghan sewer-water. "Watch that shit, fucker" came a voice, which I quickly realised had been mine. They turned to face me while I stood, hands on hips, sizing them up. They were small, dressed in desert cam, each with an American M4 rifle slung across their back. While technically allies, the tension between the Afghan Army and other coalition forces had been building for weeks, with the Afghans trying to reclaim some lost power (and lost face) from the Western armies. Confrontation was dangerous but, unlike them with their slung rifles, I was carrying a holstered 9mm pistol. If the situation escalated I had the close-quarters advantage of a short-barrelled weapon, which I could draw in an instant. And, as an instructor of the same weapon, I could unload a full clip in about two seconds, with decent accuracy.

We had no common language, and the situation was beyond petty, but damned if I was backing down. To bring my presence properly to bear, I unsnapped my sidearm by ripping the riveted flap off the canvas holster, and rested my hand on the butt of my 9mm. I kept reminding myself of my rights to escalate. If they reach for their weapons, I draw mine. if they bring their weapons to bear, or even touch the cocking handle, I fire into the center of each scene mass. I noticed the center man's water bottle shaking in his hands. He was clearly terrified, and was weighing up the same decision. Did I want to go down like this? Whether I lived or died, it was going to be over an accidental splash of water. But they had no legal rights, and they were hardly human in my eyes. I felt no fear, but my heartbeat thumped in my ears while my cock hardened against my dirty fatigues.

I was technically outgunned but, at the short distance between us, my 9mm pistol was a serious force multiplier against their long-barrelled M4 rifles. As a mild escalation of force I wrapped my hand around the pistol's metal grip, and had an 'oh fuck' moment. I could tell immediately by the stiffness of the safety catch that my holstered pistol was not at the action condition; it was fully loaded, of course, but the weapon state for Australian soldiers on base mandated that a round not be chambered. Basically, where I thought I could quickly drop all three men in a flurry of shots before they could unsling their assault rifles, I now had to first cock the 9mm, which would give at least one of them time to roll to cover and fire at me. My mind raced. How quickly could I draw my weapon, send a stubby round snapping into the breech by releasing the slide, aim, and fire? What if my sweating hands couldn't grasp the slide? What if I get shot in the balls? I noticed the shaking hands and quivering top lip of the guy in the middle, and realised they had no idea of my weapon state. All I needed was the illusion.

"Gentlemen" I reported, my voice breaking through what seemed like endless silence, and heralded anew the whining drones and far-off rocket fire that raked the Afghan air. "It seems we are at an impasse". It was a dumb phrase to use at non-English speakers, and the trio looked at me dumbstruck. I took one step forward to further reduce their range and, grinning like a madman, drew my pistol. As soon as it was unholstered my left hand came across my body and drew back the slide, readying the little 9mm. I held the pistol in one hand, and had it aimed just to the right of the group. They had missed their chance to draw their weapons, but I didn't want any overzealous members rushing for my pistol while screaming some nonsense about Allah. The Afghans seemed rooted to the spot, eyes wide and mouths hanging open, with all stares now fixed on the patchy black steel of my pistol. I quickly stood side-on, exposing my unarmoured flanks but presenting the smallest possible target, and lined the middle guy up through the iron sights of my pistol. My universe condensed and pulsed in a narrow vortex around the stunned Arab who was gawping, wide-eyed, in my sights. I felt my index finger initiating the first pressure point of my trigger, and felt myself being lulled into a Godlike trance. I was Tiberius. I was Basil II. I was Enkvist and Churchill and Bundy and Bryant and every mad man and God you could ever imagine. I'd never felt surer about anything else in my life.

Time seemed to hang above me in the air, just waiting for me to seal the fate of all present with the squeeze of the trigger, or puss out in order to puss out again another day. Suddenly the pistol grew heavy, and my arm grew heavy and my eyelids grew heavy, and my body armour was squeezing the life from me and I felt thirsty and sleepy. I decided to release the man from my pistol's sights, but realised that my arms were by my side, and my right hand was barely wrapped around the grip. The three soldiers, who only moments before were all but dead, were shuffling past me while talking in hushed Arabic. I dropped to one knee and unloaded my pistol, being sure to replace the once-chambered round in the magazine, before securing the weapon, loaded, into my holster. I stood up, walked three paces, and vomited my meal of goat meat and coleslaw all over the path. I thought of the standoff, which had taken maybe 10 seconds, but had seemed to drag for hours, and heaved and wretched until nothing but bile and saliva were dribbling down my chin.

Coward.

I died that day all the same.

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