#sorry about the lack of art recently (I was in the woods) and the low quality of this (drawn on the train back)

[cliopadra]

Soooo…did Ed paint his sparkly pink breakup nails himself or was it something he had Izzy (probably not too enthusiastically) do (like the party beard bows)?

#our flag means death #ofmd #our flag means death fanart #ed teach #blackbeard #izzy hands #sorry about the lack of art recently (I was in the woods) and the low quality of this (drawn on the train back) #I should be back to drawing more regularly again #my art #doodle #cliopadra blabbers on

[glamphantasm]

MC looks to see their fanfiction/fan art/journal entry that features the very one holding it out to them. (another deviation from the exact prompt)

Kai turned the corner, leaning against the wall as he tried to catch his breath, lungs spasming with each inhale. He could feel his pulse in his eyes as he crouched, resting elbows on knees.

(i can smell the polish used on the woodwork, I can see the worn tread of the carpet, I can feel my bag hanging over my shoulder, I can hear footsteps, no no no hes right there smaller hide hide, HIDE...)

He pressed himself tightly against the wall, crouching against a heavily carved console table, adrenaline spiking again, slick terror sweat beading down his sides, Kai pulled tighter in on himself, biting the heel of his hand to muffle any sound.

The footsteps slowed, pausing, the only sound ragged breathing before the human began to spill apologies. "I-i'm sorry! I don't know what happened, I didn't mean to, please...", his voice cracked as he felt, more than saw someone kneel in front of him.

"Normie?", the usual uncertainty was missing, and Kai dared to peek between his fingers, eyes wide with terror. A loud yell of rage was muffled down the hallway.

"Oh. Oh, that sounds bad. What happened?"

(say something say something you sho -)

At the lack of response, Leviathan sighed, rocking back on his heels to stand. "I'm going to touch your arm, can you stand up?"

A shaky nod. Kai grabbed on to the sleeve of the oversized hoodie, trying to catch his balance.

Another sound, this time one of splintering wood.

"Come on. We're just by my room. Hold my arm if you need to."

(the Admiral, peeking his nose out when needed. It usually takes so much more...)

Twenty-seven steps later, Kai allowed himself to be guided, silent tears flooding his cheeks, to the oversized sofa set up by the expansive entertainment center on one side of Leviathan's room. He stared unseeingly, tensing as the hand left his arm, curling up into the corner and shielding his head and face with his arms, letting out a low moan of mixed terror and anticipation.

"H-hey, you're okay. I won't let him in. He never even looks in here... are you hurt?", a hesitant touch to the upper arm left so quickly it could have been a trick of the mind.

(you need to say something. you need to)

"I'm.. I'm gonna text Lucifer. He should know tha-"

Kai shook his head, letting out a distressed whine, still curled into a ball, trying to breathe.

Leviathan frowned, sitting nearby, a respectful distance between them. "Do you need anything?"

A shake of the head.

"D-do you want me to leave you alone?"

A hand shot out, fingertips pink as if slightly burned, head shaking again, reaching, searching. He latched on as he again felt the brush of fingers.

"Oh. Um. Okay. I'm not good at this you know, are you sure?"

In far from his proudest moment, Kai nodded, voice a bare squeak, raspy from the recent aggravation, eyes wide and bloodshot. "Please don't go, please, I'm sorry, please...", he broke down, thin shoulders heaving as a sob tore through him, face again buried against his knees.

"Uh, um, o-okay. You in there when he got mad?"

(not really a question)

A nod.

"Did he hurt you?", the voice hardened again.

A long pause, before Kai shook his head, nodded, shrugged in succession, drawing a deep watery breath before coughing.

Silence. If it wasn't for the shifting of weight nearby and the fingers still in his grasp, Kai would have thought himself alone.

The voice came again. A hint of hesitation, but the underlying strength remained. "Have you had panic attacks before?" Muffling a sob, Kai nodded, kept nodding.

"Okay. So you already know you aren't dying. Um. I'm glad you know about those because I remember my first one, right after we were trapped in the castle, we were all just kinda messed up from ev-everything..."

Leviathan talked and talked. For the first time ever, Kai heard his perspective on anecdotes from the Celestial Realm, the events that had led to their Fall, small stories of moments during and after the War. Slowly, Kai began to unfold from himself, turning his head to watch the shy demon as he spoke.

Tears still occasionally beading on his lashes, Kai concentrated on the words, slowing his breathing, sniffling quietly.

The monologue fell silent, and Leviathan looked over again, seemingly surprised to see that the human had been paying attention. Wordlessly, he offered a pack of tissues.

Kai coughed, taking the offered pack and pulling one out, squeezing the demon's fingertips before releasing them. "Thank you. I'm sorry.", glancing away reflexively, he wiped his eyes.

"Why are you sorry? I should be the sorry one, making you listen to all my pathetic babbling, keeping you here when you probably just want to leave, it's okay, you can go home.", Kai could almost see the shields going back up.

"No, no. It was interesting. I never knew any of it like that. I'm sorry. That you went through so much.", his voice was still rough. "And I don't want to go back.", the second half of the statement was barely more than a whisper.

"Oh. Um. D-do you want to go see one of the others? I'm sure you've got much more in common than hanging out with the family loser.", the demon stammered, his sin kicking in.

Kai shook his head, replying quietly. "Here's good. I mean, if you don't mind."

Leviathan's eyes narrowed. He stared, trying to find the lie, the prank on him. "Why?"

"Well, I'd rather not wander the halls in case Satan hasn't calmed down. And I told you the other day - I want to get to know you more."

A pause. One heartbeat. Two.

"How'd you make him so mad anyway?"

(think fast)

"He asked me to hand him a book. I picked up the wrong one."

A dubious expression passed over Envy's features. "Bit of an overreaction, even from him.'

"It was a cursed book.", Kai held up his hand, fingertips still burn pink from holding the magicked tome too long.

Frowning, Levi moved a little closer, examining the marks. "Does that hurt?"

One corner of Kai's mouth twitched up for a second. "I've had worse." The comment was met with an extremely long sigh.

"I'm sorry. Yes. But not much."

"Anything else?"

"N-no?", the lie died on his lips as he looked away. "I hit a shelf pretty hard, my back is twinging. It'll be sore later, but nothing broken." Kai rubbed the base of his throat, wincing. "Nothing serious. Please don't make a thing out of it. Don't say anything please it was my faul-.", he dropped his gaze as Leviathan frowned.

"You're used to it, huh?"

Kai said nothing, refusing to meet the other man's concerned eyes.

The demon picked up a remote, examining it closely, before putting it down again.

(like he doesn't know every button on there)

"You shouldn't be. I hate that for you. You don't deserve that, people who can get that lucky to have you close should cherish you.", the tone was tinged by his sin on the edges again.

"Levi?", the human spoke quietly, exhaustion bleeding into his tone as the adrenaline fatigue began to set in. "Thank you. For finding me. I'm glad it was you."

"Why me?"

"Nobody else would know how to act. I'd probably still be trying to breathe."

A frown. "I doubt it. You'd be laughing already, forgetting everything. Having a good time." Kai shook his head as the demon spoke.

Leviathan picked up his phone, checking the time.

"Help! I'm an Evil Overlord! - How Discovering That My Classmate Was a Witch Set Me on a Course to Become Supreme Ruler of Another Dimension! isn't on for at least another hour, Levi."

The look of shock alone was worth the time memorizing the damn schedule. Kai shrugged slightly. "Told you I knew stuff."

"You do. You're kinda cool, you know, for a normie."

Kai made a face that managed to resolve itself into a smile, stretching out for the first time since landing on the sectional, the ache of bruises yet to bloom making themselves known.

Leviathan shifted, stood up, jamming his hands in his pockets. "Um, actually, it's time for dinner. If... if you want to come down?"

Kai paled at the suggestion, pressing as far back into the arm of the couch as he could manage.

"Or, or or, um, I-i could just bring some stuff up after, there's drinks in the fridge by the desk. If, if you want to stay. But you don't have to if you don't want to"

Kai nodded, sniffling into a tissue. "Thank you. I promise I won't mess with any of your stuff."

A pounding knock hard enough to rattle the door caused both to stiffen. "Hurry up if you don't want Beel eatin' yours! Let's go, get off the game, ya nerd!", they heard Mammon laughing to himself as he sauntered down the hall.

"I'll um. Be back soon."

Kai nodded. "I'll be right here. Trying to breathe again."

Levi turned to leave and paused, looking over his shoulder. "I'm glad I found you too.", he mumbled, face going bright pink before he went to join his brothers.

Kai sat very still for a few moments, letting the anxiety drain from his body. Taking stock of memories that were now apparently dreams. He stood slowly, fingertips resting on the arm of the couch as he made sure to have his balance.

Looking around the cool, blue-tinged room, Kai relaxed by slow degrees. Keeping to his word, his hands stayed in his pockets until he reached the fridge.

(always could count on the otaku to have a steady supply of energy drinks)

Kai crouched, rummaging around until he discovered a few bottles of black coffee shoved towards the back, likely very forgotten. Getting back to his full height took a moment, as he unfolded himself carefully, stiffness settling in around his spine.

Taking a small tour around Leviathan's room, Kai made a mental catalog of the collection, which would explode over the next several decades. The aquariums were still under construction - lights and rocks in place, coral beginning to establish itself. Only a bare few, basic types of life were yet represented. Watching the jellyfish carried along by currents was, as it has always been, a small meditation. Something to be thankful for.

He sighed as he made his way back to the couch, hating the way the embrace of the sectional was a vivid reminder of the times this was home. Carefully clearing a spot on the low, cluttered table, moving aside magazines, cases, and slips of paper, Kai found a coaster and placed the unopened bottle down.

Leaning forward, he dug through his bag, noting the buzz of his DDD as he bumped it. Retrieving it from the disheveled depths, he put it face down on the arm of the sofa and continued rifling through the bag. After several seconds, he found the book he had been digging for - a smallish sketch book, which was one of the few things he had had with him when Solomon had displaced them both in time; a prized item now. A tangible reminder of times past (future?), of belonging and family.

Kai ran his fingers lovingly over the cover, held on by a combination of tape and hope, decorated over time with a myriad of scrawls and doodles from a half dozen or more hands. He traced a small drawing on one corner gently, careful not to smudge the lines - a barely glorified pair of stick figures quickly scrawled in a deep shimmering red-blue ink, one leaning close to push it's head against the other. He blinked rapidly, throat burning and tight.

(haven't you cried enough today?)

He put the book aside, delaying the moment where he would once again pick at the wounds covering his heart, keeping them freely bleeding, fresh, even as they tried to seal with thicker and thicker tissue.

With trepidation, he picked up the phone, looking at the screen. Six messages. A low number for the way the last week or so had gone.

Two from Solomon, wanting to know where he was, when he would be home.

(i am home)

Reply: "HoL. I don't know. When I get back there, I'm there. I do have a job here, you know."

One from Diavolo, an invitation to discuss more of the Academy's founding principles with a few others the next evening.

Reply: "Of course. I will ensure the others are also there at the appointed time."

The Future King replied with a sticker; chibi-self in a bright red ballgown.

Kai couldn't help but smile to himself. He hoped Diavolo would never change too much.

One from Lucifer, vaguely chastising. "Attendants should make themselves more available to the needs of those they are assigned to."

Kai smirked, whipping off a reply just shy of pornographic before sighing, deleting the message, and offering one much simpler.

Reply: "I have been here. I apologize for not making myself known or widely available. I had planned to spend time with Leviathan tonight, as I know he is often overlooked. If your needs are being neglected, you know where to find me."

The message was read, no reply.

Two from Asmodeus, the first a link to one tabloid or another that had covered the previous night's event. The second, one of the pictures from the carpet, the three of you posed and stunning.

(how does every single day feel like a different lifetime?)

Reply, "Hey, I look pretty good there. Not sure who those other two are."

Quick ping back: "Ass. 💕 Call me when you get a chance, no rush darling, no trouble."

The reassurance was appreciated.

The last from an unknown number. A short video, two demons sandwiching a silver haired human, thoroughly engaged with one another, backed with muffled moans and skin slapping skin. Between gasps, a familiar voice managed, "See what you missed? Next time, Fancy Boy."

(well. that is almost something worth saving.)

Reply: "Too bad you're that human's pact dog - would love to see how you handle yourself."

Dangerous, as he knew it would be shared. Kai paused, biting his lower lip before saving the video and blocking the number. Better not to tempt fate more than he already had.

(may as well try to enjoy that later)

Business aside, he dropped the DDD back into his bag, attentions returning to the sketchbook. He carefully pulled back the cover, sliding fingertips over the tape to hold it in place as a matter of habit. Nothing inside was of exceptional quality, really more thumbnails, quick sketches of moments.

(a brief history of your time in the devildom)

Curling up in the corner of the couch, he rested the book on his lap, slowly turning each page with something resembling reverence, the pain of a phantom loss lancing through his chest. Moments, memories, wishes, flashed in vivid detail. Quick sketched portraits of all of the brothers in various moments, interacting and solo, mostly captured when they were unaware. Festivals, classrooms, Hell's Kitchen, dozens of different areas which were once familiar territory, now aggravatingly out of reach. He lingered over a page that had been dedicated to capturing the brothers in sleep, some of which had been incredibly frustrating to gain access to. He reflected upon each one, brow knitting tight as he wondered if he would ever be so lucky as to behold these visions again.

Turning another page, Kai smiled to himself. The next was covered in line drawings that were obviously Leviathan, as the two had tried to figure out how to best fit him into a Ruri-chan cosplay. He hugged the book to his chest, trying to remember to keep each breath steady.

A slow count to 100 passed. Kai set the book down beside him, and looked around the room once again. After a short debate, he grabbed the remote, and began flipping channels. At least half a dozen he was accustomed to seeing were notably absent.

(wonder if they've figured out reality shows yet? I bet devildom's next top model would land.. )

Without too much further thought, Kai settled on an episode of a show considered a classic in the time he was used to - Her Majesty the Queen’s a Call Girl?! must still be in its original run. He stared blankly as the episode wrapped up, the next beginning. It felt as though dinner was taking forever. A lecture, or just the usual delays?

The door opened just as a third episode was starting, this being the one that led into territory which earned the title its infamy, if he wasn't mistaken.

"That was insane!" Leviathan exclaimed as he set down a small, steaming bowl on the table. "Brought you this, Lucifer insisted.", glancing at the show, he groaned. "You like this? Really? It's so stupid...", he broke off, stammering as the Queen began servicing her first client of the series.

"Destined to be a classic of the genre.", Kai remarked wryly. He glanced at the bowl. "What's that?"

"Flaming Wild Hare Curry"

Kai frowned, pushing the dish back further on the table. "What was insane?", he turned his attention to the screen as a tentacle appeared.

"Uh. I. Um. C-can we change this?" Envy was quickly threatening to surpass beet red.

Smirking, Kai changed the channel over to where Help! I'm an Evil Overlord! - How Discovering That My Classmate Was a Witch Set Me on a Course to Become Supreme Ruler of Another Dimension! would begin shortly.

"So? What happened?"

"What? Oh, OH! Um, right, so.", Leviathan stammered, recollecting his thoughts as his cheeks slowly returned to their usual undersea pallor. Leviathan plopped down on the couch, facing the human. "No surprise, Satan was still pissed off and told us you aren't trustworthy. That got Mammon and Asmo going saying that he's full of shit and defended you, so the yelling started, and... I've never seen Lucifer so quiet-angry. He left to see Diavolo like, instantly."

(he will lose all trust he holds in you - no matter when?)

Kai looked away. "Did Satan say anything specific?"

"Cursed book, visions, supposedly future or dreams or something, you said memories." the Admiral shrugged. "Twins didn't say much. Seems kinda dumb to me, like, you were freaked out, he was mad, misunderstanding, or maybe you're just in a new isekai! We'll need to come up with a title to do your journey justice, lol"

Without a second thought, Kai closed the gap and threw his arms around Leviathan, planting a kiss on his cheek. The mortified squeak from the demon made him recoil almost as quickly. "Sorry. Sorry. You aren't a touchy sort. I knew that.", he finished lamely.

The Grand Admiral of Hell's Navy stared, eyes wide and mouth moving silently, hand over the spot where he'd been kissed. "I.. no.. you. Um...",

"I'm sorry. I'll go if you want?"

Leviathan shook his head, "No, no. Y-you don't have to um just that was so embarrassing. How do you just DO that?!"

Kai shrugged slightly, lifting one narrow shoulder. "Been known to do more with less reason or want."

Orange over indigo eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. "So, so you can just...?"

Kai nodded, offering a slight smile. "Yeah. That's the easy stuff."

"How?"

The human shook his head. "No idea. I'd rather take a week of torture than discuss deep feelings, though."

Leviathan laughed a little. "Me too." There was a pause, before he pointed at the battered book. "Do you draw too?", the inquiry was shy.

"Oh. Oh!", it was the human's turn to stammer. "Um. Yeah. A little. I'm not great.", he looked down at the page that could ruin the budding camaraderie, deciding to face it head on. "Have you ever considered cosplay?"

"What?! No? Um... no? Why?", the tone defensive, deceptive, afraid of being judged.

Kai smiled, softening his tone. "Because I think you'd be a gorgeous Ruri-chan." The book he held out was open to the costume design the two had brainstormed in another life.

The demon's eyes went wide as he inhaled softly, fingers brushing alongside the design with something like veneration. "I-is this...me?"

Kai nodded, taking a breath. "There's more the next couple of pages. If you'd want, I would be happy to help with it."

There was a soft ruffling of pages, the demon's features shifting between emotions.

"You d-don't think I'm weird? For... for wanting to do this? How did you...?"

Kai shook his head. "Not at all. It's obvious how much you love all of it. Games, anime, idols...", Kai swept a hand around, gesturing to the room. "You should try things that might make you happy. Worst thing, you decide you don't like it and stop."

"Yeah, but... no way I can ever look like that...", he shook his head, staring at the page longingly. "You wouldn't get it, you're so..."

"Levi.", the human interrupted sharply. "I've remade myself from the ground up. I'm not 'so' anything.", the look he offered contained the weight of what should have been centuries of internalized despair.

Levi chewed on his lower lip, brows furrowed as he searched the Attendant's face. After what seemed to be a lifetime, he nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Okay."

Kai tilted his head, blinking. "Wait. You were the one who laughed the other day - when I was answering Beel's question..."

Leviathan nodded. "I - I'm sorry. I just knew... it was a good dodge though. I've said - I've said stuff like that too."

(interesting. that isn't a thing we're used to. we need to examine that...)

Both looked towards the TV as the recap of last week's episode of Help! I'm an Evil Overlord started.

Leviathan glanced back at the other man. "I-if... if you want, um, you can sit c-closer.", he blushed bright pink. "But you don't have to I mean who would want to be that close to me I'm just -"

The ramble was interrupted as Kai slid over, taking the demon's hand. "Is this okay?"

Leviathan nodded, eyes suddenly fixed intently on the screen.

"Levi? Can I see your art sometime?"

Barely audible. "Okay. Maybe, um - maybe later?"

Kai squeezed his hand gently, falling into silence as the show began, daring to lean his head against the third-born's arm.

#obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me oc #obey me mc #obey me leviathan

[bearbaitmegs]

I know I don’t have a lot of active followers here, but I’ve been going though some major changes in my life recently (both good and/or disorienting), and one of the things I am aiming to achieve with that is to reestablish myself online in some small way. Just casually, socially. I used to enjoy interacting and making friends online and some of my oldest friends remain people that I met through the web.

I hope these sporadic personal posts don’t bother you.

I think part of these changes that I’m aspiring to involve getting into the habit of simply posting more. I honestly am unsure of where to migrate to online outside of Tumblr. I’ve ditched Facebook except to check on businesses I’m planning on visiting and occasionally to sell something. I’m only on Snapchat and Instagram to follow one person. I haven’t logged into DeviantArt in almost 10 years. Yahoo 360 is long gone. Adjusting to Discord has been a slow and lurking process because it reminds me of some particularly haunting memories and it lacks most topics I’d be interested in (publicly, at least). Twitter never fit right. I refuse to engage with people on Ao3 or ffn because I’m very hesitant to engage with people who has the same media interests as I do because I’ve had far too much fandom-related trauma and drama and I still have trouble forming friend groups despite 9 years of distance

My brother has an undiagnosed and untreated personality disorder and it has often felt like his drama has been my defining feature for almost 2 years. I have gotten tired of carrying his monkey into all of my relationships and conversations, especially when trying to make new ones. I wish I had custody of my nephew because he and his ex are both sucky and neglectful, but all I can do is wait until the kid turns 18 or asks about emancipation. My brother deliberately seeks out relationships that renew and reinforce his past traumas in order to legitimize his unwillingness to move on and I hold him at least partially responsible for our parents’ decline in emotional, financial, and physical health. I recently opted to go for No Contact/Very Low Contact with him and it’s been freeing and refreshing and I feel immensely happier and more motivated. 

I frequently feel like I don’t have anything worth saying or cannot really think of anything to say. It’s a work in progress. I have always carried a sense of awkwardness and that continues to persist into my 30s, despite the fact that I generally consider myself a confident person. I’ve been in a romantic relationship for 5 years and it fulfills 95% of my social and emotional needs, which... I think has led to leaving many of my other relationships to pasture.

Instinctively, I want to reach out and rectify all of these relationships all at once. Of course, it doesn’t work that way, and in trying to pace myself I find I often procrastinate. I set myself a goal of reaching out to a friend per week, but it’s more like one every two weeks. I know some of us will pick up where we left off like we’ve never been apart. Some of my friends will have moved on and our re-connection will separate again because we’re just different now and I’m honestly not bothered by that. It’s normal. I just hesitate because I don’t know where to start even though the script should be so easy. I feel annoying and needy. “Hey, I hope you’re well! I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch. I was thinking of you today every day.” Ugh.

I’m pretty financially, mentally, and physically stable and have been for a while. I like my job and I’m paid very well! I like me! I like my hobbies and my apartment! I’ve worked very hard to get here and there’s really only a few key things I want to improve upon.

But somehow I feel like I’m rediscovering myself again. Like I was shut out of something and didn’t even realize there was a door. I’ve missed something. I’m naturally comfortable alone and tend to be willfully obtuse about things that don’t involve me only to get startled by them later.

I moved back to my hometown 2 years ago in order to introduce my partner to my family and be around for some major family events. It was supposed to be a 4 month summer visit. The family drama just never stopped and I’m just...still here. I can’t wait to leave, but I also don’t resent my hometown as much as I did when I left. It’s changing immensely, but so am I. I definitely won’t be able to afford to stay.

I had a patio garden over the summer and, while we hardly got our money’s worth out of it, it was pretty and tasty and fulfilling. A few of the plants are overwintering with us.

I still haven’t lived somewhere that allows me a pet, but I keep saving stray cats. 

I have way more fabric than I know what to do with from old clothes and dead ideas, but I finally tuned up my sewing machine and bought a set of sewing machine feet and I have lots of plans and ideas that I just need to sit down and actually execute. Especially embroidery.

I finally spent the damn $70 on an old school drawing tablet and took the time to download some free art programs. A modern tablet is still too much to budget for and a mouse and MS Paint is not enough. I do not know why it took me 10 freaking years when I’ve spent far more money on far less desirable luxuries.

I am hoping to find a decent enough mountain bike at a manageable price to do a long-distance cycling trip next year. If I don’t, I’ll divert to hiking a long-distance trail. I’ve never stopped craving spending weeks and weeks out in the woods with an overstuffed backpack since my first trek in 2016. I’m willing to go out of my way and budget hard to make it a reality on an annual basis.

I’m slowly picking away at my original story, JatGSL, a 10+ year Work In Progress, and I finally have a setting and characters that I feel good about and have a lot of fun imagining. I’m afraid to say much about it. It has dying androids and mushrooms and mythology and domesticated seals and braille and it takes place on a melted Antarctica. But my writing is a muscle long neglected and I don’t know if I’ll ever really get it back.

I sometimes think about moving some of my old fanfics over to Ao3 so they won’t be lost, but my old penname carries weight I’d rather not pick up and I don’t want to add anything else to JKR’s legacy and some of the things I wrote when I was 17-22 have aged pretty poorly. So, I hesitate and debate and do nothing.

I keep having simple, but neat ideas that nobody out in the market seems to be doing/making, but I lack the connections and knowledge to do anything with them.

My romantic partner is an amazingly perfect fit. Absolutely well-fitting, in-sync, mind-blowingly complementary in every way. I increasingly worry it might not last because my partner has 1 (ONE) key issue that I just can’t live with long term and if they can’t figure out a healthy way to cope I don’t know if I can go another 5 years dealing with it. I grew up with it. I won’t live with it.

It often feels odd to talk about myself (even here. even now) because I feel so much happier than I seem to be describing myself.

#megii's commentary #this is more a ramble than anything else

[veryberrybrenda]

Just One More Bet

Pairing: Adam Du Mortain x Lucia Langford

Prompt: Guilt

Notes: I goggled the French curse words because I don’t speak French, so idk if they are 100% correct. I’m sorry in advance. This is Day 5 of Wayhaven Week 2020 by @otomefandomevents 

Respect was something that came easy to Lucia. Her work ethic in the office was what granted her the promotion to Detective after all. What people respected most about her was her ability to do what was needed. Whether it be staying late to finish paperwork or helping out Verda with his work, she was always the one who did what most people didn’t want to do. It was something she took pride in, that was the case until recently.

Adam made her question everything. He made her own body betray her. Pulse racing, cheeks flushed, voice stuttering. She was used to being the one with the cards in her hands, but the world decided her winning streak should come to an end.

But right now, she was in control. Perspiration made her bare feet slick against the blue mat. Her breathing was ragged as she kicked the punching bag. It stood its ground, barely swaying against her valley of kicks and punches, mocking her.

She had been getting better, thankfully, not a small part due to Adam. He had been sacrificing his brooding time to train her – make her stronger against those who wanted to hurt her.

Lucia hated the feeling of being helpless, having to rely on others. Being a burden doesn’t sit well with her independent nature. That was why she chose combat with Adam over research with Nate. Although she was better suited to learning about the weaknesses of supernaturals, with her unquenchable thirst for knowledge and all, knowledge itself, won’t stop a creature from snapping her arm off like it was some crispy taco.

Creak.

The sound of the door opening interrupted her assault on the punching bag as she turned to face the person responsible for the noise. Before even taking a glance, she already had a guess to who it could be.

Who else would train at 10 o'clock at night.

Standing at the doorway was a man with an approved expression, posture as stiff as always. “Your form is getting better,” Adam said, voice echoing in the large room.

“That’s progress,” Lucia panted, breathing rough from exertion.

Adam walked, his usual brisk strides, over to Lucia. His hand clasped behind his back as he eyed Lucia as though he were critiquing a piece of art. “Have your legs spread a bit wider when you punch. It will help you keep your balance better.”

A devilish grin formed on Lucia’s lips. This is too good. The man is setting himself up.

“Spread my legs. Got it,” she replied with a smirk, eyes searching for the slightest crack in his once impenetrable walls.

The flirtation only made Adam narrow his eyes, jaw clenched. “This is not some game, Detective. Your life is at stake.”

“I make fun where fun is needed. I heard it makes it easier to remember stuff,” Lucia quipped confidently as she awaited the leader’s comeback.

“Your life is no joke. It is precious to me- I mean us.” Adam’s eyes widen at his slip up, but he hastily plastered back on his stoic mask. “Besides, Agent Langford would be highly disappointed in me if something happened to you.”

His almost confession had Lucia blinking for a few seconds. Maybe there is hope after all. She just had to do what was necessary to get it out of him.

Taking a step closer, she fully gazed into his emerald eyes, searching for some sign of the real unguarded soul behind it. “Would you be disappointed if something were to happen to me?”

She saw it. The slightest twitch of his lips as he concentrated on maintaining his mask. “Yes, of course. It would be quite an annoyance to have one less team member to utilize during missions.” Although his expression was unreadable, his voice wasn’t. There was a slight pitch to it that betrayed him.

I hooked him. Now it’s time to see if the world will deal me a good hand.

This was turning into a gamble as she took another step, his eyes trailing her every move, but thankfully he wasn’t fleeing…yet. Rolling the dice yet again, she reached out to grab his hand, his fingers limp against hers. She could sense the smallest tensing of his fingers like he’s fighting himself not to hold her hand.

Lucia still gets surprised each time she feels the delicate skin of his palm. Where she expected them to be hard, rough, and calloused from his centuries of work, they were soft, smooth, and lacking any imperfection. He would make an amazing hand model.

His mouth opened then promptly closed shut with unsaid words. Adam’s pupils were blown, turning his eyes dark as the green disappeared. A battle is raging inside of those eyes. The man who wants to be set free vs. the vampire who has survived centuries of loneliness and pain. Lucia can only hope her bet on the former wins.

There is no better time than now to confront him. I just hope he doesn’t run away this time.

Her volume has died down to a mere whisper, “Adam, I want to say- “

As though he knew where she was going with this, he suddenly whips around, yanking his hand away from hers, and knocking down a wooden dummy in the process. Lucia flinches at the loud thud the dummy makes when it hit the floor. Adam just stares at the dummy menacingly as if its existence offended him.

After a few seconds of silence, Adam crouches down to pick up the dummy. His eyes still radiating hatred when he sees Lucia also couching down to help him.

“I got it!” Adam snarled, tone low and threatening.

“I want to help.” Her tone not making any room for argument, but Adam always seemed to find a way.

Adam grips the dummy. “I don’t want your help.” His voice coming out in a single breath as he heaves the dummy up.

She desperately tried to think of something to say - to prevent his walls from rising up again as he wipes the dust off the dummy. Clenching her hands, she builds her resolve that she hopes will be enough to stand against a 900-year-old vampire.

“Tu Omnia.” It comes out as more of a command than a statement, which she hopes Adam will obey.

The phrase had Adam’s body freezing up like ice, his back, taunt as it faced her.

“You are everything.” She said the phrase slowly, afraid that if she said them a little too quick, she would’ve spooked him. This time, raw emotion spills into her voice, making Adam’s knuckles tighten over the wooden dummy, fingers white.

“Where…did you hear that?” Adam questioned accusingly.

Determination filled Lucia once again. “You told me that just before the medication kicked in after the fight with the trappers.”

“I…never said such thing!” Adam shouted defensively that emphasized his continued digging of his grave.

She crossed her arms, anger starting to simmer inside of her at the man’s lies. “Just ask Nate. He was the one who translated it for me.”

“No, you’re wrong!” An animalistic snarl escapes from his lips. The wood under his fingers finally break with a snap. “Fils de pute (son of a bitch)!” Adam curses in what she assumes is French as he chucks the broken wood aimlessly to the side. He throws it with so much force that it shatters the mirror beside him, sending shards scattering everywhere.

Without a word, she bends down to pick up the shards on the ground. Adam is still turned away from her while she silently cleans up the collateral damage, something she has gotten too used to doing.

Unfortunately for her, she made the terrible mistake of forgetting that she’s bare foot and she steps on a shard, a subdued scream escaping from her lips.

“Fucking hell!” She shouts angrily, while clutching her injured foot. Crimson drips readily from the sizable shard embedded in the center of her foot.

Maybe it was the pain of her wound or the frustration of being lied to by the person she trusts the most, but she just couldn’t take it anymore. She felt tired. Tired of pretending that it didn’t hurt every time Adam would show her a piece of his heart then proceed to snatch it away, leaving her to deal with the consequences. She knew this was no way to live her life, but if she was honest with herself, she was addicted. Addicted to seeing him smile at a joke she made or when his gaze would soften around her. Living 900 years alone had its baggage, sure, but her stupid heart couldn’t help itself. She’s neck deep in her bad habit that she just can’t bring herself to quit.

Maybe I’ll win the next round, she keeps telling herself, but the cards were slipping from her hands and she was powerless to stop it.

She would never be able to quit Adam Du Mortain for as long as she breathes.

Tears were forming in her eyes as her own walls that were meant to defend her, came caving in, trapping her under the rubble.

-

Lucia’s scream pulls Adam from his state and he instantly appears behind her in a blur, arms wrapped around her waist as he gently eases her down on the mat away from the broken glass. Her hands are coated in warm blood. The aroma of it overpowered his senses, crying out to his primal side to surface, to drink it, but he suppresses it as he tucks a piece of stray hair away from her face that have come undone from her ponytail.

Her black eyes always fascinated him and the same time, annoyed him. They gave him a hard time because he could never see her pupils that mixed with her black iris. Not that he has to of course, her hammering heart always was a telltale sign of her true feelings - ones that he tries his best to ignore, for his sake. They were two black holes, reeling him in and refusing to let go until he was consumed by them. They contrasted nicely with her bright lavender hair that set her apart from everyone else, but right now, he wishes he could see those eyes.

Lucia’s bloody hands covered her dark eyes as she chokes on her sobs. The sight of her in such a state because of him made his heart constrict in guilt.

Crying didn’t come naturally to her, so it wasn’t the glass that had tears racking her body. It was something else – something that he refuses to acknowledge because once he does, he won’t be able to stop himself. The only time he had seen her cry was when she visited him when he got injured by the trappers. Her tears had weakened his walls, which made him say those words that he wished he could take back. Tu Omnia. The DMB had made his mind weak and it slipped out before he could stop himself. She hadn’t brought it up since and he thought she didn’t hear it, but he was surely mistaken.

He admired her tenacity. He would shoo her away and she would still find a way back to him like some lovesick puppy. Her fighting spirit reminded Adam of himself. He would sacrifice anything for his team – and for her. So the sight of her broken and beaten in his arms caused him to feel like a failure. He failed to protect her from danger – failed to protect her from himself.

I wish you could see how much you deserve someone better than me.

Adam laid a hand under the back of her head to hug her closer to him, hoping that it would offer her some peace in her battle to find the shadow of the man that had been lost to time. Her head instantly tucked into his chest, and so he did his best to shield her from the dangerous world that threatened to destroy who she was. He was glad that she wasn’t able to look at him because if she did, his walls would’ve instantly came crashing down.

Sliding one hand under her legs and the other under her back, he lifted her up bridal style in his strong arms. Her cries had turned into small whimpers now as she struggled to regain her composure. She felt lighter than he expected – smaller, more fragile. Her tendency to project strength, just like her mother, almost made him forget how delicate humans actually are.

As Adam was in the process of carrying her to her room, he passed by Nate, who instantly rushed towards him, expression worried as he took in Lucia bleeding and whimpering in his arms. Adam had hoped that no one would notice, but everyone must’ve heard her cries by now.

“What happened?” Nate asked, brows knitted in worry.

“Please, not now Nate.” Adam pleaded. He hoped that his old friend can understand the look in his eyes to back off.

Nate must’ve understood. “Okay. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Can you clean the broken glass in the training room?”

“Of course.” Nate replied softly. He quietly walked away, something that Adam found oddly strange, given his size.

With no more interruptions, Adam arrived at Lucia’s brightly decorated room. He was glad that the lights were off because the bright colors made his sensitive eyes hurt.

He slowly eased her down onto her bed, her hands stubbornly refused to let go. He had to peel them off of his waist, which wasn’t difficult since her lack of energy meant her resistance was weak.

He was no stranger to treating injuries. During his time as a human, he was an expert at stitching himself up, a skill he learned growing up as a knight. He grabbed a towel from the bathroom, running it under the tap. He also knew where the first aid kit was.

Under the sink cabinet and next to the shampoo bottles.

He memorized this detail when he helped Nate set up the room for her first stay at the Warehouse. With her being so clumsy, it was an extra precaution that had paid off.

He came back to Lucia, quiet and staring at the white ceiling, eyes swollen and glossy from crying. She slowly sat up when she saw him, black eyes still in a state of distress. He tried to ignore the way her sad eyes followed him as he began his work.

He gently grasped her ankle, glancing at her when it was time to pull the shard out. She understood his look and slowly nodded as she turned her gaze away from her foot. Adam firmly gripped the shard in his fingers and with one swift motion, yanked it out causing a whimper from Lucia. He quickly stopped the fresh flow of blood by cleaning it with the wet towel, her muscles tensing from the pain. After all the blood was cleaned, it was time for the most painful part. He poured the alcohol on a cotton ball and did his best to be quick and efficient. A few hisses signaled her pain. He was now wrapping her foot in gauze, careful not to make it too tight so the wound can breathe.

Once he finished, she still refused to look at him, her jaw clenched tightly.

It’s better for you to hate me. That makes it easier.

Thinking that there was nothing else he could do to ease her suffering, Adam stood up from the bed, but a small, weak hand gripped his arm, still fighting to keep him from walking away.

“Please, don’t leave.” It was mixture between a whisper and whimper that had Adam retreating back to the bed, Lucia’s hand still clutching his arm as though it was a life preserver in a stormy sea.

“I’m here, Luc.” He reassured her, eyes softening. “I won’t leave you.” He surprised himself at how naturally the words flowed from his mouth

“Can you lay next to me until I fall asleep?” She whispered, eyes pleading.

Even if Adam wanted to, no words would have come out of his mouth, so instead, he nodded and laid back on the bed, pulling the quilt over Lucia and tucking her small head in his chest. He could sense her heart slowing down as she drifted away from reality, but what he didn’t expect was his heartbeat to slow as well, synchronizing with hers. The familiar rhythm combined with her comforting scent of cherry blossoms lulled Adam to sleep, one where his nightmares wouldn’t dare touch him.    

#wayhaven week 2020 #the wayhaven chronicles #adam du mortain #I really thought I would make them kiss at the end but where is the fun in that #I'm still waiting for a confession in the real book smh #I'll be 50 and this man still hasn't confessed #i hope you didn't cringe that much at this

[goodgodbean]

East To West - Calum Hood

Hey guys! I got the cutest anon this past week! It should be on my profile if your curious or linked here! They were saying how they don’t usually read OC and I explained my decision to make an OC vs using Y/N. [Spoiler alert: it was so i could add more description to the character’s likes/dislikes] I also wanted to point out that i’m trying to limit my describing of my OC (Becca) so anybody reading could still imagine whoever they wanted (maybe themselves??). I hope you guys enjoy Part 4!

+++

Masterlist

Part 1 + Part 2 + Part 3 + Part 5

+++

Part 4. Saturn

He couldn’t call her. 

Every time he tried, the breath swept out of him. His lungs stilled, desperate for a breath that would never come. His heart would race against the minutes until death, trying to keep him alive. He started referencing her number as The Holy Seven in his brain. The case file detailing his insanity has grown enough to call him a criminal. 

The number is scribbled on almost every stray piece of paper in the house. As if he didn’t memorize it the moment he saw it. 

Calum tries to lean back on his couch, before realizing how uncomfortable it is. It’s a modern style, extra long bottom cushion with a ridiculously low back, the worst design in Calum’s opinion. The decorator chose it to match the modern, white monochrome look to the house. The lack of color drives him crazy, like he’s been only in one room while walking through the whole house. All the furniture was low to the ground and designed so you could see the whole room from any position. The living room they were in had big floor to ceiling windows that had a dark blue tint. When the sun hit it right, it felt like you were sitting at the bottom of the ocean. The walls were mostly bare, spare the odd monochrome painting that probably cost too much in Calum’s opinion. 

Luke looked more than natural in the space, somehow making the awful couches not look so bad. A fleeting thought - maybe Calum should just give the house to him. Luke puffs the weed. His dirty secret only came out at Calum’s house. Luke usually blamed Calum for being the stoner when Layla, Luke’s girl, would ask. Layla quit smoking when her brother was killed in a car accident while under the influence. One of the boundaries Layla set when she and Luke started dating was that Luke quit. Luke agreed, he’s been trying to get into her pants for weeks. It never took Luke so long to win over a girl and the chase was driving Luke insane.

When Luke came back that first night smelling like weed, he had blamed Calum. Calum never corrected him, so the running lie had begun. Calum had smoked a couple of times, but when the thrill of doing something slightly illegal wore off, he realized he didn’t even like how it made him feel. Every time he tried to relax while under the influence, his anxiety sky rocketed. It wasn’t worth it to Calum. 

Luke passes the blunt to Ashton who also inhales some. Unlike Luke, Ashton’s girlfriend is sitting right next to Ashton. Ashton’s arm is around her shoulders as he holds the blunt up for her to take. It wasn’t much of a boy’s night like they said it would be. They convinced Calum to invite them over by saying they were going to have a boys night and bond a little before they go into the studio next week. Calum had blindly believed them, desperately believing that they finally saw how unhappy he was. Next thing Calum knew, the joint was being passed around and nobody noticed that Calum never took a hit. 

The clock was closing in on midnight. Not exactly late by their standards, but enough time had pass to make Calum want to burst. Burst in anger, frustration, or maybe it was just sadness. Calum excuses himself, standing and walking up the stairs to his room. 

It was then that he called the number. There was nobody else to call at that point. 

The phone rang and rang. Calum held his breath for another disappointment. Why would she even pick up? It was during the custom voicemail greeting that someone picked up. Calum hadn’t even realized that was possible.

“Hello?” The voice was like molasses, slow and riddled with sleep. 

“Hey,” Calum brilliantly answered. 

“Benny? Is that you? He didn’t call yet and we do still have a three hour time difference so I’m going back to bed,” Her voice was rough and low. Something in Calum told him she only spoke quickly so she could hang up faster. 

“Actually - it’s not Benny. But I did forget about the time difference.” Calum cursed himself in his head for forgetting she lived in New York. Its 3am for her. She was definitely asleep. 

“Um who is this then?” She seemed a little bit more awake now, but definitely still groggy. 

“It’s..uh…Calum. Calum Hood?” He said it like a question. Unsure of how else to phrase it.

Becca flips the light switch and drops into a chair. The kitchen illuminates in a murky yellow color, but she feels a little bit more awake. 

“Uh…” She breathes out. It’s her turn to talk. “I’m Becca, Becca Woods. I’m sure you know that by now though,” her voice is too breathy and she’s rambling but she can’t seem to stop. “I heard you have a picture of me? That sounds creepy. Well I have a drawing of you too. Does that make it less creepy? Um…sorry. But yeah, sounds like I should be paying that psychic for drawing me and giving it to you. I mean - I didn’t! I didn’t pay her at all. Well I did pay her for the picture of you but….yeah. I didn’t pay her off.” The disaster grew with every word she spoke. 

He lets out a low chuckle over the phone. Maybe she wasn’t that much of a disaster? “Love, I know.” A breath across the line, “I know.” Another breath, “I was hoping to get to know you? Um, I didn’t really think I’d get this far and that you’d be real. But…yeah? You live in New York? Maybe you can come out here or I’ll go there? I’m not good at the whole phone thing.” He slowly chuckles.

Becca had to remind herself to breath for a moment. “Yeah, we should! I -uh. Schedules for work just came out. I can’t request off until next month. Um - I don’t even have the money for a flight. I’m sorry. I’m rambling. and I’m tired. I’m sorry, I’m not exactly sure what I’m saying -“ 

Before Becca could keep going, Calum just breaths another laugh. “Don’t - don’t worry. We can figure it all out later. Just go to sleep, Love.”

“I-uh-okay. Goodnight…Calum.”

“Goodnight Becca.” A beat. “Thank you for picking up.”

“Well, that’s what you do when the phone rings.”

Becca places the phone back on the hook in the kitchen. She’s so tired, she doesn’t even realize that she didn’t remember to give Calum her cell phone number. Becca just stumbles back to her bed and collapses into a dreamless sleep. 

Calum stares at the cell phone in his hands like it was the map to Atlantis. Confused on how he had gotten it, but he wasn’t going to let it go now. Something in him lit up from talking to her. A spark so small, someone like Luke wouldn’t have even noticed it. But when your chest is hollow and dark, the little light is more like a beacon of hope. 

Calum descends the stairs back to the living room. He collapses on the sofa, the conversation around him not even faltering. It didn’t bother him as much this time though. 

Becca messed up about 4 drinks the next morning, burnt her hands three times and overcharged a regular by double (he thankfully wasn’t mad). The regular, George, leaned up against the counter near the espresso machine as Becca steams the milk for his sugar free vanilla latte. Becca barely makes eye contact with him, a far cry from their usual banter. George is not quite middle-aged yet, in his 30’s with a 15 year old daughter (a result of a teen pregnancy), but still has a widow peak starting to show between his fine hair. George studies her, concerned, as she pours his latte a little too quickly making the latte art muddle together. Becca just pushes the drink across the counter. 

George stares down at his drink, “Now I know something is wrong. You okay Becca?” His voice is slightly strained and awkward. Even though every morning, for the couple minutes it takes Becca to make his drink, they talk and banter a little, they have never talked about anything remotely serious. As it goes with most customers. 

Becca is already starting on the next drink order as she speaks, “Yeah. Got a call at like 3am last night and I’m trying to figure out if it was a dream or not. Ha.” Her laugh is more like a hard breath, but it does the trick. 

“Check your recent calls on your phone?” George awkwardly stands there, gripping his drink, not sure if he should leave or not. 

“Picked it up on my old landline. No caller ID or way to check past calls. It’s a miracle that thing has voice mail,” Becca says absentmindedly, dumping espresso out of the basket. She grinds more espresso, filling the basket again. 

“Is everything okay?” George is still hovering.

“Yeah. Yeah, it is. Just - unexpected and weird. Feels more like a fever dream than a call.” Becca pauses for a moment. “It feels okay and not - all at the same time.” Becca positions the milk wand into the container and turns it on. 

“I hope it works out!” George calls over the espresso machine. He turns to leave, and just before he walks out the door Becca responds. 

“Me too!”

#calum hood #calum #calum 5sos #calum imagine #calum 5 seconds of summer #california #oc #original character #5sos #5sos fanfic #5sos fanfiction #luke 5sos #michael 5sos #michael clifford #luke hemmings #micheal clifford #michael imagine #5SOS Michael #michael smut #luke imagine #luke #5sos luke #ashton irwin #ashton 5sos #5sos ashton #ashton imagine #ashton #fanfiction #fanfic #5sos fan fiction

[icyharrington]

Sinful Thoughts (Michael Langdon X Reader) Part 2

click here for part 1 // tag list: (sorry if I forgot anyone!) @fuckthatfeeling @shado-cat @hxdesworld @the-captain-kidd @mrs-langdxn @natalielivesformusic 

plot: you’re the epitome of a good christian girl. michael langdon intends to ruin that. 

warnings: fem!Reader, high school au, fingering, michael is kind of a dick in this but in a hot way, u get finger fucked in a janitor’s closet oopsy😋

word count: 3.6k 

i. 

“Forgive me father, for I have sinned.”

Your voice sounded foreign, like you were listening to yourself talk from another room. You swallowed a sudden wave of nausea as you waited for the priest to reply from behind the screen. “And how is it that you have sinned, my child?” The man’s voice was patient and calm. It didn’t make you feel any better.

You let out a shuddery sigh before responding. “I’ve been having bad thoughts. Sinful thoughts, father. Desires of the flesh...”

“I see. And have you succumbed to any of these thoughts?”

“No,” you said. Not yet, anyway. You considered this answer to only be a half-truth, as recently you’d been finding yourself grinding against your chair absentmindedly in class, watching that awful blond boy from across the room. You hadn’t touched yourself to any thoughts, at least not voluntarily, but you had a sneaking feeling that you were very, very close to breaking. 

The last straw had been this morning. You’d been preoccupied in class, as usual, eyes glazed over as images of Michael Langdon’s hands danced in your mind, when suddenly there was a hollow pit in your stomach. You’d jumped to your feet and hurried to the girl’s bathroom, immediately holing yourself up in a stall to squeeze your thighs together and will away the thoughts that were bringing you closer and closer to your breaking point.

Once you’d managed to coax the feeling away, you bowed your head and recited a few prayers. God had to be testing your will— that was the only explanation you could think of that made any sort of sense. You’d always had such remarkable self-control, but you could feel it dwindling with every lude thought that crossed your mind. You had to admit, though: divine test or not, you were beginning to frighten yourself.

“Good, my child. Now recite three Hail Marys and you shall be forgiven.”

Your face fell. “Seriously? What am I supposed to do about this? I mean, I can’t think about anything but this one boy!”

The priest’s voice suddenly assumed a tone that was far more casual than wise and all-knowing. “Honestly, kid, there’s a lot worse things than having a couple dirty thoughts every now and then.”

You went slack-jawed, staring at the shadowy figure of the priest with disbelief. Was he really being serious? Did he really not have any kind of solution to offer for your problem? You huffed, discouraged, and without another word you left the confessional booth, letting the door slam shut behind you. Maybe he’s right, came a hopeful whisper in your mind. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if you just touched a little...

You shook your head as if to erase the thought like an etch-a-sketch. No way. You couldn’t. You’d gone your whole life without giving in to your desires, so why start now? It’s a test, you told yourself firmly. God is testing me.

You pushed open the double doors of the church and walked into the parking lot, the sky navy blue and sprinkled with stars. You sighed, walking briskly as you started the fifteen minute journey home.

You’d hoped that going to the confessional would make you feel better, or enlighten you somehow. Instead, it had only heightened your confusion and distress. You pulled your jacket tighter to you as a soft breeze blew your hair back, footsteps erratic on the sidewalk as you hoped to shorten your walk through the cold. 

Crunch. You stopped so suddenly you nearly lost your balance, whipping around as your heart jumped in your throat. It sounded as if somebody had stepped on a dead leaf on the ground behind you, but you’d been certain you were alone.

The sidewalk was empty. Not even a car was in sight. You scanned the premises anxiously before turning back around, quickening your pace. It was all in your head, you told yourself. You only made it a few more yards before you were interrupted again, this time by the sound of scurrying behind you, so clear there was no way you could’ve imagined it. You stopped, mumbling a desperate prayer and stroking your necklace, before gingerly turning around.

Nothing. The streets and sidewalk were empty. The streetlights cast eerie shadows down the uneven cement, overgrown with weeds and grass, but there was nobody there. What the hell? You thought, before scolding yourself for swearing.

You let out a panicked whimper, your body numbing from a mixture of fear and cold, and reluctantly you turned back around. You took in an indulgent breath, counting to three in your head before exhaling. It’s all in your head. It’s all in your head. It’s all-

You let out a strangled scream as a gloved hand found its way over your mouth, your body being pulled into a makeshift alley between two parallel fences. Immediately you were pressed hard against the old, splintering wood behind you, your flailing limbs tamed effortlessly by your assailant.

Then you heard a laugh. A very familiar laugh, at that. Your attacker removed his hand from your mouth, taking a step back, and even though it was dark you could recognize those angular features.

“Michael, what the- what the hell is wrong with you?” You managed, and you watched him grin at your natural reluctance to swear. A tear dropped from the corner of your eye and slid down your cheek, which you quickly wiped away with the back of your sleeve.

“I was going for a walk when I saw you, and I just couldn’t pass up the opportunity.”

“The opportunity to make me think I was about to be raped? Or murdered?” Your words came out at much more of a shrill pitch than you’d intended, and your body continued to shake from the leftover terror.

“Shhh,” he cooed, reaching a leather-clad hand to your jaw and tenderly wiping away the tears that continued to spill, forming dark spots on the front of your sweater. Even though you glared at Michael with contempt, that dreaded sinking feeling returned in your stomach upon having his hand against your skin.

“Don’t touch me,” you said, crossing your arms in front of you protectively.

“You say that,” he began, that stupid smirk giving way across his perfect lips, “but your thoughts are sending me a very different message.”

“You don’t know what I’m thinking.”

“Hm,” he laughed dryly, thumb still working away the glassy stains on your skin. Then he brought his face close to yours, so close that his words caused the hair on the back of your neck to stand on end. “Tell me about your dream.”

You gaped at him. He couldn’t possibly be talking about...? “What dream?”

He shook his head, appearing somewhat annoyed with you. “When will you accept that I know everything about you, (y/n)? Your thoughts, desires, dreams.” You faltered under the weight of his stare, unsure if your lack of motion was due to some sort of supernatural hold, or your own free will. “So, (y/n),” he said, lips brushing your ear and making you shiver. “Tell me about the dream you had.”

“You’re crazy,” you said, pressing yourself as far back against the fence as you could in a feeble attempt to escape his presence. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“So you don’t remember? Waking up with your panties soaked through? Using every last shred of strength to stop yourself from touching that one part of you that’s off-limits.” You blinked at him, and again came that ache beneath your undergarments, demanding your attention.

“You remember.” He placed his fingers under your chin and tilted it upwards. “Don’t you?” 

You nodded, an act of betrayal against yourself. “How did- how could you know?” you stammered, shallow breaths escaping you as you fought to keep your composure.

“I’m more powerful than any god you could ever dream of,” he told you, lifting one hand to your hair and petting it. 

“That’s a lie.”

He tilted his head to one side, lips twitching upwards at the corners. He was loving this, the way you studied his every move with fear and lust behind your eyes. He darted his tongue out and ran it along his bottom lip, and you nearly whined at the way the moisture glinted in the dark. “But it isn’t, (y/n), and you know it isn’t.”

You glared at him, all at once frustrated with yourself for playing into his games, and without a second thought your palm was hot against his cheek, his skin icy from the nighttime chill. Your eyes wide, you brought your quivering hand back to your side, immediately regretting what you’d done. In the low light, you could almost swear his eyes were entirely black, glossy like a raven’s wings.

“Hail Mary, full of grace, our lord is with thee,” you choked, afraid. “Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, J-J-“ You gasped for air, realizing that your throat was being constricted as your body inched upwards against the fence. Michael’s hands, however, weren’t touching you; your feet left the ground and you continued upwards as if by magic, dragged by an invisible force that also managed to prevent you from breathing.

“M-Mi-Michael,” you begged, your hands grasping senselessly at your throat. “P-pl-“ your mouth opened and closed frantically as your legs dangled uselessly below you.

He chuckled to himself before casually flicking his wrist, and suddenly you dropped back onto the ground, chest heaving as you took in a gulp of much needed air. Waves of blond hair falling over his face as he bent over to reach your level, he spoke with a twinge of sadistic amusement. “Are you ready to submit?”

All you could do was look at him, entirely speechless, and his lips curved up into a triumphant grin. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow, (y/n).”

Without another word, he strode out of the alley and into the night, leaving you alone to deal with your thoughts.

ii. 

All morning at school that next day, you compulsively checked the clock with a lump in your throat. Your stomach was unable to stop its incessant churning as you anticipated your inevitable crossing of paths with Michael later that day. You couldn’t shake the feelings of fear- fear for what he was, as it was blatantly apparent to you now that he wasn’t fully human- and arousal, and the combination of the two emotions was intoxicating.

You knew it wouldn’t be long before you unraveled in the palms of his ring-clad hands. There was just something about him that you couldn’t shake, and you thought maybe it’d be better for everyone if you just gave in to your desires.

You hated that you’d been brought to the point of nearly giving up- you’d been so strong until you met him. What was it about him that was powerful enough to change you?

When the time came to go to biology, you were forced to evaluate your options: the first was showing up and pretending like nothing was wrong, even though you knew Michael would be reading your thoughts all the same. The other was the more cowardly option- hiding out in a secluded part of the school while skipping the class altogether.

Michael would know that he’d won if you didn’t show up for class, something so out of character for someone as studious as you. You knew this. But wouldn’t he know either way that he’d gotten under your skin? He already seemed to be in tune with your every thought. Was there even any use pretending that you hadn’t been affected by him?

In the end, you wound up finding yourself hidden out in the janitor’s closet, knees drawn to your chest as you scrolled through your phone. Sure, it was the easy way out. But you were beginning to suspect that there would be no escaping Michael whether or not you went to class.

Sitting awkwardly amongst the mops and cleaning supplies, your heart jumped as the doorknob began jiggling gently.

You bit your bottom lip. You knew who was behind that door. It’d already been on the back of your mind that Michael might know where to find you, but your teeth began chattering in apprehensive excitement all the same. You watched the lock turn by itself- again, you’d known there was the chance that he could bypass whatever obstacles you put between the two of you. Every time he proved his supernatural powers to be more than a figment of your imagination, though, it managed to surprise you.

The lock clicked, and then the door was opening, a thin stream of light from the fluorescent-lit hallways cutting through the dimness of the closet. And then there was Michael with his beautiful hair and black jacket and expensive pants, towering over you as you became engulfed in his shadow.

He looked at you wryly, taking a step inside and shutting the door sensibly behind himself. “Is there a reason you’re in a dusty closet instead of biology class?”

Your fingers thoughtlessly traced your cross necklace for what seemed like the thousandth time that week, even though you knew it wouldn’t help you now. “You know why I’m here, Michael,” you said grudgingly.

“Why don’t you tell me?” he said, and you rolled your eyes. This was all a part of his plan to ruin you, having you swallow your last ounce of pride to admit that you were afflicted by him.

“I thought you knew everything,” you said sarcastically as he leaned forward and offered you his hand.

“Oh, believe me, (y/n), I do,” he said, helping you to your feet after you placed your hand in his. “I just want to hear you say it.”

He came closer to you, hips swinging slightly as he took his usual long, leisurely strides. Your back hit the dusty shelves, shaking something loose- there was a soft crash as something scattered across the floor, but you hardly noticed, too busy fixating on Michael as he closed in on his prey. Rolling his neck slightly, he licked his lips; his eyes were dark and glinted with a carnivorous sort of hunger.

“Fine,” you said loudly, resenting the way he regarded you so smugly. “I’m here because I couldn’t bring myself to face you. Because you make me want to do bad things. Un-Christian things. Happy?”

 “Now, how hard was that?” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, blinking innocently. “Tell me what you want,” he said, his tone gentle but authoritative, fingers trailing down your cheeks and ghosting your jaw.

“You know what I want,” you murmured, looking down as your face flushed with shame. Was he really going to make you say it? 

Of course he was going to. You shouldn’t have expected any sort of mercy from someone like Michael Langdon. He was eating this up, thriving on your weakness. And for some reason, as ashamed as you were to admit it, that raw, domineering power only made your center throb harder with want.

“Look at me,” he commanded calmly, so low you almost thought you’d imagined it. You obeyed, shuddering as his eyes seared invasively into yours. “Tell me what you want, and you can have it.”

“I want-“ you began, pausing to gather your bearings. “I want you to touch me.” You hardly registered the words as your own; it felt like you were outside of your body, watching helplessly from afar as you eagerly allowed Michael Langdon to strip you of your remaining dignity.

“That’s it,” he said, lowering his hand to toy with the hem of your skirt. “Let go of everything. Give yourself to me.” He hiked up your skirt to your waist, and you could only imagine how crude this scene would look to an observer as he rolled your nude colored pantyhose down to your knees. You whimpered, barely noticing the way the shelf behind you dug painfully into your back.

“Where do you want to be touched?” he asked, making you groan in exasperation. Wasn’t the fact that you were submitting to him enough? Why did he need to further humiliate you?

“Please,” you breathed, but he only shook his head at you, no sign of sympathy in his stoic gaze. “Michael.”

Your hand shot forward and gripped his wrist, tugging it desperately towards your dripping core. He seemed pleasantly surprised at this, and seemed to be rewarding your boldness when he starred to rub circles over the thin fabric of your underwear. You moved your hand to grip his forearm, hissing as he applied hard pressure to your aching clit.

“Your underwear is completely soaked through,” he remarked, sliding his hand up to the waistband and snapping it hard against your lower stomach. “Have I always made you this wet?”

You knew he expected an answer from you, freezing in place as he waited for your reply. He could probably continue this for hours if he wanted to, just destroying you bit by bit. You gulped and nodded quickly, hoping that would suffice as an answer to his question.

He worked your underwear down to your knees, bunching it alongside your pantyhose. Next you felt his dress shoes nudging between your flats, urging you to spread your legs apart. You complied, his fingers stroking your upper leg and dipping into the juices that had begun to dribble down your inner thighs.

When he’d coated a sufficient amount on his fingers, he lifted them to your lips; you parted them obediently and he slipped them into your mouth. You wrapped your lips around them, moaning wantonly at the taste of your wetness combined with the salty flavor of his skin.

“Who would’ve known that the sweet little Christian girl would turn out to be such a needy slut?” he mused, removing his fingers from your mouth to trace them lightly over your swollen clit. “Good girl,” he praised, dragging his moist fingers over your entrance before easing them inside your tight walls. You whined, grinding your hips down as you felt yourself being stretched out for the first time in your life. It was exquisite, the way he felt inside you, and you couldn’t believe you’d been denying yourself this for so long.

He started out torturously slow, allowing you to get used to the feeling of his fingers inside you before increasing the intensity. When you’d been properly stretched out, he thrusted harshly upwards, forcing a gasp from your lips as your vision blurred. Your eyes fluttered shut and his pace quickened, his fingers expertly reaching and working at your deepest points with each vigorous thrust of his wrist. Your arms braced his neck, holding him close to you in case he might change his mind, decide to leave you high and dry. The thought of that alone made you want to sob.

“That’s it,” he said, aligning his thumb with your clit and tracing shapes over it firmly. “Allow yourself to forget everything but the pleasure.” You were one step ahead of him, your mind already blanking out as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, thumb pushing against your sensitive bundle of nerves without mercy. You cried out, muscles tensing as you realized you were about to have your very first orgasm, and for the first time you understood, really understood, the reason people touched themselves, had sex before marriage. What was so goddamned sinful about wanting release?

You rocked your hips forward, your walls clenching around him, and he stopped, fingers remaining inside you and thumb hovering just over your clit. You whined, rolling your hips against his hand, but he moved his hand with your body, not allowing you to take more than he was willing to give. “Tell me,” he ordered, knowing very well you knew what he meant.

“Michael, please,” you pleaded, wiping away a bead of sweat that was traveling down your forehead. “Don’t do this, I- I need this-”

He hummed softly, just barely sweeping his thumb over your clit, pulling it away before you could buck your hips towards him. “You need what, (y/n)? I need to hear you say it before I can give it to you.”

“Make me come, Michael, I need to come,” you blurted, blinking back tears which wobbled precariously over the rim of your eyes. You saw him grin, and then your vision blurred as he resumed massaging circles roughly against your bud, fingers stretching apart inside you before pounding hard against your spongey walls. 

“Oh my- oh my god,” you sighed, too wrapped up in your ecstasy to care about using the lord’s name in vain. All you cared about in this moment was Michael and his beautiful hand turning you inside out, giving you what you’d been yearning for so desperately. He curled his fingers inside you and that was it- you orgasmed, a tsunami of pure, sinful bliss washing over you, and you made sure your face was buried in his shoulder to muffle the shrieks that you simply could not stifle. 

You laid your head there while he slipped his fingers out of you, wiping the excess moisture over your protruding outer lips. Mindlessly brushing away a strand of his perfect hair from his neck, you opened your eyes with a contented hum, still too flustered from your orgasm to think clearly. 

And then you almost screamed. 

Suddenly you had all the answers you’d been looking for. You knew for certain now who he was, why he had such seemingly supernatural powers that both frightened and compelled you. It was remarkable, you thought, that you hadn’t realized it sooner. 

Below his ear, etched in reddened, raised flesh, was a number.

6-6-6. 

#michael langdon #michael langdon smut #michael langdon imagine #cody fern #ahs apocalypse #apocalypse #ahs smut #ahs imagines #mine #ahs #american horror story

[samglyph]

Alrighty Folks its original content time

You read this??? Little prologue?? and saw this art? you want more? here you go. 

Notes: This story is still untitled. Throw ideas at me. I need edits! If you see something that is wrong, tell me! But be nice or I will cry.

Tw: kids fighting with parents, kidnapping.  

Chapter 1: Vanishing Acts

Eight year old James Woodward was like any eight year old; full of boundless, life threatening energy. It’s amazing what lengths children will go to be in danger when there are rules in place meant to prevent that specifically. In the past few months, James had managed to electrocute himself with the only open outlet in their home, climb onto the kitchen island and subsequently fall off and split his chin open on the hardwood, and slice his finger open with a butter knife. He was a tough kid, but his father joked that he must like visiting the hospital.

His father didn’t know how right he was.

It’s wasn’t the hospital per say, but James hated being cooped up, and it seemed that his father would only take him off the property on rare occasions; including but not limited to trips to the hospital. But recklessness is not something that should be fostered.

Eventually Colin got fed up. He had never been one to snap at the people he cared about but one day he saw his one and only son attempt to hammer a loose nail into the deck. Even Colin, who despite eight years of practice was still learning about being a parent, knew that eight year olds shouldn’t have hammers. So he swooped in and wrenched it away, and he shouted.

Parents should not make a habit of shouting at their children. However, you also shouldn’t make a habit of never reprimanding your child at all, until you get so fed up that you snap like a twig. This will confuse and frighten the child, and he will shout back. And suddenly a parent and a child are shouting at each other, something that should be avoided.

This argument occurred on the porch of the cabin. The porch had  recently been cleaned, though its age was still obvious. Splinters were popping up, and various scars left in the wood by curious forest  creatures could be seen. Colin dreaded to think of a coyote’s vicious claws scratching so close to where his child slept.  This fear popped into his head, and, parental instincts kicking in, he told his son to go to his room.

But they were outside, and little James realized this. He thought about how to go to his room, he would need to walk past his dad, and then he’d be stuck, and his dad might yell at him more. He didn’t want that.

So he broke another rule.

The most important rule, perhaps.

The one rule that his father seemed to actually care about constantly.

James Woodward, eight years old, turned, jumped off the porch, and sprinted into the woods.

He could hear his father shouting and cursing behind him, and for a moment felt bad. But eight year olds are fairly egotistical, so he kept running.

He ran for a long time. Despite his lack of outdoor activity, James still had some pretty solid stamina. So he ran and ran, and finally stopped, leaning against a towering pine, breathing heavily. He couldn’t hear his father yelling anymore, and the sun was getting lower.

It was probably time to go home, he realized, and he turned around.

And realized that he couldn’t see the path. That was odd. He was sure he had stayed on the hiking trail, but he must’ve veered off at some point. That was ok, he could probably just retrace his steps. He knew that the sun set in the west, and that was always on the left side of his house, so if he just went north he should be back in no time. He started to walk back.

“Hello,” A voice said from behind him, and he whipped around to face someone who hadn’t been there moments before. They were taller than him, with pale blond hair tied in a knot, wearing a shawl that hung loosely over their thin frame. The most noticeable feature, however, were their eyes. They were just too round, just slightly too big, and almost completely black.

Crow eyes, an absent mother’s voice supplied.

“Hello,” James said, before promptly turning on his heel and restarting the trek. They appeared next to him, matching him in stride.

“What are you doing out here?” They said, leaning down as they walked. “Where’s your father?”

“Close,” responded James, not looking at his new traveling companion, and wondering how they knew his father.

“Are you sure?” James glanced to his side, and saw the person’s eyes flick back and forth. “I don’t see him. What’s your name?”

“J,” He responded, his pace picking up. The creature hummed.

“Well, J, I think you need to hurry home.”

“That’s what I’m doing, stupid,” The child muttered, speeding up.

“But you’re going the wrong way, J,” Their eyes gleamed, “And it’s getting late.”

“It’s not-” James paused, and took in his surroundings. It was almost dark. But that wasn’t right, the sun hadn’t been that low a moment ago. And he still wasn’t on a path. And suddenly they were in front of him.

“You should come with me, J”

“I don’t think I want to,” James yawned.

“Aren’t you curious? You’re a curious one, aren’t you J?” The thing whispered. James was looking at it, it’s large black eyes staring down at him. “If you go back to that house, your dad might not let you be curious.” James shook his head. Everything felt fuzzy. That wasn’t right, his dad loved curiosity, he had told him so.

“It’s late, J, you’re all turned around,” They murmured. “Let’s go home.” Tears pricked James’s tired eyes.

“I want my dad.” James cried, and suddenly the soft expression on their face vanished, leaving a sneer in its absence. The thing’s long arm sprung out towards the boy, and sharp fingers curled around his throat.

“Yeah, kid? You want your dad?” They hissed, their voice dripping with false sympathy. “Well I want to win.”

Kilometers away, the Woodward family cabin was a mess. Colin had spent hours in the woods, searching for his son in vain. When the sun began setting, and he heard the distant sound of bells, he ran home, hoping that James had already returned. But apparently he would not be so lucky.

He had torn through the books they had tucked away, and journals that Penny had left behind. Survival guides of all kinds and books that most would write off as pure fantasy, but nothing instructed him on how to find a lost child in the woods.

It was about a quarter till eight when he heard them. The drums. The shouting. He stood up and slammed open the front door. Lights in the forest, laughter from far away. A sob crawled out of the man’s throat. He screamed bloody murder into the dark, into the woods to be heard only by the wind and the trees, who didn’t care much for the man who lost his son. His voice went hoarse, and he slammed his fist into the side of the door, splintering the old wood. Frantic and wild, he rushed into the kitchen and rummaged through the drawer that he usually kept locked, and grabbed a knife. Shaking, he carried the tool over to the wall near the front, to the charcoal message. Another sob crawled out of him.

“I’m sorry, Penny.” He said, and started carving.

🧚🏼‍♀️🧚🏼‍♀️🧚🏼‍♀️🧚🏼‍♀️🧚🏼‍♀️

Yeah pls give me feedback. thanks for reading! I have 4 more chapters written and like 10 more planned so we’ll see where this goes. Feel free to hmu with questions and suggestions. 

#my writing #the story that continue to increase in length #my ocs #faerie #fae folk #folklore #original fiction

[marshmallow-the-vampire-slayer]

MTVS Epic Rewatch #179

BTVS 7x01 Lessons

Raise your hand if you never thought I’d make it to season 7!

Shame on you, Wallace, I thought you’d always have my back!

Stray thoughts

1) Except for Welcome to the Hellmouth/The Harvest, I’m of the opinion that this show always delivered lackluster season openers. It’s not that they’re bad per se – most of them are pretty solid episodes. It’s just that they don’t hold a lot of promise for things to come, you know? And while they do tend to set the tone for the rest of the season, they are usually far from stellar. “Lessons” is no exception. It’s a good episode, with some very nice moments and a very promising ending (oh, the promise of what The First could be was definitely captivating!) But a good ending does not make for a great episode, you know? And now I get to another point I wanted to make. “Lessons” is probably one of the weakest episodes in an otherwise pretty balanced, quality-wise, season. Yes, I said it. Season 7 is not bad. In fact, it’s rather good? (cue gasps!)

Season 7 is flawed alright, but so are all the other seasons. I think that what probably bugs most of us is the fact that this season’s flaws are more noticeable, kind of always there, and, in most cases, extremely grating (The First, the focus on the potentials, the wedge between the Scoobies…) But – and I hope I don’t change my mind as I proceed to rewatch it – season 7 is an overall good season, with its hits and misses. I’ve found that I’ve grown to like it more and more with each rewatch.

2) The first scene in the cold open is an interesting change of pace from the usual way most seasons start. First of all, there are no Scoobies in sight and we are nowhere near Sunnydale. Then there’s the fact that the chase scene is very suspenseful. We don’t know who this girl is, but you can’t help to root for her. Unfortunately, she doesn’t make it. But it’s clear whatever went down will have some relevance. And it’s all made clearer when the scene cuts right to…

3) 

It’s hard to miss the connection when you get such a tension-filled scene leading to our main character delivering the very first line in the season, a line that will basically embody the backbone of the whole season.

4) I love the fact that Buffy has kept her promise to show Dawn the world.

5)

BUFFY Never forget it. Doesn't matter how well prepped you are or how well armed you are. You're a little girl. DAWN Woman.

BUFFY Little woman.

DAWN I'm taller than you.

6) Why would this recently born vamp be afraid of the Slayer, though? How would he know what a Slayer is? (remember how Spike didn’t know about her for a while after being turned?)

7) I love the fact that Dawn missed the heart just like Buffy did her first time. Like mother, like daughter.

8) Where this super-sized scissors store, though?

Oh, yeah, also, Sunnydale High is back, btw. Get it? Because this season is about going back to the beginning… *rolls eyes*

9) Giles needs to stop getting cooler and cooler. 

This was also a very gratuitous shot just so that Anthony could show off his horse-riding skills. And I’m very grateful.

10) 

GILES Then why aren't you in your lesson?

WILLOW Sorry.

GILES It's alright. She was just—

WILLOW —afraid. Yeah, they all are. The coven is—they're the most amazing women I've ever met. But there's this look that they get. Like I'm gonna turn them all into bangers and mash, or something. Which I'm not even really sure what that is.

Can you really blame them, though? She literally almost ended the world. You can’t hold it against others if they don’t exactly feel like hanging.

11) 

GILES This isn't a hobby or an addiction. It's inside you now, this magic. You're responsible for it. (I guess we’ll just cross out all of season 6, then...)

WILLOW Will they always be afraid of me?

GILES Maybe. Can you handle it?

WILLOW I deserve a lot worse. I killed people, Giles. (like, I get that you’re a main character, but you should be in jail, like Faith is...)

GILES I've not forgotten.

WILLOW When you brought me here, I thought it was to kill me or to lock me in some mystical dungeon for all eternity or—with the torture. Instead, you go all Dumbledore on me. I'm learning about magic. All about energy and Gaia and root systems.

I repeat, Giles: too little, too late. THIS MAKES ME SO ANGRY! Please tell me ONE good reason why he couldn’t have done this BEFORE Willow got the Extreme Makeover from Hell and went on a killing spree.

12) “I want to be Willow.” Even though it’s a bit hard – at least for me – to sympathize with Willow at this point, my heart literally melts at Alyson’s delivery of this line and the heartbreaking expression on her face. Alyson is such a great crier.

13) 

XANDER I ate. I'm good. How are you?

BUFFY My sister's about to go to the same high school that tried to kill me for three years. I can't change districts, I can't afford private school, and I can't begin to prepare for what could possibly come out of there. So, peachy with a side of keen, that would be me.

14) I do enjoy how domestic Buffy and Xander are with Dawn. Like, yeah, Dawn has a bunch of parents and she deserves it.

15) You gotta love all the callbacks to early seasons, though. 

BUFFY Now, remember, if you see anything strange... or, you know...dead.

DAWN I got it

BUFFY And stay away from hyena people, or any lizard-type athletes, you know, or if you see anyone that's invisible.

16) 

Now, isn’t this something that would’ve been cool for the show to explore? Like, isn’t this something that should haunt Buffy? All the lives she couldn’t save? All the people she failed?

17) Dawn’s intro is so early 2000s it hurts…

DAWN I love to dance. I like music. I'm very into Britney Spears' early work, before she sold out. So mostly her, um, finger painting and macaroni art. Very underrated.

And… do you think Joss was taking a jab at Britney because they couldn’t arrange for her to be on the show in season 5? In which case, how dare you judged Britney?

18) So… Anya is not that into vengeance anymore. I guess spending a few years as a human and fighting the good fight really did put things into perspective. And apparently, this was their attempt at giving Anya her own arc? Unfortunately, it won’t last long.

19) So why do you think the spirits or demons were targeting Dawn and Buffy specifically? I mean, other than because of Contrived Plot Device. I get Buffy: she’d touched the talisman thingy or whatnot. But what about Dawn…?

20) I do love how Buffy’s conversation with Wood is intercut with Dawn meeting Kit and them getting sucked into the basement by the manifestations. There’s something off about Robin, and we can just sense it as much as Buffy does. I didn’t think he’d be evil, though, it would’ve been too on the nose if he had been. But we immediately get the feeling he’s hiding something. There’s just something about his word choice and his fixation on Buffy that raises a lot of red flags. And of course, the fact that he’s questioning Buffy while her sister and her friends are under attack kind of paints him as supect número uno.

21) And the great reveal… Dawn’s gift/weapon…

That was a bit underwhelming, especially considering it was 2002 and cellphones were already a household item. I get that the show was kind of making fun of itself and its lack of technology awareness. But I find the joke counterproductive. Instead of making me go “Oh hahaha, they have cell phones now!”, it reminds me how little sense it makes for these teens – now young adults – to have NEVER EVER used any type of electronic devices or technology other than the computer. It feels, again, as a Contrived Plot Device. Technology, in some cases, would’ve made the Scoobies lives much easier. They definitely would’ve have avoided some misunderstandings and miscommunications.

22) And then… 

23)

BUFFY What did you do?

SPIKE I tried... I... tried to cut it out.

Hm. I wonder what this “it” might be... huh.

24) We can safely say that Joss’s primary focus when writing this scene was Spike, right? Did he even remember the last time Buffy had been in a room with Spike he’d tried to rape her? Why wasn’t her reaction to seeing her would-be-rapist again explored? Why wasn’t that the focus of their reunion? Why have her acting so nonchalantly, as if she wants to pick up things where they left them off (that is, prior to Seeing Red, of course…)? She literally asks him if he’ll come help her...

25) Now, why didn’t we get to see more of these two – the punk/bohemian, and, I’m assuming, bisexual, girl and the troubled yet sweet latino boy – instead of introducing like a dozen new characters – most of which were pretty forgettable - almost halfway through the season when the focus should’ve been placed somewhere else?

 26) At least Buffy got a new job out of it. But let’s be real, the only reason she got the job is that she is a fictional character in a fictional world. Like, Joss tries to play it off as “oh, she only got it because it is a crappy position with very low pay.” But even crappy positions at schools require some kind of qualifications. Working at the Doublemeat Palace? Yeah, that’s not gonna cut it.

27) And then the scene that nearly makes the episode…

WARREN Of course she won't understand, Sparky. I'm beyond her understanding. She's a girl. Sugar and spice and everything...useless unless you're baking. I'm more than that. More than flesh...

GLORY ...more than blood. I'm... you know, I honestly don't think there's a human word fabulous enough for me. Oh, my name will be on everyone's lips, assuming their lips haven't been torn off. But not just yet. That's alright, though..

ADAM ...I can be patient. Everything is well within parameters. She's exactly where I want her to be. And so are you, Number 17. You're right where you belong.

THE MAYOR So what'd you think? You'd get your soul back and everything'd be Jim Dandy? Soul's slipperier than a greased weasel. Why do you think I sold mine? (laughs) Well, you probably thought that you'd be your own man, and I respect that, but...

DRUSILLA ...you never will. You'll always be mine. You'll always be in the dark with me, singing our little songs. You like our little songs, don't you? You've always liked them, right from the beginning. And that's where we're going...

THE MASTER ...right back to the beginning. Not the Bang... not the Word... the true beginning. The next few months are going to be quite a ride. And I think we're all going to learn something about ourselves in the process. You'll learn you're a pathetic schmuck, if it hasn't sunk in already. Look at you. Trying to do what's right, just like her. You still don't get it. It's not about right, not about wrong...

There was so much promise in this scene, and it’s beautifully written and masterfully crafted. I think it’s probably one of the most memorable scenes in the show, just because of its jaw-dropping wow factor, the questions it raised, its potential for epic greatness, and the impact of seeing such an iconic group of characters blending together in what promised to be the Biggest Motherfucking Bid Bad Ever. And the biggest question of all…if this thing, whatever it is, is turning into all the Big Bads... then why did he turn into Buffy? 

The answer to this question will be, as most things The First related were bound to be, extremely underwhelming. But imagine... imagine if Buffy had been the Big Bad...

28) Oh, just for funsies, I’ll try and keep count of how many times The First did touch something or someone:

 29) You gotta love the book ends in this episode, though…

#Buffy the Vampire Slayer #BTVS #Buffy Summers #Sarah Michelle Gellar #Spike #Willow Rosenberg #Dawn Summers #Lessons #recap #mine #MTVSepicrewatch #BTVSrewatch2015 #btvsrecap

[sconesteaandmysteries]

Ad Meliora, Chapter Five

Next chapter. Sorry this is late, but life got in the way. :)

Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four

Summary: Father Brown catches Sid in the midst of a bad decision...

Chapter Five: Falling Away, part one

“Isn’t it wonder, Father? So many families within the parish have made a contribution to our art fair.”

Father Brown nodded as he took in the sight in the churchyard in front of him. He had requested suggestions for new ideas for fundraisers, and Lady Felicia had approached him about hosting this event after a brief vacation in France. While she was there, she had stopped by a small village that had set up a sale of paintings from local artists to pay for some badly needed construction work on the main road of the village.

Around the same time, Father Brown had been contacted by an old friend of his from his seminary days, Father Stephan. Stephan headed a small church in London; St. Peter’s which had recently suffered damage from the recent Blitz bombings. Thus, Brown figured that this would be a good opportunity to give Lady Felicia’s idea a try. The suggestion met with the usual resistance…such as Mrs. McCarthy referring to it as “hogwash”…but when he proposed it to the congregation after Mass one Sunday, his parishioners seemed to respond to it favorably. The fact that Lady Felicia also promised free tea, sandwiches and desserts on the day of the event probably helped things along.

The result was an even more enthusiastic response than anyone had anticipated. Almost thirty art pieces were donated for the event. The pieces ranged from oil and watercolor paintings to wood working and sculpture and even jewelry craft and photography. Each piece was going to be sold off in a silent auction with all of the proceeds being sent to St. Peter’s to help with the repair to the church.

Father Brown finished the sandwich in his hand and brushed a couple of crumbs off his cassock. The turnout for the actual event had been good, and from the look of it, almost every art piece had at least one bid on it.

‘Good to see that no efforts will go unappreciated,’ he thought. He poured himself another cup of tea and was just about to drink it when Mrs. McCarthy and Lady Felicia ran up to him.

“The last item finally got a bid, Father,” Felicia said.

“Which was a miracle, if you ask me,” McCarthy added.

“Then it’s a good thing that nobody had asked you,” Felicia retorted. “I imagine my sculpture did not receive the proper attention it deserved due to being put next to that drab, little watercolor painting.”

“Drab?” McCarthy gasped. “Just because I chose to make a simple portrait of our fair countryside rather than throw together some misshapen monstrosity….”

“I thought we had all agreed to keep the identities of the artists confidential,” Father Brown injected.

“We did,” Mrs. McCarthy nodded primly. “But just because there aren’t any names on these art pieces doesn’t mean that people can’t figure out who made them.”

“Quite right,” Felicia said. “The works might be anonymous, but the personality of the artist will always show itself in their work.”

“Good,” Brown said. “Glad to see that we’re all in agreement.” Lady Felicia and Mrs. McCarthy looked at each other with bemusement while he gulped down his tea. “Excuse me.”

He left them behind so he could examine each piece one more time before the auction was over and to check on the bids that had been submitted thus far. Some of the pieces were clearly done by amateur hands, but some of them showed professional skill which intrigued him. He wondered how many other hidden talents the members of his parish possessed and how he might discover more about them.

Several of the pieces had multiple bids which Father Brown was pleased to see. A rough estimate of the total bids told him that they would be making a significant donation toward the rebuilding of St. Peter’s. It was always gratifying to him to see how generous the members of his flock could be in the face of a crisis.

The sound of laughter caught his attention and he looked over to see some children playing near the churchyard. He spotted Sid and a couple of other boys leaning against a building and talking to each other.

Father Brown’s face fell a little. He was glad that Sid was making friends with other children in the village. However, those two boys in particular had become rather wayward in the last year or so. Given the fact that Sid had a penchant for mischief himself; Brown worried that his hanging around the wrong crowd could lead to trouble and temptations that might be hard for Sid to resist.

Still, Father Brown made sure to not interfere with Sid’s social life. True, those boys had gotten into trouble before, but it was wrong to assume that that trend would necessarily continue or that they lacked the capacity to be good. He would have to trust Sid to make the right choices in his personal affairs.

“Father,” Mrs. McCarthy called to him. “They’re ready for you to announce the final bids.”

“Right, on my way,” Father Brown said. He glanced over at Sid one more time before heading back toward the crowd that had gathered.

Almost two hours and a couple of last-minute bids later, the bids were sorted out, the money was collected and the art pieces were distributed among the winning buyers. As he gathered the money into a locked wooden box, he realized that the total proceeds probably exceeded his original estimate.

‘I should call Father Stephan tomorrow morning,’ he thought. ‘The last time we spoke, he wasn’t sure if he could be able to pay for the repairs to the altar. It will be a blessing for him to know that he will be able to start on that work soon.’

“Oh where is that boy?” Mrs. McCarthy huffed, her hands on her hips. “Father, I told Sidney that he was to help with the cleanup.”

Father Brown frowned and scanned the courtyard. Sure enough, there was no sign of Sid or his friends anywhere in or around the churchyard. He let out a small sigh, but made sure to smile when he looked over at Mrs. McCarthy.

“I’m sure we can get a couple more of the WI ladies to pitch in,” he assured her. “After all, ‘many hands make light work.’”

“I suppose so,” McCarthy frowned. “Still, this isn’t the first time he’s wriggled out of his chores of late. This could be the beginnings of a bad habit.”

“I’ll speak with him after dinner,” Brown said.

“Good,” McCarthy nodded. “I know you mean well, Father, but sometimes you ought to be a little less forgiving and take a firmer hand with Sid. Trust me, it’s for his own good.”

Father Brown nodded as he began to gather up the plates. He knew that Mrs. McCarthy had a valid point. Sid needed to learn responsibility and the necessity of honoring his word when it’s given to others. Because Sid was still a child, Father Brown knew it would be up to him to instruct Sid and give him boundaries so he could learn these concepts. Brown wasn’t entirely sure of what sort of discipline would be best. He was only certain that it would need to be consistent and punitive without being vengeful in nature.

Later that evening, Father Brown and Sid were sitting at the kitchen table, finishing up some shepherd’s pies that Mrs. McCarthy had left them. Sid, as usual, had already cleaned off his plate before Father Brown was done and was about to get up when Brown placed a hand on his arm.

“Mrs. McCarthy was expecting your help with the cleanup after the auction today,” he said. “As was I.”

“Sorry,” Sid replied. “But I…I had stuff to do.”

“I’m sure you did. But that does not mean that you can skip doing the work you were already obligated to do.”

Sid rolled his eyes and fell back against his chair. “Fine. I’ll make sure to do it next time.”

Father Brown frowned. “Sid, it’s important that you do not attend to your chores solely because I tell you to do so. Daily chores are part of the responsibilities you have while living in this house. Also, when you make a promise to someone, you ought to keep it.”

“I said, fine, all right?” Sid sighed. “I promise, I’ll make sure to do it next time. Can I be excused now?”

Father Brown frowned a little more. This talk wasn’t going the way he had hoped. Sid seemed to only agree with him to avoid an argument rather than coming around to his point of view. Still, Sid did acknowledge that what he did was wrong and seemed to be somewhat contrite over it. And Brown was aware that some lessons needed time to truly sink in. Pressing his point even more right now might do more harm than good.

“All right, you’re excused,” he said. “But remember, you’re to be back in by nine ‘o clock.”

“I know,” Sid nodded. He got up from his chair. “See you later, Father.”

Sid dashed out the side door while Father Brown watched, a slight smile appearing on his face. He finished the last bit of his pie before getting up to put the dishes into the sink to be cleaned later.

It was just after midnight when a noise woke Father Brown up. It sounded like footsteps and low voices. Someone, more than likely more than one someone, was downstairs.

Brown sat up in bed and reached over to his bedside table to fetch his glasses. It wasn’t a total shock to hear someone downstairs at this time of night. He did leave the church and the presbytery unlocked and it was not unusual for someone to need a priest at all sorts of odd hours. Thus, he wasn’t overly concerned about it, but he was aware that he needed to be a bit more cautious these days because he now had Sid to consider.

He grabbed his robe and put it on along with his slippers before quietly walking down the stairs. As he descended, he was able to make out most of what the voices were saying.

“Can’t you get the lock?”

“Do I look like I’ve got a key?”

“Come on, hurry up. You said it’d only take you a minute to do this.”

Father Brown followed the voices to his office and saw that there was what looked like candlelight streaming through a crack in the doorway. He immediately decided that more light was in order.

He swept the door open and flicked on the light switch on the wall. He discovered three boys huddled in a circle behind his desk. One of them was Doug Abernathy who was holding the locked wooden box that held the proceeds from the art auction. Another was Nicky Anders whose hands held several shillings which he was certain came from said box.

And the one holding the candle was Sid.

“What is going on here?” Father Brown asked, his tone a mixture of disbelief and disheartened.

All of the boys opened their mouths and started to point at each other before hanging their heads in shame. Doug sat the box down and grabbed the candle from Sid. Nicky shoved the money he was holding back into the box. Then the three of them walked out from behind the desk to stand in front of Brown.

“We’re sorry, Father,” Doug and Nicky said in unison. Sid bowed his head even more and remained silent.

“I forgive you,” Brown said. “And God will as well if you are truly repentant. Now, I think we can avoid involving the authorities…or your parents. I have some yard work around the church that needs to be done. I think a day of your time spent on that will be suitable penance. Say, tomorrow at three ‘o clock?”

“Yes Father,” Nicky said. “We’ll be here. Come on, Doug.”

Brown moved aside so Nicky and Doug could shuffle out of the room and out the side door of the presbytery. Sid started to walk out too, but Father Brown held up a hand to stop him.

“What happened here, Sidney?” he said, anger creeping into his tone. Sid slumped down even more.

“We, we were just going to borrow it,” he mumbled. “It was only going to be a few shillings and we were going to put it back later. It wasn’t even for me.”

“No, but you were helping other people steal,” Brown replied. “That money is for a church in London who is in dire need of assistance. You of all people should know what hardships they’re facing.”

“I know,” Sid said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Father.”

Father Brown watched Sid silently for a moment. He was still upset over what happened, but did not want to let his feelings cloud his judgment over how to handle the situation. He took a deep breath and turned to face the hallway.

“I see no reason for Mrs. McCarthy to hear about this,” he said. “For now, I think it would be best if we returned to our rooms for the night. We’ll discuss your penance in the morning before breakfast.”

“Father,” Sid croaked out. “I’m really sorry. I…I didn’t think about….”

“Sidney, we’ll discuss this in the morning,” Father Brown interrupted.

“Please Father,” Sid said. “Please don’t be angry.”

Brown let out a soft sigh. “I’m not angry….but I am very disappointed in you.”

Father Brown walked away from his office to back up the stairs to his room and get back into bed. A few moments later, he could hear Sid make his way to his room and shut the door behind him.

With a heavy heart, Father Brown closed his eyes and tried to quiet his mind so he could get some sleep.

#father brown #fanfic #my father brown posts

[lpdwillwrite4coffee]

CHILDREN OF LILITH CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Sunlight filtered through Amsterdam’s windows, scattering pinpricks of illumination across the floor like shattered crystal. Lifting the book off his lap, he unfolded his legs and stretched so deeply it made his toes curl. It was a myth that Vampires could stay in one position for indeterminate amounts of time. Actually, staying still was incredibly, and almost painfully, difficult. But John had never quite mastered the art of pacing and reading at the same time, despite his supernatural predisposition.

The LED clock on his cable box read seven-thirteen, and he sighed, marking his place with an acid-free bookmark and stacking his notes. After midnight he had found himself on the floor yet again, only this time he had settled at the end of his sofa with his back pressed against the armrest and his papers strewn about on both sides of him in bright yellow crescents. He’d already gone through three legal pads, writing and rewriting his theories and conclusions, only to realize there were several other valid interpretations he’d yet to think of, and he had to start all over. Documents, biographies, personal letters and journals- those were easy, straightforward, if not perhaps biased. But poetry? Handwritten, veiled, lacking-in-form-or-meter poetry? That was another matter entirely.

Standing, John went to the kitchen and made a fresh pot of coffee, more out of habit than necessity, and then strolled back into the living room. Caesar lazily slid from his end of the loveseat and bowed in a stretch before padding over to the rack that held his leash and sitting down.

John arched his brow and glanced back at the clock, double checking the time. “Isn’t it a bit early for your walk?”

Caesar only blinked.

“Alright, fine,” John relented, shoving his feet into his Converse sneakers. “Maybe Mrs. Koslowski will be out watering her plants, and we can say hello.”

The city was just barely stirring to life, but the deli below his apartment already had a stream of customers flowing in and out of the store. Caesar led him past two elderly women in lace collar dresses and John dipped his head and smiled, saying good morning. Trailing after his dog, he let Caesar choose the pace, seeing as he was the one so desperate for the walk to begin with.

They paused at several trash cans for Caesar to thoroughly investigate before moving on to the rich scents along the sides of the brick buildings and on to the small potted flowers and greenery adorning the fronts of the brownstones two blocks over. The dog halted again, sniffing the bark of a tree.

Footsteps, breathing, and then the rushing heartbeat. That was the order of sounds John heard, alerting him to the human coming towards them. On instinct he tensed and spun around, using all of his senses to assess the possible threat. The tips of his fangs jutted against his tongue, but he suppressed the growl rippling in his chest. He didn’t enjoy being startled.

A man, no older than fifty, wearing a grey suit and coat hurried down the sidewalk with his eyes locked on the Historian.

Face flush from exertion and cold air, he called, “John Amsterdam?”

He didn’t smell gunpowder, or metal of any kind lingering on the human, and the fine sheen of sweat across his brow held no scent of panic or anger.

John nodded once. “Yes?”

The man slowed his gait, stopping a couple feet away. “My name is Jacob Henson,” he said, without extending a hand in greeting. “I’ve been instructed to speak with you.”

“Instructed?” John frowned.

Henson jerked his head in agreement. “I’m here on behalf of Manhattan’s new Alpha,” he said.

Amsterdam’s grip tightened on Caesar’s leash, and his jaw reflexively ticked. “I’m not aligned,” he stated. “And I have no intention of changing that.”

“We understand Mr. Amsterdam,” Henson said. “This meeting is actually about the matter of a young woman you’ve recently come to know. Miss Nikki Anderson?”

Unease knotted in John’s chest. He wasn’t a fan of dishonesty, but he also wasn’t one to balk at its usefulness. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

Henson smirked, but didn’t question him. “Then perhaps you’re aware of an unusual book in your possession? A book of poems?”

The chill that spread over John’s flesh had nothing to do with the weather. “Perhaps.”

“I’d like to talk to you about that book,” Henson said, his brown gaze hardening. When John didn’t instantly concur with him, he took a step forward. “This is a bit of a… time sensitive issue, Mr. Amsterdam. I think it would be in your best interest to hear me out.”

John thought for a moment before advancing on the man. “You know what I am?” He asked in a low voice. Henson’s stare wavered for a beat, but he nodded, and John continued. “Then you know never to vaguely threaten me again.”

With Caesar by his side, John strode past him and started to cross the street. “If you want to talk, you’d better keep up,” he called over his shoulder, and took mild pleasure in hearing Henson’s labored breathing as he jogged to close the distance.

* * *

Clunking, sounds like wood against wood, and rapid chattering roused Nikki from sleep, and she scowled at the bedroom door.

“Lisa, please, I’m begging you-”

“I swear to God Boz, if you try to get into this bathroom one more time…”

Clunk.

“I just wanna brush my teeth.”

“Then you should have thought of that before taking forty freaking minutes in the shower. And if there’s no more hot water, I’ll murder you and make it look like an accident.”

Nikki wriggled under the covers and adjusted her head on the pillow she’d managed to ball up in her sleep. She continued listening, squinting in the direction of the noise.

“Do you know how many bacteria are in my mouth right now?” Boz exclaimed.

Nikki could hear Lisa sigh. “Seriously Boz, you’ve got to get your OCD under control.”

“One, not funny, you know this is a real issue for me, and two, there are billions- billions of bacteria spread over every inch of my mouth and I am not going to give them more time to multiply. Now let me in!”

Another clunk. “Would you keep your voice down?” Lisa whispered in a harsh tone. “You’re going to wake up Nikki.”

“I bet she’d let me in the bathroom.”

There was a groan followed by, “Fine. Make it quick or I’ll-”

“Murder me, I got it.”

Nikki heard the rush of water and for a moment she thought she was only imagining the sound of Boz vigorously brushing his teeth. But no, he really was brushing that hard.

“How do you think she’s doing?” He asked around a mouthful of toothpaste.

“I don’t know… How were we when Griff was in the hospital?”

Boz spat and continued brushing. “Flip flopping between catatonia, and filled with a bloody, murderous rage.”

Nikki paused in untangling herself from the sheets when she heard what Boz said, and frowned. She remembered Griffin’s scar, the angry red slash that curved along his side, and another clue slid into place.

Lisa’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Yeah, well I think Nikki was more on the side of catatonic last night. Not that I blame her.”

For a brief moment, Nikki wondered what Lisa would’ve said had she seen her the night before, screaming and fighting, the blood in her veins turned to liquid fire. She had been anything but ‘catatonic’ then.

“She’s had to deal with a lot in…” Boz paused, spat and rinsed, and then continued. “Jeez, has it only been a day? A day and a half?”

“Time flies when you’re being hunted.”

Boz sighed. “All of this is so above our pay grade.”

“Tell me about it.” There was a beat of silence before she continued. “You’re right.”

“I know.” Boz made a sudden noise of confusion. “Wait, about what?”

“All of this- everything surrounding Nikki, the missing Alphas, the craziness we’ve been going through- it’s all connected. We’re just missing that one piece of the puzzle that tells us why.”

Boz must have responded, because Nikki could hear the timbre of his voice, but the sharp pain that shot behind her eyes scattered her concentration and garbled his words. She was getting a migraine and it was coming on fast. Her hand shot out to the bedside table, reaching for the medicine bottle that… Was still in her purse. Downstairs.

Cursing to herself, she waited a moment, thinking maybe Lisa and Boz would go back into their rooms so she could sneak to the kitchen without them knowing she was listening in on their discussion. But she could feel them lingering in the hall, and she couldn’t wait any longer.

Stumbling out of bed, she smacked against the door by accident, and cringed, both with embarrassment and pain. Her head felt like it was being chiseled open.

She hurried into the corridor, and ducked her head to avoid the harsh lighting.

“Oh,” Boz exclaimed, and then cleared his throat. “Uh, hey Nikki. Good morning.”

“Morning,” she said, voice hoarse from sleep. She continued past as Lisa greeted her as well. They might have asked if she was okay, but she didn’t think she could vocalize a response, so she just kept going, heading down the stairs.

The kitchen lights were on, and she could smell fresh coffee, but she didn’t pay much attention to anything else except the location of her bag and the bottle inside. Finding it on the counter, she dug around it half blind until she fisted the cylinder of plastic and twisted off the lid.

“…Yeah Tasha, sorry it’s so early,” Griffin’s voice broke through Nikki’s pain-induced haze, but she still kept to the task at hand.

His footsteps halted for a second before starting up again, sounding like he was going towards the cabinet.

Nikki remembered her doctor saying she could take up to two pills at a time, and given how sudden her migraine had started, she wanted to knock it out as fast as possible. Dosing out the tablets, she tossed them to the back of her throat and swallowed them dry.

A warm hand was on her elbow and she spun, almost knocking the glass of water Griffin held to the floor. He steadied her, but didn’t say anything and through squinted eyes she saw he had his cell phone pinned between his ear and shoulder, listening to the person on the other end. Nikki whispered an apology and took the water with a grateful nod, sitting at the table.

Griffin hovered a moment but was soon pouring himself a cup of coffee, still talking on the phone. “I wanted to give you guys heads up,” he said. “I’m calling a meeting at Onyx tonight.”

Keeping her eyes closed, Nikki listened to the cadence of voices around her. She was disappointed her hearing wasn’t as acute as it had been the day before, as she was growing more and more curious about this Tasha woman the others kept mentioning, but she could pick up only the faintest tinny feminine pitch coming from the speaker.

“I already called James and Joel,” Griffin continued. “Holly’s still in Arizona for her sister’s wedding, but Emma said the rest of the Queens crew will be there.” He paused, and chuckled softly at what Tasha said. “Yeah, Emma’s gonna hate giving that speech. Oh, and just a warning, Derek’s coming.”

Nikki could hear Tasha’s voice raise and Griffin snorted.

“Hey, don’t bitch to me. You’re the one that dated him.”

Now Nikki was really curious about Tasha.

“Hoboken called Boz yesterday, apparently they got hit too,” Griffin continued, more somber. “I don’t know if Brian’s gonna want to make the drive out, but he might show… No I haven’t heard from Hartford… Unless shit really hit the fan, do you think Cheryl would call me?”

And instantly Nikki’s curiosity shifted back to Griffin, and the growing web of Hunters that surrounded him.

“Yeah, alright, I’ll see you tonight.” There was a beat of silence and Nikki felt the surrounding air fill with tension before it dissipated, like air being let out of a balloon. “Uh yeah. I mean, I don’t know… She might. I’ll talk to her about it.”

Ending the call with a quick goodbye, Griffin walked over to the table and sat a distance away from Nikki. She decided to chance it, and opened her eyelids a fraction. The light didn’t sting like before, so she opened them further into a half squint.

“Morning,” she murmured.

“Did you sleep okay?”

No. I was lonely and I wanted… you.

Swallowing, Nikki offered a nod. “Sort of.”

Griffin leaned forward, pressing his left elbow against the edge of the table. “I, uh… I called the hospital.” His gaze searched her face, but didn’t linger on one spot for long. “Kaelin’s condition hasn’t improved.”

Nikki felt the color leave her face, but she held firm.

“Oh.” It was a barely audible sound she wasn’t even sure she’d made.

“They said they’d call if anything changes,” he said. After a moment, he shifted closer and started to reach for her. “I’m sorry.”

“No Boz!” Lisa shouted from upstairs. “If you want to gargle Listerine for ten minutes, go do it in the kitchen!”

“Fine,” Boz yelled, already stomping down the stairs. “You know, you should care more about your dental hygiene!”

Lisa’s only response was to slam the bathroom door.

With mouthwash in hand, Boz strode past the table, waving his arm out. “When her teeth rot and fall out of her head, she better not come crying to me.”

Griffin sighed. “Morning Boz.”

“Uh huh,” Boz grumbled, already tipping back the cap of blue liquid.

“Rough start?”

Turning to face them with puffed out cheeks, Boz proceeded to wildly pantomime his desire to throttle Lisa.

Griffin blinked. “Gotcha,” he said, tone flat. “You want breakfast?”

The series of noises he made must have translated into a yes, because Griffin stood up and went to the fridge, rummaging around the drawers and pulling out food.

“You want Jack or Cheddar cheese in your omelet?” Griffin asked, sniff-testing the carton of milk.

Nikki twisted in her chair. “Wait, you understood him?”

With a touch of dramatic flair, Boz spat in the sink and then answered, “We’ve developed a very sophisticated communication system.”

Griffin nodded. “He grunts, I guess. And repeat.”

“Like I said: Sophisticated,” Boz added, pouring another cup of Listerine.

The exchange reminded Nikki of her and Kaelin, and a knot tightened behind her ribs, stealing her breath.

Griffin halted with an open crate of eggs in his hands, and stared at her, brows drawn down over his eyes. This time, the sensation of being exposed didn’t make Nikki want to shudder, so much as pull away and hide entirely. Everything was so fresh… She wasn’t sure she could handle another person being aware of how raw she was on the inside.

As if obeying a command, Griffin ducked his head, turning his back to her, and the eerie feeling disappeared.

Boz spat, and nearly choked on the words that erupted from his mouth. “Whose is that?”

Nikki frowned at him. “What?”

“That.” He pushed past Griffin and grabbed her medicine bottle off the counter. “Whose…” Boz trailed off, reading the label. “Nikki, this is yours?”

Griffin hunched his shoulders and groaned. “Boz, we’ve talked about this. Boundaries.”

“Yeah, okay, I know, I’m sorry,” Boz blurted out. “But- but this… Shit.” Without warning, he dashed out of the room, running down the hall to his office.

“Boz, what the hell?” Griffin called after him, scowling.

In seconds Boz was back, carrying his laptop and notebook. “I’ve seen the name of this medication before,” he said, setting everything down on the table next to Nikki. Flipping open the computer screen, he typed furiously and brought up a highlighted document. “I saw it yesterday while I was researching. It was developed by the Bradley Corporation.”

Nikki’s veins iced over. “What?”

“Here,” he said, turning the computer for her to see. “It was patented last year and it’s still in trails.”

“You’re part of a medical trail?” Griffin asked, stepping closer to the table.

Nikki glanced up at him. “For my migraines,” she said. “Most medicine didn’t work, or would stop working after a while, so when my doctor heard about Xanapril, he suggested I try it.” She blinked, feeling the chill seep to her bones. “He said it was safe.”

Boz lifted his stare from the screen. “Who’s your doctor?”

“George Oliver,” she answered. “His office is uptown.”

“West Side?” Griffin asked.

Nikki nodded, and Boz tossed a look over his shoulder.

“That’s Vamp territory,” he said, starting to type again.

Her world was shrinking by the second and the shifting paradigms made her queasy. “My doctor works for Nicholas Bradley?”

“At this point, my life motto has become never, ever, ever believe in coincidences,” Boz said. “So, I’m gonna go with yes. Your doctor is in cahoots with an Alpha.”

“But why?” She looked between the two men. “What use would Dr. Oliver be to a Vampire?”

“Well, let’s see, he’s a doctor,” Boz started. “And Bradley owns a medical conglomerate. So maybe they enjoy knitting together.”

Griffin cut a warning glare at Boz, forcing him to swallow his sarcasm.

Clearing his throat, Boz rolled his shoulders. “Given how planned out this stalk and intimidate routine has been, I’m guessing Bradley is using your doctor as another source of information.”

“You don’t think…” Nikki’s words fell away as she stared at the pill bottle. “He couldn’t poison me with those… Could he?”

“You’ve been on them for a while, right?” Boz asked.

She jerked her chin in agreement. “Yeah, for a few months.”

“Then I think you should be safe.” Boz pinched his brows together at his word choice. “Okay, relatively safe. I’m pretty sure if they’d planned on killing you with these, you’d already be dead.”

“That’s… Oddly comforting,” she said. The sharp pain of her migraine had begun to dull, but betrayal still coated her insides, making her sick. Standing, she looked to Griffin. “I think we should pay Dr. Oliver a visit,” she said, her words like cold granite. “I have a few questions I’d like to ask him.”

With that she turned and stalked back up the stairs, leaving Griffin and Boz alone in the kitchen.

Boz shuddered and cocked an eyebrow at Griffin. “What’s the line about a woman scorned? ‘Cause I think Hell’s fury just went to go get dressed.”

Frowning, Griffin glanced at the computer again. “Does that list Xanapril’s side effects?”

“Um, yeah. One sec…” Boz tapped several keys, pulling up another document. “It says the most common side effect is dry mouth. Huh. That’s not what I was expecting.”

“Me either,” he muttered. “So we can possibly rule out the medication being the reason behind Nikki’s fainting spell.”

“If it isn’t the pills, then what is it?”

Worry set Griffin’s features in a hard mask. “I don’t know.”

Boz popped a spare USB drive into the side of his laptop and then stood. “Maybe Doctor Oliver has files on his computer that could give us something.” He started to head back towards his office when Griffin stopped him.

“Us?”

Boz nodded. “I’m going with you.”

“Boz-”

“Nope.” Boz cut him off. “Don’t try it this time buddy. Look, yesterday you had no back up and shit hit the fan ten ways to Sunday. I’m not gonna play house sitter while you’re out there alone.”

“Boz.”

He sliced his hand through the air, and said, “I’m gearing up, Griff. I know you call the shots most of the time, but today is one of those rare exceptions, okay? There’s nothing you can say to change my mind, so just get over it.”

The corner of Griffin’s mouth quirked up, not quite into a full smirk. “I was just gonna tell you to take your Berettas, not your Glocks. They haven’t been cleaned in a while.”

“Oh.” Boz blinked at him. “Uh, good tip. Thanks.”

“Be ready in five?”

“Yup, yeah, definitely, I’ll just…” Boz jerked his thumb over his shoulder and jogged down the hall.

That was when Griffin lost the battle, and started chuckling.

“What’s so funny?”

He hadn’t heard Nikki come back down stairs, hadn’t felt her emotional signature grow stronger the closer she got, so hearing her voice directly behind him made him jump. Whirling around, his laughter died at the sight of the dark circles under her eyes and the creeping sadness in her expression.

“Oh, uh, nothing,” he said. “Just Boz. Sorry.”

The hint of a smile playing at her lips was like a sliver of sunshine peeping through heavy drapes.

“Don’t be sorry,” she said, walking past him to get to the coffee maker.

Griffin shifted his weight, growing uncomfortable in the silence. He wanted to mention the night before- the moment that bloomed between them only to be cut off and forced to wither. He wanted to explain himself, and maybe get an explanation from her as well, but every word that started to take shape in his mouth fell apart before making it past his teeth.

But what did make it was, “Nikki, maybe you shouldn’t come with us.”

The coffee pot clanged when she shoved it back under the drip. “Excuse me?”

He winced. “That came out wrong,” he said, running his fingers through his hair. “I meant that yesterday was… It took its toll. You’ve had to deal with a lot. Maybe taking some time to process-”

“I don’t need to process,” she cut him off. Pushing the sleeves of her forest green shirt up to her elbows, she crossed her arms. “I’ve already processed. What I need now are some answers. Like why my best friend was beaten unconscious, why my doctor is working for an Alpha, and why me being a Hunter is such a big fucking deal to him.”

Griffin rushed forward, crowding into her space and she backed up instinctively, knocking into the counter.

“What-”

“Your nose is bleeding again,” he finished, reaching around her and grabbing a paper towel.

“Oh,” she breathed, grazing her finger tips over the wetness.

Pressing the paper to her nose, Griffin murmured, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He avoided her gaze just as he’d done the night before, just as she’d wanted him to do ten minutes ago.

“You didn’t,” she said. “You might’ve startled me a little…” She relented with a shrug.

A smile curved across his face, but it faded, and he still wouldn’t look her in the eye.

Nikki kept her stare on him. “I’m not staying here Griffin,” she said. “I’m not going to hide from what’s happened. I won’t give them the satisfaction.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked and he opened his mouth to speak, just as Boz rounded the corner coming out of the hallway, holster loaded with semi-automatics.

“Whoa, what happened to you?” He asked, looking to Nikki.

Taking the paper towel from Griffin, she straightened as he moved out of her space. “Nosebleed,” she answered. “I’m fine.”

“Those weren’t on the side effects list either,” Boz said with a frown. “You sure you should be coming with-”

“Yes.” Nikki cut him off, the word as hard as her stare.

Boz gave a slow nod with his eyebrows raised. “Okay,” he said. “Hey Griff, have you seen my knives?”

Groaning, Griffin’s head drooped. “Not again.”

“You know you love my endearing forgetfulness.” Boz ambled to the bottom of the stairs and yelled, “Lisa!”

“Boz, I swear to God, I’m never going to leave this bathroom.” Lisa shouted. “I’m gonna die in here, and you’ll have to brush your teeth with my skeleton staring at you.”

“Wow, morbid much?” Boz called. “Look Miss Drama Queen, I just wanted to know if you took my knives.”

“They’re in the van!”

“No they’re not!”

“Did you check your desk?”

“Yeah, they’re not there!”

“What about the laundry room?”

Leaning casually on the banister, Boz gave an incredulous shake of his head. “Why would they be in the…” He paused and tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling. “Oh right…Thank you!”

“I’m gonna buy you a GPS for those things,” Griffin muttered.

“Now that would be cool,” Boz said, pointing at him and grinning as he disappeared down the corridor again.

Griffin eyed Nikki for a moment while he sipped his coffee. “Coming with us means you’ll have to deal with him. All day.”

Nikki smirked. “Nice try. I’m still not staying here.”

“Well… I gave it a shot.”

* * *

From his corner, Caesar growled at Henson, never taking his eyes off him.

“Your dog doesn’t seem to like me,” the man said, hovering near the table still littered with books.

Amsterdam glanced back at the Golden Retriever. “He’s a good judge of character.” At that, Henson scowled and John bit down on the inside of his cheek to stop from smiling. “You said you wanted to discuss a book?”

Lowering himself into the chair opposite of John, Henson reached inside his overcoat and pulled out a small leather bound volume and laid it on the table.

“I believe you own this one’s mate,” he said, tapping his index finger on the cover.

John frowned at the book, noting its similarities to the one he’d left hidden beneath a throw pillow on his couch.

“And if I do?” He asked, sternly arching an eyebrow at the man. “Of what concern is it to your Alpha?”

“Have you read it?”

John schooled his expression into one of perturbed indifference. “It’s a collection of poorly written poems I found in a box gathered from an estate sale. Hardly the next defining piece of American literature.”

“Well, your opinion on the writing style aside,” Henson said with a smirk. “It is of great value. But only if you know how to read it.”

The man pushed the book closer to John and waved a hand out. “A gift, from Mister Rex.”

Amsterdam’s attention caught on the surname, but he didn’t say anything. Cradling the book in his hands, he opened the cover and scanned the first page. It was a line by line interpretation of the poems he’d been reading all night.

He pegged Henson with a hard stare. “And what does your Alpha want in return for this… version of metaphysical Sparknotes?”

“It isn’t a bribe Mister Amsterdam,” Henson said. “Think of it as an act of good will.”

John snorted. “I find that hard to believe.”

Tilting his head, Henson assured, “Mister Rex has been made aware of your talents as the Underground’s Historian, and he’s hoping to establish a new and lasting relationship.”

“By sending one of his branded familiars to do the talking for him?” John pointedly glared at the mark on Henson’s wrist- the one claiming him as property of a Vampire.

“Mister Rex is also aware of your distrust of Alphas and Vampire hierarchy,” Henson said. “He thought making an appearance himself would come across as more of a threat than an invitation.”

“Invitation to what?”

“To becoming an ally.”

Anger burned the back of John’s throat. “I’m neutral. I have no interest in joining one camp or the other.”

“The company you’ve recently kept would suggest otherwise.” Henson’s lofty tone needled John and his gums itched to release his fangs.

“I told you before, I have no idea-”

“You can save your avoidance tactics, Mister Amsterdam. I’m not here to interrogate you about the girl or O’Connor.”

“No, you’re only here to throw a hunk of wood pulp at my feet and act as if you’ve given me a golden goose.” Amsterdam set the book back on the table and crossed his arms. “Why was your Alpha in possession of this anyway?”

“Mister Rex has been acquiring many things believed to strengthen his position of power,” Henson explained. “This one has served its purpose for him. He believed, given your new endeavors concerning the Hunters, it may be of some use to you now.”

The dark implications of his words made Amsterdam bristle.

Henson stood, eliciting another deep rumble from Caesar, and he headed for the door.

“Thank you for your time,” he said, buttoning his coat. “I’ll see myself out.”

John stared after the man. “Your Alpha,” he said. “What is his first name?”

Pride sparked a glow in Henson’s eyes. “Alexander. Alexander Rex.”

#Children of Lilith #free fiction #free novels for pandemic times #my work #my writing

[ericlwoods]

Three things:

I LOVE 50mm lenses.

I LOVE (ok really, really like) Sony mirrorless cameras.

Finding a proper 50mm lens for Sony mirrorless has been a struggle up to this point.

But “What about lens XYZ?” you may be saying. My criteria may be considered odd by some. My expectations for 50mm lenses are informed by my early experiences with 35mm film. Namely:

Bright. f/1.8 or better.

Small. Barely larger than a pancake if possible.

Inexpensive.

Quick to focus.

Special. Possess that something special that delivers images far better than size and price would indicate.

I have tried some and eliminated others.

Sony FE 50mm f/1.8

Pros

Small and light.

Capable of great images.

https://flic.kr/p/VVA6Ap

But…

Cons

Sloooow focus.

Lacking contrast or that pop to go with the bokeh.

Build quality is lacking. Looks like the all metal 85mm, but this is all plastic except for the mount.

Really wanted to like it. But bought it twice and ultimately sold it twice. There won’t be a third try.

Rokinon 50mm f/1.4

Pros

Capable of very good (never reached great with me) images.

View this post on Instagram

Faces of @wilsonherlong as shot by @pictures_of_my_babys using newest glass. #rokinon50mmf14 #samyang50mmf14 #sonya7iii

A post shared by Eric L. Woods (@ewoodsphoto) on Sep 22, 2018 at 11:03am PDT

But…

Cons

While faster to focus than the FE above, one could not call it quick.

Larger and more expensive than I like in a 50mm.

While I found nothing really wrong with it I never warmed up to it.

Had this lens so briefly that I cannot find a single image on my flickr and it took me a good chunk of time to find the image above on instragram.

Minolta Maxxum 50mm f/1.7 w/ LA-EA4 AF adapter

Pros

Does stuff like this

View this post on Instagram

Digital full frame #minoltamaxxum7 (sorry crop 7d) courtesy #sonylaea4 and #minoltamaxxum50mmf17 . . #alphacollective #sony #maxxum

A post shared by Eric L. Woods (@ewoodsphoto) on Mar 30, 2018 at 7:28am PDT

View this post on Instagram

Headed home w/ my beloved @narcisaiwoods at the wheel as I recover from dinner. Digital full frame #minoltamaxxum7 (sorry crop 7d) courtesy #sonylaea4 and #minoltamaxxum50mmf17 . . #alphacollective #sony #maxxum

A post shared by Eric L. Woods (@ewoodsphoto) on Mar 30, 2018 at 7:31am PDT

View this post on Instagram

Not impressed. . . . . . . #sonylaea4 #minoltamaxxum50mmf17 #sonya7rii #mirrorlesscamera

A post shared by Eric L. Woods (@ewoodsphoto) on Feb 15, 2018 at 2:27pm PST

Cons

Nothing optically. Requires LA-EA4 adapter which loses a stop of light due to the translucent mirror and has quite the ungainly chin underneath working against the compact nature of a 50mm lens.

Combined not what one would call silent or quick with the old school screw drive AF.

Contax G 45mm f/2 w/ Techart AF Adapter

Pros

Produces images so wonderful I will always keep these two on hand.

https://flic.kr/p/G2Roje

Cons

While serviceable this combo is slow and a bit fiddly. This is a lens combo to get a certain look, but not really meant to be used on the regular.

Other adapted manual film lenses.

Pros

Great images.

Cons

Manual focus. Great for fun, but not optimal for regular use.

Lenses over $500? (Sony Zeiss 55mm, Zeiss, Art, G, and the like)

50mm lenses are not supposed to be that expensive in my universe.

Many are too large and heavy to fit my needs even if they were affordable.

What now?

Recently went on an old EOS full frame jag. The 1Ds Mk II impressed, but not enough to keep. But what really impressed me was the Canon 50mm f/1.8 plastic fantastic I bought with it.

Impressed me such that I considered getting an MC11 adapter for my Sony when returning the 1Ds Mk II.

But in the end the usual MC11 asking price seemed stiff to mount a lens that can be had for $50 or less. And while fun on an old DSLR I was really not interested in mounting something so plasticky to Sony.

Then sale happened. Over the Turkey Day break Sigma marked the MC11 down $100 to $150. (Sale seems over now but hopefully, it will return.) That sent me on a jag to find a suitable Canon lens to go with. Did not want to go too big and expensive and did not want to go too cheap and plastic either. No bad lenses were to be found, but I decided on getting the least expensive lens with a metal mount and a modern focusing motor. That would be the Canon 50mm f/1.8 STM which can be had all day for $125 or so. Combined was looking at about $275 for brand new gear. About the same as the non-sale price of the Sony FE (nearly the same size)

…and way less than the Sony Zeiss 55mm (which I am too cheap frugal to buy). So what happened when it all came together? Given the size/price/spec similarities the FE will be used as the main comparison.

Let me get the minuses out of the way first:

You lose focus modes and are left with Wide, Center, and Flexible Spot.

I missed the v2.0 memo when I wrote this. Once installed this adds all AF modes. Thank you Sony. A draw with the FE.

Only get AF-S and AF-C modes. AF-C only works in stills mode. No continuous focus during continuous stills or video unless I am missing something.

The FE does both, but badly. Not a show stopper for the STM.

What of the positives then? There are plenty:

Build. Sigma MC11 is all metal and the Canon 50mm f/1.8 50mm STM is built of higher grade plastics than the Sony FE. Combine the two and you get quite a solid feeling and visually fetching pairing.

While we are on this shot take a look at that AF/MF switch. Feels quality and works perfectly. No AF/MF switch on the FE.

IQ. No surprises here. One of the best 50mm lenses I have ever used. Better than the FE in every way in my experience. WIll let the images speak.

Bokeh.

Sharp.

Color.

Low light.

Focus speed and accuracy. Here is the main failing point of the FE. After a few days with the STM Southeastern Camera happened to have an FE on the counter. Perfect for a quick back to back. Yep. Still slow and still a bit noisy with old-school focus tech. This was the STM shocker for me. Within its limited wheelhouse of single focus or continuous focus single shot stills, it is both accurate and zippy. No continuous? Things moving? Press the shutter repeatedly. Optimal? No. Serviceable? Yes.

http://www.ericlwoods.com

http://www.ericlwoods.com

Do I recommend? Yes. Yes, I do.

Still there? Let’s talk about that Frankenmacro bit in the blog title.

Bonus round.

The Canon Extension Tube EF12 II. There was no plan here. Never heard of this. On the same Southeastern Camera visit mentioned earlier, I dove into the used Canon lens shelf and found this (recalled my previous Frankenmacro experience) and asked Chris, the manager, will this work with the MC11? Mutual shrugs followed. Hoping it did not brick the works I put it all together for a quick test.

Before (Closest focus distance w/o extension tube.)

After (Closest focus distance w/ extension tube.)

Price? $60. Goes for $82. Did I buy it? Yes. Yes, I did.

Another quick test the next day at lunch.

w/o extension tube

w/ extension tube

This setup is all new to me so there will be many more photos to come. Took it out to a parade today so there are some out and about sample shots out in the ongoing album here.

I am a very happy camper right about now.

Happy shooting.

-ELW

          Solving My Sony 50mm Conundrum, aka Cony, aka Frankenmacro Part II Three things: I LOVE 50mm lenses. I LOVE (ok really, really like) Sony mirrorless cameras. Finding a proper 50mm lens for Sony mirrorless has been a struggle up to this point.

[sending-the-message]

You didn’t see that coming by mrmichaelsquid

On a sunny day in August, my beloved wife of a month and I walked downtown after dinner, soaking up the sights and sounds of the city. We were enjoying a much needed night off and decided to let chance encounters define our evening in a spontaneity we lacked in our lives. We had been saving up to try and afford a condo in a few years so cutting costs and plenty of overtime had been keeping my schedule packed too snugly for wiggle room. Each day I’d been multitasking everything, sending emails while in line for an egg sandwich, reading dossiers while eating it, and typing proposals on the train ride before 10 hour days with a 10 minute lunch. It was truly exhausting. When we passed a hand painted sign for a fortune teller, Sarah turned to me with the wide eyed smile that I can’t argue with, so I just nodded with a sigh as she led me up the stairs by my hand.

The building was old, but the carpeting in that stairway seemed older somehow, it was so musty I coughed as we ascended the narrow staircase, dimly washed in red light. I’d never been to a fortune teller, I know about the grouping of clientele and leading questions, Orson Welles taught me a few things about the art of the con I’d recommend checking out online if interested. I knew it was a sham, but she needed this whimsy and change of routine as much as I had, so I figured I’d stay polite and play along. Things felt off when we entered that small, octagonal room, and it creeped me out when I understood what I was seeing.

There was a black mound of shadow on a chair before us in the dim, red room it took me a few moments to realize was a hooded figure facing away from us to the wall. They spun in their heavy, metal swivel chair from perhaps an office of the 60’s to face us with that leathery, sun damaged face, scored with cavernous wrinkles and then said the cliche “I’ve been expecting you” that somehow stirred unease within me, despite being a bit insipid. “Have a seat” the older woman said, extending an open palm to the folding metal chairs at the circular table. I sat, holding a smirk back and sharing a slight smile with my wife, who did the same.

“Lovers united in matrimony, recently” the old fortune teller said with a toothless smile. It had been a few weeks now, but the shiny new rings on our fingers were a bit too obvious for both my wife and I.

“Correct” I said with a smile, and the woman stared into a glass orb on the table most likely imported from China. I caressed my wife’s hand out of view under the table. “Long hours at work” the old woman said staring at me with wide eyes. “You are saving for a permanent residence”, her slight Eastern European accent peeking through. I’m sure the bags under my eyes and recent marital status said enough, but I nodded regardless and said “Yes, this is true”. My wife squeezed my hand to signal she was impressed, but I wasn’t yet, not this eternal sceptic.

“There is an unfortunate accident in your near future, something with a car” the woman stated grimly as she stared into the crystal ball. “Followed by another, a serious fall” she said, gasping with exaggerated surprise. I noticed my wife was wide-eyed with fear, but i subtly rolled my eyes and shook my head to signal this meant nothing. “Death.. my... god... you have a horrible curse plaguing you, the most dangerous curse in existence” the woman finally said, staring into my face with a deep frown. “I can remove it but it will be extremely expensive, I need to travel abroad to hunt for the ingredients needed”. My wife was visibly disturbed and excused herself to use the bathroom behind us, clearly holding back tears. I wasn’t buying the bullshit though. “No thank you, I appreciate your concern but we are not interested”, I tried my best to say politely, looking daggers into the fortune tellers seedy eyes. Time stood still as we stared into eachother’s faces for what felt like an eternity. The old woman ignored me and brought an old book from the shelf, flipping it open to illustrations of demons and devils. I just sat, waiting patiently, not engaging her. I’d had enough of this charade, and had no intention of paying any more than the fee for our session.

When my wife finally returned, unspoken malice seemed the only presence in the room, which I broke by explaining “we have to go, honey” and I dropped a fifty on the table then gently led my wife by her arm out the door and down the stairs. “I’m not in the mood for a scam” I whispered to my wife as we descended the stairs. “I have enough actual stress and worries without this”. The quiet of the night loudened on the walk back to the car. We drove in near silence for 10 minutes, and it wasn’t until we reached the train tracks that I realized something was terribly wrong.

I attempted to slow as the railway crossing got closer but the car refused to obey the pedal’s command. I pumped the brakes but it was no use, they were not functioning. Panic poisoned my blood as I heard the oncoming train approaching. Perhaps on autopilot, I swerved the car off of the road and into a nearby field, barreling towards the woods and shaking us like pebbles in maracas. My glasses flew into the windshield as we bounced, the car nearly flipping over before bashing into a nearby tree, coming to a complete stop. Adrenaline flooded my system as I held my wife, only able to breathe when I realized she wasn’t injured. I only then noticed the trickle on my forehead of trailing blood, which i wiped with my hand, an injury from the sun visor during the violent stop.

My mind raced to find the logic, that fortune teller could not have known this, there was no such thing as a psychic, she must have somehow seen my car, but we entered that place by chance. It was a random occurrence, and my world felt like the bottom fell out. “My god are you okay?”, I asked my wife, and she nodded with teary eyes. I hugged her and called an auto shop to tow the car and give us a lift to town. A tow truck eventually arrived and we rode next to a burly man chewing tobacco on the bumpy ride back to the garage.

The next few days I had a nagging unease, could fate be possibly written and readable? Was everything pre-recorded? It was a horrible tapping on my awareness I couldn’t shake, but I did my best to focus on the mountainous pile of work awaiting me that week. I dove into my work, chiseling away at the stacks of invoices and numbers to tally, losing myself in the chore as much as possible. A few days later, I was just finishing some edits and headed upstairs to the bathroom. On my way back to the stairs, my foot slid cleanly off of the top step and I plunged down the stairs in a horrible fall, painfully cracking my hips and shattering my wrist on the hard stairs. My wife screamed and ran to me, dialing 911 and crying over my broken body.

After the painkillers took effect, my stay at the ER wasn’t so bad, at least physically. My mind however swirled with thoughts of an unseen force tormenting me, fulfilling the fortune teller’s prophecy. My wife suggested we see her and address the curse, which I was beginning to realize might be real at this time. I was in a lot of pain, bandaged and arm in a cast, but we rented a car and drove back to find resolution to the fortune teller. “Let’s just listen to what she has to say” Sarah calmly stated as we drove that rainy night to the city.

Wind licked my neck as i held Sarah’s hand in my uninjured one. Pain flared in my hip as I ascended the stairs up to that hallway, past the restroom and into the red room where the old soothsayer slouched before us. “Yeah, yeah, you’ve been expecting me” I blurted out before quickly apologizing. “I’m sorry, this is just hard and confusing for me. What can I do?” I pleaded, taking the seat the fortune teller’s hand motioned to. The old woman removed a book labelled “curses” in sharpie written on a taped book spine, and flipped through pages containing etchings of demons, odd contraptions and eventually what looked like plants, showing a picture to my wife and I that looked straight from the renaissance.

“I need to gather some specific plants from near the Caspian sea. The other ingredients are in Mount Elbrus, and I need newborn lamb’s hair from Estonia. It will take a few weeks and i need my flights, my stay, and my guides compensated. I will need to pay a priestess to perform a ceremony that is both taxing physically and very expensive. When I come back in a month, I will have a tincture that will remove your curse, and you will be free upon drinking it”. She pressed her liver spotted hands together at the fingertips and lowered her head. “The cost will be $182,000” she said, and the number bounced between my ears like a jagged pinball. I’d need to liquefy every asset I owned in order to pay for this, and would be completely broke. I’d have to start from scratch, this was not a possibility.

“I can’t afford that. What alternative is there?” I asked, worry wrinkling my sweaty brow.

“This is the only this option, and I’m afraid death is the only thing that is coming next, this is your only option if you want to live through the year, this type of curse is 100% lethal and extremely aggressive.” She said in a low, creaky voice. I looked to my wife, distress painted on her face in a way that stabbed at my heart. I realized this must be the only option, and I nodded gravely and stated “Give me a few days and I’ll be back”. I solemnly limped down the stairs aided by my wife, tormented by the realization I was about to be either penniless or dead. My wife tried to reassure me on the drive back but my mind was frozen in dread. I began moving funds out of my investments and my IRA. I withdrew from my savings and brokerage accounts and spent the next few days feeling like a broken husk of a man.

A few nights after, my wife and I were watching TV when she excused herself to use the restroom. I used the opportunity to walk to the garage to sneak a cigarette, a horrible habit I’d been hiding on the rare occasion of extreme stress, and I realized something felt off. My stuff seemed to have been moved, particularly one item, a gallon tin of WD-40 I only used rarely on the car, which was in the shop. There was absolutely no reason for this to have been used by anyone, and I knew something was awry. I walked back into the house, my wife was still upstairs, where that slick floor caused my fall, her cell phone on the couch where she had sat.

I’d seen her enter the screen lock dozens of times. I entered it with ease and then saw all of the things I could possibly dread. Hundreds of steamy texts to a man named “Greg”, and a few dozen to a contact labelled with simply an address. I clicked on it and saw the numbers, there was a poor attempt at discretion discussing financial matters, percentages, and an agreed amount of $20,000. I heard the upstairs toilet flush and exited the text app and returned the phone, locked, to its place on the couch. I entered the address of the contact on my phone to confirm, it was the psychic we’d seen. I sat quietly watching television with my wife before sleeping a full night’s sleep. That night I explained I was ready to pay the psychic and be rid of this awful curse.

The next day, we drove the rental to the city, to that psychic, and I limped up those stairs holding back a smile, trying to force it from creeping onto my face. I just couldn’t get the punchline out of my head, it was cliche but hilarious. After she took a seat, my wife’s eyes grew in horror when the hatchet began its journey, cutting through the air and into her skull. It took quite a forceful wiggle to dislodge it, making a “shuck” sound as the wet blade pulled brain and blood from the wound with its removal. The old hag had risen, attempting to get around me, perhaps to run into the bathroom my wife pretended to enter when she’d cut the brakes to my car. She didn’t make it by me, however, the blade crushing the vertebrae between her sagging shoulders. Blood sprayed with each following chop as the hatchet transformed the two women into something unrecognizable. I stood over the mess in the red room and shared it then, they could use some humor I figured “You didn’t see that coming” I bellowed, laughter spilling forth as free as their blood.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story