#useless brick wall lookin ass

[bountybossier]

Until Dawn | Morgan & Nic

Takes place the day before the sun yeeted itself. Vampires, snowglobes, the family business.

with: @mor-beck-more-problems

The diary Morgan had borrowed from the Scribe archive had lead to some interesting revelations. First, that the scriptwriters for Final Destination might have been casters with a mean sense of humor, and second, that one of Agnes’ nieces had buried a chest under the homestead shortly before she met a gruesome end in an accident with some clothesline. The homestead had been lost some six years later, of course, but it was entirely possible that the chest remained, and with it, some dirt on what Constance’s deal was, or some artifact that explained why they had been targeted in the first place. And so,scuttling straight from a staff networking dinner at the University, still in her skirt set, Morgan found herself back in the bend at sunset, traipsing through some overgrown grass in search of a magic answer.

The tracking amulet in her hand tingled hot in her hand, leading her towards one of the glorified shacks along the street and around the back. Morgan crept awkwardly into the overgrowth and began to dig, unaware of anyone else nearby. The sooner she got in, the sooner she could get out.

The hunter treated himself to a small six-shooter of whiskey before he left to deal with the night’s bounty. It wouldn’t be a complicated one from what he read over. A palate cleanser in comparison to the other fuckery that poked about in White Crest’s moldy and sea-cured corners. It didn’t surprise Nicodemus that most of the bounties came for shit out in The Bend. The rundown motel he stayed in was somehow the safest, yet still one of the shadiest fucking buildings in that particular godforsaken corner of White Crest. He checked himself over subtly as he walked. Vest on, stakes in jacket, guns on hips, knives in boots and one strapped around a thigh. Holy water in a nice iron flask. The dark didn’t matter to him as he took back alleys and precariously hopped over decaying fences. The place indicated wasn’t too far and when he finally got to it, he nodded an affirmation.

Yup, sure looked like a fucking vampire drug den. Quiet. Foreboding. Sounded about right. He was just in it to get some dust. Except it wasn’t all entirely quiet. He stopped walking and listened. Something digging? He didn’t smell dog or any other type of critter. His senses would be no help. He stepped into the overgrowth with a crunch. If he knew that someone else was there, only fair that he did the same? He continued until he reached the end of the overgrowth and stood in a disgusting backyard. A brow rose as he made a slow 360 turn. He spoke up, voice low and level.

“This your shitty house?”

Morgan yelped at the sound of another voice and wheeled around, shovel raised high. “No!” Wait--that made her sound like she was trespassing. Which she was, technically, if this place belonged to anyone still. But the large scary man in front of her didn’t need to know that. “I mean, it’s not shitty, it’s--rustic! And what are you doing here, exactly?” She positioned herself over the hole she was digging. Until the stranger had shown up, she’d been sure she was almost there. “Weird time of night to be wandering around with--” She eyed the gear bulging from his sturdy frame. Shit. “--all that. Could be dangerous.”

“Rustic’s just a fancy way of sayin’ shitty,” Nicodemus grumbled out as he looked at her, a curious brow lifted ever slightly. At her question, he frowned and glanced up at the house. “...Scavenger hunt.” Was the only explanation he gave, flimsy and half-assed. He didn’t have to explain anything and who knew, maybe she was one of those sympathetic types like Orion? “What are you doin’ diggin’ around then?” Given his own shit explanation, he didn’t expect much from hers either. And that would be fair. What wasn’t fair was the crunch and rustle that had his nerves immediately on edge. Something hostile was getting closer and wasn’t likely to stop. “Yeah, likely could be.” He grabbed for one of the three stakes he had brought with him and immediately lunged, body slamming into a vampire that had started to run up on them. From behind them, he heard more. A hell of a lot more, maybe eight or so. Shit. “God fuckin’ damn it,” he grunted as he wedged the stake in the vampire’s chest, the body poofing. A young and dumb one. Hopefully the rest were like that. He turned to look at the woman and gestured to the house before he started to head up, not moving too far from her. “Fuckin’ A, come on! They ain’t happy!”

“Scavenger hunt,” Morgan repeated, voice shrill as she found herself caught between fear and incredulity. She didn’t exactly feel like doing anything to upset the big scary man with too many weapons on him, but his excuse seemed even thinner than her own. Morgan shifted and tried, discreetly, to reach down into the earth for the chest. “What? Don’t you ever bury things for safekeeping ever? That’s like one of the safest oldest ways in the book.” And if the chest really was just there beneath the surface, if she could just picture the simplest, most obvious way it looked, and pull-- a shape appeared out of nowhere, lunging her way. Morgan stumbled backwards with a sharp cry of fright. Big Scary Man took out a stake and wedged it into the chest as if he’d been doing it his whole life.

She followed his gaze into the dark and-- Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Better to be with the big scary man with the stake than the big scary vampires with the teeth. Morgan sprinted as best she could behind him. This wasn’t how she died, and it wasn’t going to be how she got maimed again either. She scampered up to the house and skidded to a stop, digging her fingers into the dirt and pressing down with her forearm until her cuff was firm in the ground as well. Morgan pushed with all the ‘I really don’t wanna get maimed today’ energy she had brimming at the surface. The earth in front of her dipped and sandy bricks walled the space between the vampires and the ramshackle house. Morgan closed her doors before she could form a whole perimeter. Bricks would never hold for long in the first place, but maybe she’d have a few extra minutes to come up with something better. She darted inside and shut the door, kept running. How many ways to get in were there? “So! Uh, how many of those stakes do you have? And uh, how many doors in this place do you think we got?”

Nicodemus glanced back in time to catch the dirt shift and pull at the woman’s beck and call. Alright. Infinitely in a better spot than he would have been had it just been a regular person digging in the dirt for whatever fucking reason. “Nah, not a scavenger hunt. Sure I had you goin’ for a second,” he deadpanned, a less-than-pleased frown on his face as he started to move through the house. “Lookin’ for treasure then, huh?” The bricks would do what they could, but hungry vampires could get through anything when they wanted to. He grumbled angrily to himself as he pushed open a weak door and it collapsed right off the hinges. Fucking fantastic. “I got…” Fuck. He’d left the one he used outside. “I got two.” He took out one and handed it to her as he checked corners. The house was much larger on the inside than it was outside. He swore in French. Listening, he heard the bricks breaking apart against each other. “Looks like three. One front, that back door, and a side door. Maybe a...” He rattled off the information to her as he pulled open a basement door. “Yup, a basement. That’s not countin’ every goddamn window.” They were shuttered and planks hammered over them but still. He shook his head and looked at her. “I’m thinkin’ basement or upstairs. Funnel ‘em.”

“Two! Okay! One for me, and one for you! That’s fine, that’s totally plenty, definitely not gonna run out and wish we had more!” Morgan was rambling with panic. She was getting distressingly familiar with tumbling headfirst into near death situations; if she barrelled on determinedly enough, her mind and body might not catch up to each other in time for a full blown freak-out to set in. “There wouldn’t happen to be anything super special about stakes would there? Like could you rip the floor open with your big scary hands and use that in a pinch? Is that a stupid question?” Bricks crunched outside as the vampires burst through her wall. Morgan’s brain flitted between her options. Upstairs: a long way to fall. Basement: a lot of house to collapse. Not much of a way out either way. The house trembled. Glass rained down overhead, unseen. Some of them were coming in from above. Morgan gave the Big Scary Man a horrified look. “So, Scary Basement?”

Whatever it was that compelled the world to spin, it truly was testing Nicodemus. He didn’t know how to deal with panicking people. That was the main reason he tried to keep things out of sight, out of mind. A month or two in White Crest proved that trying to keep up with that method would be useless. “Just don’t fuckin’ lose it and you’ll be fine,” he said to her, expression grim. There wasn’t much confidence behind that statement but it was something at least. “Nah, if it’s wood and got a stabby point, it works.” He glanced at his hands, brow furrowed. Yeah, he supposed they were big and scary. Big and scary enough to work against potentially drugged out vampires. He stared at her. “Ease up there, you ain’t gonna die. Probably. I don’t plan on dyin’ so just...stay by me or some shit.” His gaze flickered up at the crash of glass and windows. To the side at broken brick. “Basement, come on. Probably got shit down there too!” He opened the door and gestured in. As he stepped down, a minute-long stretch of French swears flowed out of him at the sight of empty coffins. “Well, that’s just real fuckin’ groovy.” He thought back to her question about stakes. “Lose that, use that.” The basement door cracked open and the first of the vampires started to filter down. The hunter didn’t wait and barreled at the first as soon as they came down, stake in hand.

“Who said anything about dying? You think we’re gonna die?” Morgan shrieked. Footsteps thumped overhead, sending dust down on them. Don’t lose it. She wasn’t losing it. This was only the what time she was questioning fate and mortality in the past month? Was this why her mom hadn’t wanted her in a supernatural hotspot? Because freak falling accidents could turn into chased and maimed by vampires in the hands of the curse? But Morgan wasn’t losing it! She scampered down to the basement, her mind only thinking a few seconds ahead. Don’t trip on the stairs and break something! Don’t run into the terrifying coffins! Morgan didn’t have time to say, we’re totally cornered, before there were vampires coming down the stairs. 

“Fucking stars!” She squealed, jumping to the ground. The big scary man was handling things on his own just fine, with all the punching and slamming and staking. She looked at the stake in her hand. She wasn’t sure how she could work up that much force in her arms to make that happen, but then again, there was one jumping the rail and coming at her, fang bared and eyes blazing. “No!” She put out her hands and pushed, not with physical force, but with the energy around her, with her fear and her exasperation. The vampire flew against the stair railing, hard enough to crack the wood. Morgan looked uncertainly at the big scary man. At least she hadn’t been hit yet, right? Then again, the vampire was already getting to its feet and looking several kinds of unhappy. Morgan moved her attention to her stake. How much force would she need to use that again?

“Fuckin’ Christ, no! We’re not gonna fuckin’ die.” His hearing and her shouting forced him to flinch. Nicodemus was preoccupied with the vampire quite literally at hand. The hunter a year ago wouldn’t have thought much of the swarm of vampires, alone or not. But now? White Crest opened something in him, or maybe it tried to put something messily back together with schoolhouse glue, that he had left well enough alone in him. He glanced over at the stranger as the vampire underneath him burst into ash and dusted the basement floor. His heartbeat was slow and steady in his chest even as the swarm of--ten, he counted--fell in line on the stairs. What he wouldn’t have given for a big fuck off spear. 

He reached for the iron flask on his hip and took a swig of it before he swiftly closed it back up. Another vampire crashed down on him and took him off balance. Fangs tried to close around his neck but he spat holy water straight into the vampire’s open eyes and mouth. Undead skin sizzled and in their momentary daze, Nic shoved the stake up and into their still heart. Alright. That made two. He felt eyes on him and he snapped up onto his feet. “In and up! Leverage it.” Ah hell, the vampire she’d shoved away was pissed and he was dealing with another one bearing down on him. “Fuckin’ A, take this! Holy water!” He passed over the water to her and quickly knelt down to grab one of the coffins. With his strength, they weren’t too heavy and he flipped it toward the closest vampire to smash them against the wall along the stairs that led up into the main house. Broken bits of wood burst everywhere. He grunted and rolled his wrist that held the stake. His expression grew slightly more enthused. “Yeah, they ain’t gon’ make it easy, huh?”

Morgan had the stake in the air, primed to thrust. When the vampire she’d thrown lunged, she sent it in, full force--in and not quite up. For an awful moment she and the vampire looked at each other, expecting something very different. Fortunately, a small scary bottle of holy water came her way. Morgan popped it open and swung, letting water arc over the vampire and turn its flesh into something much less stable than marbly skin. This was her chance. Morgan knew it. Still, she couldn’t help but whine wordlessly as she rushed forwards and worked the stake upwards as the man had instructed. She kept her hands fastened on the stake and shoved it upwards. The writhing vampire turned to dust. Morgan didn’t have time to contemplate her victory, a vampire was grabbing her by the arm and shoving her against the wall. Morgan cried out and shoved the stake in again. She had to get out of this corner. Morgan reached with her power for one of the coffin splinters and sent them outward to the next one chasing her as she scrambled to join the hunter (he had to be a hunter, right?) on the other side of the basement. At least one had to land, right?

As the vampire on her collapsed to dust, Nicodemus breathed just slightly easier. He wasn’t getting tired but he was concerned they’d run out of goddamn resources. Fuck, this was why he didn’t commit himself to the hunter mentality of protect all from certain, supernatural death. He shook his head, cracked his jaw as a vampire slugged him. He knocked the vampire in the nose and scraped his knuckles on sharp teeth, but managed to use the shock to his advantage as he burrowed the stake in with cold calculation. He laughed with bloody teeth. “Good shit,” he grunted out as she came to stand by him, both equally covered in vampire ash and dust. The splinters of wood she sent out seemed to pepper the remaining vampires and one gave a sharp scream of an inhalation as a particularly large one dug into their chest. He would need to look into some kinda stake launcher if he kept this shit up. 

Either their numbers were starting to slow down or they were doing a decent fucking job for a ragtag team. And just when he almost started to feel good, another showed. He glanced up, to a small boarded up window. If that was blown open, they wouldn’t be able to hide from the dawn that would steadily creep up. “Got an idea. Gonna need your help, alright?” He flexed his fingers around the stake and reached with a free hand to grab the handgun on his hip. “Gonna bust that fucker open--” He gestured to the window. “And block that door. A few hours, sun’s gonna come. Take care of this shit. Can’t go anywhere.” He spoke fast as he shifted and glanced back. “Plenty of wood and shit we can barricade with back there, I think. Keep ‘em back.” He glanced at her. “Sound good?”

There was something strange about the Big Scary Man as he spoke to her that made Morgan uncomfortable. Something that was almost warm. It was out of place in a room full of vampires and their dust. But this wasn’t time for uncanny epiphanies or evaluating the guy as anything other than the person helping her to not die. “Block the door,” she repeated. “Got it. Easy enough! Y-you’ve done this before, a lot, huh?” She began to inch towards the door. If there was any metal in the lock, it would make a good start. There was still the wall. She was feeling kinda tired, almost spent. Again. But not getting maimed was always a good reason to blow the magic piggy bank. She braced herself for the sound of his gunshot and tensed to run.

“Yeah, more than I fuckin’ care to admit. Just punchin’ in time,” Nicodemus muttered to her before he spat blood. Without much of a warning, he free-aimed at the window and blew five 9mm holes into it. In the basement, the gun was loud and he braced against the impact of his sensitive ears. The wood was old and hadn’t much give to it, the way that it fractured and splintered outward. Moonlight spilled in. He grunted and turned on his heels, eyes between her and the undead that stood between them, their gazes unsure of where to look. Bracing his gun hand underneath with the hand that held the stake, he spent the rest of his clip hitting skulls as he backed up toward the small room at the back of the basement that could be made into a temporary safe haven. Behind the smoking gun, he peered over at her and loaded another clip. Bullets wouldn’t put them down but they’d be enough to stun. “You got it?”

Morgan sprinted as soon as the bullets were done flying. Guns. Of all the fucking things, it had to be guns. Worst of all, she was relieved he had one so they didn’t have to separate. Once inside the smaller room, a storage cupboard, by the looks of it. There were even some questionable looking cans still on the rotted shelves. She reached for the table by the door and shoved it in front of them. Then the shelves. “Help me!” She said. When there was a sizable pile, Morgan reached down with a ‘this is seriously not the time to get maimed or die’ push and turned it all into a heavy mush of wood and metal that was definitely not supposed to exist but would, in all events, keep them safe. “So,” she said, backing to the end of the room, breathing hard from the rush, “You um, have a name?”

“Give me a fuckin’ second.” The hunter followed close behind and followed suit in stacking as much heavy shit as he could against the door. A grunted string of Cajun French happened under his breath as Nicodemus gently tested the barricade just to be sure. If that’s what it could be called. Yeah, it’d hold for the next… He scrubbed vampire dust off his watch and squinted. Couple hours. Christ. At least by the end of it, the sun would be out and there’d be more dust than he or the client ever asked for. To little success, he tried to clean his bloody and dusty face. With ash stuck in his eyelashes, he turned to look at her with a frown. “...yeah, fuck it, might as well start a damn campfire…” For all his grumbles and French swears, he was too tired to be genuinely bothered by the circumstances. It worked itself out. He sat down heavily and tipped his head back against the wall. “Sure do. Nicodemus. You?” He peered over at her. Fuck, his head was killing him. “Magic, huh?”

Morgan sank down to the floor and sent a quick message to Cece about a change of plans for the evening. She didn’t want her falling into the same vampire trap she and Nicodemus were in, and if this was the brand of fuckery her curse wanted to throw at her now that she was on a hotspot, she should get used to handling herself without her help anyway. She tucked her knees up to her chest and forced herself to breathe evenly. In. Hold. Out. “Morgan,” she replied at last. “And, yeah. Not usually like this, but yeah.” She offered him what she hoped was a winning and ‘don’t hurt me’ smile. “I have an Etsy store, but I can do real things too. Not healing, unfortunately, but if you need to turn stuff into other stuff? Um, I do a lot with rocks.” In. Hold. Out. “What, um, what do you like to do, Nic? When you’re not, um, doing this? O-oh, Is it okay if I call you Nic or do you hate that?”

It didn’t take much to piece together that Morgan, as Nicodemus now knew her, hadn’t exactly seen shit like a vampire swarm before. “Shitty meetin’ like this an’ all, but hell, it fuckin’ worked. Can’t complain.” The fact she had an Etsy store sealed his prior thought and he nodded, a sound of affirmation coming from him. At her smile, he offered a slight frown and a slight dip of his head. “Reckon it takes a lot of you but I don’t know a lot about that whole thing.” The hunter was content to sit in silence but that wasn’t an option. If talking might keep her from assuming the worst would happen, if she even did, a momentary sacrifice could be made. “Can do my own healin’ so I got that bit covered,” he offered gruffly. It was likely she had pieced together what he was and he never felt particularly compelled to cover it. “What’s that? Ain’t that--Shit.” He paused to find the word. “Alchemy? Nicolas whatever his fuckin’ name is?” He snorted and shook his head. “Me? I make snowglobes and…” He trailed. Shit, he really didn’t have any other hobbies. “And Nic’s fine. You good?”

“Alchemy, yeah. And I’m not totally spent, but when we get out of this, you’ll probably be the one dismantling uh...all that, once I zap it loose.” She offered him another smile. “And you’re thinking of Nicolas Flamel.” Stupid Harry Potter, spilling all the wrong secrets and getting everything in a twisted, backwards blender for the world to eat like candy. “He wasn’t that special, you know. Most everyone in my family could do this stuff, for starters. But not many people know even as much as you do, so.” She shrugged. This was way more information about a hunter than Morgan was comfortable with. Granted, Nic’s gear seemed pretty vampire specific, and Morgan didn’t have any reason to protect them. If anything, under better circumstances, this might be the time to ask if he knew anything about pretty blondes who liked to hurt witches. But she couldn’t not think of Remmy. Would Nic be kind if they were in this room with him, instead of her? And yet… “Snow Globes?” Really?  “...How do you make those?” She asked gently.

“Yeah, think I can do that,” Nicodemus said with a small nod. He shifted to sit cross-legged, elbows in the bends of his knees as he used a hand to crack his neck. That fixed one issue. He looked at the floor as Morgan talked, not keen on eye contact, but continued to listen. “‘Fraid I only know the name, that’s about it. I don’t deal with, uh, magic much. More that shit and other shit.” He gestured to the noise beyond. Given the circumstances, he didn’t mind offering that information freely. Didn’t care all too much either. Just about everyone he had met so far knew what he was in some way or other, for better or for worse. Magic made him slightly uncomfortable but seeing how she used it, how it had helped… His gut instinct wavered some as logic came through. Morgan could have crushed him with a wave of her hand, mashed him between stone, wood, and dust. But she didn’t. He didn’t want to think further than that. Not right then. The hunter smiled to himself, small and only barely hidden. “Yup, snow globes. Ain’t too hard.” Oh shit. He was actually excited to talk about his snowglobes. That was fucking weird. Morgan might have been the first to ask him that in...awhile. “Do the, uh, lid part first. Glue all the shit down and let it set, then water, glycerin, and whatever fancy shit you want in the mason jar. That’s what I use. Put ‘em together and let it dry overnight. Sometimes use holy water too.”

Morgan nodded along to Nic’s explanation. “Kinda glad to know you don’t deal with magic much. This uh, would’ve been a really bad time to find out you moonlight as a witch hunter.” She couldn’t help but laugh nervously. There was a decent amount of scuffling outside as the surviving vampires got up to stars only knew what. She needed to think about something else. Like the snowglobes. Snowglobes out of jars. “Holy water? No way. Isn’t that hard to come by?” Maybe not if you killed vampires like Nic did. Morgan didn’t know what to make of it, putting his weapons into something fragile and pretty to make it happen. “It sounds like really delicate work,” she said thoughtfully. “Do you have any pictures on your phone? I’d like to see what kinda stuff you put in them.”

Nicodemus snorted and shook his head, ran a hand over his face. Dust fell out of his hair and joined the must of the rest of the room’s mustyness. “Nah. Ain’t for me. Other assholes do that. ‘Sides, magic’s...You said you don’t do healin’, but--” He might as well ask while they had another half hour or so to kill before dawn arrived. “--Know anythin’ for headaches? Excedrin ain’t doin’ shit for me.” With his hand, he made a so-so motion. “Just need a faith healer and some water. Ain’t much to it, I don’t think.” Sure there was more to it, the holy logistics or whatever the fuck, but he didn’t pay attention to that. “It can be, yeah,” he looked at her, waited for her to laugh at him. She didn’t. Slowly, he slid his phone out and unlocked it. He showed her a recent one. One with a tombstone and a small raven on top of it. Small skulls hung in the water, along with black glitter. “That, uh, kinda stuff. Whatever shit’s around.” He raised a brow by a slim margin. “Your store...what's it, uh, got?”

“Not really,” Morgan said apologetically. “But  my mom had a lot of herbalist recipes. I don’t know if they work harder than Excedrin though. I can brew you a mean tea from her recipe to find out. Give you the card of an acupuncturist who knows a thing or two about this sort of thing.” She took the phone into her hands and looked at it. Deirdre must have been rubbing off on her, because the skulls in the graveyard looked kinda cute. “Do you make them for other people too? I’d like to have one like that. With the little tombstone, and some bones?” She handed it back, almost warmed by the careful craftsmanship. “Oh, nothing like that. Crystals and candles, mostly, and I started working in bath salts. They’re good for easing your muscles, if you’ve got some tension and time for a good soak, but there’s nothing special about them.” It was all so normal, so nice, and yet Morgan’s skin was crawling in the wake of these revelations. Kaden all over again, except worse because Nic wasn’t much of an asshole. He was rough around the edges, a little scary looking, but all he’d done since they met was help her. “Nic, can I ask you a weird personal question? You don’t have to answer, obviously, but… how did you get sucked into this?” She nodded towards the vampires at the barricade. “Why do you do it?”

“Tea’d probably work better than the fuckin’ whiskey I’ve been nursin’,” Nicodemus admitted. “If it...ain’t weird after this whole damn mess, yeah, that’d be...nice, I guess.” He watched her face as he showed her the snowglobe. Still, she didn’t laugh. Morgan actually seemed to appreciate it. Unlike some assholes that laughed it off as something stupid and a waste of time. Early in his life, he hadn’t counted on snowglobes keeping him sane, yet there he was. Stuck in a supply closet with a witch, discussing business tactics while covered in the remains of even deader vampires. The hunter might even consider it surreal but nothing fucking surprised him any more. Might as well be getting too old for that shit. “Bath salts? Be careful with that shit if Florida’s got anythin’ to say about it…” he trailed off as he listened to the vampires outside. They seemed to grow increasingly restless. Good. Sun would be up soon enough. “Never thought about makin’ ‘em for other people but...could give it a shot or somethin’.” Never had anyone around to make them for, admittedly. He didn’t expect his life to transition from bounty hunter for hire to professional snowglobe maker anytime soon, but it was a funny thought to entertain. As soon as he heard the words personal question, he had a feeling what it might be. “Ain’t weird, Morgan. Most people ask the same shit,” he said, words harsh but tone less so. He was too tired for that and he sighed heavily before he spoke. “Same way as most hunters. Family business an’ all. Pays like anythin’ else.” Monotone and straight to the point. From the corner of his eye, he looked at her. “That bother you?”

“I would get one from you,” Morgan said, risking a look Nic’s way. She wasn’t sure what her face was doing, if he could see that she was scared, or that she was trying to understand, to reconcile his hard-edged kindness with the deeds that had brought him here. “I’d pay you, or at least offer a fair trade.” He could be capable of more than just hurting people. That was the strangest and saddest thing of all. She turned her attention back to the barricade. Family business? LIke he’d been raised into it, without a chance to know better, or be better? Morgan was starting to understand a little, but the picture didn’t make her feel any less sick. “Do you like it?” She asked. “Is it just all you know, or--” She shook her head, unsure how to finish her thoughts. “I ask because I know people. They just want to be good, and get from one day to the next.  They just want to get to be themselves, to be known by people, and be safe. And back home--” She hesitated. “I mean, that’s all I want too. I want a nice, small life. But back home, there were a times where that was unnecessarily hard, because of laws, and casual cruelty, and because I knew if I tried too hard--” Well, her curse might snatch that up for one thing. But for another, “Someone might decide to hurt me. Or kill me, just for that. And so I just...I can’t help but feel for them. These people I know. Does that make sense…?”

“Holy shit. Really?” The response was immediate, completely unfiltered. Nicodemus blinked, stared straight ahead at the mess ahead of them. Her face was moving but he couldn’t tell what way she was looking at him. “I mean, fuck. Yeah, sure. Whatever.” He kept his gaze straight ahead at her question, but his fingers started to tap against his thigh at an unsteady rhythm. Damn it. It would have been better to not say anything. In his experience, it usually was. His jaw worked, teeth quietly rubbing against each other. He didn’t have to look at Morgan to get a sense of how she might be looking at him that time. “Ain’t about likin’ it,” he said stiffly as he back stepped into nigh-unbreachable stoicism. “If I liked it, I’d be dead.” Young hunters always got too zealous, too in over their heads with the black-and-white morality that older hunters tried to peddle. Like Samson tried and nearly succeeded to do with him. He didn’t say much else as he listened to her talk. It was a strange place, a strange situation, to be discussing morality or how one went about surviving. Or maybe, with vampires trapped behind a blockade of their own making, it wasn’t. What the hell did he know? He remained impassive as she talked. When the quiet settled, he checked his watch. The dead would be burning soon. 

“Yeah...Yeah, it’s what I know,” he finally said as he looked at Morgan. “I decide what I do. What, who, I go after. I used to not. I’ve met...people too. Here.” The worst part of it all? Maybe, somewhere, he was starting to feel for them too. Every fucking day. Every person he met took slim shards of him away. Even after this, she likely would too. And still, he kept on how he did. He didn’t know how to cope. Didn’t know how to be without that torch he carried, the bonfire he promised to start all on his own. “Sometimes I decide not to. I could’ve decided not to tonight,” he said as he ran a hand through his short hair and sat up straighter. “Best that I did, huh?” It wasn’t the right time to laugh, but he did in a hollow sort of way that didn’t dig deep. In a few minutes, his watch would chime. The laugh faded fast and he rolled his head back against the dirty wall. “I ain’t gonna hurt you, Morgan. Want you to know that.”

“Yes, really,” Morgan said softly. “They’re beautiful. And that one reminds me of someone I care about. I’d either give one like it to her, or keep it to think about her. And aren’t snowglobes meant to remind you of wonderful things anyway? It’s perfect.” She wondered if Nic saw his potential beyond death, or if all the blood and this, what was it hunters told themselves? The word of some god? Another fucking duty to break their souls into pieces over? Nic, at least, had some kind of code, some kind of discretion. He said he knew people and Morgan wanted to believe him. Someone who could use their hands to make beautiful, fragile things out of the ordinary should be the kind of person with at least a little kindness, and the awareness to exercise it. “I am glad you decided to, since it’s the only reason I’m alive right now,” she admitted. There wasn’t much relief to be had there however. “And I am, still alive and breathing and not a vampire or a zombie, so I do feel safe enough with you. And I do…” Shit. She couldn’t stop and change her mind now. “...I do think you want to be a good person. That counts for something. And, I mean, sometimes being big and scary can save the day. But sometimes what makes things better is more like a snow globe. You can do lots of things, Nic. I hope you know that.”

The hunter thought of the one kept right on his nightstand. All purple, green, and gold. That dumb alligator looking at him every morning. Discomfort rose up in Nicodemus like sickness. Morgan was kind, impossibly so, to him. She could have just as easily not said a fucking word to him, sit it out in silence and wait for the dust to settle. But she didn’t. She got him talking, even got him to show a snowglobe. The things he felt so peculiarly protective over, even if his rough hands fumbled the glass and there were slim nicks in his skin to prove it. He chanced looking at her as she spoke. “Yeah, might’ve been dead myself,” he said with a shrug. “Here’s to buried shit, huh?” His gaze went to the mess ahead of them and his head cocked some as the infernal screaming started. An awful sound to most ears. Nic just wanted it to be over. How that stacked up against her statement of him wanting to be a good person, he didn’t know and he grunted. The line of his jaw softened by a thin margin as he stood up. Being big and scary is what would get them out of their makeshift sanctuary and as the vampiric screaming startled to dwindle, he cracked his neck. Later, he could consider the depth of her words. How they didn’t just stick to his skin like burs but instead, burrowed. “Got all that from a snowglobe?” The hunter forced a faint smile as he braced himself and started shoving against the mass, pushing until it started to give under his own weight and hell-given strength. “...Guess I do, yeah.”

Morgan didn’t laugh. There was a horrible, too real sound coming from the other side of the door. She wouldn’t have done anything different. They’d given chase, and attacked, trying to take her life. This was fair. And sometimes, fairness wasn’t pretty. Morgan breathed slowly, carefully, and waited for it to be over. She shrugged at his question. “More like from you, but sure,” she said. She got up and waited for Nic to move her barricade out of the way. He was so strong, she didn’t even have to zap the parts loose after all. “Um...I’m glad, that you do. Don’t forget anytime soon, okay? You’re not a thing. You’re more.” She exhaled with relief when the door opened. Ash and sunlight, and a way out.

#wickedswriting #chatzy #chatzy: until dawn #c: morgan #// this broke me #kat and morgan broke me #i loved this SO SO MUCH #A GIFT AND AN HONOR

[achtung-attitude]

CHAPTER 31: Hotel California - Part 3

The pain of the effect gradually lessens, yet in spite of his best efforts, Kilo cannot find the strength to stand back up. Pins and needles prickle beneath his skin, crippling his left leg and right thigh, leaving both as useless pieces of flesh. 

The cause of this effect, the bellboy named Marsellus, stands over him,  a strange figure hovering next to him: a creaking, metallic creature, bizarrely garbed in faded blue jeans and dark glasses. With each jerky movement of its arms, sparks fly out its joints, flashing light across its metallic body. “CALIFORNICATION...” he mutters. 

After a moment, he seems to remember that Kilo is in the room. “Oh! I beg your pardon, sir! Perhaps I could fetch you some refreshments to help you relax? We have tea or juice, or something rather stronger? We have a lovely vintage 1896 white--”

Kilo’s answer is to summon SATURN BARZ, but the Stand immediately flickers away. Kilo grunts, trying to force it into being, but in vain. The same power paralyzing his legs affects his Stand, as something like white noise on an old TV set distorts its form and prevents it from manifesting. He grimaces, resorting to crawling towards the wall, pulling himself with his hands.

“Please, sir, try not to strain yourself too hard. You might pull a muscle! In that event, all staff are trained in first aid-”

“Enough with the “sir” shit,” Kilo hisses through clenched teeth. He reaches the wall and pulls himself onto his back to sit up against it. “Drop the act already! If the Congregation wants us dead that bad, just fucking get on with it!”

The bellboy pauses. “... The Congregation… You mean Brother Dust is…?”

“I guess you figured out you couldn’t take us in a straight fight, so you pull this crazy place out of your asses!” he says, smiling bitterly, “Did Dust and that other guy get that scared, they wouldn’t dare handle us themselves?!”

“... Perhaps this is fate, or merely coincidence…? So strange… ten years without hearing from the old preacher, and now, his schemes enter my life once again.” 

“What… what do you mean?”

Marsellus shakes his head gently. “I am not with the Congregation, but I used to be. I called Dust my brother, but that was my old life. I left the gang over ten years ago, having found my true calling,” he gestures upwards, at the walls of the hotel. 

“That was until… Three days ago, I received a call from him, requesting my aid. To hold one of his... ‘assets’ and keep him safe, until such time as his enemies may be dealt with. And now, it seems, that very enemy has stumbled into my midst as well.”

“One of Dust’s assets?” Kilo says, “... Mann. The big guy! He’s the Congregation’s guy in politics!”

“I suppose so. It really has little to do with me. I don’t know what he plans to do with him, and I don’t rightly care.”

“I thought this Dust asshole was supposed to be smart. What was he thinking hiding his guy in a murder hotel?”

“Oh, he has me to thank for that,” the bellboy says, raising CALIFORNICATION’s finger, allowing little arcs of energy to flash between them, “Regular shocks keep Mister Mann from fully embracing the Hotel, though it breaks my heart. I owe Brother Dust, you see. If not for him, I would never have found my purpose. I live now only to serve as the Hotel’s caretaker.”

“Caretaker?”

“Yes, sir. There have been many employees, most of them former guests, of whom I can be counted as one. But of all them, I was determined to be most worthy of being the Hotel’s protector.”

Kilo scoffs. “Yeah, sure… More like it figured out you was more good to it alive than dead!” The buzzing beneath his skin gradually recedes, and feeling starts to return to his body. He stays where he is, waiting for his moment. “A slave with a Stand, gotta be a useful thing! Did you never even think about leaving?”

“I don’t understand,” Marsellus says, cocking his head. He is genuinely confused, “Why would I want to leave? … Why would you? What’s waiting for you on the outside? The Hotel provides everything you could need: comfort, companionship, beauty. Happiness. Out there, there’s nothing but struggle.”

An edge enters his voice, grating against his throat, “My life is simple here! So unlike my days in the gang! Constantly at war! Struggling over territory, money, prestige, struggling to keep my reputation lest I lose face! And even then, it can all be taken away from you in the blink of an eye! The Hotel…! The Hotel is not a prison, it’s a paradise! A paradise where you can become truly free!”

“Sure,” Kilo spits, “as long as you’re willing to die for it…!”

“Everything dies, in time… The lucky ones among us are able to die for something greater than themselves. Luther understood that. And I’m sure in his final moments, he was grateful.”

“Grateful? You’re sick… I’m sure of that much…” he says, pulling himself to his feet, at last able to feel his legs again. “And if there’s one more thing I’m sure of…” SATURN BARZ appears, still somewhat distorted by white noise, and CALIFORNICATION moves to intercept it. 

But rather than attack, Kilo’s Stand slams its clawed hand onto the floor beneath him. Instantly, it melts into slurry and he falls through, landing on a crouch in the room below. “NOOO!!” Marsellus shrieks, and in the same moment, a low groan is heard, seeming to come from all directions. The walls contort like muscles writhing beneath skin. Kilo looks up, and grins in satisfaction. 

“Looks like the hotel really is alive, like you said! And if it’s alive, then all I gotta do is kill it! I’ll tear this place down brick by brick if I have to!”

Marsellus sends CALIFORNICATION down the hole, but SATURN BARZ stamps its foot and another hole is melted. Kilo smirks as the Stand’s mechanical fingers fly over his head. Tiny arcs of electricity graze his forehead, but otherwise it misses him completely. He descends through one more floor, leaving the bellboy to stare down at him in impotent hatred.

“DAMN YOU!!” he roars after him, “You WILL be an honored guest, EVEN IF I HAVE TO BREAK ALL OF YOUR BONES AND STRAP YOU TO YOUR BED!!!” 

Kilo lands in with a crouch and a roll into a dark room. A fetid odor immediately assaults his senses, making his eyes water and his gag reflex act up. “What the hell…? ” he mutters, covering his mouth with his hand and squinting, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark. 

When he takes a step forward, he kicks into something meaty, causing Kilo to fall and land on his hands. But instead of feeling the soft carpet, his hands squelch and drip into a wet and pus-y subtance. A visceral chill of disgust throws him back onto his feet with an “Ughh!!”, and his backstep hits against something as heavy and organic-feeling as the first. The goo on the floor squishes beneath his shoes. His eyes finally adjust to the low light, and he fights the urge to vomit. 

Surrounding him are the rotting and bloated corpses of the recently deceased at the Hotel California. The bodies are in various stages of decay and rot, with some having their organs squeezed out of every orifice, with others merely skin draping off their bones. A shake comes over his hands, which he suppresses by balling them into fists and grinding his teeth.

Kilo dashes straight ahead until he finds a wall, then liquidates and dives out of the charnel room. He runs, wiping his filthy hands along the walls, soon reaching the room where he and his friends are staying at. He kicks down the door, and a wave of relief washes over him as he sees Shizuka and Jerome lounging languidly on the sofa, unharmed, unbothered.

“Whuhh…? Oh, hey Kilo… Did you find what you was lookin’ for…?” Jerome asks groggily as his friend shakes him awake.

“Yeah. I wish I didn’t. Get up, we’re leaving now. Shizuka…” Kilo replies, shaking Shizuka roughly.

“I’m so hungry…” she moans quietly, before being picked bodily up and carried under his arm. After a moment of difficulty, Kilo also lifts Jerome and slings him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Holding his friends tightly, he kicks open the door to the emergency stairwell and runs down to the ground level, leaping over every three steps. Upon reaching the bottom, he kicks through that door as well, bursting into the lobby. The exit lies less than five meters away. A triumphant smirk crosses his lips. 

Kilo makes for the door, glancing at the reception desk to see Martha still standing, waiting to receive guests this late into the night. “Good evening, sir,” she says, remaining behind the desk, “How may I help you?”

He ignores her, turning towards the revolving door. Escape is right in front of him. Kilo reaches for the handle and… his fingers close around thin air.

He blinks. Looking up the sight that greets him is Martha’s blank, smiling face. “How may I help you, sir?” she asks.

“What the fu--?!” Kilo exclaims, spinning around. The door is now behind him, and he is standing in front of the reception desk, as if without his noticing, he had been picked up, turned around, placed in a completely different position. Growling, makes for the door again, readjusting Jerome’s position over his shoulder.

He reaches, and once again grasps nothing. His foot kicks off the side of the decorative fountain in the lobby and he nearly tumbles into the water along with his friends.

“What the fuck is this?!” he yells, “Where did the door go?!” Indeed, though he was looking at the revolving door the entire time, it appeared to have simply disappeared in the time it takes to blink.

Martha says nothing, still staring at him blankly, oblivious to any concern. “Could the bellboy’s Stand still be affecting me?! I don’t understand this--!!” he thinks, desperately looking to see if Marsellus is around.

“Whoooa… trippy,” Shizuka says under his arm. She is looking up, and Kilo matches her view. The sight before him opens a cold pit in his gut.

The exit is now on the ceiling. The opening and the glass revolving door moves above him, the stone and plaster around it flowing around it like mucus.

While astonished and horrified at this, Kilo suddenly feels something pulling at him, in the opposite direction of the doorway. He stumbles, regains his balances and sees that it is not him being pulled, but the floor beneath him. The marble pattern beneath his feet is shifting beneath his very feet.

“What is this?!” he yells, ”Is… is this the hotel’s doing too?!”

“Why, of course. Were you not listening before?” says a voice from behind. Before he can turn, he is jabbed in the back by rough mechanical fingers and he screams in pain as electricity burrows through his body. His lungs falter and his fingers twitch. Shizuka and Jerome drop to the floor, and Kilo follows them soon after.

#jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #achtung attitude #kilo staples #marsellus quinlan #saturn barz #californication #ch31

[youhaveaguineapigwhere]

The last thing Dean expected to see when he came out of the bathroom was some dude leaning over Cas at the pool table.

They had come out for a couple beers, some good music and food, not for some asshat to hit on his angel.

As he approached their table and sat down heavily, Sam looked at him like this wasn’t completely different, like it’s something he should’ve already known.

“He’s expressed his indifference to gender tons of times Dean, and it’s always seemed like that applies to the people he’s attracted to, too.” He sat back and took a sip of his beer, “I don’t know why this is so surprising to you-” Sam let out a deflated sigh as Dean got up abruptly and stormed towards the pool game, apparently not as surprised at his brother’s reaction as he initially let on.

“What’s goin on here?” Dean asked as he reached the velvet green table.

Mid thirties, light brown hair, well groomed, throughly tipsy. But he wasn’t even that cute. Cas could do better.

“He was lookin’ a little lost with the pool que, just thought I’d help.” the stranger answered with a smirk. Dean wanted to punch the smug look right off his face.

He clenched his fists, “Well you’re done helping, buddy.”

“Jeez man,” the guy said, throwing his hands up defensively and taking a step back. “I was just tryin’a show him a good time.”

“Why don’t you get lost before I show you a good time” Dean spat out.

He’s always been bad at comebacks, but he thinks he got the general message across.

“Dean!” Cas called sternly as the guy walked away.

He turned to face the angel, grabbing his trench coat by the shoulder and shaking it firmly, “What were you doing messing around with that guy Cas?”

“I was attempting... to have an enjoyable experience, Dean.” Castiel said, pulling away.

“You shouldn’t ‘a been!” Dean huffed, letting go of his coat.

“You seem to have no issues with me making advances towards women,” Cas contended coolly, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah well,” Dean took a step back and ran a hand across his face, embarrassed, with no way to explain what he really meant, or what he meant to mean, “that’s different.”

“How?” The angel demanded. Resolve unwavering.

Dean let out a frustrated sigh. “It just is.”

He started walking back towards the bar but turned around. He’s been an asshole this far, why not keep going?

“And I mean, since when are you into guys?”

Too much emphases on the word guys, and he really shouldn’t wave his hands around like that. He was making a scene.

“Have you ever even slept with one?”

He realized he might not like the answer as Cas flushed dark red. Maybe there was things he didn’t know about the angel. White hot rage planted itself deep in his gut.

“No” Castiel admitted to the dingy wood floors, and Dean let out a breath he hadn’t know he was holding.

“Then how are you even supposed to know you like them?” He bit back quickly, before the relief became too evident on his face.

“Maybe if you left me alone I would have found that out, Dean.”

“Yeah or maybe that guy would’ve forced you into something you didn’t want to do.”

Cas paused, “you really think I would let something like that happen to me?” He took a step back and met his eyes, unbelieving.

Dean sighed and shook his head, “look I don’t know what to think Cas, but it seems to me like every time you slept with someone they were manipulating you!” He threw his hands up to start counting. “You’ve got creeper lady who found you in the woods and just decided to keep you, you’ve got the reaper who slept with you to get info on Metatron and then tortured your ass, I don’t even want to get into whatever that thing you and Kelly had cause she bore the spawn of Satan man and I don’t know what that says about character for you but for me- I mean, hell, even Meg only kissed you that once for your angel blade!”

He was an asshole, a big, giant, gaping, asshole.

Cas shook his head in disbelief, tears welling up in his eyes and his lips drawn tight with anger. He opened his mouth to say something, but it seemed there were too many words to choose from, so he settled on nothing.

This isn’t what Dean wanted, he wanted Cas to scream and yell at him, to shove him into the wall and say all the unspoken things between them, to beat the living shit out of him if he wanted to. Anything else but just standing there with a hurt look and a clenched jaw. Even a glance over to Sammy told him he had majorly, fucked up.

Cas turned around.

“Cas wait...” he called, voice immediately thick with remorse and shame, but the angel was already out the door.

When he turned back to Sam he looked pissed. Like, ‘I swear to god Dean if you don’t go out there right now I will come over there and kick your ass’ pissed.

Nothing was as easy and as hard as pushing open those double doors.

“Cas wait man I’m sorry.” Shit, it was raining outside, great. Dean attempted to shield his face, but it was about as useless as his apology.

“You know this really isn’t as romantic as it looks in the movies” he called out, as his boots slowly filled with water, and he could swear he saw the shake of laughter in Cas’ chest from behind.

“Romantic.” the angel repeated back coldly, and Dean could tell it wasn’t just the rain making his voice wet and uneven.

“Cas look man, I didn’t mean t-” he stopped himself as he laid a hand on the outside of Cas’ soaked through trench coat.

The angel turned around, the wetness of his tears mixing with the rain on his face, the pain and desperation clear in those deep blue eyes. He had never looked so broken before, and Dean knew then, the promise of “don’t ever change” had died long ago, and he had never even stopped to mourn it’s passing.

What’s happened to you Cas?

Dean fucking Winchester that’s what.

“Cas...”

“Don’t do that don’t you dare do that Dean Winchester,” a sob caught in the angel’s throat. A sob, “I gave everything for you.”

Before Dean knew it he was being shoved against a cold brick wall, not unlike many years before, Cas’ hands fisting into his coat with severity.

“Everything” he growled, “I left heaven and journeyed into hell, I betrayed my family, destroyed my home, all because I put you first.”

“Why?” Dean asked. It was an honest question. He needed to know, he wanted to know, why did an angel fall from heaven for a man who meant nothing? For someone who was closer to a piece of shit on the floor than a decent human being. And keep on falling long after it ceased to be God’s will.

Cas looked at him, and it seemed like almost pity in his eyes. you big ridiculous fool. Were the words said there.

It was fierce

The way he crashed his lips against Dean’s. Fisted his hands further in his jacket, pulled him closer, off the wall and then back down again. It was hungry, reckless, everything they hadn’t said and everything they needed to say. The way Dean’s hands came up around his neck, found the lapel of his coat and tugged, lips crashing together, wet and cold and yet so so warm, like a fire raging in the middle of a friggin’ thunderstorm.

It was poetry and rock music and honey and milkshakes shared in a burger joint and lightning when it hits water and everything in between.

Dean held the nape of Cas’ neck, stroked behind his ear and gently thumbed the rain soaked hair out of his face, bit his bottom lip before letting it go.

Cas pulled back for air, looking deep into his eyes, “does that answer your question.”

“It aswers a lot of goddamn questions Cas.” Dean chuckled breathlessly, leaned forward and rested his head on the angel’s shoulder, hands slightly shaking as they held onto him, heartbeat struggling to return to normalcy, “it answers a lot.”

Sam was smiling softly as they returned, soaking wet and holding hands. Dean nodded at his brother as he grabbed the keys, “We’re goin home Sammy. Take your time.”

Time was taken.

#my fic #angst #jelous!dean #worried!dean #maybe more than a little bit of an asshole!dean #internalized homophobia #first kiss #make up #happy ending #canonverse #fluff #fluff and angst #dean winchester #castiel #cas #destiel #deancas #sam winchester #supportive brother!sam #shipper!sam #destiel fanfic #fanfic #*throws this into the void and hopes for the best* #my writing #supernatural #spn #spn fic #leo writes

[ddaenggtan]

6 facts tag

I'm legitimately as interesting as a brick wall so this is gonna be the most boring fucking thing in the entire world, but have at ye

I got tagged by like. a bunch of people. @jamaisjoons @honiboyyoon @peekaboongi @strawbxxymilk @fortunexkookie. i think thats all of you. rip. 

I'm not tagging anyone else outright, but if you're lookin for a reason to do this, consider this your reason bc i love u all and want to know more about u, just tag me in it

1 | I'm engayged, and by that I mean i have a Fiance, whom I talk about entirely too much, and we are both v gay. I'm currently trying to convince her that we should just get married on Halloween and then have our big themed reception later bc I wanna be wifedTM already.

2 | I went to college and decided on English as a major, with a concentration in Creative Writing, and a minor in Women and Gender Studies, but it got hella expensive and my dad refused to let me use his tax info on the FAFSA because 'the government will steal it' or some conspiracy theorist shit and I'm not allowed to use my mom's bc I don't live with her or something?? idk, but it meant I couldn't go back after my second year. I'm kinda grateful bc that degree would've been virtually useless, but if I ever go do back, I think I'll go for something else and take my Eng courses on the side.

3 | I'm an accent chameleon and will regularly change how I talk without realizing it, depending on who I'm talking to. The most notable is how my country accent gets ridiculously potent when I talk to my family, but it also happens when I'm speaking the little Spanish that I know, or when I'm talking to anyone using any kind of slang. It's a problem.

4 | I've never not had a pet. When I was born, my dad had a cat, Crash, and we stayed with my aunt+grandma, who had two dogs (poodle Mitzi and golden Penny) and a Siamese named Pookie. They added another golden, Tasha, when I was a toddler, and added on to their cats throughout my life bc they rescued and rehomed as many as possible but some just bonded with us or each other and they couldn't find homes. Highest count was like sixteen or something? Altogether there was Rowdy and Ralph, and they were mine and my dad's with us, and we also had our dogs, the beagle twins Cleo and Lily, and his australian shepherd/pyrenese mix Holly, and then at my aunts house there were the cats: Angelo, Prissy, Kiki, Chunky, Fats Domino, Snooki, Cookie, Tooti, Minx, Max, Luna, Nala, Grey Cat, several strays I can't recall the names of right now, and the shih tzu, Tink. My cousin who lived there also had a guinea pig named Rosie, still has a rabbit named Loki, and a guinea pig named Weegee. This is very much a family of animal lovers, so when I met Fiance and she had her cats Simba and Nala and her dog Zeus, it was v much love.

5 | While I was still in college, we did a poetry section for my Creative Writing Workshop, and as part of it we were encouraged to submit the poems we wrote or some of the other eligible work to the online literary journal the university had, and we got extra credit if we did. I did so, bc I wanted to extra credit more than I had the debilitating fear of rejection, and one of them actually got published. I can't ever really claim it though because they got my name completely wrong and I didn't have the courage to be like "yo thats not my name" and now no one will ever believe my trash ass wrote that trash poem.

6 | I've got a tattoo of a quill on my left arm even tho I'm rightnaded and I tell people it's because I wanted the inkwell to be on my right bc that's where the real creativity is, but it's actually because I panicked when the tattoo artist asked which arm and mistakenly said my left. I have my next like three tattoos planned out officially to stop that from happening - except for the font for one - and I know where I'm getting them and everything. Fun fact: I also paid for Fiance to get a tattoo for her birthday last year, and it's one of the flying keys from Harry Potter and it's legitimately one of the best tattoos I've ever seen bc that artist is amazing.

#about bette #tag game #this took forever bc im boring as fuck and also tumblr ate it the first time

[texdoeshalo]

Whumptober Day 5 - Poisoned

Almost missed it again!!

Whumpee - My Dead by Daylight OC, Rilee Mstislav (Twice in a row now, she’s just so much fun to hurt!) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rilee hates the Huntress.

The Huntress hates Rilee.

…Not the greatest combo.

The current trial had been a fucking mess so far. It had started with a full group, Rilee, Dwight, Claudette, and Laurie.

That didn’t last long.

Claudette and Laurie were gone. Laurie got caught and Claudette was too bold when she tried to go for the rescue. At least they had two gens done, so whoever was left in the end would have an escape route. Rilee didn’t have a clue where Dwight was, but she sure a hell knew where the Huntress was.

Right. On. Her. Ass.

Rilee was running as fast as she could, but she was running out of options, and it wouldn’t be long before the killer got a lucky throw with one of her hatchets.

Yeah, things weren’t lookin’ so good.

“FUCK!!”

The hatchet grazed past Rilee’s shoulder, not deep enough to stick, but enough to leave a mark. The weakness hit Rilee immediately. Fucking Iridescent heads…

She tried to keep running, but the poison was far too damn strong. Sprinting slowed to running, then to jogging, then to stumbling.

And then she collapsed.

Rilee hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the air from her lungs. She gasped and groaned, pain lancing through her shoulder from the poison-laced cut. Heavy footsteps pounded towards her and she knew she was fucked.

Goddammit, goddammit, goddammit…

The Huntress stopped beside her head, and Rilee barely mustered the strength to look up at the killer. Rilee knew just from the killer’s stance that behind that stupid bunny mask she was grinning like she had won the lottery.

A single strong arm scooped Rilee up onto the Huntress’ shoulder and she had no choice but to fall limp and let the killer carry her away. Normally she would fight the woman’s grip with all her might, but the poison had immobilized her. 

She, quite literally, couldn’t do shit.

Oh fuck… The world was starting to blur…  

But the piercing pain of being hooked brought Rilee right back from the brink of blacking out.

A hoarse scream tore its way out of her throat, probably ripping her vocal chords to shreds. If she somehow found a way out of the shitstorm she was stuck in, Rilee wouldn’t be able to speak for days.

Even so, she couldn’t help quiet, broken whimpers from the sheer agony of hanging on the hook.

It hurt so bad…

Rilee was finally starting to disassociate when hands pressed underneath her armpits. Eyes fluttering back open, she was shocked to find Dwight lifting her off the hook.

“Wh-what?”

Dwight shushed her quickly, setting her down and pulling her arm over his shoulder. “This way…” Rilee was lucky he was helping her, she could barely hold herself up in the slightest. Usually, the effects of the poison coating the Huntress’ Iridescent Hatchet heads would fade after being hooked.

Rilee was still as weak as when it first went into effect.

Finally, Dwight came to a halt and gently set Rilee down against a brick wall. The kid glanced around nervously, chewing his fingernails and stuttering. “St-stay here. Don’t mo-move.”

Normally Rilee would protest against the idea of splitting up.

But again, it was not a normal situation.

So there Rilee sat, weak, tired, and wondering why the hell Dwight left. She got her answer when a scream echoed through the area and all of a sudden wind was howling in her ear.

Glancing to her left, Rilee’s heart sank at the sight of the hatch.

He sacrificed himself.

“Dwight…no…”

As much as Rilee wanted to break down and cry right then and there… She couldn’t let Dwight’s death be in vain. 

Her legs were beyond useless at that point, so Rilee dragged herself forward.

Almost there, almost there…

A roar of rage came from behind Rilee. It sounded like a lion and a bear mixed together. 

So basically; fucking terrifying!!!

The survivor didn’t dare look back as she tumbled into the darkness of the hatch. Pain flared in her back as she fell, the Huntress getting one last hit in. 

When Rilee woke up at the campfire she was still beat to hell. Luckily, she now had multiple people waiting with medkits to help her. As her friends raced to her side and started fussing over how fucked up she got, Rilee searched the campfire for Dwight.

There, at the edge of the circle, eyes on Rilee.

He had done it before. Saved her and then shrank away when she returned to the campfire. He was afraid she would be angry he gave his life for her.

He was right, partially. Rilee was angry, but also grateful. She smiled slightly, making sure Dwight saw and then nodded her head.

Thank you…

#whumptober #whump #dead by daylight #tw death #near death #poison #poisoned #dwight fairfield #claudette morel #laurie strode #The Huntress #killer #pain #fear #worry #stabbing #makeshift medicine #field medicine #anger #angst #regret #guilt #self sacrifice #murder #unable to walk #crawling #paralyzed #dizzy #tw language #laceration

[peachraindrops]

Just Another Friday Night (Hart of Dixie fanfic)

Hey guys! I have never posted a Hart of Dixie fanfic on here before, but have been rewatching and felt the need to write a few fanfics. I may post some more shortly. Can someone please bring the show back?!?! It was so good and I miss every single character. Oh, please be warned that this got a little dirty.

How the hell was Wade going to make it through another hour of his shift? He’d been at the Rammer Jammer for 15 hours now, first doing his duties as owner and now covering for one of his bartenders who ‘would absolutely die if she didn’t get the night off to see Thomas Rhett with her friends in Mobile’. Maybe his wife was right, the bartenders he had on his payroll these days were useless and required more babysitting than he could do these days as a husband and father of two.

At least if he had to spend his Friday night slingin’ drinks for the town of Bluebell he at least got to listen to live music while he did it. A country band was on the small corner stage, singing love songs that made him wish his wife was there, or even worse than he was at home with her and it put him in a funk. He couldn’t remember the last time he was home with his family on a Friday night.

There was one table of distracted cowboys at a table in the back and almost everyone else in the bar was a younger crowd. Regulars like Dash, Shula, Brick and the others typically came in earlier in the day. Things felt different this late at night, like a whole group of townsfolks. “Can I get a pitcher of Bud Light and a shot of fireball?” One end of the bar yelled as he made a path down toward that end with an empty and frosted pitcher in his hand. He nodded at the man standing there who he saw walk about from the table of cowboys in the back. They’d been hanging out all night but hadn’t caused as much trouble as he thought they would so they filled it up and slide it toward the man along with the shot “$8.00”. The man slid him a ten and walked away. Wade shoved the change in the tip jar and helped a few more patrons until he got distracted by the woman walking toward the bar.

His phone went off and he used some of his free time to take a glance at it, hoping it was his wife. He’d texted her earlier to tell her he was sorry that he wasn’t home for another Friday night, but no response. He cleared the text from Meatball off his phone and pushed it back into his jean pocket. He was slightly annoyed that she hadn’t responded yet when she was home with the kids, especially since he knew that thing never left her hands. Luckily his attention was distracted by the woman walking up to him.

She was wearing heeled brown cowboy boots that were worn and dusty, like they had been worn through the dirt on some old country dirt road. Her legs were tan and sexy and just looking at them led him straight up to her skin-tight Daisy Duke shorts that showcased her firm ass and legs even more if possible. The entire length of these shorts was maybe five inches long and they stopped miles below her belly button which was showing. She was wearing a crop top with what little amount of buttons it had left half undone.

The part that really got him was the Mossy Oak camo bra that was buried underneath. He had always been a sucker for camo and the ‘trashy’ kind of women that wore it. Something about it could not help but turn him on. Her long curled hair was pushed down by her camo trucker hat and she had dark eye makeup on that showcased every one of her features. His breath caught in his throat as he saw her.

He leaned onto the bar as she pulled up her barstool. “Bud Light”, she asked, looking around the bar on either side of her. His eyes never left her, he just nodded and then cracked open a cold Bud Light in front of her. “What’s a hot little thing like you doin’ here so late at night?” He couldn’t help but discreetly ask her across the bar.

Her eyes rolled into the back of her head. “Don’t.” She took a good chug of her beer and set it back onto the counter. The woman immediately had his attention. She looked around with an attitude, “Well ya gonna charge me for that drink or what?”

He shrugged. “Don’t worry about it sweetheart, this one’s on me.”

This made her even more annoyed. Luckily she turned her attention to the guy from the table at the back who reappeared for another pitcher of beer. “Hey darlin, don’t you look hot as hell in those tight little blue jeans.” The man leaned across the bar and in front of the woman he was just talking to.

She giggled and a pink blush appeared across her face. “Hi.”

“You wanna dance?” He whispered into her ear, Wade was just able to make out what they were saying. However her taking his hand and following him out onto the dance floor made it perfectly clear.

The music played on as the two danced, getting closer and closer by the minute. His vision of them constantly interrupted by the crowds of people on the dance floor and everyone else who were trying to refill their drinks. You’d think he had never served a drink before with the way people were complaining about his pours and getting in his face.

The way that that Cash guys hands wouldn’t leave her body made him sick to his stomach and he couldn’t focus. They were getting awful close to her ass and he couldn’t take it. “Wanda, you’re closin.” He tossed her the bar keys and took off. She was used to it.

“Hey!” he pushed the guy away from her, causing a scene on the dance floor. “That’s enough.”

The young crowd stopped, everyone shocked by the scene that the bartender just caused. The guy laughed him off and kept his hands on the woman from the bar. Wade couldn’t take it and before he knew it he decked him in the face and pulled the woman with him as he walked toward the bathroom of the bar. She tried to push him away the entire time.

As soon as the door was shut he pushed her up against the stall door and used both arms to enclose the space between them.

“You think you can just come in here, lookin’ hot as sin, talkin’ to whoever you want, dancin’ with whoever you want, and I wouldn’t have anything to say about it?” He roughly whispered as he kissed from her ear down toward her prominent clavicle bone right above her slutty crop top.

The way he was touching her made every nerve in her body tingle. She was melting beneath him as his hands worked every curve of her toned body. His hands pushed their way up her stomach and tore the crop top off, revealing the bra he’d be curious about since first sight. She was yelling at him, telling him not to worry about what she does or who she talks to but not convincingly as her confident hands were undoing his wranglers and trying to push them down as far as she could.

The way his peach fuzzy face brushed against her skin made the thin string of supposed panties she was wearing wetter and wetter. She could barely catch her breath as his strong hands she had been staring at all night were digging into her ass, palming her cheeks and squeezing them together. The smell of warm cologne and a little bit of beer overtook her but she didn’t mind it one bit. She pushed his flannel off his shoulders, dropping it on to the disgusting bathroom floor to be stepped on and ran over and then the same with his white v-neck shirt she pulled off after.

She squealed in surprise when instead of undoing her bra he just pulled the cups down for even quicker access to her tits. His mouth was instantly attached to one of her nipples as he alternated mouth and thumb on each. Her moans filled the small bathroom and if it weren’t for the loud band outside then surely the entire bar would have heard their escapade.

He took his hands away from her ass for a second, just long enough to watch her squeeze out of her shorts so he could grab her thighs and wrap them around his body. He used his newly free hands to push those flimsy panties to the side and slide his hands across her folds.

Something about the rough and callusy hands seemed contradictory to the way they softly moved inside her. First one finger, then two quickly pushed inside her, and moved rapidly while just grazing her clit he found so easily. It felt so good and only encouraged her to reach down a rub that hard cock pushing into her thigh, only after looking him right in the eyes and licking the inside of her hand so she could easily start jerking him off. He almost came on the spot.

Her small hand circling him and trying to milk him for everything he had was becoming too much. It was steamy and loud and yet so hot he could barely breathe inside that stall. Instead of letting her continue he used one hand to push her panties aside and his other to take command of his cock and guide it right into her. Somehow, he managed to fill her to the absolutely brim but still was able to go harder.

The walls shook and the door opened, someone else walking into the two stall bathroom. He stopped for a minute, buried deep inside her and used his mouth to quiet hers. The way they kissed was electric, like their lips were made for each other. She melted as he put everything he had into the dirty kisses being directed toward her.

As soon as they heard the door close and knew they were alone again, they continued driving into each other as if they had never been humped before. He had her bouncing all over and taking every ride she could on him before the trip was up. Her pussy clenched around him like it was made for him and she was so wet he could hear it almost as much as he could feel it. She shared her grasps between his shoulders and reaching down to squeeze his balls she felt smacking up against her until the sting started to take over.

“Fuck,” he groaned and she could tell he was about to explode inside her. She took advantage of it and clenched around him, pulling him in even tighter if even possible even though she was so wet she barely could. Out of nowhere her head fell backward and was quickly followed by his as they both lost themselves in each other and the hot cum surrounding them.

Minutes later he set her down and watched her pull her bra and shorts back up. She looked around them for her top while he zipped his jeans and grabbed their shirts stuck together in the corner.

“The kids are with Lemon and Lavon for the night, so I thought we could check this off our list.” She grinned playfully, but there was nothing playful about it to him. The look was exuding pure sex to him, still. And now they could check this scenario off of their bucket list.

Wade exhaled and decided that after that working Friday nights became his favorite thing. So did Lemon and Lavon. As he followed his wife out of the bathroom and out toward the back exit of the bar, he saw the faces of everyone standing outside the bathroom. Tonight they got a country concert and a show.

I think I need Jesus.

#hart of dixie #zoe hart #wade kinsella #zade #fanfic #fanfiction #prompt

[rhotdornn]

FFXIV Writing Entry: [11] -- [AU]Mercy versus Justice

Decrepit alleys lay awash with the first, autumnal drizzle. Faint flickers tickle the bulbs within the forsaken lamp posts, once-neatly planted along the pavement. Color-bled rectangles shape the course, width and berth of these alleys... And whatever else took to breeding within these hoods, too.

The pounding of the truck’s exhaust leaves little space for thought. It isn’t like for anyone to stroll through these quarters unattended at night... Or, at the very least, sporting desirable attention.

The clock’s long-since struck past the grand, ol’ midnight hour. Wishful thinking, for the city to be asleep... Yet, despite the slithering, ghastly fog and the spectral clouds clogging the heavens above, it never is. Always watching, ne’er resting.

The tires of my pick-up truck flare up in an abrupt burnout--the brakes are locked into place, hindering further movement. Loyal thing, this black beast--served its debt long past what I took for expected. Doesn’t show signs of givin’ in any time soon, either.

The door is the first to unclasp, and swing open. The soles of my boots are met with the watery rancor, hurrying down the tilted, broken tiles of cement paving the alley. A better life for the citizens, healthcare for all, poverty out-the-win’ow...! All those promises, an’ look the squalor an’ what else these people got from ‘em. I pound the heavy door back, offering a firm pat to the hood of the freshly-sprayed truck.

After the key’s secured the hinges of the door, I stuff my palms within the sanctity of my jacket. The winds were, for a blessing, not as tantalizing tonight--making the choice of a long, ebony leather jacket all the more appealing... Not that I wore much else on the side, anyhow. Black, fingerless gloves promised some succor of warmth to my palms... Not that I intended to stay outside overlong.

The back-end to some shoddy, run-down store was to be my rendezvous point, eh... Rightfully so--for deep it lay nestled within the abandoned hood, and gods would know how many stinkin’ mutts piss their territory ‘round here. The tapestry greets one in no kinder spirits--rotting off the wall, exposing solid, cracked brick from what I can only assume t’ be the nineties... And naught more is there, save for one archaic, wooden door to bar--or permit--passage. Try your luck. Or so it goes.

The back of my knuckles soon kissed the hind end of the doorway. I can feel the dense breathing ‘hind it shortly thereafter... Aye, the anxiety seeps from it like vitriol.

“Brought the milk.” I calmly mutter out, stowing my palm away, back into the confinement of my deep pocket.

“...”

I recollect my breath calmly, closing my lids as I make purchase of a lofty inhale.

“Whi’er than white, organic an’ so forth.”

The door creaks open, and I accept it as an invitation--or a death passage. Guess I’ll be made acquainted with either soon enough.

Darkness spills throughout the windowless abode--and swiftly does the door seal behind me, the moment I accommodated enough space. So much for decency, and one’s respect for privacy bubbles.

“You’ll ne’er get the code right, eh...?” the opposing voice calls out--some might find it surprising, painted just a few decibels and textures above mine own, with a lighter accent to boot.

“You make ‘em too long.” I retort swiftly, pressing on--idly nudging an empty pizza box out of my path with the aid of my boot. “Can’t be arsed t’ remember ‘em.”

“We’ve gotta be on the same page, bro--communication’s e’erythin’ these days!”

Lots of enthusiasm for someone barely leaving the precious comfort bubble of his makeshift basement... 

...Or whatever this slump was.

Three computer screens illuminated a far-stranded corner of the solitary room. You’d barely make out the riled, unkempt bed from the scarce light, a pile of littering, wasted ramen cups, fast-food delicacies and god-forfend what-else scattered beside it.

“Wasn’t kiddin’, though. Got you some actual food, kid. Now, to try this ‘gain sans useless passcodes,” As we both emerge before the blinding rays of the monitors, the pictures of blueprints come into eyesight. I shove the paper bag into the resident’s own paws, thinking no better of it. “Yo. Let’s see what you’ve got for me.”

A rather burly, pale hand curls around the helm of the bag nearly suspiciously. I quirk a brow upwards, but again, think no better of the matter.

“Awh, c’mon--won’t let me eat first?”

“First we work, then we eat.”

“Ye’re more of a Sea Donkey than a Wolf...”

“An’ whyssat?”

“It’d gimme an ‘scuse t’ call ye Sea Ass.”

I shake my head near-whimsically, choosing to opt out of the conversation. I really hope the selfsame humor did not run in the family.

I lay the balls of my palms against the desk, leaning onwards to inspect the screen. Lots of print, in blue. Go figure where it got its name from.

“Right’en, partykiller--what I’ve got fer ye t’day is a proper treat, aye. Witness an’ feast upon the greatest find o’ the century, hacked exclusively byyyy~ yours truly~!”

God, the enthusiasm in his narcissistic voice is difficult to weather down. Here’s to hoping that didn’t run in the family, either.

“So... Dhem, I’m lookin’ at...?”

I squint harder, once more, asserting sheer will against floating, glowing pixels on the monitor. They ain’t something you’d encounter in architecture 101, per se.

“The greatest of all finds, Dornn! Sittin’ on yer ears o’ermuch, bro?” He joins the fray, presenting quite... Eagerly to the monitors with his greasy palm. Ask me not whence from that grease came.

Minus the enthusiasm and eyebags-doubling-as-eyeshadow, he ain’t a far fetch from me in appearance. Go figure, having shared the same cradle, as twins no less.

“These are the prints of M’s Onument Tower! An’ funny story there, too.” He began, that acidic pride back within his voice. “I stumbled quite... Peacefully while lookin’ into an operation of “borrowing” cash from one’a their lesser banks... Especially ‘fter last week, when they’ve conquered an’ cashed in from no less than freakin’ 49 whoppin’ percent of the stock market--oddly enough, the competition rose t’ the same amount ‘swell, leavin’ only a measly 2 percent fer the rest’a the workin’ folk.”

“Huh... Guess they did grow big. Yet, you do realize that such a heist might be just a bit o’er our heads, eh? They ain’t one o’ the competin’, biggest Corps’ fer nothin’ these days.” The response came naturally to me--I’m not too eager to go knocking on the vault of M-Corp’s lesser banks, littlealone their main door. Word has it the mayor’s bent to their will... An’ that’s a word I don’t mean to challenge...

...Yet.

“A’ight, but get this--our lil’ un’erground hacker friends--”

“Your.”

“Aye, fine, my lil’ un’erground hacker friends would delight in this lil’ bit of info. Who knows what they could do with this? Per’aps finally expose the lyin’ whoresons fer what they really are?”

“Ye’re not givin’ that t’ them.” I cut in sharply, and a visage befit of crushed dreams dawns on him--irritation swift to follow by the twitching of his brow.

“An’ what’d ye have t’ say we ought’a do then, huh!? Let ‘em puppet-string the cops at their e’ery whim, roll an’ rile up new gangs t’ get the drug flow steady an’ goin’ around the streets, kidnappin’, slavery, human traffickin’--they’re worse than yer common mafia! Consider ‘em forgiven, eh...? Or did’ja forget who put ye in jail in the first place, eh Dornn?”

He’s got this flair in his eyes... The talk of justice often gets him riled up. Always does it manage to ignite his heart, like it once had done to mine own.

I rise my right hand out of my pocket, planting it atop my collar. There, I fiddle with a dogtag slung ‘round me neck, twirling it around me digits. A final exhale follows, as my own heartbeat descends into a chaotic beat.

“Mask yer address, send M-Corps a lil’ worm, a warnin’--posin’ as yer lil’ hacker friends. Keep the tension ‘tween ‘em still hot, can’t ‘ave it grow stale. While they fight it out, we’ll find ‘nother backdoor in their system. Send a copy t’ Big-B, but keep the o’her siblings outta it... ‘Specially Rally.”

“Not like she’d pay attention, or has e’ersince she got that shiny, new job who-knows-where...”

“That’s a matter fer ‘nother time. Get off yer ass, grab yer guns’n’rifle, we’re “goin’ the distance” this time ‘round.” At this, that spark within his crimson hues is embellished with a brilliant glint, as his hand dives underneath the desk, and then behind it--not the most practical spot to store a sniper rifle, but it’d suffice. It kept him alive to this day, so it had to, I’d imagine.

With a few flicks of the wrist, a smack on the Enter button, and an ungodly burp did the tick confirm the message sent. Soon we set out for the door--two guns holstered at the inner flank of mine own trousers, deftly concealed beneath the coat--and one of his own guns following suit on his person, with his rifle strapped across his broad, towering back. Comes with the Roegadyn package.

Within his other palm, a platinum laptop was held hostage--a quirky alien caricature with its tongue out slapped like a sticker across its front.

As the door unlocks, locks and we make for the car, Dhem sets loose a pent-up yawn.

“By the by, how’s the lil’ snake doin’ in ‘er lil’ lair?” He butts in, earning him a upright-bending brow as I climb into the truck.

“By all ‘ccounts, she’s farin’ well. Rivs can ‘andle ‘erself jus’ fine--an’ we’ll pay ‘er a visit to make good on that ourselves. She’ll be... Thrilled t’ hear the next plan, aye.”

“Right, Dornn. Well, plan’s secured, fake-message’s sent an’--” he pauses, a thousand clouds figuratively beginning to pour down on his mood.

“...What now?” I ask, as the engine roars to life--my gaze fixated briefly upon him.

“...I forgot the food.”

The last thing those alleys saw and heard right then and there was the tension of my truck’s tires against the uneven puzzle of a pavement, complimented by their burnout’s smoke--all the while in the meantime, hundreds of laptops and personal device assistants played witness to yet a new scheme of our own make, unfolding at their isolated screens.

[Involves]: @ladyrivienne

#ffxiv #ffxivwrite2017 #Rhotdornn Hyrtfyrsyn #Rhotdhem Hyrtfyrsyn #Roegadyn #Writing #RP #IC-ish #AU #AU GRID #AU IYS #Sea Wolf #Yes WD is still one of my favorite games as of late

[ruluxe]

Copy & Paste a WIP and Tag 10 People

Tagged by @magicandmalice 

Uuh, this got a little long but I couldn’t decide on an excerpt. Also! Not tagging anyone bc it’s been so long I don’t know anyone on here anymore lol. Feel free to tag me in this if you want to do it tho! 

"Ah, si sta parlando inglese. Who summoned me?" asks the shadow, this time in heavily accented English. He sounds lackadaisical like he's been through this sort of exchange one too many times.

"Summoned you?" Joseph parrots, cocking his head to the side. "Looks like we got us another crazy here, eh Smokey."

Smokey slowly reaches into the back pocket of his jeans. Joseph knows what he's going for. "Hey man, I asked you somethin'! Who are you and what're you doin' here?"

"And I asked you a question," the man says, sounding quite sane for a mad man. "Who called me out?"

"We have no idea what you're talking about," Smokey says as he looks to Joseph. Joseph signals for him to remain calm and not pull out the switchblade he knows Smokey carries but is terrified of using. "No one called you, man."

The stranger sighs. "Just my luck... un paio di idioti."

Joseph grins as he cracks his knuckles. "Not sure what language you're speakin' but I'm pretty sure you just called us a couple of idiots. Why don't ya come out of the shadows there mate and show us your ugly mug."

Smokey stays where he is, crouched protectively over his belongings as Joseph takes a few more steps into the alley. The silhouette moves too, moving towards Joseph in a graceful stride that makes him appear like he's floating. When he finally steps into a streak of sunlight, Joseph gets a better look at the man. He's wearing a diamond checkered top hat, fashioned lopsidedly on his head and its pattern matches his waistcoat. The jacket he wears looks like it's made of crushed velvet, rich burgundy in colour, like a fine merlot. His pants appear to be normal black slacks, slightly oversized and stuffed into black knee-high boots. His hands are sheathed in fingerless leather gloves with brass bulbs on the knuckles.

He looks like a ridiculous magician, Joseph scoffs inwardly. Like a mad hatter.

"Right well. This bloke is definitely not right in the head, eh Smokey. Let's split."

Smokey rushes to gather his things, the items clanking against each other as he wraps them back up in his jacket.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" the man asks, tilting his head to the side that mimics the slide of his crooked grin. As he does this, the illumination clears the brim of his hat and reveals the upper part of the man's face. Light catches his eye and it gleams an unnaturally raw emerald. Below his eye is some sort of purplish smudge, triangular in shape. It's too bright to be a bruise or a tattoo.

Joseph makes a fist and grinds it into the palm of his hand. "You sure you wanna keep bein' a prick?"

"C'mon, JoJo," Smokey urges, cradling the bundle of junk in his arms.

"Be my guest," the stranger lilts, sweeping his hand in the air as if he's allowing them safe passage.

Joseph laughs nervously and an unsettling feeling begins to bubble in his gut. "You're off, mate. Let's get out of here, Smokey." He takes a few steps back, never taking his eyes off the man and waits for Smokey to get a good distance behind him. The man doesn't move and watches Joseph retreat without expression. Joseph doesn't think he even blinks. Once his back clears the mouth of the alley and there's a good forty-somewhat feet in between the weirdo and them, Joseph finally turns to Smokey and whispers, "Run."

Smokey doesn't need to be told twice, he takes off like someone's just lit a fire under his ass and Joseph isn't too far behind. The heavy knot in his stomach keeps nagging him to look over his shoulder but that same knot is preventing him from doing so. Anxious adrenaline courses through his veins and his blood rushes between his ears.

"I left the crystal ball!" Smokey yells apologetically but he too doesn't look over his shoulder to see if Joseph is following him.

"Forget the bloody thing!" Joseph shouts back, his chest pulling tight as his lungs struggle to retain a steady stream of oxygen. "That guy probably followed us from the market lookin' to get that junk back for that old bat — or he was lookin' to make a quid himself!"

"I thought you said this stuff was worthless!"

"Never said that mad hatter thought the same thing now, did I?"

Smokey looks back over his shoulder again and grins wildly. "He did look like a mad hatter, didn't he?"

"As mad as they come," Joseph agrees, leaping over tin garbage pail rolled out in the middle of the sidewalk. They're nearing a street corner and this being New York, Joseph knows there's gotta be a vendor on it. He could really use a Coke right now. "Hey — didn't he kinda remind you of a ringmaster? Y'know, like the bloke that runs the circus?"

Smokey laughs. "Yeah, he did! Maybe that woman in the market was a carnie or something. Maybe there's like, a band of them..."

The pounding of his heart drowns Smokey out as Joseph dares a glance over his shoulder. The streets are crowded as usual but there is no oddly dressed man in a top hat in pursuit. For this, Joseph breathes a sigh of relief and he's about to turn around to share this news with his friend when he knocks into something head-on. There's a hollow clattering on concrete and when Joseph catches up with what just happened, he sees that he's run into Smokey and knocked him onto the sidewalk.

"S-Smokey!" Joseph stutters as he scurries to pick up his friend from the ground. Then he stops short when he sees the reason for Smokey's abrupt stop.

The stranger is somehow in front of them, standing with his arms crossed and a fist curled under his chin. His eyes are closed, his expression reads annoyance as he sighs heavily.

"What in the hell," Joseph starts as grabs Smokey's arm to pull him up. His friend's eyes are just about bugging wide out of his head, his mouth agape in shock. Smokey looks like he's just seen a ghost. "Where the hell did you just come from — how the bloody hell did you do that?!"

"We have a problem here," the man states, opening his eyes finally. "If —"

"Now look here you —"

"If both of you can see me," the man continues, "then that means both of you touched the crystal ball at the same time."

Joseph scrunches his nose in disdain. "What are you on about?"

The stranger sighs again, this time more exasperated. "The crystal ball? You gentlemen rubbed it?"

"Y-yeah, we rubbed it," Smokey stutters, finally breaking his awed silence. "So?"

"Well here I am, you've summoned me, granter of wishes. Unfortunately, that is a problem because only there can only be one wisher at a time."

A sardonic laugh erupts from Joseph. "Oh my god. Are you saying you're some kind of genie? Like Arabian Nights, the magic lamp and all that crock?"

The man clucks his tongue. "Not genie, jinni. And it was a crystal ball, not a lamp. Are you blind as well as stupid?"

"Who're you callin' stupid?" asks Joseph, pushing up his shirt sleeves. "You expect us to believe you're a genie — jinni whatever, same difference — and we're the stupid ones?"

"I rubbed it," Smokey says quietly. "Remember, JoJo? With the scarf."

"Yeah, I remember but this bloke isn't a genie, Smokey. He's some mad man that followed us and saw you rub the stupid ball with the scarf. He's just tryin' to have a go at us so that we'll give him the stuff you looted."

"Try me," the man challenges.

Joseph nudges his friend's shoulder. "Just give him the junk, Smokey. Supper's in an hour, let's get on with it."

"Wait, JoJo," Smokey says, tugging on Joseph's sleeve. “Let's see if this guy's really telling the truth."

Joseph can feel the heat of eyes all around him and when he chances a look, the passersby on the sidewalk all seem to be giving Smokey and him a look that says they ought to be locked up in the local loony bin. Perhaps they aren't looking at them but rather at the man dressed like a ringleader but when Joseph follows their judging stares, none lead back to the strange man claiming to be a genie. "Right well... if you're going to have at it then let's get out of the middle of the street, yeah? People are lookin' at us like we're the ones who are mad."

Smokey nods and retreats a few feet to the nearest alleyway with Joseph and the man following.

"You got a name, genie man?" asks Joseph.

"Caesar," he answers without skipping a beat. "Caesar Zeppeli."

"Sounds like quite the unimaginative stage name," Joseph mutters scornfully.

"I wouldn't expect a brute like you to understand what's in a name," Caesar replies.

"I should make you eat one of these bloody pigeons for tryin' to take advantage of my friend," snaps Joseph.

"Please. I bet you couldn't even fight off a woman."

"Why the hell would I wanna fight a woman, you twit?!"

"Guys!" Smokey interrupts, stopping once he's hidden in the dark of the alley. "This will take five minutes, JoJo. Once this guy proves he's a fake, we can leave, okay? I just wanna see what he's got."

Joseph makes a face, "Yeah, he's a fake alright. Some wannabe street magician that should be workin' in Vegas by the name of The Great Zeppeli —"

"Actually, my grandfather was a magician of sorts in his time and he went by the name of Zeppeli the Eccentric," Caesar says pointedly, pulling on the brim of his top hat. "This used to be his."

"Thanks for that useless piece of information."

"JoJo, please."

Joseph sighs defeat and slumps against the dry brick of an old building. He uses one foot pressed into the wall to prop himself up. "Well — we're waiting," he says to Caesar expectedly.

"Before we begin, there are a few rules we must go over," Caesar announces.

"Of course there are," Joseph mumbles, rolling his eyes. Both Smokey and Caesar give him a look and Joseph says nothing more on the subject.

Caesar clears his throat. "There are rules to wishes that the jinn and wisher must abide by. The first one being I cannot grant a wish that interferes with free will."

"What does that mean?" asks Smokey, raising a brow.

"I cannot make someone fall in love with you or hurt themselves in any matter. Anything that a subject would not do otherwise with their own free will. Understand?"

What a crock of shit, Joseph thinks.

"Yes," Smokey croaks.

"Secondly, I cannot make something from nothing. The third rule is that no wish may change the natural order of life and death and bring one who is dead back to life, nor can I cause one's death."

"Yeah, I got it," Smokey interjects with an audible gulp. “Free will.”

#magicandmalice #caejose #jjba #jojo no kimyou na bouken #unfinished #ru.writes #i couldnt pick one bc i have so many lolol