#wish my fingers weren’t so gross and dry and bleeding but hey

[headoverhiddles]

Hey There, Demons - Marilyn Manson x Reader [Smut]

Synopsis: You, drummer for the Spooky Kids, aka the Dumbass Idiots, decide with the band to go ghost hunting in LA one night after a show. Bad idea for the most part, good idea for the sole reason of finally putting you and Manson together in a dark room. Feelings? What are those? 

Notes: Spooky Kids era! I’ve been watching a lot of Buzzfeed Unsolved, so here you go. Also features a bit of Twiggy x Pogo for good measure. 

"I don't believe in ghosts."

You toss a napkin at Brian. "Poser." You're all sitting in an airport, waiting for your flight from Jacksonville to Los Angeles for a show tonight.

He grins. "Nah. I'm just bullshitting, of course I do. I mean, I've never seen one, other than that whole Necronomicon thing when I was a kid, but half of me thinks that was from drinking bong water.” 

“Yeah. Well. Imagination is a beautiful thing." 

He licks his lips. "Especially when I'm jacking off."

"Gross," you mutter.

"That's not what you said last night."

"You wish," you huff.

"Cool it you two, we all know you're banging," Pogo calls out, and starts making high pitched moaning noises. You (and everyone else in the band) looks at the keyboardist, wondering if it'd attract even more attention to tape his mouth shut. "Ah! Ah! Ah!”

Jeordie joins in. “Oh, god! Oh, Brian! Yes! What a big dick you have!"

"All the better to fuck you with," Brian plays along. Jeordie climbs into Brian’s lap.

"Stop it, big boy, you're turning me on!"

"I don't sound like that," you mutter.

"Ohhh yeeeeah," Jeordie groans out a climax, and Daisy scoffs, slipping on his sunglasses to avoid the odd stares you're getting.

"I'll have what he's having."

"Unless... Brian is the one taking it," Pogo muses, "That's possible." He drops his voice. "Mmmm. Bette, make me your bitch!"

"Yeah, I just love it when (y/n) gets the strap on out and destroys my ass," Brian grumbles. You blush a little, but hide it under a laugh.

"Again. You wish."

“Am I the only one who finds it very hard to believe (y/n) would put out for Bri?” Jeordie asks. It’s Brian’s turn to toss something at his best friend.

“We all know if she had good taste in men, she’d be fucking me already.”

You hold up three fingers. “Read between the lines.”

You and Brian had been skirting around one another since you had joined the band. You had known Jeordie since working at a crappy part time job at a used record shop with him, and had met the others when Brian had moved to Florida from Ohio, which was a few years ago. They had gotten this band together with another drummer who called himself Sarah Lee Lucas.

Recently, Sarah had left the band to pursue something else, and since banging on things with sticks isn't too hard in your books, you convinced the Spooky Kids to hand you the drumsticks as the newly christened member, Bette Davis x Jeffery Dahmer: Bette Dahmer. It hadn't been easy to convince them to let a girl in, since they’re all a bunch of juvenile assholes, but with Jeordie backing you, eventually they caved.

"Back to the matter at hand," Brian says.

"Hand job," Jeordie giggles, picking a scab off. He pouts as it bleeds.

"Later," Brian quips, standing on a chair. You tug him down before a security guard can do it, and he falls on his ass. "Ow, fuck you."

"That's what anal feels like," you say.

"You would know Bets, you probably take it up the ass from fifty guys at a time, ya fuckin whore," Pogo laughs.

"Stephen, Jesus," Daisy chuckles a little. Pogo has zero filter, and sometimes it's refreshing, sometimes it's annoying. You take your wad of gum out, balling it up, and use your hair elastic to slingshot it right in his face. The guy just picks it up and pops it in his mouth.

"Aw!"

"Ew!"

"You're fucking disgusting, man."

"Eat shit and die." Pogo gives you all the finger, and Jeordie speaks up, laying his head in your lap and stretching out over the airport seats.

"Someone said something about ghosts. I like ghosts. Space ghosts."

"Yes!" Brian brings it back. "Thank you Jeordie, back on track. We are all going ghost hunting tonight, after the show."

"Who died and made you god?" Pogo asks.

"God did," Brian snapped. "And when I'm god everyone dies."

"That's profound, poetry-man," you smirk, crossing your arms, "Got any more emo shit to say before Scott gives every reason why we shouldn't break into some haunted building tonight with video cameras?"

"Who has a video camera?" Jeordie asks, wide eyed, "I wanna see how big my dick looks on screen."

"It looks just like your namesake," Brian says. "Twiggy." Jeordie looks crestfallen.

"It's not that small," you assure him, "It's average, but not small."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I'd let you have a go, if you weren’t..." You smirk, alluding to the crush Jeordie had on another band member. He goes red.

"If Brian wasn't already balls deep in that," Pogo chides.

"I bet your dick looks like a pickle," you shoot back, sticking your tongue out.

"Wanna check?"

"Okay," Daisy blushes, standing up, "Just cause we're a band, doesn't mean we need to have an orgy."

"What was the point, then?" you joke.

"Anyway. Like Bette said, I really don't think we should be doing this tonight. If we get arrested for trespassing, what'll that do to the band?"

Brian crosses his arms. "Well I'm the leader, and I say it'd give us a cool reputation!”

"Right. Members of the Marilyn Manson family get arrested for... what, looking for ghosts? What a hardcore group of people.”

"We can tell the press we killed someone. Besides, this is the type of shit we’re supposed to do as a metal band. We gotta do dumb, risky things that make us look like bonified Satanists. Otherwise we’re just posers like the rest of ‘em.”

“No, we just have to go on a couple benders in hotel rooms with some blow and a couple tatted up prostitutes, and we’ll fit in.”

“Look, we can do cocaine off girls’ tits and go ghost hunting and still be rock stars, so shut the fuck up Berkowitz, we're doing it," Brian says. Daisy puts his hands up, unwilling to argue with him any more than he already has. So, it’s settled.

You bump your foot against Brian's, and he gives a lopsided smile, brushing the long black hair out of his face and bumping your foot back. Momentarily, his attention is diverted.

"Will someone go get Jeordie? He's pissing in the water fountain."

--

You look out at the crowd. This is a bigger audience than usual here in LA.

“Lots of motherfuckers came out to see us,” Bri comes by to whisper at you, parting his hair and making sure his lipstick is nice and smeared. You nod, and toss him his big floppy top hat. He sticks it on his head as you’re introduced.

“All the way from the South Florida music scene, we’ve got Marilyn Manson and the Spooky Kids!”

Jeordie starts the first song, Negative Three, off with a bassline intro, and you start the band off with a four count on your drumsticks, then hit the drums as Brian begins to wail into the mic.

“Give me your blood, your teeth, your high school pictures...”

You watch him, not skipping a beat on your rhythm. Daisy headbangs as you launch into the chorus, and Twiggy fiddles with his bass guitar across the stage, dressed in one of his ragdoll dresses. Pogo is to the right of you, hammering away at his keys and jolting around. You always have a good time performing with the guys, but Brian’s got your attention tonight.

He keeps looking back at you, for some reason.

You almost don’t realize the change in song and the fact that you’d been playing it, and nearly jump when Brian screams into the mic: “I bring you!”

You look away from his shirtless figure, and focus on putting on a good show with them as the crowd moshes in front of you.

--

After the show, everyone stops back at the motel quickly, drying off and getting changed. You all reconvene after getting into more comfortable clothes, avoid the small group of fans waiting to follow you, and get ready to leave.

“You were great tonight,” Brian says.

“Really? I nearly missed the beginning of Lunchbox,” you huff.

“Nah, I didn’t notice it. If I had, I would’ve yelled at you til you cried.” He gives a shit eating grin.

The Viper Room. The five of you stare at it. The sun has long since set after the show, and you're in front of the LA nightclub with amateur ghost hunting equipment. (AKA, anything you could find at a five and dime store on the sunset strip this late at night).

"River Phoenix died here,” Jeordie mentions.

“And Johnny Depp owns the place," Daisy remarks.

"I know him," Brian says.

"River Phoenix?” Pogo asks, stroking his beard. “Yeah? You climb into his grave often?"

"Depp, I know Johnny Depp."

"If you know Johnny Depp, then Twiggy's Luke Skywalker," Pogo scoffs.

"Like my father before me," Twiggy mumbles. 

"No, I know him! I was an extra on his show, 21 Jump Street. He's cool, we're friends."

"Suuuure."

Even Jeordie snickers at that, after emerging from his Star Wars fantasy. "Fuck you guys," Brian mutters, "If Johnny was here right now--"

"Oh, you're on a first name basis, huh?"

"If Johnny was here right now, you fucking clown asshole, he'd say hi Brian, and tell you to go fuck yourself."

"He'd say ‘hi Brian’?" you tease, and he smiles.

"Yes, he would. He's nice."

“Would he like me?”

“Anyone would like you.”

"Does he think this place is haunted?"

"I don't know," the singer hums, "I never asked."

You pick the lock, all enter, and shut the door behind you. It's pitch black, and frankly a little nerve-wracking.

"We shouldn't be here," Daisy sing songs.

"One more word out of you and we're feeding you to the ghosts," Pogo says.

"The same could be said for you," you say to the keyboardist. He shoots a dirty look your way that you can't see through the dark. "I did some reading,” you admit, and everyone turns to you. “Apparently there’s a body buried downstairs, in the crawlspace.”

“Johnny’s a killer,” Jeordie whispers in awe.

“That’s fucking rad,” Brian mutters, “I have even more respect for the guy now.”

“It wasn’t Johnny, don’t say that shit out loud in Hollywood or you’ll get sued,” you say, rolling your eyes. “So aside from the bones, the ghostly activity is downstairs in the basement, the VIP room, and by the bar.”

"I know where I'll be," Jeordie smiles, and walks over to the bar. "Pour me a stiff one River, and don't spare the rum."

Pogo sighs. "C'mon, Daisy. The odd couple are going down to the basement."

"Uh, now I think I should be the one to stay at the bar." Daisy shakes his head. "If Jeordie does, we'll have smashed bottles and cop sirens."

"Fine," Jeordie complains, shoving his red and black dreads out of his face.  

“Whatever, dude. It’s just a bunch of bullshit anyway,” Pogo mutters, “It’s like Santa Clause, parents invent ghosts and all that shit to scare kids into behaving themselves, the ever present fascism of the oppressed American youth...” Jeordie follows the ranting keyboardist downstairs, shooting you a desperate look. You just smile, giving a little good luck wave.  

“That leaves you and me in the VIP room,” you say, turning to Brian.

“That it does,” he replies, licking his lip ring. “Just don’t try to hold my hand. That’s sick.”

“If you touch me, I’ll scream,” you retort, and walk ahead of him. He admires your ass with the flashlight, and you smile a little.

Downstairs in the basement, Pogo starts banging on the walls.

“Hello! My friends, my ghoulish friends! My... ghoulfriends, if you will. ANYONE WHO’S GOT THEIR BONES BURIED BACK HERE, MAKE A NOISE! Fart or something!” He swings his arms around.  

“Did Johnny Depp kill you?” Jeordie asks, eyes wide. He twitches at a car honk outside.

Pogo bounces up and down. “Come attack me, bones! Make me one of you! Come on, murder me and bury me, daddy! I’m into that kinky shit! I am here for the taking!”

“That sounds a little forceful,” Jeordie whispers.

“On my part, or their part?” Silence.

“Good point.”  

They keep walking around, and Jeordie trips on something. Pogo keeps banging and yelling obnoxiously. “GOBLINS, GHOULIES, FROM LAST HALLOWEEN! AWAKEN THE SPIRITS WITH YOUR TAMBOR—hey Jeordie, what the fuck are you doing on the ground?”

“I just like the taste of carpet,” Jeordie retorts, sarcasm apparently not evident enough for Pogo to catch it.  

“Jesus, what are you on? I want some.”  

“Help me up?”  

“Yeah, yeah,” the mad clown mutters, and leans down. Jeordie takes his arm, and the two look at each other for a few seconds, the flashlight beneath them illuminating the specks of dust floating through the inch or so between their faces. “Uh...” Pogo whispers, deep voice grumbling.

“Yeah,” Jeordie swallows, and the two stand again, looking away from one another.

Upstairs, you and Brian enter the VIP room.

“Hey there demons, it’s me. Marilyn Manson,” he says, “This is my concubine, Bette Dahmer. Scare us.”  

You glare at him. “Actually, scare me. You can just kill him.” The two of you look around with the flashlight a bit, inspecting the dark wallpaper and decor.

“This is kinda spooky,” Brian admits.

“It’s nice,” you say, stroking the dust off a lamp, “Very gothic. I can see why movie stars like this place.”

“Yeah.” Brian turns the flashlight on and off, finally setting it on a small table and letting the beam keep the room dimly lit. “Lots of old Hollywood glamour. You’d fit right in.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, you’d look pretty in an old Marilyn Monroe dress. Or at least one of Jeordie’s.”  

“What if Marilyn Monroe came here?” you giggle.

“Hey, Mar! Thanks for the name!” Brian calls, “If we get rich and famous, we’ll give you the royalties!” You lounge out on one of the couches, and he eyes you. “You could be sitting on a ghost right now,” he says, “You could have a ghost inside you.”

“Mm?”

“You could be sitting right on his big ghost cock.”

“That’s hot.”

“You could have me inside you too, if you wanted.”

“Y’know, I think we’ve been on the road too long,” you laugh, “Pogo’s jokes are getting to you.”

“It’s not the jokes.”

“Yeah, well. If I’m starting to look hot to you, you must be delirious.”

“Nah... I really do think you’re hot, Bets.”

He sits next to you, and you look over at him. “Seriously?”

He ducks his head. “Yeah.”

“I... feel the same way. I mean, I was never ever gonna tell you, cause soon, with any luck, we’ll be big rock and roll stars, and you-- well, you know how it works. You’ll have a million groupies, you’ll be drowning in free pussy.”

“Fuck the groupies. I want your pussy.”

You laugh. “You say that now.”

“Yeah, I do. Til someone better comes along, which I doubt will happen.” He lifts his eyes to meet yours. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you all night. It was weird onstage—usually I can hide it, but tonight... I don’t know. You sitting there, in that top, with your eyes... you were just...” He looks down again, his old shyness coming back. You don’t know what to say. You can only stare at his lips.

Over at the bar, Daisy sits patiently, watching the glass he’s set on a napkin. “Hello, ghosts. It’s me, Scott. You can call me Daisy if you like. If you can hear me, move the cup.”

He stares at the cup. The cup does not move.

Downstairs, Pogo and Twiggy are awkwardly trying to continue their ghost hunt without talking about the moment they just had.

“So, uh, so ghoulies. Where ya from?” Pogo shouts. “Is SATAN in the room with us? We are BIG FANS, sir.” Jeordie starts giggling about something. “What is it?!”

“I just heard a bang above us.”

“That means the demons have come out to play, Jeordie-boy!” Pogo cackles, hopping up on a booth seat and drumming the ceiling.

“No. It means Bette and Manson are screwing around,” Twigs laughs. Then his face gets dead serious. “What if, uh...”

“What if what?” Pogo glances over suspiciously.

“What if... they weren’t the only ones?”

You gasp, standing up and staring at the shattered lamp that had just fallen off the table. “Oh my god. That wasn’t me.”

“Wasn’t me.”

“They’re totally gonna think we’re screwing around up here.”

“Maybe we are,” Brian gets up too, tucking his hair behind his ear.

“Y-you wanna?” you back up. He nods, and falls on top of you on the other couch.

At the bar, Daisy sits, staring at the cup. He patters his fingers on his knees. “It’s okay, ghosts,” he says, smiling politely, “I can wait.”

He stares at it some more. The cup does not move.

In the room, you reach your hand up Brian’s back underneath his black t-shirt. “Fuck, I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

“Shut up and take my pants off.”

“Don’t tell me to shut up. Take your own pants o... ohhh, god, yeah.” Brian reaches up to massage your breasts, and you throw your head back, undoing his fly.  “How long have you wanted to do this?”

“Since the day I walked into the dumb record shop and stole that David Bowie EP.”

“What the fuck?! I got fired for that!”

Downstairs, Pogo runs a hand over his smooth bald head. “I don’t know, man. This sounds very gay to me.”

“I mean,” Jeordie scuffs his shoe on the ground, “It doesn’t have to be. Or like, it could be. If you’re cool with that.”

“If I’m cool with being a homo?”

“...Yeah.”

Pogo looks up at Jeordie, and sighs. “For you?” He glances around the dark, creepy basement, then back to the bassist. “I could be cool with that.”

Daisy changes tactics. “Here. Don’t like moving cups? That’s okay, neither do I sometimes. Let’s try this again.” He smiles. “What’s your name?”

“Oh, god... Brian!” you moan from the VIP room.

“Br... Brian!” Daisy says, excitedly, standing up. “You have the same name as my friend! Oh god... okay, um... how did you die, Brian?”

“Get inside me,” you groan, and Brian takes his boxers down, kissing you as he sinks into your tight heat. The two of you moan, base instincts taking over.

“In... inside you?!” Daisy repeats, eyes lighting up at the apparent paranormal activity he’s discovered. “Oh! You died from an overdose, just like River, didn’t you? You had too many narcotics inside you!”

Downstairs, Pogo steps forward, and swallows. Jeordie closes his eyes, and waits. Suddenly, a car screeches through a red light outside, and Jeordie practically jumps into Pogo’s arms, forcing the two together at the lips. Pogo’s eyes fly open, and Jeordie’s close again, enjoying the kiss. They break away, and stare at one another. Pogo swears, and goes in for another kiss.

“Harder,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around the singer’s neck. He pushes his hips in faster.

“You like it rough, sweetheart?”

“Yeah Bri, I like it rough, yeah...”

He reaches down, finding your sweet spot. You arch into him, scratching your nails up his slender back. He keeps pounding into you, and grunts into your neck.

“Baby, baby, baby...”

“Do you have a message for me, or for any members of our band?” Daisy asks, and lowers his voice conspiratorially. “You know... some insider’s industry tips?” He winks.

“Goood, you’re so fucking good!”

Daisy raises his eyebrows. “I... well thank you! Thank you very much, we really try to reach people with our music.”

“What the fuck are you blabbering about?” Pogo mutters on the stairs, wiping Twiggy’s lipstick off his chin. Daisy beckons them over.

“Shhh! Watch this. I’m sorry I ever doubted you guys... the spirits are so active in this place! Forget making records. We could be mediums!” Jeordie joined Pogo over by the bar as Daisy went on. “Okay—if you’re here with us now, give us a sign.”

There’s a loud bang, followed by a creak and a faint gasp. Jeordie and Pogo look at one another, actually a little bit freaked out by the response. Then comes the “communication.”

“I’m coming, oh-- I’m coming!”

“Where?!” Daisy cries, “Show yourself, come!” Pogo sighs, and Jeordie falls to the floor, laughing.

“I think they already did, pal.” The keyboardist raises his painted on eyebrows, and points to the VIP room. You stumble out, hair messed to hell, and Brian comes out behind you, buckling up his belt. Daisy stares at the two of you for the longest time, before getting up and walking toward the door.

The rest of you go to walk out, deeming the place a paranormal dud, when a gust of wind blows behind you. Brian’s about to turn around, accusing Jeordie of leaving a window open or something, but there’s nothing there. Then, everything happens at once. Daisy’s cup tips over the side of the counter and shatters. The door to the VIP room slams shut, and you all start to hear thumping footsteps coming up the stairs from the basement.  

You and Brian grab at each other, running out first while laughing. Pogo shoves Jeordie over and bolts out. A few seconds later, he runs back in, grabbing the bassist by the hand and dragging him out too. Daisy stays, getting out the video camera. Brian walks back in, guiding the guitarist out calmly, and closes the club’s front door with a click.

“Hey uh, Bri?” you say, taking his arm. He grunts, putting an arm around you. “Next time you see your friend Johnny Depp... maybe don’t mention that we fucked in his haunted club. Kay?”

#marilyn manson #marilyn manson x reader #reader x marilyn manson #this band is just too much fun to write for #that's probably why I keep doing sk era stuff #madonna wayne gacy #twiggy ramirez #twiggy x pogo #pogo x twiggy #brian warner x reader #reader x Brian warner #brian hugh warner #the spooky kids #marilyn manson and the spooky kids #ghost hunting #buzzfeed unsolved #inspired by buzzfeed unsolved #marilyn manson smut #marilyn manson fanfiction #daisy berkowitz #bette dahmer #marilyn manson imagine #marilyn manson imagines #marilyn manson fandom #mansonite #mansonites

[beautyandthewarcanons]

Echo's Beacon: Part Twelve

[You can read part eleven here! All BATW & DTTR characters belong to @poisonappletales ! ❤]

Rosemary sobbed in her bedroom, wiping at her face. I appeared in the doorway then, approaching slowly.

"Hey, Rosemary." I greeted. "I wanted to check on you."

"Well, I'm absolutely miserable- that should be obvious!"

"I mean... that's why I wanted to come see you." I sat next to her, and Rosemary glanced at me for a moment.

"Well... you're a lot nicer than my awful cousin, at least." She replied. I handed her a handkerchief, and Rosemary loudly blew her nose with it. "I don't know why she's so mean to me all the time!" She cried. "It's as if she's embarassed to even be around me!"

"Have you spoken to Jasmine about how she makes you feel?" I asked.

"Of course I have! She doesn't care!" Rosemary beat her fists into the mattress.

"Maybe... maybe Jasmine thinks that she's trying to help you by what she's saying."

"How could hurting my feelings possibly help me?! Why are you taking her side, lady Kara?"

"I'm not taking anyone's side. But... I don't like seeing you upset."

"Then go yell at my cousin!"

"That's not going to help either." I replied. "... Rosemary... sometimes our families, people who are supposed to have our backs... are the ones who disappoint us the most. But I have a feeling that underneath all the coldness she shows you, Jasmine really does love you."

"Then you're as delusional as they say, lady Kara. She absolutely detests me. I see the way she looks at me... when the men are about... like I'm some giant ugly wart on her stupid face!"

"Rosemary... you have to try to take certain things with stride. Believe me... I've been guilty of not doing that either. But instead of focusing so much energy on her, maybe spend some time with the others?"

"Oh, like lady Wildfire?" She replied sarcastically.

"Wildfire isn't really nice to anyone, Rosemary. Maybe spend some time with the guys. You know, Chase is pretty nice."

"The Trold?! He's so gross!" Rosemary grimaced.

I pursed my lip, tilting my head then. "Now Rosemary... you're pretty mean to him."

"So?" She dabbed some remaining tear stains from her face.

"How is that any different than others being mean to you?"

"He's just a savage, lady Kara."

"How do you know that? Have you taken the time to get to know him? Or are you just going off by what clan he comes from?"

"W- Well... I mean... he's..."

"He's someone worth getting to know. We're going to be here for at least another three weeks. Plenty of time."

"You know who I'd like to get to know is that Hulder..."

I furrowed a brow. "Hulder?"

"Yes... sir Viktor, isn't it?"

I released the breath I was holding. "Right... Viktor. Well, why not get to know both of them? Nothing wrong with making more friends."

"I suppose..." Rosemary thought to herself for a moment.

I nodded my head toward the door. "Come on. Let's head back out there." I took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. To my delight, Rosemary smiled.

"You're right- I'm not cooping myself up in here!" She got up, going to the door. She stopped suddenly however, looking over her shoulder as her expression softened. "Thank you, lady Kara. I... can see why lady Ambrosia has become so close to you."

I joined her at the door, placing a gentle hand on her back. "That's what friends are for, Rosemary."

Back by the changing screens, X shook his head as Chase emerged, donning one of the suits from the wardrobe. "I ain't wearing one of those things."

"Forget it." Wind said, having also heard the commotion and going to see what was happening. He turned, shuffling away.

"Yoo hoo!" Brooks shouted. "Come on boys, let's speed it up!"

"I do not wish to participate in wearing one of these outfits as it could prevent my me from adequately ensuring the King's safety." Onyx said.

"Can I just wear nothing instead?" Unknown grinned.

"Goodness, no!" Viktor cried. "Arsenik, did I adjust this correctly?"

"You look fine, Viktor." The elder Hulder replied.

"Ooh, you look so sexy!" Bo complimented Barium, tracing a finger underneath his chin.

"You look lovely yourself, my pretty ruby." He replied, chuckling.

"Ugh, they make me want to vomit." Wildfire rolled her eyes.

"Come on Wildfire, it is kinda cute." Brooks chimed in.

Night appeared then, adjusting his collar. Jasmine took notice. "Sir Night, allow me..." She reached up, her fingers working the kinks oit of his collar as she smoothed it out. Her throat felt drier by the second before taking a step back. "Th- There."

"Thanks." Night gave her a nod. "You look nice. Purple's a good color on you."

"Thank you." She replied, her spine rigid. "You... look quite... h- handsome yourself."

Night chuckled once. "It is an interesting outfit."

"Indeed." She clasped her hands together for a moment before tucking her hair behind her ear. She hoped there weren't any strands out of place. Ambrosia watched silently, not pleased in the slightest.

Rosemary and I returned then, the others turning to acknowledge us. Barium took a step forward.

"Hello there." He smiled as he greeted me.

"Hey, Barium." I nodded.

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes." He said as his hand brushed against mine.

Chase took note of this, snapping to attention. "Hey Kara!" He came between the pair of us. "You look great!"

"Uh... thank you both." I motioned to Rosemary then.

"Well I think you look positively handsome, sir Viktor." Rosemary complimented the Hulder. "Don't you think I look nice too?"

I smiled nervously. "Ah, yes, miss Rosemary... you look quite... lovely." He glanced at Arsenik for a moment, who gave him a look as he spoke with Ambrosia.

"Excuse me..." I said when I saw Arsenik, making my way over to them.

"I think you look nice, Rosemary." Chase said, getting her attention.

"Of course I look nice!" She paused then. "I- I mean... you look nice too, I suppose."

"Thanks!" Chase smiled. He noticed I had gone over toward Ambrosia and Arsenik. He figured that I wanted to talk to her, being we were close friends. No one should trust that Hulder, he thought to himself.

"Ah, lady Kara." Ambrosia smiled when I joined them. "Thank you for taking care of my dear cousin. She seems far better now."

"It's all good." I nodded. I looked at Arsenik then, my heart skipping a beat. "Hey. You... look really handsome."

Arsenik chuckled bashfully. "I appreciate that sentiment, miss Kara. You appear rather lovely yourself. Blue suits you."

"Thanks." I could feel heat rising to my face again.

Wildfire nudged Brooks. "Alright, I'm over this. Let's go."

"Whatever you say!" Brooks shrugged. The pair were halfway out of the room as they began to shrug the dresses off.

"Oh my- my eyes!!!" Viktor screamed, slapping a hand over the top half of his face. "Have you no decency?!"

As the pair were heard cackling down the hallway, Unknown's laughter soon followed. "If you're starting a trend, I think I'd like to follow it, ladies... kyahaha!"

I rolled my eyes. "Please remind me again why I brought him on this trip again?"

"Because you're considerate, lady Kara." Ambrosia answered.

"I think it would be more considerate of me to NOT invite him in the future." I said.

The present group continued to socialize, enjoying wearing the outfits and conversing in them. It made for a lighter atmosphere than the prior day, bettering almost everyone's moods. I was enveloped in it, and for a little while, I forgot all the dread I had been feeling and the ominous manifestations the house had been offering.

---

That night, I sighed contently as I settled into bed. Ambrosia settled into her own, looking over at me and smiling.

"It seems you had a decent day today, lady Kara. I'm glad." She commented.

"Yeah... it was good." I opened the drawer, taking out the book I had been reading. "Even though he seemed pretty interested in you... I had a nice conversation with Arsenik."

"Was he?" Ambrosia asked. "You know... the King seemed to have had his eye on you quite a bit."

"Uh..." I chuckled nervously. "I, uh... noticed that too."

"The King is a kind man. I know you wouldn't fancy the idea of joining his harem... but perhaps something more could come of his advances."

"Like what? Ambrosia, he practically throws expensive items away to his women. I'm not looking to bleed the man dry. It's not my style."

"That's precisely the reason you would be a good woman for him. You would treasure his heart more than the treasure in his hands."

"I mean... there is a lot I like about Barium. Harem aside... I could see myself falling for him. But..."

"Yes, lady Kara?"

"I-..." I shook my head.

"Do you fear the responsibility of being a queen?"

I snickered at that. "One, the last thing Virgo Islanders want is me being queen. I'm not even from Virgo Island. I'd probably start another war."

"Nonsense, lady Kara. You would make a fine queen."

"I appreciate the thought... but that's not the reason I can't be with him. I... there's just something about Arsenik. Something pulling at the root of my heartstrings. I can't put it into words."

"... You really love him, lady Kara."

I looked over at her. I then stared at the book in my lap. I couldn't bring myself to say anything as an illustration of a pair of lovers professing to one another stared back at me, silently mocking me. The love depicted in their eyes practically dripped off the page.

"I think I'm going to turn in for the night." I finally said.

"Very well, lady Kara. Sleep well."

"Goodnight, Ambrosia." I replied, shutting off the lamp.

---

Hours later, I slowly blinked my eyes open. It was past the middle of the night, and I sat up groggily as I rubbed my face. After a moment, I stopped.

She was staring back at me, her head upside down as she hovered parallel to the floor.

I gasped, my mind scrambling into alertness as I gripped the sheets. I muttered to myself that she couldn't hurt me, repeating it in a low chant as she floated closer, finally stopping inches from the bed. She then slowly moved to float upright, her hair wisping and floating about her.

"Ar-..."

Her mouth moved, her voice muffled as if it were underwater. My eyes were wide, inhaling quick, shallow breaths.

"What are you saying to me?" I choked out.

"Ar-... sen-..."

My mouth hung open. "What are you-... what do you want with him?"

"Ar-... senic-..."

"Mm... lady Kara...?" Ambrosia spoke groggily as she began to wake up.

I looked back at Katherine. Her mouth opened wide, showing the black void within as she lurched back through the air. As she went through the wall, right through the painting, a loud thud sounded. When it did, I screamed as one side of the painting fell, causing it to hang lopsidedly on the wall. Ambrosia jolted awake, stumbling a bit as she made her way over to me.

"Sh- She w- went..." I pointed at the painting. "Sh- She said his n- name..."

Ambrosia looked over to see the painting, before rising to her feet. To my horror, she went to the door, and I inhaled sharply as she opened it.

"It's alright, lady Kara. I'm just peeking out."

"N- No Ambrosia, close the door, d- don't-"

Ambrosia heard the sound of quick, light footsteps moving away from our bedroom. "Oh dear... it seems that someone played a prank on us, lady Kara."

"Please close the door." I said fearfully. I exhaled the breath I was holding when she did, going over to the painting. To her surprise, there was a small puddle of water just underneath it.

"Let me clean this up... and then I'll straighten this frame for you."

"Take it down."

"Hm?" Ambrosia tilted her head. "What was that you said, lady-"

"Ambrosia." I looked at her, my eyes still wide. "Take it down."

A pause. "If you insist, lady Kara." She took it off the wall, and I finally willed myself to get up, taking the painting from her and opening the closet. I faced it away from me before shutting the door, locking it. Ambrosia frowned. "Now, now. Let's get you back to sleep. I'll fetch you some water." Once she did this, she took a towel to clean up the water by the wall. She wondered who it was who snuck into the room to pull a prank on them... and why they did so at such a late hour.

To be continued...

#beautyandthewar #poisonappletales #beauty and the war x playing pieces #beauty and the war #donttakethisrisk #ambrosia #dont take this risk #arsenik #unknown #love #horror #drama #suspense #paranormal #ghost #victorian #fanficton

[danetobelieve]

As Mime Goes By || Harsh, Ricky, Rio and Winston

Winston looked over at Ricky as they pulled over to the agreed point they would park. Turning to Orion and Ricky, they swallowed before looking out the window. They’d taken the essentials of course, flashlight, tablet, camera, everything that you needed when you were doing recon, not to mention lots of energy heavy snacks for when they inevitably over did the magic. They hoped that wouldn’t be a problem, but just in case they’d brought a baseball bat. “Listen, these,” they waved their bat as they got out the car, “are just precautions, we’re just looking around and Rio is here because he’s you know you’ve got the whole,” Winston flexed and grunted before continuing, “going on and Ricky is here because he looks like that. So recon. No fighting, oh and this guy’s name is Harsh. So no funny jokes about it, please.” 

It was the unspoken rule of heists that the guy with the truck drove, and so Ricky was the one behind the wheel as the three of them pulled into their destination. Winston had asked them to tag along and Ricky was in the habit of doing whatever Winston wanted because well it was nice to have more members of the family. He snickered a little bit as Winston dragged the baseball bat out of the car before tucking one of several hunting knives he’d picked up into strategic and easily accessible points around his person, “Uh huh. It doesn’t help that the last time the three of us went someplace together we almost blew up a restaurant. We probably need more than a baseball bat but, that’s why you’ve got me and muscles over here.” he pointed to Rio and shrugged, “Harsh isn’t the weirdest name I’ve ever heard. As long as they don’t feed us to the mimes I’m chill.” 

This whole thing was a terrible idea. Harsh shouldn’t have agreed, hell he shouldn’t have suggested it. Oh well, too late to back out now. Winston seemed decent, so he couldn’t just let them and their roomies go it alone. He lingered in the shadows, watching as the car pulled up and parked. Those looked like the guys. Lifting a hand in greeting, he made his way over. “Winston? This is our backup? Nice to meet you, I’m guessing Winston already told you about me. I figure we just go around, try to keep quiet and see if we spot anymore of those assholes wandering around. As soon as we run into trouble though, we run. I fought one of those things already and I’m not up for doing it again tonight.” He shifted on the spot, glancing back toward the restaurant. The area nearby seemed way too normal for some place that should have been blown up recently. “So, you ready to head in?”

Another day, another potentially dangerous and absolutely stupid thing that Orion had let himself get dragged into. The things he did for his roommates. “I detest being called muscles” Rio spoke nonchalantly from the back seat. He wasn’t serious for the most part, though he wasn’t exactly a fan of using the super strength unless necessary. And he was currently praying to the God he didn’t really believe in that it wasn’t necessary. He was getting pretty sick of mimes trying to kill him. “Nice to meet you mister. I’m Orion, or Rio.” He introduced himself to Harsh. “I like the running idea. We should bring you along more often.” The only reason he agreed to come along was because he was afraid his roommates were going to get themselves hurt. Plus he had night vision. “If I say no, do we get to leave?”

Rolling their eyes, Winston wished to all hell that they could just walk away from here. But with their mime attempting to murder them multiple times now, enough was enough. It was time to find a solution. Skylar was losing her mind, Roland was mute, Athena too. It was too much. Something had to be done and Winston might be able to do it. Hopefully. “Yeah, I’m Winston and this is my other friend Ricky,” they wished that they had someone like Nic with them, but it seemed weird to come to a hunter with a random problem when they didn’t know them and they DEFINITELY weren’t talking to Athena about this. “Let’s get this over with so that we can begin planning how we solve this problem.” Winston crept slowly down the deserted street. Which was weird for this time of night. It shouldn’t be this empty right? Was it also really necessary that the street lights were flickering? 

Ricky flashed a peace sign as Winston introduced him, “Yo. I’m Ricky. I drive the truck, get stuff off tall shelves, and have some knives for mime stabbing. I would love not having to rip anyone else’s throat out with my teeth. That’s like…. Stretch goal for the evening.” He followed closely, if not nearly as stealthily, behind Winston as they made their way slowly to the restaurant “There are… uh there’re street lights, my dude. I think they can see us. Also if we were gonna be sneaking you should have told me so I didn’t roll up in a fucking bro tank and skinny jeans. Archer would be so disappointed in me.” He glanced quickly behind him to make sure Rio was still in his field of vision. Hunter revelation aside Ricky felt a certain level of protectiveness over his new roommate. He wasn’t the biggest fan of the fact that there was a real chance they’d all get murdered by a fucking mime. “Yo. W.” he got closer to Winston and lowered his voice, “Is your new friend chill? If I have to go all bitey again I don’t want someone freaking out.” 

“Oh yeah? I think I heard about that throat ripping thing, nice work on that, man,” Harsh said, with a little grin. “But yeah, I’d rather run than have to resort to that.” He kept pace with the others, eyes flicking this way and that. It was quiet, way too quiet. There was a knife tucked inside of his jacket, but he didn’t plan on going for it except as a last resort. As they drew closer to the restaurant, he frowned, an odd smell catching his attention. It was almost… sweet? “Hey, you guys smell that? It’s like… pastries? The place is supposed to be closed isn’t it?” His frown grew slightly. Wait… he knew this smell, the last time he had noticed it was at Flipped, right after he had cut that mime’s throat. Not a great sign there. His eyes drifted around again. “Anyone see anything moving? I think… those mime things, when they bleed, they smell like this.”

Orion crept along with the group, keeping an eye around the place to see if anything caught his attention. “Maybe they cook overnight?” Rio asked curiously, but he could already tell that he couldn’t hear any footsteps or anything from within the restaurant. That didn’t seem to mean much honestly, he also hadn’t heard anything when Erin’s mime chased them or when Rio and Blanche’s mime had broken into the house. Somehow these things moved completely silently. For someone that was so used to hearing everything, it was a bit unnerving. “I don’t see anyone moving around inside but…” He hopped a bit, trying to get a better look inside, “I see something on the floors.” It was dark, almost viscous. It only took a moment for Rio to realize that it looked remarkably similar to whatever it was that the mimes bled. “I think… I think you’re right,” Rio looked over at Harsh. “I can see the stuff on the floors inside. Like trails of it leading somewhere.” Rio personally had no desire to figure out where it led, but something told him he wasn’t getting off that easily. 

It would be a dream come true if Winston was able to believe that that bizarre smell that had enveloped them was from them cooking overnight. Whilst they were sure that was something that a normal thing that restaurants did, but this was as far from being a normal restaurant as it was possible to be. Their baseball bat felt somewhat unwieldy and Winston was regretting not bringing a knife along with them like the rest of them. They guessed ultimately they wouldn’t be doing anything other then trying to use magic to work things through. “That stuff looks kind of like … tar?” Winston hadn’t really ever seen tar before but this was exactly how they imagined that it looked. Winston crept closer, were those foot prints? “Hey guys, come look at this, looks kind of like someone walked in that stuff. Maybe we weren’t the first ones here?” 

The smell and the look of the footprints on the floor immediately gave Ricky flashbacks to the Al’s parking lot and his first face to face run in with the mimes. “I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news… but… well we’re all in a fucking mime restaurant in the dead of night tracking killer mimes we all knew this was gonna be bad news from the fucking start…” he toed the goop on the floor a little, “This be the shit those fuckers bleed. Smells like baked goods, looks like tar, tastes pretty fucking gross too if you were wondering.” He walked over to wear Winston was standing, glad that for all his color blindness his dark vision was actually pretty fucking good. “My incredibly uneducated yet fantastically handsome guess wouldn’t be that someone walked through it. Maybe… secreted it? Trailed it from them when they were birthed into this world from whatever screaming fucking hellscape breeds clone mimes? We should probably all stick real close together.” 

Great, just fucking great. Harsh clenched his jaw, focusing on any slight sounds. He followed after Winston, keeping his head on a swivel, watching for the faintest hint of movement. Crouching down, he tentatively dragged a finger over the print. “It’s dry. I think these have been here a while. I’m no tracker, but I don’t think whatever left these is still around. Or I sure hope it’s not.” He straightened up slowly, wiping his hand absently on his jacket, even though the stuff hadn’t stuck to him. Just touching it dry made him feel like he needed to wash his hands. “So… is everyone else thinking that at least some of those things came from here? I think it’s not just their blood. This is gonna sound weird, but… I think they’re made of this stuff, whatever the hell it is.” He grimaced as he turned toward the doors of the restaurant. “It looks pretty empty in there,” he said slowly, glancing at the other three. “I agree, let’s stick close, maybe circle around the place, see if there’s more footprints.” 

Orion cringed when Harsh bent down and touched the stuff. “Ricky, stop giving theories you’re gonna give me nightmares.” He should have offered to wait in the truck, be a getaway driver in case they needed a speedy getaway. Anything to keep him away from here. He had goosebumps trailing his arms. “Well they’re clearly not human. Whatever they are they burst into smoke when they die. It’s uh… well I don’t like the idea that they’re coming from a restaurant. Where food is made.” Not that Rio had ever eaten there, nor did he ever plan to. “Just make sure you keep an eye out for anything. This sounds crazy, but they don’t like, make noise. Footsteps, heart beat. Nothing.” 

Somehow, not that Winston was sure how it was possible, the smell here seemed to be even stronger. “It doesn’t seem like a bad theory that these things are related to this goop in someway.” They could help but crouch down alongside Harsh and examine it as well, though they hadn’t touched it out of fear of what it might do. Harsh seemed fine though and Winston put the thought from their mind. “Maybe they could be made from this stuff, do you think this means that this stuff is made here?” They wondered if it was some kind of weird magic or something else. Whatever the case, Winston didn’t want to know what was going on. Not really. Not enough to actually be here. The urge to bolt and sprint from here was irresistible. But they managed. “We should see if we can see anything else, maybe see if we can get around the back.” Winston was sure it wasn’t going to be there. “Just be careful, I had a run in with something weird here a little while back.”

“Rio if you get nightmares I’ll read you a bedtime story and fix you a glass of warm milk with vanilla and cinnamon. My mom used to swear by it.” What Niamh Cordero had actually sworn by was mackerel before bed but there wasn’t any reason for Harsh to get the idea that Ricky wasn’t human. Not at least until it was unavoidable. “It is nice that for once at least my near deafness isn’t a detriment. We’re all gonna be fucked for hearing!” When Winston suggested checking around the back Ricky took point, pulling a serrated knife out of its sheath tucked into his jeans, “You know…” his voice was low as they all crept towards the back of the incredibly fucking spooky restaurant, “It was entirely too easy to buy like all of these knives. There’s literally a section in the farm goods store off route 48. It’s practically a whole “get ready to skin trespassers” department back there. He peered through the oval window of the swinging door back to the kitchen, not seeing anything immediately visible. “I’ll go through first. Since in classic horror trope the dumb jock dies first.” He had expected at least a little squeak from the door but the hinges were whisper quiet as he slowly pushed through.

“I don’t know, it could be coming from this place, but what even is it? If this place is making this stuff, I don’t want to know what kind of food they serve.” He followed after Ricky, eyes lingering on the knife. “You have a lot of those? Listen, if we see another one of those mime things, I’d rather bolt than try to fight it. The first one of them was hard enough to take out.” Harsh stopped by the door, watching Ricky head inside. He looked over Winston and Orion. Maybe it had been a bad idea to ask them to tag along. They were both young… and scared. Shit, this whole worrying about people thing was a pain in the ass. “You two hang back, I’ll go in after him. Just keep watch out here. If you see anything, yell and we’ll come running.” He shook out his hands at his sides before following after Ricky, careful to keep his steps light and quiet as possible. Only a few steps in, he froze. There was something, the faintest of sounds, like… like footsteps, but wrong. Reaching out, he lightly tapped Ricky’s arm, trying to get his attention as he more mouthed the words than said them: “There’s something in here. I don’t think it’s human.”

There was a certain amount of relief that Orion felt when Harsh told them to hang back. He was also worried, and scared and anxious but he spent most of his life being those things. At least out here they could keep an eye on things. A few seconds later and Rio and Winston were standing alone out in the darkness. They had been alone a lot since the two had first become friends, first within the Scribe building after Winston’s night of sleepwalking, which Rio often regarded as one of the luckiest nights of recent memory. Now within the house too, if Ricky was gone and Rio and Winston found themselves hanging out. Things felt different now than they had when they first started hanging out. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the Athena revelation or from… something else. And because Rio had no time to start panicking about that particular revelation, he decided he needed to distract himself from thinking about what that something else might mean. “Dying at a mime restaurant would be the worst.” Rio whispered randomly, wandering around the open space because he couldn’t stand still at the moment. As he wandered, he noticed some sort of smell. He wasn’t sure what but… it wasn’t a good smell. The bakery smell of the gross liquid had mostly kept it covered up, but there was definitely something else around here too. “Hey, I think there’s something over here.” Rio warned before heading off to try to find the source of it. And… well unfortunately he did. 

Thank God Winston wasn’t expected to be taking point here. They made a mental note that they had to make more friends with people who were far more capable then they were so that they didn’t have to continue taking point in potential life or death situations like this one. “Oh I don’t know, better to die in a mime restaurant then a clown rodeo or something equally absurd, besides, the french have the best cuisine right?” Winston rolled their eyes and sighed, this was as from their idea of fun as it was possible for them to have. “What the hell is that?” they moved away from where Harsh and Ricky had gone, wondering if there was something other then terrifying footprints and the smell of pastries here. Moving as stealthily as they could (which was not very) Winston crept across the room. The first thing that they witnessed was what looked like a very heavily chewed hand. Bite marks littered the fingers and here and there the flesh was entirely stripped away, leaving clear sections of bone exposed. Then there were more body parts, and more bones and more chunks of flesh. What Winston had originally decided was the tar like substance was actually a grotesque mixture of the substance and blood. It had congealed together into a viscous mucous like liquid and Winston had to stop themselves from being sick, but that seemed clear to them that it could only mean one thing. Eyes flashing up to Harsh and Ricky, they lurched to their feet and sprinted after them. The thing they’d found with Regan. It was clearly still here, but if they shouted they’d draw it’s attention faster then before.

“I have a lot of them now that there are killer mimes on the loose in the town. I decided to make a “you might die horribly but at least you can try to defend yourself first” shopping trip before this little outing” They crept through the kitchen as quietly as they could; the smell of yeast and dough turning from something appetite-inducing to something bone-chilling “I would also like to run since I don’t really fancy getting a chunk taken out of my shoulder again but I’mma make sure Winston and Rio make it back to the truck before I do. I managed to kill mine last time. So I’m 1-0 for mime slaughter.” The tall stainless steel of coolers reflected the dim emergency exit and Ricky nearly had a heart attack when Harsh reached out to tap Ricky’s arm. He turned and watched the other man’s lips move, spelling out a sentence he desperately hadn’t wanted to hear. Nodding tersely he kept his head on a swivel, trying to see what was purely shadow and what was a murderous stereotype waiting to devour them. It was only by chance that he happened to see the reflection of something in the glass door of the tall rotating oven. He grabbed Harsh’s arm and tugged them towards the relative safety of a small alcove that seemed to hold spices and flavorings. He hoped his wide-eyed panic and pointing to the general direction of whatever-the-fuck that thing had been was getting his point across properly. 

Shit. Harsh had known this was a terrible idea from the start. He really had to start not diving into these things headfirst… and dragging random strangers into them with him. That was probably the part he should feel bad about here. At least that hollow inside had plenty of room for gut wrenching fear. He didn’t resist the pull on his arm, letting Ricky tug him into the alcove and flattening himself to the wall. The knife in his pocket was in his hand before he could think about it. If they could wait, stay quiet, maybe the… whatever it was would pass. But then he heard it, footsteps--Winston’s footsteps getting closer. Shit, they weren’t in cover and that thing was still out there. “It’s coming,” he muttered to Ricky. Whatever it was, the damn thing was almost dead silent, but it wasn’t invisible. Harsh saw movement and made a choice. “Grab Rio and go, I’ll get Winston. I’ve got a couple tricks up my sleeve, but that thing won’t be confused forever.” He shifted, moving to the edge of the alcove as he held a hand next to his mouth. “Over here, frenchy! Suck on this baguette, asshole!” The yell was his, but his voice came from the far corner of the restaurant. Those skittering feet turned on a dime, heading toward the sound. Harsh looked back to Ricky. “Go, now,” he said before darting out of the alcove. He reached Winston’s side with admittedly inhuman speed, but now wasn’t the time to worry about keeping pesky little secrets. Grabbing at their arm, he tugged. “We gotta go.”

Whatever the leftover remains that Winston and Orion had found was, it seemed abundantly clear that they were human. Rio felt sick, and his vision blurred a bit before he realized that Winston had ran off to find Ricky and Harsh. “Winston!” Rio whisper-yelled after them, but they were already gone. “Crap.” He crept toward the entrance, slower and more cautious than Winston had. This was not going as planned. Rio was ready to get into the room when he all but crashed into Ricky. “What the heck is going on?” Rio questioned, hearing Harsh yell some expletive. He was… distracting something. That wasn’t a good sign. “Truck, trucky” Rio said, turning and running off for it. Ricky was the getaway driver, so Rio needed to figure something out. He slid into the door, running too fast to have time to stop himself and through it open. “Why do you have a hacksaw?” Rio asked as he dug around in the backseat. Between that and an axe, Rio didn’t have a lot of options. “I hope you aren’t super attached to this.” He exclaimed, grabbing the axe, “Get the car started.” Then he took off running to another side of the building, taking a deep breath before he swung the axe at the window, shattering it and making as much noise as he possibly could.

As Harsh yelled, Winston knew that they had been too late in their mission of preventative warning. They were by their side alarmingly fast and Winston didn’t need anymore convincing that it was time for them to get out of here. They had seen that thing that had been behind the restaurant snapping up a cat and they didn’t want to see what would happen if they were given the opportunity to try and eat Winston again. They were running headlong from the restaurant when Winston saw an axe that looked shockingly like one of Ricky’s axes in Rio’s hands. “Hey, is that Bertha?” Winston grunted as they turned and saw their friend setting off for the other side of the building. It was their turn to do something about this all. “Uh, cover your eyes!” they pulled to a stop, the mime monster thing scrabbling after them, taking a deep breath they summoned their energy and hurled a bright spark of energy through the air in the direction of the friend. It exploded with a bright flash. “That’s like maybe a few seconds right?”

A lot of things happened in really quick succession, and Ricky wasn’t really sure he was prepared for any of them. Harsh threw his voice in a way that was decidedly not some expert ventriloquism and between the two of them they divvied up the friends waiting in the dining room. Ricky couldn’t run as fast as Harsh could apparently, but when the choices were hustle or being eaten by whatever the fuck had been stalking them in the kitchen, he could pound the pavement with the best of them, “We’re going now!” he grabbed Rio’s sleeve and kept running, charging for the truck that waited just down the street. “Not the axe!!!” he tried to stop Rio from throwing what had been a $250 investment in a hand-forged Swedish axe but it was far too late. “Yeah that’s Bertha but we’ll mourn her later. Everyone in!!!” Winston threw up a truly impressive magical flashbang grenade and Ricky started up the truck, “Everyone in?! Sound off quick cuz I’m about to floor it and I don’t wanna leave anyone in the dust.” 

Apparently he wasn’t the only one with tricks up his sleeve. Harsh made a mental note to ask about that when they weren’t being chased by some kind of horrific spider mime or whatever the hell that thing was. He wasn’t really in the mood to stop to get a better look. On Winston’s command, he ducked, throwing up a hand in front of his eyes, shielding them from the worst of the light. “Not bad,” he noted before grabbing Winston again, half lifting, half dragging them to the truck. Offering an arm, he boosted Winston into the truck before throwing himself in behind them. “We’re here, let’s move!” The flash had definitely thrown the whatever-it-was for a loop, and he couldn’t imagine the crash of the axe had gone unnoticed either, but sticking around to make sure was not high on his list of priorities.

Orion made a beeline back to the truck after throwing the axe and jumped for it, missing the door and smacking into the side of the truck. “Ow.” Rio ring out before correcting himself and climbing into it. Ricky peeled onto the road once everyone was in. “Oh god oh god I can’t believe we just did that.” He was breathing heavily and staring at the ceiling of the truck to try to calm himself down. “I’m sorry about your axe” Rio apologized to Ricky, trying to connect the dots from what they had found. Had they even found anything? “What was in there? I never even saw it.”

Shuddering gently, Winston settled in next to Ricky and sighed as they drove off into the night. “That was enlightening, obviously whatever it is that is causing this seems to be coming from the restaurant itself…” Winston frowned and tried not to think about whatever that thing was. It seemed to have gotten somehow more dangerous. “As for whatever that was, I don’t know, but I sure as hell don’t want to find out.” 

#para #p: harsh #p: orion #p: ricky #wickedswriting #chatzy para #chatzy #as mime goes by

[themoonandotherslikeit]

The Hand That Reaches for God- Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

“I’ve come here with no expectations, only to profess, now that I am at liberty to do so, that my heart is, and always will be, yours.” – Jane Austen

-106 Days After-

  “I used to think that love was complicated.” 

  The aisle was sprinkled with fallen leaves, lined by the candles from inside that burned brightly, the wax bleeding and melting into the crimson blades of grass. 

  Pheli looked at Sam like he was the only other person in the world, because, to her, he was. 

  “I didn’t think it was real . I always thought it was playing pretend. It was just another game, another mask that people put on to seem like their life is worth somethin’. I thought love was just a word.”

  Sam smiled back at her, stroking the back of her fingers with his own. His cheeks were pink, and his long hair caught the breeze, sweeping across his forehead. 

  “But I was wrong. Love is a person. Love is everything.”

-104 Days After-

  Sometimes all it took was a single look to know all that is needed to know about another person. The week that Ophelia had been staying in Emerson’s bed had resulted in Dean and Emerson communicating only by looks. There was a tension building up between them that could be cut with a knife, and she was dying to cut into it. 

  The girls were going into town; they had the Jeep packed for the day and their guns loaded. There hadn’t been an incident since before they arrived. The town appeared to be abandoned, so the brother’s weren’t as worried as they usually were for the girls to be alone. Emerson was leaning against the drivers-side door as her sister and Sam sucked face in her peripheral vision. 

  Dean walked to her with his hands in his pockets, he looked at her sheepishly. “Need something, Winchester?” Emerson asked with pursed lips, trying to hide a growing smirk.

  “Yeah, I do,” he said, putting his hands on her hips. 

  “How can I help you?” 

  “Be safe,” Dean whispered, closing the space between them with a kiss. 

  It was weird, how things had changed. Emerson’s eyes flickered up to Deans, her eyelids heavy from the kiss.  The world felt as if it was full of possibilities, and her heart squeezed at the implications. There were so many imperfect moments that lead up to the moment they were in, where they stood together, but none of them mattered. The only thing that mattered was Dean. 

  “I will be.”

  He pressed his forehead to hers and exhaled a sharp laugh through his nose. “Better be. Can’t lose you, Em. I won’t do it.” His rough fingers tickled the back of her arms and down into her palms as he laced their fingers together. 

  “Nothing’s going to happen to me, Dean.”

  It hung in the air between them, a shared thought that neither of them could say out loud.

  Something already has happened. 

  “Yeah,” he agreed tightly. 

  Saying goodbye was the worst part. The thing that none of them had considered was that, even before the explosion changed everything, life was already uncertain. Dean almost died at war. He did die that day in the hospital. Life wasn’t a guarantee. It never was.  

  “Hey,” she whispered, placing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Soon we will be a part of a really lame wedding. We will have to get all dressed up and probably dance. I’m not going to die, but I may wish I had while that’s going on.” Emerson smiled at him, wrinkling her nose.

  “Sounds awful.”

  “It will be.”

  “I’ll try to make it better.”

  “You make everything better,” Emerson whispered back, kissing him one last time. It was a pressure against his mouth, his lips were warm and soft against hers. She could feel him sigh against her kiss, letting his worries melt into her. She would be damned if she let fear ruin another thing in her life. She’d spent every day of her life letting fear rule her, and she was fucking done. 

  -4 Years Before-

  Emerson didn’t know it, but Dean was there. 

  It was her high school graduation. He was able to swing some leave before he shipped off to his first real assignment. He was wearing civilian clothes, his favorite t-shirt that now fit just a little too tightly around his newly strengthened biceps. 

  He went to see Sammy graduate, but there, next to his mother, sat his father with a possessive hand curled around her wrist. He would fuck everything up, so he stood in the background. 

  His eyes scanned the program, and he felt this big stupid grin grow on his face. Commencement Speech by Emerson Maklen. He was so damn proud of her. They walked two by two up the row to their seats, and even in the rows of identical black, boxy robes his eyes locked on her. He could pick her out of a line up blindfolded. She’d been catching his attention her whole life, after all. 

  She looked bright and happy, the sun catching the gold in her hair. Hers was the face he thought about on the worst nights of basic training, when all he wanted was to go AWOL and hide in the fucking mountains. It was her smile, her annoyance that lived in her bottom lip, and the judgmental quirk of her eyebrow. 

  They announced her, and she walked up to the stage, adjusting her cap. Emerson wasn’t like Ophelia, she wasn’t effortless and perfect, but for Dean, that was a lot of her charm. She took the stairs one by one as to not trip, and when she reached the podium she gripped the edges with white knuckles. 

  You’ve got this, Em.

  “Good afternoon.” The microphone hissed with feedback and she adjusted accordingly. “I was asked to speak today… scratch that. I was forced to speak today. If any of you know me, you know that I’m a twin. My sister Ophelia is a force . When she wants you to do something you say yes. No if ands or buts about it. So when she said she thought I should speak… well, here I am.” She laughed breathlessly into the microphone. 

  “The truth of the matter is that when you love someone, no doesn’t even come to mind. No matter what she asks me, I’ll do it, because that’s what you do for your family. Love isn’t a word, love is other people. Love is your teacher staying late to explain the concept, love is your mom cutting off the crust to your sandwich, love is laughing until your sides ache,” Emerson said, her voice trailing off as her eyes scanned down to the podium. She had this smile, it was the smallest smile that, if Dean hadn’t been watching her for most of his life, he wouldn’t have noticed. But he had been, so he did notice. “Love is someone who will sit up on the roof and talk about your fears with you. Someone who believes the stars are in your eyes.”

  It was like having all of the breath knocked out of his body. His mouth went dry, and his hands began to tremble. Is she saying what I think she’s saying? He didn’t think she could possibly know the effect that she had on him, how the world seemed to be brighter when she was in it. He wanted to believe her, to drink her in. He wanted to run up on that stage, rip the cap off her head, and kiss her. She was graduating alright, they both were. 

  She looked back out to the crowd. “We have spent the last four years growing, changing, and looking to the future. So, class, the only advice I have for you moving forward is to not spend all of your time staring ahead of you, because the moments that we live in are leaving us just as they begin. So be cautious, because in my own pursuit of love and passion for the future, I missed the love that was already here in the present. I missed the joy that the last four years have brought, and no matter what you do, you can’t turn back time. You can’t undo or rewind, you can just make sure to not miss the next opportunity. So let these years ahead of us be the best yet. Take those opportunities as they come, and enjoy them, because, trust me, you’ll miss them when they’re over.”

  It was only a fantasy. He couldn’t run up onto the stage and kiss her, because she just talked about wanting to live in the moment. He wasn’t a part of her present, he was her past. 

  He knew that she was right, though, love was a person. Love was Emerson.

  -104 Days After- 

  “Ew, gross,” Ophelia commented, pulling Emerson out of the bubble that she and Dean were in. “Can you guys quit sucking face for five minutes so we can go shopping?”

  Emerson smiled up at Dean with rosy, embarrassed cheeks. “I’ll see you later.”

  “See you,” Dean agreed, his hands falling to his sides.

  Emerson let her gaze linger on him for just a second more before hoisting herself into the Jeep. She adjusted the gun that was strapped to her thigh and started the Jeep. She glanced at Dean in her rear view mirror and watched him throw up a small wave. 

  “You two seem to be getting along,” Pheli said in an accusing tease.

  Emerson snorted, rolling her eyes. She put the Jeep in gear and pressed her foot on the gas. “Yeah, so?”

  “So? So?! You’re infuriating, you know that?”

  She glanced at Pheli with a raised eyebrow. “You’re really bothered by this.”

  “Yeah, I fucking am!”

  If Pheli was in a cartoon, smoke would be pouring out of her ears. 

  “Why?”

  “Watching you two fight it is exhausting. It’s like watching the longest slow burn of all time. Why don’t you just be together? What are you waiting for?”

  “What do you mean?” Em asked, shifting her weight uncomfortably. “We are…”

  “ Together? Are you really? I’ve never heard you say that you love him or called him a pet name…” 

  “Just because we don’t look like you and Sam, doesn’t mean what we have isn’t real.”

  “I know that,” Pheli murmured softly, her face turning toward her lap. 

  Emerson focused on the road in front of her. The asphalt was covered in fallen leaves. It would be cold soon, winter was coming and it was something that was frequently on Emerson’s mind. She never let herself focus on relationships and more than anything, she felt as if there were bigger things to worry about. “I know how I feel about Dean,” she admitted quietly. “I know you think I’m fighting it, but I guess I just think that we have what we have. What am I supposed to do- marry him, have babies?”

  “Well… yeah.” 

  “Doesn’t that feel just a little… pointless? Look at the world Pheli! It’s so fucked up. You can’t seriously think that some flowers and a white dress will change anything.”

  “I do,” Pheli snapped, turning toward her sister in her seat. “Pull the fucking Jeep over now.” 

  Emerson glanced at her sister in surprise and did what she was told. She put the Jeep in park and turned toward Pheli. “What, Ophelia?”

  “I know you think I’m being shallow, okay. I know you’ve always thought I was shallow. Sweet little Ophelia is too soft to be involved in anything real, if you put her out in the rain she’ll melt. I have news for you Emerson. I know that the world is fucked up. I have two eyes. So, do I think that a wedding will help? Yeah, okay, I do. I think if I’m going to tell Sam how much I love him, I should do it before something horrible happens and I lose him. If I can find an hour, a minute, a second of joy in this goddamn horrible place that we are in, then I’m going to take it. So call me shallow or stupid, or pointless if you have to. I get it, but that doesn’t mean that it isn’t worth something.” 

  For the first time in her life, Emerson realized that she misunderstood her sister completely. She spent her whole life trying to be tough, wearing her suit of armor while Ophelia wore her crown of flowers and played the role of the princess. She always thought that their roles were determined by what they could handle, but it turned out that they each shouldered something. Pheli was the joy. Without sugar a cake would be bitter and horrible, and although they wouldn't still be standing without Emerson’s strength, they wouldn’t have hope without Ophelia. She’d been wrong. The whole time she’d been wrong. 

  “I’m so sorry,” she gasped out, covering her mouth. It was like everything inside of her was crumbling. She didn’t have to be the strong one. The two girls came together, their arms tangling in a desperate, rib crushing hug. 

  “Em, it’s okay,” Phel whispered. 

  For once, she was inclined to believe her sister. She didn’t mean to sob into her hair, snot and all, but once it started she wasn’t able to turn off the faucet. She had twenty-three years of pain bleeding out of her. 

  They sat there for what felt like a lifetime, and Pheli let her sister cry it out until there was nothing left. Em felt drained, like the life had been sucked out of her body through a crazy straw. She turned her face and buried it deeper against the crook of her sisters neck. She didn’t have it in her. She had nothing left but a single breath of strength that she was saving. It was her last straw, and she couldn’t use it yet. She knew she would need it and like a proper hoarder she kept it there, hidden behind her ribs right next to her heart. “I’m good,” she said through a shaking, pained exhale. 

  “You sure?” Pheli pushed her hair out of her face and wiped her tears from her cheeks. 

  “Yeah, I think so.” Her throat was aching from the sobs, and she knew that her eyes were swollen. “Let’s go get ready for this wedding. You’re right, we deserve some joy.” She took the Jeep out of park and took her sisters hand in hers, squeezing it tightly. 

  Pheli scooted closer and rested her head on Emerson’s shoulder as they drove into town. 

  As long as they’d been at the cabin, no one had seen another person in the town. It seemed to have been evacuated months previously. There weren’t a lot of supplies left, but the rest of the town was mostly intact. “Where did you want to look?”

  “I think there’s a bridal boutique downtown.”

  It was an old town. The streets were brick, and the buildings were all old, most of them seemed to be the original structures in the town. Emerson pulled the Jeep over and parked in front of the boutique. It was small and locally owned, but it appeared to have survived the looting. The front door looked normal. “I don’t suppose its unlocked?” Emerson questioned, not asking anyone in particular. She tugged on the handle. It was locked. She glanced around before crouching down and grabbing a piece of brick on the ground. With all of the force that she had she slammed the brick into the glass. It fell away easily, and she stuck her arm through the new opening, unlocking the door from the inside. “Bingo.” 

  “I hate when you guys do that,” Pheli complained, grabbing her sisters arm. She examined it closely, and when she determined that no damage had been done, she released her grip. 

  “A necessary evil.” 

  The girls walked through the front door. The shop looked untouched by time and pain, and Emerson understood more than ever why the wedding was a great idea. She walked to a mannequin and ran her fingers along the white satin fabric, her callouses catching on the fabric. She never thought that she’d be the girl that would obsess over a dress, flowers, or the right guy. She didn’t see herself spilling over bridal magazines or trying to find the perfect curtains to match her couch in suburbia. She wasn’t that simple. But there was something about what Pheli said that dug into her, burying itself deep within her. It wasn’t about the dress, or the flowers. It wasn’t about the house or the curtains. It wasn’t so vapid and pointless. It was an outward description of the way that she felt, and if the aching in her chest was any indication, than she should be wearing a princess gown adorned with jewels. 

  “Em?” 

  “Huh?”

  “Look,” Pheli said. Her voice was soft as she held a dress to her chest. “It’s everything.” 

  “Try it on,” Em suggested with a warm smile. 

  She wasn’t adorned with jewels. She was hiding behind a veil of darkness and fear, because even after every moment that brought her to the right answer, she still ended up growing into a girl that she never thought she would be. She was worse than vapid, she was broken. For the first time in her life she wished that she could be the simple girl who wanted the wedding dress and the floor length curtains. She wanted anything other than what she had. She wanted to be brave enough to let Dean love her, because even though he said that he would, she knew that he couldn’t wait around forever. 

  Pheli bit her bottom lip. “You think?” 

  “Come on, why not? That’s why we’re here.” 

  “Yeah, but… I don’t know this seems stupid.” Pheli exhaled in a single huff, and Emerson would’ve thought she was itching for a compliment if it weren’t for the tears lining her bottom lashes. 

  “What’s going on, Phel?”

  “It’s just… I know that we’ve always known that she wasn’t going to make it, but I still wish Mom was here.” 

  It was something so normal, that it hadn’t even occurred to her, and the weight in Emerson’s chest pressed down harder, taking her breath away. “Me too.” 

  She wished a lot of things.

  “I always thought she would walk me down the aisle, and I guess it’s stupid since it isn’t even real…”

  “Hey,” Em said, stopping her. “It isn’t stupid, and it’s real. I’ll walk you down the aisle.”

  Pheli sucked in her nose, sniffling a bit. “Thank you,” she whispered. It was like she needed her sister’s permission to be happy. 

  “Now go try it on before the Rogues come here and fuck up our fun!” 

  “Right, right,” Pheli said sarcastically, with a wide smile. “I’m going.”

  As Pheli disappeared behind the curtain in the dressing room, Emerson wandered. “I’ll be right back!”

  She opened the front door and stood outside, taking in deep breaths of crisp fall air. There was an antique shop across the street that she wanted to check out. She crossed the street, a little more languidly than usual. It was the peace of the town, the way the cool breeze pushed the leaves, and the way that no sound seemed to penetrate the bubble that they were in. She felt safe, even though she should’ve been on her guard. 

  The door to the antique shop had already been busted, so she pushed in, her boots crunching on the stray pieces of glass from the broken door. Leaves had blown into the hole in the door, entire shelves had fallen, or been pushed over. The store was a mess, to put it simply, but Emerson was looking for something specific. 

  She stepped over fallen toys. Wooden horse heads on sticks, dolls with missing eyes, and a lonely tricycle. She climbed over a stray chair and overturned desk. She spotted what she was looking for midway into the shop, and she was going for it, taking the quickest route. There was a glass case toward the back of the store. She placed her palms on the top of the glass and shifted her weight so she could hoist herself over behind the counter. The keys were still in the lock. She turned the key and slid the backing of the case away and looked in through the back. It was dark in the shop from the overcast autumn day, but she was still able to pull each item out and examine it. 

  There was a set of old pearls that were coated in dust. She pulled her shirt out and wiped them clean, squinting to try to see if they were worth pocketing. She dug around some more and found an aged crystal brooch, a small beaded bag, and a crystal hairpin. Bingo. She blew the dust off the hairpin, exposing a beautiful aquamarine crystal. “Something blue,” Emerson murmured. 

  There was a crash deeper in the store, something fell over, and it pulled Emerson out of her quiet moment alone. She shoved the pin and necklace in her pocket and unclipped her gun from her thigh holster. Her fingers were trembling as she pointed the gun toward the noise. Her finger hovered over the trigger, as her thumb clicked the safety off. She wanted to shout out, but if it was a Rogue, that spelled trouble. She preferred not to use the gun at all. The less noise the better. 

She didn’t hear anything else coming from that area. Nothing else had toppled over and there was no groaning. She ran her tongue over her bottom lip and slowly hoisted her leg over an overturned chair to get out from behind the counter. She glanced behind her, realizing that if she got into a chase that she would be royally screwed. There was no quick escape route through all of the random items that had been toppled during an earlier raid. 

  Emerson swallowed hard and moved forward, stepping over fallen items, keeping her hands as steady as she could on her weapon. She pushed a fallen rack of fabric out of the way with her gun, causing dust to invade the air. She coughed a few times, covering her mouth with her bicep. When the air cleared she found herself staring at the back well, the door to the alleyway out back was ajar, but other than that she was completely alone. 

  She frowned and squatted down finding an old model car that looked like it may have recently fell. It’s spot on the shelf had an empty space where the area around it was covered in a thick layer of dust. She stood up, and her eyes caught a smear on the edge of the door, like a hand had been pulled across the edge, disturbing the settled dust. She walked towards it and placed her own fingers over the smudge. It was easily a size and a half larger than her own hand. Her fingers curled in on themselves, and she put her gun back in her thigh holster before heading back toward the front of the store. 

  “Em? Emerson!?” 

  She heard Pheli calling her name from outside of the shop, and her heart picked up in her chest. She picked up speed, jumping over pieces of furniture. She pushed through the front door. “Phel?” 

  Ophelia stood in the middle of the street looking frantic, her dark eyes wide. “Where the fuck were you?” She asked, running to Emerson. She threw her arms around her sisters neck, squeezing her tightly. “I thought you were toast.” 

  “No,” Emerson whispered, hugging her sister back. “I’m okay. I’m all good.” 

  She pulled back from the huge and took in Pheli’s appearance. 

  She was wearing a long, champagne lace dress, that had a v-neckline, and capped sleeves. It fit her like a glove. Seeing her in it made Emersons chest squeeze. She didn’t have to be one of those girls, but Pheli deserved it. She deserved to be the princess that she spent her entire life pretending to be. “Phel.” 

  “What?”

  “You look so beautiful.” 

  “What?” 

  “The dress,” Emerson whispered with a smile. “Spin around.” 

  Pheli looked down, as if it occurred to her for the very first time that she was wearing a wedding dress. She spun slowly, and Emerson grabbed the zipper, pulling it all the way up. “You can’t do that again,” Phel said quietly. 

  “Do what?” 

  “Disappear.” 

  When the zipper was in place Pheli turned back around  and stood face to face with her sister. “I’m sorry,” Emerson said quietly, but smiled. “I was just getting you something.” She dug in her pocket and held out the two items that she stole from the antique shop. “Something old and something blue.” 

  Pheli ran the pearls around her fingers and held the pin up to the light. She sucked in her breath through her nose and smiled. “Thank you.” 

  “You’re welcome.” Emerson met her sisters smile, but there was still a hint of something else, something that she couldn’t quite name. It was the thing that raised the hairs on the back of her neck. It was a pair of eyes watching her from the darkness. It was fingers swiping through dust. It was the knowledge that everything was always going to end up the way that it did, and there wasn’t a goddamn thing that she could do about it. “Now lets get home and get you married.” 

  “Not until I get you an outfit, Emerson Mae. It will be a big night for you, too.” 

  As she laced her fingers with her sisters and walked back into the bridal shop, she knew, deep down in her soul, that Ophelia was right. It would be astronomical.     

—————

Authors Note: Hey y’all! Thank you so much for reading! I just wanted to give you a little update. I have one more chapter planned out for this fic. I do plan on doing a part two, that I hope to begin in about a month. October is really busy for me, and I have a lot of projects, so I’m giving myself a beat to get the next section in order and write a few chapters ahead so I can get back on a regular posting schedule. So stay tuned! I’ll have more official details at the end of the next chapter. <3 Thank you again for all of your constant support, it truly makes this all worthwhile! 

Chapter Twenty-Seven

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[galaxywhale-moved]

my finger is bleeding and the way the skin cracked it’s making a perfect lil heart shape :’)

#wish my fingers weren’t so gross and dry and bleeding but hey #if they’re gonna bleed at least if can be in a way that makes me go ‘o neat’ #blood cw

[corancoranthemagicalman]

So @sigrunsavestheday​ tagged me for this game during my great Laptop Absence and it’s since been saved in my draft as I’ve slowly tried catching up to things amidst balancing graduation upcoming. Having been tagged by @darkshrimpemotions​ too, I figured that was the perfect excuse to kick my rear in gear, update the list, and actually post it. :)

The first lines from your last 20 works and see if you spot any patterns!! :) I don’t really know who to tag, but here’s my works listed below the read more.

I’ve noticed that I start with either dialogues or “the” statements a lot. I play with tense and perspectives a lot between all of these (especially the more recent pieces), but you can definitely tell the more present tenses are my shorter works. Typically. Or definitely ones I was getting experimental with. Again, thanks to you both for the tag, and if anyone wants to do this, please tag me as your tagger ;))

1. Will You Take Me Away (Will You Make Me Your Wife): T+ SPN 789 words

The gulls are crying out in the fresh morning, and from where Cas’ stands he can see Kelly keeping a sentinel watch over the water. Her ankles are buried in the surf as the ocean kisses her skin with mist. It’s peaceful, really. The way her hair is swept in the breeze, and she seems like a painting. Motion paused; life still.

Cas peers through the yellow curtains one more time, just to watch Sam chase Jack across the open field that makes up the front yard. Its grass bleeds into the surf where Kelly stands. He can’t see her face, but Cas imagines that she is smiling. Her son—so full of good—young and carefree in a kind world. A paradise.

2. de·noue·ment: T+ SPN 1k words

The Old God was a writer.

He sat at his desk, scribbling away on a page. Or he typed away at keys. He crafted and drafted words— worlds . Creation came to life beneath his fingertips. After the world was created, and filled with his characters, he continued to write. Continued to fill out the page, writing a masterpiece that would culminate into the tale of two brothers.

3. Another Word For Divine: T+ SPN 2.9k words

“What’s all this, then?” Mary asked as she walked into the Bunker’s kitchen on a Sunday morning.

Jack smiled, beaming a sunny disposition as he turned away from the stovetop he was monitoring. “Hi! Sam said I could help with breakfast. I’m watching the bacon.”

Mary let out a breathy chuckle. Despite him looking so much older, Jack was still just a child. In a way, it was the opposite of how she felt seeing Sam and Dean. When she looked at Sam and Dean, it was like she was searching for her babies but could only see men. When she looked at Jack, his blue eyes a mirror of Castiel’s, she tried to see a man. The Devil’s son. But all she could see was a child . The child of her friend. The child of her children.

4. An Invisible Man Sleeping In Your Bed: M SPN 1.5k words

Dean Smith is a simple man. An average man. He orders salads from the cafe down the street. Talks to the other people on his floor when he steps out for his coffee. Has a unicorn laugh that erupts from his office on occasion. He’s sociable, competent, and attractive. There’s only one problem all the single women on the floor have with him.

5. (How Am I Supposed To) Carry On: M SPN 15.9K words

The thing about Florida was that it was hot as balls. The humidity was gross, and Dean could not believe anyone would want to vacation there. Maybe the beaches weren’t so bad, but wendigos didn’t stalk beaches. Sam made some smart sounding comment about silkies to which Cas refuted that silkies were hardly carnivorous and it was the sharks one had to watch out for.

6. Into The Sea Of Waking Dreams: E SPN 5.9k words

Swallowing thickly, Dean traced his fingers over the inscription within the volume that Sam had placed in front of him. His throat felt dry, but his mouth would not salivate. He turned his gaze to Sam, words rasped. “Are you sure?”

7. Modern Methods of Instruction: M SPN 2.7k words

The history of mold and its use for spellwork was an intriguing subject, though hardly relevant to Sam’s current inquiry. Sighing, Sam replaced that particular novel back into its place before retrieving another unearthly arcana book. He flipped through the pages, mentally marking how yellowed they were. Sam wondered if he should begin cataloging the books within the library. Shifting through artifacts was a daunting enough task, but creating a Hunter’s Dewey Decimal System was something more within his wheelhouse.

8. Between The Shadow And The Soul: M SPN 2.3k words

The Righteous Man was touched by angels. Literally and figuratively. Castiel himself had touched the Righteous Man’s soul, bore his grace into him, and stitched his torn soul together. Placed his body back piece by piece with a few added bonuses. Healed the old liver. Twisted the knee back into place. A few pieces here and there that would have no true bearing on his role as the Michael Sword, but which Castiel hoped the Righteous Man would appreciate.

9. You Don't Wanna Be Alone: G SPN 1.7k words

When Dean was four, he watched his mother hold his baby brother to the blooming sunflowers she kept in the backyard. Mom said they were called Sunriches. They were named that because they were like golden suns. Dean thought the sun was golden, but when he tried looking at it, the sun was just a bright, white color. Blinding. Dad said he couldn’t look at the sun without hurting himself, so he stopped trying.

10. I'm Lost And I'm Found: M SPN 1.4k words

The first time Castiel feels hunger, he is standing beside the ocean.

His brother—tall and formidable in his form—watches over the ocean with unblinking eyes.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” His brother sighs wistfully. “The quiet?”

Castiel knows what he means. It has not been so long since Lucifer rebelled against God’s Will. The noise had been terrible; the fighting was great. Now Heaven rolls with ominous thunder that looms within the clouds, waiting to rain down upon the peace that has settled since Lucifer’s Fall.

11. All That I Want For You, My Son (Is To Be Satisfied): T+ SPN 2.8k words

“C’mon, Cas,” Dean’s voice is soft. “Dad’ll be gone soon. And we’ve already fixed everything that my dumb wish messed up anyways. Might as well let him meet the kid, right?”

12. A Two Dimensional Kind of Guy: T+ SPN 2.3k words

“Hey, man, so like…” Shaggy trailed his words off as the dude halted in his steps. His shoulders were large and intimidating but his face made him seem softer and more approachable. It was easier speaking to the guy, Castiel, when faced with his - well, face.

13. You Hang From My Lips: M SPN 1.8k words

You can’t touch him unless his blood is coating your hands.

Maybe it’s because your unholy hands could never touch something so divine unless bathed in its blood. Like red wine cleansing the body’s sins. You’ve heard wine is good for that. Some God-follower interpreted it and some doctor agreed with it.

Maybe it’s because all you know how to do is hurt. Your touch is poison and it drags him down, down, down. Until there’s nothing left of that burning star but a husk.

14. A Second Once In A Lifetime: G The Witcher 1.2k words

The winter had gone quickly in Kaer Morhen this year. Geralt was certain this was because of the non-Witchers who had stayed during the season. His focus had been Ciri’s training and helping Yennefer to heal, and both responsibilities had taken up much of his stay this winter. It had certainly broken up the monotony of repairing the old keep with Vesemir.

15. The History of Tango: M The Witcher 48.9k words

If there was one thing that Jaskier could find agreeable about the eccentric Countess Yennefer of Vengerberg, it was her taste. Well, that and her disregard for social etiquette. Together, it made the woman rather impressive. The Countess had not married into her title, having been bequeathed it in some dramatic fashion that Jaskier had heard no less than three versions of. The people did love their gossip, especially when it surrounded such a scandalous figure.

16. Your Eyes Aren't Rivers There To Weep: T+ SPN 2.7k words

It was a cold night in January when it began. Castiel recalled the humans had recently marked the year 1979. The evening was an ordinary one save for the birth of one, small child. Crying, the babe called out for his mother. Like most humans, the babe hungered. Humans milled about before affixing the newborn into the arms of a tired but brightly smiling mother.

17. You've Been Ever So Kind: T+ The Witcher 2.1k words

“Geralt,” Jaskier whined. “I am sweating like a paid lady in a temple!” He pouted, fanning himself with some tool of an Eastern design that Geralt was not familiar with. The bard cupped his hand over his brow with the opposite hand not already preoccupied with the fan in order to shield his eyes from the overbearing sun.

18. I Heard There Was A Secret Gourd (That David Carved): G The Witcher 2.2k

The laughter of children as they ran along the sidewalk outside was but a muted noise within the apartment inhabited by Geralt Rivia and his goddaughter Cirilla. The young tween sighed boredly as she stared at the scattered patterns. Miscellaneous eyes and mouths meant to be traced on the gourd met her gaze as she sighed again. Drumming her fingers against her cheek, Cirilla turned to face her godfather.

19. A Wet Red Devil: M DC Comics 2.2k words

There was a reason Zatanna did not often invite Constantine to join their missions.

John Constantine was the single most irritating human to have ever existed. A brilliantly talented warlock with a bastard smug grin. A knack to create anarchy amongst even the most peaceful of beings. Zatanna was certain that even Superman himself had wanted to make Constantine choke on his smarmy words.

Sighing, Zatanna placed her forehead to her palm. While she had always tried to keep from inviting Constantine along - well - needs must and all that.

But was this worth it?

20. Vado Dove Vai Tu (I Go Where You Go): M YOI 1.5k words

The worship of the gods is common. Which deity is worshipped varies from city to estate, like which sort of wine decorates a table, but the pantheon under Zeus’ watchful eye is predominantly those deities that are worshipped. Sacrifices are offered for blessings or boons, whether it be for harvest, happiness, or war. The velvet tongues of mortals cry out their gods’ names and bleed forth on altars all for the sake of worship.

#tag game #fics #all of these words holy crow #words are so hard to process #magical moots

[its-just-like-the-movies]

Raw (17, B), American Fable (17, C+), and Personal Shopper (17, C)

In my quest to review every 2017 release I see, I’ve decided to cramp down on some films that I’m sort of enthused by that could’ve been better versions of themselves. The Spooky Lady-Led Trio, you could call it. All of these films have something to offer to prospective viewers, and elements I’d happily endorse, as well as things I’d readily change about them. Either way, here they are!

Raw

As an advertising hook, a film with the idea of relating to cannibalism as just one of those things kids do in college while exploring themselves was a pretty great lure to get me into the theater. A French film with a breakout female director that won a Cannes prize with every review thumbnail featuring its heroine covered in blood? This smelled like the perfect mix of art house horror and gross-out horror. And it frequently was that, particularly in the mysterious opening scene and a later one explaining it, the eating of an accidentally mislaid finger, the worst seven minutes in heaven - all the sex scenes are actually sort of terrifying, - and a scene near the end that redefines the term “leg day”. The beginning hazing and party scenes are all pretty effective, as are the more mundane frights of being accused of cheating on an exam and walking in or your roommate having sex. We the audience all made an agreement with each other as that finger was being eaten that hey, if this is a lot for you, feel free to freak the fuck out. It’s easy to see the argument director Julia Ducournau is trying to make with this film, but too often she undercuts herself in the film’s most stylized gestures. Lights flare red and pink as protagonist Justine (played by newcomer Garance Miller) is prowling parties for men to sink her teeth into, and it’s simply not as effective as seeing her carnivorously oggle her gay roommate as he plays soccer, sexually taunting an opposing team member as her nose bleeds. A dream sequence sees a horse running forever strapped in a treadmill-type machine, another one sees a dissected dog rise from its metal table, still hidden under its plastic sheet. For a film with the objective of trying to portray cannibalistic impulses as just another thing kids do in college, it regularly struggles playing things as casually with Justine as does with her roommate’s promiscuity, the general partygoing/hazing rituals of her classmates, or the cannibalism her own sister partakes in.

Played with a lived-in, grubby casualness by Ella Rumpf that’s fascinating to watch even before we learn she also eats people, Alexia’s relationship with Justine becomes an even richer mystery than the women’s shared cannibalism as Alexia continuously fluctuates between taking her sister under her wing and leaving her out to dry, particularly in a vicious fight after Justine sees a video of what Alexia got drunk Justine to do, only for it to end in a moment of unity and bonding between the sisters, perhaps the most connected they’ve been the whole film. Her own nonplussed attitude as she peels back the layers of her own depravity while trying to coax her sister down the same hole is portrayed with the offhanded tone the film should’ve stayed in, instead of the flashes of stylized lighting and odd, seemingly unrelated visual imagery. A final-frame reveal that could’ve been a whole other chunk of the film, tying back to an earlier scene where Justine is shocked to learn that *her* parents would’ve been game for her vet school’s hazing, could’ve easily been a whole narrative of the film for Ducournau to explore for both sisters had she not essentially reduced it to a jump scare. I’ve seen critics try and assign social commentary to Justine’s relationship with the gay roommate portrayed by Rabah Naït Ouffela she and Alexia both contemplate going after, in different but not ways, as taking to task the ways that straight women use and abuse GBFs, but I haven’t read the take that would make me agree with that idea completely. There’s a lot in Raw I wish were better, even though it worked plenty of times just fine and Rumpf nails every one of her scenes. Given the rise of cannibalism as a topic in film, television, and pop culture in general, I hope there’ll be a take like this that goes further and achieves the rich goals it sets for itself. But if the chance to see Raw comes your way, take it. Even if it doesn’t hit all its marks, its successes are still as terrifying and inspired as the best horror movies around, with sections so tense and horrific you and all your friends will lose all feeling in their fingers at the same time. A fun, unifying experience for the whole squad.

American Fable

I’ll give American Fable credit for probably fulfilling all of its ambitions, but the success is marred by an odd directorial hawk and some too inevitably realized arcs, particularly the doomed neighbor and the escalating antagonism of the brother. Plenty had been said about the film’s stylistic and tonal debts to Terrence Malick, but I wonder how well this actually served the film. True, in a long dream sequence, director Anne Hamilton crafts a woozy, elaborately out-of-body experience that feels like an actual dream using Malick’s new-age style. Hell, actress Marci Miller, cast here as the protagonist’s mother, seems like a composite of Sissy Spacek and Jessica Chastain, while lead Peyton Kennedy is as close to Linda Menz as I’m sure Hamilton could find. However, I’d say the Malick inspirations are something of a limitation to the story, lending it a kind of fantastical or grand air that just doesn’t suit the subject matter. Why make such an event carry the kind of majesty connotations that that style implies, when something a little darker or less florid would’ve been a more apt treatment of the script. That subject matter by the way, is about a young girl who discovers that her father has agreed to imprison a land developer in an abandoned silo on behalf of a Mysterious Woman in exchange for enough money to keep their farm afloat. And that young girl, named Gitty, discovers that man around the same time her father falls into a coma, forcing this Mysterious Woman to share what she had commissioned The Father to do with His Wife and Their Son Martin, who gladly steps up to take his father’s place and falls easily to the words of encouragement this strange lady provides. She also bears a great likeness to a woman wearing armor with ram horns on the helmet and riding a black horse, who always shows up when shit gets fucked up. This woman also bears no real impact on the narrative despite being a semi-interesting figure, and it’s debatable that the actual Mystery Woman does either.

Gitty’s relationship with the Mystery Man, played with such panicked gentleness, faux benevolence, and earnest caring by Richard Schiff - what a good summer for The West Wing’s men! - is easier the most affecting part of the film. Even if it’s as easy to see coming as her relationship with her brother, Schiff and Kennedy manage to create a real bond of unclear fragility as Gitty begins grappling with what his being there means, and what she can do to help. The last shot rewards her and our faith in Schiff’s character, and if the movie around them feels somewhat under-realized, I’m still glad I got to see that relationship unfold. In fact, the film ends with more unanswered questions and loose ends than it started with, which doesn’t really do right by the parents or the ultimate payoffs, literal or otherwise, with the Mystery Woman’s request. Again, I think Martin’s arc becomes more or less predictable once he threatens the life of Gitty’s beloved pet chicken, but at no point do we see what his parents’ reaction is to where he’s left. I don’t regret seeing it, but looking back on it, there’s surprisingly little to parse over, especially in the areas it so successfully advertised as being about. A lot of that stuff - the wondrous stylization, potential supernatural elements, some kind of folkloric entity - all feel extraneous, underused, or ill-serving to the film, some parts more than others, but still. There’s bits of magic all over the place, but even more so are there missed opportunities.

Personal Shopper

So early into the year, I’m not sure this was necessarily the project I was most looking forward to, but it was definitely high up on the list. Kristen Stewart had been practically perfect in Olivier Assayas’s Clouds of Sils Maria two US released years ago, the story itself sounded so entrancing, and reviews from several critics I trusted had been rapturous. On the other hand, plenty of friends and people I talk to online (or both) weren’t that hyped on the film or Stewart, and the Best Director Cannes prize Assayas shared with Cristian Mungui for Graduation wasn’t exactly a saving grace for what many considered to be a lackluster set of awards that managed to ignore much better films almost completely. I for sure haven’t seen all or even most of the Competition films from 2016, but Aquarius and Elle already pose more ambitiously realized projects than Personal Shopper does, not to mention Loving’s lowkey achievements and the madness of The Handmaiden.

Hindsight being 20/20 and all, it seems almost inevitable that I’d be as unmoved about this film as I am now. Like Clouds, Personal Shopper seems to have fashioned a showcase vehicle for its leading lady without giving her a whole lot to play beyond material firmly within her comfort zone. Juliette Binoche got who knows how many monologues about the price women in Hollywood must pay to stay relevant, a sentiment that might’ve had a little more power or variance had Assayas cast an actress who could really relate to that character instead of an actress who’s stint with American movies was sort of a phase in the middle of all those French movies she was and has been making, building a massive amount of acclaim and goodwill in Europe along with winning numerous prizes in France and Europe in general. In a similar vein, Assayas casting Stewart as a woman forced to withhold herself emotional seems like perfect casting but really isn’t, constraining the actress to give the kind of laconic, uninteresting performance many had accused her charismatic, lowkey style of actually perpetrating in previous films (no, I don’t remember Twilight). I felt bad that my interest in her performance got higher as she got emotional, even though I never believed she’d actually die. I wish I felt more active restraint in her performance, trying to keep a grip on her hope and fear and curiosity at all times rather than seemingly not feeling anything except in the scripted moments to let that gas valve leak. Post-film, I kept wondering who would fit better in the lead role of Maureen. Lea Seydoux, perhaps? who gave such a restrained performance in Farewell, My Queen that was nevertheless tinged with palpable thoughts and emotions at all times and could’ve just let the film be in French. Ellen Page, maybe? not for any particular reason but if he’s gonna cast an American actress he might as well do another outside-the-box choice that could pay off big time. Taissa Farmiga, who’s been so great at doing the same kind of grounding that Stewart has been in horror films across tones and genres while being able to play perfectly with the ratio between ridiculous and earnest of each project. Fuck it, why not Julianne Moore?

I don’t mean this to rag on KStew herself, who I’d have happily handed an Oscar to for her work in Clouds, but this feels like miscasting disguised as no-brainer casting. Between Clouds and Certain Women, her particular style seems best as a kind of supporting seasoning, or at least not perfectly aligned with the tone of the film itself. Part of what made her so special in both projects is that she managed to carve a space in both films to accommodate her own persona while fitting her style into the film’s. Personal Shopper fails her by trying to tailor itself to what Assayas may think are her strong suits, which just ends up making Maureen unreadable in an uninteresting way. The plot itself doesn’t really help her, given how thin it ultimately is. Opening and closing with Maureen working in France until she finds out that her recently deceased twin brother had moved on and that there is an afterlife, the large middle of it is occupied with an unknown number texting Maureen, pretending to be and not be her dead brother and whose identity I guessed almost as soon as the first messages popped up on Maureen’s screen. There’s barely more here than Clouds, and it’s marginally better given the spooky subject matter - the few scenes of Maureen performing a seance or following her pen pal’s orders are appropriately tense - but it’s still alarmingly little for the film to work with.

Would a different director entirely have solved this trick. One person I follow on Twitter, Kyle Turner (who’s super great, go follow him, it’s @tylekurner) suggested Mia Hansen-Løve should’ve been given this project, and I firmly agree. Admittedly I’ve only seen Things to Come, one of 2016’s most perfect movies, but if that’s essentially the kind of film Hansen-Løve would’ve made Personal Shopper into, it’s an idea I fully support. That kind of observational style would’ve been a lovely prism to examine Maureen’s griefs and hopes for the afterlife, for her brother, and for her own life as she waits for a sign and puts off flying to her boyfriend in Wherever. It may also have been a fine match for Stewart’s brand of quiet charismatic performance, allowing it to flourish within her keenly observational style instead of subsuming it. Most, if not all of my thoughts on Personal Shopper are about how to make it a better movie, something I feel a little bad about given how well others have received it - David Ehrlich was practically rapturous, saying the film evoked his grief at the death of his father so potently, and his review was the best encouragement I had to see this - and I do hope people see this. It’s an ambitious project made by artists I’ve fans of outside this particular film with plenty more projects of theirs I’m actively searching for, and I respond to raves about Personal Shopper better than other positive reviews for projects I was equally meh on. See it for yourself. Maybe your opinions about it will make themselves known by smashing a glass or tearing wallpaper, or just manifesting physically and vomiting ecoplasm in your general direction. Either way, it’s an interesting project with a singular, spooky tone that’s trying more than plenty other films.

#my posts #my reviews #2017 #raw #american fable #personal shopper