#not even getting drunk and watching a bob ross video and trying to follow it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

butterflystylesx · 5 years

Text

Flecks of Gold

“Do I gotta convince you?

That you shouldn't fall asleep?”

“What do you have planned for tonight?” She asks, her hazel eyes looking around at the layout Harry has set up in the living room. Candles litter the fireplace mantel, that part making her chuckle as she realizes that Harry could’ve simply just chosen to turn on the fireplace instead.

“Can’t reveal anything until you put this on, lovie,” he says while handing her articles of clothing. She looks up at him, admiring his freshly shaved face and new haircut that shows off the sharpness of his jawline.

She takes the clothes out from his hands, sauntering away from him as she excuses herself to the bathroom to get changed. She places her bag onto the floor, her winter coat right beside it.

She feels a spark igniting deep within her tummy as she changes, as she pulls one of his oversized t-shirts over her head. She slips the pair of baggy gym-shorts right after, making sure to roll the waistband so that they fit tightly around her bum.

She still can’t believe it as she looks in the mirror. She’s secretly shagging one of the most sought-after celebrity. And hell, the sex was good, better than good.

She turns on her heel and walks out of the bathroom, her eyes searching for him in the living room. The only thing she seems to find is two blank canvases, various paints, and paintbrushes all thrown onto a tarp.

“Are we painting?” She shouts through the apartment, hoping he’ll reappear and literally sweep her off of her feet. The room is starting to smell of the scent of his burning vanilla candles, only a tinge of paint seeping into it.

Harry emerges from the kitchen moments later, two wine glasses in hand. She notices right away that his rings are off tonight, a sign that he has more than just painting drunkenly planned.

“Not quite,” he smirks, her insides melting.

“We’re painting while getting drunk on way too expensive wine?” She asks as she watches him set up everything, his laptop in between the canvases.

“I’m a lot more creative than that. Give me some credit, had to have something romantic planned after not seein’ my lovie for over a week.” Harry walks towards her, clad in a simple white t-shirt and loose gym shorts.

She blushes at the pet-name, something that is apparently new between them. Up until recently, both of them decided that what they were doing was just sex. But something has definitely changed over the last few weeks, something that’s making this arrangement a little more intimate.

Harry sits down in front of the one the canvases, his legs crossed beneath him. She follows suit, sitting cross-legged in front of the canvas opposite from him. She looks up and meets his eyes, the wetness already pooling between her legs.

Harry’s laptop screen comes to life, his Netflix account paused on an odd show.

“Bob Ross?” She asks, laughter erupting from between her pink lips. Harry watches her intently as she laughs, his heart practically melting away at the sight of her.

“We’re going to paint, drunk of course, and then we’ll see whose is the best,” Harry simply states. He notices how her mouth is open practically to the ground, a look of shock in her eyes.

“Told you I was creative,” she scoffs at that one. The most romantic thing he’s done up until now in their “relationship” is let her borrow his car on early mornings. Of course, he made her test drive it first, and when she didn’t crash it, she was granted use of his car whenever she wanted.

Harry pours the first two glasses of wine, passing one quickly over to her. She brings the rim of the cool glass up to her lips, taking sips of the luxurious tasting wine.

He plays the video, Bob Ross’ voice filling the room. They begin copying the video, slowly getting tipsier as the minutes pass them by. Her limbs feel like jello as she lazily paints a large tree onto the canvas, the alcohol already soaking into her veins and taking over her inhabitions. He finds himself cursing often, messing up on his painting every time he raises his head to look at her. She’s clever like that, doing nothing at all and still subsequently capturing his attention enough to catch him off guard.

“Y’ave to play fair,” his words begin to slur. She smiles slyly over at him, the rim of her wine glass pressed against her lips. He can tell that they’re swollen, and all he wants to do is kiss them until they go numb.

They continue lazily painting, following the tutorial off of Harry’s laptop. She throws paint all across her canvas, carelessly painting. Harry can tell that she’s over the painting, but he’ll be damned if he gives in to her whims far too early.

He follows along with the video, his cock beginning to throb beneath his loose gym shorts. He finds himself wondering, “what has she done to me?” He just wants to revel in her, to smell the scent of her strawberry scented shampoo.

Bob’s voice continues spilling out instructions, her body perched up to look at the screen intently. Her bum is in the air, right in his line of view. She knows what kind of game she’s playing, and hell, she’ll be damned if he wins this time.

After a couple of more minutes of painting slightly intoxicated, they’ve both finished. Harry’s painting is obviously better because he didn’t spend the better part of thirty minutes fooling around like she did. She knows his painting is far superior, but she isn’t going to let him think that.

“I win,” she giddily says.

“You’re either crazy or blind,” he states, downing the last of the wine in his glass.

She giggles, her body laying flat on the tarp, paint getting onto her skin. She doesn’t mind though, because in some way it feels good and warm.

“Maybe you’re the crazy one,” he moves across the tarp, moving both of their paintings to the side. As awful as both of them are, he still doesn’t want paint to get all over them as they roll around.

“You’re right. I’m probably the crazy one right now because I missed you while I was gone,” he presses his soft lips against hers, his teeth gently biting into her plump lower lip.

She smiles against his lips, happy to finally be kissing him and touching him and getting all of him to herself. She feels like she’s living in a dream world as she tugs on his thick curls, the kiss deepening quickly.

His tongue swipes across her lower lip asking for entrance, and she, immediately, gives it to him. The alcohol makes their actions slightly sloppy, but she’d rather have sloppy than rushed anytime. He doesn’t want to be away from her, and for her, that is the highest compliment anyone could give her.

She moans against him, her hips arching upwards to meet his. She can feel the bulge in his shorts, the effect she has on him always noticeable.

He pulls his lips away, not wanting to waste any more time. The painting may have been a bad yet genius idea. His lips travel down her body, kissing her through the t-shirt and making sure to squeeze her thighs. She knows where he’s going with this, where his lips will end up, and it’s driving her absolutely mad.

His fingers hook into the gym shorts, quickly tugging them off of her legs. His eyes darken with lust when he finds that she is wearing no underwear, that her bare body was pressed against the thin material of his shorts the whole entire time.

He moves her t-shirt up around her waist, his eyes taking all of her in. She’s soaking wet, her body squirming as the cold air hits her where she is the most sensitive. She just wants to feel his lips around her or his fingers touching her. She isn’t picky; she'll take him in any way she can at this point.

“S’wet all for me,” Harry kisses her thighs, his hair tickling her skin. She sucks in a sharp breath when she feels his tongue lick a long strip up her center. Her boy is practically on the edge without him even doing anything, and she loves it.

He lifts his body to be eye level with her, a glint of confusion in her eyes. She doesn’t want to wait any longer. His fingers rub through her soaking wet folds, her back arching off of the ground. He watches intently, always loving the effect he has on her body.

His thumb presses against her clit, a filthy moan escaping her lips at the feeling. He peppers kisses up and down her jaw, neck, and chest, making sure that she knows how missed she was. Sleeping alone in hotel rooms don’t compare to waking up beside her with the morning sun pouring through the windows, that he knows now.

He inserts a finger into her dripping core, pumping in and out a couple of times before adding a second finger. She writhes and moans uncontrollably, her body now fucking his fingers in an effort to try and get a release.

The pit in her stomach only grows as he continues pumping in and out of her, his thumb continuing to press against her clit and his mouth still leaving bites across her neck.

Her legs press together every once and while when she begins to feel close, and he pulls them apart again, making sure she feels everything. Her walls clench around his fingers, her vision going white for a moment.

“Cum for me, and only me,” he says darkly in her ear. She moans out his name and cum’s all over his hand, making a proper mess atop the tarp below them. At this point, his cock is painfully hard beneath his shorts, and he knows that he needs a release right now.

She’s all breathy and out of it as she comes down from her high, her eyes watching him collect her cum and suck it his fingers, the sight almost making her cum again right then and there.

“Y’ wanna be fucked by my cock, don’t you Lovie?” He asks, his eyes watching her as he kneels over her. She nods her head violently, desperately wanting to feel all of him.

“S’what I thought,” he pulls his throbbing cock out from his shorts, the tip bright red and swollen, precum dripping down onto his shaft. She bites her lower lip, further making his cock twitch.

He pumps his cock a few times, her eyes watching intently as her chest heaves up and down in only anticipation. She won’t be completely satisfied until they’re connected at the hip until she feels him give her euphoria over and over again.

He rubs his shaft through her slick folds, wrapping himself in her arousal. He’s already thinking about how slick she’s going to feel, how mind-numbingly good her body is going to feel below him.

And just as he’s about to fill her to the brink, as he’s about to bottom out and thrust into her, his phone rings right beside them. She takes her head out of her hands, searching to see where the sound is coming from. For a moment, she hoped it’d be hers because she’s easily ignore it. But with him, well, he doesn’t just disregard many phone calls.

Harry pulls away from her aching body, his hand reaching for his phone and eyes skimming over the caller I.D.

“I’ave to take this,” he whispers. She leans up on her elbows, looking at him in shock. He’s really about to leave her, a mess because of him and his stupid romance, just to go and answer a phone call after midnight.

He tucks himself back into his shorts and stands to his feet, walking into the empty room to answer the call. She feels utterly humiliated as she puts her shorts back on and blows out each of the lit candles. She makes sure not to clean up any of the paint or mess they’d made. He’d have to do that himself.

She pads towards the room he’s in, standing out in the hallway and trying to listen to his conversation. At this time of night, she knows of only one person that would call him, of only one person that was standing in her way of having him be totally and completely hers.

She’s not a fool; she knows she isn’t a model and doesn’t compare to her, but she at least wants a fighting chance. She wants to be more than a shag after a long day.

She makes out the pet names spilling from his lips, content with knowing who it is now and walking away from him. She’d rather spend the night cuddled up in the comforter than hear his excuses and apologies.

After ten more lonely, waiting minutes, she finds herself in his shower, washing the dots of paint off of her thighs. Everything smells of him, and she hates that it bothers her so much. Why does everything have to be so complicated?

When they met, she immediately knew that he’d had commitment problems. I guess that’s the baggage that comes with a person when they’re never around long enough to develop a concrete relationship with someone. She wants more, but at this point, she knows this arrangement is more of a give and take situation than a give and give one.

“Why’d you turn all the lights off?” She hears his voice over the shower and purposefully ignores it. She doesn’t want to succumb tonight, but then again, the spot in between her thighs is still throbbing dangerously for his touch.

“Lovie,” he pulls the shower door open, her soaking wet body on full display again. Her knees practically go weak at the mention of the pet name, a name he doesn’t call her.

“M’tired,” she mumbles, trying her best to play it off.

“Is this about the phone call?” He asks, his brows furrowed and lower lip pulled between his fingers.

When she doesn’t answer he takes it upon himself to get into the shower with her, his shorts discarded onto the floor. She gives him distance, playing the game oh so well at this point. He knows she’s mad, but he also knows that she just wants him to be closer.

He peppers kisses across her shoulder blades, goosebumps appearing onto her skin. She wants to push him away, wants to tell him that this time she can’t simply be won over by bloody amazing sex.

His hands pull her close to him as she tries to rinse out her hair, her mind getting slightly flustered as she feels him against her bum. She’s trying to imagine that he isn't thinking of her, that he isn’t hard at the thought of her and their recent phone call.

“Stop,” she mumbles as she pulls his hands away from her body, stepping out of the shower, and wrapping a towel around her soaking body. She walks out of the room, leaving him alone knowing what he did wrong, but being far too stubborn to ever apologize for it.

Read part II here!

#harry styles #harry styles smut #imagine #smut #my writing #idk what the hell this is #a sister snapped #pls love me #lololol #late night writing #angst #harry styles angst

270 notes · View notes

fortunatowrites · 5 years

Text

Sigil of Man

An inverted Y with a dash across the middle and a shorter dash halfway above that. This red symbol started appearing across the small town of Ashland, Oregon. Roughly five years ago was when the phenomenon was first recorded. It appeared upon the altar inside a church. The next day it appeared upon the door of the church and the neighboring houses. Over time it began appearing upon garage entrances, car’s, walls, and even the roads.

In the first month, it was regarded as an elaborate hoax, done with some strange high quality paint that just couldn’t be washed away by traditional means. In the second month, people grew angry at how often they appeared, but the strangest incident was with a man known as Mr. Clemont. Clemont was angry that his door on his modest home had been defiled. He had a lot of money and rather than attempt to clean the door, he purchased a new one and replaced it. The next day, the symbol appeared on his door. It was after this, the police decided to hold a press conference over the symbols.

No one is quite sure who named them, but the nickname was immediately picked up by the newspapers and adopted by the citizens of Ashland, often referred to as Ashlanders. The Sigil of Man. It was in the police press conference that they revealed the Sigil of Man was being painted by unknown culprits. Any video surveillance of the sigils was somehow tampered with and made to appear as if the symbols simply appeared upon the wall, door, or floor. Within the week, several people came forward with stories of watching the symbol appear. It was said to accompany the sound of something heavy dragging along the symbol. Two people uploaded a video of the phenomenon.

By the end of the second month, panic became widespread. People feared the Sigil of Man and hired investigators. Some abandoned their homes or quit their jobs if it had the Sigil within. As people fled the city, others flocked into it. As the days went by, tensions rose and the Sigil of Man appeared more and more. All of them in the same size and shape, roughly the size of a manhole cover. Eventually there was a riot.

The riot lasted two weeks before Ashland police secured order back to the city. About two months later, tensions lowered. Investigators came back empty handed, no one was able to determine the how or the why of the sigils. Several cults formed or flocked to Ashland. As a result the Ashland PD formed a special Sigil Division for cult and sigil related crimes.

In the present day, five years after the first report of a Sigil of Man, Ashland has a strange order to it. A dishevelled mechanic named Lawrence Rory was beginning to learn just how strange it was. He had just moved in a week ago, but was already learning things weren’t the way he was used to them.

Lawrence pulled his work truck up the gates. Looking left and right, it looked like their fortified fence stretched on for miles, but he knew this congregation needed it. Chains began to rattle as someone climbed over the fence to greet him.

“Mister Rory?” asked a meek man, pushing just a bit past his prime.

“Reckon that’s me,” he responded.

“State your purpose, please,” asked the man.

“Excuse me? You guys are the one that called me, fella.”

“Just confirm it, please.”

“Fine. Someone called me to fix a golf cart,” he spoke without trying to hide the fact he was clearly annoyed by this.

“Thank you.”

Lawrence watched as the man scrambled back over the gate and then began to unlock the chains.The entrance gate wheeled away as he pulled his truck in. Inside were crudely made shacks and people walking around. It almost seemed like how the park should have looked before these weirdos took it over.

The passenger door opened and he instinctively reached for his monkey wrench under his seat. He stopped himself and shifted to placing a hand on the stick shift and watched intently as the meek man settled into the passenger seat.

“No, please, come on in.”

“That way, mister Rory,” the man said, pointing and ignoring the comment.

“Would you like a stroll around the block?”

The man ignored his joke and simply looked forward. Lawrence could see the corners of his lips twitch a little. He was going to make this guy laugh before he was done with this job. It was almost like a personal challenge to himself to prove these folks can be somewhat normal. To better ease his mind about taking their money and fixing one of their cars.

Following as the guy directed, he pulled the car up to a small barn they constructed. It appeared to be one of the few buildings without a Sigil of Man upon it. Along the side of it were doors that had been taken out of buildings and cars that had the sigil upon them. As the meek man got ready to leave the truck, Lawrence pointed to a mangled car door in the line up.

“Bob Ross, right?”

“Heh,” the man said trying to keep his composure.

The man’s face and personality instantly shifted. Lawrence couldn’t help but flinch at the sudden shift. The man’s face grew angry and he turned to Lawrence. He reached for the truck’s car-lighter and pushed it in.

“Hey man, I’m sorry. I didn’t know that was against your rules,” he said, slowly inching his hand towards the wrench.

The meek man pulled out the lighter and then held it before his own face, slowly angling it towards himself.

“Woah woah woah, hold on man! It’s just us, you don’t gotta do anything like that. Look, you guys think everyone is dying soon anyway, right? It can be our secret for just a little wh-”

Before Lawrence could finish, the man drove the lighter into his cheek and tried to muffle his scream. Lawrence didn’t try to muffle his own panicked yelling. He whipped his door open and jumped out to see other cultists approaching. They waited about two feet away as he looked around at them.

“I’m just here to fix a golf cart, god dammit!” he yelled angrily.

They simply waited and stared. Moments passed before he heard the man getting out of his truck. Turning around, he saw the cultist step out and then spread out his arms. There was tension in the air as Lawrence watched them slowly approach him. Then finally the silence broke as several of them lunged upon the burned man.

“Wonderful, brother.”

“I’m so proud of you, brother.”

“Your faith is a testament, brother.”

They were hugging him. And he was hugging them back.

Lawrence looked uneasily at the others as they mostly dispersed back to other parts of their village. One of them approached Lawrence, who still instinctively got ready to fight.

“You’re here to fix my cart, sir?” asked the man.

“...Yeah.”

“Wonderful,” he responded in a monotone manner.

“What the hell was that?” asked Lawrence.

“Noah appears to have transgressed. He broke our new testament, but he redeemed himself. He has shed the weakness of his flesh through a burn.”

“Are there many people with burns here?”

The man lifted up his shirt and Lawrence turned away, sickened by what he saw.

“We are cleansed by the fire. The Incinerates glow.”

Lawrence walked over to Noah and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Can I see the golf cart now?”

“Of course.”

Lawrence went to grab his toolbox from the truck and then followed Noah into the barn. Once inside, he saw a small line of golf carts. There were a couple of banners hanging around, most of them read in large letters ‘Glowing Incerates.’ Lawrence had learned a little about them recently, but all he knew was that they viewed the Sigil of Man as the sign of the apocalypse.

He walked further into the barn and Noah pointed to a section of the bar that had been roped off and had tarps put up, almost like a surgical room in a field hospital. Lawrence gave him a nod and stepped through the curtains. He was beginning to understand why he was being paid so much for something so simple. When he saw the golf cart, he realized it was far from a simple situation.

The golf cart had been damaged like a minor crash, something he had actually seen before in his old state. Though the fix would be simple, he was more worried about how it got broken. In his old state, this sort of thing occurred because some veered into a tree by mistake or while drunk and golfing. The damages on the vehicle were accompanied by blood -- on the outside.

“Looks like you hit something big, Noah,” Lawrence called out.

“Will that be a problem?” Noah responded coldly beyond the curtain.

“I’m not sure.”

“I’ll have them place the cash in your truck now. Along with a 20% bonus. Is there still a problem?”

“...fuck…” Lawrence said under his breath. “I should be all good then. This may take a few hours, but it’ll be quicker if you have spare parts.”

“We have a junkyard of the unrepairables.”

“That could work.”

Noah began to lead Lawrence through to another gated area, this one designated by signs as the Junkyard. He waited as Noah spoke with a member who had burned half of their face. The burned man operated a control box to open up this gate and allowed the two of them in. He pointed to a shack off in the back and told them that’s where mister Rory could find his parts.

Lawrence felt tension as he walked through the junkyard, taking note of all the trash and scrap that the cult had brought into this park.

“Do you know who we are, mister Rory?” asked Noah.

“The Glowing Incerates, right?”

“Yes, that is the name of our group. But do you know our ideals? What makes someone an Incerate?”

“Fraid not.”

“Well let me tell you then. Perhaps you’ll consider joining us.”

“Is this your way of telling me I can’t leave?” Lawrence asked, trying not to sound scared of that idea.

“We don’t force people we invite to stay inside. I just want you to know that we aren’t crazy like the Men of Sigils.”

“The Men of Sigils?”

Noah gave him a look of disbelief before continuing, “Yes, the Men of Sigils. You truly are new in town if you haven’t heard of them. They worship the Sigil of Man and believe it to be the markings of God. Those who receive it on their door are among the blessed in their eyes. They believe the door itself or maybe even the floor within the house could be the holy conduit. But that the symbol will appear near anyone or anything that is blessed.”

“Is that why you guys collect ‘holy doors’?”

“They’re misguided, mister Rory. They’d want to keep those doors, but we have them as reminders. Their belief is only correct in assuming the sigils are a judgement from God. His judgement is out of anger though. We cannot understand how he works or what his plans for the symbols are, but one thing is clear.”

Noah stopped and turned to face Lawrence, their eyes locking and Noah’s face growing intense.

“God is angry and he will wipe us out. Now is the time to repent and stop enjoying this sinful world. Those who live happily are complicit with the sinners. We live in harmony together here. Suffer the flame to remove sin, suffer the world to enjoy enlightenment.”

“You think God wants you to burn yourself when you laugh?”

“Only in the presence of the unclean.”

Noah turned back to the shed and walked up to the doors. Lawrence took a moment to examine himself and look around once more.

“Guess that means I belong with the garbage, huh?” he muttered under his breath as he followed Noah inside.

Once inside, Lawrence saw a large guard with a hunting rifle and six hospital beds. One of the beds was empty and overturned, but the other five had people in them. Surprisingly, only one of the people looked to be critical enough to be in a bed.

“Uh,” Lawrence began to say.

“He was the driver,” spoke Noah, who then pointed Lawrence towards their storage of parts.

“Get well soon,” Lawrence muttered as he went over to an area full of shelves and parts. There was a broken cart against one of the walls. With his tools in hand, Lawrence set to work in dismantling the pieces he needed from it.

As he worked, he glanced back over at the beds. The somewhat uninjured looking people were handcuffed to their beds. Lawrence shifted his gaze back to the man with the rifle who was watching him. Lawrence smiled, but the rifleman simply glared back. Noah nodded to the guard and stepped outside. With a sigh, Lawrence turned back to the cart.

Later, he finished removing a large battery from the cart. He didn’t need the battery, but it was large and heavy. A two-man job.

“Hey, buddy,” Lawrence called out.

“I’m not your buddy,” responded the guard.

“Can you lend me a hand with this?” Lawrence said, motioning to the battery.

“No.”

“Wow. I thought you guys were helpful. And here I was thinking maybe I was impure.”

“What was that?”

“Just you know… Everyone needs somewhere and I was beginning to think you guys seem to know what’s up. But if it’s the continued dog-eat-dog world in here…” Lawrence said slyly.

The guard seemed to look around before rubbing his neck and slinging his rifle over his back. The gun hung from a strap and bounced as he began walking over to Lawrence. He grumbled something indignant as he stood nearby.

“Where are we taking this thing?” he asked.

“Just outside the door will be fine,” Lawrence spoke as he slowly reached for his monkey wrench.

The man crouched down and leaned forward, exposing his head. Lawrence began to sweat as he battled internally about this decision. He was sure those people locked to the beds shouldn’t be, but he couldn’t be sure. He also couldn’t be sure that they’d survive if he leaves them here. He took a deep breath and the guard looked at him with a confused look. The guard’s eyes quickly darted to the monkey wrench and he stood up angrily, slowly swinging his gun around.

“Oh, uh, um,” Lawrence began to loudly stutter, realizing he messed up.

Suddenly, the door was kicked in. They both looked over to see a man in a make-shift tactical uniform enter with a handgun. He quickly scanned the room and pointed at the guard. As the guard raised his rifle, two more men entered behind the tactical man with rifles. They fired on the guard and Lawrence pressed himself to a wall.

The injured man in the bed sat up and shouted something about infidels, but the tactical man grabbed his face and slammed him back down on the bed.

“None of you are pure, you fucking madmen,” he spoke.

Turning back to the two men with him, “Free the prisoners. This cult ain’t keepin’ this civilians for the heresies of an order they don’t follow.”

He slammed the man’s head on the bed twice more before the body went limp. Then he approached Lawrence and holstered his gun.

“Seeing as how you didn’t rush us in a suicidal attack, I’m going to assume you’re the mechanic.”

“How d-did you…” he began to stutter.

“We saw your truck outside. We’re going to commandeer it to get this people to safety. I’m Burnes.”

“Who are you guys?” he asked as he watched them use bolt cutters to chop all the handcuffs.

“You’re really unfamiliar with the Defense of Ashland Committee?”

“I just moved here…”

“Hell of a place to go. Do you want to go at gunpoint or dragged?”

“It was really cheap. And what?”

Burnes grabbed Lawrence by the scruff of his collar and pushed him forward, unholstering his sidearm and pushing it into his back. Lawrence quickly got the idea and led them out.

They stepped outside, Lawrence leading them to his pick-up truck. Burnes followed behind, a hand on his shirt and the other gripping his gun as he scanned for any Incinerates. The four prisoners followed behind them with the two gunmen on either side, watching for trouble. Noah was laying across a pile of garbage.

“Did you kill him?” asked Lawrence.

“Yep. When they force us to come in here, we make sure the message is loud and clear. We don’t want any cults in Ashland.”

“Ohhh, you guys are those anti-cult vigilantes!”

“Shut up and walk,” Burnes said, smacking him in the back of the head.

They managed to make it unseen to the truck where they all proceed to climb in. Burnes sat in the passenger seat and put three of the prisoners in the back. The two gunmen and the fourth prisoner laid down in the bed of the truck.

“Now drive us out of here.”

“How’d you get in?” asked Lawrence as he started the car.

“Climbed the fence and got a team waiting for us nearby. Any other stupid questions?”

“How’d you know to find us?” weakly asked a man in the back.

Burnes turned around to face him, “We had a man at the incident. He saw them interfere with the Templar’s gathering, striking their knight down with the golf cart. Then they took you ‘heretics’ in for listening to the man.”

“The religious order that’s come to restore God’s Order to Ashland,” spoke one of the prisoners, placing a hand on Lawrence’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” Lawrence quietly said, before turning to Burnes, “Do they count as a cult?”

“Kind of, but they mostly stay in their lane as a crazy sub-sect of their beliefs. They think God’s made this place holy and they’ve got a similar goal to us.”

“I feel so responsible for the injuries of Sir Fitmoore,” spoke the first man.

“Why? Did you know the Incinerates were planning to jump him? He fucked that driver up good though for a man with a sword.”

“He came to talk to me, because I was giving a sermon to the others. I left the Templar.”

“Why would you do that?” Burnes asked, leaning forward and becoming a tad more interested.

“I discovered the truth of the symbols.”

“Did you now?” Burnes asked, becoming more intense.

“They’re the marks of a higher calling and there is a new disciple, a prophet of the lord. The marked man.”

Burnes simply stared as the car came to a stop.

“What’s wrong, you don’t like what he’s saying?” asked Burnes.

Lawrence had parked the car at the gate, “We’ll need someone to open it up.”

Burnes whistled and directed one of his men to open it. As the man got out, someone took a shot at him. The other gunman immediately got up and fired upon him. The shooter slumped over, dead. The two gunmen nodded to each other and then the first one got out to open the gate. Once it was open, they drove through.

“So… the marked man? I thought the sigil only appeared on walls and doors,” asked Lawrence.

“They’re a new order. They’re worshipping a guy with the sigil, but no one can confirm how he was marked. They call themselves the Marked Followers,” spoke Burnes, cutting off the prisoner. Everyone fell silent as Lawrence was instructed to drive further out into the woods. Eventually they came to two other cars that had been waiting. Burnes got out and instructed everyone to step out.

“Alright folks, it’s time we got you back to the city. You’re all going home. Even you Lawrence,” he said, motioning with his free hand to point at everyone.

“I’ll just wait in my truck.”

“That’s fine, Lawrence.”

More vigilantes got out of the cars to start helping people with the handcuffs. Burne walked over to the prisoner who had quit the Templar.

“You regret leaving the Templar?” he asked.

“Not at all. I’ve found the true li-”

BLAM!

Everyone turned to look at Burne, holding his firearm up as the former Templar collapsed to the ground. He holstered his weapon and held up his hands.

“Everything’s fine for the rest of you non-cultists. I just wish he had regretted joining, then maybe we could have saved him.”

Lawrence puked over the side of his truck. Everyone got into their vehicles and the DAC drove away. Lawrence sat there, staring at the body laying out in the middle of the woods. His gaze shifted back to inside his truck where he saw the cash and what tools he had been able to bring back to his car.

“I shouldn’t have moved here,” he said as his eyes welled up with tears.

#creative writing #writing practice #writing prompt #free writing #Forty writes #drama #religion #supernatural #vigilantes #cult #cults #templar knight

0 notes