#deviloutofhell

@deviloutofhell I LOVE YOU SLY. 

this was fun. also here’s like idk what this is but i was playing around with layers and what not and made this so idk if you can figure out to do anything with it have fun lmao.

@deviloutofhell

The bar stank. Bodies thronged together, sweat and gasoline mixed in a thick musk, and a little blood too. It was sweet to Valentine’s senses, it was in fact, exactly his kind of thing. The bar was fourteen miles out of town on what was essentially a dirt track, there were eighteen bikes parked outside.

The big man shouldered through the crowd without incident. He smiled, slapping his hand on the back of one or two, pulling them into a rough embrace always laughing - smiling. People liked Valentine.

He braced his muscular arms against the busy bar, creating space around himself with ease and levelled his gaze at the barmaid Lydia.

“Lyds! How’s it going?” He lilted, getting himself perched on a stool. She shot him a droll look and poured him a double whiskey with no ice without need of him asking. “Fuck off Val.” She grinned. Val raised the glass and took a sip.

The man to his immediate right was hunched over the bar, his nose was dripping blood. Val steepled an eyebrow and put the drink back down on the bar. He pushed the glass toward the stranger.

“Fuck man, I think you need this more than me.” 

“ -- My first wife died in childbirth. It wasn’t unexpected. Emmet drained her into practically nothing just half way through gestation. He was born a Chosen Son. And her sacrifice was necessary. 

But my second wife... my second wife, Tanner’s mother, she was butchered. I took a chance and married outside of our Faith. Now that I’m older, I realized how badly that could have turned out. But I still think we could have come to some form of agreement. 

My father, however. Well, my father wasn’t a talking man. He was a man of silence and action. And his action, after my beautiful, young wife decided to make a possible suggestion regarding a Christian baptism, was to kill her. Now, he didn’t do it then and there -- no, my father had tact. He’s where I learned mine from. 

No, he laughed it off. We were in polite company. But the next evening, when that pretty wife and new mother of mine was on her way home from the grocer’s, my father took it upon himself to give her a ride instead. 

He took her all the way out to the coast where he knew of a cave. Well, more like one of his work stations, really. Always told us, as kids, he was going to the beach -- we’d ask if he could come, and he told us not unless we wanted to be fed to rats. Come to find out, it’s where he’d go when he was paid a shit ton of scratch to make someone die suffering. 

This is the worst idea.

The worst.

He’s probably just going to lie about it anyways.

She’s out of options, though.