and the earth did shake with that thunder

❝ — He looks like anybody you see on the street. But when he grins, birds fall dead off telephone lines. ❞

independent, highly selective randall flagg, aka the man in black, from the stephen king multiverse. CROSSOVER AND OC FRIENDLY. MAY CONTAIN NSFW + GORE. ABOUT — MEMES ( always accepting ) — STARTER CALL follows from @phaseshiftings. written by max.

bottled emotions

tell them. tell them right now. you keep your emotions bottled up and it is doing absolutely no one a favor including you. you're the type of person that incorporates your feelings into art because you have no idea how to say it out loud. you fear rejection and the fact that you might not be good enough. i'm sensing recent heartbreak or unrequited love. if it's for you, it will come back to you. you're enough, i swear.

tagged by: @stingslikeabee

"Deliberately? Who said I was being deliberate besides yourself?" Oh but his own smile formed. He couldn't help it. "Besides, are you sure I'm protecting my own interests? Perhaps I'm merely doing this for the fun of it. After all you are getting quite worked up. Why not ask Joseph for a massage?" Another hum, one that lasted a little longer this time. "Besides, why not play a few games? This is probably the most fun you've had in such a long time." Downing the rest of the wine the glass was dismissed, now messing around with the papers on the desk. And then he was back to reappearing in front of Randall. Trying to keep down the smile as he patted the others cheek. "Cheer up, not the end of the world yet is it?"

He hates this, hates that smile—and, more than anything, hates that it all makes him feel a glimmer of unease.

Flagg stands stock-still, hardly breathing as the apparition touches him, fighting the urge to react and knowing it would be fruitless anyway. Even still, he can't suppress a shudder.

"You're prolonging the inevitable," he says finally, whisper-soft. "Everything has to die eventually. And people—that's all they're good for." For once, he is absolutely serious, and it's clear as day: this is the man behind the smiles; the laughter; the cheerful façade. Undisguised hatred brims in his eyes. Not just for the Voice, but for everything. Everyone.

"A shame you don't put as much into your insults as you do your liquor, but I suppose you had to choose between which kind of cheap shots you were taking tonight." Gemina rested her chin down into the palm of her hand, long fingers tapping against her cheek with a blatantly bored look on her face. Usually, the bar was busier this time of night; more company to have, and more food to choose from, but it would be her luck that she'd be going home with neither. At least this fellow was entertaining for the time being. "-And I assure you, I could easily last more than a round. What, three or four rounds with you is..." She waved her fingers in front of her while humming quietly. "Nine minutes? Wouldn't be the most disappointing sub-fifteen minutes of my life, I suppose. Of course, I wouldn't want to proposition you, not when its so clear that you prefer the working-class variety."

Rather than taking offense, Flagg seems to delight in Gemina's response—playfully recoiling and placing a hand over his heart as if she'd shot him with an imaginary arrow. "What a sharp tongue you have! You wound me. I wonder how sharp your teeth are in comparison." He chuckles.

"No... I just don't have the heart to insult a woman so clearly down on her luck." Now his expression shifts into mock sympathy—an attempt to get a rise out of her, no doubt. After all, he doesn't really care whether or not she allows him into her bed (though that would be a bonus); what matters is that he's stirring up trouble, one way or another.

Sorry, I prefer to only eat orga-neck! 🦇🦇🦇🦇

The gestures that followed his apex were surprisingly... Gentle. Not that Melissa was unused to the traveler being someone different with her: by all accounts and whispers she had heard thus far, Randall Flagg was nothing short of a nightmare manifesting in flesh and bones; it should make her blood cold and her heart thrum desperately in a fight for survival. And yet - it didn't; and even before she had been granted leave to meet Walter, the woman still felt safe in his arms. The hands that trailed over skin were nothing but sweet, his lips were singing praise only. The brunette basked in that glow, in that returned affection and suddenly, among the kissing and the touching (not novel, but always welcome), she heard the words. 'I love you.' Not in her mind, but spoken aloud; and even if they weren't facing one another, Walter definitely could sense the effect that his confession and subsequent pleas had on Melissa. The woman's hands gripped at him, harder; her breathing got shorter and her face flushed with the blood that felt hotter under the skin. The barmaid's honeyed gaze sought his with an edge of surprise, delight and almost incredulity - Melissa had never dared to hope for reciprocity. Theirs was a relationship more akin to a devout follower and her god; and deities did not usually love those worshipping at their altar back. Nevertheless, Melissa was completely overwhelmed by the notion that it had happened somehow - verbalized in a voice that sounded like the one she had always known, even if his face was different. But this man - Walter - was just another side to the creature she had been blindly following. And more than that: he was the original side of the human, before he was transformed (or cursed) into the mysterious traveler that had found her little bar at the edge of a southern city. "Yes," her permission was spoken in verbal language, and Melissa maneuvered just to be within a good angle to finally look at his face as if blessed by utmost divinity. Peering up at his blue eyes, the woman combed his hair out of the way in a similar fashion to how he had done it, and kissed him almost with reverence - for the acknowledgement of the feeling, even if his taste lingered on her tongue and their encounter was more sinful than holy. Pulling apart, the woman shook her shoulders and fumbled with the fabric of the robe that had been on her for a moment, freeing herself of the only piece of clothing on her. Melissa had previously opened his while servicing Walter, but had paid no mind to her own. Now, the barmaid shamelessly discarded that barrier as one offered a heart on a platter, a body without armor and a mind that was his to read and communicate with. "I'm yours, Walter - body, heart and soul."

"Oh, I know," he murmurs, tilting her head up so that their mouths meet again. The kiss is slow and searing, equal parts passion and possessiveness. There's the nip of sharp teeth against her lower lip and then—with the inhuman speed and strength she's likely familiar with by now—he pulls away and flips her flat onto her back like she hardly weighs anything at all.

"I think I ought to return the favor," Walter says lowly, close to her ear, before moving down her body. His hands travel over every inch of her within reach, as if commiting it all to memory (perhaps he is). His mouth does much of the same, alternating between soft, almost reverential kisses and playful bites that will surely leave a mark later.

He knew this place had weathered out worse storms. He knew it but he still… There was so much fear! What if lightning struck this place directly! This place would light on fire and he'd have nowhere to go then. The world out there was frightening. So many creatures that were so aggressive that wanted him dead as soon as they saw him… But he looked up at the other man. That offer was so enticing… But everyone knew magic wasn't real. What could Randall even be talking about? Surely he was just making things up! It only took a few moments to decide however (mostly because of another lightning strike. Seriously, how dangerous were these storms?!) "Okay… Sure. Father will never know a thing about this, nor anyone. I'm very good with my secrets. Pinky promise!" He wasn't supposed to be that childish. Seriously he was too old for that now. But he held up the little pinky anyway, although the stiffness in his posture and the continual glancing out one of the nearby windows betrayed his fear of the storm still despite what Randall was trying.

"Attaboy." He grins, wrapping his own pinky around Ethan's and completing the promise. Then, noticing the boy's continued discomfort, he turns his head to follow Ethan's gaze.

The windows. The damned storm. One step at a time, then.

Flagg schools his expression into one of concern—a fascimile, for sure, but the boy wouldn't know any different—before looking at Ethan again. He places his hands on the boy's shoulders now. Comforting. Inviting.

Had anybody ever really shown Ethan this kind of concern? Perhaps Joseph—but not as much as Ethan would like, clearly. He'd seen the boy around before, but in every glimpse Flagg had caught of him he'd seemed unhappy. Unhappiness that is certainly being taken advantage of, now.

Honestly I could include a few more in certain verses but it's amazing she gets this far naturally haha

blank under cut:

Frankly, Flagg's polite tone and overall pleasant manners caught the queen off-guard - and made Melissa terribly uneasy. The monarch had just teased the man in relation to the festivities, done solely to appease and appeal to his ego and as a part of their secret deal which resulted in her rescue from the kingdom's rogue outlaws. If these words came from anyone else in a similar situation, the woman would just consider them to be rooted in sincere gratitude. With Randall Flagg, however, that was not a possibility. "No clever retorts? No provocations?" the woman's eyebrows, previously raised in a reaction to his gentlemanly behavior, returned to their regular position. The queen's arms were crossed over her chest and her stare over the sorcerer grew harder, evidently of the suspicious kind. Melissa knew all too well the poisonous snake that rounded her, day after day. "Well, now you have just confirmed my concerns in relation to your intent of shifting this night into something perverse for Delain. I will not let you ruin this, Flagg - for once, I will be watching you," the queen smiled at long last, bowing her head to him by means of a goodbye for now, but only because the guests would be arriving soon. Worried faces and muttering would not serve her objectives - they need to present an unified front even if Melissa wanted to strangle the advisor. The queen left the sorcerer alone for the beginning of the ball - there were people to meet and thank for their presence, orders to issue to servants of the palace, gentle recommendations for the orchestra in terms of music and so on. Melissa was clearly working - not by holding court but doing something else instead, all the while keeping the man in her sights. As soon as he attempted to escape to one of the many balconies, Melissa trailed after him - but both were interrupted by a senior member of the staff, the man running up to them with an apology and a deep bow to inquire about something that the queen had forgotten about: "Your Majesty," a pause, then the man looked at Flagg, "My Lord. I was sent to fetch you both for the inaugural dance."

He merely watches, betraying little reaction as the queen tries again—just as fruitless of an attempt as the first time—to provoke something out of him. "May you have a pleasant evening, my lady," Flagg calls to her receding form, the ghost of a smile on his lips. You think I'm a one-trick pony, do you?

He's almost offended at the thought of being underestimated in such a way. But just as he could be blatantly meddling and troublesome, so too could he be watchful... something Melissa would likely come to learn. He'd not become a legendary liar and cozener for nothing.

The affairs of the night pass, more or less, as expected. His people, scattered throughout the ballroom and mingling with the other attendees, are good at keeping discreet while they whisper poison into the ears of barony lords and mere noblemen alike.

Flagg had put their families on the line, after all, so they'd better do a damn good job. For their own sakes.

It's only when he's intercepted on his way to one of the balconies that he realizes he'd forgotten the most vital part of the evening while ensuring his plans are going smoothly. Flagg grits his teeth while his back is turned, then fixes his face into a polite smile as he turns to the queen and the member of staff (who, in his momentary fury at being interrupted, Flagg had instantly marked as one of the first heads that should decorate the castle on a spike once the rebellion was properly underway).

"Ah. Of course. I'd nearly forgotten."

A short bow to the queen, fist to forehead, then—once he's straightened up—he holds an arm out for Melissa to take.

"OH GOD-" Came a panicked yell at suddenly hearing the boards creak like that. "O-Oh it's you!.. I wasn't- I'm not scared... I'm old enough to take care of myself I don't need help to-" He got cut off by another strike, the wide eyes stared out the window at the storm. He was scrambling to get up now and hide behind the other man from the storm. His hands clung hard to the fabric. "No… Father doesn't know I'm here… He only knows I left not me being here… Thanks for… Finding me." He definitely couldn't help a jump and a squirm deeper into the fabric when another struck. These storms… Clearly terrifying for a child like him.

"It's all right," he soothes, placing a hand on Ethan's shoulder. "Nothing to be afraid of. This place has weathered more storms than this."

Ordinarily, he'd have little patience for children and their silly fears. But Ethan happens to be conducive to his plans, and he'd very much like to see Joseph's face if he could manage to eventually win the boy over.

That, and there's a certain feeling of kinship with the boy that he can't shake; doesn't want to think too hard about.

I'm going to take everything from you, false prophet. Flagg stifles a grin at the thought. Everything. You'll see.

Another glance down at Ethan. "Would a distraction help? Now, I've learned quite a few magic tricks in my day that I could show you. Real magic, Ethan. But..." Now his expression shifts into something conspiratorial. Flagg leans down, hands on his knees, until he's at eye level with the boy.