Discover Top Posts Tagged with #01.26.17

2016-17 Goals Game 51/82 (vs Winnipeg Jets)

Goal 1: Keith (Powerplay) Goal 2: Schmaltz Goal 3: Kero

#Chicago Blackhawks #vs Winnipeg Jets #01.26.17 #2016-17 Goals #Duncan Keith #Nick Schmaltz #Tanner Kero #powerplay goal #my gifs

Txt: Magda ⇢ Joshua

Magda: Hey Oz

Magda: Naomi's doing okay - I tried to do what you asked - what happened there?

Magda: Tell me you're okay?

#txt #txt: josh #int: josh #01.26.17 #cause she woulda but i was biz

AJ Styles relives his first WWE.com interview

#wwe #wweedit #aj styles #royal rumble #01.24.16 #01.26.17 #*

GTFO

Location: Zombie Escape Room Date: January 26th, 2017 Availability: @thisfracturedsoul

Magda didn’t think it could get worse than when Satan kidnapped her—and, if she was being brutally honest with herself, maybe she didn’t think this was worse—but watching him fuck with Naomi was difficult to watch. She didn’t deserve that; Magda liked Naomi and Satan didn’t even know her. She just had the horrible misfortune of being Satan’s “teammate.” Magda wondered if Satan ever had a teammate in his life—probably Baal would be the closest thing—she thought, and realized the irony in that. Baal was not a teammate to anyone but himself, really, from what Magda had recovered of her time in the Garden during her life as Eve. Magda, at least, had inadvertently drawn Satan’s ire by being the Prophet with something he needed. Naomi? She was just a girl in the wrong place at the wrong time and that wasn’t her fault. Magda couldn’t just watch. Shifting where she stood, even the zombie actor petrified, Satan channeled a voice that wasn’t his own. Whoever it was, it wasn’t good for Naomi, that was clear.

Maybe it was the switching voices that, in a weird way, snapped Magda out of her state of terror. She really could barely stand to look at Satan, her whole skin crawling with revulsion and memories, having not seen him since that day in October. So much had changed from his pool party where he might have been a cool guy, but that was clearly not the truth of the matter. He was a beast. When Satan cracked Naomi across the face, intent on her like a dog hunting, Magda steeled herself: she didn’t dare breathe in, didn’t dare tense too hard or risk drawing any sort of attention to herself. Poised like a spring, she did the only thing she could think of to break up the moment: she rushed at Satan with her full force, like how she’d imagine a linebacker might but she’d never played football, and she punched Satan in the dick. After, she could barely realize that she’d done it, but it was enough of a break for the silence to halt and chaos to ensure. She trusted Joshua to handle it, knew he’d be alright—

—And, if she was being completely honest with herself, she couldn’t stand to be anywhere near Satan’s line of fire again. She grabbed Naomi by the hand and said, “Come on, girl, let’s get the fuck out of here!” and rushed for the door, hoping Naomi would follow. The redhead felt better when clean, un-warehoused air hit her face and the breeze reminded her she was alive, feeling, and out of his sight. There was no way she was getting back to the headquarters on the same damn bus she rode in on with him, so she called an uber from her phone—bless GPS tracking—and if they could make it eight minutes, they’d be out of there soon. Hopefully heading for one of their apartments to unravel; Magda would prefer hers, but honestly, she knew the benefit of being in one’s own space after being attacked by Satan. “Where do you live?” she asked, hoping to inform the driver so they could get out as quickly as humanly possible.

#int: naomi #rep: naomi #scene: gtfo #01.26.17

Panic Room

Location: Zombie Outbreak Room Date: January 26th, 2017 Availability: @fighty-martyr

Magda loved Escape Rooms—usually. When a bunch of her friends agreed to to one, she was very stoked to join up... that was before the staff randomly sorted the en masse arrival into three separate rooms, meaning some people she’d meant to hang with wound up in other destinations. That, she could have gotten over. What she couldn’t abide was sitting on a screeching trash heap of a bus breathing the same air as Satan. Again. The plastic seat was uncomfortable beneath her as her palms sweated; the bag on her head wasn’t helping her to keep her calm. Not being able to see, knowing he was also there, made her skin crawl and her breath quicken. Every cell of her being was itching for a flight response, eking ever closer to a panic attack. Magda tried to steady her breathing, knowing hyperventillating would help no one, hoping Satan wouldn’t be, well, Satan—wouldn’t attack anyone in confined quarters.

This, she hoped from the man who sliced his tongue for the camera in early October; from the man who’d dragged her out of her place of work by her hair; and who knew what else. Her hopes were slim and doubtful, her shaking hard to control.

Get a grip, she told herself. She had to—had to. These past few months she’d been trying to work on her new agoraphobia, her inability to go out, talk to strangers—the kinds of things she loved doing, the kind of things that made her who she was. Magda couldn’t let him take that progress. She just wasn’t ready yet to face him. It didn’t seem she’d have much choice, though, as the bus came to a stop after all the jostling, and the zipties binding her hands were cut. Rubbing her wrists and removing the bag from her head, Magda looked around, almost deliberately looking anywhere but Satan, aiming to block him out as much as possible. She needed fun in her life. Needed normalcy. The lights flickered in the bus as if they were damaged, but it made it jarring to see, so she stepped out into the coming darkness as soon as she could.

It only got darker from there; they went inside, but there wasn’t too much to take in: flashlights—she could pair up with someone else later for that—a lot of innocuous crates, and shelves full of boxes and other minutia. There were three chains on the wall: two were empty and another had a ‘dead’ man attached to it, an actor probably with his body below while the plastic showcased his entrails. Obviously, something would be in his stomach, so as soon as the clock started, that’s where Magda went. Something to focus on. She nearly ran to him, maybe he would say something with a dying gasp—he didn’t—so she plunged her hand into his stomach, assuming it would feel like touching more plastic. It wasn’t: it was instead creepily moist, which made her gag. It was a good effect, but in the end she won out and produced a key.

Momentarily, she sat back on her haunches, looking around the room for whomever had picked up a light source—maybe someone could help her find what the key went to. “I found a key!” she announced to anyone who had a light and needed a partner. Anyone but Satan, anyway.