#I have messy ashy-red-brown hair (that is not how I got my name)

[unhingedselfships]

In The Tags/Reblog Game

Describe yourself in the most EBONY DARK'NESS DEMENTIA RAVEN WAY My Immortal manner you can.

Feel free to stick as close to the original description format, or go completely off the rails.

[satan-ruler-of-hells]

A Million Little Things

Who’s ready for the longest thing I've ever posted? So most of the time when you write, you have a character in mind first right? Because that makes sense. My dumbass however came up with this whole thing without a single name or descriptor and it didn't have one before 5 minutes ago. So if the characterization is off that would be why but I hope you all enjoy nonetheless!

A HUGE thank you to @thisnoodlewritesao3 and @pies-writes-and-more for all of their help and being patient while I freaked out over who to put in XD I love you guys.

"Why are you with him?"

 If you had even a penny for every time someone asked you that question you could've afforded the tuition of Shiratorizawa single handedly. 

"He's an asshole" or your personal favorite, "He's just using you to pass the time."

Usually you just let it roll off your shoulders, sticks and stones you know? But today you'd just have had a rough day. Between the frustration of not grasping a concept you were learning in class , and spilling the entirety of your bag out in the hall and your water bottle exploding you'd just about reached your limit.  Naturally that meant you had to deal with someone’s uninvited options on your relationship.

 "All you are ever going to be to him is a pass time, he's never going to actually love you.  Why would he?" 

The girl's face looks all too innocent except for the slight smirk playing at her lips. It's like she could see right through you and could see your deepest insecurity but you'd be damned letting her know that she got to you.

 "Well maybe you're right but at least he actually gives me the time of day."

 You walked away before you could hear her response and as soon as you walked out the door, the cool, fresh air hitting your face, the tears started slipping. You knew you were supposed to stop by the gym before walking home but you couldn't let Semi see you like this. Instead you walked home and immediately crashed into bed taking a nap hoping it would ease the knot in your stomach and the tightness in your chest. 

You woke up feeling very warm and a hand playing with your hair. 

Looking up through your eyelashes you saw your boyfriend idly scrolling in his phone. He must've sensed your eyes on him because he started speaking,

 "You were supposed to stop by and see me before coming home."

 It wasn't phrased like a question but you knew Semi well enough to know that he wanted an explanation.  You opened your mouth to respond but nothing would come out. How were you supposed to explain that you were scared to talk to him? Tell him what had been said for fear that maybe it was true. You'd always known Semi Eita was too good for you.  He was beautiful, talented, funny and he made you feel invincible. You had nothing to offer him except your love. But you knew all too well that it wasn't always enough. 

"Just wasn't feeling well. Didn't want to worry you that's all."

 His brown eyes pierced yours.

 "Nice try when your mom let me in she told me you were crying when you came home. What happened today?" 

You sat up looking away from him.

"Baby talk to me," you heard him move behind you, " I can't make it better if I don't know what's wrong." His unusually gentle voice had you falling apart almost immediately, spilling everything that had happened throughout the day ending with what the girl said to you.  Pulling your knees to your chest you sobbed, Semi grabbed you, pulling you to sit in his lap so he could hold you.  He didn't say a word, just letting you get out all the emotions you'd bottled up for so long rubbing soothing circles into your back, head resting on yours, occasionally pressing a gentle kiss into your hair. You stayed like that until, eventually you ran out of tears. 

"You hate mornings, mostly because you can’t sleep at night so you never feel ready for them. You don’t eat breakfasts because you say it’s nauseating eating that early in the morning. You hate wearing your hair up but can’t concentrate when it’s down so you always end up pulling it into a messy ponytail. You can’t help singing in the car to yourself even when you think no one can hear you and your favorite time of day is when the sky is a million different colors at sunset. You worry so much about everyone else but the second someone worries about you it’s completely unacceptable. There’s probably a million more little things you think no one notices because you don’t feel worthy of being noticed but I do. Do you want to know why?”

 He turned you around so your eyes met his, cupping your face in his hands.

 “Because I love you and only you. This isn’t exactly how I planned on telling you but it’s the truth. You’re everything I could’ve ever wanted and never knew I needed. Being with you and seeing how compassionate and caring you are makes me want to be the best version of myself, because then, maybe, I'll be at least half way to deserving you. Baby you are the only one I see, my first thought when I wake up and the last one before I fall asleep. Nothing and no one could ever change that, least of all petty bitches who wear way too much make up and smell like a perfume factory exploded on them.”

 You both shared a small laugh at the last part and you sniffled as he wiped away the last traces of tears from your cheeks. “There’s my princess.” Semi smiled and kissed your forehead, cheeks, and nose. You wrapped your arms around his neck and he pulled you into a sweet, gentle kiss. 

“I love you too by the way.”

 A gentle smile playing on your lips, the words feeling as natural as breathing. Running your fingers through his hair, you rested your head on his shoulders, content to soak in his presence and this moment  though messy, was perfect. You knew in this moment what it was like to be truly seen and to be loved without ever realizing it.

 “Thank you for coming and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you everything earlier. I didn’t realize how much everything was actually bothering me.” 

Semi's arms wrapped around you tighter and he pressed a kiss to your head. “I always want you to tell me when these things happen, when anything happens regardless if it’s bothering you at the moment or not. Let me be there for you, if you can let me rant about volleyball for forever then I think I can handle hearing about your day.” You could practically see his eyes rolling without ever lifting your head and you chuckled softly. 

“Fair enough.” He pulls away from you for a moment, just looking at you.  

You knew you looked like a wreck, because even though the tears had stopped, your eyes were no doubt red and puffy and your hair a mess from your nap. But seeing the way Semi looked at you? It’s like he was seeing something ethereal, the intensity of it made your cheeks warm and you squirmed in his lap.

 You looked away, unable to keep his gaze but his hand gently grabbed your chin bringing it back and he kissed you. You laced your fingers in his ashy blonde hair, breathless, you pulled away and the grin on his face was brighter than any sun and his eyes sparkling bright enough to put whole galaxies to shame. 

The next time someone asked why you were with him? Well simple, you were helplessly in love with him. But the best part was that he felt the same. It wasn’t going to be easy, nothing that’s worth it ever was. However by some miracle the universe gave you a man that looked at you like you’d single handedly hung the stars in the sky, you’d be damned if you’d throw that away.

[martelldoran]

Fandom: MCU Pairing: Bucky x his fucking dumb coffee order. No, really... Okay, it’s Steve x Bucky if you squint real hard Rating: T Words: 1379 Prompt: Bucky is an uncaffeinated grump in the morning with a killer sweet tooth. Baristas everywhere hate him. For: @kalee60​ who was masquerading as a cheeky anon as part of my follower celebration!

Before Miles Morales took his first morning shift at the Dancing Monkey café, Gwen Stacey had pulled him aside with a wicked glint in her eye and told him to watch out for "The Coffee Cryptid". Her words, not his. 

"They don’t come in every day, but if they do, you'll know them when you see them," she'd said. Laughter rolled loose around her face as she tried, but failed, to school her features into something neutral and impassive.

When he pressed her for more information, she just shook her head, ashy blonde hair falling into her eyes, and refused to say anything more. He'd contemplated begging, because the mystery was killing him, but decided against it. They didn't know each other that well and he was really trying to seem cool enough that maybe she'd consider hanging out with him outside of work sometime.

But anyway, back to the point at hand.

It had just gone 7am, the café was opening for its first patrons of the day, Steve, Miles's manager, was through the back baking off pastries, and Miles was manning the till point feeling pretty confident that he could handle just about anything or anyone that came through the front door. 

At 7:05, a fox-faced redhead in a sharp black suit and even sharper heels glided through the door and ordered a medium Americano with an extra shot and six brown sugars before poking her head around the kitchen door to say hello to Steve.  As orders went, it wasn't that unusual. Miles made it with a bright smile and watched as she settled in a corner booth, bright eyes fixed on the door. So far, so good.

At 7:12, a bedraggled, blonde man with a bruise on his jaw slumped in. He gave the fox-faced woman a furtive wave and ordered three large filter coffees which he promptly poured straight into a purple thermos, which, okay, that was a little strange but Miles wasn't here to judge. It definitely wasn't 'Coffee Cryptid' levels of strange anyway. Thermos shuffled over to Fox-face, ducked to give her a kiss on the cheek, and sat down next to her. 

Miles served six more people, all of whom had very simple and perfectly normal orders. The most complex thing he had to do was add some pumpkin spice syrup and some vanilla syrup to a cappuccino and really, you could train a monkey to do that. He didn't like to think too deeply about the name of the cafe and what that said about its staff. Steve was a nice guy, maybe branding just wasn't his thing.

At 7:42, however, a broad shouldered man with a messy ponytail and a disgruntled look on his face ducked through the door and marched up to the counter. He had his hands stuffed deep in his pockets and there was a blue shadow of stubble across his chin. He fixed Miles with a dead-eyed stare. 

It chilled him, but Miles Morales was nothing if not determined, so he hitched his best customer facing smile onto his face and dived right on in.

"Hi there! Welcome to The Dancing Monkey. What can I get for you today?" He smiled a little brighter and looked at the man expectantly. 

There was a long, drawn out pause, so drawn out that Miles felt his smile falter. Shifting from foot to foot, he gave the man an encouraging look. 

"I'd like a large iced caramel latte-"

"Okay great, I can get that-"

"With six extra shots and 30 pumps of syrup." 

The order hung in the air between them. Miles was pretty sure his mouth was hanging open but he couldn't shut it. His brain had completely short circuited. The red ring of doom. The blue screen of death. Was there any coming back from this? 

"I'm-I'm sorry, sir, but you want. . ."

"A large, iced vanilla latte," the man repeated, deadpan and, apparently, deadly serious, "with six extra shots of coffee and 30 pumps of syrup."

Miles dithered. His customer service smile had slid right off his face and he was grimacing, trying vainly to tally up the cost of this in his head. 

"Sir, the cost-"

"Is not important," the dead-eyed being cut in. 

Well, thought Miles, he seemed very sure of himself. Who was this man? If that's what he even was. Miles was beginning to have his doubts. He was some sugar-fuelled, caffeine addicted terror here to make Miles' life hell. Grimacing, he stared at the till. He had no idea how to put it through. Where was he supposed to even begin? Across the cafe, he could feel Fox-face and Thermos staring at him. He was almost certain that the pretty redhead was laughing at him as she leaned across her seat to whisper something in Thermos’ ear. 

“Is there a problem?” asked the grey-eyed demon before him, cocking an eyebrows and popping his hip. 

A short queue had started to form behind him. 

Shit.

“No, of course not. Let me ring this up for you.” And with a barely suppressed wince, that’s just what he did. Except, the universe being the universe, it wasn’t quite as simple as that. The total price kept ticking up and up and up. Seemingly without end. But then it hit $25 and pop up flashed up on the screen. With a sinking feeling, Miles glanced at the man, then back to the till, then back to the man again. He swallowed, mouth dry. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t process this.”

A dark, deeply uncaffeinated look passed across the eldritch terror’s face. Did he have tentacles? Were tentacles about to descend from underneath his jacket to give him a shake or would he just unhinge his jaw to devour him whole right where he stood? The jury was still out. It could go either way.

Miles offered him an apologetic smile.

“You must be new,” the man sighed, rubbing his eyes with his left hand. A flash of silver caught under the lights. “Go and get Steve, would you.”

But there was no need. Steve was already pushing through the swinging kitchen doors, wiping his hands on a dishtowel.

“I thought I heard your dulcet tones. Are you terrorising my staff again?” he asked, amused. Steve laid one huge hand on Miles’ shoulder and smiled down at him. “You go sort his abomination. I’ll put it through.”

Oh, he got it now. This was Bucky. Bucky as in Steve’s husband. Right, well, in that case. Ducking his head, Miles set to work in a daze. 

As he was pumping the obscene amount of vanilla syrup into a take away cup, he heard Steve mutter, “You need to learn to be nice to people.”

“I am nice,” Bucky whined. “After coffee.”

In truth, he lost count of how many pumps he was supposed to put in and there may have actually been seven, and not six, shots in the end but Miles watched as a serene look passed across Bucky’s face and he smiled. No, he beamed in Miles’ direction and blew a kiss at Steve before waltzing right out the door. 

What had just happened? Was this a fever dream? Was he being hazed? Miles twisted his apron in his hands, he was sticky with syrup and he’d flashed hot.

“God, I love that man - disgusting coffee habits aside,” sighed Steve, gazing wistfully out the door. Shaking himself from whatever rose tinted musing he was having, he clapped Miles on the shoulder, the sheer good natured force of it rattling his teeth. “You okay with everything here, bud?”

Miles nodded and he went back to serving customers, because what else was he to do? He was still trying to make sense of the bizarre turn his morning had taken.

At 8:04, Fox-face and Thermos stood to leave, but before they did, the redhead slid $20 into the tip jar with a wink.

“You did good, kid. He rattles everyone the first time round. Give it time,” she called, waggling her fingers, and disappearing into the morning crowds. 

Gwen Stacey, Miles decided, head bent over the coffee machine, owed him one. She owed him one big time and he wasn’t about to let her forget it anytime soon.

[rxsie-the-demon]

Brooklyn Baby | JJ Maybank

SERIES MASTERLIST | chapter one 

chapter summary: Nikki goes out of her comfort zone and bonds with Kie, while still remaining curious about what happened last summer. At a party, Topper gets a little too touchy, and Nikki (surprisingly) befriends Rafe and Wheezie.

warnings: drinking, smoking, HARD DRUGS, swearing (oops), HARRASSMENT (topper gets VERY touchy) so if that makes u uncomfy just skim over that, and a conversation about addiction/rehab and therapy

word count: 5029

Chapter 2: Cinnamon Girl

If I had to choose, B Days would be my least favorite. On B days, I have no classes with anyone I know, except English with Kelce at the end of the day.

And no one to sit with at lunch.

On my second day of school, when I realized I had no one to sit with, I ate in the library. You’re allowed to, so long as you clean up after yourself and stuff.

Walking into the huge cafeteria, with clean white titles and those long foldable school tables, I decided to do the same thing today; just sit in the library by myself, and maybe read or shop online, The tall walls of the cafeteria were decorated with motivational quotes and the school’s athletic accomplishments.

But when I was walking towards the lunch line, I saw Kiara sitting by herself out of the corner of my eye, head down on the table. Which made me feel really, really sad for her.

I stood in line quietly, AirPods in my ears, scrolling through Instagram when I found Kiara’s page. I didn’t want to seem like a stalker, but my curiosity got the best of me and I clicked on it.

Her page reminded me of this social activist that I follow that of a social activist I follow, the difference being that Kiara’s page was mostly environment-focused, with the occasional selfie and pics of her friends.

Clicking on one of her them, a selfie with her and her four friends on a boat during sunset, I saw a slightly sunburned brunet with his arm wrapped around one of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever seen. She’s probably a TikToker, I thought. Sunburn had a dark blue bandana wrapped around his neck and had his shirt unbuttoned. Major surfer boy vibes. 

Next to Tiktok, was Kiara, with bright eyes and a bright smile. Completely different from the girl who sits behind me in APUSH. The boy next to Kiara had dark skin and curly hair. He was wearing a hat, like Sunburn and the other boy next to him. And judging from the way his arm was around her waist, Hat totally had a thing for Kiara.

But the last boy, holy shit, if I thought Sunburn was cute, Hot Blonde Boy was another level. He was the one taking the picture, with one arm stretched out to hold the phone and the other one, covered shiny rings, was posing with, like, the rock hand sign? I think that’s what it’s called: with his index and pink fingers up, and the rest like they’d be balled in a fist. His messy blonde hair was being held together by a red snapback, and he was shirtless except for his shark tooth necklace. His tan went well with his bright, energetic eyes and big smile but...oh my gosh. His hands. They were big, with long fingers, and his arms were a little veiny and-

I put my phone away. Nuh-uh, I’m not going to be thirsting over a random guy’s hands, especially when that guy could literally be dead, or worse, the crazy dude who tried to shoot Topper.

Not that I don’t understand why someone would want to shoot Topper.

I grabbed my tray, putting a Chicken Caesar salad bowl (yum), a bowl of grapes (double yum), and a water bottle onto my tray. Remembering that Kiara didn’t have any food with her, I grabbed a hamburger, too.

I paid for my food and walked towards the utensil holder, debating whether or not I should just go to the library or sit with Kiara. I mean, I should sit with her, she’s by herself and is going through a hard time, but then again, I hardly know her. Besides exchanging numbers with her yesterday and not even texting her, I never interacted with the girl. She’ll probably think I’m just talking to her to get tea for Topper and Scarlet.

But then again, I already bought her a hamburger.

I walked over to her table. She was wearing a similar outfit as she was yesterday, the only difference being she was wearing light blue jeans. So, yay? A bit of color?

I sat down across from her and put my tray down quietly, not wanting to scare her. “Hey.”

Her head shot up immediately. Her soft brown eyes looked so tired, her light brown skin looking ashy and dull. Her dark brown hair, with it’s nice, defined beach wave curls, was tied back in a bun in her hood. When she saw who it was, her face softened. “Oh, hi.”

“I hope it’s ok I’m sitting with you, I don’t know anyone else in this lunch and I thought it’d be good to discuss our project.” I waved my hands around a bit before opening the plastic lid of my salad.

She nodded, eyeing my food for a second.

My heart hurt. Of course, she has the money to buy food, that’s not the issue. She probably hasn’t been eating out of grief.

“So I’m Indian, duh,” I waved my hand in front of my face and she smiled softly, “and I thought this was a chicken burger, but it’s beef. And I can’t eat beef, because, ya know, Hindus don’t eat beef. So, like, could you do me a solid and eat this for me? I hate wasting food and I’d feel awful if I threw it out.” I slid the burger towards her.

She nodded, pulling it towards her and taking a small bite.

I poured my croutons into my salad and started quietly eating when I heard Kiara mumble, “Thank you.”

I glanced up at her for a second, only to look back down. “Don’t thank me. I bought that on accident.”

“I saw you staring at me in line. And...I haven’t eaten in the past two days.”

I looked back at Kiara, who was looking everywhere but me. I decided to just ask.

“It’s because of what happened to your friends, right? You’re mourning?”

She nodded, still not looking at me.

“I understand. Grief isn’t something that has, like, a definitive answer. You just gotta let it run its course,” I said, putting my hand in front of my mouth because I was chewing.

Kiara nodded again and took another bite, a bigger one this time. I mentally high-fived myself for getting her to eat. I didn’t think it’d work.

“So, what do you want to do for the project?” I asked.

Kiara shrugged. “We could do current events. Maybe something environment related?”

“Like, an advertisement? We make a video talking about pollution or something?”

“Yeah! Or maybe we could organize something and get a bunch of people to come together and, like, clean up the beach?”

“Or we could go out on boats and find trash in the ocean?”

“That too!” Kiara’s eyes were shining now, and she was smiling. Wide. Much like the girl whose Instagram I was stalking.

“Sweet. Ok, so, the environment is one thing, do we have any other ideas? Like, isn’t the Outer Banks also famous for shipwrecks or something? I heard The Royal Merchant sank here. Maybe we could do a project on that?”

Kiara stiffened up when I mentioned shipwrecks. Did I say something wrong? 

Shit. Her friends died at sea, how could I be so stupid?

“That’s...not a bad idea, actually. I happen to know a lot about The Royal Merchant. More than I want to know, actually,” She chuckled. She looked down at her hands, and then looked back up. “John B, my friend who died at sea over the summer, he and his dad were obsessed with finding it. We actually-,” she leaned closer to me. “We actually found it. But, uh, the gold isn’t there.”

My eyes went wide. I leaned forward, too. “Well, where is the gold then? Do you know?”

Kiara nodded. “In the Bahamas.”

“How the f- How did it get there, if the shipwreck happened here and no one knew where it was until you and your Pogue friends found it?”

She sighed. “Long story. I’ll tell you another day.”

“Wait-”

The lunch bell rang. I sighed as we stood up and grabbed our bags, walking towards the doors to leave for class. I really want to know how the gold ended up in the Bahamas.

“Well, thanks for lunch, Nikki!”

“Of course, Kiara, that’s what friends are for,” I smiled.

Kiara beamed. “Call me Kie.”

I was overjoyed. A friend. A real, actual friend. “Kie. Fantastic. Hey, Kie, do you know anyone named Rafe by any chance?”

Kie narrowed her eyes. “Yea, why?”

“Oh, nothing, I was just invited to his birthday party this Saturday.”

Kie rolled her eyes. “Be careful around him, ok? Talk to you later!”

“Uh, bye!”

************************************************

Yellow, or blue?

I held both dresses up to myself, looking in the mirror.

Saturday came, and it was time for Rafe’s party.

The party starts at 9 and was gonna last all night, but Topper wanted to take me out to eat, so at 7:30, I’m still deciding which dress to wear.

Both dresses are sundresses, short, flowy with shirred backs and knotted straps. They are literally the same dress, down to the little polka dots, just in different colors. I could wear either one, because I kept my makeup simple: concealer, nude eye shadow, mascara, and clear lip gloss.

I texted Kiara, asking her to choose a color, to which she responded yellow. We managed to get really close in just three days, which made me happy, because I felt that she was my only real friend at school, and, well, I was her only friend there.

I slipped the dress on and matched it with my white Birkenstocks. I went over to my dresser table (yes I have two mirrors in my room, sue me) and put on my white tassel fringe earrings. I kept my ‘Om’ necklace on.

I admired myself. My light brown skin looks good with the yellow and white, and my jet black hair, which I decided to not straighten, had slight waves, and reached my shoulders. I look like a rich, beach girl. A Kook, I suppose.

I grabbed my phone, taking a quick mirror selfie and snapping it to Topper, captioned ‘i’m readyyy’. He opened it immediately.

‘Damnn u look hot,’ he typed out. Ew.

‘aw ty,’ I typed back. ‘where r u?’

‘I’m omw. U have ur bag? The party’s on a yacht and there’ll be a pool.’

‘swim suit’s packed’

‘Fantastic. I’ll be there soon.’

I locked my phone, putting it into my purple and black NYU drawstring bag that also held my black bikini and a towel. I grabbed the bag hopped down the stairs.

Mallory and Krish, my sister-in-law and brother, were sitting on the couch, watching TV. 

“Hey losers. My friend’s gonna be here any minute to pick me up.”

Mallory turned to face me, smiling. “Aw, you look cute! Have fun, and be safe, ok?”

“If you’re gonna be coming in, like, super late,” Krish added, not taking his eyes off the TV, “try to be as quiet as possible. Diya is a really light sleeper.”

Diya, my 5-month-old niece, made baby sounds. I took a couple steps forward and saw she was spread out on the floor, in her fluffy pink blanket, chewing on her gloved hands. I waved at her.

“Don’t worry, if I wake her up, I’ll take care of her. I don’t plan on drinking or smoking or anything tonight. Well, maybe drinking, but that’s it.”

They laughed. “Ok, ok, just have fun,” Mal said.

I sat on the floor, playing with Diya, until 7:50, when the doorbell rang, revealing Topper, wearing a black button-down shirt that was rolled up to his elbows (bless), Air Force 1s, ripped jeans, and a Gucci belt.

He smiled. “Ready to go?”

I smiled back. “Yep.” I turned to face Krish and Mal. “Bye Mom, bye Dad!”

“Bye, hun!” Mallory called out. They smiled and Top, too, and waved.

I closed the door and left, and Topper grabbed my hand to lead me to the car. “Sorry, I’d have introduced you to my parents, but they were too busy, like, ogling at my baby sister,” I half lied.

Topper laughed, “No worries. I’ll have plenty of chances to meet them, I hope?”

I smiled. “Yep, I hope so too.”

A complete lie.

******************************************

Dinner with Topper was...interesting. Instead of taking me to some fancy restaurant or whatever, he took me to this cute little diner closer to the beach, but not close to The Cut, according to him. “There are a bunch of restaurants here in the Banks,” he had said. “But not a lot of people know about this one. That’s why it’s my favorite.” He winked, and I nearly vomited in my mouth.

The place was real old-timey, with the little booths and a jukebox. We had burgers and shared a plate of fries and a milkshake. And honestly? It would’ve been really romantic if I actually liked Topper like that.

Don’t get me wrong, Topper is hot. He’s sweet to me, like cotton candy sweet, and really affectionate. I love touchy boys (consensual, of course, or they get their shit rocked), but he’s always grabbing my hand and playing with my hair. Which would be fine, but I barely know him.

And ever since he admitted to drowning that John B kid, whatever potential feelings I had just...disappeared. That paired with his Holier-than-thou attitude and his blatant classism makes him everything I would hate in a person, let alone a potential boyfriend.

Besides, I know the real reason he’s flirting with me. The Kook King of High School needs a Queen, and with his ex gone, everyone wants me to step into that role. Any other time, I’d be happy to be That Girl. But something just feels wrong about this.

Lots of people have told me I remind them of Sarah, apparently because she, too, was a bit of a social activist and an environmental freak (no wonder her and Kie were friends) which just confirms the fact that I’m just a replacement.

But, besides Kie, I have no other friends at OBX High. I have no choice but to go with it.

Driving close to the dock, I could hear loud music playing from somewhere. Leaning forward, I saw the yachts, one of them in particular already pretty full of people and neon lights.

“Yeah, Rafe tends to go all out on parties,” Topper remarked, gesturing towards the boats as he parked. “But they’re always fun.”

I nodded, plastering on a smile. I grabbed his hand. “Fantastic. Lead the way.”

**********************************************

Ok, I have to hand it to OBX kids. They know how to get turnt.

At 9:30, the yacht left the dock and headed towards the sea. By 10, the party was in full form, with kids dancing, singing, swimming, smoking, drinking, everything!

It was a glorious mess.

Right now it’s 10:30, and I’d been dancing with Top when we decided to go get something to drink.

We went to the bar and I told Topper to just one of whatever he was drinking for me, so he got two Mai Tais. The bartender looked really worried, because, you know, more than half the kids at this party are underaged, so I slipped him a 50 for his troubles.

Top and I walked away, laughing at the bartender’s confused face. The familiar feeling of alcohol started to wash

We walked around and talked about life and the universe, and when we finished our drinks, we went to the deck.

I leaned onto the railing, staring into the ocean.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I asked softly. Growing up in Brooklyn Heights, I was never one for the ocean. I mean, sure, there were beaches an hour or two away from my old home that I visited often, but I was always a city girl. But this, this was something else entirely. The way the pale, white moonlight shined on the dark blue ocean, it was comforting, almost.

“Yeah,” Topper whispered back, wrapping his arm around my cold body, “really is beautiful.” I turned and saw him staring at me, smiling just a tiny bit. I shoved him lightly.

“You’re so corny,” I laughed.

“Maybe, but I made you smile, didn’t I?”

“...Shut up.”

We laughed, and he wrapped both arms around me and pulled me close to him. I stiffened a bit. Calm down, Nikki. It’s not that big a deal. But it is. I hate leading people on and I hated that he was always touching me.

I snuck my arms around his waist and rested my head on his chest. I’m short, I’ll admit it, standing at a towering five foot four with my two-inch platforms. Topper, on the other hand, is six feet tall, so my head tucked in just underneath his.

We stayed like that for a bit, swaying softly to some pop song. I felt myself relaxing, but I knew it wouldn’t last long.

“Hey, Nikki?”

“Yeah?”

“I, uh, I really like you.”

I pulled back and looked at Topper, who was fidgeting with my hair, and I narrowed my eyes “Wait, actually?”.

I hope he’s joking. He’s known me for less than a week! I mean, sure, you can have an instinct attraction to someone, yadda yadda, and maybe he wants to get to know me better, or whatever. Fine. 

Maybe it’s because I don’t like him that, but I find his declaration of feelings a little ridiculous.

“Yea, I do. I know we just met, but I really want to get to know you more. No, I’m not asking you out...unless you want to date, that is, but I feel insanely attracted to you.” He brushed his hair back nervously.

I could reject Topper, and risk my popularity and social standing. It could end up well, it could end up terribly. But if I say I like him back, which is a lie, I guarantee my place as the most popular girl in the Outer Banks.

I place my right hand on his shoulder and my left hand on his cheek. Standing on my toes, I gently guide his face to mine.

As I close my eyes, I imagine that I’m not about to kiss Topper, but Hot Blonde Boy from Kie’s Instagram.

His lips are soft, really soft, and Top’s hands drop to my waist to pull me closer to him.

After we pull away, he tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear and gently kisses my forehead.

“I like you too, Top,” I lied, “but I don’t want to rush into anything. We just met, and I’ve rushed into things before, and they never ended well, and-”

“Hey, hey, I get it,” he takes his hand to my chin and lifts it up so that I’m looking at him instead of the floor. “We can go as slow as you like, all right?”

I smile and nod. Top cups my face in his hands, and right before he can kiss me, I pull away and say, “Let’s go swimming! I’m going to go change, ok?”

He nods, ruffling his hair. I turn, pulling my phone out from my duffel bag and sending a text to Kie.

‘sos i just kissed topper.’

I walk into one of the changing rooms and change into my bikini. As I’m stuffing my dress into my bag, I see I get a text back.

‘dumbass!!’

**********************************************

Apparently, when I said I wanted to go swimming, it translated to yeeting me into the pool and then jumping in after, and then us splashing each other, non-stop. I mean, I guess that is what you do at a pool party, but I have no idea. Usually, I just stand around and eat food and, you know, don’t actually go into the water.

It was fun and all, yea, but I was uncomfortable the entire time because he couldn’t- no, wouldn’t- keep his hands off of me.

After it became too much, I jumped out of the pool and sat down on one of the chairs, wrapped my towel around myself and feeling really uncomfortable. Topper climbed out after me and sat down at my feet. “Did I, uh, do something?”

Yeah, you won’t stop touching me, bro.

“No, no, it’s fine, I just got a bit claustrophobic, that’s all.” I checked the time on my phone. I had an idea. “Hey, I’m going to go find Kelce and Scarlet, ok?”

“Uh, sure, do you want me to come with you?”

Not really, no. “Uh, if you want, but I was just gonna have, like, a girl’s talk with Scarlet?”

Topper nodded and smiled. I stood up, shoved my towel into my bag, slipped my shoes on, and ran off.

I felt a little weird just walking around in a bikini, especially since I don’t know anyone here, but remembering that everyone else was just as scantily clad as I was made me feel a little better.

I went to the highest deck, where the eldest kids (and by kids I mean like seniors and 20-year-olds), hoping to find Kelce or Scarlet there because I hadn’t seen them anywhere else. But I couldn’t see them on the deck.

I walked around a bit and then decided to text Scarlet.

‘where are you?’

I got a text back immediately. ‘Top deck, near the front. I’m with the little kid.’

Little kid? I walked towards the front side of the ship and indeed saw Scarlet, wearing a dark red colored bikini, sitting in a lounging chair with a girl who looks like she’s in middle school. The kid was pale, with freckles, dark hair, and glasses. She was the only one at this point not wearing a bathing suit.

Why is there a kid here?

I sat down in the seat next to Scarlet and gave her a hug. “Hey!” I slipped my bag off my shoulders and leaned forward to face the young girl. “Hi. What’s your name?”

She smiled. “I’m Wheezie. My brother’s the birthday boy.”

“Wheezie?”

“It’s a nickname, my real name is- Oh, hey, Topper!”

I spun around. Topper was standing in front of me, arms angrily crossed over his bare chest. “Hey, Wheezie. Nikki, can I talk to you?”

“I’m enjoying the company of my new friend.” I gestured over to Wheezie.

“Yeah, well, I want to talk.” He roughly grabbed my wrist and yanked me up.

“Ok, jeez, lemme grab my bag.” I pulled myself from his grasp and turned around to grab my bag. Scarlet mouthed the words be careful, to me. I nodded.

“Bye, Nikki, it was nice to meet you!” Wheezie called out. I shouted pleasantries back. Topper grabbed my wrist again.

After dragging me halfway across the deck, he let go of me and turned around. “What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me?! What’s wrong with you?! You’re the one who, one, won’t stop touching even though we’re not dating and we barely know each other, and two, literally dragged me away from my friends when I was having a conversation with them! Are you like this with all the girls you like? Huh? Maybe that’s why your girlfriend left you for some Pogue, not because Pogues steal things, but because you-” I stepped forward and shoved Topper, “-don’t know how to treat a girl, no, a person, with respect!”

I stopped talking and realized that a lot of people had gone quiet. My face flushed with embarrassment until I heard someone shout.

“WOO! You tell him, Nikki!”

I turned and saw Scarlet and Wheezie jumping up and down and clapping. Soon, all the girls (and some of the boys) around me were clapping and cheering for me, congratulating me and telling Topper that he’s a dick.

I stepped towards Topper. “You and me, whatever thing you think we had going on, it’s done.”

I turned around and beckoned Wheezie and Scarlet to sit back down with me on the deck. The partying resumed, and I went off chatting with the two girls, but I saw out of the corner of my eye that Topper was getting all huffy and puffy.

I pointed that out to the girls. “Should I be worried?”

Wheezie wheezed laughed. “He’s probably just going to call Rafe and get him to tell you off.”

“...He’s gonna get the host of the party, who I don’t know and never met, to yell at me? Fantastic. Good thing he’s your brother.”

“Technically half brother, but yes, a good thing. Oh look, there he is right now!”

I turned around and saw Topper marching towards me with another equally tall, equally blonde boy right behind him. The difference is, this boy didn’t have as much of a hostile aura as Topper has right now.

“So, which one of you embarrassed my boy Top?”

************************************************

The boy, who introduced himself as Rafe, the host, beckoned Scarlet, Topper, and I inside of his suite. He closed the door on Wheezie, though. Bummer. I liked her.

Inside his suite were a bunch of twenty-year-olds, drinking hard liquor, dancing, and sitting around this big table. Rafe took his seat in the middle, told everyone else around him to fuck off, and had us, except Topper, sit across from him. Topper took the seat to his right.

He offered us a bag of white powder, to which Scarlet and I declined. Topper took it, though, and started setting it up to use.

“You use coke?” I asked Topper in disgust. I have nothing against most drugs, like weed or psychedelics, which can be fun to use sparingly at parties or whatever, but not hard drugs like opioids.

Topper shrugged at my question. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal. What the fuck is wrong with y-?!”

“Ok, no fighting at my party, please?” Rafe sighed, rubbing his temples. “I brought you guys inside so that everyone else can enjoy the party while you guys have your little marital dispute-”

“WE’RE NOT DATING!” I shouted.

“Whatever,” Rafe sighed.

I stood up. “I’m gonna go hang with Wheezie. Scarlet, you coming?”

She was about to respond when Rafe stood up and said, “I’ll join you.”

I shot a confused look at Scarlet, who just shrugged.

I slipped my bag over my shoulder and walked towards the door, which Rafe held open for me, and we stepped outside, the air making me shiver.

Rafe pulled a pack of Dunhill cigarettes out of his pocket, put one to his mouth, and lights it. He gestured the box towards me and I take one, leaning forward a bit so that he could light it for me.

I rest my arms on the railing and close my eyes, breathing in the burning smoke and exhaling it slowly, being submerged in the light-headed haze of nicotine.

“How old are you?” Rafe’s voice interrupts my zen. I open my eyes and look at the boy, who’s very obviously checking out my bikini covered body.

I laughed and took another drag. “Sixteen,” I exhaled the smoke from my mouth.

Rafe’s eyes went wide, and he turned back to the sea. “Oh shit. My bad. Uh...how’re you liking the party?”

“It’s pretty good. Besides, you know, Topper being Topper, and you forcing me to talk to him.”

Rafe laughed. “Yea, I didn’t mean anything by it. I have a reputation of being a prick, and I’m trying to be better but, you know, not a lot of people respect you when you go from being a douche to a nice guy.”

I nodded, understanding what he meant by that. “Reputation with friends?”

He laughed. “Just,” he waved his hand free hand around, “Everyone. I wasn’t a good person. I’m trying to be better, but it’s hard when everyone already expects me to act a certain way and don’t give me a chance to change.”

I noticed the rings on his hands, like that boy from Kie’s Instagram. But unlike Hot Blondie, Rafe’s too old for me.

Which leads me to wonder…

“Did you know Sarah Cameron, by any chance?” I asked.

Rafe’s eyes went wide, and then he started coughing up smoke.

“W-Why do you ask?” He stammers, still coughing.

I gave him a weird look and just shrugged. “Curious, I guess.” I looked back at the ocean. “I’m the new girl, and everyone keeps telling me about all this stuff, but won’t tell me what actually happened, and I dunno, I’m just so confused.”

I turned to face Rafe, who was looking away, and I think I saw tears forming in his eyes. “Yea, Sarah’s my sister.”

Now it was my turn to cough up smoke. “W-”-cough cough- “Wait”-cough cough- “a minute.” I gasp for air and continue coughing. And after I finally manage to get some oxygen into my lungs, I say, “Sarah Cameron’s your sister? Shit, I’m so sorry, Topper never told me.”

Rafe shrugged, fiddling around with his rings. “It’s alright, I was just...surprised. No one asks me about Sarah or the Pogues anymore. After I came back from rehab-” He stopped, probably because he didn’t mean to say that, but he continued, “After I came back from rehab, I just...stopped beefing with the Pogues, especially JJ, Kie, and Pope. You know them?”

I nodded. “I know Kie, we’re friends. But not JJ and Pope. Never met ‘em, don’t even know what they look like, yet I’ve heard so many things about them.”

Rafe nodded. “They’re not bad kids, really. My time away made me realize how much of a prick I’ve been to them. Like, I caused them a lot of pain, and for what? For nothing. Literally just because I thought that, because they were poorer than us, they weren’t as good as us.”

I nodded. Then I turned and smiled, and stretched out my hand. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Rafe Cameron.”

He smiled and shook back.

_______________________________

chapter three

[stupendousaestheticfoodrascal]

The Call of the Dark

    “She’s beautiful, don't you think?”, said the stout man. His face was pale, but not the kind of paleness you see when someone is ill. It was the kind of pale a person obtains naturally, as though from birth. Despite his paleness, his face shone bright and somehow the very prominent freckles on his face became even more visible, there was a faint twinkle in his eyes, and if you didn't pay attention, even for a second, you would miss it. With the way he looked, you would guess he had just won the lottery. “I met her at this very coffee shop a few months ago and we really hit it off! I never thought I would find someone who was into a lot of the stuff I liked, well excluding you of course”. 

    He looked right at me, to make sure what he said hadn't made me upset. It didn't of course, but he didn't need to know that. “Oh how miserable I am, to find out my good friend Chase has found another, and now I will be left all on my own to deal with my sorrows”, I spoke, with just a hint of mischief in my voice. He certainly did not find it funny but I found it to be hilarious, to the point I burst out laughing, something I hadn’t done in a long time. Before I knew it, Chase had joined in on the laughter and whatever tension was present had cleared from the air. “It really is nice to see you again and I’m glad you’ve finally found your special someone”. A light pink dusted his cheeks at what I assumed to be my little comment. “Enough about me, I want to know what’s going on with you Mr. Mysterious”. 

     I had taken note of the newly designated nickname, although I knew the reasoning behind it. “I can’t say a lot really happened, my life isn't exactly thrilling”. I took a sip of my coffee, it was caramel macchiato, my favourite, her favourite. I shook my head to get rid of the thought and instead took in the familiar view of the shop. It was rather small, and not heavily decorated except for a few advertisement posters plastered on the wall, the top half of the wall was a deep brown colour (rather typical for a coffee shop) while the lower bottom of the walls were plain white. 

     There were five circular spruce wood tables each with two chairs at the centre of the shop while the corners were occupied by booth tables for anyone who might decide to have coffee with a large group of friends. On the opposite side of the shop was the counter, where people got their orders. The counter itself was coloured just like the wall, white and brown, except they chose to incorporate the colour white as the name of the shop ‘Latte Love’. I had always made it a point to mention it to everyone I knew that I never liked that name, there really was nothing to love about their latte’s. Even with all my complaints, I still managed to come to this coffee shop every morning at the same time, to order the same drink. I turned my head as I noticed something unfamiliar had caught my attention. 

     A looming shadow stood at the corner of the shop. I couldn’t quite make out it’s figure but it looked and felt like pure darkness, emphasis on felt. The figure began to step closer to me and the closer it came, the more I could feel it trying to consume me. I was called out of my state by a question from the man sitting in front of me. “Earth to Malcolm, I said do you plan on coming to the game tonight?”, he said while waving a hand in front of me. “Yeah sure”, I said, while not knowing what he was referring to. “Great! I think this is a great time for you to finally meet her!”. Her? The confusion was clear on my face, evident by the question he followed up with, “Oh no, don't tell me you forgot”, he said, disappointment clearly laced in his tone. 

     “No?” “I set you up to meet a lady friend of mine, we agreed that you guys would meet at the game this Saturday?” “WHAT?” “What do you mean ‘what’, you totally agreed to this?!” “I have no memory of anything of the sorts”, I huffed. “Well it doesn’t matter now because you HAVE to go. My friend already expects you to be there and I can't have her thinking ``I'm friends with a jerk” “Well I don’t care what your friend thinks” ''Come on, it’s just this time, maybe try out your luck? If you don't like her then you don’t have to see her again, what do you have to lose?” “Fine, I’ll go, but I'm not promising anything” “Great dude! Make sure to come at 2pm, not a moment later” “Yeah yeah”. 

     I woke up to an intense pounding in my head, stretching down towards the upper nape of my neck. It felt like a hammer had somehow found its way to my skull in the middle of the night and unleashed all its fury on my poor unsuspecting head. This pain was something I had become familiar with as of late. It happened again. I had the dream again. After having this happen to me for two months straight, it had become something I was used to. I just casually went about most of my days with a nausea inducing headache. Although this headache was particularly fearsome, I knew the reason why. 

     I had gone on a different route after my little meet up with Chase at the coffee shop. What I hadn't realised was that this new path was not new at all. It was very familiar but I couldn’t reason as to why I felt it was. It was of no importance now, I had to get ready for the game, for my date. It was going to be particularly difficult pretending I was excited to be there, especially with a splitting headache. I had already planned how I was going to break it off. I would tell her how great a time I had but say I wasn't looking for anything right now or something like that.

     It didn’t really matter what I said as long as she understood that I wasn't interested. I stood up from my messy bright yellow twin bed. It was ironic really, that someone as miserable as me would own something that was often seen as a symbol of joy. I looked at myself in the mirror right across from my bed. I looked… awful. I had refrained from looking at myself in the mirror and now I remembered why. I was a tidy person by nature but in recent times I had neglected myself, and it was… evident. My thick, black, tightly curled hair was dreadfully matted from the lack of combing. I had also developed a bushy beard and a subtle mustache. My skin was ashy and my lips were cracked, it was getting colder, no surprise as winter was just around the corner. 

     I hadn’t been to the gym in months and whatever sign of being fit I had, was nowhere to be seen. In other words I had gained a considerable amount of weight. My eyes looked drained and tired and the bags under them looked more prominent than ever. I knew that if I was going to be meeting someone new, even if I wasn’t interested in keeping ties, that I had to look decent. I tidied myself up and got dressed. I chose to wear a plain blue shirt and some trousers. I didn’t feel the need to dress up since it was just a ball game. It was 1:30pm and I needed to be on my way. The sooner I got there the sooner I could hopefully leave. I got into my very run down red Toyota and made my way to the game. Thoughts were swirling in my head, memories were resurfacing, but I shoved them all down as I parked my car. I took a deep breath and made my way to the game. 

     I saw Chase, his girlfriend and someone else sitting next to him, the person I assumed to be his friend. She sat nervously, darting her eyes from one direction to another, until her eyes finally settled on me, I flinched as I realised we made eye contact. I waved nervously and she waved back, just as nervous. But what I couldn’t understand was why I was nervous. That didn’t matter, I had a plan and I had to stick to it. I walked up to the bleachers where the other baseball enthusiasts sat, making sure not to sit too close to the girl. I didn’t want to send the wrong message. “Hi, I’m Anne, nice to meet you”, she said. “It’s my first time going on a date in a long time, I’m kind of nervous”. “Interesting, so she’s more or less in the same situation as me”, I whispered. “Well, I’m Malcolm and it’s nice to meet you too”, I said with a slightly forced smile. 

     The announcer made note of the start of the game, if there was something I had observed from coming here it was that the girl, Anne, was a very big sport enthusiast and other than that she was… pretty. Although I had acknowledged I wanted there to be nothing between us, it would be silly to deny that fact. She was rather short compared to me, this I knew from whenever she would jolt up from her seat at a moment of intensity in the game. She was dark skinned, just like me and had long thick afro hair neatly bunched to the back allowing you to see her face. She was well built but more on the slim side. Her eyes were the most prominent part of her face, they were big and full of emotion, and the emotion right at that moment was excitement. 

     The team she was rooting for was on their way to victory with only a few minutes of the game left, they had the victory in the palm of their hands. One advantage of having a date at a baseball game with someone who is passionate about the sport is that you don't have to bother with talking to the other person, they just do their own thing and you do yours. She was so captivated by the game it was like she had forgotten she was actually here on a date with me, she would occasionally sneak in a few questions on what I thought of the game. I always gave a brief simple answer and she would go back to being completely engrossed in the game. I admitted it was nice not having to feel inclined to respond, or having to fill in the silence when no one was saying anything. 

     The game finally came to an end and people began leaving the stadium. I rehearsed my lines ready to tell her I wasn’t interested but to my surprise she turned to me and spoke right before I could get a word out. “Look, you're probably a great guy and I had a great time but I don’t think I’m really interested in you that way, no hard feelings?”. An unlikely turn of events, the girl I was supposed to let down easy was the one turning me down? It offered an easy way out but I would have preferred if I wasn’t on the receiving end of a ‘rejection’. “That’s fine, I actually feel the same way, I’m honestly glad you said that, I didn’t want to have to hurt your feelings or anything” “I’m glad we agree, I think it’s about time I leave, it was nice meeting you Malcolm” “You too”. 

     There it was again, that feeling of familiarity, like this exact thing or something familiar had happened to me. I could feel a wave of emotion re-surfacing from the depths of my being. I saw the dark figure again, standing next to the bleachers, this time just staring at me, as if to try and tell me something. And then I remembered.

Laughter. We were on our way back from a restaurant, it had gone great. I was going to propose, I wanted it to be private, just the two of us. We headed down an alleyway. Bang Bang. We heard it and tried to run. Bang Bang. 

     The sound was getting closer, I was terrified something horrible would happen and more so to her. We made it to the end of the alleyway but they cornered us, they said they couldn’t let us go. I tried to take them down but they threatened to shoot. And they did, but not me. They shot her instead, there was a lot of blood, I was mortified, police sirens were blaring, the shooter and his accomplice ran away. I tried to get help but no one was listening, they were too focused on the criminal. She died in my arms. It wasn’t fair. I could feel all the emotions of that day resurfacing, I had to leave as soon as possible. I couldn't be here. I rushed to my car and sped home. I rushed inside and rummaged around for my meds, I fumbled around for the container, I found it, although I had trouble opening it because I was trembling. I opened the cap and dumped the meds into my hand, I took them, more than I should have, I didn’t care. I just didn’t want to feel this anymore. And soon enough, the drugs started taking effect and I started to feel better, although I could still see the mysterious shadow at the corner of my room, it didn’t do anything, it didn’t even try to approach me, almost like it couldn’t. As long as it didn’t do anything I didn’t have a problem. It would either leave on its own or I would get used to it. I collapsed on my bed and let out a heavy sigh. The day didn’t go horribly but it wasn’t great either. I had almost had a meltdown in front of a lot of people, something I would much prefer to avoid. I needed to get rest, I had work in the morning and it would be better if I could actually function when I got there.

     I could see the faint shimmer of the sun peeking through my window. It was morning and I hadn’t slept a wink. I couldn’t sleep, less because of the fact that I had overdosed on my meds and more because the mysterious shadow hadn’t left me since the day at the ball game. I got up and began to get ready for work. It was obvious I hadn’t slept, both visually and from the way I felt. I could hardly move and I looked half-dead. I just hoped my boss wouldn’t cause a fuss as I believed I could still get work done, but probably at a slower pace and a few mistakes here and there. As an accountant, mistakes aren’t exactly welcome and neither is wasting time but I'm sure I could survive a day of scolding from my boss.

     “You’re fired!”. The door to the office slammed shut and I stood there, dumbfounded. I didn’t have a job anymore. According to my boss, I wasn’t working at company standard anymore and I had caused a lot of losses with my mistakes. I had figured he would be angry but I never expected to have gotten fired. Then it dawned on me, my mother. How was I going to pay for her meds if I didn’t have a job? It felt like my world was spiraling into some horrible dark abyss of despair. She was all I had left and the thought of losing her was too much for me to handle. Soon enough I wouldn’t be able to cover rent, and I would get kicked out, my mother would get horribly sick and it would all be over for me and her. I was panicking to say the least. I tried to regain my composure, at least until I was in the privacy of my home. I needed to find a job fast. I made my way back home and slumped on my bed. Ding. A message from my phone, my mum asking me to send money for this week's meds. I had to send her some money from my emergency funds, I really needed to get searching. I looked at the corner of my room and sure enough it was there, but it seemed to have gotten larger and more terrifying. Great, another thing I had to deal with, well not really, since it wasn’t exactly doing anything.

     Weeks had gone by, I had tried everything but I couldn’t find another job. Mum was getting worse, she didn’t have her meds anymore and her illness was catching up to her. I knew she didn’t have much time so I tried to see her, but she didn’t want me anywhere near her. She didn’t want me to see her so sick and I’m sure she wouldn’t be thrilled to see me looking so unlively right now. All my friends were getting worried, I hadn’t spoken to anyone in weeks and they wanted to make sure I was okay. I couldn’t tell them the truth, they would fuss over it, or they wouldn’t understand and I couldn’t lie to them either, they didn’t deserve that. It was easier to just cut off all ties. Yes. The only company I had was the looming shadow. Over the past few weeks I had almost grown to like its presence. It was comforting in a way, just having it stand there and watch me, it never approached me, something I preferred, never asked me questions, never worried about me, just stared at me and I liked it that way. I had also stopped taking my medication as they had run out so maybe that was another contributing factor. I talked to the figure occasionally, it was the shadow that told me to stop talking to my friends, anytime it had something it wanted me to do, it wouldn’t stop repeating it until I did what it said, so as long as I listened it didn’t annoy me much. It had tried and succeeded to hurt me a few times but I never complained. I didn’t want it to leave so I never said anything that might cause it to depart from me. It would soon be just the two of us.

     I woke up to the sound of my phone ringing, I didn’t think I would receive calls anymore after I had pretty much cut off connections with my friends. I looked at my phone and saw that it was an unknown number. I cut the call but they kept persisting, I reluctantly answered the call. “Who is this, and why are you bothering me” “Is this Malcom Forman?” “Yes, now what do you want?!” “I’m sorry to inform you that your mother passed away a few hours ago in her sleep” “Oh… thank you for calling me, goodbye”. I cried. Even though I knew it would happen eventually, I still cried, I couldn’t - no I wouldn’t believe it was possible. I had failed my mother, my friends, myself. I was worthless. Even through my tears I could still see the shadow, it didn’t even have a face but it almost looked as though it was… smiling? I certainly hadn’t said anything funny. I was so intrigued by it that I had stopped crying. 

I stopped to look at the mysterious creature. Whatever smile was present had vanished. The creature came closer to me, but the air around it felt different. Every fibre of my being told me to run but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to run. I sat on my bed as it slowly approached me, until everything around me was enveloped in darkness. There was nothing else there, even the mysterious shadow creature was gone. If you  think about it, it's rather poetic. My life just like everyone else's began in darkness and now it ends with darkness once again.

[elfnerdherder]

Where the Wicked Walk: Ch. 19

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Chapter 19:

           That night, Will Graham picked the lock on his door and stepped out into the hallway. One foot out of the door, he froze, and he found himself holding his breath without entirely knowing why.

           Poised on the landing in the dark, he was disquieted by the sensation of someone watching him. In such a house as that, it wasn’t an asinine thing to suppose, and although every muscle inside of him screamed for him to run and run fast, Will couldn’t bring himself to move.

           “I’d go back to your room if I were you,” Matthew Brown said in the dark, not five feet from him. “I’m not sure how many times I’ll have to warn you, Mr. Graham, but there are many, many things in this house that go bump in the night. Things that run out of patience can be particularly unpleasant.”

           He thought to argue, to feign stupidity and confusion. Ultimately, though, Matthew Brown was well aware of just how not stupid Will Graham was, and Will Graham was smart enough to know when he’d been beaten.

           He slunk back to his room and closed the door.

-

           “Thank you so much for coming,” Jack Crawford said wearily.

           “I’d say it was no trouble, but with things the way they are…you can understand my unease in coming,” Bedelia replied, and she shook his hand. She noted the small stain on the cuff of his jacket, the curse of eating fast food while on the job. Dr. Du Maurier didn’t envy the FBI agent his position, nor did she envy his stress level. In all things, she tried to maintain a level of dignity, and the idea of sweating and struggling for the smallest scrap of information on the motives and behaviors of a psychopath seemed, above all, unbearable.

           “You know, I think it’s been what; six years?”

           “Since the trial, yes.”

           “You’ve done well for yourself,” Jack noted, and Bedelia managed a smile.

           “When one is no longer in the constant presence of a cannibalistic psychopath, Agent Crawford, one does remarkably well.”

           “You know, out of anyone that ever knew him, you were the only one to ever get inside of his head, Dr. Du Maurier.”

           “I wouldn’t consider it that way.”

           “Wouldn’t you?” Jack paused outside of the autopsy room and smiled politely. “What would you call it instead?”

           “Dr. Lecter presented to me a person suit,” Bedelia explained. “He was meticulous and careful with it, showing only just enough to reassure people that he had emotions. What he did with them was his business, and he took great pains to hide anything unsavory from me.”

           Jack Crawford had a way of trying to stare into someone, pierce them in place with the sharpest of looks. Bedelia was rather well versed in expressions like that, and she bore it with her own placid, flat expression. Years of psychiatry had perfected the look, made it a knee-jerk response to almost anything vaguely resembling a distasteful time.

           Special trips to Atlanta, Georgia to look at dead bodies was most certainly a distasteful time.

           “Maybe the bits of him you found around that person suit will give us insight when you take a look at this,” Jack said, and he opened the door for her. “I warn you, though; it’s messy.”

           It was messy.

           Bedelia Du Maurier had experienced her own dance with death several years ago, when a patient attacked her and left her with the terrifying choice of choosing her life over his. She didn’t regret her actions; one shouldn’t regret taking intrinsic responsibility for their life and not allowing someone else to make that call. She did regret, however, the actions done that led up to that regretful moment when she got to feel –for the first and last time, she hoped –what the inside of another person’s throat felt like.

           These bodies, in all of their macabre and painstaking horror, had Hannibal Lecter’s name written all over them.

           “These were done in various locations?” she asked, pausing to look at one that appeared to have been buried alive.

           “All over the country. Every single Will Graham except for the one currently missing.”

           “Have you confirmed that he’s still alive?”

           “Yes.” Jack leveled her with a stare that said he wouldn’t elaborate. She took note of the small spot on his cheek that he’d missed while shaving, then continued on.

           Autopsy rooms smelled like chemicals rather than death. It was a pungent stench that perched at the back of her tongue and made swallowing sound like a bad idea. She paused beside the remains of another and looked to Jack Crawford curiously.

           “Hit by a train,” he explained.

           “And somewhere near their bodies, ‘And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all,’ yes?”

           “That is correct.”

           She hummed quietly and looked along the many, many rows. Each one, in various hair colors, eye colors, and skin colors, all looked somewhat the same in death. Each and every one held an ashy color to their skin as it tried to rot.

           “This certainly has Dr. Lecter’s panache,” she said after she walked the length of bodies again. “Where Will Graham is alive, perhaps he saw fit to ensure he was the only one left. No other like him.”

           “Is he going to strike like this again?”

           “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” she replied. “If he is coercing his followers to kill in as many ways as these people have been killed, the last thing he’d do is repeat himself. That takes away the weight that this carried. If he is quoting Poe, of all things, it lends itself the idea that this darkness and decay will eke out in various ways, each one more toxic and morbid than the last.”

           “What’s his end game?”

           Bedelia looked up at him. “Perhaps it is to finally kill you, since he failed the last time.” She paused in thought beside one of them, a woman with a simple, slit throat. “Have you entertained the notion that this is cult territory?”

           Jack somehow looked even older than his ragged, worn appearance. “Yes. We’re not releasing it in the papers yet.”

           “If they were able to strike on a nationwide scale, yet elude the police for as long as they have, it stands to reason.”

           “How do you see Hannibal as a cult leader?”

           “Easily,” Bedelia replied automatically. “He is a narcissist that enjoys attention on him. The only thing he enjoys more is controlling that attention, manipulating it. He would make his followers devout, fearing no pain and no death. That is the trouble with things like this; when they do not fear dying, it makes them far more willing to commit acts that endanger their lives. It makes them reckless but not stupid.

           “He won’t give any one of them everything. He may have a second-in-command, but no one holds all of the information apart from himself. Everyone has a place, and his unfortunate charisma means that they will happily stay in such a place, to please him.

           “Whatever he has in store for Will Graham, that is not the sole concern,” she continued, frowning at the bodies. “If it was a simple matter of taking him hostage and disappearing to kill him at his leisure, but he’s amassed an entire group of people –at least thirty, given what’s occurred here –for another singular intent. Spreading a message of death, fear, and mistrust.”

           “Mistrust,” Jack prompted.

           “Well, Agent Crawford, he was taken from his apartment by one of the security detail that you assigned to him,” she said calmly. “Half of the news has asked for your head on a proverbial platter, and the other half has lost faith in your abilities to catch a killer. But until you release the information that it’s not just a killer, it’s a following, they will continue to doubt you.”

           “You think that I should go public?”

           “I think that Dr. Lecter is banking on you not going public, thus tarnishing your name until he has you in the position where he can kill you with utmost certainty,” she replied, “where no Will Graham is present to save your life because he already has him locked away.”

           “The division specializing in cults is taking over this case,” he admitted, and it looked like it burned him to say. Jack Crawford not having control of a situation was, for him, something of utmost importance.

           Bedelia smiled slightly, the barest of turns to her lip. “Make no mistake, Agent Crawford; he is attempting to goad you into coming out from your safe space. First Agent Bowman, then Agent Zeller? Have you placed Agent Price in a safe house yet?”

           “He’s attacking all of my men until I have no one to trust left,” Jack sneered.

           “Can you not trust the rest of the FBI?” she wondered.

           His silence was the best sort of answer to that.

           “We have sufficient evidence that places him in Georgia,” he said at last, changing the subject. Bedelia was graceful enough to let him. Do you think that is also to lure me?”

           “Any evidence that you find easily can be considered a trap of sorts, in my opinion,” she replied. “If he is attempting to goad you into the public, what is the best sort of way than to dangle something before you that you can’t ignore?”

           That quieted him, and he stared at the bodies for a long time. His silence was his own, it seemed, and whatever thoughts that came to him were shrouded behind the dark, haunted look in his eyes.

           Jack led her out towards the small sitting area and got her a cup of coffee. They sat together on chairs made from cheap wood and itchy upholstery, their sips disjointed and their thoughts completely, resolutely different from one another. Bedelia resented the acrid taste of what was, no doubt, Folgers coffee with far too many beans, but she endured it in silence because that was what was expected.

           “I understand that you’re having a difficult time with this,” she began, and the look he cast her way made her pause to sift the words about in her mind. “To suspect your own agents of malcontent and abetting a murderer is troubling, as it leaves you in a space where every foothold you take, you have to wonder if it was intentional for you to find it or not.”

           “It’s all hands on deck,” Jack said wearily. “Whether the hands are going to support the foundation that will allow us to catch Lecter or not still remains to be seen. They could tear down the stone instead.”

           “You must have been speaking with Hannibal Lecter recently to use his wording,” Bedelia mused.

           “The day before his escape, I sat down with him and questioned him about a few things. He said to me, ‘You built the foundations of your career on the back of my destruction. Just how much will it take for that foundation to break?’”

           “If you catch him again, if will do nothing but further your career.”

           “Dr. Du Maurier, I have a hard time trying to decide if I want to catch him alive or bring him in dead,” Jack confided. He sounded far more tired than he did guilty from the admission.

           Bedelia set her cup down only half empty, and surveyed him, twisting in her chair.

           “While he has clearly made this a personal act against you, your thought process is not so foreign and alien. You’ve been presented with an unusual situation, therefore your reactions are expectedly unusual. Rather than legal justice, you’d much prefer something in which he can no longer tip the scales.”

           “…I appreciate the sentiment, as well as your insight, doctor.”

           Now for the hard part. She sighed quietly, a barely-escaped noise, and looked away from him, palms pressed together in her lap as though she could wipe away the feeling of grime from having to move about the dead space in which Hannibal’s followers had enacted their morbid fantasies.

           “While I am able to give such insight, Agent Crawford, I have done my best to put my stint with Hannibal Lecter behind me,” she said, studying the mug. Just around the bottom of it, a stain of white from the heat smudged the coffee table. She should have considered putting it on a coaster. “It unearths a part of my past that I’d rather prefer to keep buried and behind me. He was my patient, but that in no way means anything more than his desire to keep me under his thumb and part of his manipulations, as he was aware that at the time, I suspected him of nefarious and dangerous intent. Although you are in every right to seek me out, once I walk out of that door to these headquarters, I’d prefer you don’t.”

           Jack stared at her for a long, long time, his face set in a dark stone. Bedelia busied herself with picking up the coffee mug and taking another sip, as though the harsh grounds that’d made their way through the filter could somehow bolster her.

           When he said nothing more, she stood up and collected her coat and purse.

           “Good luck in your investigation, Agent Crawford,” she said lightly. “I hope that what little I could give helps.”

           Jack stood as well and shook her hand, nodding slowly, once.

           “Thank you, Dr. Du Maurier.”

           She saw herself out, and Jack remained in the sitting area in order to finish his coffee. No doubt, Bedelia mused, Jack Crawford was wondering just how soon Hannibal’s followers would act once he went public.

           She, however, was far more preoccupied with wondering just how long it’d be until she could take off the silly wire that one of those followers had taped to her chest.

-

           “What do you think?” Jack asked once he was in the tech room.

           “I’d say she’s not one of them, but she’s been contacted by them,” Starling said, looking up from the monitor. Her face was set, her mouth pinched in concentration. “There are a few frames where you can see micro-expressions of fear registering. Things you’ve said are things that she already knows.”

           Jack wasn’t quite sure what to think of Starling. On the one hand, having his case taken over by someone that didn’t know Lecter the way that he knew Lecter was the gritty feeling of eating sugared cereal and rubbing your tongue against your teeth. On the other hand, her assurance and capability was certainly helpful in the wake of some of his most trusted men being picked off left and right.

           That is, if she wasn’t one of Lecter’s.

           “Do you think she’s sympathetic to him?” he asked, walking over to see what she was seeing. The cameras within the FBI HQ were fantastic, great frames that could catch the twitch of an eyelash in an air conditioner breeze.

           “Her face is hard to read at times, but I’d say no,” Starling replied. “If anything, I think that if she’s being coerced into cooperating with them, she’s done a damn good job of wriggling out of it. By asking you not to bother her anymore, they wouldn’t have a reason to reach out to her.”

           “We’ve narrowed down a few people, then,” Jack murmured. He thought of the look on her face when she stared at the bodies; her nose had wrinkled, her lips pressed so tightly that they seemed to disappear altogether. There was no hunger, no strange pull that brought her closer to them.

           “I’ve got eyes on interstate activity, but it seems that those that struck are laying low. They could be converging towards a similar place, or they could be still within the general area in which they struck,” Starling said, and she moved over to go through a few things. “Graham getting that call out to you is mighty helpful, Jack. I know he didn’t get a location other than Georgia to you, but now we’ve got a Matthew Brown to track down, and forensics will surely find something regarding these others.”

Jack grunted. “He wasn’t stupid enough to use his legal name, so we’ll have to go about it the hard way. Cross-referencing photos and time stamps of careers. The precincts around the suspecting areas are cooperating, at least.”

“Time-consuming but not impossible.” Starling gave him a look. “Progress, Jack.”

           That’s what they’d call progress, Jack knew, but it didn’t feel so good to call it that.

           “We got a lot of information but it doesn’t feel that way. A lot of circles.”

           “That’s where Lecter wants you to be.”

           There was something Du Maurier had said that was needling at him, piercing beneath his skin to burrow deep and whisper treacherous thoughts in his ear.

           “Do you think it was luck that made Price check diatoms?” he asked. In the room full of nothing more than the soft whirring of computer fans, his question seemed too loud, abrasive. Starling looked up from her computer, the image frozen on Bedelia’s mouth closed and tense. Her brow furrowed, and she rocked back on her heels as she considered his question seriously.

           “…Why do you think that?” she asked. There was no judgement, only genuine curiosity.

           “He checked the diatoms ‘on a hunch,’” Jack recalled. “He checked the water bottle’s contents and decided to take the time to investigate the water. She said that Dr. Lecter is trying to lure me out.”

           “Do you think Price was compromised?” Starling asked. Her stare was intent, her blue eyes piercing him in place.

           “Will Graham said that they have people watching and observing me. I never thought Dolarhyde would…but clearly I was wrong.”

           “The question is whether or not you think Price is compromised.”

           Jack sighed and pinched the spot between his brows where his headaches these days most liked to rest. Bella sometimes felt it, in between her own pains and aches. It made feeling it all the worse, knowing that he was somehow punishing her, too.

           “I don’t know,” he said at last, and he let out a dark, curt bark of laughter. “Isn’t that just…hell, I don’t know anymore, Starling. That’s the muck of it, isn’t it? That I don’t know who I can trust anymore?”

           “That’s what Lecter wants,” she replied immediately. “He wants you on edge so that you can’t plan around him, so I’m going to need you to get your head on straight, alright? We’ll observe Price. Clock his comings and goings, his phone, his e-mail. Not because he’s done something, but because you can’t trust anyone, and if that’s going to ease your mind then I’m for it.”

           “Why’d he have to go and check the diatoms like that?” Jack groused.

           “Because he’s a good agent, and on any other case you’d thank him for it.”

           That was true, but as of right now it was a tough pill to try and swallow. Lloyd was dead, Zeller was nearly there, and his only other guy was a suspect. If Lecter was trying to keep his head twisted, he was doing a damn good job.

-

           “That him?” Duncan asked Freddie, nodding towards the man at the end of the bar.

           Duncan smelled like sweat and Coors Lite. It was a sour smell, but it was one she’d gotten used to while they roamed Barnesville, Georgia. Most of the town, in truth, smelled like sweat and Coors Lite, but Freddie’s travels had taught her that a lot of small towns did, and it was an ultimately a completely bias opinion on her part and not at all based in fact.

           One she wouldn’t be retracting anytime soon, though.

           “It looks like it, yes,” she said, seated at the booth.

           “He’s got his little lady with him, too,” Earl grunted. Earl didn’t smell marginally better, what with the gregarious amount of chew stuffed in his cheek. He seemed a little more in control of himself, though.

           “You want us to git him?”

           “No, Mr. Duncan, I think I want to meet him at her house when I do this.”

           “Shyit, yer not fixin’ on killin’ nobody, are you, Ms. Lounds?”

           Earl kicked Duncan under the table for cussing. He was particular about those things in front of a lady.

           “Sorry,” Duncan muttered.

           “I’m not the killing sort, I promise,” she assured them. “Girl scout’s honor.”

           “What’d you do in girl scouts anyway?” Earl wondered.

           “Baking, mostly.”

           “I love those cookies they got those kids selling. Once a year, I buy a whole box and go nuts,” Duncan confessed. “Trefoils, mostly.”

           “What’s the plan, then, Miss Lounds?” Earl prompted. “We can help you work him over real good if you need us to.”

           Based on how intently and earnestly Earl was looking at Freddie, she figured he’d help her hide bodies if she asked sweetly enough.

           “I think that now that I’ve found them, gentlemen, I can take it from here,” she said. Clark Ingram was wearing a baseball cap and glasses, as conspicuous and sad as the first time Freddie had tried to dye her hair blonde to go undercover for a report.

           Frying half of her hair off taught her that wigs were a far better, cheaper, and painless option.

           “Are you sure?” Earl pressed.

           She flashed him a sweet, bright smile. “How about you two give me your numbers in case I end up needing some help?”

           Earl and Duncan both liked that idea. She was given their cell numbers, their work numbers, and the house numbers because a woman named Debbie said it was a good idea to keep a house phone as well as cell phones. Whoever the hell Debbie was.

           “I don’t give much cares to the house phone, but she likes it. Says it makes her feel mighty so-fis-ti-cated,” Earl explained.

           They paid for her meal, bought her a beer and wished her luck. The smell of Coors Lite lingered, although they took the stench of chew with them. All in all, a nice sort of men, if one could get over just how bad they smelled. Their speech, too, was something for the books. Surely not everyone outside of Atlanta talked like that?

           Any outliers of that atrocious accent certainly didn’t live in Barnesville. As the bar filled up, she heard enough people talking that she could almost say that Duncan and Earl sounded like ‘mighty damn fine’ speakers, indeed. She noted dips and curls to the ending of words, lazily tossed either which way, and she mouthed along with them as she waited. Good practice for her writing and all.

           She wasn’t interested in the people around her, though. Unless rednecks with heavy accents suddenly started killing children up and down the dusty main street of their town, her focus was wholly and completely on Clark Ingram and his partner in crime that were seated about twenty feet away with their backs to her.

           They would lead her to Will Graham. She was sure of it.

[unholyhelbiglinked]

Saluting Sgt. Helbig | Twenty Two

The paint fell from the walls in small flakes, resilient chips filling the air like a dark ashy snow. It fell over my boots, turning the dark leather into something that it wasn't- something of beauty. The air was still and stiff, almost sour against my lungs. The cold balanced it out, making it easier to bear the moldy scent.

The rubber of my shoes crunched over the broken glass that littered the distressed wooden floor, making my mind wonder. Was this how the bar looked when it was nothing but a lookout point? Was the paint chipping, mold filling her lungs, or was it in better shape? I knew the roof wasn't, that was for sure. It still held strong, strong enough to hold two people during some less than saintly activities.

"What are you thinking about?" Cassie mumbled, looking up from her own shoes. She was bundled up, a brown aviators jacket hugging her sides as she kept her hands shoved in her pockets.

"Nothing," I knit my eyebrows together, "Nothing really... just, how can someone just get up and leave a place like this?"

"This?" the shorter girl scoffed, shaking her head "it's nothing but a pile of bricks and some paneling."

I lifted my chin slightly, biting at the inside of my cheek as a slight metallic taste filled my mouth "Not always. I don't think. It probably has a lot of stories behind it. Or after tonight it will."

"Hmm," Cassie huffed, "what did you tell Hannah?"

"Not a thing." I sighed softly. The girl left it at that. Hannah had just gotten in about an hour before I got the ominous text from a blocked number texting me coordinates and a certain time. They had lead me here, an old abandoned factory on the edge of town, right by the docks. It reminded me of ever mafia movie that I had ever seen- except those ended with cinder blocks and chains.

She had been sleeping peacefully when I snuck out, her position shifting slightly as I pulled myself out of bed. Chester had met me out front, the car running with the lights turned off. Cassie was half asleep in the back seat, making all of us dread the long night ahead of us.

"What do you tell Mamrie?" I finally asked Chester, who had been leaning against the corner of the wall by the busted out window, a stream of steady pale light illuminating his face in an odd way. "About where you always sneak off to."

"She doesn't ask questions," Chester clenched his jaw, his breathe forming in sharp puffs in front of him. "We started sleeping together casually and then really caught feelings for each other... She still doesn't ask questions though. She's not the type. But Hannah is, isn't she?"

I lifted my chin, staring at my watch. The time read 3am, late enough for me to crawl back into bed with the girl that I love. One that I was lying too. "She is."

The loud footsteps of another drew us from our awkward conversation, both Chester and Cassie a bit too tired to really react in any way. My senses were on high alert, taking it the fact that we didn't really have any means of protection, and even if it was just Ingrid, the girl knew how to fight.

"What's this all about?" Chester said, a bit groggy, he stood up from the wall slightly, his boots crunching against the broken in stained glass. "It's late."

"It's early." Ingrid's voice was sharp, but had a bit of a calming tone to it, "not late. I need you three on your best behavior."

I raised a brow. She was a bit dressed up compared to the three of us. We had begrudgingly dragged ourselves from the comforts of bed. I had pulled on a pair of light grey sweatpants and an old sweatshirt of Hannah's before filing into this place. Cassie was in an uneven buttondown, her hair in a messy bun. Chester himself sliding into a long shirt and some paint splattered jeans.

Ingrid looked like a gift from god at this point. She was in heels, a dark green blouse covering most of her midsection as a black leather jacket covered her arms. She looked a bit elegant, her hair clouding her chocolate gaze.

"Best behavior for what?" Cassie cocked a brow, her blue eyes catching the color of the lulling sky.

"We have a meeting," she ran her gaze over the three of us, taking in our appearances.

"Here? In an abandoned building." I said, a bit of disdain in my voice "I thought you weren't the mafia."

Ingrid cracked a small smile at this, her eyes lighting up "I'm not. But some people are harder to impress than others. It's easier for me to put on a show than to commit the actions of sin that earn me... how you would say, street cred?" she glanced at Chester, who nodded in approval at her wording.

The silence that lasted between us was strong, but short lived, each of us too tired to really overthink the situation. In fact, the only thing I was truly feeling cold. Ingrid took her place awkwardly between Cassie and I, her scent strong with cherry and liquor. I glanced over at her as a warmth filled my palm. My first instinct was to pull away, not interested in a little hand holding, but as she moved her fingers away from mine, she left the all but familiar weight of a gun. A small one at that. But still a gun.

I knit my eyebrows together "You know I prefer a scalpel over a shotgun."

She nodded "I know it's not your style." she scoffed "you're a doctor, not a bodyguard. But tonight you have to be both." she glanced over at Cassie and Chester sharing a light hearted conversation "If not for my protection, for theirs."

I clenched my jaw. Of course it would lead to this. I knew it would. After seeing Ingrid's little tests from a front row seat, nothing I ever viewed would be the same. All four of us standing in an abandoned factory could just be another pop quiz. Either way, we were in at least some degree of danger.

Chester could defend himself, yes, but only with a few punches thrown here and there. Cassie could take a hit, maybe even two, but I didn't want her going through the pain of ending up in another hospital bed hooked up to every monitor imaginable.

"I'm armed too," Ingrid pulled me from my thoughts "In case this goes north, I want you to be ready."

"South," I cracked a small smile, shaking my head as I put the gun against the nave of my back, pulling my sweatshirt over the metal and plastic. It felt cool against my skin, making goosebumps push against my arms. "The expression is if things go south."

"Ah," she shook her head "That's odd."

"Well so are you." I noted, earning a small smile back as the lightness of the room soon began to fill with more than one set of footsteps.They echoed off of the walls like we were in an amplified sound system.

They were all in suits, despite the low temperature and late times. This was looking more like a mafia movie by the second. The man was young, his hair a dark pitch that stood out against the graffitied walls. It was a bit long, too long for my liking. He was pale, his dark grey eyes standing out against his complexion. There was a man next to him, much to the same appearance of his counterpart. His gaze was a deep brown, a navy blue suit and red tie making him look more like a political associate than someone trapped in a desolate building.

A woman stood behind them, her hair a dark caramel, almost blonde, her green eyes reminded me of a cats, but not one with good intentions. Hell, no cat had good intentions, but this woman's posture just drove the point home. Another man stood next to her. He looked a bit more slack than the rest of the group, dressed in a suit with no tie and a few open buttons on his collar.

"Ingrid!" the man with the grey gaze spoke first, his accent thick and foreign. It reminded me of Zoe's in an odd and twisted way, but I was sure all british accents did have a certain similarity to one another. "It's so nice to see you again."

Ingrid seemed to fidget a bit, her eyes darting to the others in the room before landing on what seemed to be the leader of the group. I had never seen her act like this. Even dressed as a scared enemy rebel in a desert room had a certain level of confidence. But her stance now seemed threatened.

"Yes, it always is a pleasure." Ingrid finally spoke, holding her hand out as she shook his carefully.

"It is, it is." he glanced over at the group of misfits, meaning us. Compared to his color coordinated team we looked like street rats, and that seemed to show on Ingrid's face as well. "Why don't you introduce me to your- um, uh?"

"It was short notice," Ingrid seemed to cover her tracks quickly, "I had no idea you would want to meet so quickly after your flight landed, Phil." her voice had a bit of a bite to it, but this Phil guy didn't really seem to notice.

Ingrid let out a bit of a sigh "This is my head medical consultant- Grace." She nudged me forward a bit. I gave the man bit of a nod, taking his cold outstretched hand.

"I'm Phil," He smiled, knowing that he had already stated his name "you look a bit too banged up just to be a medical consultant."

"Phil," Ingrid warned "Grace is very strong in all aspects, Medical being her strongest." She lifted her chin towards Cassie "this is my second medical consultant and my inside man."

"Ah," Phil clapped his hands together a smile on his face "So you've really gotten quite a team together."

"I told you it was no joke." Ingrid said, her accent becoming thicker as her annoyance grew. "Phil we have been planning this for years. You can't just back out at the last minute due to certain doubts."

"Doubts that are rightfully there," he said, containing his composure "if I'm not mistaken, your little medical consultant has a gun behind her back. You have a blade wedged in your boot, and your own firearm on your belt. And I'm the ones with doubts?" he chuckled.

He stepped closer to Ingrid, his breath pooling at her collarbone in misty waves "It doesn't work this way, Miss Nilsen. If we work together on this, I need one hundred percent trust on both ends."

She let out a shaky breath, "what do you suggest?"

"We're sticking around for awhile," Phil smiled "we'll need some form of living. It is a small town, after all..."

I cocked my head to the side, no quite liking where this was going. He was right, there weren't many hotels in town, if any at all. The only place that had rooms were always booked.

"You can stay with us," Ingrid was quick to respond "most of us have spare rooms, right?" she glanced at us, leaving us in a speechless fashion as she looked desperately to the group.

"Fantastic!" Phil clapped again, smiling widely "I'll be in touch."

Their footsteps set off another round of sounds as they crunched over glass and dirt, each of them filing out in an assembly line. It looked like they had practiced their exit over and over again instead of just leaving.

"What they hell was that?" Chester asked, running his hands over his messy hair.

"Who," Ingrid spoke, keeping her eyes in the place where they once stood "The correct expression is who."

[thegxtherer]

really LONG CHARACTER SURVEY.

RULES.

repost , don’t reblog ! tag 10 ! good luck !

TAGGED. @paternall thank dad! <3 <3

TAGGING. @matilda-the-downer, @nullisms, @ears-off, @lamabilite, @subjectwyk, @slightlyspliced, @nolamb, @theeternalartist, @deathboundinautumn, @wiingedflight, anddd @ whoever else wants to do this long ass thing.

BASICS.

FULL NAME : Cosette Blanc

NICKNAME : Cossy/Cossie or Cos

AGE : 8 // 16

BIRTHDAY : May 20th

ETHNIC GROUP : French and spanish

NATIONALITY : French

LANGUAGE / S : English, french, and a small amount of spanish.

SEXUAL ORIENTATION : Demisexual

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION : Demiromantic

RELATIONSHIP STATUS : N/a

CLASS : High Class

HOME TOWN / AREA : Paris, France

CURRENT HOME : Rapture

PROFESSION : Gathering ADAM // Protecting Little Sisters

PHYSICAL.

HAIR : Ashy Brown

EYES : Light blue // Glowing yellow

NOSE : Small button shape

FACE : Very round

LIPS : Relatively big and thick as she got older, she’s got the pout 

COMPLEXION : Pale medium, neutral undertones

BLEMISHES : N/a

SCARS : N/a

TATTOOS : N/a

HEIGHT : 4’0” // 6’2”

WEIGHT : 55 lbs // 160 lbs

BUILD : Thin but sturdy, pear shaped

FEATURES : Cute small smile, plush cheeks // scowl , still hella plus cheeks, nice lips

ALLERGIES : N/a

USUAL HAIR STYLE : Sides pulled back with bow // Down and messy

USUAL FACE LOOK : Happy, innocent // Constant resting bitch face, occasional small smile

USUAL CLOTHING : Fancy Dresses // Little sister Uniform // Big sister suit

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR / S : Drowning

ASPIRATION / S : To be a good girl // Save the children // Forget

POSITIVE TRAITS : Sweet, kind // Smart, strong

NEGATIVE TRAITS : Curious // Mean, stubborn

MBTI : INTJ

ZODIAC : Taurus

TEMPERAMENT :  Sanguine // Choleric.

SOUL TYPE / S : The Priest

ANIMALS : Rabbit 

VICE HABIT / S : Messing with hair

FAITH : Atheist

GHOSTS ? : Kinda

AFTERLIFE ? : Don’t know

REINCARNATION ? : Don’t know

ALIENS ? : Maybe

POLITICAL ALIGNMENT : In Rapture, she is agents Lamb

ECONOMIC PREFERENCE : Doesn’t care anymore

SOCIOPOLITICAL POSITION : N/a

EDUCATION LEVEL : Some middle school

FAMILY.

FATHER : Yvain Blanc

MOTHER : Celia Blanc

SIBLINGS : N/a

EXTENDED FAMILY : N/a // Jack, Tenenbaum, Antonio, other little sisters

NAME MEANING / S : Cosette ;; Victorious Blanc ;; White

HISTORICAL CONNECTION ? : N/a

FAVOURITES.

BOOK : Can’t really remember books all that much, just basic children's books

MOVIE : Never really watched movies

5 SONGS : La vie en Rose;Édith Piaf, Sleep Walk;Santo & Johnny, March Winds And April Showers;Abe Lyman, Papa Loves Mambo;Perry Como, Earth Angel;The Penguins

DEITY : N/a

HOLIDAY : Halloween because every kid loves candy

MONTH : May

SEASON : Spring

PLACE : Arcadia

WEATHER : Sunny and cool

SOUND : The crackling noises phonographs make

SCENT / S : Floral scents, any expensive perfume or cologne // ADAM

TASTE / S : Anything sweet

FEEL / S : Being sung in a blanket // Holding onto daddy’s back // Holding a little ones hand

ANIMAL / S : Jellyfish

NUMBER : 20

COLOUR : RED

EXTRA.

TALENTS : Painting, gardening, piano // Gathering ADAM // Punching splicers in the face

BAD AT : Following rules...all verses she’s just that bad at rules

TURN ONS : Someone who understands her and will listen to her talk for hours

TURN OFFS : Anyone who is just rude in general towards her

HOBBIES : Painting, drawing, gardening, floral arrangements, piano.

TROPES : The ingénue

AESTHETIC TAGS : flowers, butterflies, fire, black corruption

GPOY QUOTES : “ Jellyfish are survivors of everything that ever happened to anyone else. ”

FC INFO.

MAIN FC / S : Chloe Grace Moretz

ALT FC / S : Basic little sister and big sister in game models.

OLDER FC / S : N/a

YOUNGER FC / S : Chloe Grace Moretz {{ I was good with picking a child actor }}

VOICE CLAIM / S : Fairuza Balk

GENDERBENT FC / S : N/a

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1 : if you could write your character your way in their own movie , what would it be called , what style would it be filmed in , and what would it be about ?

A1 : Mmmm...for a title maybe ‘ Cracked Glass ’ and I have a feeling it would be more of a psychological horror type movie depicting the the struggles Cosette goes through on a daily basis. It would be filled with creepy imagery and probably some nasty gore which I’m alllll about.

Q2 : what would their soundtrack / score sound like ?

A2 : The song that is currently on my blog is it, 100%.

Q3 : why did you start writing this character ?

A3 : Well I was getting bored of playing a character and I always loved bioshock and thought of making a character blog there. Took me a few days to choose but I figure ‘well I see no little sisters how about we try that?’. At first Cosette was just a generic little sister when I started this blog but she evolved pretty fast when I realized it didn’t have to be that way and I could make my own back story, give her a name, a appearance that was different from the others, and basically change her into my very own OC.

Q4 : what first attracted you to this character ?

A4: Little sisters are SO FUCKING CUTE and plus she is now my OC who doesn’t love their OC’s?

Q5 : describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse.

A5 : I don’t know if I dislike anything about Cosette yes sometimes I wish she wasn’t so mean but I don’t hate her for it. Honestly most of her personality and how she acts is my own personality. She’s basically me but not me at the same time.

Q6 : what do you have in common with your muse ?

A6 : Our personality like I just said...Cosette is how I get a lot of my feelings out because I don’t really talk about them very much. She’s my vent character.

Q7 : how does your muse feel about you ?

A7 : Sometimes she’s indifferent but most of the time we get along great we are practically almost the same person.

Q8 : what characters does your muse have interesting interactions with ?

A8 : @paternall ( dad ), @diemuttergans ( Mam ), @longestconofall ( I’ve never interacted with a Fontaine and I really want to. A Lamb would be nice but there isn’t a blog for her. And Eleanor! Pretty much any Bioshock character and OC, come at me.

Q9 : what gives you inspiration to write your muse ?

A9 : Carrie, playing Bioshock 1 & 2, and music.

Q10 : how long did this take you to complete ?

A10 : 2ish hours because I was kinda on and off it.

[thedizzydinosaur]

The Cynn vs parenthood chapter 2

chapter 2 of my first foray into fanfiction. 

slight warning for medical related stuff,  nothing graphic. 

99.9% of the characters belong to @thephooka

Chapter 2: … and you are?

 Hawk awoke to two distinct feelings. The first was the warm, beaming morning sun filtering through the office window above his head, and the second was the feeling of something cuddling him. Something small, too small to be Teige. And too big to be Teige in his stoat form.

Blinking sleep from his eyes, the first thing that Hawk noticed was that Teige was still asleep on his pillow, sprawled out on his back, paws in the air and snoring like a chainsaw. Confused, hawk turned his attention to the warm something that was clinging to his middle like a stubborn limpet.

It was one of the children that had been recovered the night before.

The young spirit was sound asleep, dressed in worn light yellow pyjamas, curly ashy brown hair covering their face as they dosed sweetly, arms wrapped tight around Hawks waist, using His tummy as a pillow. They were.. tiny.  Hawk admittedly was not good at telling ages in spirits, but she could tell that this little one was very young indeed. If he had to guess, he would say that she was about 7 in spirit years. A small 7 years at that. They were thin. The traffickers had not been kind to the poor child.

The spirit snuffled in their sleep.

The door creaked open as one of the young nurses popped his head around the door. The rosy feathered harpy looked confused at the sight of the equally confused RIT soldier being used as a bed by a small spirit child. The look of confusion was replaced by a look amusement.

“Ah, there she is. Sorry! She sneaked off whilst our backs where turned”  The nurse motioned with one wing to the sleeping bundle, who, almost on que, started to wake up. She raised her head, looking up at hawk with a bleary expression on her face, eyes still mostly hidden under her hair. And yawned. Hawk’s heart sank at the sight of the child’s missing canine teeth. Those traffickers really had not been kind to her. Harpy nurse made to try and pick her up, only to have her start to rise a fuss and squirm away from his touch, unwilling to leave her warm bed, accidentally kneeing Hawk somewhere tender as they did.

The little spirit took the opportunity pointed by hawks reaction to the sudden, sharp pain to lunge up, and wrap her thin arms around His neck , pressing her head into his shoulder whilst whimpering softly.  Startled, Hawk gently attempted to move her, only to be met by a volley of louder whimpering, sniffling, and the grip on his neck getting tighter.

Hawk shot the nurse a helpless look.

“Er, I don’t think she’s gonna let go”  The harpy, Robert (according to his name tag), shrugged his wings in response, looking a little sheepish at the situation. He had been on watch when She had slipped out of bed, after all.

“if I may ask, since she’s… er… taken to you so well, would you mind, maybe, helping us take her to one of the exam rooms? The doctors want to take a closer look at her, because of the state she’s in.”

Hawk took a closer look at his new friend, taking note of just how dishevelled this child looked. They where thin, yes, but also looked messy, and not in the way children where normally messy. She looked.. neglected.  Hawk turned back to Robert, and nodded. Then reached down, and tipped Teige off of his pillow to wake him up.

 .....

The exam room followed the same theme as the rest of the children’s ward. Namely, diabetes inducing murals on all any wall that were not used for storage. And even then, a lot of the cabinets had posters from popular kiddie tv shows on them. It was done deliberately, as to make the room less scary to the children who would end up there. But to most adults with colour vision, the room was.. loud to say the least.

The little spirit on the other hand, found the room fascinating. Once she had realised that Hawk was not going anywhere without her, she had started investigating anything she could reach. Opening any cabinet that did not have a child lock (only a couple, containing harmless things like paper towel) carefully examining the smiley flowers that decorated the wall by the door, and even trying to open the bin to have a look inside (that attempt failed. There was a spell lock on it).  Despite her curiosity, any sound from outside the room would send her skittering back to Hawk to hide behind His legs and tail feathers, big blue/green eyes looking up at him for reassurance.

Hawk could feel his heart melting. Who could be cruel to such a child? Someone who needed a firm talking to, and a good kick in the ass as well, that’s who.

Any thoughts of vengeance was put to one side as the door to the examination room popped open, and the doctor who would be checking hawks new friend over walked in, followed by a cranky looking Teige bearing coffee, and what looked to be doughnuts.  Hawk pouted a little at Teige ‘not for you’ motion in regards to the coffee and snacks. Someone was a little bit grumpy about the surprise wake up  call.

The sensation of someone tugging on his tail feathers made hawk realise that The little spirit had ducked back behind his legs at the site of two people that She did not know. The doctor was a soft spoken Golden hind, wearing scrubs with happy flowers all over them, and a name tag bearing the name Dr M. Poulos. She set a small stack of paperwork down on the counter top, next to a heavily stickered computer.

Dr Poulos turned smartly to the three other people in the room.

“Good morning gents! Dr Michell Poulos at your service. So, I’m guessing that the little lady down there is the person I’m here to see, correct?” She chirped, offering a gentle smile. Hawk gave a little nod, and scooted the child out from behind him.

“Ahh, what a little cutie.” Dr Poulos cooed at the little spirit, causing her to smile and giggle shyly. Dr Poulos checked some of the paperwork, before taking a stethoscope out of one of the draws.

“Big guy, Hawk right? Could you help this nice young lady up onto the bed? Lets get this little exam over with whilst she’s still feeling brave.” Hawk nodded slightly and gently gave the young spirit a boost on to the crisply made exam table.

“ok, first things first, do you have a name little one?” she asked the child, who held up her wrist in response. Partially hidden under the sleeve of her pyjamas, was what looked to be a chunky looking red hospital wristband- one that did not belong to Hope and Hearth. It was fastened tightly to her wrist and , on closer inspection, had ALX-A printed on the top of it, and a string of numbers on the other side. Hawk and Poulos gave each over a look.

“Alexa? Is that correct? Can we call you Alex?” Dr Poulos questioned. The little spirit, Alex, gave a happy nod in response, before jabbing her wrist at firmly at the gilded furred doctor.

“Oh? Would you like me to take it off you?” Another, more vigorous nod was given as a reply.

Dr Poulos turned and pulled a small pair of fabric scissors out form the same draw that the stethoscope had come from, and snipped the plastic band from Alex’s outstretched arm, being careful not to touch the letting or the numbers.  She then handed the band to hawk so he could have a better look.  The band had what looked to be an computer chip embedded in the back, under where the letters were. In hawks mid, it looked one of the sim cards that came in phones. Small, and used to store data. But, what sort?

“Hey, doc?”

“Yes Hawk?” 

“Could we take this” He held up the band “with us? I think our tech guys might wanna take a look a’ this”

Dr Poulos nodded, and found a small specimen bag in another draw. Hawk dropped the band in and sealed it shut, and pocketed it, making a mental note to hand it into evidence once he got to base. The sound of Alex giggling at something drew His attention. She was looking at something behind him, and Dr Poulos, taking notice, was trying to keep a straight face too. Turning, he found that Teige has fallen asleep whilst they had been talking, leaning against the wall by the door, snoring lightly.  Hawk just shrugged helplessly at the two of them, not bothering to hide his amusement.

“Ahh, let him sleep. Maybe he’ll be a little less grumpy once Marinos gets back here.”

“Marinos?”

“our captain. Said he would be back in the mornin’ to pick us and any reports or evidence up.”

Nodding slightly in agreement, Dr Poulos got her exam of alex under way, starting out by checking he child’s heart and lungs (“all healthy and clear.”) before moving on to body temperature, height and weight, eye and ears. Alex was compliant for the most part, only starting to fuss when Dr Poulos got round to trying to check her mouth and teeth.

“Come on sweetie, just open your mouth a little bit. Please?” Alex just gritted her teeth together harder and tried to squirm back into Hawk’s arms, shaking her head. A thought from earlier came back to hawks mind with a jolt.

“Er, Doc? I think the…… Lovely people who had her last pulled her canine teeth out. Think she may be a bit touchy about it.”  Dr Poulos pulled back slightly in horror, ears pinned back.

“wha- why would someone do something like that to such a sweet child??” she shook her head in disgust. It was decided that they could skip the oral check for now, and managed to get Alex to sit back on the bed.  No use stressing Alex out any more than was necessary.

“right. Almost done. Just got one more thing to do. Hawk? Could you distract our little friend? I need to draw some blood, and I don’t think she is going to like this one bit.” Hawk blinked. Then nodded. Alex gave Dr Poulos a suspicious look. She did not quite understand what the golden deer had meant by ‘draw blood’ but…

“Heyyy Alex? Look! There are birds on the ceiling.” Hawk pointed at the colourful birds plastered all over the ceiling. Alex looked up.

“How many blue one d’ ya think there are?”

Alex cocked her head, and started to try and count the blue ones. There were… one, two…three? Four, five.. She payed no attention as Dr Poulos found a vain in her arm and took the samples that where needed. Less than minuet later, she was done, and was taping a frog themed plaster over the needle mark with a cheery “all done!”.

Alex looked at the plaster, and gave Hawk a betrayed look that read ‘you tricked me, traitor!’, as Hawk chuckled and ruffled her hair.  

“Ok young lady, all done today. We can look at you teeth another day, alright?” Dr Poulos produced a lollipop from yet another one of the draws, and held it out to her now slightly grumpy patient, who took it after a moment with a small nod. Alex climbed up into Hawks arms as Dr Poulos filled out a copy of the report of the exam for Hawk to take as evidence, and put a note about putting in a new appointment to have her teeth checked out. Hawk took note of the time.

“only 8:30 huh? Wow, time for breakfast.” He remarked. His tummy rumbled almost on que. Alex giggled at the sound and used her foot to lightly tap his side.

“You hungry too? Wanna get some food?” Hawk glanced over his shoulder at Teige, who was still soundly sleeping. “I think someone else could use some food too.”

A sharp knock on the Door got the attention of everyone, who was awake, in the room. Dr Poulos trotted over to the door and cracked it open, revealing another Lavender clad nurse and..

“Oh! mornin’ Captain!”

“Good morning Press. Sleep well? “ the green and red cockatrice, nodded a thank you to the nurse, and stepped into the room, immediately taking in the site of Hawk with a shy child in his arms, and Teige, with his back to the door, sound asleep.

“Just fine, thanks.”

“that’s good to know. Most of the kids have been discharged already, its only the Minotaur twins and the your new friend left.” Marinos stepped quietly over to Teige “The twins had a doctor’s appointment today anyway, and no one has come forward for this young lady”

“her names Alex, captain. And.. wait, what? I thought there was an address put forward?”

“No response over the phone, address came back as fake. Oh, I am sorry to intrude Dr..”

“Poulos. We had just finished up anyway” she smiled brightly. “are you the person who the report goes to?”

“unfortunately yes.” Captain Marinos sighed melodramatically, sneaking even closer to the sleeping pooka, who still had not budged from his sleeping spot.

“Hawk, I want your report in by Monday. Go get yourself something to eat whilst we try and find somewhere for Alex here to go. Don’t leave the hospital just yet, ok?” Hawk nodded, and made for the door.

“Gonna feed her too.”

“Got it. See you in the cafeteria in a little bit, Press”

“see ya Captain. Say thank you to Dr Poulos, Alex.”  Alex gave The golden deer a friendly little wave. Dr Poulos waved back with a smile. Before he ducked out of the room, Hawk took one look at what  Captain Marinos was about to do and turned back to Dr Poulos.

“You may want to cover your ears doc.” He grinned and left the room, hearing a confused sounding,

“Why?” came the response from behind Him. Less then a second later, She found out why.

“CARROL! WAKE UP YOU DOZY GOAT!” Captain Marinos blasted at top volume, probably into one of Teige’s ears judging by the way Teige yelped, and the way Dr Poulos burst out laughing.

Hawk Chuckled to himself, and continued off in search of food, with Alex safely stashed in his arms.