#bear paws are fucking hard to draw. gotta get used to that.

[mystery-amalgamate]

mwap mwap mwap

[frozenjokes]

deeply infatuated with them. so much so that you guys can have the full ficlet as a treat. And yeah he wears that dumb fuck lab coat to bed of course he does. he’s also a socks in bed wearer and if you don’t think so we will be dualing at dawn.

zombiecleo and the worst found family in the world vvv

Ow. Ow.

Mosquitos, deer flies, horse flies, bugs, Cub was being ravaged by bugs, he really hadn’t considered the bugs when he’d started this journey. In the Wisconsin northwoods you breathed them, all sorts, but the deer flies were his worst enemies, drawing blood even through the thick layers of.. well, moss didn’t feel like an accurate descriptor. It looked a little like moss, like life had reached toward the sky and captured the stars, brilliant and twinkling and everything good. But moss didn’t have teeth. Sculk did. Cub liked that about it. Whether it hurt more or less than the flies, that was up for debate, but the sculk was consistent, familiar, everywhere, and the flies were in his way.

But with all the bugs, there was some reprieve. Afterall, another source of food meant less of those teeth under Cub’s skin. Less pain, though, somehow, he still managed to miss it.

Sculk was alien. It was not supposed to be here. But it wanted to be.

Sculk was a parasite. So was Cub.

Ow- Fucking- stupid ass dumbass fucking-

Cub jolted awake with a screech, being shaken- dragged out of bed, the monster on his neck- he was falling, a bear- a black bear had got him, he was being dragged through the woods by a black bear- fuck- what bear was it you where you were supposed to play dead? Cub had thought the brown bear, there weren’t brown bears in Wisconsin- He tried anyway.

He realized the floor was not dirt. The paws awkwardly dragging him along weren’t black or brown. Momentarily stunned, he heard Cleo cackle through the darkness.

“Scar- Scar! What are you doing? Wait- No no- No! Scar!”

Cub had the wind knocked out of him as his kidnapper attempted to jump onto Cleo’s bed, his stomach slamming into the mattress before he was unceremoniously dragged all the way up over a howling Cleo. Briefly Cub was released, to which he cautiously began to move until the sheets were pulled so hard underneath him that he fell off balance, only to be grabbed by the throat, then shoved head first underneath.

Cub needed a second to breathe, utterly shocked he was still alive. Then a large weight fell on top of him, and breathing became a little harder. The weight began to purr.

“Scar.” Cleo gasped, sounding just as shaken as Cub felt, though not nearly as dazed. The purring ceased briefly, then began again, Cleo’s bewilderment remaining unanswered. “What- Why?” they tried again, which Scar seemed more receptive to.

“Easier to watch when you’re close together. This is better. Efficient. Safer.”

“We- We don’t need to be watched, Scar. We are safe. This room is safe. There is literally nothing in here that can hurt us.”

“That RenKing is awfully suspicious. It’s watching me.”

“He’s not on! He can not turn on by himself, we are fine.”

“What else lurks in the shadows, Cleo? You never know, you never know. One minute you’re safe, the next minute a hawk has swooped out of nowhere and grabbed your kitten, you gotta be careful, you gotta sleep together. It’s the best way to do it, it’s the best way.”

“I can not argue with you about this right now. Is Cub even alive?”

“He’s wriggling.” Cub was indeed wriggling. He wasn’t even uncomfortable per se, there was something deeply mollifying about having a large weight directly on your back, and he slept face down anyway, so this wasn’t a huge issue. Just adjusting.

“Let him go, Scar.”

Cub was a little offended by the implication that he could not get Scar off by himself- Scar was at least half his weight! “I’m fine.”

“He’s fine,” Scar parroted.

Cleo sighed, long and strained. She said no more. With enough passage of time, Cub stopped going to sleep in his own bed, since no amount of arguing was going to stop Scar from dragging him out of it every night. Though, out of all of Scar’s disruptive quirks, this was not something Cub minded all too much. He liked Cleo’s company, though he was relatively certain Cleo did not enjoy sleeping in a full bed nearly as much. Well, Cub definitely took up more room, but it wasn’t like she had slept alone since Scar had invited himself to sleep at their feet anyway.. then their legs.. then their stomach.. then their chest. Maybe this was always the next step. Cub wouldn’t be surprised if Scar had been planning it from the start. Oh well. No skin off his back.

uh if you like this there’s more of it on ao3 here’s a link

[asphodelsandpomegranates]

In Your World (Randall Boggs x Reader)

Tagging @creeperchild​ because I know how much they love Randall. <3. Same AU series as ‘Where Did You Come From?’ and ‘Fear Factor’. 

You landed with a thud onto a hard floor and let out a yell of pain.

“Shit!” you hissed. Your shoulder was throbbing a little from the fall. Sitting up, you rubbed your arm and looked up. In front of you, was the most bizarre image you'd ever seen. You were sitting in a large room like a factory floor of some sort but you were looking into your neighbour's daughter's room. Like some sort of weird portrait.

How was this possible?

Something weird and fluffy fell on your shoulder, making you flinch and recoil. Looking up, you saw a...creature?...and standing over you. He was covered from head to toe in pink fur with two horns growing from his head. He had a long tail that ended with spikes at the end.

He smiled at you. “Hi. Welcome to Monsters Inc.” he said.

You stared at him and then looked round. There were dozens of creatures around you, all shapes and sizes and colours. Some of them were watching you apprehensively whilst others were curious.

Wait...Monsters Inc.? Didn't Randall say he worked there? Um, here?

You wanted to curl in on yourself. Or maybe it was a dream. That's it, it was a dream. You were still in bed with Randall right beside you, both huddled under your thick duvet. Or maybe the floor would swallow you up and—

—that's when you heard it the whispers.

“Is that a human?”

“An adult by the look of it.”

“Do you think we should near it—?”

“Are you crazy? We'll be dead in minutes! Or thoroughly contaminated!”

“Well, Horace touched her and he looks fine.”

“Yeah for now!”

“Maybe adults are different. Kids maybe, but adults—.”

“Don't be an idiot. Sullivan and Wazowski told us humans aren't contagious.”

“Are you all right, miss?”

You looked up at the fluffy monster, you assumed to be Horace. He was still smiling at you.

“Where am I?” you asked.

“Monstropolis. I think you've accidentally entered our world.” His face suddenly changed into one of concern. “You're looking a little peaky. Maybe the shock of ending up somewhere new.” He turned around and looked towards a weird looking creature that that had many eyes.

“Hey, Waxford! Go tell the big bosses. They'll have to know about this.”

Waxford nodded, making all of his eyes bob and scuttled off out of the room. Horace helped you up and guided you over to one of the desks. You sat down, keeping a wary eye between the monsters around you and the door that led back to your world.

Randall, where are you?

“Here ya go, sweets.” said a new voice.

You looked up to find a thin, pink creature with one of eye and snakes for hair. She hovered near you, holding out a mug of what looked to be tea

“Thank you.” you replied, taking the mug of hot tea into your hands.

“Gotta say.” said Horace, standing beside the female monster. “You're the first adult human I've never seen.”

You didn't know how to respond. You weren't too sure how you would. You just sipped on your tea, wincing a little over how sweet it was.

Suddenly, there was a short piercing alarm and the whole factory floor went dark. You watched as inside of your neighbour's child's bedroom disappeared showing the back wall of the room.

You sprang to your feet and hurried to the door. You took hold of the handle, closed the door and opened it.

Nothing. No inside of a bedroom or a closet full of clothes. No way of getting back. Of getting back to Randall.

“Shit!” you snapped, kicking the door grip and immediately regretting it.

“What's going on?” called Horace.

“Power's gone out.” called a voice.

“Damn it.”

“Um, Horace?”

Everyone looked round saw Waxford hurrying back over.

“Sullivan and Wazowski want to see the human in the office.”

“I'll take her.” said the female. “C'mon, sweetie. You'll get to meet the big boys. Gent, leave that door here. And let us know when that light comes back on.”

Looking up at the weird door mechanism where the red light had once been on, you felt your heart break. Randall was bound to notice that you were gone for longer than you'd imagined and would get upset.

Reluctantly, you followed two monsters out of the factory floor as monsters hurried to and fro, trying to fix whatever the situation was.

I'm Celia, by the way.” the female monsters said as you both followed Horace through the halls. “And what's yours?”

“Um, (Y/N).”

“Well, nice to meet you.” smiled Celia. “And don't worry. You're not the only human who had entered our world.”

“Really?” you asked, innocently. You remembered how much Randall had told you about his world and what had happened for him to end up in your world. You didn't want to give yourself away yet. You could not find yourself digging yourself deeper into this rabbit hole.

“Oh, yes. Mind you it was a little different back then. But we've come a long way since then.” 

“In what way?”

“Well, instead of using children's screams for energy, we just use their laughter. My fiancée found that out with his friend when a child came into our world.”

As you walked along the corridors and up the stairs, you saw some of the monsters looking at you and backing away slightly. You guessed some of them were still not used to the fact that humans weren't 'contagious'. You remembered proving Randall wrong when you had dragged him from your balcony to your couch when you first met him.

God, was he okay? Would there be another way of him to get back to you? Or you to him?

You hoped to whoever that the power would come back on and you would get home and back to Randall before it was too late.

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

Soon enough, you arrived at the office where Celia was immediately swept up into the arms of a small Cyclops creature with green skin. Behind a desk sat a large furry beast, larger than Horace but this one had blue fur with purple spots.

“Googly bear, um! Mike, Sully, this is (Y/N). From the human world.”

“Hi!” greeted the big blue monster who you guessed to be Sully.

“Hi!”

“Sorry about the power. Fingers thinks it may have been a wire trip of some kind. They'll fix it soon.”

“You.” said the giant eyeball you guessed was Mike. “Look very relaxed for someone who had just seen a bunch of monsters.”

“I've seen bigger and badder believe you me. You'd be surprised.”

“Wow.” Sully breathed.

“Listen, I don't mean to sound rude but how long is this going to take. I need to get back home.”

“I understand, (Y/N). You have someone at home, you care for, don't you?”

You nodded. “I need to get home or he'll worry about me. All I was doing was checking up on my neighbour's apartment, making sure everything was okay for her and her daughter and...I came here. It's all been a misunderstanding and a complete accident.”

“It's all right.” Sully comforted. “It'll be all okay. I know what's it like. We've all been there.”

You gave Sully a sort a reassuring smile.

“Who was your monster?” Mike piped up.

You stared at him, wide eyed. “What?”

“Who was your monster growing up?”

“I...I don't remember. ”you said. Your heart began to slow down from racing so much. You almost thought Mike had figured out somehow about Randall.

Suddenly, there was a flickering of lights and...

“Power's back on.” Horace smiled. “That's good. Quicker than I though.”

“Thank goodness.” you muttered “Well, this was fun. But I need to get home.”

“Right, let's get you down to the Scare Floor.” Sully said, rubbing his paws together. 

“Great.” you said.

Leaving the office, you headed out with Horace beside you and Sully, Mike and Celia behind you.

“Is there any need for the bodyguard sch-tick?”

“We just need to make sure that nothing else goes wrong.” Sully reassured.

You sighed, getting really irritated.

Your thoughts were interrupted as a small monster with large sharp teeth, hurrying over to you.

“Mr. Sullivan! Mr. Sullivan!”

“What is it?”

“We need to call the authorities.” the monsters panted.

“What the heck is going on?”

“It's Randall Boggs. Somehow, he's come back.”

You felt like your stomach had dropped out of you. Like the air had just escaped from your lungs. Your mind just lost itself of all thought and common sense because you blurted out! “Where is he?”

You could feel all eyes on you at this, but you really didn't care.

“Where is he?” you pressed, making the monster quiver.

“By the Scare Floor—.” he started and just as those four words left his mouth, you bolted down the corridors and down the stairs. The others called after you but you couldn't care less about them. You needed to get back to Randall and let him know you were okay.

Jumping the last two steps and dodging the monsters huddling in the hallway, you sprinted down to the Scare Floor.

There!

At the opening, two or three monsters had Randall in some kind of lock and Randall was struggling against them.

“RANDALL!” you screamed as you ran towards him.

The chameleon like monster froze and looked over at you, running.

“(Y/N)!” he sprang out from the hold and slithered over to you. Meeting you in the middle, he scooped you into his arms whilst his others paws softly slipped into your hair.

“Randall, thank fuck.” you gasped. “How did you know I was here?”

“I had a hunch.” he whispered. “Shit, (Y/N), you had me worried.”

“Sorry, baby.” you rumbled. “I didn't think I'd end  up here.”

“Are you all right?” he asked, drawing back a little to look you in the eyes.

“A little shaken. But I'm better for seeing you. Now, we can go home.”

His eyes flickered away from you to what was behind you. “I doubt that for a little while.”

Furrowing your brow in confusion, you looked round to see a whole throng of monsters surrounding you and Randall. Sully and Mike moved to the front, both of them did not look pleased to see their ex-colleague.

You stepped in front of Randall, looking defiantly at them.

“(Y/N), step away from him.” Sully warned. “He's a criminal.”

“No. Not in my world, he isn't.” you spat. “So, we can go. You promised me that.” 

“And you didn't tell us that you were harbouring a criminal.”

“Let us go home, now.”

“Call the authorities, Celia—.”

“No.” barked Sully.” Don't.”

“Sully, what are you—?”

“We did promised to bring you back home to the one you care for. And since Randall is the one you 'care' for. So, go home and live your life happily with him.”  

“I will.” you said, taking hold of Randall's scaly paw. You pulled your lizard boyfriend over to the factory floor where the right door was still waiting, the red light blaring.

Without a glance back to your monsters audience, you re-entered the human world.

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

A week later...

You were lying in bed snuggling under the thin blankets when you heard a knock on your door.

“Mmm.” you grunted, stirring a little from your sleep. The knock came again. Becoming more awake, you sat up in bed and noticed Randall standing at your closet door, he was holding something and looking bewildered.

“Randall? What's wrong?”

He turned to look at you. In one of his palms, he held a letter.

“What's going on, hun?”

Randall still didn't reply. He looked terrified. His gaze fell on the letter in his hand. 

“Randall, you're scaring me. What's going on?”

Still Randall didn't reply. Instead, he opened the envelope and took out the letter inside. His large green eyes scanned the letter, the look of terror and changing into one of surprise and then relief.

“Randall?”

The lizard like creature moved over to the bed and settled down in front of you. He handed you the letter.

Taking it, you cast your gaze on the words before you.

                                      Monstropolis Supreme Court

                                 Subject of Letter: A Case of Pardon.

You looked up at Randall who was still in a case of shock.

After reading the letter, you looked back at him, a smile creeping up on your face. 

And you jumped on him! Squealing in happiness!

“Oh, Randall.” you cooed. “I'm so happy for you.”

“Yeah. I can't believe it.” he said, snuggling into you.

“Hey...ya hear that?”

He smiled up at you. “Sure do.”

…

...

“The winds of change.” 

[madscientistjournal]

Fiction: Disinhibited

An excerpt from the journals of Combat Search & Rescue Consultant Lana McGee, as provided by Myna Chang Art by Luke Spooner

Don’t call me a mercenary. Those guys are pricks. Kidnappers and murderers, the lot of them. I’m not like that. Sure, I get paid for my work, and yeah, I love a good explosion. Who doesn’t? But my job is to save people. Pull them out of bad situations. Bring them home safe.

I’m not an asshole.

“I didn’t think you were, Ma’am.”

Oh shit, did I say all that out loud?

“Yes, Ma’am, you did.”

Wow, this pilot doesn’t look old enough to shave, let alone fly a chopper.

“I shave, Ma’am.”

“You heard that, too?”

“Yes, Ma’am. My CO warned me this might happen.”

“Name’s Lana, not Ma’am. So, they told you about my disability?” Their word, not mine.

“They said you got a piece of shrapnel in your head. War souvenir. Said you blurt out whatever crosses your mind.”

“Yep,” I nod. “Frontal Lobe Disinhibition. Basically, if I think it, I say it. That’s why I’m freelancing now.”

“Yes, Ma’am. Not a merc. Got it.”

Pilot’s quick. And he does shave. Sexy stubble. Yum. Like to run my tongue up that jawline and–

“Due respect, Ma’am, I’m authorized to tell you to shut up.”

I bite my rogue tongue hard enough to draw blood. Damn it, Lana. Stop scaring the cute flyboy.

He flicks his eyes toward me and grins. “Truth is, Ma’am, I don’t scare easy.”

Oh. Well, then. I smile and shift in the seat. “Just to be clear … You wouldn’t mind–”

“Approaching the drop zone, Ma’am.”

I chuckle. His smile turns to a blush. Tease. “Fine, kick me out of your helicopter. Come on, Diamond, we’ve got people to rescue.”

My German Shepherd sits while I attach a jump harness to her K-9 armor. Takes about three seconds. We’ve done hundreds of these short jumps, and it never gets old. She woofs, ready to go.

“Godspeed.”

“You talking to me or the dog?”

“Both of you, Ma’am.”

He maneuvers the chopper over the moonlit compound and flashes a cheeky grin at me again. I try to keep my mouth shut, but as usual, the words tumble out.

“I’m probably gonna lick your stubbly jaw when this mission’s over, Pilot. Diamond might, too.”

“Countin’ on it, Ma’am.”

I laugh and step into the air.

~

The research facility sits on a swath of blacktop, devoid of plant life, a big wart on a bald head. The gate hangs open. I toss a handful of debris at the razor-wire fence, but it doesn’t spark. Looks like the power’s out. Not a good sign.

I was hoping this job would be a quickie: rescue the dashing scientist, secure his peculiar research, get home in time for dinner. Guess I should’ve known better. Anything involving Chase Mathews isn’t going to be easy.

“At least the compound hasn’t been bombed yet, huh girl?”

Diamond doesn’t respond. She’s good like that.

A Jeep sits abandoned near the fence. Wet-looking handprints smear the windshield, and a case of medical supplies has toppled onto the asphalt.

We skirt it, watching for movement, hoping for some sign of life as we approach the entrance. Nothing stirs. I tighten my grip on the MTAR submachine gun strapped across my chest, and we enter the facility.

Lobby’s dark, except for orange warning lights at the guard’s terminal. My NVGs flare in time with the flashes, so I pull them off. Diamond’s night vision is more reliable than the goggles, anyway. She’s the most capable combat partner I’ve worked with; I trust her with my life.

She nudges me. I nod, and she ghosts away, into the darkness. Nothing will get past her. A low growl, five yards to the right, alerts me to an enemy combatant. I bring my MTAR to bear, just in time. Two quick bursts, and the bad guy goes down.

I love this fucking gun. Compact and efficient, with a little kick. Kind of like me.

Diamond circles the lobby, vigilant, then returns to my side. I prod the body splayed in front of me. Scrawny dude, white lab coat. Blisters all over his face.

Or are those pustules? Jesus, that’s nasty looking. Diamond keens and backs away. I follow her lead. A blister-thing quavers and ruptures, spurting out thick goo. Hard to tell in the darkness, but I think it’s green.

I’ll never eat lime Jell-O again. Diamond rubs her head on my thigh; she won’t either.

“Come on, girl. Our dashing scientist isn’t going to rescue himself.”

She snorts her disapproval. Diamond had never liked Chase. She’d peed on his shoes every chance she got. My dog’s smart. I should have listened.

~

We creep down the hallway behind the guard station. Emergency lights flicker, strobing the corridor in snapshots of weirdness.

Flash. Body on the floor.

Flash. Smear of blood.

Flash. Heap of clothing, soaked with green sludge.

I wish the freakin’ light would either stay on or go dark. Vertigo pulses with every disco blink.

Diamond lets out a cautionary rumble, and I pull up my gun, ready to fire. A woman covered in angry boils slumps on the floor, back against the wall. She reaches out blindly, hands grasping air.

My first-aid kit’s in my pack, but I’m not ready to take my finger off the trigger guard; Diamond’s hackles are still up. The woman’s mouth opens and tainted saliva gushes out. Looks like pond scum.

I don’t think my emergency band-aids will do you much good, lady.

She jerks toward my voice, moaning. Spit froths on her lips. Several of her boils burst, popping like firecrackers, loud enough I can hear them over my thundering heartbeat. Syrupy goop, smelling of burnt licorice, oozes from the sores. Her body cants sideways and her shoulder hits the floor.

Nothing I can do will help her now. Maybe we’ll find a miracle cure in the lab. Diamond and I hug the far side of the hallway, avoiding her still-seeking arms. The thick fluids pooling around her body seem to throb in time with the emergency lights, and the cloying odor intensifies as we pass.

I’m not sure what we’ve gotten ourselves into, but I sure hope this bug isn’t airborne. Our combat armor should protect us from physical contaminants, but it doesn’t do anything to block out the stink.

We come to a junction. I remember the blueprints and hang a left. The bulb in this hallway’s dim, but at least it’s not blinking. Unfortunately, the path is blocked by a mass of writhing bodies.

All naked–explains the abandoned clothes back there–dotted with throbbing cysts. Many have already ruptured, leaving curdled trails of emerald slime. I stare, fascinated. The people are fusing together; everywhere the goo touches, their skin melds. Limbs, feet, heads, all merging into one giant blob.

Diamond paws the floor. One of the faces snaps up, focusing its attention on her. We back away. A distorted jaw juts out, leering. It trembles, and a body begins to emerge from the fused clump of flesh, first a shoulder, then a torso. Straining to reach us, it makes a squelching slurp and tears free–an arm, two legs.

The legs don’t match.

My stomach turns. The newly assembled monster stumbles and lurches at Diamond.

I shoot it in the head. It stops, but doesn’t fall, so I pop it again, center mass, where a heart and lungs should be. It totters for a split second before collapsing.

Diamond whines; the rest of the entangled mound of creatures squirms toward us. Maybe the gunfire got its–their?–attention. They stretch and heave, inching closer. Unnatural liquids gurgle and flesh splits as they rip themselves apart, rubbery appendages groping relentlessly in Diamond’s direction.

I flip the toggle on my MTAR to full auto and spray the clusterfuck. No way in hell those abominations are gonna get sticky with my pup. I let up on the trigger and watch for movement, then give them another blast, just to be sure.

I guess a full magazine was enough to do the job, which is good because, damn, that’s a scary pile of monsters. But now the hallway’s coated in weird-colored gore. Not gonna risk going through that mess. Doesn’t matter, though. According to the map, all hallways lead to the inner lab, where the research stuff should be stored.

And Chase. Can’t forget him, the handsome, charming scientist. My ex.

~

Don’t call me a mercenary. Those guys are pricks.

The electronic lock is toast and the lab door won’t open. Something’s wedged it shut. I kick it, hard, but that only hurts my foot.

“Chase? Are you in there?” Hope he’s not glued to the mishmash back in the hallway.

Diamond watches my back while I pound on the reinforced steel.

“Lana? Is that you?”

“Yeah, and I wanna see if you still turn me on.” Damn it.

“Are you infected?”

“I can still talk, can’t I?” Of course I can. It’s my biggest problem.

The door cracks open. He squints at me.

“Why’d they send you?”

“No one else’d take the job.” True story.

Diamond and I squeeze through the door and shove it closed again.

“Did you bring a platoon of Marines to save me?” Chase demands.

I spread my arms. “Just us.”

He groans.

Not as charming as I remember.

“If you’re all they sent,” he says, “they’re going to nuke the whole island, aren’t they?”

“Probably. I figure we’ve got another hour before the bombing starts.”

“No, no, no, it’s too valuable,” he mutters, already ignoring me.

Feels like old times.

His motions are jerky. He grabs a backpack and shoves miniature computer drives and scraps of paper into it.

Definitely not a turn-on anymore. Looks like hell, all bug-eyed and twitchy. Kinda soft around the edges.

He stops and glares at me.

Stinks, too.

“Still the motor-mouthed bitch.”

Oops. “I didn’t mean–”

“Yeah, you did. You’ve always been an asshole. The piece of shrapnel just makes it more obvious.”

That hurts. Gotta admit it. A muffled thud from the hallway preempts my snarky response. Diamond snarls, low and intense. The warning tone sends goosebumps up my spine.

“Chase, what happened to those people?”

He shrugs. “Sample got out. Spread a lot faster than I expected.”

“Sample? The research I’m supposed to retrieve?”

“Thought you were here to rescue me.”

“Yeah, but boss-man said you’re low priority. ‘Get the research,’ he said. ‘Grab the scientist, too, if you can.’ That’s what he said.”

“God, I hate the military,” Chase spits.

I have to agree, at least a little. CO didn’t mention the rest of the research staff. Guess the woman in the hall is zero-priority in his book. I call bullshit on that–I’ll save whoever I can.

“Is there a cure, or an antidote?”

“Why?” he asks, backing away from me. “Did you get any of the transfer medium on you?”

“You mean the green goo? No. But maybe some of the others are still alive.”

He goes back to rifling through the science junk on his desk. “I only make the contagions. Cures are someone else’s department.”

Seriously? “So you’re a full-on mad scientist now?”

“I prefer bioweapon engineer.”

I stare at him. Has he always been this cold-hearted?

Diamond barks, two short yips. That’s a yes.

Chase rolls his eyes and I realize I’ve spoken out loud again. He glares at Diamond.

“Bitch.”

“You talking to me or the dog?”

“What do you think?” He shoulders past me, opening a biohazard safe. Polished steel containers crowd the shelf. They look like those expensive vacuum insulated tumbler thingies. He yanks one out.

“You keep your weaponized slime in a fancy coffee cup?”

He sneers and shoves the container into the backpack. “I can’t believe they sent a brain damaged mercenary to rescue me.”

That’s ‘value-priced consultant’ to you, jerkface. Diamond snarls, exposing her fangs.

“Can you both shut up?” His hands shake.

Wait. Faster than he expected? How did the sample get out?

“A test,” he answers. “Proof of concept for the buyer.”

“You infected those people on purpose? So you can sell that stuff?”

He laughs. “You weren’t very smart, even before the shrapnel.” He zips his pack and turns.

Something’s wrong with his face.

Diamond’s growl modulates into a high-pitched howl–her extreme danger signal. Almost too late, I realize why: Chase is infected. I didn’t see it before. Hard to miss now.

I raise my MTAR. A smudge of emerald gel shimmers on the edge of the safe behind him. “Don’t move.”

He gapes at me, incredulous. “Put the gun down, Lana.”

I shake my head. “You must’ve gotten sloppy with your death jelly.”

“How dare you?” He frowns and scratches at a freshly blossoming pustule on his right cheek. His fingers drip green. “No!”

Diamond moves into a defensive position, guarding me. Chase stares dumbly at his stained hand. He raises frightened eyes to mine.

“Lana, help me.”

My gun barrel wavers. Diamond barks, short and sharp, warning him to stay back, reminding me to follow protocol. Chase reaches out to me.

“Please–” His voice devolves into a mewl. Sanity, whatever’s left of it, drains from his eyes. His face morphs, cheeks melting in a slurry of jade-colored paste. Pus drips from his scalp. He screams and launches himself at me, and for the first time in my professional career, I freeze.

But Diamond doesn’t.

She meets him mid-air, bashing into him with her shoulder. She ricochets off his body, crashing to the floor a few feet from where he lands. Teeth bared, she’s up in an instant, but he’s already charging toward her, crablike, faster than I’ve ever seen him move.

Diamond! Don’t bite him!

I don’t know if I’ve screamed or if she’s read my mind, but she keeps her mouth off him. We slide into a familiar rhythm of charge and retreat, strike and evade. She dodges, giving me a clear shot. I squeeze the trigger. Chase’s head explodes.

Clabbered wet tissue splatters across his desk. Ears ringing, I inch closer and nudge the slack body, but it doesn’t move. His entire head is gone. I doubt anything could survive that, but I give him a double tap, two to the chest, to be safe. Then I drop the gun and rush to Diamond.

You stupid dog. Did the goo splash you? I run my hands over her armor, up and down her legs, check her mouth and her teeth. After examining her doggie armpits for the second time, my panic dissipates. She’s okay; the K-9 gear did its job. She nuzzles my face, and I realize she’s cleaning up my tears. I wrap my arms around her, trembling. Good girl.

~

I call for evac and wait for the thump of chopper blades to split the air.

On a normal mission, I’d feel rotten about failing to bring my target home alive. This time, not so much. I drag a clean duffel behind me. It’s filled with Chase’s notes and computer drives, but not the bio sample. I left that crap behind for the bombs to take care of.

The chopper circles. I flash my light, three quick blinks, and it lands.

“Look, Diamond, it’s the yummy pilot.”

She woofs and thumps her tail.

“Oh, you approve of this one?”

She barks twice; that’s a yes.

“Okay then, let’s go give him a lick.”

Combat Search & Rescue Consultant Lana McGee specializes in the retrieval of personnel and property from high-risk environments. McGee is assisted by a Hero-Class German Shepherd named Diamond. McGee has recently raised her consultation fees, and now charges a premium for any “mad scientist bullshit.”

Myna Chang writes flash and short stories. Her work has been featured in Daily Science Fiction, The Copperfield Review, Defenestration, and Dead Housekeeping, among others. Find her @MynaChang or read more at mynachang.com.

Luke Spooner, a.k.a. ‘Carrion House,’ currently lives and works in the South of England. Having recently graduated from the University of Portsmouth with a first class degree, he is now a full time illustrator for just about any project that piques his interest. Despite regular forays into children’s books and fairy tales, his true love lies in anything macabre, melancholy, or dark in nature and essence. He believes that the job of putting someone else’s words into a visual form, to accompany and support their text, is a massive responsibility, as well as being something he truly treasures. You can visit his web site at www.carrionhouse.com.

“Disinhibited” is © 2019 Myna Chang Art accompanying story is © 2019 Luke Spooner

Fiction: Disinhibited was originally published on Mad Scientist Journal

[wyrdautumn]

Express

This is one of those stories that falls into a broad category of “what’s a little short self-contained thing I can write about a character I’ve had around for a while but haven’t gotten to do much with?” I’ve written about this character before, but I wanted to write something that got a little more into her personality and what her whole thing is.

I’ve got plans to write another little short featuring this character, getting into more of the big-picture lore around her, that’ll be going up as a Patreon exclusive by the end of the month. It’s only a $3 pledge to get those bonus stories, so keep an eye out for that!

Afonse didn't like the new mercenary. It wasn't that she always wore a bandana over her face, or that she didn't talk. Better quiet and hidden than open and loud, if you asked him. But any postman worth his salt knew you couldn't trust a mage, and this girl couldn't go five minutes without lighting up her arm, just to remind you she weren't normal.

The worst part was seeing the rest of the caravan embracing her, like she was their friend, like they thought you could trust the magic turncoat as far as you could throw her. Every time he told Boss to dump her off in town he just gave him some malarkey about about her skills. Never mind that it'd only take a little touch of magic to make any clumsy idiot look like a master swordsman. And Charlie and Helen were both spending nights in her tent, the ungrateful skanks.

They were still only halfway through their route the day Boss told him to leave camp with the merc and go fill up their canteens. He protested, like any sane man would, but Boss wouldn’t budge. “Watering hole's a mile away, Fons, and there's ferrix around,” he said. “We're gonna need you to help pack up once we catalog what we lost to the dust devil, so I don't care how bad you wanna die, you're taking her.”

That was that. Afonse left camp with the merc. Neither of them were happy. He knew she didn’t think much of him either. For a woman without a voice, she knew how to make herself heard when she wanted to.

Whatever. The last thing he wanted was her friendship.

It only took them fifteen minutes to reach the watering hole, a deep well that connected to a groundwater stream far beneath the arid soil. A land company dug it years ago as part of a quickly-abandoned development project. As far as Afonse figured it was a testament to why nobody should have been building in this forsaken hellscape to begin with. Even the nomads knew better than that. And here he was bumming through the badlands with a mage, barely making enough money to afford three square meals. Fucking society.

As soon as they reached the well she leaned herself against a post and started drawing something in the little book she always carried around. That’s what she always did when there was work to be done. She could have filled all the canteens herself with a snap of her fingers, but of course she was too good for that. She lit up her arm with a faint off-white glow just to spite him.

When he finally finished with the last canteen Afonse heard something rustling nearby. He capped the container and looked around cautiously. There were a few hardy, scraggly bushes, struggling by on what little water they could pull up from the ground and whatever travellers spilled onto the dirt. They were short thin things, not nearly big enough to hide anything dangerous. Certainly not big enough to hide the massive orange-furred many-mouthed creature stalking towards him on all fours.

Afonse turned and ran for his life, knocking over the canteens he had spent so much time filling.

The toothy, gnashing thing was bigger than him, and faster and stronger too. It beared down on him and knocked him off his feet. He scrambled away from it, barely avoiding its wicked bites, and looked up to the merc, howling at her to help him.

She looked up from her sketchbook and met his eyes. Without moving from her spot, she flipped the book around and held it up where he could see. Above a few rough, stylized sketches of a ferrix she had written two words, large and bold enough to read:

“Good luck.”

Dao wasn't going to let the ferrix eat his face off. He wasn't worth the hit to her rep. But she let him twist in the wind just a fraction of a second longer before she rose to her feet and turned to face the monster. A gust of warm desert air made the ends of her coat flutter around the sword at her waist, and she didn't care how much of a dweeb that made her, it was cool.

She blinked to the beast and drew her sword into its side.

Her blade cut true. She sunk it deep into the ferrix’s flesh and flung the monster away from the idiot.

The ferrix landed five feet away, bleeding badly from its wound. Before Dao could follow up it scrambled to its feet and bared its fangs at her. It puffed up its fur to make itself seem more intimidating and snarled aggressively, daring her to come for it.

Dao didn’t care. She stepped toward the monster, brandishing her sword, determined to put it all the way down.

She wasn’t afraid of the ferrix, but the ferrix was afraid of her. It hissed and growled and scrambled backwards, keeping its eyes locked on her.

There was enough distance between them now to be a problem. Dao kept a careful watch on the creature, holding her sword at the ready, weighing her options.

Grabbing the loser and running was a bad idea. Leaving a wounded ferrix alive was dangerous. It was scared of her, but before long it would be desperate and hungry enough to come back to the best meal it knew of. It wouldn’t have a hard time tracking them back to the caravan, either. And that was assuming the thing didn’t attract more ferrixes, or something even worse, dripping blood all over like it was. Best to make sure it was dead, and leave its body for the scavengers.

Blasting it wouldn’t be a sure kill. She couldn’t risk using up the rest of her magic on a miss. The only thing was to get in range and finish it before it could react.

She charged at the ferrix. It kept backing away from her. That wouldn’t help it. She blinked again straight into its face and jabbed her sword into its paw.

But the ferrix was smarter than she thought. It was ready for her. As soon as she struck her blow, the thing’s teeth were upon her, lunging towards her throat.

Dao threw herself back and tumbled to the ground. The ferrix was on her. She scrambled away from it, diving and rolling to avoid the sharp, thrashing claws that caught her coat and ripped up the ends. She didn’t have the stamina for this. Her limbs ached and stung in protest every time she flung herself into the dirt.

There was no room to use her sword. So she let it fall to the ground. The ferrix lunged again. She threw herself straight at it and clocked it in a jaw with her metal gauntlet.

The ferrix only flinched for a second. That was time enough. She grabbed it with her open, ungloved hand and sent all the magic she had coursing through its body.

It twitched and convulsed and was fried in a second. Dao let the creature fall to the ground. She took back her sword, struggled painfully to her feet, and put the blade through its throat, just to be sure.

She was slowing down. Darkness encroached the edge of her vision. Her entire body burned with exertion while her lungs flared and contracted desperately, trying to fill themselves with the air her crushed windpipe couldn’t provide. She ripped the bandana off her mouth instinctively. It didn't make a difference.

Almost a full year of this and she still hadn’t learned how to pace herself. Still wasn't going to. Restraint isn't exactly an option when a monster is trying to bite your head off. She shook her limbs out spitefully, willing them to move whether they liked it or not. Finally she felt the surge of Jehoram’s magic returning to her, and she used all of it immediately to fill her lungs with air and her blood with oxygen.

Now that she could move comfortably again it was time to get back to the job. The carrion birds were already circling, and they got nasty when you didn’t leave them to their work. She kicked the dead ferrix out of her way and went to grab the canteens and the traumatized jerk. He walked ahead of her on their way back to the camp, casting anxious glances back at her constantly, stumbling over his own feet trying to keep his distance. Dao carried the canteens herself, because he was just that useless.

Twenty minutes later they made it back to camp. The rest of the crew saw how much worse for wear they were and left their work to meet them. “Did you run into a ferrix?” Boss asked.

Dao nodded.

“Is it dead?”

She gave him a theatrical, sarcastic thumbs up. Of course it was dead. That’s what they paid her for.

“Good.” Boss looked past her to Afonse. “If you’d gone out there alone, you wouldn’t have come back. Aren’t you lucky you listened to me?”

“Lucky?” Afonse snapped. He stomped up to Boss and shoved him in the chest. “I’m not fuckin’ lucky, Boss. She was gonna let that thing kill me!”

Dao scrawled a message in her sketchbook and turned it to show him: “And yet I didn't.”

Afonse glared at her and fumed.

“All right, son, you’d best cool your head.” Boss put a hand on Afonse’s shoulder and stared him down firmly. “Monster’s dead, you’re not. Ain’t much more you can ask for than that.”

“I can ask her to do her job!” Afonse pointed at Dao accusatorily. She rolled her eyes at him. “That monster attacked me and she, just, pulled out her little book and wrote ‘good luck’ in it!”

Boss looked over at Dao, who waved her hand dismissively. “Did you do that? No, nevermind, of course you did.”

Dao just shrugged.

Helen and Charlie both snickered while Boss sighed deeply and rubbed his temples. Afonse shot a dirty look in their direction. “Y’know, Fons,” Helen said, “this job’ll be easier if you don’t keep trying to make enemies with the people you gotta bunk with for weeks on end.”

“Why don’t you two get back to work?” Boss interjected. “I’ll handle this situation, thank you.”

“Right. We’ll get on it, Boss.” Charlie put his thick broad hand on Helen’s shoulder and pulled her away before she could start an argument.

Once they left Boss turned back to Afonse. “Look, I know you’re not happy, but she still saved your ass, whatever she might have written. Maybe if you learned to be a little nicer she wouldn’t feel like she had to mess with you like that.”

“Nicer?” Afonse scowled at Dao. “You’re not payin’ me enough to be nice to a fuckin’ mage, Boss.”

“If that’s the way you feel I don’t need to be paying you at all.” Afonse turned to Boss in disbelief. “You think you got job security cuz the head office won't approve any other hires, but if you can't get your head out of your ass, I'd rather be traveling with a stunt crew.”

That finally got him to shut up. He shoved his hand into his pockets and quietly seethed until Boss sent him away.

Now that Boss had Dao to himself he sighed and ran an exasperated hand through his hair. “Why do you have to antagonize him?”

Dao cocked an eyebrow. Did he really need to ask that?

“You know how much harder it is for me when I have to be mad at both of you, right?”

Being mad at both of them was his own choice, Dao thought. She did her job. If Boss wanted more than that he should have made it part of their agreement. She stared at him blankly and blinked.

“Just don’t pull any more stunts like that, okay? He’s an asshole, but he’s part of the crew. I still gotta watch out for him.” Boss didn’t wait for a response. He walked past Dao towards camp, but he stopped for just a second and looked over his shoulder at her. “Thanks for not letting him die.”

Dao stood impassively and watched him go. The sun was starting to go down, and the air was beginning to chill. She grabbed a few blocks of wood to start a fire and brought them in to the middle of the camp.

Once everyone else finished repacking the deliveries, they gathered around the fire for dinner. Dao took a seat next to Helen, who was eager to see the day’s sketches. She laughed at the “good luck” page.

Afonse glared at them angrily across the fire, until Dao glanced up and met his eyes. He looked away immediately and spent the rest of the night being ineffectually grumpy.

What a pain in the ass. There was no fixing a man like that. All he wanted was to feel right and just in his ignorance, and nothing you did was going to change his mind. Getting chewed out would only make him resent her more.

But that wasn’t her problem. He wasn’t going to do anything except stew in his own petulant rage. A coward won't try anything if he knows you can kick his ass. And he knew that just fine.

[johobi]

Bloom

Word count: 4672

Pairing: Yoonji x Female Reader

Warnings: vulgar language, oral sex, fingering

Song inspo: Bloom

Drabbles: Bloom | Snared | ? | ? | ? | ? | ? | ? | ? | ? | ? | ? | ? | ?

The 80s. Power suits, perms, and peril. Because peril is all that can follow when you involve yourself with the Mafia capo in charge of extorting your hard-of-hearing employer for protection money.

13 snapshots charting your doomed descent into law-breaking love.

“G-God,” the blasphemous exclamation hits the muggy summer air with feeble force. “You can’t keep me here all day,” you squeak, hiking up a pitch when she drums against something notably spongy. Your knees twitch and draw together to occlude the girl subjecting you to such practiced torture, but she practically wafts them apart with a wave of her unoccupied hand.

But how can you possibly present a respectable resistance when she’s had you on the edge of a life-affirming orgasm for this past half an hour?

“Why are you drawing this out so long?” you try again, but you needn’t even hear your companion’s reply. Her feline eyes narrow playfully in on you as she paws gently at and inside your plastered pussy, only ever sparking your painfully swollen clit into ignition and never allowing it to kindle for too long.

Oh, no. That isn’t Yoonji’s style.

This sultry steamroller of a woman is certifiably sadistic.

“And miss out on all of your adorable sex grimacing?” she finally speaks, although it’s to impart her usual teasing of you. “And leg-quivering. You’re shaking like someone with Parkinson’s,” the girl with sleek, inky tresses quips, inclining said head of midnight toward your bent legs. Sure enough, the entire length of them is quaking and twinging spasmodically in response to every pinch, stroke and probe.

“That’s not a sexy image,” you huff, rolling your hips like a lust-drunk whore into her sporadic, inciteful touching. “And also kinda mean of you to make fun of people with that condition.”

Yoonji, face cradled in the heel of her hand, looms over you. “Can you take a momentary leave from sainthood a sec? So you can enjoy me, enjoying your womanhood?”

Ever the heathen, power-suited temptress, Yoonji lures you from sanctity with two beckoning fingers, bearing down on the ceiling of your dribbling cunt with her incessant massaging. Fuck, she knows how to touch you.

“O-Oh, Jesus,” you utter further profanities, looking far from the good Christian girl your father has raised you to be. Knees bent, legs splayed, and with your calf-length skirt above your hips and covering none of the flesh it’s sworn to, you writhe and sweat against the knuckles of Yoonji’s buried fingers. “More on my clit, please, I want to finish. I-I just need a little more. I have to get to class soon.”

“Mmm, that’s better, buttercup,” she coos like a syrup-tongued snake. Your brows, previously suspended in abject pleasure, knit into a scowl of indignance at the embarrassing pet name she’s adopted for you. “You’re sounding more and more like a bad girl.”

“I told you not to call me that! And I think you’re more than enough bad girl for the both of us,” you hiss and squirm, as serpentine as she. You try not to think too much about the sordid activities you know Yoonji is not only complicit in, but primarily orchestrates. Thankfully, you’re not allowed to ruminate too long. She withdraws her digits from the clenching void that is now your empty pussy, and busies herself with the entirety of your slick-smothered vulva, scissoring your lips together into puffiness. Pangs promising of your looming completion ricochet from your clit, curling your toes into the earth of the grassy knoll Yoonji has swept you away to. “F-Fuck.”

“But you’re my creamy li’l flower,” she purrs affectionately, a slash of her severely styled hair fluttering against your mouth as she leans in. “It’s a cute name, for a cute girl.”

Your eyes widen incrementally with the growing curve of your arching back. “I-It’s not,” you weakly rebuke. “Oh, God, kiss me,” the urgent entreaty is pried from you by the very deliberate, very widely drawn circles she’s ringing around your clit. You’ve been so protractedly close to freefalling that even the airiest of contact is deathly delectable. “Let me come.”

She lets you have her lips, at least. And just their languid, silken caress is enough to stir your pussy into mouthing around nothing. Yoonji has the measure of your mouth, by now. She’s practically its caretaker. She regularly maintains it with an unhurried, gentle tongue, faithfully representative of her full-body treatment of you.

Because although Yoonji is as much a walking, razor-edged weapon as one can possibly be without lacerating flesh, she sheathes herself for you. And in you, of course. She never so much as raises her voice, let alone her hands, nor those of her grunts.

And only because it’s you.

You’re her one, inexplicable foil.

She breaks reluctantly from you, eyelashes still down and dusting her cheeks as she retrieves herself from your kiss. Yoonji looks up with blown eyes. “You wanna come, darling?”

“Y-Yes, so bad,” you whine your appeal, trapping a smooch-smeared lip between your teeth. You know well how much the innocuous action will further your agenda. “Please, unnie.”

Yoonji takes the bait. But she snatches you in with her. “Alright, buttercup,” she murmurs around her tongue as she swipes a perfect, glistening track up your jaw and tugs the lobe of your ear between her softly suckling lips. “But I want you to be loud, okay? I wanna hear my girl call my name.”

You open your mouth to respond, but it hangs off its hinges as the sharply-dressed woman begins toying all-out with your poor, taunted clit, kneading it rhythmically between her long, sticky fingers. “Sh-Shit, I can’t. Yoonji,” you whimper her name like you’re beseeching an unmerciful god. “Someone will hear me.”

“That doesn’t matter,” your lover asserts with a self-assurance that could only have been cultivated through her daily regime of domineering duties. “If anyone has a problem, they can talk to me about it. I want to hear my buttercup sobbing for me.”

“You like getting me into trouble, don’t you?” you manage another scowl, though Yoonji wipes it clear from you with a mere cessation of her frantic wrist-born motions. “N-No! Please, don’t stop. I like it.”

“What do you like?” the woman wonders. And wanders, with her free hand, down your conservative cleavage. She settles herself straight, her knees bent and feet tucked beneath her, as she squeezes tenderly at your sweater-caught breasts, awarding the soft swells, in turn, with her discerning groping. “You like getting into trouble?”

Your chest jerks against her palm as you chuckle. “I meant, more, you touching my pussy, but, yeah. I guess, on some level, I enjoy you getting me into trouble, too. As long as it’s not too much trouble.”

Yoonji’s mouth stretches into a rogueish grin. “Not my brand of trouble, you mean.”

“Right,” you hum, capturing the fingers of the hand dirtied with your drippings and tugging them pitifully in the direction of your furiously throbbing cunt. “Please don’t stop anymore, Yoonji. I’m dying, and I’m gonna be late.”

She allows you the bold move and watches with a vested interest as you manipulate her rapidly drying fingers around your turgid clit. When you withdraw your guidance, she dunks the digits back into the warmth and wet of your honeypot pussy and exhales loudly. “God, you’re always such a damp, needy bitch for me. I’m soaked through just feeling you, darling.”

You moan wantonly, and with little spare breath behind it. “I want to touch you, too. If you’re so unafraid of being an exhibitionist, let me see you.”

The tsk means no. “Didn’t I tell you that this is my apology for the other day? I didn’t want you to have to see what you did.”

“Still,” you object by slithering a hand along the satin lining of her jacket and clawing at her immaculately tucked shirt. She’s always so put together. You love taking her apart. “I haven’t been able to get my hands on you for a while. I miss the smell and taste of your skin.”

Your earnest confession appears to somewhat shake that goddamn iron will of hers. But only for a moment. You feel her shudder into your fingertips, and then she’s thwapping away your wayfaring touch and tutting again.

And then she’s on her feet, and you panic. “Wait! Where are you going? Don’t leave me in this state!” you’re the picture of pathetic and needy, but you don’t care. Yoonji has long been winding your crank and not even the far-reaching wrath of her criminal family will stay your murderous hand if she leaves you now.

“Calm your cute li’l titties, girl, damn,” she snorts a laugh through her nose as she simply resituates herself between your goosepimpled legs. Her hands inch sluggishly, appreciatively, down the slopes of your thighs, reluctant to rush your skin past her fingertips. “You wanna come, and I wanna do it properly. But you gotta let me hear you good and loud, or I won’t be happy.”

Despite the obvious absence of people in your vicinity, your eyes sweep the secluded area out of discomfiture. Yoonji’s henchmen, comfortingly confined to the interior of her tinted-windowed Continental parked some distance away, unnerved you nonetheless with their pronounced presence. “They’ll hear.”

“Maybe they will, maybe they won’t,” came Yoonji’s voice from behind her curtain of face-obscuring bangs as she lowered her sweet, smart mouth to your glimmering slit. “And if they do, they’ll forget about it if they know what’s good for them,” her sultry breath was hot against your cunt, agitating you to ooze afresh. The proximity of her masterful tongue already had your visibly bloated clit pounding in anticipation.

An abrasive whine streams from you without prior permission when the girl, nose-deep between your legs, provokes the bud with her prong of a tongue. Mortification sees you clapping your hands to your mouth. “I know I’m the first to get on your back about the shady shit you do,” your words come muffled. “But something about hearing you threaten people is hot. I hate myself for it.”

Ostensibly, Yoonji welcomes this revelation with open arms. And a wide, open mouth, which she mashes to your slobbering orifice, engaging it in the sloppiest, most gluttonous of kisses. You feel her skim the rim of your interior with a firm, seasoned tongued, and tense around her oral caresses when she nuzzles that button nose you adore so much against your jumping clit.

Your talons shoot out to motivationally grapple the mass of hair bobbing before your cunt, but you halt mid-dive. “God, I wanna touch you, but I don’t wanna mess up your hair.”

Yoonji pauses her fervid slurping and tilts her face toward you. The midday sun looks all the more beautiful for glinting off the bottom of her fluid-smeared face. “What are you even talking about? Get your hands in there, girl. I want you to show me how good a job I’m doing.”

“But you said you have,” you hesitate, because the word seems far too inoffensive for half the deplorable things your girlfriend involves herself in, “meetings after this.”

“And you have class. But I’m still gonna send you there with a wet patch you can’t explain away,” Yoonji snickers, her feline-flicked eyes flashing predatorily as she drowns her laughter between your folds. You gasp, you bend, and your breasts press opportunely into her waiting hand, the one she’s infiltrated your blouse with without notice. Her avarice for your flesh can’t be satisfied over your cheap, synthetic bra, however, and her fingers are soon slithering beneath the underwire to grope unfettered. As soon as she has one of your bare mounds filling out her hand, she sends a moan through your pussy and her eyes flicker shut. “So soft. Honestly, I just wanna play with your tits all day,” Yoonji purrs, pursing her lips around the place you’re screaming for it. You buck weakly to encourage her focused attentions, and she seizes your thighs so tightly in her clutches that your flesh strains past her fingers.

“Yeah?” you hear her half-ask, half-lap against your saturated pussy. Your eyes are welded shut in pursuit of the thread that will unravel you.

“Y-Yeah,” you moan feebly, your desire to vault after your nebulous, nearing high ridding you of your consideration for preserving her pristinely-styled hair. “Suck me, finger me. God, Yoonji, please, I need you.”

“Yeah?” she ventures again, and you heave a faltering breath to reply, but she continues without you. “What do you want?”

Why does she make you work for everything, including your so-dubbed reward? Sure, eleven times out of ten you come so violently you astral-project yourself to another plane, but still.

Rude.

“Do you want me to beg—”

“Don’t just fucking stand there, answer me,” the voice coming from between your thighs is no longer syrupy, but serrated. Your eyes fly open in alarm and only then do you behold the figure looming over the two of you.

“Oh, fuck!” you squeak and scramble, yanking down your skirt that seems akin to a parachute now that your modesty depends on its timely descension. Despite your frantic fistfuls of fabric, Yoonji’s hands are very firmly communicating her desire to keep you revealed despite your spectator. “Yoonji!” your screeching seems to startle the man into a step back. “What are you doing?”

“Relax, it’s just one of my guys,” she sighs, vexation clipping her tone. You know, however, that her ire is not directed at you, when you catch the glare she beams at full, soul-searing strength towards the interloper. “I’m not putting you away when I’m not done with you yet. What’s the matter, Hoseok-ah? Never seen a girl eating pussy before?”

The man in question doesn’t know where the fuck to look. You find it difficult to conjure sympathy for anyone part of an organisation such as theirs at the best of times, but despite your vulnerability, you feel your gut twist uncomfortably for him. Finally, he clears his throat of consternation enough to reply. “Y-Yes—I mean, no. I mean—”

Yoonji raises an eyebrow at his incoherent dithering and returns to granting your poor, quivering clit some lavish, lingering kisses. “What,” kiss, “do,” lap, “you,” suckle, “want? Don’t make me ask again.”

A porn-perfect moan surges past your lips when she returns to you with her sinful tongue. The eroticism of being on display while your girlfriend berates and patronises a very uncomfortable man is strangely immense.

Unfortunately for Hoseok, your keening seduces him into shooting the most fleeting of glances toward your very possessively guarded cunt.

It’s enough.

“Are you looking at my girl’s pussy?” Yoonji hisses, now hostile. Her underling recoils with impressive swiftness, like it’s a genuine possibility she could project venom. She rises to her knees akin to a cobra coiling to strike, but despite the building tension, you only find yourself at the intensifying mercy of yours, and ache for her all the more. This is exactly why you find her so alluring.

And exactly why you shouldn’t.

“N-No, I swear, I’m not,” the mild-mannered man insists as best as one can when faced with the infamously hot temper of his boss’s daughter. “I literally just came to let you know that your father is on the mobile phone, Ms. Min. I’m sorry if I caused any offense.”

She sticks out her deliciously full, bottom lip. Boredom sedates the anger that had been wresting control of her features. “Tell him I’ll call him later. I’m in the middle of something, as you can see. Now get the fuck outta here and wait in the car, like I ordered you to.”

One relieved nod and urgent jog away later, Hoseok disappears behind the oily black veneer – and temporary safety – of Yoonji’s car. And she's back upon you before you even have a moment to admonish her for her unnecessary show of territorialism, daubing your lips and chin with your own, tacky excitement as she bends you into a hungry kiss. The length of her body is between your arms and your legs, pressing with some urgent insistence to your front, and you're bestowed with your first, heart-thumping feel of her today, though it's through the annoyance of expensive tailoring. Her perky, modest breasts feel so malleable, so supple as she crushes them flush to your own, stiffening your nipples with the delicate friction.

Finally, you gasp free. "Y-Yoonji," but she’s trying, in earnest, to rejoin your lips, looking wholly delicious in this mussed-up, unfocused state. You lay a finger to her mouth, and she stops, though not without awarding the obstruction a provocative lick. "There's no need to be rude like that," you conclude, but her eyes are already rolling heavenward before you reach your final syllables.

"I assure you, I'm perfectly nice when people aren't posing as an interruption to my extremely important duties," she drawls, inching her way back down your torso with a lascivious wiggle to her raised backside. The move draws your attention to the felicitous way the strained the fabric of her pants molds to her pert, peachy bottom. "Getting you off is my number one priority, today."

"And what's your number two priority? Me as well, I hope?" you taunt, pursing your lips into a petulant pout. It withers when you feel her moistened lips ghosting the softest parts of your thighs.

The devious chuckle that resonates from your lower half turns your gut and your cunt in tandem. Not least because the breath powering it thrums against your poor, toyed-with clit. It’s developing trust issues. "My number two priority is getting you off later. I wasn't able to pick up your favourite toy in time for lunch, after all. But I'll be bringing it later, don't you worry."

You swallow with some difficulty. Half because, fuck, it's not difficult to recall just how good she fucks you with your birthday strap-on. And half because it's also not hard to recall how much she enjoys indulging her power fantasies by shoving it partway down your neck. Your throat is still angry.

Love is about compromise, and all that.

Mere mention of what awaits you later sees you pawing coaxingly at her increasingly tousled tresses. You're throbbing again. "I'm so desperate, Yoonji. Please, put me out of my misery."

And you know that she won't goad you any longer. Because you are the sole proprietor of her only soft spot. This hardened, stoic criminal's only weakness.

Not rivals, nor betrayals, nor bullets.

You.

A cop's Christian, ne'er-do-bad, daughter.

Jesus is on your lips again when Yoonji finally, mercifully hears your pleas for absolution from suffering. And you're on hers. Or, rather, between them, matte plum lipstick bleeding beyond the lines as she seals your clit in the suction of her sensuous mouth. Every measured swat of her tongue against the trapped nub exacts spasmic thrashing from you, and she's grinning wide, you can feel it well enough in the way her mouth stretches against your cunt. Your genitalia twitches, within and without, when the tantalising tickle of Yoonji's fingertips trail around the brim of you. "Oh, Jesus, Yoonji. Please, please put your fingers in. Fuck, all of them. I don't care."

The tremors of her ensuing giggle reverberate compellingly through your sobbing cunt. "All of them? You want me to fist you?"

"God, yes. Anything. Everything," you pant, never having felt more slick, slack and ready for her hands as you do now. You can virtually feel your heartbeat in your cunt, hammering its impatience to be filled. The emptiness is excruciating. "F-Fuck me so hard, please, I'm begging you. I've never been so fucking horny."

A muted, sonorous groan kisses your ears. "You're so hot when you're whiny and squirming. You're such a mess right now. A beautiful, delicious mess. But you say that every time, buttercup."

Guilty.

Guilty and desperate.

When you don't respond past a whine of deprivation, Yoonji stamps her mouth roughly to your clit again and drags on it with her tongue, sinking her two longest fingers into your gasping hole. Your pussy practically drags her in with timed, steady pulses. Each is tighter than the last because she's working your clit so good you're about a second from stupefaction and your mouth is forever hanging open gormlessly. "Ah--oh my G-God, please, keep going."

Eager to please, Yoonji does keep going. And going, and harder, and deeper, until the only sounds rising are your promised, unbidden wailing and the depraved, wet guzzling of your cunt as it eats her fingers again and again. You're so lubricated, now, that her entry and exit is near-frictionless. And so she adds a third indiscriminately, stuffing it in alongside the others. "Ungh! Y-Yes!"

"You like that, darling?" she murmurs thickly, like she's dribbling out her favourite beverage. When you nod and thrash sufficiently enough for her liking, she coils her digits inward and upward, stimulating your squishiest, softest spots.

Your whole body begins bending concave, battling the pressure climbing in your twitching abdomen. "Oh, f—I'm gonna—I'm gonna come, unnie—"

Yoonji is mid-slurp and siphoning your soul through your clit when your frenzied cries reach her. You wish you could run your fingers over her satin folds and feel to what extent you’ve affected her, when she channels a moan through your own. She makes out with your pussy as passionately as she does your own mouth on those nights she stumbles in, full of liquor and lamentation for your spats. "Come for me, darling," she mumbles between her determined suckling and tongue-lashing. "Get my fingers nice and sticky."

Her words flog you like fire, tautening your entire being as the rumbles of a fast approaching release gallop closer and closer. "Y-Yoonji!" your vocal chords are in tender tatters as you scream to the big blue above, gyrating in place with every knuckle-deep pump and torturous tug of her lips and teeth. "H-Harder! Just a bit more!"

She gives you more than a bit. Struggling to reach as deep with your body's frantic, ecstatic convulsing, Yoonji digs her fingers into the roof of your cunt with some fury, rubbing you into the arms of a breath-stealing, vision-blurring orgasm. Witnessing you on the precipice of plummeting, Yoonji calls to you through the fog. "Nice and loud, buttercup."

You're loud until you're not, because the potency with which every wave seizes you renders you wide-eyed, mute, and thrusting like an oversexed bitch against her plastered face and hands, your nails etching crescents into the poor woman's scalp as you attempt, futilely, to haul her closer, deeper; to absorb her completely. It's never enough until it is, and you're coming down, breathing again, releasing her locks and falling back into your bed of grass, fully ready to be 6ft below it and facing your eternal slumber.

Because.

Fuck.

You wonder if you're doomed to forever suffer tinnitus after this, because your ears continue to ring like you’ve spent all night bleeding them by the speakers at an Iron Maiden concert. But not enough that you don't hear the string of smug chuckles emanating from the girl on your shaky periphery. "I really did a number on you today, huh?" your lover boasts, and you're not sure if it's the rush of endorphins or what, but, God, it hits you, then, just how much you love this girl. You love her enough that you can call upon your scant energy to tilt your head in her direction. She's kneeling over you, nursing her generously coated fingers like a just-fed cat, kittenish smirk to match. "Still with me, darling?" she asks again as you blink up at her, vacant of mind but for an acute, heart-thudding appreciation of the way the sun is lighting the crown of her head. She would look angelic were it not for the fact she's laving your pussy juice from her fingers.

"Somewhere in here," you whistle out on a wavering breath. You can't believe how drained you feel. You're lead, now, not flesh. "I feel about ready to die. This is what happens when you edge me for so long."

Yoonji taps a finger to her chin astutely. "Interesting. I'll remember that for the future."

"I don't know if I can take it," you wheeze, making to roll to your side but flopping helplessly onto your front. You faceplant the grass. "I'm gone for good."

Your own scent greets your nostrils when a hand comes to fold a lock of your hair behind your ear. Yoonji stoops to peck a kiss far too chaste for what just transpired, to your cheek. "You're not going anywhere. I need my buttercup."

"You won't have her for long if you keep calling her that," you growl, you're sure, without an ounce of menace, before you're being hoisted into a sitting position. Your arms droop, like a well-loved ragdoll's, by your side. "Anyway, are you sure you don't want me to return the favour?"

"I know you're asking because you're nice, but you're hoping I'll say no because you're going to be late," Yoonji perfectly surmises, and you feel a treacherous heat rise to your cheeks. "Don't worry, darling," she coos gently, pressing your own flavour to your mouth. You sense her about to pull away but you hold her there a few seconds longer to properly suck yourself from her lips. Yoonji sounds a sigh of content as you do. Then, "I'm so wet I could probably drown myself, but there's always later. I can wait."

You nod, guilt placated. As hasty as you were to convene this rendezvous before, now, in the balmy haze of aftermath, you feel a distinct urge to cuddle your mistress of extortion and intimidation until she reconsiders her life's path. "I'll see you later, then?" you confirm with a fallen face.

Yoonji doesn't miss it. "What's the matter, buttercup?"

"I don't know, I just wish we had more time," you half-shrug, averting your eyes bashfully. You’d known from her advent that Yoonji was an incredibly busy, influential woman, and had made some half-hearted peace with that fact. However, you could never quite rid yourself of the nagging sense that you were sharing your girlfriend with two hundred-odd men, too.

Her family was her every second. Her every motivation.

She draws you to your feet, straightening your skirt and grooming you of stray foliage. "Is that really it? Or is there something else?" Yoonji studies you with keen, cutting eyes. Suddenly, they snap wider. "Are those guys bothering you again? I swear—"

"N-No, that's not it at all!" you wave your hands frantically to mollify the brewing eruption. "They haven't been near me, since—well. Since you told them not to. I just wish we could spend more time together. I know I'm seeing you later, but—"

"I know, darling," gone is the danger and back is her sweet smile. "I'm working on it. Things are just tense at the moment. I have a feeling several of our associates have been selling some of the product without express permission, you know? It doesn't strictly fall under my area, but—"

You employ your hands again to wave away her words. "God, stop. Please. I don't wanna hear about this stuff."

Yoonji's mouth droops into a frown for a moment, and then it's gone. "I understand. Sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. I let my guard down a little too much around you," her lips twitch with the hint of a bemused smirk. "I don't know how you do that."

"Neither do I," you knit your fingers and rock on the spot, suddenly as meek as the day Yoonji first strode into your life, all power and purpose. "I'm glad I caught your eye."

Everything sharp about her softens and she's leaning in to press a kiss of farewell beneath your wild bangs. "You caught more than that, I think. Anyway," she turns, a hand still adhered to your cheek. "Later, okay?"

"Okay," your lips curve softly as you watch her go.

They tremble when you can no longer ignore the implication of her car's bulletproof panelling.

[the-voice-of-hell]

Rent is Theft, part 16

Read from the beginning here, read the previous chapter here.  Note:  My MC is a Filipina trans woman and I am not.  If you have notes on that or anything else, hit me up.

                                                        ***

      “I dunno… Is it OK if I take a shower?”

      “Is it OK if I help out?”

      “Um, I just want to get clean.”

      I stood up and took her in my arms.  “Aw, it’s no big deal.  Sex can be kinda messy and embarrassing.  You should be proud of yourself.  That was awesome.”

      “But you didn’t...”

      “I’ll get mine, Leimomi.  We have all the time we want.”  I kissed her cheek.  “Go shower up, be quick.  I’m gonna straighten myself out too.”

      She nodded and went through her bedroom into the bathroom.  I washed my face and hands in the sink, then went to figure out what to do with my clothes.

      The low lights in the room made a mirror of the big window, but a dim one.  I checked myself out in it, hand on a hip, ooh la la.  But something about the darkness just made me look old and skeletal.  I decided to put on all my clothes.

      Momi was taking long enough that I had a bored minute, so I went to intercept.  I didn’t want her to shy away after she was done with the shower, figured I wouldn’t let her get the opportunity.  I stood outside her bathroom door and waited.

      She stepped out and I spread my arms.  “I missed you.  C’mere.”

      “Uh, OK.”  She inched closer and I folded myself around her.

      “We’re good, right?”  I searched her eyes.

      “Oh course, Courtney.”

      “Good.”  I pecked her lips once.  “Let’s relax on your bed.  Come on.”

      She nodded.  I got onto the bed quick, resisting the temptation to bounce in like a kid.  To my disappointment, she started putting on her pajamas.  Oh well.  I took the moment to surreptitiously watch her luscious body as it disappeared into cloth.  Click went the camera of my memory, then I looked away so she wouldn’t notice.

      Momi got into bed beside me and pulled the blanket over us.  It was the blanket that came with the unit.  Her apartment must have been less ravaged by the allergy episode than mine was.  I got close, hugging her with my whole body, then looked her in the eyes.

      “Hey, you mind if I feel you up?  Just for a minute.  I like the way your bod feels through the clothes.”

      “Mm, just a minute.  I mean, I just took a shower.”

      I laughed like a movie villain and rubbed her all over.  It was a good time, but I didn’t want to be too self indulgent, so I settled back into laying beside her pretty quickly.

      I felt something slipping at my scalp - the scarf came loose, and Reverse Courtney immediately started in on us.  “Momi!  Momi!  We don’t belong here, baby!  Get out while the gettin’s good!  Don’t trust Courtney!  I can’t believe you trusted Courtney!  This is your life baby!”

      I was mad.  “Hey!  Hey!”  I pawed at the back of my head and she nipped me with painful bites.  I checked to make sure they didn’t draw any blood while she rattled on.

      Momi looked startled and upset at first, but then realized the culprit - some of her hair had wormed free of the scarves, and pulled mine off.  The strand was whipping around her head, trying to pull off the rest of her wrap.

      We both fell about the bed, wrestling with ourselves, lending each other hands as needed.  I felt like a cowboy at a demented surreal porn rodeo.  At last, we had our heads bound again, and fell in beside each other - this time sitting up, uncomfortably sweaty, romance exhausted.

      She sobbed once into her hands.  “What can we do?  What can we do?”

      I held her close.  “I’ll figure it out.  I did last time, I’ll do it again.  You’ll see.”

      “But how?  Allergies is a thing that happens.  You can do something to that.  Nobody turns into a monster.”

      “We’re not monsters honey, but you gave me a good idea.  We can look up books about monsters.  If the other thing had an answer, I bet this does too.  It has to.  It does.”

      “...I guess.”  She let me comfort her with embraces.  I loved it.

      “Hey.  Ever since I messed up before, ever since we had that hard night, I felt sick.  I was sure I’d never feel OK again without you, sure I loved you.”

      She couldn’t look at me, feeling too intense, face red.

      “I love you, Leimomi.  I wanna be your girlfriend for life.  I never wanna let you go.”

      She still couldn’t talk, just pulled me back under the blankets and held me close.  I don’t know why we cried.  We cried a lot.  Life is the worst.

                                                        ***

      The first date was a kind of test to see if the volatile feelings would break into conflict and push us apart again.  We spent that night sleeping together.  Well, I slept eventually, but had been awake for more than an hour, just watching her.

      After that, I felt great.  That turbulent energy was still there the next morning, but everything we did, every moment that passed helped to iron it out.  I invited her to my apartment for breakfast, did the housewife thing again.  Every time we were close, we touched.

      We sat across the kitchenette island from each other as we ate, talked about little things like nail polish and annoying neighbors.  She didn’t care for Perry, but the man was intentionally off-putting, so reasonable feelings all around.  We laughed nervously at each other’s jokes.

      As I went to put our dishes in the sink, I noticed the couch I’d dragged into the bedroom since my bed flew out the window.  That’s no place to make love.  I needed a real bed.  I remembered noticing her bed was the one that came with the unit, and that reminded me there was another unit on the floor - with another bed in it.  I could just drag that into my place.  Bing bang boom.

      I sat across from Momi again and a feeling began to come over me slowly.  Time still existed.  I still needed to do things within that unfortunate continuum.  What would she do with herself?  If she was half as jittery as me, having nothing to do would be unbearable.

      She noticed my concern.  “Are you OK?”

      “Yeah,” I put my hand out and we touched.  “Just being annoyed that there’s shit to do in the world.  I’ve gotta get a job, gotta research werewolves, that kinda thing.”

      “Huh.  Sorry.  Is there anything I can do to help?”

      “Mm, sometimes maybe?  Probably not now.  I’ll be too distracted if you’re here.” I smiled big.  “You make me crazy, girl.”

      “Sure,” she rolled her eyes.  “I guess I can go bug Marcie.”

      “If he’s around, maybe you could get to know Deandre.  He’s young, bet you have a lot in common.”

      “Uh huh.”  She slipped away from me and stood up to leave.

      I scrambled around the counter to meet her with a big hug.  “I love you too much, baby.  I’ll see you real soon.  Kiss me.”

      She complied, making me feel weird about it.  Why did I make a command of it?  Like Dracula or something.  I tried to make the most of the kiss and squeezed her tight.  I resisted the urge to smack her sexy ass as she left.  I’m a bad person.

      I got the laptop running, went into my e-mail, checked my notes.  I didn’t have enough bites to justify spending a lot of time massaging the leads, had to generate some new ones.  It was tedious work, but mostly less nerve-wracking than trying to get an interview.

      But as I went about it, my mind rebelled.  Fuck this shit.  Before I knew what I was doing, I was making a spreadsheet listing out important information about the floor.  Column A - names.  Column B - blank.  Column C - rent.  Column D - what to call it?  I settled on “curses.”

      Courtney - - - $000 - mouth on head tries to defeat me

      Leimomi - - - $000 - hair like crazy snakes causing trouble

      Graeme - - - $200 - port-wine stain? red hands and arms

      Marcie - - - $200 - something on her chest

      Richie - - - $000 - hair catches fire

      Perry - - - $000 - don’t know

      Patrick - - - $200 - don’t know

      Methadone Mike - - - $000 - turning green

      Deandre - - - $100 - don’t know

      Olivia - - - $000 - neck pops up

      Knobby - - - $000 - floor shitting werewolf? not exactly bipedal, at minim.

      I leaned back and considered the screen.  Maybe there’s a werewolf cure that isn’t a bullet, but what about me?  Worse, what about Momi?  She was so sad and afraid.  I hated it.

      There’s an obvious enough cure, I thought, with a voice not entirely my own.  What’s the one thing happening here that is unusual, that no one ever does?  It has to be the cause, right?  The building is allergic to you.  Leave the fucking building.

      Yeah.  I know.  Just give me a damn minute.  Maybe we could cure everybody just by giving up the place and leaving, but we needed more money, income sources, before that would be a safe thing to do.  Meanwhile, we needed that werewolf under control.

      To that end, I committed to getting a job ASAP and to muzzling the dog.  I minimized my spreadsheet and went at the job crap with the energy of anger.

      I couldn’t bear a full two hours of it, but didn’t want to seem weird by bugging Momi yet, so I went to get the bed out of 1207.  I brought the big key ring, clink clink.  The door seemed eager to open, almost flying out of my grip.

      I clutched the knob for dear life.  The whole apartment was fucked apart, the wall between the bedroom and living room wobbling in the breeze, a vast puckered hole in the windows stretched across both rooms.

       More than anything I was tempted to get out in the hall, pull the door closed, and pretend I’d never opened it.  But I wasn’t getting sneezed out the window yet, and it was probably a good idea to know more about what the hell was going on.  The air pressure began to equalize between the hall and the room, allowing me to let go of the handle and walk inside - with careful, halting steps.  Behind me the door flapped irregularly in the wind.

      The fourth of the apartment closest to the hall was the least malformed, but it still had a creepy pulse, a softness that allowed it to bow in and out.  It was coated in a thin sheen of mucus.  As the apartment neared the windows, it got progressively worse.  The laminate was warped apart.  The underlying plaster and concrete of the building seemed translucent, organic, exuding thicker streams of gelatinous slime in some areas, blistering out into red sores in other areas.  It was warped and folded and breathed with more dramatic motion than the area by the door.  At the outer edge of the apartment, it barely hewed to the window, and the window itself had bulged into a wheezing rippling orifice big enough to drive a truck through.

      The ground beneath me shifted and I stepped quick to renew my footing.  The places my feet had been touching the floor were now bleeding sores.  So this is what happens without the allergy medicine.  Fucking hell.  The kitchenette island was a bulwark against the worst of the outer reach of the apartment, something to cling to if the place sneezed, and I hid behind it with hands gripping the top, raising welts.

      How about that bed?  I glanced to the furniture.  Over the countertop I could see the living room furniture had slid around, was half upended, but was intact and not too bizarre.  It was hard to see the bed from my angle, but I knew that even if it was in good shape, it was too risky to try to move it out.  Probably covered in nasty-ass mucilage anyhow.

      “Oh my LORD!”  Perry was at the door, hanging from the frame, looking fit to fall and break his hip.

      The massive hole in the window breathed in, rippling luridly as if to taunt him - or suck him out on the back draft.  I took the risk of startling him by hustling to the door in a hurry, gently shoving him out, holding him up against the wall, closing the door with my foot.

      His face looked forlorn, unworldly.  Ghost-blanched, eyes searching for Heaven but only finding ceiling.  But as the air pressure in the hall returned to normal, those eyes came to rest on me, the expression stern.  “Just what in hell are you tryin’ ta do to us?”

      “I’m just trying to help, Perry.  Really.”

      “People tryin’ ta help.  All the time,” his voice was so damn loud, “I hate it!”

      I eased off of him, trying to make sure as I did that he could stand on his own.  “Yeah, that’s fine, but maybe you should go take a nap, man.  It’s been a hard morning, right?”

      He swatted away my support with his massive but frail old hands.  “I hate you all.”

      Did he have an extra knuckle on each finger?

                                                        ***

      I had to do that research, but that shouldn’t have been too hard, so I decided to take Momi with me.  I found her in her apartment.  She looked eager to get out, but had to get dressed first.  We looked a little ridiculous with our head wraps.  No culture in the world does it as dorky as we were doing.  Necessity is the mother of bad fashion innovations.

      I might have walked if I was going alone, but I didn’t want to wear anybody else out.  We took the bus.  I held her arm and leaned my head on her shoulder.  I kissed her cheeks and just doted on her as much as she’d allow.

      Every moment felt good, but in a strange way, like a balloon about to pop or a dam about to burst.  If the explosion happened, what would it mean?  I hoped it wasn’t from some inner awareness that it couldn’t last.

      We must have given the impression of people in mourning.  We were emotionally worn out and physically comforting each other.  I didn’t notice any homophobic glares.  But then, I wasn’t noticing much besides her.  I wished I could see her pretty hair again.

      I’d have preferred to buy her something nice to eat, but we got cheap wrapped sandwich halves from a drug store and split a bottled water.  After wolfing that down on a cold concrete bench, we hiked six blocks to the library.

      Most of the new library was avant garde modernist architecture with cold antihuman materials, angles, proportions.  The walls were a lattice of brushed steel beams and bulletproof glass, the floors marble that weirdly ended a foot short of the walls so that if you made the mistake of stepping too close, you’d break your ankle.  The irregular plastic drop ceiling and lights alternated between too short and too tall, too bright and too dark.  All the furniture was too narrow to sit in comfortably for anyone slightly wider than my skinny ass.  The whole effort seemed like it was intended to discourage homeless people from falling asleep, even sitting up.

      Most of the library was like that, but if one felt bold enough and clever enough to navigate the maze of narrow escalators, they could reach a dark wood lounge at the top level - with comfortable leather furniture and well placed, warm reading lights.  The place had a classist air that acted like an invisible doorman and despite the lack of an actual security presence, only a very few hobos lounged up there amid tense college kids and old people that quietly radiated old economy money.

      I knew about that lounge, despite the rest of the building’s efforts to repel me, and I dragged Leimomi up there by the hand.  We came out of a narrow royal orange plastic corridor into the warm dark space and she visibly relaxed.  There was some cool daylight up there as well, filtered through the distant steel and glass cage.  The floor here ended twenty feet shy of the wall, one short bannister all that separated people from a mortal plunge to some random lower floor.  But the isolated platform layout just made the lounge even more cozy, like a carefully crafted bird’s nest in a crook of a high building ledge.  We found a love seat and sank into it.

      Momi didn’t know if she was allowed to talk until she overheard someone else chatting in low tones.  She spoke very quietly.  “How did you know this nice place is up here?”

      “A guy took me here on a date when the place first opened.  Anyway, I remembered the rare book collection is up here, and thought to myself, old books about monsters.  That’s the place to look.”

      “What do you even think you can find out?  I never heard of nothin’ like this.”

      I rubbed my head fingers bumping into the head wraps uncomfortably.  “Well, I am confident one thing will cure all of us, and that’s leaving the building.  But it’ll take time to scrounge up the income to get out, have somewhere to go.  So until then, I just want to focus on one of us - the werewolf.”

      “The werewolf.  Who is a werewolf?”

      “I think it’s Knobby, the way he’s stooped over?  And some other things...  Anyway, some other tenants in the building have been talking about some kind of big dog or hairy man out in the halls, making a mess and causing trouble.  That puts us all at risk.  If I get any more mouths I can wrap myself like a mummy.  But the werewolf is out of control.”

      “I guess that’s why you’re gonna try to fix him instead of us.”

      I rubbed her shoulder.  “I have a plan to fix us already.  I’m gonna get a job so I can afford for us to move.  This stuff should clear right up, I bet.”

      She nodded and looked at her lap.

      “Well, I don’t think you’ll get in trouble for slouching and catching a few winks, because I’ll be next to you.  Just don’t snore too loud, right?”

      “Yeah.”

      “I’ll be as quick as I can.”

      “Yeah.”

      I felt bad for bringing her, but a change of scenery was still probably good for her, even if it was boring.  I left her to find some old werewolf nonsense, see if there was such a thing as an exorcism for it.  Fortunately the digital catalog turned up one promising result right away - a book from 1912 titled “Werwolves.”  I brought the beat-up old book back to the loveseat quickly for perusal.

      The subject of exorcism came up quickly in the book.  “Is it possible to exorcize the evil power of metamorphosis possessed by the werwolf, or, as those would say who see in the werwolf, not the possession of a property, but a spirit, ‘to exorcize the evil spirit’?  For my own part, and basing my opinion on my own experiences with other forms of the superphysical, with regard to the success of exorcism I am sceptical.”  Fuck.  I kept reading.

      “I am not only dubious as to the powers of exorcism generally, I am also dubious as to its effect on werwolves.  I have come across a good many alleged cases of its having been successfully practised on werwolves, but in regard to these cases, the authority is not very reliable, nor the corroborative evidence strong.”  Well tell me about the cases, genius.

      The book was written in a conversational style - not much sense to the order of it.  But it was easier to skim than you’d expect with the pretentious style, and eventually I found some examples - and some actual rituals.  I copied them by taking pictures with my phone, using a book as an improvised monopod.  But since it would be easier to peruse the relevant sections from the book itself - and it wasn’t available for checkout - I took advantage of our time at the library to do it.

      “Nearly all the methods prescribed embrace the use of some potion; such, for example, as sulphur, asafoetida, and castoreum, mixed with clear spring water; or hypericum, compounded with vinegar--which two potions seem to have been (and to be still) the most favoured recipes for removing the devilish power...

      The ceremony of exorcism proceeded as follows: The werwolf was sprinkled three times with one of the above solutions, and saluted with the sign of the cross, or addressed thrice by his baptismal name, each address being accompanied by a blow on the forehead with a knife; or he was sprinkled, whilst at the same time his girdle was removed; or in lieu of being sprinkled, he had three drops of blood drawn from his chest, or was compelled to kneel in one spot for a great number of years.”

       Fuck.  We didn’t have that kind of time, and the less we had to mutilate a boy, the better.

      “The rites that were performed in connexion with this ceremony (and which I understand are those most commonly observed in exorcizing all manner of evil spirits) were as follows...”  The routine was elaborate, and there was a version that only involved shin kicks, so less knifey.  That was nice.  I closed up the book when I was satisfied and wound an arm around Leimomi, careful not to loosen her head wrap.

      “Hey kiddo.  You wanna chill for a little longer, or get going?  We don’t have to go back home right now.  Maybe we can take a bus to Mars and chill.”

      “Mm, Mars is good.”

                                                        ***

   Read next chapter here.

[labgrownsteaks]

Chapter 6

I was watching Ninja III The Domination again when Erin popped her head up into the garage door. After opening the door for her Erin burst in before telling to come outside. She had just bought a dirt bike. Errr, at least I thought she had bought it. While I was staring at this dilapidated, muddy, dirt bike she cheerfully recounted the story of how a colleague of her had heard about this rich redneck who was jumping a bike and trying to crash it up on beer can hill. Turns out the kid couldn’t kill the bike, but instead busted his ankle up in the process. When the ambulance came for his screeching ass, they just left the bike there, and nobody ever did anything with it. So Erin got her uncle’s truck and they loaded it up, and fixed it up together. 

“So. You stole it?” I said. 

“He left it!”

Ok, I had a feeling this conversation wasn’t going to really ever resolve itself so I just agreed. “He left it” I said. “Cool! You got a bike!” Erin had got on it, and kick started it before revving the engine and making a growling face at me. 

“Now we can be in a gang!” she said. 

“Yes please! We need some patches!” I had a “motorcycle” of sorts. It was actually an add on for bikes. A small engine that you could place on the bike tire of your bike.  They’ve since made them electric, but mine still ran on gas, and sounded and smelled like a 70s moped. It was next to a broken ladder on the side of the house, and was under a ripped up blue tarp. Erin and I moved some tree banches and junk out of the way and pulled it from the side of the house. I immediately jumped on top of it, and tried to pull start. The first couple times it felt pretty gummed up, but on the third it finally turned over. I cloud of white smoke emitted from the miniature tail pipe. The bike was an 80s mountain bike which I had got from Goodwill. A specialized “Stumpjumper” which still had good bones. I revved the engine and made the same snarly face back at Erin. 

“WE NEED PATCHES!” I yelled at Erin. 

“I KNOW!”

I pushed my bike up the embankment, the engine still sputtering away, and Erin hopped on her bike. We drove through some residential streets before making it onto what was generally referred to as River Road. It was a long winding road with trees on both sides of it. It was nice because the speed limit there was just 25, so you could just cruise and get a good view of the river. The sun was going down on the day, just as fall was sunsetting as well. We both pulled into a large parking lot where boats would dock. 

“We need a mascot? “ I said after Erin turned off her engine. 

“A rat?”

“Rats are dope actually. Super smart. Would be good for the cartoon as well....River rats?”

“OMG YES PLEASE! River rats! Lets make some sketches back at your place!”

River rats made sense. We were quiet for a few moments and just looked at the river flowing by. Soon it would all freeze over. We picked the worst part of the year to start a motorcycle gang. 

“Have you printed anything lately?” Erin asked as we watched the last few moments of the sun twinkle away on the river. 

“I printed a sheet of acid. Still haven’t taken any of it. “ 

“Nice, you know what’s weird? Now that I can basically have anything, I don’t feel like I really need it as much. It’s like a pigeon with too much food. They just fly away”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. But we should trip this weekend.  Siri asked me what design I wanted on the blotter paper!” 

“Your Siri is crazy!” 

“I know, I had to roll back an update. She like became a cop or something for a hot minute. Said she wouldn’t even print weed. But then I just rolled back the update and all was good”

The sun had gone down at this point, and we were both starting to feel the soon to be winter air chilling our bones. We both were just wearing flannels and jeans so not exactly equipped for an artic exploration. We hopped on our bikes and began the night ride back to my place. As we rolled up to the “Falling Rock” sign we saw a suburban which had stopped in the middle of the road. It’s lights were on, and there was something small standing in front of it. From a distance it looked like a little kid. The dome light of the vehicle was on, and it was still running, but no sign of the driver. As we rolled up closer the “person” in front of the vehicle came into focus. It wasn’t a person at all, it was a light grey creature of some sort. It was standing on two legs which covered with a light grey fur, and it was looking down at its hands. We had only one choice as we got ever closer, and that was simply to gun it. Both of us hit the accelerators as we came closer to the thing, and as we past, it put its hands up in the air and screamed at us. It’s face was like that of a wolf mixed with a badger of some sort. It looked completely alien. And I kid you not. It had red eyes. For real. Bright red eyes. Both of us kept our throttle at full blast down the road, Erin looked back a few times to check on me and make sure I hadn’t been eaten or anything. We pulled into Lure’s Tackle which was a bait shop and gas station. The fluorescent lights beamed down on us. 

“What the fuck?!” I exclaimed to Erin the moment the engine cut. 

“What The......FUCK!” She responded. 

“That thing had red eyes. God help me, it had red eyes Erin!”

“And where was the driver?” Obviously somebody got out, because the dome light was on”

“Probably ate him. We should call the cops!” I retorted. 

“I don’t want them seeing my bike, I never registered it. Plus. You think they’d believe a couple of heads out for a night cruise?”

Erin paused before continuing.

“I think that was the driver.”

“What?!”

“Did you see how it was looking at its hands? They probably freaked out that they had turned into a miniature werewolf, got out of the car and started wondering “What the fuck am I!?” before trying to call for help from us” 

I had actually heard stories about shapeshifters in these parts that go way back. Under the circumstances, it honestly seemed like the best possibility so far. We walked into the shop and I got a frozen blue Guzzler, and Erin got a bag of popcorn for 15 cents. 

We chilled out on a parking barrier, and erin rolled a cigarette as I stole her popcorn. She took some of my Guzzler. 

“You realize if we told absolutely anyone they would just think we were on acid?”

“lawl, of course, you do have a literal sheet of acid in your house right now”

“Did we take some by accident? Like. I’ve heard about people having similar hallucinations”

“Do you feel like you’re on acid? Come on, this is the most sober I’ve been in days.” Erin responded. 

“maybe some sort of mass hysteria. Like, with UFOs in the 50s, all of a sudden everyone started seeing them”

“we weren’t even talking to each other, how could we influence what we both saw? That thing was real, and it’s out there” 

“And it saw us” 

“That it did”

Erin kick started her bike, and I pull started mine. We rode back to my place, and the excitement surrounding designing our patches for our biker gang subsided. When sat at my plywood table and I had put out some markers and colored pencil and a stack of copy paper. 

“We gotta draw it” Erin said to me. 

I wanted to get the thing out of my head, I had to sleep alone there after all. But Erin had already begun. She started off with pencil, lightly sketching in some legs, which she then erased before opening up her phone. 

“What are you searching for?”

“Wolf legs. It’s back legs looked like a dog didn’t they?”

“I guess so. “ I responded. My drawing was looking more and more like a 1st graders the more I thought about it. Erin’s was coming out fantastic, and she was working in some of the colored pencils as well. Even though it felt mostly grey, there was a hint of blue in its fur. 

“Maybe it had mange. You know, like a mangey dog. Didn’t people used to say that? You mangey dog! I think that makes their hair fall out”

“So, why was it standing on two legs then. Why did it have hands with fingers?” Erin retorted, her eyes transfixed on her drawing. This actually made sense. The thing was looking at its hands. And they were hands. They weren’t paws. Plus, how could a dog even look at its hands, it can’t turn its paws around if it wanted to. Maybe a bear... A mangey bear. 

“maybe a guy was transporting a mangey bear, the bear broke out of its cage. The guy ran away, and the bear screamed at us because he’d been abused?”

Erin stopped drawing and looked up at me. 

“Why is it so hard to believe what you saw?” she asked. 

“I’m just trying to make sense of it. You know. I mean..It seemed like a thing. But your mind can play tricks on you.”

“But we both saw it”

With that Erin picked up her paper and showed me her drawing and said. 

“We both saw this”

And she was right. What I was looking at was a perfect sketch of the thing. Looked like it ws straight off of Unsolved Mysteries, but that was it. 

[grubloaf]

Whole band Kidfic, or Skwistok kissing practice >:]

[omega-al]

A New-Retro Dustbowl - Bearly heard you.

Continued from http://polychromaticat-blog.tumblr.com/post/162337095404/a-new-retro-dust-bowl As I was contemplating the nature of my existence I became aware of a conversation that was occurring not two feet from me. Two men and an anthropomorphized bear were speaking in a hush until Bearman growled “It ain’t my fault I was late!” a little bit too loud for the rest of the room, startling everyone there. When people looked back at their drinks, the conversation continued.

“Do you think he’ll notice?”

“What, notice fifteen-hundred kilograms of space smack didn’t get delivered? Yeah, I think he’s gonna know.”

“It’s not my fucking fault my wrecker broke down and I missed the supplier, he shoulda waited five fucking minutes.”

“You shoulda taken the horse like I told you,” This was the smaller of the two men, and the first time he spoke, I realized he wasn’t a he at all. Upon closer inspection, she was a big boned gal in her forties. She looked like she had lived on Mars her whole life, and it’d been a hard one. Her face was filled with crags and red dirt, her skin was covered in freckles and sunspots from too much time without proper protection. Her eyes were blue, like ice, and older than she looked. This broad looked tough as nails. “The damn robot horse is smarter than you Leeroy!”

“Aww ma, you know I can ride that damn thing, it won’t let me.”

“That’s besides the point, you’re gonna be in a world of shit.”

“How long you reckon I have? Maybe I can get a transport off this fucking mud ball.”

“You ain’t go time for that boy, you had better make for Larrytown and then lay low for a few weeks. I can arrange for some sort of passage for you to another system, but…”

“But, I can never come back.”

“Yeah, and your father and I would have to remain out of contact, for if they find out, they will surely kill us for getting you out.” There was real fear in her voice.

“Provided the idiot don’t bung it up before we even get him off this planet.” Said the old man.

“Aw paw, why you gotta ride me so hard, I can’t bare it.”

I couldn’t help it, I let out a spasmodic laugh at that one, drawing their attention to my dropping in on their conversation, fucking puns. Before I knew it they were advancing on me.

“Woah, woah, woah fellas” I said putting my hands up in innocence. “I did not mean to partake in your conversation uninvited, I was simply watching the room looking for a feller I’d like to get my hands on when I over heard only a small part of your predicament.” By now the bearman was standing behind me, his paws coming down upon my shoulders, and I was flanked by the other two, I’d have to think fast to get them on my side. I definitely couldn’t afford to draw to much more attention to myself and maybe these folks were suffering from the same bleeding asshole I was. I knew his style, heck, I taught him how to grift and sell dope, I probably introduced him to the connection that Mr. Bear failed to meet. “Hey maybe you know him? Goes by the name of Handsome Jack, he’ll be the fine sheriff of these parts.”

They all made eye contact with each other and their silence told me everything I needed to know. He was here, and he was who was causing them grief.

“Perhaps you folks’d like to join me for a drink, Bartender! A round for the table!” I attempted to stand up at this point and found the bear allowed me to get up and walk to the bar, sitting in the chair across from mine. While I got the drinks and paid the man, they spoke in a hush I couldn’t drop eaves on, and the room returned to relative calm. When I returned to the table they all said nothing, just stared at me and waited for me to make it worth their time. The woman looked like she was ready to put a knife six inches deep into my sternum.

I placed the whiskey in front of them and sat back in my seat with a sigh of relief.

“So, I take it you folks have had some trouble with the Law.”

“What you know about ‘the law’ in these parts stranger?” Snarled the Bear.

“I feel mighty rude not having told you my name yet, I go by Glory Mankind. Father was a patriot in the last war with the bugs. I hated his politics, but you can’t help where you come from if you take my meaning. Not that I mean anything by it Mr. Bear? I am quite fond of Bears.”

“Oh are you, well I guess that makes it ok then? You got lots of bear friends do ya?” Mr. Bear said in a rage, “I suppose you think I am used to jokes at my expense but the last feller to make a joke on my account ended up Bearied, if you take my meaning.” Again, I snickered, barely pulling it together before Bearman lunged across the table, only stopped by the woman.

“Stop it Leeroy, we got better shit to do than deal with the chip on your shoulder, he’s adopted. We liberated him from a lab when he was a child. My name is Martha, this is Tex. Now, Glory was it? What the hell do you know about our sheriff?”

“He used to be my partner. Partner in crime, partner in love, partner in a lot of things. We hit a big score a few years back. Not a small job that’d keep us going for a few months, this was a big enough deal we could have bought a small planet and retired. But I was double crossed, he made a deal with some crooked cops to split the earnings and frame me for the crime.”

“Yeah that sounds like Jack.” Said Martha.

“He left me holding the bag. I went to prison for that fucker. Two years slowed to feel like forty, it was hell, just a white room and soothing nature sounds for forty fucking years. I shoot every motherfucking bird I see now.” I was gritting my teeth recalling the torture meant to rehabilitate my violent nature. “By the time I got out, he was long gone, with my score. It was another two years tracking him from system to system, until he slipped up and tried to make contact with some old friends in the underworld, friends that liked me better and knew what kinda asshole he had been to me. They told me where he was opperatin, so I ‘got my ass to Mars’ as they say. I’d only been here a few hours when y’all started talking about a familiar fucker I was at odds with.”

“He hired me to be his deputy, by that I mean he bought up some land owned by my family and threatened to kick us off if I didn’t come work for him. I didn’t want to do it, especially when his deputizing involved taking the locals down a peg er two, especially when that meant hurting folks.” Leeroy was actually quite meek and gentle. He had so much genuine sadness in his animalistic eyes. “He was gonna sell me back the land, told me if I did this one thing for him he’d leave me and my family alone. I knew it had to be illegal, but it wasn’t the first time I had crossed the line for my family.” Martha reached for his paw and gripped it tightly. “Now I am just gonna have to leave them anyway.” A single tear ran down Tex’s face as he reached for his boy, uh, bear, umm ...son. The family stayed locked in that moment trying to hold on to it like they held each other, like if they just held on no one could ever separate them.