#i hope whoever makes those things slam their balls on the corner of the desk every time they get up to fetch something

[bluenightcomedies]

Are these obviously outsourced mobile game ads just actively competing to see who can make the most disgusting and unpleasant incelbait possible?

Every time I have the misfortune of seeing one, it's some new variety of misogynistic or deliberately gross fetish material.

[belphies-cuhm-sluht]

hello! can I please request an angst fic with Satan losing control and getting angry at the MC because they made a deal with someone and is willing to give up their life just to bring Lilith back for the brothers? and yes Satan is in love but he just didn't tell them yet! thank you so much for opening requests, can't tell you how much I adore your writings <3

Not Your Choice To Make (Satan x GN!MC Angst) 

What had he done to deserve you? What had any of his brothers done to deserve someone like you? You were caring, always so happy, and you were selfless. So, so selfless. As if any of them deserved a person like you in their lives, and he knew that the answer was no. You were the kind of human who’s name went on the reservation list to Heaven as soon as you were born. Apparently the big man upstairs had a plan for everyone, and your plan had been set in motion the day that you were brought into the world. Had God known what you were going to do though? Did he know that you would end up down here? If so, why would he allow it? What kind of God was he to allow you to be brought into such a horrid place, the worst place, biblically speaking? It didn’t make sense, and now… now everything was messed up because you were good… you were too good. You should have never been brought here. 

He had never even met his sister, but he knows that his brothers adored her, they loved her, and they missed her dearly, especially Beelzebub and Belphegor. Even with all that, it wasn’t your problem to fix, it wasn’t your problem to solve. Every single one of them loved Lilith, but every single one of them loved you as well, some more than others, although he’d never be able to tell you. “What do you mean you made a deal with someone to bring her back? Y/N, that is… that is the stupidest thing… Do you even remember who you talked to?” He was trying to stay calm, he really was, but this situation alone had him filled with rage, and his Avatar had nothing to do with it at all. How could you do something like that? To them… to him? It was so selfishly selfless, so careless. “Satan… I was just trying to do the right thing. I know how much everyone misses her and-” His head was shaking so fast, his hands balled up into tight fists as he tried to get your words out of his head. 

“Everyone? Everyone misses her… you’re right. But do you have even the slightest inkingly of an idea how much we’d miss you? Losing you would be like losing her all over again to them.” Losing you would be the worst thing to ever happen to himself though. He’s never gone through loss, he’s never experienced the pain that comes along with it. That’s why he has to fix this as soon as possible. “Please calm down… the guy said that-” He let out a low growl, holding his hand up to silence you. He didn’t want to hear what the guy said, he just wanted this problem fixed. He wanted it solved, and as much as he hated to do it, he went to the only other person in the entire Devildom who could possibly help him. 

The doors to Lucifer’s office were almost thrown off the hinges when Satan burst through them, pulling you along behind him. “Yes, Satan? If this is about something Mammon did, I don’t have-” Satan didn’t appreciate it, the way that Lucifer refused to even look up from his stupid paperwork to aknowledge him. He wouldn’t be bursting through the doors if it was a Mammon problem, hell, at this point he even wished it was a Mammon problem so he could handle it himself. “It’s not Mammon. It’s Y/N.” That got his attention real quick, his head snapping up from his desk to look at you, the way you stood behind Satan shyly, almost embarrassed… what could have happened? You didn’t look harmed, you didn’t look scared, even with the way that Satan was acting. “What’s wrong?” 

You didn’t want to reiterate the story, it would just take too long, and Satan actually agreed. There was no time to waste, and your reasoning, in his eyes, and hopefully in his brothers eyes as well didn’t justify your actions, as nice as they may have been. “She made a deal… with some guy that she doesn’t even know the name of… to bring Lilith back…” It was hard for him to even get the words out, they were upsetting, and they pissed him off. What you did pissed him off more than anything, but not because he was actually mad at you… he was mad at himself for letting you out of his sight long enough to even let something like this happen. Lucifer’s eyes were wide as he stared at you, his adams apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed hard, trying to let what Satan had told him sink in. “To bring… she can’t come back anyway… no one can bring her back. She’s… she’s dead. She’s been dead. Everyone knows that.” Everyone should know that. Of course, you didn’t… you didn’t know that at all, or else you wouldn’t have made a deal with the random demon in the first place. “Wh-What did you offer… to this demon, if I may ask.” Lucifer wasn’t the kind of guy to stutter, he never got tripped up on his words, but now he felt like he was on a race against time to get to the bottom of this, to sort all of this out. He needed to know every single detail, and this is the part that got Satan’s attention as well. He hadn’t heard about the actual… transaction, if you can call it that. He had only heard about why you did it. 

“I offered.. My uh… my soul… my life…” The tension is the room was palpable, but so thick. The growl that had come out of Satan earlier was nothing compared to this. His Avatar was in full play now, his rage spurred on by this tornado of emotions that his body just couldn’t handle. How could anyone be able to handle this? “Oh no…” Was all Lucifer had to say as he fell back in his chair, dropping his face into his hands as he shook his head. That didn’t seem to help though, not at all. The next thing you knew, Satan was storming out of the office and up the stairs into his room, slamming his door shut, the force behind it was enough to rattle the pictures on the walls downstairs. “I just thought I could bring her back… I didn’t know…” 

The books that were stacked up on his floor were all kicked over, scattered across the room as he broke down. “This is why humans don’t belong here… Y/N doesn’t belong here… never did.” But he knows that his life without you having come in it would have been dull, boring and depressing. He loved you, he loves you… but what’s the point in all of that now? What’s the point in having feelings for you, of ever having feelings for you? It wasn’t fair, not to you, not to him, and not to his brothers. “Wasn’t their choice to make…” He was mumbling to himself now as he fell back onto his bed, his hands covering his face, hoping that nobody would come into his room, but if they did, he would have time to wipe the stray tears that trickled down the corners of his eyes. There was no way to undo this, the deal had already been made. Even if they killed the guy, he would just end up back in Hell, and he would inevitably come at some point to retrieve your soul. You wouldn’t end up back in the Devildom though, you’d spend what would feel like forever in Purgatory, or stuck in limbo until the big man up in the clouds made a final decision on where you belong. 

“Maybe if we just find him-” You were still down in Lucifer's office, trying to find ways to fix this, to make it all just go away. Every suggestion was turned down, and you didn’t know whether he was just becoming irritated with your list of “possible solutions” or if he was just exhausted. This whole thing was draining, because at the end of it all, Lucifer himself knew that there was nothing he could do to solve the problem at hand. “You don’t understand, Y/N. Demons aren’t simple, you must already know that much. They’re malicious and mischievous. They’ll do anything to make a deal, especially with someone as pure hearted as you are. Every demon down here knows about Lilith, and every single one of them already knows she can’t be brought back. Whoever he was, he took advantage of your kindness, and there is nothing that can be done about it. I’m sorry.” He shook his head, hating that he had to lay it out to you like that, but you needed to know. You were always so hopeful, that’s what got you stuck in this predicament in the first place, but there was no hope to be had, not anymore. 

“Well… can’t we just get Lord Diavolo to find the guy…? Can’t he do something?” It was obvious that you were trying to hold back from crying because, like any normal person, you were terrified of dying, as you should be. This is why you don’t just run around the Devildom making deals with any random demon. Hell, you could have gone to one of them and asked, and they would have told you that what you were asking for is impossible. “No. I’ve already thought of that. It would spark issues, and our Lord wouldn’t want those kinds of issues to fall on his shoulders. Taking a deal away from a demon for one measly human, no offense… it would piss a whole lot of them off. I’m sorry.” He pushed himself up and away from his desk, walking around it to stand in front of you, grabbing your hands and pulling you up so he can look down at you. “Satan needs you right now… You should go be with him.” 

Satan… he did need you. He needed you more than anything, not just right now, but always. You helped him, more than he’d like to admit, more than he’d ever admit. Whenever he was around you he felt like he had better control of himself, he felt like he could actually be happy. With you, he even questioned whether his Avatar should be wrath, because you washed away any ounce of anger he had in his body, or at least, you made him forget about it for the time being. Satan… who, when you finally entered his room again, was curled in on himself, apparently finally having broken down and fallen asleep while he was crying. He hadn’t even lost you not, not completely, but the feeling was there, it was distant at the moment, but it felt like it was growing larger the closer that it came. “Hey… It’s gonna be okay…” Your voice jolted him out of his sleep, his eyes bloodshot as they opened and looked up at you, and while he wanted to be angry at your hopeful statement, he couldn’t even find it in him. Had he used up all of his anger already? No.. that couldn’t be it. No.. it was just that… the only thing you could be was hopeful, just as he was. Hopeful that there would be some way to sort this all out, to make it seem like it never happened. There had to be a miracle. God might not be on their side, but you were still human, he had to be looking out for you, right? “Yeah… it’s all gonna be okay…” He hated lying to you, at least, it felt like he was lying, because in the moment, he wasn’t exactly sure that anything would be okay, and nothing would be “okay” if you actually died. So, just like you, he was holding onto what tiny thread of hope you both had left. It’s all he could do, it’s all any of you could do. 

He pulled you down onto his bed with him, holding you close against his chest, and although he, for once, didn’t have anything to say… he hoped that his actions spoke for him. It wouldn’t be fair to tell you that he loved you now, you probably wouldn’t believe him if he did. You would tell him that he was just speaking out of fear, and while you would probably be right in the fact that he was saying it in that moment because he was scared, it wouldn’t mean that the feelings weren’t true. So he held you, tighter than he’d ever held anyone else, tighter than he had ever held you before. Maybe if he kept you close, nobody would be able to get to you… maybe… 

“My Lord… I need you to get Barbatos to do something for me… for all of us… please.” Lucifer mumbled into the phone line. It was a last ditch effort, one that he hoped would work, because if it didn’t, he’d have to go higher… way higher. It was the only way, not just to protect you, but to protect Satan, to protect all of them from feeling that kind of pain again.

[queenlittleduck]

Siren's call

Chapter 3 - First Day in UA

Fuck, fuckity fuck! The first day and Athena was already late. She swore to god she was going to get kicked out of UA before she could even flunk her first exam. Her feet slammed against the floor and her head swung frantically from side to side as she continue my search. 1A?! Where the fuck was 1A, she was going to ki- There! She comes to a screeching halt as a huge door loomed before her with a sign above reading “1A”. The corners of her mouth pull up in glee as she reached for the handle. At last! She let it swing open and—THUNK!! Oops. Still gripping the door she leaned to peek past it. A kid was on the ground rubbing his forehead with one hand. Did this idiot just run into the door?

She stepped towards him and reached her hand out. “You okay there, bud?”

He slowly opened an eye but shot up to his feet as soon as he saw her. He seemed to have forgotten he was in pain as he beams at her. “Whoa! I didn’t know the girls here would be so cute! I don’t mind you “hitting” on me like that, ha-ha! If you get what I mean!”

She stilled. Her eyes slid down towards his finger-guns. Back up. She blinked.

Laughter threatened to bubble up her throat at the situation. This kid! She hit him with a door and the first thing he says is a bad pickup line. Priceless! The boy still stood there with his finger-guns up but his eyebrows drawn together in a confused look.

She leaned forward and squinted at him; that thunderbolt in his hair... She’d seen it before. “I remember you! You were in the practical entrance exam with me. Electricity, right? Nice to meet you. I’m Athena. Sorry about the door.”

His eyes widened in recognition. He leans forward excitedly as his confused look is replaced by a smile once more. “No way! You were that bird chick, right? Your quirk is so cool! You look different without all the... feathers.”

Her smile dropped.

“Bird? The fuck do you-” She stopped herself. She had to be friendlier to the little heroes. “Yes, I am indeed the bird chick, as you so eloquently put it.” She leaned back against the door. “What’s your name, sweetie? Actually, never mind. Can you tell me later? We should go sit down; I think we’re late.” She looked into the classroom. Most of the seats were already taken.

As soon they walked in an argument erupted. Some kid with glasses was pointing very pointedly at a blondie who has his feet propped up on the desk. Something about respect for the furniture. Damn, some stick he must’ve had up his ass.

Athena’s eyes fell to the blondie again. The blondie from the attack, the one who bought a cake in Sweet Heaven. She couldn’t believe this, what a coincidence! She should- no, she should not. It was a sensitive subject. Instead of walking up to him she headed to the back of the class and took one of the seats there. Thunderbolt kid sat down next to her, albeit slowly, as if unsure she’d let him sit there.

“I’m Kaminari Denki, by the way.” His eyes shifted slowly towards her chair. She grimaced. She made him nervous, of course. She needed to be less aggressive if she wanted to make any money as a friendly little superhero.

She smiled as nicely as she could and looked him straight in the eyes. “Nice to meet you, Kaminari. I hope we can be friends.” She forced her smile to widen. That was normal to say right? Or was it too straight forward? Man, she really wasn’t used to this type of crowd. He was just staring at her. Had she been smiling too long? Fuck. Her smile dropped and she turned to look towards the front. Where was the teacher anyway?

“If you’re just here to make friends you can just pack up your stuff now,” someone declared from beyond the door. A worn-out looking man stepped out of his sleeping bag and declared himself as the teacher, “Shota Aizawa,” but not before criticizing how loud the students were being and something else Athena didn’t hear. The man didn’t look like a teacher to her, bur rather a homeless person with insomnia but, hey, looks can be deceiving. He was kind of hot for a teacher, she thought. But never mind that. After his surprising declaration he instructed them to put on gym outfits and head outside. Let’s get to work on becoming a hero.

---

She transformed into her‘bird form’ in the changing rooms where she got a couple “oohs” and “ahs” from her peers. To be expected, she knew she was pretty fucking cool. A girl with horns and pink skin comes up to her and complimented on her wings as well. the pink-haired girl then introduced herself as Mina Ashido really excitedly. She was pretty cute and Athena was a sucker for compliments so she figured if she needed to make friends, this Mina would probably be one of the most tolerable. They continued to chat on the way outside where Athena bumped into another someone with a familiar face. She was surprised by how many faces she recognized in the group considering she didn’t typically fraternize with wannabe heroes.

“Yo, no way. Aren’t you Kirishima from the entrance exam? Did you change up your hair? It looks rad!” She gave him a thumbs-up accompanied with a smile. Way to go, Athena, that was super likable and hopefully not coming off as fake.  The former shocked face he donned turned into a bright grin as realization fell upon his face. His eyes scrunched up from his bright smile and, yeah, he was still as cute as he was in the exam.

“Yeah. Athena, right? I can’t believe you recognized me!” he almost exclaimed with a growing smile. “I was trying to start fresh with the new look so I’m sort of bummed you saw how I looked back then, but thanks I thought it was super manly!” Sadly, their conversation got cut short as they arrive to the quirk assessment area.

---

Oh, boy, did she regret this decision already. Of course, she ended up with an impossible fucking teacher. Of course there would be no orientation in the hero course and they’d just jump straight into a quirk assessment test. Dude was going to expel whoever ended up last! That’s mean, not even letting them improve. She wasn’t worried about being expelled, she had no doubt over her abilities. But she felt bad for the sucker who was going to lose.

Aizawa, the teacher, called up Bakugo, the blondie, because he got the highest score in the entrance exam to start. They were going to be doing a standardized gym test but Aizawa was encouraging, nay, demanding quirk usage. Bakugo stepped up to throw the softball to see if he could beat the 67 meters from middle school he had without using his quirk. He prepared to throw the ball but when he released it, he let out an explosion and a very loud “DIE!” to accompany it. Lo and behold, he got a whopping 705.2 meters, a big jump from his previous score.

---

The 50 meter run camefirst. Athena used this opportunity to get a good look at her future classmates and start to figure out their quirks (and hopefully how to use beat them) as well as test her own limits. They had the engine calves, Tenya Iida. Ochaco Uraraka, a bubbly girl who could nullify gravitational pull. I’m sure you know them all so I won’t bother listing them, but I will comment on those Athena recognized. Bakugo pulled up with his explosions next to a boy with green, curly hair. The same green, curly haired boy as from the library who jumped in to save blondie. Athena wondered what his quirk was, he didn’t seem to be using it to run at least. Or maybe he’s just shy, he looks the type.

Soon it became her turn. She readied herself and when Aizawa blew the whistle, she dug her feet down and used her wings to propel herself forward. She didn’t have much time to build up speed since it was only 50 meters so she ended up with a solid 3.58 seconds. Not too shabby.

Next was the grip test where Athena did only slightly above average since her arms strengthened only slightly when they turned into wings. The tests continued; long jump, running rounds, ball throw etc. She continue to do well since this is what she had been training for, either average if she couldn’t use her quirk much or extremely well, like in the long jump. The long, exhausting hours in the gym and training her quirk weren’t for nothing. She’d been training for this since Mother got sick. She was going to be the best no matter what and become a hero, for Mother.

The green-haired boy, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have been working as hard. Or he simply had a terrible quirk since he wasn’t visibly using it at all. He looked determined enough but determination did nothing in a test if he hadn’t prepared for it. He stepped up to the ring, preparing the ball. His eyes steeled as he decided on something. He raised his arm to let the ball fly, but once again, it turned out to be a measly attempt that amounted to nothing. Green-haired boy looked down disappointed and slightly confused before turning to the teacher.

Whoa there! Mr. Aizawa no longer looked as much like a homeless person but rather a sexy hero/homeless-person/insomniac. He had activated his quirk and his scarf flowed freely around him. This wasn’t just any hero/homeless-person/insomniac, but Eraserhead, a hero who could erase anyone’s quirk by just looking at them and look sexy while doing it (if Athena were in an acceptable age range for him, that is).

“You’re not ready. You don’t have control over your power.” He told the green-haired kid. He continued to berate him but stepped closer so the boy was the only one who heared him. And Athena, of course. Because of her bird hearing thing. The green-haired kid, Aizawa mentioned his name was Midoriya, looked scared at first. But again, his eyes steeled in determination as he readied himself to throw the ball. Seemed like Aizawa’s words were futile and the kid was done for before he even started.

Midoriya raised his arm again to propel the ball forward but the ball actually shot forward with greater speed than before. Midoriya stood there proudly with a broken finger. Was his body not used to his quirk? Did he not have any control over it or something? The boy looked so determined and Aizawa allowed him to continue at school because he had potential apparently for only breaking a finger and not his entire arm. Athena didn’t really think he’d be much a hero if he couldn’t even handle throwing a ball but maybe he’d grow crazy control in a short amount of time and all of a sudden get used to his quirk.

When Midoriya threw the ball, revealing his quirk, Bakugo was sent into a rage. Athena could only imagine what caused it by drawing conclusions from him yelling about how Midoriya was a quirkless loser but she couldn’t fathom how not knowing about a peer’s quirk is enough to cause someone to have an outburst like this. He meant to attack Midoriya as he rushed forward but Aizawa catches him and subdues him with his scarf. Damn, some anger issues this blondie had.

The first day was soon over and Athena headed to the bus station alone. Despite it being the first day she really felt like she’d gotten a glimpse into a lot of her classmates’ personalities. Definitely gave her an idea of how hot-headed Bakugo was, how shy and determined Midoriya was, Denki’s very bad flirting, Mina’s friendliness and she even ended up in the same class as Kirishima, the cute guy from the entrance exam. She didn’t think she’d be as good at socializing with these kinds of people since she usually ran with a different crowd but it seemed to her that being surface-level friendly really went a long way here. She didn’t plan on making friends but getting to know her classmates would help her in many ways, if not only to find out their weaknesses to beat them in the future.

---

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[renaerys]

PPG One-Shot: Back At You (Butch/Buttercup)

A T-rated Greens one shot I did for our resident gothic heroine @avesthetea over on AO3! 💚

A heartfelt shoutout to the Instagram clown cult. Y’all know who you are and how much you inspire me to chronicle Brick’s eternal suffering in new and creative ways. It’s what we do.

Summary: When Buttercup's birthday planning falls apart at the last minute, the last person she would ever expect offers his help (or horror, depending on your perspective).

xxx

Buttercup’s phone buzzed on the nightstand by her head, and she jerked awake. Swallowing the bitter sleep taste, she wiped her mouth and fumbled for the phone. Head still buried in the pillow, she answered: “What time is it?”

“Time to get your ass to the precinct,” said Ty, her partner at the Citiesville Police Department. “Chief Foolery’s all hands meeting starts in twenty minutes. Tell me you’re not still asleep.”

Buttercup sprang up on her elbows and checked the time on her phone. Shit, she was going to be late. “Shit, I’m going to be late!”

“Girl, that’s what I’m tellin’ you—”

“Gotta go, bye!” Buttercup hung up the phone and would have launched out of bed if not for the arm that slipped around her waist and pulled her back down.

“Five more minutes,” Butch grumbled.

Buttercup lost her balance and ended up with her bare back flush against his equally bare chest. His breath was hot on the back of her neck where he pushed his nose among her loose black hair. “Butch, I have to go,” she said in a warning tone.

He chuckled, and it sent a thrill of heat down her spine and under the covers, where he pushed a knee between her thighs. “Why go when you could come?” The arm he’d looped around her waist traveled low beneath the sheets.

Buttercup groaned at his crass joke and caught his wrist before he could carry out the threat. “Because if I’m not at CPD headquarters in twenty minutes, Foolery’s going to pop a hemorrhoid—”

Butch flipped them over with his Super speed, and her back hit the mattress beneath him. He loomed over her, those green eyes acid-bright in the early morning sunlight streaming through his bedroom window. Her traitorous gaze raked up his chest, over the shadow of stubble on his jaw, and settled on those fast darkening eyes as he admired her in turn. But the moment he bent down to kiss her, she slipped out from under him in a flash of green and darted across the room. In a matter of seconds, she’d pulled out a spare change of clothes from the lone dresser drawer he’d cleared out for her use.

“Leaving me hangin’? For real?” Butch complained as he flopped back down among the sheets with a yawn.

“You’ll live. But I won’t if I’m late for this fuckery.” She dressed quickly in dark jeans and a button-up blouse before heading to the connecting bathroom Butch shared with his daughter, Brisa.

“Missin’ out!” Butch called from the bedroom.

Yeah, Buttercup thought as she combed through the tangles in her hair with her fingers and ran the water to brush her teeth. A knock on the door interrupted her morning ablutions, and Brisa entered through her bedroom door.

“G’morning,” she said. Her brown hair was a frizzy mess, and she clutched a stuffed purple Pretty Puff Pony under one arm.

Despite her haste to get out of there and jet to work, Buttercup spared the little girl a soft smile. “Morning, kid. You’re up early.”

Brisa grinned wide. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Buttercup’s smile fell immediately. “Did Butch sneak you that second chocolate bar after dinner last night? Goddamnit—Butch!”

“What, change your mind?” he called. “I knew you couldn’t leave before climbing my morning wood.”

Brisa made a face like she was going to ask, and Buttercup slammed Butch’s bedroom door shut. “Never mind. Let me guess, you were too excited to sleep because today’s your birthday, right?”

Brisa blinked up at her and smiled, her questions forgotten. “Yeah! Oh my gosh, we’re gonna have so much fun!”

Buttercup chuckled and ruffled her messy hair. “For sure. But first, I have to go to work.”

“You’ll be back for my party, right?”

“One hundred percent.”

“Pinky promise?” Brisa held out her little finger.

Buttercup hooked her pinky around Brisa’s. “I promise. Now go get dressed and brush your teeth. I’ll check on your dad.”

“Okay!”

Buttercup breezed through the bedroom, chucked Butch his sweat pants with a cautionary “Hide your dick,” and flew out of her paramour’s two-bedroom apartment in downtown Townsville just as Brisa came bursting in excited to start the day.

xxx

The morning was a complete waste of time, and a bitter part of Buttercup lamented not skipping out in favor of staying in bed with Butch.  

“Well, at least nobody died today,” Ty said as he and munched on his doner kebab lunch to go. “Yet.”

Buttercup sucked down half of a water bottle after scarfing down her own lunch. They had stopped at the food truck parked a couple blocks from the precinct, opting for a quick fix as they watched oblivious pedestrians lost to their Air Pods. “Welcome back to active duty, Mr. Brightside.”

Ty chuckled, low and deep. After a few months of healing and rigorous physical therapy, his legs were completely healed and he’d finally been cleared for work that didn’t involve pushing papers at his desk. Once more standing tall with the sun shining off his bald head, Buttercup could not have been happier to have her partner back to his old self by her side.

“You bring it outta me.” Ty winked.

“You ready to head out?” she asked, tossing her wrapper in a corner trashcan. Traffic was shit as usual midday on a Saturday, but they had time before Brisa’s party was slated to start.

“Sure. Lemme just text Melanie.”

Buttercup figured she better catch up with Butch while she waited for Ty and make sure he was on the ball.

[Buttercup: Did you pick up the cake?]

After a few seconds, he replied.

[Butch: Omw with B. You still on clown duty?]

Buttercup groaned at the reminder.

[Buttercup: Can I just say he died and couldn’t make it?]

[Butch: Sure, if you want to crush B’s hopes and dreams 💔😈]

“Kill me.”

“What’s wrong now?” Ty asked.

Buttercup pocketed her phone and led the way to the precinct parking lot where Ty’s car was parked. “Just grappling with some casual childhood trauma coming back to bite me in the ass.”

Ty side-eyed her. “Which one?”

“Ha ha.”

They made it to his red hatchback, and Buttercup slipped into the passenger seat.

“This about Brisa’s birthday party?” Ty asked.

Buttercup groaned again and tugged at her loose hair. “Of all the things, a clown? I thought they were universally considered nightmare fodder for kids these days.”

“Speakin’ of which, I think I remember a psychotic clown attacking Townsville back in the day.”

“You remember correctly.” Buttercup glowered out the window as Ty eased them into traffic toward the Golden Bay Bridge. “But it was the one thing she said she just had to have because some other dumb kid in her class got one for her party.”

“Ah. Six years old and already the social food chain’s tuggin’ on her.”

“Whatever. I never cared about that shit when I was a kid.”

Ty smiled to himself. “Uh-huh.”

Buttercup resigned herself to her unfortunate fate and dialed the company she’d previously contracted to rent a clown for the afternoon. After about five minutes on the phone, she hung up.

“What was that all about?” Ty asked. “Problem?”

Buttercup stared straight ahead as the Golden Bay Bridge’s suspender cables passed her by. “The clown died.”

Ty laughed.

“Ty.” Buttercup looked directly at him. “The guy got hit by a bus on his way to work today and he died.”

Ty shut up. “Oh, uh… Shit.”

A pause.

“I mean, is there another clown, or…?”

“I don’t fucking know,” Buttercup snapped. All she could think of was how Brisa was going to be so upset that the one goddamned thing she had asked for wasn’t going to happen because there was no time to book a new party clown on such short notice on a Saturday.

When Ty shifted in his seat, the leather squeaked loudly in the fuming silence he wisely chose not to break, until he did. “So, should I—”

“Just drive. I’ll think of something…” Buttercup said as she pulled out her phone and tried not to completely lose her shit as she dialed the one person who always seemed to know what to do in a crisis.

“Hey, Blossom,” Buttercup said gravely after her sister picked up. “I think I need some help.”

xxx

When Buttercup and Ty parked in front of her childhood home, guests had already begun arriving. Bubbles was outside greeting people and directing them to the backyard for the festivities. When she spotted Buttercup and Ty, she waved. “Hey, there you are!”

“Have you seen Blossom?” Buttercup asked.

Bubbles pushed up the sleeves of her chunky lavender sweater and looked around. “I think she and Princess were setting up the piñata. Is everything okay—”

Buttercup dashed to the backyard in a blaze of green, leaving Ty to make his way inside at a more sedate pace. The backyard was already teeming with people. Brisa was playing tag with her best friend Richie and a few other kids, while Boomer stacked presents on a table by the back door. Mike and Robin led the day drinking charge by pouring out sangria for the adults and juice for the kids. Buttercup nearly crashed through the green tissue streamers criss-crossing the enclosed backyard in her haste to locate her sister, who was in fact stringing up a red monster-shaped piñata with Princess Morbucks. Or rather, Blossom was doing all the work while Princess held two glasses of bloody sangria and provided live commentary.

“Whoever invented piñatas had the right idea is all I’m saying,” Princess said as she sipped her drink. She was annoyingly chic as usual in designer jeans, dark boots, and a purple silk blouse that probably cost more than the pittance Buttercup’s government paycheck brought in every month.

“You think so?” Blossom said, floating near a high branch so she could toss the suspension rope over it.

“Of course. You’re rewarded with candy for smashing the shit out of your mortal enemy. What could be better than that?”

Blossom grinned. “Mortal enemy in effigy.” She patted the red monster’s snout. “But you’re not wrong.”

“Obviously.” Princess handed her back her sangria, and they shared a knowing laugh.

“Blossom,” Buttercup said.

Blossom smoothed the front of her navy skirt as she turned toward Buttercup. “You’re here. Everything all right?”

Buttercup eyed Princess watching them. “I was going to ask you the same thing. Any progress on the clown front?”

“I’m sorry, the what?” Princess asked.

Blossom’s pink eyes softened, and she put a hand on Buttercup’s shoulder. “I took care of it, don’t worry.”

“Wait, really? How? I called five other rental companies, but everything’s booked solid.”

Blossom’s smile turned devious. “Trust me. Brisa’s going to be very pleased.” Buttercup wanted to argue, but her sister squeezed her shoulder in a silent entreaty. “Just enjoy the party. Boomer, Bubbles, and I have everything under control.”

“Speaking of control,” Princess had her phone out when Blossom turned back to her, “where is that prima donna? He’s not answering any of my texts.”

“Brick’s running a little late,” Blossom said as she led Princess away. “Wardrobe malfunction…”

Their voices faded to the background as Buttercup watched them. Two peas in a fucking pod, and she still didn’t really get what Blossom saw in Princess. If Princess hadn’t played such an integral part in things a couple months back, she would never have given the woman a second thought beyond “Hard pass.”

People, however, had a tendency to surprise when it was down to the wire.

“Heads up, Buttercup!”

Buttercup automatically caught the child hurtling through the air like a tossed water balloon before he could crack his head open.

“O-Oh! Hi, Buttercup,” said Richie, meek and curled in on himself like he’d forgotten he was no longer fragile.

Brisa came dashing over. “Nice catch!”

Buttercup peeled Richie off her and dropped him flat on his ass in the grass. “Brisa, don’t yeet your friends. Bubbles will have an aneurism if she catches you.”

Brisa blushed, abashed. “Sorry…”

Buttercup cracked a smile and winked, and Brisa lit up.

“I’m okay!” Richie, Super resilient, hopped onto his feet and shook out his fluffy blond hair. “Um, does this mean I’m ‘it’ now?”

“No, I wanna play with the clown!” Brisa announced.

Buttercup’s face fell. “Uh, about that…”

Brisa blinked up at her. “He’s coming to my party, right?”

The flicker of doubt that passed through Brisa’s big brown eyes cracked Buttercup’s cold stone heart. She struggled for the words to let her down gently, because whatever Blossom had managed to put together so last minute wasn’t going to be the colorful surprise Buttercup had gone out of her way to book and customize a month in advance.

A round of squeals from the other kids across the yard drew her attention, where they had gathered around Mike at the garden door. “Okay, settle down, kiddos! He’s a little shy. Now, where’s the birthday girl at? Hey, Brisa!”

“C’mon, Brisa, let’s go,” Richie said, tugging on her hand.

But she held her ground and didn’t budge. Buttercup wanted to die.

“Brisa, look,” she began.

The door behind Mike slid open, and out stepped what Buttercup could only describe as her personal revenge fantasy gone morbidly wrong. Brick had never looked so sour in his life.

“Oh! Uh, ta-da!” Mike said hastily as he stepped aside for the person formerly known as Brick until his murder by dishonor.

His steps squeaked in his oversized red shoes, and the striped red and yellow overalls he wore over a polkadot shirt ballooned out at his legs. He looked like a tropical bowling pin. He looked fucking absurd.

“It’s Flameo Hotman! Say hello, kids,” Mike said.

Brick shot Mike a scathing glare that may have incinerated him where he stood if the tiny party hat and enormous red clown nose didn’t ruin the effect. “The hell it is.”

Buttercup had no problem averting her eyes from the literal clownery to focus on Brisa, who was still staring and petrified. Oh shit, oh fuck, she was upset and it was Buttercup’s entire fault—

“Uncle Brick?” Brisa blurted out.

Brick’s lurid eyes passed over Buttercup and landed on Brisa. If Buttercup hadn’t been looking right at him, she would never have believed the way they softened just a little. He pursed his lips and lifted his elastic-tied party hat off his short red hair. It snapped back in place when he let go. “Happy birthday, Brisa.”

Brisa immediately dashed out of Richie’s grip in a sprint too fast to be human and body slammed Brick where he stood. With a grunt, he managed to catch her and keep his balance as she hugged him tight around his inflated waist and laughed. “You look so funny!”

Brick coughed. “Yeah, that’s sort of the point…”

The other kids took that as their cue to also mob Brick, and soon he was adrift in a sea of grubby hands and demands for balloon animals and magic tricks. Buttercup could not believe her eyes. She could hardly remember the last time she saw Brick dressed anything other than to the nines, and now…

“Fuck me,” she wheezed, too stunned even to laugh, it was that heinous.

“Pretty good, huh?” Bubbles sidled up to her with a wrapped present for Brisa under her arm.

Buttercup swallowed hard. She didn’t trust her voice as she watched Brick—Brick—snap at Brisa’s friends to line up in an orderly fashion if they wanted their faces painted, and no cutting the line or there would be consequences.

“The costume’s a little janky, but I didn’t have a lot of notice when Blossom told me we needed something colorful for him to wear,” Bubbles went on.

“Why?” Buttercup croaked. She turned to her baby sister, who seemed totally nonchalant existing in a universe where the selfish clown Blossom had chosen to keep for reasons Buttercup could not sympathize with deigned to dress as a literal fucking clown.

Bubbles slipped her hand in Buttercup’s and squeezed affectionately as they watched Brick paint the requested unicorn on Richie’s face as seriously as if it were a goddamned Monet. “I think this is his way of trying,” she said.

Buttercup would never forget that day two months ago when Butch asked her to come over after Brick had broken down and apologized to Boomer and him and all he wanted to do was break something, to feel it shatter in his hands, so why not her, who couldn’t break? That fight had been one of their most brutal, even compared to their rows in high school in the throes of raging hormones exacerbated by Chemical X.

They hadn’t spoken as they rinsed the dirt and sweat from each other after—Buttercup had been worried about setting him off again after he had settled into some sort of quiet serenity with his fingers in her hair, pulling the tangles out under the warm water like an artist honing his craft. Those hands were always working, always looking for something to crush.

“You ever love someone, but you don’t like them?” he’d asked her as she wrung the water from her hair and he stared at his hollow-eyed reflection in the mirror.

Buttercup was pulled from the memory when Blossom came out of the house to snap pictures on her phone of the kids with their painted faces, a bright smile on her face as Brick continued to ignore the entire world and focus on his task with surprisingly minimal complaint. Buttercup supposed that if anyone could dress like an ass-backwards buffoon and maintain some pretense of dignity, it was Brick.

“Yeah, I guess,” she said at length. She squeezed Bubbles’ hand back.

He’s trying something, all right.

xxx

“I want a dog, please!” asked a snot-nosed kid inexplicably dressed in a full dinosaur suit.

Butch watched Brick from the picnic table he’d plopped down on with a cold beer and three entire pizza boxes set aside entirely for Boomer and himself.

Brick frowned so deeply he looked like he was trying to pass a hardened turd. Wordless, he blew up a long red balloon, tied it off at the end, and handed it to the little boy. “Here.”

The kid accepted the unfolded balloon with quizzical look. “Huh? This isn't a dog.”

“Yeah, it is,” Brick said. “It’s a hot dog.”

“But that’s not what I asked—hey!” The kid squealed when Brick squirted him with water from the rubber flower on his overall strap.

“Next,” Brick said in a tone that promised medieval torture.

Cowed, the dinosaur kid slumped away with his shitty balloon, and the next little girl in line made her request.

“It had to be a bet,” Butch said grimly as he watched his brother pawn a “magic wand” on the little girl who asked for a monkey. She trudged off with the unfolded purple balloon and look in her eyes like she’d seen the hidden darkness of this world.

Boomer shrugged and swallowed a bite of pizza. He had his back to Brick, but he spared a glance over his shoulder. “I don’t know.”

“I mean, he’s gotta know the pictures will live on forever. This is unlimited blackmail.”

That got a little chuckle out of Boomer. Butch ruffled his bangs too roughly to be entirely affectionate, and Boomer swatted him away. “Dude, my hair.”

“Want me to get you a balloon dick?”

Boomer’s gaze flickered to him, and for a moment Butch was transported back twenty years to Mojo’s Observatory. He and Boomer were sometimes left by themselves while Mojo and Brick tinkered in the old man’s lab well into the night with nothing to do and no one to talk to but each other. On nights like that, Butch didn’t really mind it when Boomer crawled into his bunk and fell asleep there. The room always felt a little colder and darker without Brick there.

“I’m fine,” Boomer said.

Butch searched his eyes, blue and expressive and always shining like he might cry or laugh. He had always envied Boomer that ability to project, to offer a connection, even if it was only pain. He’d always been good at that.

“Really,” Boomer added, hardening his gaze like a fucking mind reader. “I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah.” Butch wondered how long it would take for that to be true. “You know, it’s been a couple months—”

“Butch,” Boomer said, cold like he never was.

Butch hopped off the table and put a hand on Boomer’s shoulder. “It’s been a couple months, but it’s not a race. There’s no finish line to cross.”

Boomer chuckled, but it sounded kind of like a wheeze. His hand was cool on Butch’s where he squeezed him. “Thanks, Butch.”

Butch patted his back. As he was leaving, heard Boomer call, “Make mine blue.”

Butch chuckled. “Sure.”

Fucking sap.

At least Butch wasn’t the only one.

He made his way to the terrace, where Brick was set up with balloons and the face painting station. When Brick noticed his brother waiting in line, the balloon he was inflating went up in flames and disintegrated to ashes, leaving him looking as flushed as his stupid clown nose.

“I’m out of balloons, kids. Go dig a hole or something,” he said to the remaining two children.

“Huh? But there’s a whole bag—” one little boy with enormous glasses started to say.

Brick fired his laser eye beams at the bag of balloons and blew it up. “What bag?”

The kids stalked off in a sulk, and Butch sauntered up to the chair Bubbles had brought out from the kitchen table.

“Bitch move,” he said, plopping down. “I promised Boomer I’d bring him a blue cock, made special with love.”

“Uh-huh,” Brick said. He watched Butch with those shifty red eyes like he might lash out and attack him.

Amused and a little nervous, Butch sank into the chair with much bravado and man-spreading. “Paint me like one of your French girls.”

Brick narrowed his eyes, but he picked up the paints and sat down in the opposite chair without a word, until: “What do you want?”

“I dunno, something cool. A rocket ship.”

Silence. Brick leaned in close to apply the paint with a thin brush, meticulous and anal like he was with everything he did. Butch didn’t have to see his face to know he was concentrating way too hard.

“I can feel the vibrations of you clenching your asshole from here,” Butch said. “Relax.”

“I’m relaxed.”

“Fuck off.”

Brick put down the brush. “If you keep talking, this is going to turn out shitty.”

Butch shut up. Brick resumed painting.

After a moment, Butch closed his eyes. There was something soothing about the soft scrape of the brush against his cheek. Behind his eyelids, he saw a much younger version of Brick covered in paint and grinning fiercely, king of the world, until Butch hit him with his paintball gun right in the kisser. Green paint exploded everywhere, and Boomer fell on his ass laughing. Brick angrily wiped the paint from his eyes in a goopy mess and lobbed it back at Butch, who was too far gone to care. Rolling on the grass and covered in paint, he couldn’t remember a happier afternoon spent with his brothers and Mojo. At least, not until Brisa came along.

Butch sucked in a breath as he opened his eyes and dispelled that trance-like memory. Brick didn’t even snap at him when he turned his head to look right at him. His face was pinched: his mouth too thin and his eyes too wide as he waited for another pot shot to the face.

“You look stupid,” Butch said.

“I know,” Brick said.

“Really fucking stupid.”

Brick’s eye twitched. “I know.”

“Thanks.”

Brick swallowed. “It’s her birthday.”

“Yeah, but I’m your brother. So thanks.”

It was not often that Brick was flabbergasted, but the dude looked like someone had just grabbed him by his oversized red nose. Butch burst into a sly smirk and did just that. To his sadistic satisfaction, it squeaked when he squeezed it.

“Honk honk, motherfucker,” Butch said.

It took Brick all of two seconds to ditch his bewilderment and swat Butch’s hand away. “Shit head.”

“Clown.”

To Butch’s immense surprise, Brick let him have the last word. Well, damn. He chuckled and leaned back in the chair so Brick could finish painting his cheek. Two months and he barely saw the guy on purpose, and now this.

“I’m burning every picture Blossom took today,” Brick said at length.

Butch chuckled. “You forgot about the cloud.”

“I’m burning that too.”

“Now you’re just being a whiny bitch.”

“Wipe Bubbles’ phone and I’ll pay you.”

“Eh, maybe just grab a beer sometime.” It came out so naturally that he didn’t even think about it. Brick, too, was taken aback. The more he saw it today, the less Butch liked that surprised look in his older brother’s eyes. It was fucking weird. “Seriously. It’s been a minute.”

Brick didn’t move. He didn’t even breathe. “Yeah, cool.”

“Cool.”

Cool.

“Hold on, almost done,” Brick said, and grabbed Butch’s chin to turn his face.

Butch’s eyes found Brisa running around with a large, green balloon crown on her head and her cheeks painted with rainbows, and his gaze softened. It was almost time for cake.

“Done,” Brick announced.

Before Butch could reply to that, there was a small commotion at the backyard gate with Bubbles, who followed a very short, very hairy monkey inside.

“Grandpa Mojo?” Brisa stopped playing with her friends to greet the old monkey. He had a box with a green bow on top so perfectly wrapped a department store may have done it. His arms were rigid as they held it out and Bubbles hovered just behind him, watchful.

“Good afternoon, Brisa. I have procured you a gift to celebrate, rejoice, and otherwise partake in various forms of merriment on this day of your birth, which is to say, your birthday, thus, the day you were born.”

Nearby, Blossom paused picking up trash with Robin to eye Mojo askance, nonchalant in that low key frightening I-will-blow-your-dick-off way she had. Buttercup was chatting away with Mitch Mitchelson and Clara Clearly, but she too had eyes only for Mojo.

Brisa blushed cutely, suddenly shy. “Thank you.” She accepted the gift and looked between Mojo and Bubbles. “Um, will you stay for cake?”

Mojo’s green skin turned a ghastly shade of pink. It took a Butch a moment to realize he was blushing. He was sure he had never seen Mojo blush before.

Mojo cleared his throat. “I do not eat cake,” he said with finality.

“Oh…” Brisa clutched her new gift to her chest.

“But, I suppose… I could sample a beverage while I am here. A guest ought not turn away hospitality when it is offered.”

Brisa just smiled brightly and reached for Mojo’s crusty old paw. “I have juice. Oh! And you have to stay for the piñata. Have you met Richie? He’s my best friend in the whole world!”

“I do not think—” Mojo lost his words as he was pulled along by his Super granddaughter whether he liked it or not.

“Hey.”

Brick’s hand on Butch’s shoulder exerting Super pressure made him looked down at his hands, which sparked with green power. He clenched his fists and fizzled it out.

“You good?” Brick asked, low and grave.

Butch sniffled. “Yeah, I’m good. Habit.” He paused, then: “I invited him. Boomer said it was fine.”

Brick nodded. “Okay.”

Butch’s stupid heart clenched. “I meant to text you—”

“Blossom told me. It’s fine, drop it.”

He should have dropped it. Two months ago he would have, happily. What the fuck did it matter now when it never had growing up? But that was two months ago. “Don’t fucking do that.”

Brick frosted over and got up. “Do what.”

“Hey.” Butch grabbed him by his ridiculous overalls. “You and me. No girls. Battle and beers, like the old days.”

Brick was a cold hard bastard, but even he had his cracks, and right now he broke like an egg, slack-jawed and lame.

“Tomorrow,” Butch said.

Brick nodded numbly. “Tomorrow.”

Butch smirked and got up to leave, but Brick’s voice stopped him one last time.

“Thanks, Butch.”

“Sure.”

“Tell Boomer it’s a consolation.”

“Huh?”

But he got nothing more out of Brick once Blossom and Princess showed up.

“Oh. My. God. Wait, let’s take a selfie.” Princess managed to get her arm around Brick’s neck, but he snatched her phone before she could take a picture.

“No fucking way, Princess,” he said.

Blossom grabbed his chin and kissed him right there, shameless. It was enough to distract him so Princess could reclaim her phone. “You know, I kind of like you as a clown.”

“I don’t.” Princess managed to snap a picture of Brick and Blossom. “But you’re pulling off the striped overalls, I have to say.”

“Burn that.” Brick advanced, but Blossom pulled him back with a laugh.

“Why so serious, Brick?” she teased.

Princess stuck her tongue out at him.

Butch left them to their childish shit; it was time for cake, and he had a brand new six-year-old to impress.

xxx

Buttercup was having a surprisingly good time. Between pizza with Butch and Boomer, hanging out with her sisters, and the everlasting memories that were clown Brick saved to her iCloud where he would never find them, today was turning out surprisingly well. Butch caught her eye across the yard and gestured inside, so she excused herself from the conversation with Ty and his sister to followed him.

He was in the kitchen when she found him.

“Hey, doll. Cornering me for dirty kitchen sex?” he teased.

Buttercup laughed at the sight of him, two percent bravado and ninety-eight percent imbecile. “Let me grab you a glass of water for that thirst.”

The cake he’d bought sat in a box in the fridge with Brisa’s name scribbled on the lid. Buttercup brought it out and set it on the counter. Then, she hunted for the colorful party platter Bubbles kept for special occasions.

Butch’s arms slipped around her waist from behind, and he pressed his nose to her loose hair. “Mm, you smell like pepperoni.”

“Eat my dick,” Buttercup said.

“I like it.”

“I bet you do, you horny carnivore.”

“Nooo, not the dirty talk,” he whined, pressing a kiss to her neck and pulling her back against him.

Buttercup fought against her growing smile as she opened the cake box and transferred the treat to the platter. “You need rehab.”

“If that’s your kink.”

Buttercup snorted. “Shut up and help me with this.”

They loaded up the chocolate cake on the platter, and Buttercup found the candles in a drawer.

“Got some shit on your nose,” Butch said.

“What?” He dabbed his chocolate frosted finger on the tip of her nose the moment she turned toward him, and she swatted his hand away. “Oh, come on. What are you, five?” She wiped the frosting from her nose and licked her finger clean.

No sooner had she finished than he grabbed her chin and kissed her deeply. In the quiet of the kitchen with no one around to see them, Buttercup gave into feeling and curled her fingers in his flannel shirt. When he smiled against her like the swooning buffoon he’d always been at heart, she laughed and pulled him closer.

His hands found their way over the curve of her ass, as they always did, and pulled her against him with a squeeze. “Fuck, I want you.”

“You always want me.”

“Have you seen your ass? You’d want you too.” He gave her another squeeze, and she had to bite her lip to stifle a moan.

Buttercup slipped her fingers through his hair, full and soft on top and shorn short behind the ears. For a moment, they simply stared at each other as Buttercup marveled at how much she wanted this, wanted him. She had never wanted anyone as much as she wanted him, so badly she could feel it threatening to tear her in two.

“You have all this power,” he murmured, soft like it was a precious secret he clung to.

Buttercup could have laughed at how much he underestimated his own power of her. “Back at you.”

“No.” He touched his forehead to hers and breathed like they finally had time. “Not like you. Not like this.” His hand moved to her waist as if to lead her in a dance. “You have me, Buttercup.”

Buttercup’s eyes burned with a foreign heat, unwelcome. Butch used to scare her when he spoke to her like this; now, she could only bite her lip and wait for the threat of tears to pass. “Back at you,” she said again, shaky and so fucking grateful.

They stayed that way a moment, in the kitchen of her childhood home with the warm smell of chocolate and the low din of the party outside, and for the first time that day, Buttercup felt the tension ease from her shoulders.

“By the way,” Butch said, his eyes still closed and his forehead still pressed against her, “I’m fucking the shit out of you when we get back to my place.”

Buttercup smirked. “Great example you’re setting for your daughter.”

“I got her new headphones with noise canceling.”

“She’s going to notice if we break the tub again.”

“There’s a hose. She can bathe with that.”

“Just pressure wash her like a truck.”

“Fast, efficient, and it’ll save on the water bill.”

“You don’t even pay for water, the landlord does.”

“Hey, I’m a good Samaritan lookin’ out for my neighbors.”

“Screw the neighbors.” Buttercup ran her fingers over his lips, down his chin to his chest, where his heart thundered under her touch. “I want you to fuck the shit out of me.”

Butch laughed hoarsely. “Maybe I should ask Boomer to take Brisa tonight.”

They parted, and Buttercup was about to tell him to grab the cake while she hunted for a knife when she finally noticed his cheek. “Did Brick do that?”

“The rocket ship? Yeah, good excuse to talk to him.”

“A rocket ship, huh?” Buttercup smiled so brightly her cheeks began to hurt. “That was nice of him.”

Butch gave her a weird look. “Whatever, we’re hanging out tomorrow. After today, I figure he can use it.”

Buttercup’s throat wrenched as she tried her best not to burst out laughing. “Don’t quote me, but he sort of saved my ass today. The other clown died.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious, he literally died.”

“Wow, party almost ruined.”

“I mean, also a man is dead.”

“Oh, shit, yeah you’re right. Sorry. I guess don’t tell Brisa.”

Buttercup rolled her eyes. “Jesus Christ. Grab that cake and don’t drop it.”

xxx

Brisa grinned to the point of bursting as everyone sang Happy Birthday to her and she blew out her candles. Cake went by in a breeze as the kids screamed about presents next. Like some hot, pink angel, Blossom took charge of the activities with Robin’s and Buttercup’s assistance and made sure the kids were thoroughly entertained so that Butch could eat his cake and watch his little girl enjoy her special day.

Now, seated on the picnic table again with Boomer and Bubbles, he dug into the slice Bubbles said she couldn’t finish.

“Hey, Butch,” Boomer said, chill.

“Yeah?” Butch asked.

“Why’s there a huge dick on your face?”

“Huh?”

On Butch’s other side, Bubbles poked his painted cheek. “It’s a very proportionate dick. Good dimensions.”

Boomer wheezed into his beer. Butch choked on his cake. At the next table over, Brick, that soggy ballsack, stood chatting with Princess Morbucks and Mike Believe still in his full clown regalia sipping sangria through a bendy straw. The moment he felt Butch’s eyes on him, he grinned maliciously around his straw.

“Motherfucker—” Butch tried to get up, but Bubbles grabbed his wrist.

“Language, Butch. There are children around,” she sang, cheerful as a fucking bell.

Butch pointed at Brick. “You—you clown!”

“Hey, that’s Flameo Hotman to you,” said Mike, with all the confidence of someone who didn’t know he was about to be drop-kicked in the face.

Princess squinted at Butch. “Is that a cock on your face?”

“It sure is,” Boomer said, mid-heart attack.

“Daddy, come hit the piñata with me!” Brisa came bounding over with a stick and a blindfold.

“Great timing, Brisa!” Bubbles shoved Butch way too hard toward his overeager daughter, and he had no choice but to accept the stick and blindfold.

“Uh, right,” he stammered, trying to reign it in. It was her birthday; Brick and his dick pic clownery could wait.

A hand on Butch’s shoulder squeezed too hard to be entirely friendly, and he turned to get a face full of said clown.

“Honk honk, motherfucker,” Brick said under his breath.

Butch raised his hand to decapitate his brother right there, but Brisa yanked him with her Super strength, and he had no choice but to let it lie.

The sight of Buttercup nearby watching him take his place at the piñata should have mollified him, but she had let him walk out of that kitchen dick pic’d, a betrayal of the highest order…and a quality prank, if he was honest.

He’d let his guard down around her.

It was his own mistake, underestimating her.

The heat of a challenge in her eyes as she watched him lift the blindfold to his eyes set fire to his blood. After all was said and done today and Butch left Brisa with Brick because fuck his fancy Saturday plans, Butch would take Buttercup’s advice and screw the neighbors. Tonight they were putting on a show.

With a self-satisfied grin, Butch lowered the blindfold, readied the stick, and imagined the red piñata was Brick in his ridiculous clown nose.

xxx

Hm, seeding the future Buttercup and Brick friendship I’ve been waiting so long to dive into for this universe? It’s more likely than you think. 👀

Thank you so much for reading! Long live the clown cult (Blossom ghostwrote this). 🤡

[radiojamming]

This a weird prompt but would you write jonmichael? Asking solely because I want to read Elias and the archives staff dealing with that

good-ish AU where sasha’s still sasha and everyone’s cool with stuff, i guess? :DDD

- - -

The door-that-wasn’t-there-a-minute-ago slams open against the wall, shaking the shelves and knocking one cheap vase to the floor in a small explosion of sad porcelain shards and accumulated dust. Martin lets out a high-pitched, “Jesus Christ!” in surprise as much as raw shock when Jon Sims himself staggers out the door like a teenager doing the walk of shame. Granted, he’s bleeding from his hairline and one sleeve of his sweater appears to just be missing, but he looks more sheepish than injured.

Just as he makes the last step over the threshold-that-shouldn’t-be, Martin sees a vague person-ish shape wobble in the mysterious beyond. And it is, in fact, wobbling, like a bobblehead or one of those playground toys shaped like horses that waver on oversized springs until they fling some unfortunate child headfirst into sand. Extended metaphor it may be, but the wobbly thing gives a high, wavering giggle before cooing, “Don’t forget this, love!” in a voice tiered in multiple pitches like an eldritch wedding cake. Jon turns just in time for an arm-that-shouldn’t-be-that-long-oh-my-god-what-the-fuck to come shooting out of the door, an iPhone clutched pinched between its enormous fingers. Martin might be hallucinating, but he thinks the razor-sharp fingernails are lacquered in sparkly purple nail varnish. 

He doesn’t have much time to dwell on it before Jon gingerly takes the phone with a mumbled, “Thanks,” and the hand recedes back into the hellish landscape beyond the door.

“Of course!” garbles the wobbly thing. Then, with a range of voices topped off with an impressive soprano flourish as light as meringue, it yodels, “Call me!”

As abruptly and shockingly as the door appeared, it disappears with a sharp crack, causing the shelves to slam back into place with a small cataract of old books falling into the pile of broken ceramic.

Jon and Martin stand in the stuffy office, each caught in the awkward position of how the hell do you talk about that? 

Finally, Jon gives Martin the most soul-deep, weary look before quietly beseeching, “Please don’t tell anyone.”

All Martin can do is nod before Jon shuffles out to the hallway

- - -

Sasha sees him at the flower stall again. 

Through the warped windowpane, she watches him scoop up a great, garish bouquet representing nearly every spectrum in the visible rainbow, and some colours that might not exist save for the eyes of the mantis shrimp. When she gets to ground level and sees him semi-properly, he’s just a blond man in a beanie, carefully regarding a sorry bunch of daffodils held together by what looks like clingfilm cinched shut with twine. Rather than being all spooky and mysterious, Sasha thinks he’s actually deliberating. There’s a pinch in his brow as he lowers the daffodils in favor of prodding the drooping lower lid of a sorry little orchid suffering in London’s less-than-tropical climes.

Sasha kind of feels… sorry for him?

Granted, he’s a monster with terrifying monster hands and monster tendencies and apparently a taste for caffeine, but he really looks caught on what to get. That in mind, she does remember that he bought lilies the last time he was around. Maybe that was less of a coincidence and this Michael creature really does like flowers; or he may have some fellow monster friend that he deems worthy of buying flowers for. Honestly, Sasha doesn’t want to think of what kind of friends Michael keeps.

Against her better judgement and sense of self-preservation, Sasha walks across the street to where Michael forlornly weighs his options. He looks up at her approach, and the first impression she gets is that his eyes are more like spinning tops prone to rotate anti-clockwise. She blinks and sees stationary blue eyes regarding her with confusion, and then… relief?

Huh.

“Sah-shah Jaaayymeeesss!” he almost sings, lifting up the dying daffodils like a salute. “What a pleasure to see your radiant face again!”

“Michael,” she replies, a little colder than she intends. Last time they met, there were far more meaty hands and worms involved, and she’d rather get to work unscathed.

If he thinks the reply is chilly, he makes no sign of it. Instead, he flops the tortured flowers around in his terrible hands. “Actually, I was hoping to see one of you lovely little Institute-dwellers around. I think I gave Martin a bit of a fright laaaaast time!”

Sasha frowns, but can definitely picture Martin having to be peeled off the ceiling after a Michael encounter. “Oh,” is all she says.

Michael goes on, gleefully undaunted. “You see, you and I have a mutual acquaintance! And I think he’s in need of a little—” He gives the daffodils a vigorous shake. “—cheering up these days! But I just don’t know what he’d like! Silly me for not being obseeeeervant!”

“I… A mutual acquaintance?”

“Yeeeessss! Your lovely boss!”

“Elias?”

Michael laughs. Well, more like he laughs in a way that sounds like he laughed ten minutes ago and ten minutes into the future, and then layered the sounds over one another like phyllo dough in a hellish baklava. It’s impossible, but Sasha hears it all the same. “Noooo!” he giggles. “Not in a million endless cycles of time or those dimensions yet unperceiveeeeeed!”

Sasha won’t even start on that statement, except that it isn’t Elias, which means it has to be— 

Oh. Jesus.

Grubby, curmudgeonly, insomniac Jesus.

“Jon?” she gasps.

Michael laughs again, louder and higher so that a glass breaks somewhere in the distance. “Yeeeesssss! Poor Jonathan, always working so hard in that dismal cave you call an archive. I offered him office space that would appeal more to a sense of aestheticism, but he… Oh, what did he say? He thought it was a little heavy on the—” And here he speaks in an exact mimic of Jon’s dry voice when he says: “Impossible, improbable, and honest to God, Michael, my brain would shatter into a thousand pieces if I looked at that painting for another minute.” Michael dissolves into a fit of giggles before saying, “It’s just a lost Hieronymus Bosch painting, honestly.”

So Michael McMeatyhands is buying flowers for Jonathan Sims. Sasha’s having a hell of a time wrapping her head around that particular fact. 

The infernal giggling stops and Michael seems to circle (spiral?) back to his previous predicament. Dying daffodils or suffering orchids?

For a lack of anything more to say, Sasha wordlessly points to a bouquet of slightly more enthusiastic-looking daisies, bobbing peacefully in a tin pail of water. “Those,” is all she can manage to say. 

Michael looks thrilled. He actually hums some impossible tune (in full SATB with orchestral arrangement, all localised in his throat) as he puts the daffodils back, scoops up the daisies, and drops four quid into the stall owner’s hands with a wet, meaty thwap that the owner doesn’t seem to hear. Then, Michael swivels back toward Sasha and grins with the corners of his lips somehow curling up near his eyes like a particularly twisty Cheshire Cat.

“Thank you, Miss James!” he says. “You’re a lifesaver!”

“You’re… welcome? I think?”

But Michael’s already walking away, taking steps in a gait that doesn’t seem to match the rhythm of the rest of his body, like two halves of entirely different people drunkenly attempting synchronicity. Sasha half-expects his legs to walk away from his torso.

Toward Jon. 

She sighs and rubs a hand over her face before heading in the direction of the Underground station.

- - -

The boss is dating someone. This, Tim is absolutely sure of. He’s watched Jon like a hawk for a week now, carefully comparing his moods in the morning with how early he left work the night before. Long work nights equal really bad mood. Long not work nights equal better mood with less shouting and calling people morons under his breath. This is good.

This is very good.

Tim is pleased with his enviable knowledge. Whoever somehow won the heart of the boss must be a pretty special person, or at least someone with an endless well of patience. Or maybe they’re Jon’s opposite? Either way, Tim’s got a hankering to send them a box of chocolate as a thank you for chilling the boss out and making him more tolerable to work with. 

He tries to picture who this mystery person is, as Jon’s definitely not the type of person to take his personal life to work with him, inasmuch as he likes to take work home. Tim pictures someone easygoing, like a Margaritaville type. They balance Jon’s stick-up-assery out, maybe giving him massages over the back of the couch while Jon watches dry documentaries about the actual speed of drying paint. In his mind’s eye, Tim gives this person a hideously neon Hawaiian shirt and sunglasses, but a winning smile that melts Jon’s ice-locked heart and makes it so he can’t help but smile back.

Tim likes them, whoever they are.

And when he gives Jon a little wink after dropping off a follow-up report, says, “Had a good night?” in a way more than a tiny bit suggestive, he only relishes a teensy bit in how dark Jon’s cheek become and how he ducks his head down. He mumbles something before actually thanking Tim for the report.

Yeah, this is awesome. Tim owes Jon’s mystery partner a thank you card and maybe a cake. 

- - -

“Eliaaaaas.”

“Michael.”

Staring. Lots of staring. Cold, unflinching irises to a set of psychedelic, rotating disco balls set in a grinning face. Behind Michael, blue and purple streaks like the top of a wildberry Pop-Tart flash about and dance madly as Michael gives him the strangest of staredowns. Occasionally, his head appears to flip upside-down a few times on his swirly straw of a neck, and half of his teeth try to glitch through his lips in a way that Elias thinks of as an attempt at a sneer.

Finally, Elias sighs and calmly folds his hands on the top of his desk, ignoring the waves of tangible static pouring out onto the floor and possibly leaving a stain on the carpet. That’s going to be difficult to explain to the janitorial staff. “We may have to set some ground rules,” he says.

“I’ll bring him home by eleven,” Michael cackles in reply.

Elias narrows his eyes just as he feels Beholding roll its great omnipresent gaze in irritation.

“I mean to say that you’re not to interfere in Institute business any further than you are right now,” Elias retorts. “I should completely ban all Spiral-related statements on grounds of personal involvement.”

Michael grins. His smile rises up to his forehead like a crescent moon before rolling down the side of his face and hooking back up into the empty space where a normal mouth should be. “I can make this weirder. I can spiral any statement in this place. Every little word can bend in and around on itself like a pipe cleaner.”

Elias glares. “You won’t.”

“You can’t stop me!” Michael sings. “But I’ll keep courting your Archivist nice and proper as long as I’d like, or he’d like.”

“If this is an attempt to draw him into the Spiral’s influence—”

When Michael laughs this time, it seems to be drawn from every laugh that was ever laughed in the history of the muscular and diaphragmatic spasms that caused them. It’s so charged, so loud and explosive that Elias nearly winces at it. And when it’s over, there’s a vacuum of sound in its wake, so it takes a full minute for Elias to hear anything properly again.

Then, Michael taps his horrible fingers on Elias’ desk, eliciting a sharp tak-tak-tak-tak-tak that repeats in on itself fifty times over. “Not everything is about influence,” Michael hisses through too many teeth. “Not every attempt on a person is to draw them in and mark them, unlike what you do. Maybe sometimes, one of us can authentically like one of them. Is that too hard for you to understand, Man-of-the-Eye?”

Beholding tries to truly See Michael, but something about the Spiral’s nature twists the image. 

“No,” Michael goes on, followed by another round of tak-tak-tak-tak-tak. “I rather like the Archivist. And he likes me. Aaaand if you try to get in the way of us, I will peeeeerrrrsonallyyyyy claw your precious little eyes out of your sockets. Understand?”

Elias doesn’t have time to make a reply. Michael is gone in a gunpowder-bright flash of light and a shock of sound. If there was a door, it’s gone. So he sits alone in his office, staring at the space where the Spiral was, and he feels something terribly empty and terribly familiar.

- - -

Jon picks their next date and opts for something as normal as the last one was strange. He chooses a walk at St James Park, eating ice cream and admiring the pelicans while Michael regales him with some bizarre story that sounds more like a backwards recitation of the Jabberwocky poem. He pauses in between stanzas to eat more of his pistachio ice cream with a delighted gusto before he presses on in gibberish.

Something about it makes Jon feel oddly warm and content, even as the early spring wind chills him.

Their last date was to Annwn, which Jon had originally suspected was in Wales. He was half-right; it was Wales as much as it was also the traditional world of the afterlife in ancient Welsh rites. It was rather lovely and Jon thinks very highly of their honey cakes, although he suspects he probably wasn’t supposed to eat them. 

But Michael looks just as pleased to be in this park as he was to be in ancient Welsh paradise. His Jabberwockish story comes to an end and he finishes the rest of his cone before throwing the little paper ring into a nearby litter bin. Then, he stretches his arms out to the side and sighs in contentment. “Just bonny, as they say!” he cheers before reaching down and taking Jon’s free hand in his. It’s got a mind-boggling weight and an odd texture, while appearing to be a normal hand. At first, it gave Jon such an acute sense of discomfort that he found himself involuntarily withdrawing. Now, it’s just another aspect of Michael that he’s learned to like.

Love, maybe. He hasn’t thought on that overmuch.

Yet here they are, holding hands like all the other couples in the park. It’s so simple, so normal. Jon’s life has been so ridiculous lately that the fact he’s holding a Spiral avatar’s nigh-impossible hand on a date in a park is just… maybe the most normal thing that’s happened so far. Michael’s not trying to kill him or throttle his mind to the point of madness.

They’re happy.

Jon’s happy.  

He smiles, and so does Michael. Yes, Michael’s smile is making an attempt to summit his head like Everest before flickering back into place like he remembers where he is, but he does smile and it’s perfectly authentic. 

It could be weirder, and for once, that thought delights Jon.

[crackimagines]

A Rough Start (FE: Three Houses Short Fic)

Byleth-Sama: Love is War (Part 1)

-----

Part Listings Here!

All AU’s involved listed here! 

-----

With the ball quickly approaching, Sara and Megumi have a person in mind to ask to the dance. What they quickly realize is that they want to ask the same man, and they’re about to turn Garreg Mach Monastery into a battlefield.

----

Afternoon...

[A Gentle Breeze - Fire Emblem: Three Houses]

(Seteth) “And that concludes are meeting for this week. You are dismissed.”

Everyone got up and walked out the room. 

Byleth headed back to his office, Manuela and Hanneman to theirs, as Sara, Doomguy, Megumi, Towa, and Angelica walked out of the building.

Sara sighed while rubbing her head.

(Sara) “Ugh, the White Heron Cup, huh?”

(Towa) “Are you not excited by it, Sara?”

(Sara) “Not in the slightest! We gotta set up all the decorations for something that’ll last only the afternoon! Plus, we gotta see the kids do some probably boring dance.”

(Megumi) “I think it sounds fun! I can’t wait to see what kind of dances are on display!”

(Towa) “I agree with Professor Sakura! It’s a good way to see Fodlan’s culture after all!”

(Megumi) “What do you think, Slayer?”

Doomguy shrugged, indicating that these sorts of events weren’t really his thing.

(Sara) “The only thing it’s going to remind me is of the upcoming ball and how dull that night is going to be...”

(Megumi) “I’m sure there will be a guy nice enough for you to dance with, Sara!”

(Sara) “Hopefully.”

(Angelica) “Frankly, I’m happy you are taking all the guys. I’ll be going for all the cute girls that’ll show up. Heh, I wonder if I can impress anyone enough to-”

Towa hit Angelica’s head with a clipboard.

(Towa) “No hitting on ANYONE, Angie! We talked about this!”

(Angelica) “Ow, okay okay! Well anyways, who’s going to be telling the Houses this information?”

(Sara) “I got an appointment with my beer can after that meeting, so...bye!”

Sara quickly walked away back to her room.

(Towa) “Well, I guess I-”

Doomguy’s hand was put in front of her and shook his head, and pointed towards himself. Once he waved goodbye to everyone, he went to the classrooms.

(Angelica) “So, Megunee. Who’re you goin’ with?”

(Megumi) “I don’t know yet. I’m sure I’ll think of someone later tonight.”

...

Once the classroom representatives read the paper that was going to describe how their next few weeks were going to go, they voiced their opinions.

(Kazuma) “Ugh great. A ball.”

(Aqua) “What? A NEET like you can’t stomach interaction with other peo-”

(Kazuma) “STOP CALLING ME A NEET YOU BITCH!”

(Akira) “Well, I guess there are worse ways to spend a night.”

(Rean) “I bet everyone will be scrambling to get a partner soon!”

(Yu) “That’ll be exciting.”

(Minako) “Oh, I can’t wait!”

(Minato) “It’s not possible to skip this, is it?”

(Kazuma) “I’m with Minato on this one. Can we?”

Doomguy shook his head no.

(Minako) “Don’t spoil the fun on this you guys! When is the next time we’re going to get to attend something like this?”

(Akira) “She’s got a point.”

(Morgana) “Plus, it’d be remiss for us to miss a chance to attend a fancy ball! We get to work on our people skills!”

(Kazuma) “With stuffy nobles! We had to deal with them a lot last time, and that wasn’t pleasant! I got better things to do that night than hang around a buncha assholes!”

(Yu) “...Pot calling the kettle black there, Kazuma-”

(Kazuma) “And YOU be quiet! I don’t have a bunch of girls surrounding me like you all do! IT’S NOT FAIR!”

(Rean) “...We do?”

Akira, Yu, and Minato shrugged.

(Aqua) “In any case, we should go tell our groups this stuff, yeah?”

Everyone nodded.

(Minako) “We’ll catch ya tomorrow!”

Everyone went their separate ways. Kazuma grumbled under his breath as he walked with Aqua.

(Aqua) “You can’t be shut in all the time! If it’ll get you out, then I’ll take pity and take you to dance with a godde-”

(Kazuma) “I’d rather die.”

(Sothis) “As would I.”

(Kazuma) “FUCKIN’ JESUS!”

Both Aqua and Kazuma were startled by Sothis appearing in front of them.

(Aqua) “Don’t scare us like tha-...Where’s Byleth?”

(Sothis) “That child is doing paperwork currently. I am in no mood to rest, so I thought I might as well join you idiots. Now, what’s this ball I’m hearing so much about?”

(Kazuma) “Tch, well you see...”

...

(Sothis) “...What kind of asinine reasoning is that? That you’ll be miserable if you do not have someone to dance with? Just strut your moves as you see fit!”

(Kazuma) “Psh, I wish we could, then maybe I could have a bit of fun! But no, this isn’t some nightclub, it’s some boring ass ball dancing!”

(Aqua) “Ugh, I’ve had enough of your whining. I’m off to drink.”

(Kazuma) “I hope you have a hangover!”

Late Evening...

[Evening Moments - Trails of Cold Steel]

Sara slammed her mug down onto the table.

(Sara) “Ah, that’s a nice cold brew you got us tonight, Manuela!”

(Manuela) “Ugh, I’m going to need it to forget about this week. That ball is going to be a sad reminder of my life...”

(Sara) “Here here...”

(Aqua) “Yeesh, everyone’s talkin’ doom and gloom about this damn ball! You girls just need to relax alright?! We can have fun dancing together!”

(Manuela) “Oh sweetie, you don’t understand. When you’re as old as us, you’re going to be lamenting this too...”

(Aqua) “I’m older than the both of you!”

(Sara) “Right right...goddess stuff and all that.”

Manuela and Sara chugged their beer.

(Aqua) “Well fine, I’ll humor you two then! Who are you going to ask to dance?”

(Manuela) “Well, there was this cute knight I saw earlier today. He seemed like a nice enough fellow. What about you, Sara?”

(Sara) “Someone who’d dance with me regardless of my habits...”

She considered her options. Frankly not a lot of people in the Monastery could stand her, and those who did were far too young. But...

(Sara) “Aha!”

Manuela and Aqua looked at her with a curious expression.

(Sara) “I know just the man!”

...

Megumi had just finished her paperwork for the night and was headed to her rooms before she almost ran into Kasumi.

(Kasumi) “Oh, please excuse me, Sakura-sensei!”

(Megumi) “Hello, Yoshizawa. I’m sorry I almost hit you there!”

(Kasumi) “That’s a lot of papers, do you need some help?”

(Megumi) “No I-...Actually, it’d be a big help if you could, thank you!”

Splitting the papers they walked to Megumi’s room.

(Megumi) “So, are you excited for the ball that’s coming soon?”

(Kasumi) “Indeed! Doing gymnastics is a bit different from dancing, but the footing seems similar, so I’m excited to try! Have we elected a representative for the White Heron Cup yet?”

(Megumi) “No, that’s something Sara, Slayer, and I need to discuss still.”

(Kasumi) “I see, well I hope you choose well. By the way, what about you? Are you excited?”

(Megumi) “Quite a bit, actually! I’m interested in seeing how the students dance, and how Fodlan dancing is compared to Japanese. Hah, as for asking someone to the dance, that’s an ongoing problem.”

(Kasumi) “Well, you’re a very kind person, Sakura-sensei! I’m sure that anyone would be more than happy to!”

(Megumi) “Hah, thank you Yoshizawa. To be frank, it’s not a matter of getting anyone that’s bothering me, it’s just having the right person. These sorts of things should be special, you know? O-Oh! Listen to me ramble, sorry! Thank you for helping out.”

Kasumi gave Megumi the papers.

(Kasumi) “Anytime! I hope you find the person you’re looking for!”

Kasumi bowed and walked away, Megumi opening her door and putting the papers on her desk.

(Megumi) “Well, if I had to choose anyone it’d be...-”

...

Megumi went back to the offices and saw Byleth’s door spilling candlelight beneath the door.

She was about to knock before Sara came around the corner.

(Sara) “Oh, heya Megunee. What’re you doin’?”

(Megumi) “Hello Sara. I was about to ask Byleth something, but its not that important. I’ll just come back later.”

(Sara) “Neither’s mine. It was just going to be about the Ball.”

(Megumi) “What a coincidence! That’s what I was going to talk to him about.

(Sara & Megumi) “...”

(Sara) “Were you about to-”

(Megumi) “-Ask him to the ball?”

!!!

(Sara) “Sis, I’m gonna need you to stand aside.”

(Megumi) “Huh?”

(Sara) “I need this more than you do, Megunee! You don’t understand the struggles I’ve been through!”

(Megumi) “...O-Oh! You have feelings for him then? I apologize, I’ll let you ask-”

(Sara) “HUH?! N-NO I DON’T! I WAS JUST GOING TO SEE IF HIS LONELY ASS NEEDED A GIRL LIKE ME!”

(Megumi) “...But didn’t you just-”

(Sara) “Alright, that’s it! KNOW WHAT?! I THINK I GOT A BETTER IDEA! HOW ABOUT WE LET HIM CHOOSE?!”

Megumi didn’t quite understand what Sara was going on about but...

Losing to Sara on this didn’t sit quite right with her. Regardless, Megumi agreed.

(Megumi) “Alright then, that’s fine with me.”

(Sara) “We’ll see who ends up the victor! It’s going to be me!”

Sara stormed away while Megumi stood there confused for a moment before she registered what she really meant.

(Megumi) “Oooooh! Hmph! Fine! If she’s going to act like that, then I’ll make sure not to fall that easily either! This means war, Sara!”

Byleth was inside doing paperwork. He was only half paying attention to the conversation while Sothis went outside to see what was going on. She was laughing hysterically when she came back in.

(Byleth) “What was going on out there?”

(Sothis) “Oh nothing. Just a lover’s dispute.”

(Byleth) “Whoever they are, they sounded cross.”

(Sothis) Oh sweet child, you have NO idea of what’s coming...

[Love Dramatic - Love is War]

[pocket-luv101]

I’m an angst junky (or just a sucker for punishment, you be the judge). What if Mahiru saves Machi just like Po’s mom saved him in Kung Fu Panda 2? I’m horrible, I know...

Who’s the bigger villian? You or the writer who ran with the idea.

“It’s been awhile since we returned to C3’s headquarters. Yumikage must be super busy nowthat he’s running C3.” Mahiru said to Kuro next to her as they walked down thehall. After they defeated the previous boss, Yumikage’s prestigious family tookover the organization. “The last time we were here, we were teenagers. Now wehave a daughter. Aren’t you excited to meet a new friend, Machi?”

Machireplied with a string of gibberish and she rubbed her face against Kuro’sshoulder. He placed a protective hand on her head and brushed her hair from herdrowsy eyes. “She’s not much company when it’s close to her bedtime. Maybe weshould just go home and tell Yumikage to visit us the next time he’s freeinstead of telling us to come to this place. This building still gives me thecreeps.”

“I know,”She whispered back to him softly. Mahiru took Machi from him and carefullyplaced her in her baby sling. She started to drift off even before Mahirutucked her blanket around her. “But the leadership changed and we both knowthat Yumikage is a good person. He’s super busy and that’s why he said it wouldbe easier for us to visit his office.”

“I guess heis super busy if he had to email us instead of calling us.” Kuro couldn’t helpbe a little cautious after the history he had with the organization. He didn’twant anything to cause his family to be separated again. He wrapped his armaround her waist and pulled her close against his side. “The days sure becomeshorter in the winter. That means longer naps.”

“Thatdepends on how often Machi decides to wake us up.” She laughed softly. “Oh, weshould stop by Tinker’s research lab and say hello to her. If I remember right,the lab should be on the way to Yumikage’s office. I don’t think he will mindif we’re a few minutes late.”

Kuro noddedin response and they walked towards the room. He noticed that the halls wereoddly quiet. Even though the war was over, Tinker continued to createinventions. Mahiru must’ve sensed that something was wrong as well because shelet go of his hand to hold Machi more securely against her. They stopped infront of the door to her lab.

Mahirupressed close to his side and hoped that she was merely being paranoid. Hepushed open the door and he swore beneath his breath. The lab was a mess andKuro didn’t know what to make of the fact that no one was in the room. “Mahiru,stay here. Whoever did this might still be here.”

“Do youthink Tinker was hurt?” Mahiru fought against her instinct to follow him intothe lab. She wanted to fight by his side but they had to think of Machi’ssafety. She took out her phone and said, “I should call Yumikage. Hopefully,this is just an experiment gone wrong. He would’ve called us if someoneattacked them and cancel our visit.”

“Whateverhappened, we need to leave. I don’t want Machi to be pulled into anythingdangerous.” Kuro surveyed the room but he kept Mahiru in the corner of hiseyes. His sharp senses allowed him to hear something approach them rapidly. Heran to Mahiru even before he recognized the sound as a gunshot. He yanked herinto the room and slammed the door shut before the bullet could reach her.

Mahirusummoned her spear and Kuro grabbed a random tool on the desk. They waited forthe door to open to face the person attacking them. The air was tense and theonly sound between them was Machi’s whimpers. Kuro turned around and placed hishands over Mahiru’s. “Do you still remember the secret passages? Use your broomto fly away with Machi. Please, Mahiru, go now.”

“Wait, Ican’t leave you here!” Mahiru started to argue.

“And I can’tlose either of you!” He yelled over her. “That man has a gun and he was aimingat you.”

Theirargument didn’t last long before the door was thrown open. It clattered loudlyagainst the wall and it almost broke off its hinges. Mahiru was shocked to seethat it was the prior boss of C3. A few other men followed him into the roombut she didn’t recognize any of them. “What are you doing here? You were kickedout of C3.”

“I came backwhen I heard that a human and a vampire had a child.” The moment he mentionedMachi, Mahiru hugged her protectively. “We can’t know what that thing inheritedfrom its parents. It will be best if we kept it for a short time to be certainthat it’s safe.”

“Machi isn’ta danger! Don’t talk about her like that. She’s a normal, sweet girl.” Mahirusaid. She prayed that they would be able to reason with the man for Machi’ssake. She already knew that would be near impossible from past encounters withthe boss. “Kuro turned back into a human when the war was over. Even if he wasstill a vampire, neither Kuro nor Machi are monsters.”

“He might bea human now but you two still have Jinn in your bodies. Sleepy Ash is strongerthan an average human and you can still summon your Lead.” He pointed out andthe men around him stepped forward. She tightened her hands on her spear andprepared to fight. It was clear that they wouldn’t be able to defeat so manypeople though.

Kuro leanedcloser to her ear. “Please, run, Mahiru. Think about Machi.”

“... I’ll callfor help.” Mahiru’s feet felt heavy as she backed away. “Meet us at home.”

“I promise.”With those words, she dashed towards the secret passage behind them. Kurostopped the men from following her by throwing the flash balls at their feet.Light exploded from the balls and blinded them. Mahiru forced open the panelwith her spear before she transformed it into a broom. The sound of fightingfollowed her as she flew through the secret passageway.

Mahiruquickly climbed to another floor where she escaped out a window. As she flew onher broom, she took out her phone to call Lily. She reminded herself that Kurowas strong and that he would survive. She sent a mass text to all her friendsand flew towards the Alicein mansion. Machi would be safest there.

“Papa is apowerful lion and he’ll come home.” She whispered to Machi as reassurance. Apart of Mahiru knew that she was trying to reassure herself as well. Herdaughter was far too young to fully understand the situation. She had aconfused and upset expression so Mahiru cooed softly to her. “You’re going tovisit your Fairy Godfather. Be a good girl and—”

A sharp painshot through her shoulder and Mahiru staggered for a moment. She looked overher shoulder and saw that several men were chasing her on foot. Their weaponswere designed to fight vampires so the concentrated sunlight wasn’t as effectiveagainst her. It felt like her shoulder was on fire though.

Mahiru lostcontrol of her Lead. She crashed to the ground and landed on her back. She sliddown a short hill but she endured the pain as the rocks scraped herjacket. The only thing on her mind was protecting her daughter. She scrambledto her feet once she reached the bottom of the hill. She didn’t need to lookbehind her to know that the C3 members were nearby.

In thedistance, Mahiru spotted a small truck next to the road and hope renewed herenergy. Maybe there was someone in it and they could drive her to a hospital ora police station. The organization would never risk civilians discovering thatvampires and sorcerers existed. She held Machi closer against her chest and sheran frantically to the wagon.

Her heartdropped when she didn’t find anyone inside the truck or next to it. Shesummoned her spear and broke the lock of the truck bed. She climbed onto theback and she noticed that it was filled with crates of vegetables. It was likelythe wagon belonged to a farmer and he was making deliveries. Mahiru’s mindraced as she thought over her options.

She couldcontinue to run but Mahiru was already exhausted. Waiting and hoping the farmerwould return soon wasn’t a better choice either. She didn’t know how long itwould be before the farmer came back. If the C3 members found them before that,she would be cornered in the truck. Fighting would put Machi at risk and thatwas the last thing she wanted.

Mahiru feltMachi begin to fuss and clutched her jacket. She soothed her as quietly as shecould so the men wouldn’t hear her. “Everything will be okay, Machi. Mama willprotect you. Please, don’t cry.”

Machisettled down a little and nestled against her chest. Looking down at herdaughter, she felt her heart ache painfully. She loved her and Mahiru would doanything to keep her safe. Mahiru stiffened when she heard the men’s voicesnearby. She took a quick look outside and saw the men at the top of the hill.It would only be a matter of time before they found the truck.

Mahiruturned to the crates of vegetables and then she looked down at Machi. She would protect her no matter the cost. Everything she did was for her. Her daughter’sbrown eyes stared back at her with an innocent trust and love. It only madeMahiru’s decision more difficult. Yet, she forced her body to move. Her planwas to hide Machi in a crate while she distracted the C3 members.

She found acrate that her daughter would fit comfortably in and poured out the radishes.She placed Machi inside along with her jacket and scarf. Mahiru arranged themaround her daughter so she would be warm. Then she placed some vegetables intoher baby sling so it would look like there was a child in it.

“Machi, Mamaneeds to go but…” She wanted to tell her daughter that she would return for herbut she didn’t know she could keep that promise. C3’s boss had ordered thatMachi be captured because she was half vampire. Mahiru thought of the times shefought them in the past. The organization was ruthless so they were willing todo anything to accomplish their goal.

But, faced with that possibility, the only thing breaking her heart was the knowledge that this could be the last time she saw her daughter. When she was born, Mahiru made a vow to always stay by Machi’s side because she had to grow up without a mother. Tearsentered her eyes as she looked down at her.

“I’m so sorry, Machi. No matter what happens to me, I just want you to live.” Mahiruhugged her and pressed her forehead against Machi’s. She felt her tiny handstouch her tears stained cheek. “I don’t know if you’ll remember me when you’reolder but know that I love you. I’m so proud to call you my daughter and youmade me so happy. You’re my little ray of light, Machi. I love you.”

“Mama,” herdaughter whimpered when she started to pull away.

“Shhh, don’tcry. I’m not leaving you, Machi. I will always be with you and watch over you.”

Mahirukissed her one last time. Even if her daughter forgot her, she didn’t want thelast memory Machi had of her was of her crying. She fought against the tearsand forced a brave smile onto her face. She pushed the crate into the cornerwhere it would be shadowed by the larger crates. On shaking legs, Mahirustepped away. Machi immediately started cry for her and her wails stabbed ather heart.

She jumpedoff the truck bed and luckily the men hadn’t noticed her yet. She ran back upthe hill and she stopped a short distance from them. Mahiru looked back to thetruck and pictured Machi’s smile. She gathered her resolve and screamed. “Kuro,help!”

Mahiruwaited for all the men to turn towards her and started to chase her. Then, she sprinted in the opposite direction of the truck. As she ran, she prayed that herdaughter would have a bright future. Even if it was without her.

When I started writing these family fanfics, I wanted to keep them light and fluffy. I do have one more angsty fanfic with Mahiru’s father in my wip list.

[serpentsangel]

Raised on the Wrong Side: Part Ten

AN: things are getting heaaaatttteddd :’) Can’t believe we are on chapter 10 already. I am still so thankful for my readers

Dedication: @southsidepea for helping me through a dilemma I had for the story! Thank you for encouraging me and motivating me through my little stump. @lovelydacre I recently discovered their blog and they’ve got cute imagines and I think you should check them out

Plot: With her fathers approval, (Y/N) prepares for the toughest test of her life: Serpent Initiation. Frustrated with AJ taking over the Serpents once more, Margaret proposes a deadly plan to Malachai.

Words: 2,134

Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four // Part Five // Part Six // Part Seven // Part Eight // Part Nine 

Part Ten

“Remember the last time that I took you here? You had your first milkshake and I had to catch you because you almost fell off the booth from the sugar rush you had.” AJ smirked happily as he looked back at all the memories he had of him and (Y/N) before the disastrous event with the Ghoulie’s. He took time out of hiding to come bond with (Y/N), answering all the questions he has about the years he wasn’t around.

“Mom got mad at you because you let me have one all by myself.” At the mention of her mother, (Y/N) pushed the milkshake away and looked down at her fiddling fingers. It has been almost a month since she ran away from home and went down to live in the South with FP and Jughead, who ended up scrapping the exposé he was writing and soon took (Y/N) on as his unofficial sister. “I haven’t seen her since I left. I want to be here instead.”

“But she’s still your mother, (Y/N). She’ll understand.” AJ places a few bills onto the table and gets out of the booth. “Now, come on. I want to show you something.” (Y/N) slides herself out of the booth and follows her father out of Pop’s and to their bikes where she trails slowly behind him, the city driving by and disappearing slowly. From tarmac to dirt roads to straight out forest trails. She didn’t know where he was trying to take her but she trusts him, he wouldn’t hurt her. If any of her parents were to, it’d be her mother.

In the distance, a small abandoned looking cabin stood. AJ takes out a rusty key and opens the door, switch on a light. They flicker for a while before illuminating the room. Pictures upon pictures decorated the walls, news clippings and files were neatly arranged on desks and whatever wall space was left over. “This is your family.” (Y/N) gets closer to the pictures and notices that the one thing they all had in common, besides being black and white, were the fact that the men and women featured all dawned the same leather jacket, the Serpents jacket. “Regardless of where you go in life, you’re bound to be a Serpent. It’s your blood.” It was like walking into a personal museum.

“Did you do this?” (Y/N) questions, a little baffled that her father never told her of this place, it holds everything about her that she has ever had a question about. “I’m related to all of them?”

“Every single one. I just wanted you to know that it wasn’t always the negative rep that it gets now and we weren’t always at war with the Ghoulie’s but through the years, we’ve stuck together stronger than you can imagine. There’s not a bond quite like the family we have here. And I want you to be a part of it, officially.” AJ lifts up a much older looking Serpent jacket, the age on it apparent through its rough cuts and dirty back but besides that, it stayed intact. “This was the jacket of your great-grandfather and I want you to have it. I know this may be tough on you but, I give you my blessing to go with initiation and I want you to be there by my side ruling together and when I’m gone I want you to take over.”

“What about FP? Jughead? Tall Boy? Wouldn’t that be unfair to them?” (Y/N) looks up at her father for answers as he folds the jacket and hands it over for her to take. “They’re family just as much as you are, dad. I don’t want to hurt them. A Serpent never hurts one of their own.”

AJ smiles proudly. “It’s already been discussed. I’m back home, baby. I’m back to taking over. So what do you say, father-daughter running the Serpents?” (Y/N) looks down at the jacket and back to her father multiple times before she proudly takes the jacket and hands her father his, as she puts the older one on. “Welcome to the Family.”

****

Toni ran up to the table excitedly as she got off the phone with FP, clapping her hands together as she slides next to Fangs. “I have great news everyone. I just got off the phone with FP and AJ and (Y/N), and I am proud to say that (Y/N) is going to officially join the Serpents aaaannnnd we have to prep her for initiation.”

All those present celebrated the news, all those except for Sweet Pea, who looked more aggravated than supportive, rolling his eyes and stabbing his food as he refused to look at anyone.  “Something wrong, Sweet Pea? Aren’t you happy that your girlfriend is joi..”

“(Y/N) isn’t my girlfriend, god damn it!!!” Sweet Pea slams his fist on the table and squints his death stare at everyone on the table. “And I swear if any of you, and I mean any of you say that garbage talk once more, I will fucking wreck you. Got it?” Everyone went back to their own personal business, fearful of what this towering giant could do to them and for some, they have personally witnessed the true wrath of Sweet Pea’s anger. It was only Toni who could see past it, know what was hurting him, she looks at him concerned and his tightened expression loosened when he saw her but the ‘don’t say a word’ feeing was still present.

The moment the group dispersed, Toni dragged Sweet Pea to the side and checked over her shoulder for anyone before cornering him. “What’s gotten into you, huh? Haven’t you realized that not addressing the feelings you have for (Y/N) is ruining you, Pea. I’ve never seen you so uptight before.  Just grow some fucking balls and talk to her before your anger ends up hurting someone else.” Toni shakes her head as she walks up, she didn’t want her long time best friend to hurt himself over it and she needed to make sure no one else got hurt, knowing the short impulses of anger that Sweet Pea has, he’s a firecracker waiting to explode.

Sweet Pea finds himself banging his head multiple times against the concrete walls, in the useless attempt to knock himself out, trying to escape this reality and hop onto the next but as he opened his eyes and saw his phone light up, a text from (Y/N), he came to terms that there’s no way out. No matter what universe he’s going to be in, she will always be there. One way or another.

****

(Y/N) found herself along Sweet Water River, sitting down on the gravel as she looked out into the water, the nerves about entering the Serpents, officially, started to haunt her every time she closed and opened her eyes. Picking up a couple of rocks, (Y/N) attempts to skip them across the water but gets frustrated when she couldn’t get past two skips. Falling onto the ground, she takes her phone out and gives Sweet Pea a call but no answer. For a few days, Sweet Pea has been completely M.I.A on her. No calls. No texts. Doesn’t pick her up for school anymore. It’s as if he completely abandoned his job as her protector, like he just stopped caring. 

(Y/N) played around with her phone, wanting company but couldn’t think of who. Reggie? Nah. Her heart still fuming from their argument and being the stubborn individual she is, (Y/N) didn’t want to cave in just yet. Eventually, she’ll give in to his romantic letters, cute voicemails and endless deliveries of flowers to her door but she needed space and that’s why she came here. 

The rush of the water and the serenity of it’s view, is the one place in town that one can properly escape to in order to get over whatever troubles the South or North could be bringing them. Bzz. Bzz. (Y/N) picked up her phone in a jiffy, but her heart dropped. It wasn’t Sweet Pea, as she had secretly been hoping for but it was Toni. “Hey.”

“Why do you sound so glum?” 

“Just thoughts.” (Y/N) stands up and throws another rock, her shoulders going up in hopes of it passing two skips but they drop just as the rock hit the second skip. “I’m just by Sweet Water River. Had to get away from some things.”

“Well, get yourself over to mine. I need to prep you for initiation. Make sure you got it all. See you!” (Y/N) hangs up and slides her phone straight into her pocket, mounting her bike and heading straight for Toni’s. The more she runs away from facing the initiation, the more it will haunt her. Her whole life she has been waiting for this one moment and now with her dad’s full approval and your friend helping you out, it all seems like a dream come true. Then why does (Y/N) feel like she wants to toss it all away? 

“Looks like you already know the laws.” Toni ticks it off the list she made for (Y/N). “I have confidence in you.”

“I don’t.” (Y/N) distracts herself by the fading bruise on her arm, tracing it delicately, finding a strange beauty in the mark from a brutal attack. “The dance? The gauntlet? There’s so much at stake for me and I don’t want to disappoint my dad. And I don’t want the Serpents to be disappointed at me and then lose faith in my dad because his own daughter couldn’t live up to it. My whole life I’ve wanted this, but….”

“Is something distracting you?” Toni guesses, sensing the same dilemma and problem in (Y/N)’s eyes as she had seen in Sweet Pea. “Boy trouble?” She gives (Y/N) a knowing look and pats her shoulder reassuringly. “Look, whatever it is, let it out of your system. Whoever it is, beat them up, that usually helps.” She jokes.

“It’s Sweet Pea.”  Toni’s eyes widen, that wasn’t what she was expecting but then again she didn’t have a specific expectation. “I know. I know. Why do I care? It’s just he hasn’t returned my calls, texts and he completely forgotten that my dad and FP hired him to, protect me I guess and make sure Ghoulie’s don’t go after me again but I haven’t…. he doesn’t even pick me up from school. It’s stupid, I know. I’m worried. Is he okay?”

“Oh honey.” Toni gives her a hug, caressing her hair as she pats her back. “You don’t have to worry for him, he’s going through some….things and just need time to himself for now. It’s hard to get to know him and really get through that tough exterior he has but you’re still new and he’s still trying to get used to the fact that he knows more than one girl now” A small chuckle escapes both of their lips as she smiles calmly at her. “Don’t worry about him alright, I’ll go talk to that giraffe for you if you want.”

“Thanks Toni. I appreciate it. Now, talking about the tattoo…” Leaning back on her chair, (Y/N) places her arm on the table, rolling up her sleeve exposing her bare forearm. “…one that runs up the entirety of my forearm.” 

****

Margaret covers the majority of her face as she walks through a dark alley, turning a corner and leans back on a door, subtly knocking a specified pattern. Malachai annoyingly opens the door. “You better have something good.” He lets her in and she coughs at the dirtiness of the air and environment. “Don’t act like you’ve never lived this way Mags. Now what do you have for me?”

“My husband has resumed his position as head of the Serpents and has assigned my daughter to run beside him. I don’t think the plan you have is working and I suggest we take things a level further.” Margaret hands him a paper scribbled with special instructions. “I am disappointed with the rate that we are going at and those we are fighting against are stronger than ever. We need to take one of them out. Take one out and we can crack the pyramid from there.” 

“Are you proposing what I think you are?” Malachai looks down at the paper again, a wave of uncertainty crossing his mind but the thought of the cause, the fight that they’ve been in overrides the riskiness of it all. “And you’re sure you want….this…..” He holds up the paper. “….is the victim? What do I get out of it? This is some risky turf you’re entering, Mags.”

“Murder that son of a bitch and I’ll grant you everything you need to take AJ down.”

Taglist: @rosegoldquintis @laheybabe14 @truthfulchange @daya-thelastunicorn @valeriemusiclove  @smilexoxoes  @kayladooley@nonononononono-i-cant @swordsandserpents  @southsidepea @oops-forgot-to-laugh @sweetspea @superhalsteads @southsideserpentsweetpea@twistnet  @evyiione @sweetpeaprompts @serpent-squad @septic-pixl-plier @beepxbeepxtozier  @lostnliterature @annasbulletjournal

[breziarchive]

Majimako, no conditions. Requested by my dear ass friend @persante, who wanted to retract her request on the fear i had too much on my plate.

no you fucking fool. i want this.

(inb4 the dumb referential names i picked are ALREADY ESTABLISHED CHARACTERS BUT I CAN’T BE ARSED TO CHANGE THE NAMES NOW)

also there’s blood and murder and laffs “majimako no conditions” means blood and murder

valentine’s day boogaloo - guidelines - ko-fi

(requests closed, badbbadbadfffffdfdfd)

~~

Majima stumbled as the floor spun, the metal tips of his boots gleaming like they shouldn't have. Shaking his head did nothing to bring things back to normal. Blood spatters on the concrete beneath his feet looked dark and surreal, even though the bat in his hands was painted with much the same. Disregarding that he may have been worsening the mess, he brought his free hand up to dig at his scalp, panting wearily. Thank fuck there was no one around to see him now.

Or that they were already dead.

He breathed. In. Out. In. Out. His hands shook. Yeah he had killed people before, no it wasn't a case of 'it never gets easier'. It was a case of one of the two bodies in the room was not his doing, and that first dead body caused the second.

His stupefied eye wandered to see twisted feet dressed in delicate heels, slamming his eye shut before it followed pale, willowy legs to a distorted face. What the hell had this guy been doing? How much of it had he done? Keeping some woman's fresh corpse in his office space as he lit up cigarettes without a damn care in the world—Majima almost felt righteous that he barged in here, because it gave him the opportunity to make up for it. A corpse for a corpse—not really a righteous policy, but one that Majima had little control over when he saw an innocent dead on the floor.

Whatever. He hadn't come in here to kill someone, be that it turned out that way. Although he was glad he did—the files he had plucked out of cabinet spread against the askew desk proved it. Majima pressed his leaden hand a little too much against the files, spreading them farther out. Makoto's name littered them—documents of the exchange over the Empty Lot, documents of her lineage, whereabouts, just information about her in yakuza hands still. He had spent the past five, or was it ten, years hunting down whoever held documents like this, burning each and every one he came across. With men like this holding onto recent files of where and what she was doing, Majima was glad he was dead.

Hyper-focusing on the files instead of speculating who the woman in the corner might've been, Majima slid them off of the desk, neverminding the spatters of blood he disturbed, and sat on the edge of a plant pot. The dead yakuza's legs served as a footrest as his one eye skimmed over each paper. On a different day he'd be more thorough and take his time in the office to make sure he didn't miss a single copy, but today...Today? Fuck it. Majima stuck a cigarette in his mouth, lit it, then lit the files on fire.

His eye glazed over, watching the papers burn. For her. For her and always for her. Fuck. That woman was dead in the corner for some unknown reason that wouldn't ever be good enough. How close had Makoto come to being that woman? How close was she now?

For some damned reason an address on the paper burned in his mind before the flames burned it. He blinked, but the memory remained even as he dropped the papers on the pant leg of the dead yakuza to curl. Part of him wanted to just burn the whole building down now, with him inside it. Now that he knew the address, it was only fair, right? Even he didn't keep any files about her. Not even a picture.

Not even a picture.

He closed his eye as the fire changed sounds as it started to lick at the pant legs, fizzling on hair beneath. The address. The address. The dead woman in the corner. The address.

A strangled noise crept through his chest and he stood up, stomping the fire out and nearly tripping and falling from the uneven ground the legs made. The address.

Fear and hope pinched his heart and he stumbled off the dead man. Address.

That what he was going to do might've been considered stalking was only a small voice in his mind, and even though it nagged the pain dragging his face down and the fear kicking his head to pieces spoke louder. The address kept repeating itself over and over and over in his mind as he slammed the door holding the two corpses shut. He couldn't trust to write it down, because someone else could've seen it. He had to trust his memory, and when it came to her his memory was agonizingly clear.

Though, for his own sanity, he should've let a few days pass. He couldn't let more than a few hours of vivid sleep go before he was ripping through his wardrobe. It hit him all too quickly that he had, absolutely, no fucking clue what normal people wore. All he had were flashy suits and absolutely gaudy shit that would make him stick out like a sore thumb. The address he had memorized, he knew it was in the suburbs somewhere beyond the outskirts of the city. The thought made him honestly ill, him, trawling about a quiet neighborhood with snakeskin and tats out. Not to mention leather pants that clung a little too tightly in the right places to...accentuate. Taunt, or whatever it would do for him.

After far too long he finally settled on black slacks and suitcoat he hoped wasn't too flashy, because the least intimidating thing he had to wear underneath was a goldenrod button-up. (He almost went with red, but red held too much power. At least he skipped the tie.) After that, he made the quick decision to slip his eyepatch into his breast pocket and cover his eyes with a pair of aviators. Couldn't risk her recognizing him. Couldn't risk anything—this whole escapade could cost her so, so much more than he was willing to put her through. But he had to check, he had to know.

It burned like the files in his mind as he hopped on at least one more train than necessary, taking the longest way to the suburbs possible just in case. Just in case.

When he stepped off the train it was like walking into a concrete wall. He had made such a huge, huge mistake. There were kids running about, mothers pouring over grocery lists, no criers in the streets, no broken needles or used condoms, teenagers laughed normally and rough-housed with each other in ways that didn't cause broken noses and black eyes. This was not a place where he could even pretend to blend in, much less convince someone that he was just there to make sure someone was safe. Yeah. Didn't seem like he was gonna stake the joint at all.

He had just, after all, killed someone.

Majima swallowed, hoped he didn't stand like an idiot for too long in the small train station, then headed off, address burned in his mind. No one had followed him, unless they had better clothes to disguise themselves with than he did. Making sure the aviators were firm on his face, he counted the street numbers until he arrived at the correct block, secluded and ending in a small cul de sac surrounded by cute houses clustered together like trees in a forest. It wasn't lonely, but it was secluded. Early morning was giving way to mid-morning, and the houses lazily bustled with the promise of school starting soon. He had already passed more than one uniform-clad group of young teens, and had spied more than one child's backpack bouncing happily as they walked the streets unattended.

Shit, man. The second thoughts he had were screaming until his head rang.

A few kids, their backpacks resting against low yard fences, played as they waited for what Majima presumed to be a larger line of kids to go to school with. Those days had been so long ago for him now they might as well have been repressed. Some of the kids' heads perked up like meerkats as he tried to look casual, strolling down the street, but for the most part they didn't raise the alarm. Awkward and knowing it, Majima tried to look particularly interested in a weed sprouting from a crack in the asphalt, already turning around some bullshit excuse in his mind as to what he was doing. Botany, sure. Suburban botany. Yeah fuckin' right.

Why did it have to be now, when he had already traveled at least two hours, shitty disguise fooling nobody on, that he realized that discreetly finding out about her was impossible? Even if he waited for the kids to leave for school, what then? Knock on doors like a fuckin' missionary? He wished he could take his head off and curb-stomp it for its stupidity—yeah, a missionary, who had to use their voice, talk to people, interact—

“Cloudy day, isn't it?”

Majima froze, pulled from his stunt of suburban botany, and slowly turned around, spine stiff and jaw clenched. There she was, standing pleasantly. Orange and pink flannel peeked out just from behind a pastel windbreaker; it looked like she was only expecting to be outside for a moment, perhaps monitoring, watching the children. His heart crashed into his feet—one of them could be hers. Of all the stupid things he was already doing, he made it worse because his instinct twisted his head back to look at the kids tossing a ball back and forth. It was so mind-numbingly normal and stereotypical it seemed surreal, even Makoto's pleasantries didn't seem right.

Before he could really study and find out if any of them could be her kids she spoke again, just as pleasant, “Excuse me, sir, did you have a question about the kids?”

Majima blinked and looked back to her. Well, it wasn't out of the blue, but it wasn't quite as sterile as a comment about the weather. She smiled at him all the same but something was off—it was like he was watching an actress act, not someone truly smile. Trying to hide a swallow, he shook his head.

“Good,” the word was forceful from her lips despite the pleasant tone, but before Majima could nod and scuttle away like a log had been lifted over a cockroach she stepped up into his space and her eyes became sharp and dangerous, lips curling into a snarl, “Because I will drag you to hell if you so much as look at them wrong,”

Thankful that the aviators shielded most of his expression, Majima blinked rapidly, eye wide and struggling on whether to show how impressed versus how intimidated off the bat he was. Makoto kept herself planted in his space, glaring into her own reflection on the aviators. When she finally let him be it wasn't at all like she had backed down. He imagined that her hackles were still raised and teeth were bared behind her sweet lips, even as she walked away to tend to the children.

“Takeru-kun,” she chastised, too much of a bite to her words to show Majima that his suspicions were correct, “Throw the ball a little gentler, Ken-chan's still learning,”

Takeru, the boy in question, let out a comical whine of protest before retorting, “But Ken-chan's dad said—,”

“I don't care what he said,” Makoto huffed, firm, “It's on you to learn to be gentle or not, but I'm here to ask you to be gentle,”

The harshness of Makoto's voice seemed to take Takeru by surprise, and, holding the ball wide-eyed, he murmured a sullen 'yes, Makimura-san', softening his play. Majima watched her, noticing that the arcs of her shoulder blades were barely showing from behind the windbreaker from how much he put her at unease. More than that, the comfortable use of her surname—her unchanged surname—told Majima that, perhaps, none of these were her children.

The eldest of the children, a beanpole of a girl that Majima guessed would be ditching the elementary backpack for a uniform soon, cautiously approached her from the side. Busying himself with the breadth of suburban flora in the asphalt, he tilted his head a little to hear better.

“Makimura-san, is everything...alright?”

Makoto didn't seem to move, though her arms were crossed in front of her. Her voice remained tight, watching Takeru learn to adjust the power and bounce of the ball to the youngest kid there, “Is your brother coming out, Yumi-san?”

The girl nodded, but her gaze was steady and concerned on Makoto, “He's late, as usual,”

Makoto hummed, unhappy. Suddenly feeling as though he was surrounded, even if it was nothing but just eyes, he felt himself start to sweat and panic. There was no way in goddamn hell he was going to be able to convince Makoto of all people that he meant no harm while he was loitering around, especially not in front of children that it seemed she had been tasked with watching over until school started. God fucking help him if any other mothers or fathers or whoever started emerging from their homes, all to judge and pitchfork him. In truth it didn't matter too much to him if he was burned at the stake or not, but the idea that he had made everyone's lives in this quiet little town worse, that maybe, if he met his end here, white-knight sorts of yakuza would come hunting for revenge—goddamnit he really should've planned this out more than not at all.

“HEY! Hiroki-kun!”

Majima jolted upright.

“CATCH!”

The ball did not make it to Hiroki. Majima was honestly just thankful the ball hit so square into his face that any noises he did make were squelched. Clamping his teeth down on the insides of his cheeks both out of reflex and out of desperate courtesy to not shout something, thus bringing the pitchforks to his attention and scaring the children in the process, Majima stumbled until his ass met the iron fence behind him. His gloved hands went to his face immediately, cupping around his nose. Again, out of reflex. The ball could never in a million years hit him like a punch could, and the loud, hollow THOONK sound it made as it bounced off was the sound of no real harm done. Grunting and grinding his teeth on his cheeks, he pinched the tip of his nose and shook it back and forth like he had to put it back in place, glancing up to see a shocked kid standing in front of him. New, from the house that had been behind him. Presumably the Hiroki that the hotshot Takeru greeted with a ball to Majima's face. Not only was he shocked but he seemed absolutely horrified, too, like Majima would do something. He blinked, readying an expression to show the kid that he was okay when he realized something.

The aviators had been knocked off.

Shot with panic, he slapped a hand over his missing eye and ducked down to scramble for them at the same time Hiroki ducked to chase the runaway ball. Majima's outstretched fingers curled in pain as he watched the kid's shoes destroy the aviators. Teeth now visibly clenched onto his lower lip, Majima hissed through them in a barely disguised wail of defeat.

No real harm done, huh. No wonder the kid looked horrified. Fuck.

“Hiroki-kun!” Makoto ordered, jarring the kid to her side, ball in his short arms. Majima stammered on several fucks, whispered so low he couldn't even hear himself as he turned to keep his good eye towards them, no matter how conspicuous it looked. The moment Hiroki made it to her side he pulled on her arm, making her lean down though her intense gaze was thoroughly fixated on him. Suspicion cut through him like a laser—she was tensed on the balls of her feet waiting for how he would truly react.

The kid said something to her about his eye, he caught on to enough of what he said to know that. Queasy and dizzy, Majima tried not to pant too hard, struggling to straighten his back. The tension was so palpable Majima could've been pushed back all the way to the train station. Hell, all the way back to Kamurocho. Used condoms and broken needles would be a welcoming sight over kids and kickballs.

Like a short legion from heaven, down the street came the joyful clamor of kids from the surrounding neighborhoods, all clustered together as they headed for school. Red and black backpacks bounced in various ways according to the care the kid gave their bag, some even so bold as to swing them along while others balanced them on their heads as they tried to keep walking. All the kids behind Makoto looked to the line then back to him, back to Makoto to discern her judgment on the situation. Finally Yumi nodded to herself, ushering the kids forwards down the street before she followed.

“Makimura-san—,”

“Have a good day at school,” Makoto called, putting on an overly normal tone despite everything, “Stay safe.”

Majima winced, staying put until the kids disappeared around the corner. He twitched to move but before he knew it Makoto was in his space again, gripping his elbow without fear and staring him down. It wasn't until he could no longer hear the kids that she let him go and took a step back.

“Who are you, what are you here for?” She demanded of him. Majima gulped, feeling it all the way down his throat and into his stomach. Should he answer and give himself away immediately? Keep quiet and try to leave? One was more suspicious than the other, but the other got her much too involved. Makoto's eyes drilled into him and he knew he still wasn't over just the general idea that she could see from the way sweat beaded on his temples. He'd have to make a decision soon or the neighborhood was damned.

Without warning, Makoto dropped her gaze. Majima blinked, watching her in nervous curiosity. Her arms were still crossed in front of her but her feet weren't so firmly planted anymore, drawing unseen lines on the asphalt until the toe of her shoe nudged against the complete wreckage of the aviators. When she looked back up Majima was caught off-guard, stricken by how tired and sorry she looked even if he could still see the walls up around her.

“I'm sorry, at the very least,” she was eying the hand that was still clamped over his bad eye. His stomach twisted, knowing that some part of her recognized him from the incident right before he had walked away. Wincing again, Majima almost opened his mouth to tell her she didn't have to be. Almost. It was his fault he came out all this way for practically nothing, anyways. He should've had more faith in her building a life for herself, keeping herself safe, keeping others safe.

But then again, he didn't need to be roped to a pole and have his other eye dug out to be told that even the strongest, safest people could be fucked over. Maybe the yakuza was just a filekeeper.

Maybe he was going to do something with the files.

Majima didn't realize that Makoto was studying his eye until it was too late to change his entranced expression. She glanced around her neighborhood, holding herself a little tighter, then hardened her expression.

“Come. If you have business, we'll do it inside.”

Makoto gestured for him to move first. It took a while for him to not only get, but agree to move, nervous that he obviously was. Despite all this she thought herself sacrificially suicidal. She didn't know why this man had appeared when he did, she didn't know what connections he had other than she vaguely recalled one of the harassers from so long ago referring to him as legendary. That incident was the only reason her guard was lowered, once she had realized that this man must have been one and the same. He certainly wasn't lost, since he was dressed somewhat appropriately for the suburbs, and Makoto knew that out of everyone that lived in this area, this sweet little neighborhood, she was the only one he would be magnetized to. She was the only one with any sort of...history. With this sort of thing.

Keeping him at her side or in front of her, never behind her, she led him to the backyard of one of the smaller houses. She followed him up the staircase that zig-zagged up the back of the house, cornering him by standing between him and escape as she unlocked and opened the door. She was the only one in the neighborhood that did lock her door. He didn't need to know that.

When he stepped inside before her he stood rooted to the spot, watching as she locked the door behind her, slipped out of her shoes and into the main hallway. Makoto turned around, staring at him eye to eye with the added step up from the front of the doorway.

Silence. Neither of them moved, but it wasn't clear who was refusing to give way versus who was just unable to do anything. Makoto narrowed her eyes. His hand dipped into his suit coat, watching her to note the tension in her muscles.

Out came an eyepatch. Makoto forced herself to relax as he cautiously slipped it on.

Then she left to the kitchen to make tea. She did so as quietly as possible, listening to him reluctantly take his shoes off and step into the second floor apartment proper. From the archway into the kitchen she eyed him in her peripherals as he slowly wandered into the dining room. He was taking everything in, the cozy snugness of the narrow halls, the practical decorations that she stuffed into whatever corner she could making the apartment even snugger than it was. Closed-in comfort. Room to breathe, but everywhere there was something to look at. Artwork, either purchased or made from the kids she watched over. Attempts at apartment horticulture, especially in the small windowsill spaces. Folded blankets, more than one person could use, all out for the world to see instead of stashed in a linen closet. The man saw it all, drinking it in with more interest than a bored yakuza would. Makoto watched as, eye still taking in details, he folded his long legs in front of the kotatsu.

Then he found the alcove.

Makoto watched as he studied it for a long time. It was in that small space that she filled with pictures of her family. Rather, filled with pictures of what she had lost. Taking up most of it was a picture of Lee, next to the most recent picture of her brother Kiryu could dig up for her before he had said good-bye. Behind them on a higher shelf were her mother and grandfather, though sometimes she turned their faces away from her in both shame and anger. Sometimes, even, she'd turn her brother and Lee away.

There was only one she couldn't change, and that was the empty space at the bottom edge of the alcove, off to the side. Set with flowers she had replaced just yesterday. A tulip resting in a bed of forget-me-nots—flowers she had learned the meanings of from one of her neighbors. She noticed that the picture-less offering wasn't lost on him, though if he knew what it meant, who could say. Part of him wished he hadn't seen it, hadn't disturbed its presence with acknowledgment.

The tea was ready—ready enough. Makoto forced his attention away by entering the room. She poured, quiet, but she broke the silence before the tea was fully served.

“Again. Who are you, what are you doing here?”

The man was quiet, but he looked at her like he had an answer. Crinkling her nose in distaste, keeping him in peripherals at all times, she snapped.

“I know it's about me. No one else in this neighborhood has any business with your kind.”

The man frowned, pulling the teacup away from his lips. Curious. Seemed like he disagreed with that statement and had reason to. Makoto clenched her fingers into fists, unclenched them, frustrated, then looked at him. She felt her eyes puff up already, emotional.

“It's over. Leave me alone. I don't want anything to do with this anymore.”

She wished she could say she hadn't flinched, but she did when he hunched down a little, perching his head forward as if he was listening far too intently. Trying to catch any other meanings to what she said. Makoto sneered, but she knew the desperation made it weak.

“Ten years of peace, but looking over my shoulder even when I don't hear a noise. Ten years and I almost got used to the idea that maybe I was free, but you, you here, knowing where I am...,”

Makoto stared at him, unaware that she was breathing faster than normal, “Either you're stalking me, or...or...,”

He pulled his gaze away then shook his head. Damn her, but she believed him. He was looking down at his gloves, as if trying to put together what to say even though he remained silent as ever. Makoto straightened her back, tea ignored as she stared at him. Though his blind side was facing her she dug into what she could see of his expression.

“...What do they know?” she murmured, bringing his attention back up. That was it. They knew something. They knew. About her? About the neighborhood? The names of the kids she looked after on the odd morning raced through her head, then their parents, then the regular employees she met and talked with when she was out, if she was out. The man watched her shoulders rise and fall in fear, but ultimately he was sympathetic, not worried, it seemed. That being said, he couldn't shake his head.

Clucking his tongue, he looked up to the ceiling to think, then he rummaged in his pockets to bring out his lighter. Flipping it open and flicking the flame on in one smooth motion, he handed it to her. Gingerly, she took it, looking to the flame then to him.

Whatever they knew, he had been destroying.

“Why,” she exhaled, “Why? Who are you, who are you to care, who are you to know—,”

The bombardment of questions he realized he couldn't escape from hit him hard, and he shook his head again and again—after all, she was already falling in way too deep just by knowing that her name was still floating around out there, in use or not. Makoto's palms were flat against the kotatsu, her nails scraping against the surface as she sensed that he was about to flee without answering.

“Who are you to come here and—what do you want, wait—wait!!”

Makoto caught him in the main hallway, trapping him with a slender arm that he refused to butt against. She breathed, heavy and harsh, staring at him. She opened her mouth to ask again.

She closed it and let her arm slip back to her side. Rubbing it self-consciously, she broke her gaze away from him.

“...Go,” she said quietly, “You can go.”

After all, she knew when she was asking questions that would plunge her over her head. Her and all the kids she looked after. But the regret and the pain in being left in the dark was as obvious as the pictureless offering.

It broke Majima's heart.

Fuck it. Fuck everything. All that business of keeping her safe—it meant nothing if none of it kept her happy on top of that. It wasn't just about her being alive, it was about her living.

It was easier than he would've expected, even though he knew that leaving would be harder than he was prepared for. Without warning her he stepped forward, opening his arms and pulling her into a hug. He felt her breath escape in a shocked gasp—wrapped in a momentary terror of not knowing his intent. Trying to keep himself soft he sighed, holding her gently so she could escape if she needed to.

Though she was stiff, she didn't move. Majima squeezed his eye shut, rubbing his thumb along her shoulder.

Makoto melted. Majima pulled her firm against his chest, realizing he had lifted her in the air when the initial kick of her feet brushed against his pant leg. Turning his head, he exhaled warmth to the nape of her neck. She shivered, just barely. The shivers intensified when he finally spoke, murmuring against the collar of her flannel.

“I'll stay. If ya need me to.”

Makoto breathed shallow and shrill, hands raising to claw at the backs of his shoulders—not to push him off but to bring him closer. Pressing his lips to the slope of her shoulder he exhaled again.

“I'll stay.”

Trembling in his hold, her suspended toes turned inwards. The length of her silence and the sudden fragility to her body made him set her back down, gently, gently. As he retreated enough to allow space  between them he pressed his lips to her flushed cheek, definite but soft. It was both a statement and a question, reserved and patient. Still, he drew back, intent on freeing her while everything processed itself. Him, there, only to tell her she was safe and he'd continue to keep it that way if he had to, near her or not. That he was still thinking of her after all this time the way she still was.

Makoto threaded her hand through his hair to the back of his head, stopping him from retreating further.

“I didn't keep anything from back then...,” she murmured as she guided him back to rest on her shoulder, “Only memories, and singular photographs...,”

Majima kissed her pulse, spurred by how it quickened yet she relaxed. Remaining slow and kind in his movements, his lips kissed her more as she spoke, the bristle of his beard prickling her skin and causing goosebumps as he traveled to her exposed collarbone, kissing the heart of it.

“But...,”

Majima kissed her again, reveling in her stuttered breath against his knuckles as he started carefully unbuttoning her flannel shirt until his hands could slip underneath and pull her waist closer to him, fingers brushing the edges of her camisole.

“I wish I could've kept you...,”

He left her skin for just a moment and she missed the touch of his beard against her chest. Hand still threaded through his hair, she helped him pull away to meet his eye.

“Not a photograph...,” she whispered, “Just you.”

Makoto pulled herself flush against his warmth and let herself be lifted in his arms again to kiss his lips.

[chrisv73-blog]

Secrets - Part 1

Word Count: 3,712

Warnings: None mostly fluff.

Panic. The emotion gripping me as I all but sprinted from behind the bar and into the ladies room. I couldn’t believe what was happening. Being alone with him in my environment- his smell, his sounds, his skin, his hands, thighs- everything made any self-control evaporate into thin air. I was unraveling.

Two long years since I’d set eyes on him. This man had a hold on me unlike anything I’d ever experienced. Now he was here and I was so stunned- I ran. His ghost still haunted me like a secret you can’t tell.

I felt like such an idiot. Facing myself in the cracked mirror of our dingy employee restroom I rubbed my hands under the faucet splashing water across my cheeks.

A light knock came at the door. “You okay in there?”

“I’m fine.” Embarrassed. Stupid. Flustered. But Fine.

I stared, disheartened at myself in the mirror. “What the hell was I going to do now?” This was my job. I had to go back; smile, pretend, sling some drinks and make rent. Whispered dirty things, winks, grins, napkins full of phone numbers with broken promises was expected as a bartender. Give the experience and make them love you.

Having him walk through the door was never part of the plan. He is not the plan. A kaleidoscope of flashbacks were scattered in my mind. “Fuck, shit, shit, shit!” I slammed my hand down on the cracked ceramic sink.

I cracked the door and stepped out hoping that whoever I replied to was long gone.

Leaning against the wall there he was, waiting for me. Gorgeous and dripping, of course, he had to be even better looking than I remember. He couldn’t go from 19 to 21 and not be every woman’s fantasy now, a fucking international pop-star. I could not mortify myself in front of a less famous ugly- ex. No, definitely not.

I avoided eye contact. “I’m not fine. But I will be.” I hesitated before continuing.

Surely he knew how bad he broke me. He knew that some scars don’t heal. He had heard the stories from his friends by now.

Lifting my head, his smile made me nervous. Not the kind of nervous where I’m going to grab my mace from my purse when a patron gets a little too fresh and waits for me in the parking lot after work. No, his smile was cocky and hit me in the knees amongst other places. He made me nervous.

“How you been Shawn?” He didn’t need to know that I’d woke up at midnight to buy a copy of his most recent album as garbage men clanged and newsstands opened. He didn’t need to know that I cried for weeks after he broke my heart in his driveway with four simple words only to never hear from him again.

“I’ve been good, are you okay, you don’t seem okay?” Shawn’s eyes are distracting. I close my eyes and I’m back on the tattered couch of my apartment watching him perform on some music awards show. But after a blink I’m still here standing in front of him in my cut-off tied t-shirt, jean shorts with black ripped fish nets, combat boots, dark lips, cat lined eyes and messy blonde top knot. A far cry from the girl he knew. I’d changed and I knew it, he knew it.

I shoved past him, walking briskly toward my bar, determined to forge forward.

“Shawn you already know you fucked up, let’s not do this.” My supersize nerves were camping out in my body, but I would be damned if I would let him know it. Because if I think about what might happen in the next few hours - if I let him in even an inch then I’ll burst with anxiety.

I feel a lump rising in my throat. I swallow it down while my emotions live close to the edge. All I need is that trigger and the tears that dwell beneath the surface will bubble up and roll like gritty sandpaper down my cheeks.

Shawn is so good looking now that my co-bartender Melissa once called him fucking lickable when she was checking out a magazine picture of him online. Of course, she knows nothing of my past with him. Now he was here and our past was about to collide like a freight train.

“Wait, Kameron, wait a fucking minute, Jesus!” Shawn’s two strides caught up to my ten and I felt his long fingers grasp my elbow and turn me toward him.

Shawn is looking at me with reverence, his touch sending shivers down my spine. I wanted to be adored by someone, but it can’t be Shawn. Not after crawling back from the abyss I found myself in the last time he decided he was done with me.

“No we’re not doing this again.” I find my voice to verbally shout what I want to say but won’t, that he can’t walk all over my heart and leave me bewildered and confused when his next tour starts. “This isn’t a game I’m playing with you anymore Shawn.”

“Actually, I never play and tell,” he teased. Now I clutch my hands to my side even tighter as I suppress a sarcastic smirk. “I’m fucking thrilled for you,” I quickly add.

He winces as he slides his hand off my elbow, clearly contrite. “I’m actually really sorry about everything and how I handled it all.” Shawn hides his hands in his pockets head hung low.

Suddenly I’m laughing, not because I want to hurt him. It’s because I realize that this is in essence is the final phase of a breakup. The denial, the begging, the pathetic tender long goodbye “but I thought you loved me” pleas, whether it’s public or private, it feels the same. No one ever really knew about me and Shawn except for our friends, so I suffered in silence while he mended on a stage. Yet, here in this moment, there is no more argument, no more pointless debate I would never win and emerge victorious, the entire universe begins with the words I’m sorry: closure.

Shawn stands here in front of me. The crowd melts around me and I’m colder than ice. This is what we are now. I’ve moved on.

I decide quickly what my next move will be. Grabbing his shoulders I hug him and his cologne wafts through my nostrils. My palms start sweating and butterflies take flight in my belly, nothing more than aftershocks. I pull away as Shawn’s long arms squeeze me back and he buries his head in my shoulder. I pull away with more force and push an errant strand of hair off my cheek, then answer.

“Shawn, I live my life now based on my positive decisions. When I look back at the things in my life that really hurt sometimes the easiest thing to do is forgive.”

I mean it, truly, just now, I have forgiven the 19 year-old boy who broke my heart. He stands there feet melted into the ground as the bitter but blunt words hit him like a wounded animal. I take the opportunity to walk away with my pride, head high, the lioness.

(Hours later)

Shawn is so ridiculously handsome that it’s almost not fair. Now that I’m back behind my bar, in my element, on my stage, he watches me from the distance of his roped off corner. Melissa cornered me at the trash can as soon as I lifted the access gate. I told her only what I wanted her to know of course. Shawn wasn’t helping me keep the gossip from reaching maximum peak.

Time passes in the frantic pace of pickle backs, buttery nipples and lemon drops. I’m at least 3 deep at every corner. My memory puts Shawn aside as I pull them in, I make memories for my patrons and let them believe I’m the best friend they never had.

Turning around I’m disarmed to see Shawn and Geoff standing in front of me, looking over our beer list. Shawn motions me over and I lean down to hear him over the now thumping bass beat of some familiar dirty rap song. “Is there anyone waiting for you back home?” I laugh, a truly self-deprecating one. I have to, really. There had been no one romantic since Shawn. There had been men, but no one permanent. “Definitely, no, nobody waits for me.” I bite back.

Its then that I notice the familiar glazed over look I’ve seen on so many men here. I lean forward because I want to torture him and show more cleavage. I already worship at the altar of the genius who invented a push-up bra. Agent Provocateur has nothing on me.

Shawn licks his lips and burning desire is present in his eyes. “Kam”, he begins slowly, too drunk, but also clearly enjoying the taste of my name in his mouth as if he’s trying it on, rolling it around on his tongue like a cherry. “I am the biggest idiot in the world because you loved me wildly, crazily and passionately. I fucked it all up so bad.”  Words tumble off his lips like verbal diarrhea. I take a deep breathe, reassuring myself that I can deliver what Shawn needs. “You don’t want me tonight Shawn, you’re just lonely and drunk.”

“Nope, not drunk, wrecked for you,” Shawn stutters. His eyes blink ever so slowly another tell-tale sign an observant bartender recognizes. This is the longest conversation I have had with Shawn in two years. I can see that he has developed this uncanny ability to hop from witticism to raw and very honest emotional insight. It’s making him even more attractive if that’s possible.

I push back from the bar and swivel my hips around to the side, grabbing two stout beers from the cooler below. Twisting the cap I push them across in friendship. “Tell you what, those two are on me”, I say as I walk to ball cap Joe one of my favorite customers. “I’ll call you tomorrow, is your number still the same”, I shout.

Because I don’t know how I can begin to trust Shawn again I’m not so eager to agree to just have him come over. I’m pretty sure that’s where that conversation was headed. This could be especially complicated when the ex is an international pop-start and flirty and when I’m already entertaining after-hours thoughts about him. I’m in desperate need. My gauge is so far out of whack that I don’t know what’s up or down anymore.  What good could possibly come from any friendship with Shawn Mendes?

Next Day

Turns out I didn’t have to call Shawn. He managed to get my number from Matt and sent me a drawn out apology text for his unforeseen interruption at my place of work begging me to please meet him for coffee that afternoon.

I put my books away on my desk and take a quick shower. Twenty minutes later, I’m staring at my bed littered with outfits I have tried on and rejected. This is just a coffee, no big deal. It’s definitely not a date with an insanely hot ex-boyfriend who’s a popstar treated like teenage royalty. Whichever outfit I chose next will be the winning one. I reach for my favorite black jeans, an intentionally distressed torn grey sweater that’s soft on my skin and my chucks. It’s very me and with just a quick swish of powder, blush, mascara and lip balm on my bee stung lips I’m ready to go. I grab my coat and bag, head downstairs and take an Uber to our determined location.

When I arrive I swipe to pay and head into the little coffee shop painted emerald green tucked into the corner of a building. It’s a little out of the way, but I figured it would be a better location for less potential fan sightings. Shawn and I agreed to meet at three o’clock and I am only ten minutes late, so it feels like I’m on time.

He’s already here. Damn, I arrive nearly on time and I’m still late. Then again, Shawn was always the type to be on time, hold doors, and rise when I came in the room. Shawn was very chivalrous.

I walk up and he clicks to lock his phone and pushes it deep into his pocket of his $250 designer black denim skinny jeans. Damn he looked good. The olive green shirt he is wearing makes his eyes look hazel. Standing to give me a barely there kiss on the cheek my eyes flutter closed for the briefest moment at the feel of his soft lips near me.

I restrain myself and tuck away my emotions even if the sensation feels so good to me.

“Let me take your coat?” Shawn offers as he automatically slides it off my shoulders. I feel his hand gently graze the back of my neck. I decided last minute to pull my hair into a high pony. His fingers send shock waves down my spine. He folds my coat and lays it over the chair, waits for me to sit and finally pushes his long limbs into the seat next to me.

“So thank you for fitting me into your busy schedule, even though I wish you would have at least bought me dinner before taking me home”, Shawn joked.

I laugh. “Nice try. But we’re not there yet.”

He reaches across the table to clasp my hand in his, and my breath catches. He squeezes my hand three times reassuringly and the barest form of touch from him is dizzying. Maybe it’s because it’s been so long since I’ve been this physically close to him and had him touch my hand, but I pull away like he’s burned me. He places his hand on his lap and I miss it instantly.

“So where should we start Mendes.” I chatter anxiously.

Shawn takes a big gasp of air. His brow furrows and he wipes his palms anxiously on his jeans. I can tell that whatever comes next is weighing heavily on his mind.

“We could start with I’m a fucking fool. I got scared. I didn’t know how to have you and a career at the same time. So I shoved you away and spent the last two years living with that regret ever since.”

“Where is the tape recorder”, I laugh nervously. My eyes dart back and forth from his face to my hands.

Looking around the room anxiously I scan to see if anyone has their phone out. “I could so take down your career in one second if the story of us ever leaked out. You know the whole internet’s boyfriend thing and all.”

Shawn smirks, wagging a finger at me playfully.

“This guy, the guy you’re sitting in front of, he isn’t a pop-star, you know that right?”

Swallowing, here he goes again racking up more points in his favor.

“Because I can tell I’m making you a little nervous and I just want you to know it’s me, Shawn apologizing to you, meaning every single fucking word of regret. So let’s grab some coffee eh?”

We sit and chat about old times. We remember fond memories of public park scandalous rendezvous. I hold up a hand and stop him as he starts to recall the juicy parts with a mischievous glint in his eye. Slowly as each minute passes and Shawn discarded the beanie he was wearing we’re drawing more eyes on us, but Shawn doesn’t seem to care. In fact, the more people that begin to notice us the more unaffected by it all he is.

Shawn will excuse himself for a few minutes to take a few selfies and then slide back into the conversation like he never left. We did this for almost two hours. I tell him that I fucking loved his first three albums and I can’t wait to hear what he does next. He admits that he wrote a few songs about us.

Eventually he leans in closer across the table, looks me straight in the eyes and when he does that my resolve starts to weaken because his eyes are so beautiful and he doesn’t break my gaze. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this moment. How many ways I have played this dialogue back and forth in my brain?”

All I know about this moment is my body is buzzing, alive with possibilities. The exact opposite of the chill demeanor I had in the bar last night. Something shifts in Shawn’s expression too. His eyes, which I remember from 19 as playful and twinkling are now darker with an intensity to them. Neither of us says anything, and the electric quiet makes my blood turn hot. I don’t want a single thing to ruin this moment. Just as fate would be a young fan tugs at Shawn’s shirt, she can’t be more than 7 years old.

Whatever spell I was about to succumb to is broken. Holy Shit, that was close. I reach for my coat and bag before Shawn can stop me.

“Thai or Sushi for dinner,” Shawn winks.

I smile at him, giving him a flirty tilt. “You’re presumptuous.”

“Optimistic”, he counters with just enough swagger that tells me he hasn’t lost a damn thing in 2 years.

Shawn does that thing again – where he reaches for my hand, clasping his on top of mine. I’m suddenly aware of the pressure he is gently putting on my wrist, the small ridges from callouses on his otherwise smooth palm, not doubt from countless hours spent perfecting his craft. His skin feels hot on my skin. The taste of his lips would be deadly. I’m dying for him to slide his fingers through mine like old times but I can’t go back on this rollercoaster.

I slowly rise from my seat and Shawn follows me out of the quaint coffeehouse. I reach up to place my hands on his shoulders. He’s way taller than me. I catch the faint scent of his cologne again and I’m so tempted to lean in and inhale deeply. But I do resist.

But the look in Shawn’s eyes is full of hunger and then I feel the softest touch on my hair. He’s fingering a strand and I am so far gone that I’m not sure what to do next. All I know is I’m leaning in closer to him because this kind of touch from him I have missed so much. My body is racing and the moment is full of so much anticipation. “I really want to kiss you, Kam; you better stop me now or…..” Shawn sighs.

I can barely process his words. My head is so woozy, his smell and the feel of his hands. My fog is replaced by Shawn’s lips as he presses against mine with such softness, sexiness that my knees threaten to buckle. I keep my arms looped around his neck so I don’t fall. He wraps his long arms around my waist, tugging me closer as he deepens the kiss. Shawn’s lips exploring mine, his tongue tangling with mine, his hands yanking my pony tail. His sexy sighs and moans tell me that he is savoring this kiss as much as I am. He yanks me even closer and for a brief second I can feel him pressed hard against my upper thigh. He’s aroused and that snaps me out my kiss induced fog. I pull away.

“Shit”, he stumbles backward. “You okay? Kam, I honestly didn’t expect that to happen. Please speak sweetheart.”

“I have to go, Shawn I’m not your sweetheart, not anymore”, I stammer.

“But I want you to be. Let me drive you home”, he pleads.

“No Shawn. I know where that will lead.”

My hand touches my lips as we exchange a sidelong glance and Shawn clears his throat shoving his hands back deep in his jeans. Feeling his eyes on me I glanced back a few times, and his gaze was always waiting for mine.

Shawn takes his phone out placing a quick call mumbling something like plan B. A small black SUV rounds the corner and stops at the curb in front of us. “Kam this is Kevin, he’s one of my security team and he’s going to take you home. I’m going to call you tomorrow because I don’t want to push my luck.”

My breath catches as Shawn moves closer then presses his hips into mine while pushing me against the door of the SUV.  Lining his tall frame up against me in a way that makes it clear how much he wants me, he delivers a scorching kiss, deep and hungry and desperate in a lot of ways. It’s threatening to send me up in flames. I feel it across every inch of my body as he continues to explore my mouth with his tongue. One hand drops away from my face and I feel his fingers graze underneath my sweater along the waistband of my jeans. Shawn draws a simple feather trace line across my belly with his index finger and my back arches into him. I wish we were not here in public and he would undo the button, slide the zipper down and push his hand inside my panties to save me from this now excruciating ache between my legs. But I have no such luck because just like that he is reaching for the door handle.

I slide into the seat as Shawn shuts the door and bangs on the top of the car two times. I’m in this giddy drugged out state now that I’d like to stay in forever, but I needed some space to clear my head. I am tempted to shake it like I’ve just emerged from a pool of water. But yet amidst my confusion, four words are loud and clear like a drum in my ears- but they are not those four words from two years ago. The opposite. “I want Shawn Mendes.”

[fazbearsecuritycrew]

IN WHICH FIGHTING IS ONE OF HIS MANY TALENTS

IN WHICH FIGHTING IS ONE OF HIS MANY TALENTS

NOTICE: Mentions of Blood, Cursing

Mike usually loves fighting.

What he does not like is hearing about Jeremy fighting.

happy birthday, fnaf 2!

WINTER 2003 - Where the hell was he?

Mike looked impatiently to his watch, becoming more and more concerned by the minute.

And, speaking of minutes, Jeremy had less than five to get his ass down here before his shift started.

There were the usual excuses- I overslept, or Traffic was crazy, or even his favorite one- My bike caught a flat.

But at least he was somewhat on time with those. Mike had never witnessed a guard who had worked more than a few days still have the balls to come in late. It usually scared them into arriving an hour early, at the bare minimum. It was like the first day all over again.

Knowing the kid already had a lot to juggle with, Mike usually let it slide (he had yet to die, anyway), but it seemed like he had been too easy on him lately. He’d probably have to chew is ass out for the stunt he was pulling tonight.

The signature bell on that familiar blue bike hollered through the air, and Mike felt the breeze that trailed behind the bicycle as Jeremy pulled up to the rack.

He prepared for this moment, mouth already halfway open and in the middle of his breath-

And he cut him off.

“S-Sorry Mike,” he started with the usual apology, although it lacked its usual haste. “I…h-had a problem today, a-and then I forgot to set m-my alarm, so I t-to hurry over to get h-here. So, u-um, yeah, and a-a-also, um…”

His voice began to trail off long before the words stopped tumbling from his mouth. Mike hadn’t even noticed when he had unlocked the door to the building, pulling his hat low as he stiffly walked inside.

Mike followed after him, sucking his teeth slightly at the lowered temperature on the interior of the establishment. He may have heard the boy wince as well, but it was hard to hear from back here.

Jeremy made sure to be a few quick steps ahead of him the entire walk to the office, not slowing down once to let Mike join him at his side.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that he was hiding something.

“…Yeah. Try to be early next time. Don’t want them ripping your ass to shreds because you couldn’t bother to clock in.”

He flinched, but otherwise gave a silent, curt nod.

In truth, Jeremy actually hadn’t been acting all that nervous tonight. No, it was more…suspicious than anything.

He had been hellbent on avoiding facing Mike. Anything he did, he did with his head down or his back turned. He had nearly dropped the flashlight trying to get it from Mike without turning around.

The situation with the tablet was a whole lot worse. His nose was practically stuck to the screen, apparently so enthralled by whatever the footage showed despite it being a slow night.

An hour of camera watching passed, and Mike grew even more curious as to what Jeremy had been hiding.

He said he had a problem. Problem? Wonder what it is?

He entertained himself for the next fifteen by thinking of all the possible scenarios that the boy may have gotten himself into.

He was famous for getting knee deep in troublesome shit, and this time proved to be no exception. Traffic jam? Missing uniform? Stubbed toe?

A snicker escaped, and from the corner of his eye could he barely make out the green that cast him a look in the shadows.

Well, fun over. At least it kept him distracted for a good bit. Good, because it was a Tuesday. He groaned. Tuesdays were always the worst.

Smack!

His neck swiveled around just as the sound finished bouncing off the walls. Jeremy flinched, looking around the room.

“T-The, uh, tablet fell.”

Mike walked back over to the desk. “It’s not broken, is it?” he asked, reaching down to pick up the fallen item.

Unfortunately, Jeremy had the same idea.

A sharp pain rang through his head when Mike had realized he had just headbutted the shit out of Jeremy. They fell their separate, each cradling their own sore forehead.

Mike rubbed at the skin while Jeremy scrambled around to look for his missing hat.

Mike looked up.

“Jeremy, what the FUCK?”

There was an unbridled rage screeching in his shout, but it wasn’t directed at the teen. Just directed at the bastard that did that.

Jeremy tried to hide his quivering bottom lip with a nervous grin.

“Wow,” the boy started, surprisingly calm. “Those street lamps sure do know how t-to pick a fight!”

“Fight!”

“Oops,” the guard mused. “Wrong word.”

Mike tilted his chin towards him and turned his head to see him better, earning a yelp from the teen.

“Jeremy, the hell happened to your face?”

While Jeremy had saw it for himself earlier, he truly thought it hadn’t looked that bad. Sure, that black eye was really working wonders for his complexion, and the split lip provided a nice accessory to the many other cuts that littered his face, but he had worse before.

It didn’t look that bad, right?

Clearly not to Mike, who was mostly focused on the fact that the guy’s eye was basically swollen shut. That was already bad enough, but the fact that that ugly amalgamations of blues traveled up to his forehead made it look like he had been slammed into something.

Honestly, it took everything in Mike’s power to not be somewhat impressed that he was still standing. Rather, that he could even see at all. That eye was basically out of order.

“I-It’s kind of a long story…” he paused, hoping the noir would catch the hint.

He did not.

Or maybe he did and chose to ignore it.

He further examined the beaten boy’s face, brushing hair out of the way to reveal a slightly nasty cut on his forehead. Huh. He didn’t even know that one was there.

He started mumbling under his breath. Mike always did that when he was pissed off. “Seriously, how the fuck did this happen?”

Jeremy tried to pull away, but the man made sure he had a secure grasp on the younger as he dragged him over to the desk, sending him a look that said, sit or else.

He pouted. “It’s nothing.”

Mike huffed. “Jeremy, your head is fucking bleeding. It’s something, alright.”

Jeremy made the move to reach for the tablet, lifting the screen in order to wind the music box. He kept the device in his lap.

“I-I’m not joking w-when I say it’s kind of long. Can I tell you a-after we don’t die?”

Mike righted the chair that was lying on the floor, shoving it in Jeremy’s direction. “Fine, smartass,” he huffed. “Tell me after the shift. But if I so much as hear about a fucking finger being laid on you, somebody’s dying tonight. Got it?”

He gave a little roll of his good eye. “Okay, okay.”

It seemed like the rest of the night sped by after that, between Jeremy monitoring the cameras and Mike scaring off any of the animatronics that stopped by the office.

By the time six AM rolled around, Jeremy could barely react when Mike suddenly threw his backpack at him, motioning for him to hurry.

“Go get changed,” he threw his thumb over his shoulder. “And the second you come out, you’re telling me the whole damn story.”

Jeremy gulped. The older man could be scary when he wanted to be.

Mike waited in the main room for the young boy to come out, mind once again wandering. As much as Mike loved the him like a brother, it’s not as if his tiny size and overall fragility didn’t scream Pick me!

His stomach turned, and he found himself dreading all the ideas of what those injuries could mean. Sure, he had been in a fair share of fights in his day, but that was just…brutal. Whoever gave those out had the intetion to seriously hurt or incapacitate someone. The fact that Jeremy played them off like a paper cut didn’t help either, like what he was looking at was something as mundane as a walk through the park.

He didn’t know what his home situation was like, but Jeremy rarely every mentioned his parents positively, if at all. He never mentioned it before, but Mike wasn’t stupid enough to note notice the occasional cut or bruise that appeared on his body.

He didn’t want to pry, but seeing those things alone made him think that someone was hurting him in the worst possible manner.

The creaking of a door echoed down the hall, and Mike looked up to see Jeremy shuffling out the bathroom, awkwardly holding his backpack, half stuffed with the uniform.

His face had looked a bit more touched up, or maybe that was just the effect of the color he wore on his clothing. But his lip was cleaned off, and there was a little bandage peaking out from under his hair. Still, the black eye was as obvious as ever, and he doubted anything could be done to cover that up.

He pulled a chair out for himself, stiffly sitting down across from the older night guard.

He blinked. “So, what do you w-want to know?”

He narrowed his eyes, that conversation started clearly being the last thing he expected. He couldn’t help but lean forward a bit, the plastic covering on the party table crinkling under his weight. “I wanna know who fucked up your face, obviously!”

“M-Mike,” Jeremy sighed, it clearly being too early in the morning for him to coherently deal with this. “If you th-think I’m being bullied o-or something, it’s not th-that.”

“There’s a hell of a lot of things that it can be, Fitzgerald,” Mike warned, eyebrows furrowing further. Before his very eyes, those murderous intentions behind eyes seemed to melt into something that could only be found in the well-meaning.

“C’mon, Jeremy. I know it probably sucks talking about it, but I’m only asking ‘cause I don’t want anything to happen to you that doesn’t need to happen.”

Tentatively, he leaned forward, placing a hand on his junior’s shoulder. “Seriously, man. I don’t wanna see shit happen to you, because there’s a lot you already have going on, and it breaks my heart to see shit like this. Talk to me, please?”

Jeremy gave a small smile, thought it didn’t quite reach the side with the split. “Mike, t-trust me- I’m fine.”

“But what happened?”

A hesitant pause.

“O-Okay, so maybe there was a fight?”

“Jeremy!”

The named threw his hands up in mock defense. “W-Wait! To be fair, i-it was in self-defense.”

“I’m laying hands on someone if they hit you.”

“No one hit me, okay!” he whined, that familiar pout puffing his cheeks out again. “I-I wasn’t getting teased o-or bullied or anything like that, so chill o-out.”

He bit his lip, leaning back into the cheap metal chairs of the pizzeria.

“It was for a f-friend.”

Mike paused, and suddenly it all made sense. Despite some of the more heroic antics that Jeremy had shown before, it seemed like he held an overall aversion to fighting. There was a type of guilt that shown in his eyes at any suggestions of violence, and Mike

“At first he a-asked me for help because all three of th-these guys were going to gang up on him, and I told him to fight his own battles because i-it was his fault he was in t-trouble,” he looked across the room again, eyes focusing in on nowhere in particular. “But th-then they started wailing on him at the same time, and I had to jump in, Mike. He was getting-”

He took a breather. “He was getting beat, Mike. Everyone just stood th-there while they tossed him over a table, slamming his head into the floor over and over again. And his girlfriend was just watching him get beat to a pulp, and I couldn’t, Mike.”

He sighed, averting his eyes with a hint of shame.

“So yeah. I did get in a fight t-today. I’m sorry.”

That final look up with those honest ass eyes was all it took for Mike to crumble.

The scowl that previously adorned his face had been replaced in place of an understanding smile. Leave it to Fitzgerald to get his eye basically poked out while trying to defend a friend.

Maybe he wasn’t very strong, and he may have still been a child, but damn if the kid didn’t have some serious balls.

A warm chuckle escaped Mike’s mouth as he stood.

“Huh?” He tilted is head, almost disbelieving. “What’s so funny?”

“Just thinking about how you probably looked out there fighting guys twice your size.”

Jeremy grinned, slinging is backpack over his shoulder, right on the man’s heels.

Closer to the entrance doors, Mike spoke up with a, “So?”

“S-So what?”

He turned, hands shoved in his pockets. “Get any good hits in?”

Jeremy nodded his head sheepishly, a red tint dusting his cheeks. “I did,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “I m-may have overdone it a-a bit, though. I hit a guy in his knee with a chair.”

There was a confusing mix of laughter and surprise to Mike’s voice. He slapped his forehead. “Holy shit! You probably blew his knee out!”

“I hope not. I don’t have the money for a lawsuit.”

Mike barked out a laugh again, wiping imaginary tears from his eyes. “Man, I’d hate to get on your bad side. Double cross you and the next thing you know, your knees are getting curb stomped by a sleep deprived kid with multicolored hair!”

The teen gave a light laugh, acting as if he didn’t just talk about bashing a guy’s knee in with a chair.

Mike grinned. “I take it you won?”

Jeremy laughed. “Well, maybe not, but we didn’t go down without trying!”

[imaginethatawriter]

A Stray Called Frank (Frank Castle x Reader)

Summary:  You’re the owner of a small, but busy animal shelter that sees way too many dogs for your taste. One day a tall, beat up man shows up with two sad looking dogs. You don’t question their origins, but as Frank continues to show up you start to wonder just how he rescues so many past fighting dogs.

Warnings: mentions of dog fighting, profanity, injury

A/N: I realize a lot of the stories I write have very little romance. oops. Also this one is a bit long so I apologize.

1st count: 102

2nd count: 102

3rd count: 102

No matter how you counted, no matter how many times you counted, the numbers were inevitable. You were out of space. And two more cars just rolled into your driveway toting along unwanted pets. In your heart you hoped for cats or some other small creature (You could make room for those. You’d keep them in your house if you had to), but you knew that more dogs were coming your way.

You throw down your pencil and release a heavy sigh. Your body collapses under the vacant feeling in your chest. You were sinking. Your entire world was sinking, slowly, constantly, inevitably. But you refused to give up. These dogs needed you and you were the only one in between them and the violently efficient kill shelters. You scrub your face and look through the window at the middle aged woman struggling to pull a cracked plastic crate out of the back of her mini van. You wondered what story you would hear from her.

The puppy was too disobedient and made too much of a mess. I didn’t have time to properly train him.

My kids wanted a puppy so badly, but they just didn’t seem to care for it once it started to grow up.

My boyfriend and I bought him together, but we broke up and I don’t want him anymore.

Just the thought of people’s carelessness made your blood boil. You shove yourself away from the desk and stalk out of the small wooden building that is the center of your animal shelter. You snatch a pair of sunglasses off a rack near the door and step out into the bright morning.

You’d make room.

 By the end of the day you had turned away five dogs. And every single one of them tore your heart in half. A nice family covered in tattoos, holding the hand of a bright eyed child stopped by and took home a cat that no one had looked at since his arrival. It was a small celebration in the middle of tragedy.

1st count: 104

2nd count…

The gravel driveway crunches outside of your office, forcing you to look away from your population count. Glancing at the watch on your wrist confirms your initial thoughts. It’s well past ten o’clock. You closed the gates at 8. There was a small chance whoever was in the car was lost, but what lost person went through the trouble of opening a chained fence leading into absolute darkness. You click your computer monitor off. A rifle leans against the far side of your desk and you pick it up if only for your peace of mind. The crunching stops, but the silence doesn’t last long. A car door opens and slams shut in the same moment you open and shut your office door.

“Stop right there!” you shout into the night.

The man facing the back of the car raises his hands in the air. “Whoah, I’m not here to fuck around.”

“Turn around.” You step down from the wooden building and cross the gravel road to get closer to the man. “If you’re not here to fuck something up, why are you here?”

The man’s face is still hidden by the darkness of the night, but his broad shoulders and intimidating height cause your hands to tighten on the rifle.

“I’ve got dogs from a fighting ring. I can’t bring them to the other shelter near here.”

“They from your fighting ring?”

“No.” The response is short and clipped. A man after your own tastes, he seemed disgusted by the thought of being involved in a dog fighting ring. He doesn’t give you any further explanation as to how exactly he came to possess the two dogs currently lying in the back of the car.

You dropped one of your hands from the gun to open the back door and look closer at the dogs. It was a horrible sight. One of the dogs was missing both of its ears and had a large gash across its nose. The other dog doesn’t have any visible injuries but you can see its ribs and pelvis sticking out. The only reaction you have is a deep sigh.

“I really want to help. I really do, but I’m completely filled to capacity and I don’t have the resources or the money to treat the injuries.”

The man slowly reaches into one of his front pockets and pulls out a disorganized wad of cash. “I got money for you to build new cages and pay for vet bills.”

You snatch the money from his hands and flip quickly through the stacks of hundreds. You look back at the man with wide eyes.

“I don’t want this money if it’s gonna get me arrested.” You thrust the stack back towards the man, but he makes no move to take it.

“It won’t. Call it an anonymous donation. Just…help them.” The man’s face wilts when he glances back at the dogs still lying calmly in the back of the car.

You watch the dog’s breath for a few seconds before setting the gun against the car and crossing your arms. When you turn back to face him he’s watching you intently through the low light.

“What do you know about the dogs. Are they dog aggressive? People aggressive?”

“I don’t know a lot. I’m pretty sure they were both bait dogs. Didn’t seem aggressive towards me, but I don’t know about other animals.”

“All right.” You think for a second about how you’re going to handle this. Every thing about this situation was off the books and strange. But one thing bothered you the most. “How come only bait dogs?”

“They were the ones I could get.” A simple and vague answer.

It was dark, late, and you should have been home hours ago. “Ok all right,” you say finally. “Help me get them into the building and I’ll make sure they’re taken care of.”

You place the wad of cash in your pocket and pick up the rifle. The man whistles quietly behind you and reaches into the back to grab the chains wrapped around the dogs’ necks. You were thankful that the chains were loose. You’d seen too many dogs with embedded collars. Both dogs obediently followed the man and the man followed you back to the office building. The light from inside casts deep shadows on the man’s face and you notice for the first time that there are fresh bruises covering his face and deep cuts on his hands. You also see that both dogs are more emaciated than you originally thought. You close the door behind the dogs and replace the rifle next to your desk. You quickly stash the money in the top drawer. You don’t bother taking the chains from the man, instead you simply unravel the coils around the dogs’ necks and let them have the freedom to roam. Both dogs immediately find separate corners of the room and curl up into tight balls. You don’tt blame them for being terrified.

While you’re busy attempting to gather supplies for the two dogs, the man opens the door and tries to slip out of the building.

“Wait hold on! We’re not done here. I can’t just have to extra dogs with no paper work. Inspectors drop by randomly and these two are going to be here for a while.”

The man hesitates before stepping back inside and closing the door. You want this to be over as much as he does so you grab a release form from the desk top and hand it to him.

“Fill it out as much as you can. I don’t care if you leave some stuff out. I just need some information to show.”

He hunches over the desk and starts scribbling. You rummage through the office to find any kind of spare food bowl or even cereal bowl that you could use to give the dogs food and water. The dog with the missing ears shrinks away from you when you place the bowls on the ground, but the thin dog attacks the food immediately. He wolfs down the portion you give him and starts to slurp the water. You expect the poor guy will have some stomach pains in the morning. The sound of the pen hitting the desk signals the man’s departure. With the papers filled out you don’t care where he goes and with his injuries you know he doesn’t want to stick around.

The door opens and closes quickly and you’re surrounded by the sounds of two dogs eating for the first time in a while. You pick up the random items scattered across the floor and place them in hard to reach places. Despite everything you put away you know that something will be torn apart in the morning. The risks would be worth it though. You’d order supplies tomorrow and start building new shelters by the end of the week.

You’d make room.

 Your prediction was almost correct. Your building materials were delivered at the end of the week, but the sudden increase in activity drew the attention of the safety inspector. Entertaining him for the day was nothing but agonizing. He tried to poke holes in every one of your shelters. He looked through all of your release and adoption papers looking for problems. He even noticed the strangely vague papers of the two dogs that were currently hidden in the bathroom of the office. But you were thorough. You’d seen too many animal shelters fail to be careless. As soon as he leaves you start building. At night you spend time with the two dogs; sitting with them, talking to them, petting them when they get more comfortable with you. In two weeks you have enough shelter for ten more dogs. With the money left over you make sure the injured dog gets stitches and antibiotics and the rest goes into your savings. You’d use it before too long whether it was for food or more vet visits.

It only takes three days for the shelter to fill back to capacity. However, along with the new shelters came new interest from the local news. A news reporter shows up at your doorstep early one morning to ask for an interview about your life and work. As much as you hate being the center of attention, you know from experience that news exposure brought many new adopters. You put on your best fake smile and spout out a speech about the great dogs that are abandoned because someone has to move or they don’t want it anymore. You even mention the ex-dog fighters that end up at your shelter wanting a nice relaxing home. It was an exhausting day, but you see the positive repercussions the next day.

A record number of people stop by to look at the animals. A young tabby cat with a missing ear is taken home by a cute little girl in a pink dress and her single father. One of your favorite pit bulls is taken in by an excited college student who excitedly told you about the preparations she’s put her apartment through. A man on a motorcycle unexpectedly falls in love with a small terrier mix and promises to return with a car the next day. And your biggest accomplishment. The one adoption that filled your heart with hope for the dogs left over at the end of the day. The dog that the man, signed Frank on the release forms, brought to your shelter with missing ears and gashes on its face is taken home by a female couple who desperately wanted to help ex-fighting dogs.

You sit back in your desk chair looking at the small stack of adoption forms waiting to be filed. You’ve procrastinated long enough. You scoot forward and pick up the top sheet. It’s a tedious and boring task, but you’d rather stay up late than get up early. The clock on your computer clicks over to midnight when you hear the familiar crunch of tires on the gravel driveway. You feel a sense of déjà vu as you grab the rifle by your desk. When you step onto the gravel, a familiar figure climbs out of the driver’s side door of a truck. A cacophony of barking comes from the bed of the truck.

“Dude midnight is not a good time to drop off dogs. Maybe come sometime when the sun is in the sky.”

“Can’t do that.” Frank faces you with his arms crossed, waiting for you to continue.

“You’re lucky I had a really good adoption day. I actually have room.” You pause for a second as the barking escalates. “How many dogs did you bring? Holy shit!” You move past Frank and peer into the back of the truck. Five dogs in metal crates frantically crash together attempting to get free. Thankfully they aren’t trying to attack each other.

“What’s your excuse this time?” you ask with a bite to your tone.

“Dog fighting ring.”

“Yeah fucking right. Two bait dogs might make sense. Maybe you’re a good Samaritan that just so happened to get lucky enough to get two dogs and live without dying. But five dogs! Dog fighters don’t fuck around. They kill people who steal their dogs. So, tell me what the real story is.”

“They’re from a dog fighting ring. I got them out. That’s what you need to know.” His voice is louder and even in the sparse light of the moon you can see his face twist into anger.

You can’t deny the dogs even if you suspect the man giving them to you is guilty. Without another word you use the tire to climb onto the side of the truck. Looking closer at the dogs you can see that all of them are injured or unhealthy in some way.

“Fine if you’re not going to be straight with me at least help me carry the crates inside. I need to take a look at them before they can go in a permanent enclosure.”

Silently, Frank moves behind you and opens the back of the bed. He single-handedly lifts the cage closest to the back and carries it to the office. He moves so easily it’s frustrating when you struggle to lift the dog out of the truck and carry it to the building. By the time you’ve moved the single dog, Frank has moved three. All of the dogs are extremely eager to get out of their cages and even in the light it’s hard to see everything that’s wrong with them. You rummage through your desk and pull out a stack of release forms. You drop them on the desk and slap a pen on top. You were not happy. Not with Frank, not with the late time, and not with the amount of paper work that was still waiting for you.

You desperately wanted to know exactly where these dogs were coming from, but you weren’t going to get any good information from the man currently signing papers. You would just have to find out by yourself. The door opens and closes behind you.

 You spend the night in the office building, getting only a couple hours of sleep before you begin your morning chores. Only two of the fighting dogs need to be seen by the vet for their injuries. The rest settle nicely into their temporary homes. All of them seem relieved to be away from their dark past. In between refilling water bowls and arranging volunteers to walk the dogs, you research recent dog fighting ring busts. You should just let it go, but the idea that Frank is giving you his own fighting dogs won’t leave your mind. Searching the term dog fighting ring bust results in an enormous number of articles across the country. When you search specifically for your area you can see that there’s been a sharp increase in dog fighting busts in the past few months. You open your file drawer and grab the most recent release forms. You flip all the way back to the very first time Frank is scrawled across the top. April 21st.

You type dog fighting ring bust april 21. Into the search bar and stare in amazement at the first article that pops up.

The Punisher kills twenty in dog fighting ring bust

Clicking on the article reveals grainy photos of bodies piled on the ground, empty dog cages, and a blurry photo of an imposing man in a painted leather jacket. An idea starts to form in your head. You flip through your release papers to find the date of Frank’s second drop off. April 28th.

Typing in this date yields a similar result. Another article about the Punisher taking down a local dog fighting ring shows more blurry photos of the carnage left behind. None of the photos of the Punisher are good and none of them show the man’s face. But you know.

The next time you hear tires crunching on the gravel outside you don’t bother with the rifle next to your desk. Outside a beat up mini van with huge dents in the side and with bullet holes in the windows waits for you. The sound of barking dogs is muffled, but unavoidable. Frank steps out of the car.

“Don’t you ever sleep?” he asks already moving to the back of the car.

“Not when I know the Punisher is breaking apart dog fighting rings and bringing the dogs to me.”

Frank freezes with his hand on the handle of the back door and the two of stand in absolute silence. The sound of cicadas pounds into your ears. The car door clicking open cuts through the night and the muffled barks turn into distinct howls. And still Frank doesn’t turn to look at you.

“You didn’t bring your rifle out tonight?”

“Nope.”

Frank turns away from the door. The interior light of the car casts deep shadows on his face. “You sure that was a good idea.”

“You said it yourself. There’s nowhere else you can take these dogs.”

The man grumbles lowly before turning back to the crates stacked haphazardly in the back. He pulls two out and sets them on the ground.

“I’m not about to turn you into the police if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Frank let’s out a short huff of air. “I’m not afraid of the police.”

You shrug. “Well how about next time ask ahead before you go and break apart another dog fighting ring. I don’t have the room.”

“I’ve got more money.”

“I could have all the money in the world and no more land to build on, dude. I can’t expand anymore. I’m at my limit.”

Frank whirls at you. “If you’re going to say something, say it.”

“Fine. I don’t want you to stop busting fighting rings. I think the people who organize and participate in them are the lowest forms of beings. But you have to start coordinating with me. I can tell you when I have some extra room in the shelter. You can like give me an email address or a phone number or something so that I can contact you and then just bust the rings when there’s room.”

Frank stares blankly at you. The dogs inside the car begin to calm down so that the sound of cicadas is once again deafening.

“Fine fine,” Frank throws his hands out. “I’ll give you a fucking email.”

“Good,” you say with a smirk, invisible to him.

You work with him to move the three dogs into the office building. In a familiar routine Frank fills out release forms while you give all of the dogs food and water. All three dogs will have to go to the vet in the morning, but they’ll be ok for the night.

“Here.” Frank thrusts a scrap piece of paper towards you. An email address is scrawled across it.

This piece of paper represented the culmination of a dream you’ve had since you were small. Teaming up with the Punisher would finally allow you to stop dog fighting rings. Frank Castle was a terrifying man, but you could tell this would be a beautiful partnership.

Original Request:  Can I request a Frank Castle x Reader? Where the reader is like a owner of a animal shelter(mainly dogs), and somehow Frank comes into her life? Maybe you can fit in she has really tan skin too?? 😊😊✨✨✨

[easkyrah]

Elorcan Werewolf AU Part 1

AU: In which the SJM series are not Fae, but werewolves. And mates and rejecting the bond exist 100%

Summary: Every year, the cadre holds a mating ball. Elide has just turned 18, meaning that she is now required to attend or face the consequences. Knowing that her mate isn’t a Lycan, she decides opts to not show. Little did she know one choice would hold on her.

There are some nights

when the Moon shines

and the wolves howl

Elorcan Werewolf 1

The cadre — the group of Lycans that traced from the bloodline of the Moon Goddess herself. Pure-blooded, more powerful than any regular Alpha werewolf, the cadre had terrorized and pillaged village after village, each Lycan searching for his mate.

Elide had snorted when her history teacher Asterin had described them. Almost in awe. Pure reverence. Extreme worship. And the school’s thirteen teachers didn’t easily hand out their respect to anyone.

Elide didn’t understand why the Lycans had bothered searching for their mate when it had been no secret none of them had their virginity left, their last personal piece for their mate, their other half. Worse, none seemed set on keeping their eyes short. 

Rowan Whitethorn, Lycan Princess Remelle’s first lover and omega Lyria’s mate. Elide had pitied the omega she-wolf; omegas formed the bottom ranks of the hierarchy, and there was a high chance that she would have been abused to continue her role as the scapegoat. 

Then there was Lycan swords-master Gavriel, who seemed to have a thing with humans, and leaving their beds cold when they awoke. Lycan ambassador Fenrhys, who seemed to have a thing with witches, and Lycan spymaster Vaughan, who bedded whatever appealed to his sight. The list when on and on.

And then there was turned-Lycan Lorcan Salvaterre, who had fucked more than half of the she-wolf’s population, according to Manon. The cadre disgusted Elide to no end. 

So she was more than ready to turn down the annual mating ball held by the Lycans every year during Rixalta. Sure, it may have been treason to not show up and not listen to the demands of the all-powerful man-whores, but the chances of her being the mate of any of the Lycans were so slim — especially when her wolf’s side had been ruined by her ankle — that they probably wouldn’t notice one she-wolf missing.

Huffing, Elide blew a strand of hair out of her face, heading towards her lockers. Alpha Aelin had seized the position of power after the previous Alpha, Alpha Arobynn, had murdered Omega Kaitlin Romper for attempting to escape his pack.

Elide had been proud to know that her best friend had been the first female Alpha in all of history, and someone not to be cowed by the intimidation and force other male Alphas had attempted. It had emerged a new era where females no longer drowned in the bitterness of belittlement, but swam in the murky seas of equality. 

Alpha Aelin had rightfully won every match whenever a male Alpha had tried to take over her pack, and Elide had never been more proud to stitch Alien back up.

“Elide!” a voice called. “Why aren’t you eating your lunch right now? No wonder you’re so thin!”

Elide rolled her eyes and gently closed her locker, looking up into the eyes of no other than Aelin’s beta, or second in command, Manon Blackbeak. Manon wasn’t entirely werewolf, her mother a witch, and her father a Lycan, and thus wasn’t required to attend any mating ball.

But Manon still liked to attend, riling up any werewolf that crossed her path. Last year, Aelin had sent Manon as her emissary, to which Manon had accidentally spilled wolfs-bane on none other than Alpha Dorian of the Rifthold Pack —  for staring at her white hair.

Chaos had ensued. 

Manon dragged Elide to the cafeteria, piling plates of pasta and steaming vegetables onto a bowl. “I know Sorcsha has been training you hard to be her apprentice, but you also need to eat.”

Elide merely picked her food, staring out the window. “Sorcsha’s a good Pack Doctor.”

Manon tapped her nails against the wooden desk. “What died and crawled under your ass this time?”

She didn’t answer for awhile. After silence hung in the air for minutes, she finally replied, “The Mating Ball.”

Manon let out an, “Ah.” She’d dreaded this moment, no doubt. “You turned eighteen a week ago, so now you have to attend.”

Elide rolled out her ankle, nodding. It was stupid, really. Why was she so afraid to go when no one would look at a scarred wolf? 

“It’s treason to no show up.” Manon gritted her sharp teeth. “Those bastards think they can control us with the back of their palms. But — you stay here, watch over the pack. Aelin will defend you if shit hits the fan.” 

The Beta’s message was clear: To hell with the consequences. 

Elide’s eyes widened. “You’d do that? For me?”

Manon slammed down her fork on the table. “I’m going to be brutally honest with you, Elide. With your ankle, you will be made fun of at every corner at the ball. And some unmated females will have the audacity to flirt with the Lycans to make them be their chosen, even if they’re aren’t their mates. To make them seem more powerful, the females will cut you down with words. I will not stand for it.”

Elide swallowed the pasta, along with gratefulness. “So I can burn the invitation?”

A gleam sparkled in Manon’s eyes. “Just make sure Aelin’s watching.”

Aelin had watched alright. She’d even lit the match. Elide didn’t know if it was a good thing that her Alpha was so defiant and had a penchant for disobeying. 

“Just make sure you stay inside the entire time,” Aelin warned, dabbing kohl makeup onto her eyelids. “You don’t want the cadre to accidentally catch the scent of the an unmated she-wolf lingering.”

Elide nodded, fluffing out Aelin’s dress. She’d specifically forced her Alpha to buy this dress, marveling at the dragon outline spiraling down her back. Oozing unbridled power and the aura of unmasked strength, the dress perfected Aelin’s flames. 

Aelin had claimed the dress made her feel older, but Manon had merely clucked her tongue, saying Aelin was still younger than her by a thousand years.That had shut Aelin up long enough for Elide to purchase the dress and stuff the package in Aelin’s arms.

Tonight would be Aelin’s first ball even though she’d turned eighteen last year. She’d been excused because she had been battling the former Alpha Arobynn for dominance of the pack. 

Now the mating ball invitation had decreed if Aelin’s pack, the Fireheart pack, refused to show up with all unmated she-wolves above eighteen years old, it would be an act of war.

How thoughtful, Elide thought bitterly to herself. Aelin deserved more than a year of recovery, killing her former master who had whipped her. Aelin had freed her from the Morath Pack, the one who had crippled her. Aelin had simply understood, while the toxic foes surrounding her threatened the comfort of security. 

Elide still woke from nightmares with Alpha Vernon leering down on her, a silver whip in his hand. Elide had lived for Aelin’s pack so that no other female would have to feel that pain again. She had sworn in to be the Pack Doctor’s second in command so that she could fight against her uncle’s legacy of pain, who had just had to be her past Alpha.

That would be another reason she didn’t want to go to be the mating ball. Her former Alpha without a doubt would be there, also searching for his mate. And searching for her so that he could mock her again,

Elide hoped that his mate would outright reject him. He deserved all the pain and sufferings from injecting rogues and his own pack members with wolfs-bane and silver, trying to see what made them squirm the most.

“I’ll be back before midnight.” Aelin said, doing a mini twirl in her dress. “You’ll be fine, right?”

Elide nodded. “I’m just going to sleep.”

Manon gave a satisfied nod, and then leaped out the window, yanking open the limo door with more force than necessary.

Aelin rolled her eyes. “She never does anything by halves.” She looked over at Elide, taking in her small form. “For what’s it worth, whoever your mate is, he’s got to be the most kind-hearted, flower loving male in the world.”

Elide gave her Alpha small smile. “And yours will probably be very submissive to you.”

Aelin let out a trill of laughter. “He’d better be. I didn’t reject half of the other male’s attentions and desires in this society to be stuck with a man-pig.”

Elide ushered Aelin out the door. “Me too.”

[iamsodoneohmygod]

Limitless

Boku No Hero Academia x Male Reader A room with deep details of gold and red silks and clothes of similar patterns held a lean man in expensive black suit with a matching tie and white dress shirt underneath it sitting in an expensive piece of furniture. His raven hair was slicked back to give his face a clean view of what was around him. The man’s grey eyes looked at the wine in his hand as he swirled it in the light. After taking a quick taste of it he let it drop to the ground to shatter on impact. In front of the man was a lower class villain in a tank top and worn out jeans. He played only as a messenger to the well dressed man in front of him. It was obvious that the villain was shaking out of fear of the man, hearing the terrible things that he does to people who cross him. “So what is it that old gas hat Kurogiri want this time? Hmm? I heard through the grapevine that his attack on All Might and those U.A. brats was a complete mess.” The man said in cold, harsh, and bored tone. “The League of Villains would like to asks for your assistance in retrieving information on the students of the U.A. They would like to better equip their forces to be able to confront them better during their next attack.” The villain said as best he could without stuttering. The man hummed to himself as he stood up and walked slowly to the man on his knees. “League of Villains. What a bunch of blowhards that thinks they have a jurisdiction over all the villains in Japan. Honestly what hope do villains have if they can’t even take care of a few high schoolers. Nevertheless I might as well retrieve the information they require. Might come to some use to me in the future.” The villain nodded and handed a folder to the man. “Thank you so much mister Dominion. The League looks forward to our next encounter.” The villain then bowed and left in a hurry to his employers. Dominion shrugged and dropped the folder onto his chair and moved to a dark oak door opposite to the exit. Pulling out a key from his suit pocket and unlocked the what seemed to be a soundproof area. Area was a long corridor of cold grey concrete with a single door at the end of it. The sound of his dress shoes could be heard as they clicked against the ground and echoed throughout the corridor. When he reached the metal door he pulled down a sliding slot to see into the room. It was almost completely black room with the body of a malnourished boy with messy (h/c) hair and purple eyes squinted shut as the rest of him was curled in ball in the corner of the room. He was around the age of 16 but looked so frail that he resembled a baby bird. “Wakey, wakey my little pet. We have a new job.” He said into the room before he unlocked it and entered, walking to the corner where the boy stayed. “If you don’t like solitary confinement with no food privileges then you shouldn’t act against my wishes.” he said. He reached out to caress his head but the boy flinched away from him. When Dominion saw this reaction he did not respond with his calm persona but with rage. He gripped the boy’s hair and slammed him to the ground. The boy went limp in Dominion’s hands he was pulled to his face. “Don’t you ever pull away from me. Understand (M/n)?” He nodded with little strength he had. “Good. Now come. We have a job and you must look presentable when we do it.” (M/n) followed Dominion down the hall as he headed towards the bathroom. (M/n) had a very unique mutation called the Alexandria’s genesis. Meaning he has purple eyes and can only grow head with pale skin and little to no acne. Dominion like rare species and saw (M/n) as his new obsession. When they got to the bathroom Dominion had him stand in front of the mirror while he towered behind him. He brought his hand up to (M/n)’s chin and traced circles with his thumb around the bruise left from moments ago. “Tch. Why do you make me hurt that beautiful skin of yours (M/n)? If only I didn’t have to use my quirk on you to obey me we wouldn’t have these little ‘accidents’ now would we?” It was taking a lot of will for (M/n) to not wince at the touch. Dominion’s quirk: Dominance. The ability for someone to be completely powerless to the user and is to act as one's slave or will feel a large amount of pain if they disobey. Can only be used on one person at a time. Dominion walked over to the cabinet and retrieved a makeup bag and sat it on the sink in front of (M/n). “Now lets cover that bruise up.” He said as he began to apply the make up. After a few minutes it was completely unnoticeable and Dominion put away the make up. “Now let's get you out of those filthy clothes so go on and strip down.” (M/n) was hesitant of this and gripped the bottom of his shirt in defiance and Dominion was very displeased with this. “(M/n). I said, ‘STRIP’” he commanded with his quirk. (M/n)’s eyes turned white and the veins around his eyes pulsed black. He felt a surge of pain going through him and almost dropped to the floor. He had to make the pain stop so he had to comply, removing his shirt and shorts. “Underwear as well” He demanded. Biting his lip in anguish he removed the last of his clothing and was completely bare to the man. “Damn it. I should’ve done the make up before you bathed. Oh well, I will have to just clean you myself with a rag.” Dominion protested. “Remember, no crying.” Time skip because I’m trying to make this as dark as possible without having to put the ol age constriction. At the U.A. Dominion and (M/n) stood outside of the school gates to the great hero school. (M/n) wearing a black t-shirt, jeans, and white high-tops along with a long brown cotton coat with a white inside that went to the back of his knees. The plan was for just (M/n) to go in, at the age to be able to pass for a student and possessing a strange quirk that could unexplainable handle any target was all Dominion needed to get a high profile job done in a place like the U.A. “You know your command, and you know what happens if you fail.” Dominion sharply told (M/n). He nodded with no resistance and proceeded his mission. (M/n) walked forward to the gate a stopped for a quick second in front of it, then looked at the device that controls it. After looking at it for a second it turned off long enough for him to get through without setting off the alarm. Passing the gate he continued onward into the school building. At the moment it was hero training and all the students were out of the class rooms and training outside or in other parts of the school. This left the hallways like a ghost town with no body in it. There was however a security guard at the front entrance but was knocked out before he could do any damage. Making his to the class 1-A, (M/n) was met with no obstacles in his path on his way there. He soon found the classroom and the door shut behind and locked itself as he took a seat at the teacher’s computer. Pulling out a USB he inserted into the computer and access the computer once he got through the security coding. Quickly he started downloading the file of all the students but noticed a folder out the corner of his eye that was sticking out of the drawer. As he was waiting for all of the files to download (M/n) decided to examine the folders contents. The folder was labeled One for All with a series of photo inside. Photos of All Might, a woman, and green haired boy about the same age as him. There was a bunch of research and data on the quirk “One for All”. Realizing the importance of this file (M/n) tucked it away into his coat and pulled away the USB once all the files were downloaded then organized everything to how he found it. Right before (M/n) could open the door he could here someone fiddle with the doorknob on the other side. In a panic (M/n) decided that he had to hide and chose the air ducts. At the moment the door opened he was in the vents watching whoever enter. Only it wasn’t someone but some people, the class had ended and was returning to their classes along with their teachers. The students of 1-A were entering their class and sat at their desk to converse about what they did today. Once the entire class was in a green haired girl with frog like features started to look around the room gaining the attention of one of her classmates. “Something wrong Tsu?” a perky brown haired girl asked. “I don’t know. Something just smells… different. Ribbit.” She responded causing (M/n) to recede further into the vent. “Like something isn’t supposed to be here.” Then a boy with the head of a shadow joined in, “I agree. I can sense that something is here.” He said causing (M/n) to panic even more and devise a half thought out plan that most likely wouldn’t work. “Should we alert Aizawa?” a blue haired boy said. Suddenly a mist like wind filled the room blinding almost everyone in the room as (M/n) made a run for it. Sadly it didn’t go as planned as he was jerked from the back of coat by an angry looking ash blond boy. “Who the fuck are you?!” He snarled at him. (M/n) went into a full fight or flight mode and suddenly the blonde was sent flying across the room causing more confusion. (M/n) headed through the door and started down the hallway only to stop when he saw Eraserhead himself standing at the end of it. Aizawa saw the folder peaking out of his coat and catches on quickly to what (M/n) was doing here. (M/n) was about to try and run the other way but was stopped by the students coming out of the room. Then the walls and ground were beginning to cover themselves with ice from a boy with two different colored hair. (M/n) was straight up panicking as a pro hero was pursuing him from one direction and students on the other. He had only one last resort. He jumped. He was on the second story and he jumped out the window shattering on impact. As he was falling Aizawa made his best efforts to catch him but when his raps got around (M/n)’s ankle the shards of glass from the window moved on their own and cut him free. When (M/n) was about to hit the pavement his body hovered above the ground at the last second and landed on his feet. He began running to the gate as alarms started going off and the the gates started to close. The wall that closed off separated enough for (M/n) to get through and closed back after he got through. Once he was on the other side Dominion was there ready with a getaway car which he swiftly entered. “Good job my pet.” Dominion said to (M/n). Yet the only thing that (M/n) could focus on was the school he was leaving behind. He wasn’t obligated to tell him about the extra file he got. But as he looked at the school, he felt a strong sense of regret.

[unholyhelbig]

Title: Wolf-Girl

Ship: Hope Mikaelson/Lizzie Saltzman

Summary: Lizzie Saltzman is a doctor in a small rural hospital letting another full moon pass her by, but when a car accident involving a girl who seemingly got up and walked away rolls into the ER, Lizzie can't help but follow her gut and lean on her curiosity.

Medicine was never Lizzie’s first choice. She wanted to be a designer; she never got far enough to know what kind, if her specialty would be homes plated in glass or celebrities equally as adorned in diamonds. But she wanted to be in control of something, to make a difference in someone’s life without having too much commitment and influence.

Medicine was not her first choice. It wasn’t her second or her third, but fate had a way of steering her in a direction that seemed unfathomable. Fate had the scent of blood and the sharp stinging pain of shrapnel.

Lizzie remembers the first life she saved. It wasn’t poetic or planned, but it never quite is. She had mustered the courage that her summer babysitting course instilled in her; calm, collected, concise. Even as a creamy red bubbled past a motorcyclist’s lips and splattered her face, and her collar, and her fingers, she kept going in a rhythmic fashion until the real lifesavers got there.

They thanked her, and asked her questions, and told her that she needed to get cleaned up for her own sake. A young EMT squeezed her arm and looked into her dilated eyes and told her that she did everything she could.

But when she laid in bed that night, a fan pushing soft summer air around the room defenselessly, she didn’t’ feel like she had done enough. Sweat made her skin sticky and damp, and she woke up from a light sleep thinking it was blood- a stranger's blood coating her fingertips and making them toxic in their own way.

Josie said she screamed, and her father would have agreed. But Lizzie doesn’t remember any of that, or maybe, along the way, she forced herself to forget. It took her a long while to force herself to drive again, but eventually, she did. And after that, after that summer at their house on the ocean, she had decided that she would go into medicine.

It wasn’t her first choice, not in the slightest, but she was damned good at it.

She tended to regret her choices on nights like these; full moons that hung high in the air. It pulled the tides and pulled the insanity right along with it. She had stitched up a kid who thought it was a good idea to tie the blunt end of the string to an RC car and the opposite side to a tooth not ready to come out yet. The chord of rope split his chin right open.

There was the usual influx of abdominal pain and splinters lodged deep into skin. The standard pill pushers and nightly drunks. A group of frat boys that got a little too close to the propellors on a boat, slicing the thumb clean off their leader- but they brought that in a cooler stocked fresh with beer and ice. It worked just fine.

“I took a Latin class in undergrad; Lunacy is the definition of going crazy because of the moon. Whoever invented the damn word knew what they were doing to ER workers when they were scheduled on a night like this.”

“The Romans invented Latin. Shouldn’t you know that?”

Lizzie was trying to get some sleep before her beeper would inevitably go off. She had taken off her lab coat and situated it into a little ball of fabric until she was satisfied before finally getting a chance to close her eyes.

But Jade had been antagonizing MG the whole night about the fact that Full Moons didn’t’ actually make the nights harder; what made the nights harder was the fact that they blamed every odd thing on said moon. It made the night drag on, and the first half of the next day too.

“You know what I think?” Jade went on, slamming her elbow into the glass sheet of the vending machine shoved into the corner of the break room “I think you should stop watching so many horror movies in your free time.”

She fished her prize from the bottom of the trough, the cellophane crinkling under her grasp. Lizzie didn’t’ know how old the snack cakes were, they had never seen it restocked, but it never stopped them from scarfing down the sugary treats whenever possible.

“Alright, so you explain room seven to me?”

Lizzie opened her eyes then and stared at the tiled ceiling, the lights above her head were buzzing dutifully. The nurse and Rad Tech had moved over to the only table in the room. MG picked at the second cake that Jade seemed to hand over to him.

“Dude is old as dirt, probably had a few drinks too. No wonder he saw what he did.” She shrugged her shoulders “probably tired too.”

“Oh, pick a struggle, besides he blew a 0.00 on the breathalyzer. Even if he was drunk, which he wasn’t, there’s no way to fool that thing.” He took a thoughtful bite of his snack cake and chewed.

Lizzie finally sat all the way up, her hair scrunched on one side and sleep biting at her reddened cheeks. She didn’t’ remember drifting off, but then again, she never did remember. Jade lifted her hand in a small wave and MG beamed at her, crumbs against his chin.

“What happened in room seven?” She asked, bringing her legs to her chest, the sofa in the breakroom nothing but uncomfortable and stiff. Her spine ached.

Jade waved her hand in front of her face “Car accident. Not a big deal at all. MG is just making it sound like more than it is.”

“It is more” He whined, turning his chair towards the general practitioner “Man comes in carrying a naked girl in his arms. She’s pretty banged up and wrapped in a tarp from the back of his truck.”

Lizzie lifted a brow; weird, sure, but she had taken a cooler with a detached extremity in it a few hours ago, and an intern had suggested that they warm it back up with an electric hairdryer. So after a dark glare and a moment of slamming her head against the triage desk, she regained her composure and considered this normal enough.

“Tell her what he said,” MG had a shit-eating grin on his face as he nudged Jade.

She sighed heavy and hot “The old dude claimed that he hit a dog. He said his headlights caught it at the last minute and by the time he stopped it was already under his front tires. But when he got out of his truck it was a girl. A naked girl, the one he brought in.”

“The full moon strikes again,” MG lowered his voice.

“Or he’s been holding this girl captive in his basement for god knows how long and concocted a heinous story to get the cops off his tail. No pun intended.”

The pun had been intended and she seemed quite proud of herself, licking the little bit of icing off the tip of her pinky finger. Lizzie was wide awake now, with a dull pain at the base of her spine from the springs in the sofa. She stood and snatched her lab coat from the far cushion before sliding it on. Seven more hours to go in a 48-hour bender shift.

“I want it,” Lizzie said.

MG lifted his eyebrows and shoved the snack cake, half-devoured, closer to her. She shook her head with a frown.

“Not the food, I want room Seven. I’ve been stitching up lacerations and pouring lidocaine into dixie cups for two days, if you don’t count the thumb incident, I’ve been nothing more than an intern.” She leaned heavily against the table, staring at her two colleagues.

Jade smiled and moved her finger against the side of her lip. She reminded Lizzie of a weed dealer in high school, clearly having an advantage over her with the snide look in her eyes. Lizzie wasn’t above begging, not for a case like this, not for a girl who probably had a few broken bones.

But she wasn’t interested in the victim. Not fully- she was more invested in the man who claims that humans morphed to beast but bleed the same.

“Whatever man, you can have it.” She relented “She’s the only one on my rotation right now.”

Lizzie considered that a win. She clapped the woman on the shoulder before walking towards room seven. It had gotten quiet, there was a rough cough down the hall and a mother holding a crying baby as the attending gave a shot.

But for a full moon- for something that pulled people into insanity, lunacy as MG would call it, it was quiet. She would never admit that because it was a forbidden word in healthcare, always had been. She knew that as she got to the enclosed room and picked up the silver chart. She scanned Jade’s scribbled handwriting.

HOPE M

Fractured Ulna, right side

Atypical white blood cell count

Tachycardia

Laceration, right side, temple

Lizzie tucked the metal under her arm and rapt her knuckles against the door. She didn’t’ hear anything but listened hard, before pushing the door open. The scent of blood was apparent and shrouded in sweat and antiseptic.

The lights had been dimmed but those that were shining, every other tile buzzed like a fly trapped listlessly against a windowpane. It seemed to take up the entire hospital room; the heart monitor beeped in a rhythmic fashion every couple of seconds. A certain type of nausea settled itself at the base of Lizzie’s stomach as she walked.

She had expected helplessness. Working in a hospital in the Emergency department pretty much guaranteed it. And Lizzie- Lizzie had the chance to be a hero and make up for the man on the motorcycle with cherry on his lips and a gurgling in his throat.

It wasn’t the same with this girl; this girl was pulling on a scuffed-up combat boot with gravel embedded in its rubber base. Her naked back faced Lizzie, and the orange trace of blood splattered in the shape of a map against soft skin.

A more permanent mark of a half-moon facing west was embedded on her shoulder. That couldn’t’ be wiped away. Lizzie stared, maybe a little too long, before realizing that her patient was pulling on her clothing to leave. The bruising against her sides and around her hip bones looked as if it were more than dead blood just under her skin. It looked like waves, entirely alive and moving towards the moon positioned just above.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Lizzie found herself saying.

The stranger startled and reached for the cotton flower gown that tied at the neck and again mid-back. She held it flush against her chest and stood. She winced- but that didn't catch the doctor's attention. What did was the fact that she could stand at all. Lizzie caught her eyes, green and blue and grey under the lights.

“Leaving.” She said, sizing the doctor up.

Lizzie hoped she didn’t’ look as small as she felt. She had hugged the metal clipboard close to her and studied the strong presence in the room with curiosity. She had fished a thumb out of a bucket of beer for fucks sake, she was not about to let this… this girl leave in the middle of the night when she had been sidelined by a truck.

“No, I don’t think you are.”

Hope scoffed “Really? I feel like there’s something legal here that permits me to refuse medical treatment.”

There was, But part of Lizzie thought that if she puffed up her chest enough she could get the patient to stay. They always pushed it hard, and she wasn’t about to let a pretty face and snide attitude stop that now.

“My chart says you should be dead right now.” She lifted an eyebrow, making a show of opening it, though her brain couldn’t make sense of Jade’s words while the patient stared her down. “And the man in the hallway says you should be a…. golden retriever?”

Hope laughed this time. “Man’s blind. He tapped me with his car, and I got up. Do I look like a golden retriever to you, Doc? You’ve already scanned my brain, no concussions. As far as I’m concerned, I’m free to go.”

“Go on then,” Lizzie shut the chart and stepped out of the pathway leading to the door. “But Just to let you know. That blind man is sitting right outside, waiting to grill you about the fact that you had a tail. So you can either do that, or you can sit your ass back down in bed and let me get some fluids in you.”

She frowned, pouted really. Her stormy gaze shot to the door, and then to Lizzie again. “Isn’t there a way to just… remove him?”

“Not legally.”

Hope lowered herself back down to the bed, as dramatically as she could with the soreness in her muscles. Lizzie was satisfied with that for now and watched as she toed off her boots easily, not having bothered with securing the laces.

She rushed her hand under freezing water with generic soap and slid some gloves on. She felt Hope’s stare burning a hole in her lab coat the entire time but didn’t’ give in to the pressure.

“Why do you care so much?” Hope asked when she pulled a stool up to the side of the bed, tourniquet in hand. “I mean, I know it’s your job and all, but the last I checked, a nurse could have done this.”

“You interest me. Jade rarely misses, and X-rays don’t lie. Everyone else might chalk you up to a medical miracle,”

Lizzie secured the latex around the upper part of Hope’s arm and tied it tightly. The woman flinched again, this time as it pinched her skin. She took two fingers and started to press against the unnaturally hot part of Hope’s arm until she found a good vein that wasn’t over a tendon.

“And what do you think I am?”

“I don’t know.” She rubbed cooling alcohol against the spot, not having started an IV in years. “A product of the full moon. The man could have been blind. Jade could have been wrong. You don’t look like you have a fractured ulna to me.”

Hope drew in a sharp breath as soon as the needle slid into the crease in her arm. Lizzie worked quickly, securing the catheter with tape before grabbing the tube that linked to the fluid bag. Hope eyed her carefully through it all but seemed to relax at the lack of prodding once the drops started to flow.

“You’re not normal, are you?” Lizzie asked, peeling her gloves off and balling them up.

“None of us are normal, Doc. Some things are just more noticeable than others.”

Lizzie didn’t’ move from the small stool that she was crouched on. It was as tall as it could go and her knees still pressed close to her chest. She felt like a child squeezed into a tiny plastic chair waiting for a non-specific orange beverage.

She watched as blood collected around the IV that she had placed in Hope M’s arm. It bubbled and hissed like black goo, but it was just blood. The same blood that crusted against her hairline and the expert sutures that Jade had applied earlier. Hope stared at her all the same, a mix of a pout and a curious frown against her features.

“I’ll tell you what, wolf-girl. I’ll forge the reports, get the old quack out of the lobby, and discharge you if-“

“If?”

“If you come back in two weeks and give me a vial of your blood. So, help me if I took any more from you tonight. Superhuman or not, everyone needs time to heal.”

“I don’t’ understand.”

“I want to study you.”

Hope laughed again, this time it had a bit of malice in it. It sounded like gravel, and it slowly turned into a wet hack. Lizzie, the doctor in her, stood and got her a little plastic cup filled with water. She gulped it down greedily and pulled in a shaky breath. “You’re being serious?”

“As serious as they come, yeah. I want to understand how a ford can hit you full force and you can walk away- limp away. It’s not just adrenaline, this isn’t a situation where you lifted a car off a baby in a fit of strength. You’re always like this, aren’t you?”

Hope narrowed her eyes and traced the plastic edge of the cup “Like what?”

“You’re a hard stick. Not because I can’t find your veins. I could do that blindfolded. Your skin was thicker, like stone.” The corner of Lizzie’s mouth quirked up into an odd smile. “You’re not human and I’ve never seen that before. So, I want to study you.”

“And if I don’t agree to be your little lab rat?”

Lizzie shrugged “Either way you’re going to walk out of here. I can’t stop you. As you said, there are laws in place against that but… let me help you, and you can help me.”

Hope shifted in the hospital bed and groaned as her fingers moved away from the empty cup and instead pushed into her ribs. She tried not to show the discomfort that rushed through her. But Lizzie could spot a prideful disadvantage from a mile away. She lowered herself back onto the stool.

“You heal fast, I get it, if you didn’t chances are you’d be jacked up on fentanyl right now, halfway to the moon or a coma, whatever you reached first. But that doesn’t mean you’re immune to pain. You’re still experiencing it now. Let me help you with that.”

Hope glowered for a moment, fingers still pressed against the sore spot in her ribs. Lizzie could have sworn there was a soft, nearly inaudible growl that rumbled in the girl's chest, but she wasn’t sure, the machine tracking her heartrate clicked steadily by and the light still buzzed like a trapped fly.

“Okay,” She said, soft and slow “Okay, fine. You have a deal.”

[oneidjitatatime]

Curiosity in a Junkyard

The Clever Magenta Box faded and trembled into existence, throomed to a stop next to a black Dodge Avenger that had seen better days and an orange Charger with a Confederate flag on the roof that had seen better decades. The door creaked open in its distinctive way, and The Second Anomaly-- Jenny, The Doctor's Daughter-- stepped out. She tugged a business card out of her pocket, glanced up at the sign-- "Singer Auto Self-Service Salvage Yard," she muttered. "I wonder if he knows it spells 'sassy?' The extra 's' is for extra 'sass.'" "Doesn't look like much," the cat muttered in his telepathic Tasmanian accent as he trotted out of the magenta TARDIS Police Box behind Jenny, wove between her legs and sat down in the dirt. Jenny smirked faintly, tugged the door shut behind Jack, and moved towards the main building. "Don't sell it short. Some pretty wonderful things have happened in junkyards." Jack's upper lip twitched pensively, dubiously, showing one side of his teeth for a moment before he languidly wheeled about to pad after her. "In my experience, they usually have way too many very big, very hungry dogs for that to be true." Jenny reached up and rapped gently on the house's front door, sliding her hands into the pockets of her green coat as she waited. "From what that adorable skinny werewolf boy told me, with this yard the big dog's actually the proprietor."

"Dammit, Frank, I don't give two shits! Just haul ass over there and get them damn blades ASAP!" Bobby slammed the phone down on the desk cradle and took a long pull on his beer. He grimaced and mumbled something about how can that idjit still be alive. Sitting back down at the desk he was about to start translating a piece of text someone needed for a case in Missoula when a sound that was decidedly not automotive kicked up at the front gate of the yard. "Balls." Reaching behind him he grabbed the sawed off shotgun always kept loaded and walked quietly across the living room, staying well away from the windows. He saw a youngish looking redhead walking up the porch with a yellow cat, not stopping to think that was in any way odd, and stood to the side of the door. She knocked and seemed content to wait, which narrowed the possibilities of who the hell she was and what the hell she was doing on his porch. He cracked the door just enough to get the curled bill of his hat out. "I ain't got no interest in yer relationship with Jesus and I don't need any encyclopedias, so unless you got a box a Thin Mints in that coat, take a hike." Then promptly slammed the door in her face and crossed his arms to wait.

Jenny arched a red eyebrow at the slammed door, an expression subconsciously very much like her father. Jack glanced up at her, squinching his eyes. "Rude. Stroppy, even. And what's a Thin Mint, when it's at home?" Glancing back down at him, Jenny replied: "Girl Scouts of America. I'm programmed with the tactics of every military and paramilitary organization in human history, and their door-to-door fundraising campaigns were quite effective. They proved useful couriers for The Blue States Faction in The Culture War of the mid-21st Century." Jack snuffled dubiously. "Get you, Digger. A regular Encyclopedia Ginger." Turning her attention back to the door, keeping her hands in her pockets the whole time, utterly unflapped, Jenny announced. "I don't have any cookies, Mister Singer, and I don't know Jesus personally, though I bivouacked with some Anglican Marines once so you might call Him a friend of a friend." "...I need help learning to fight monsters, Mister Singer. Aliens I can handle, monsters are a very different thing. And a lad named Garth told me you were the best in history at training Hunters."

Son of a bitch. Bobby looked out the window again at the oh so very young girl and swore to put a silver bullet in Garth himself. He cracked the door just enough to make himself clear. "Garth ain't right in the head, darlin. That boy's mamma dropped him on his head one too many times. And I ain't too sure about your mamma either. Monsters are a load a bullshit, so you just go back in yer spaceship an go fight little green men. I'm just an old grease monkey who ain't got time fer yer teenage delusions." Bobby had a sinking feeling she wasn't as crazy as he thought she was, but he'd be damned if he'd be responsible for another young kid goin' off and gettin herself killed because a him.

"I don't, ah," Jenny smiled a tiny, tiny smile, "have a mother. I never did." Unless you count Donna. She named me. Not to mention, am I even a teenager yet? But he says it like he'd say child, and I've never been one of those, either. "If I'm delusional, sir," she suggested, "then I'm no more delusional than you. And it's the same delusion. The same... 'family business.' 'Saving people, hunting things,' or 'saving worlds, rescuing civilizations, and defeating terrible creatures.' Either way, it involves an awful lot of running. ...love the running." She reached down and she picked up the cat, slung him over her shoulder. He widened his eyes in surprise at first, but then stretched and arched happily, reaching a paw out to grasp at the air. Then she turned to walk away, and glanced back over her other shoulder at that part-open door. "And, being delusional, I'm going to keep pursuing this. Going to keep looking 'till I find someone else to teach me, whatever it takes. But that'll be a shame, won't it? Because that means whoever teaches me won't do nearly as good a job as you would have, and a little lycanthrope told me there's nothing that bothers you more than Hunters who half-arse The Job." Jack jumped down almost immediately, trotting along beside her, he never did like to be picked up for very long-- and he glanced up at her as they went. "We're giving up?" he murmured. "Just like that?" "Either the conversation's at a South Dakotan stand-off," The Anomaly replied, wryly, "or..."

'Family Business'. Either Garth was runnin his mouth more than usual or she had at least run in the same circles as the boys for some time. He listened to that tone in her voice, watched her turn and walk off, saw blond wavy hair and a dinky little heirloom pigsticker twirling in her hand. Tucking the sawed off in the crook of his elbow, mumbling to himself that he was too fuckin old for this shit, he stepped out on the porch. "What're you after?"

Garth had been running his mouth, in a sense. Preaching the gospel of The Brothers Winchester and their "real" father, Bobby Singer, over a campfire while he held hands with his pretty young bride. Perhaps he had been waxing nostalgic for his days in the field, but he spared no gushes about his heroes. Jenny had not yet met those brothers herself. She was still learning how to pilot her TARDIS, and indeed, her TARDIS was still learning how to fly-- the fact that they were learning together actually helped matters more often than not, making their errors a little bit less of a trial. Running with Samuel Colt and Wade Wilson in The Old, Wild West was still in her future. But by damn, she'd be ready for it when the time came. "What're you after?" She smirked to herself and then down at Jack as Bobby called after them. Jack squinted at her. "...you weren't nearly so chessmastery when you were blonde." "Maybe I'm just taking after my dad," Jenny drawled in reply, and turned to face Bobby, speaking up to call across the near distance: "I have military training, sir. Pretty extensive training. I've fought in trenches even you might have trouble imagining. But it's come to my attention that there's creatures out there I'm not trained to fight. Creatures that don't necessarily follow the rules of warfare I've come to know, ones that pose a threat to people who just want to live in peace. And what sort of soldier would I be if I went into battle unprepared against things like that?"

Bobby stood and looked...looked at the little slip of a girl standing there talking to a cat. Yeah, she probably had done everything she said she'd done. John Winchester was a fuckin Marine and look where it got him. And then he laughed. A full bellied laugh that eased into a chuckle as he ambled down the stairs and set the shotgun down on the trunk of the junker in front of the porch and leaned an elbow next to it. "Look, sweetheart, I don't know what Garth told you, but there ain't no Monster College, or Monster 101 course I can teach you. I've been doin this shit fer 30 odd years and I still don't know half a what I don't know. Hunters get into the business for mostly the same reason. Someone close to em got took or killed or both by some supernatural bastard or other. If you got somethin' specific you need to know how to kill, I might and I mean MIGHT be able to help ya out. But if yer just here for Monster Boot Camp it don't exist. Now haul on outta here cause yer waistin time I need ta be spendin translatin Aramaic so some dumbass can try not ta get hisself killed."

She took a moment to respect the fine care that had been taken of that shotgun. Was that Boeing oil she smelled? But then he answered. Jenny's eyes narrowed slightly and, hands coming out of her coat pockets, she crossed her arms over her stomach-- the same classic posture she'd taken when standing off against her father. This was not the reply she'd been hoping for. "I suppose I didn't know what I was asking. This is a new theater of war for me." "New species hiding under the fabric of reality that each obey their own rules of physics. Sufficiently advanced biology is indistinguishable from magic." "I fought a strain of werewolves inhabiting an isolated corner of The Appalachians in Vermont, but they were resistant to the weapons described in The Torchwood Archive, mistletoe and concentrated moonlight, and realized that this species was terrestrial in origin, not extraterrestrial." Jack shuddered and cleaned himself intently, gnawing on one of his front paws. "(Bad dogs. Scary bad dogs.)" "We lost track of them, but picked up rumors of another pack-- which was how we met your friend Garth," Jenny continued. "I know better than to commit genocide, over-my-dead-body-- werewolves can be people too, just like The Hath-- but if I come up against dangerous ones, I need to know how to protect people. I've inherited my father's drive to fight the good fight-- while I try and find him, I want to honor his code." She hesitated. "And then there's these-- black smoke entities. They jump from body to body like The Gelth. How can I fight something like that?"

Bobby closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He could feel a whopper of a headache coming on. She was already just running around out there with some cracked up intel from some group over in Britain. Torchwood had come up in conversation and none of it was good, and if she was misidentifying aliens and demons she was about two steps from being hell hound chow if she stayed on her own. "I don't know what the hell a Gelth is, but that black smoke is a demon, a damned soul possessing a live human body. Werewolves can only be killed with a silver bullet to the heart. This is what I was tellin ya sweetheart, you don't even know what you don't know." he sighed. Looking over her shoulder he saw the pinkish looking box. It was the same design as the blue one that alien fella the boys ran around with drove. "If yer gonna stay, ya might as well park that box out back where it ain't gonna draw attention. And that cat had better be trained cause I ain't got no litter boxes or flaps in the doors, and I definitely got no patience for animals shreddin my books and furniture." He picked up the shotgun and turned back to the house. "Come on in when ya get settled and we'll see how ya are with translatin languages."

Jenny's brow furrowed more than a little at the you don't even know what you don't know. God, this was-- this must be what it had been like for members of the conventional military to transition into black ops spy work. They'd gotten so good at swimming in their depth of the pond that they had no Earthly (or exoplanetary) concept of how deep it really went once the continental shelf dropped out from under you. And then he namedropped dark spirits, and she felt the jarring impact of a new floor dropping out from under her. "A demon. An actual demon. The choirboys I bivouacked with would talk about them in the metaphorical sense--" --a chill raced up her spine, and, continuing the analogy about the ground dropping out from under her feet, right now she felt a bit like her father had, perched and poised over that yawning pit on Krop Tor, that dark urge to jump to fall-- She shook her head, her red red hair washing about as she did so. Managed to find her proverbial footing. For now. "That Box as you call it," she smirked faintly, "actually draws precious little attention, considering her color. But if it's throwing off your feng shui, I can move her. She's got this perception filter thing, usually the only people who register that she really doesn't blend in are the astutely observant-- those attuned to the oddities of The Universe-- and some slightly psychic people." "Can't be that astute, or that psychic," Jack squinted. "...I don't think he can hear me." Jenny shot her Cat an odd look. "Don't be ridiculous," she murmured, "of course he can." But then Bobby was going on about cat flaps and scratching posts and training, and it dawned on Jenny that no-one who'd actually heard Jack carry on a telepathic conversation, sentient as could be, could doubt his ability to self-regulate. She opened her mouth. And shut it again. How curious. Did he have some kind of psychic training, then? Defenses? She wagered psychic paper wouldn't work on him either. "He'll be fine. He can keep his claws to himself, and he has a rather Heinleinian way of not needing cat flaps." Jack harrumphed. "I can keep my claws to myself if he keeps those big stompy boots away from my tail. And his rocking chairs, he looks like a rocking chair sort of bloke." Jenny simultaneously ignored Jack, and watched Bobby for any hint or clue that he was hearing Jack and pretending not to. Now might not be the best time to insist that your housepet could deliver telepathic one-liners in a Hobart accent, you know, on top of showing up on an old soldier's doorstep demanding he dust off the old drill sergeant uniform. "I might be more help with those languages than you'd think. One of the perks of my particular mode of transportation. It's still hit or miss, though. She's still learning how to be a time machine, I'm still learning how to be a time traveler, it's an odd dynamic but it works surprisingly well."

He stopped with his hand on the door. "I don't know about any a that perception bullshit, I just know there's a big damn pink box sitting in the front a my salvage yard. Ya'd have ta be blind NOT ta see it." He watched how she moved, listened to how she talked, lamented at how young she was. It was too late to protect her from knowing about the bad things, even too late to keep her from fighting bad things. He looked back at himself and a much younger Dean, heading out to play catch in the park. The look on the kid's face when he realized they weren't going to be drilling anything, just...playing, like any other normal kid. The way she moved, the way she spoke, told him she'd never even had days like that. Wouldn't know a baseball from a hand grenade. And now she wanted him to fill her head full of more evil shit and how to kill it. He sighed and dipped his head. Pulling the door open he shouted over his shoulder. "Well park it out back, ask it how much Aramaic it knows, then get yer ass in here."

"Well," Jenny smiled faintly. "Blindness is in the eye of the beholder. It's like you just said, 'I don't even know what I don't know.' I'd imagine that's true of a lot of people and a lot of things. A lot of people don't know how to look and don't know how to see and don't know how to observe. So they can't see her." "And she's magenta, not pink," she corrected after another heartsbeat. "She's very particular about that." Then she turned and walked back to her ship, vanishing inside-- at which point it vanished in a slow, fading VWORRP. VWORRP. VWORRP. with the light atop strobing white white light. As Bobby had opened the door, Captain Jack had bounded over and slithered in through the gap, trotting in and squinting his eyes as he looked about, tail furling and unfurling. "Mate, you weren't joking about the books, hey? Well. I promise not to sharpen my claws on any first editions if you promise not to use my teleporting arse as target practice." Making himself at home, Jack spotted an old wheelchair in the corner that had gathered some quantity of dust, and immediately bounded into it like it was a Captain's Chair-- and started cleaning himself, very studiously licking down his own back. It was a few minutes later that Jenny walked back in, looking annoyed but trying to be Zen. She'd been gone about a week, and had had to lead a cell of Ogron mercenaries in rebellion against their Dalek employers and that had really taken some convincing. But eventually she'd made it back to Bobby's backyard not so very much the worse for wear and with very little observable time having passed. "Right then, sorry, she's sorted." "And, ah, she says Aramaic is easy, it's Enochian that's hard. And something called Krop Torese, but honestly that just sounds made up."

He watched the ginger furball streak passed his boots and grumbled, closing the door behind. He walked over to the desk, put the shotgun back in easy reach, sat down, pulled open the drawer, took out the scotch and poured it into the nearest drinking vessel. This just happened to be a yunomi which was fine since it wasn't a formal occasion. He knocked the drink back and looked across the room to see the cat sitting in his old wheelchair. Pouring another snort, he raised his cup. "Better you than me, pal." Bobby had just set his cup down, preparing to get back into his books when the girl strode in. He squinted at her, something was decidedly...off...about her, but he couldn't tell what. He indicated the chair in front of his desk for her to sit. "Before we get all mixed up in business, you need to give me some background. I'm guessin' yer the same kinda alien that Doctor fella is. We ain't met, but my boys have run with him some. Secretive. Enigmatic. That shit don't fly here. There are at LEAST three things I can name off the top of my head that can make themselves look so much like you yer mamma....well...folks who saw you everyday couldn't tell the difference." He poured another shot and sat back, looking at her over the cup. "Also, there's something damned peculiar about that cat. So give me as much as you can about who you are and what you're really doin' here. I need to be able to get a feel for you, see if I can trust you before we start formalizin' any arrangements."

"Better you than me, pal," Singer drawled. Captain Jack the Cat glanced up from his throne upon the wheelchair, and squinted his eyes at the older human. "At least if I'm sitting in it, you can't roll over my tail with it. Brrrr, and I thought rocking chairs were bad." Then Jenny came back, and despite himself, The Captain started purrrrrring again, purring not unlike a certain Impala, a rrrrrrumble deep in his orange belly. Unlike his telepathic dialogue, Bobby should be able to hear that plain as day. And he resumed cleaning himself, this time picking the claws of a hind-paw with his teeth. "Yes," Jenny nodded, smirking appreciatively at the fact that he caught himself with the reference to a hypothetical mother. "Some intel would not go amiss. I'll... try to be brief. But it's complicated." She draped her blue-green coat over the back of a chair and leaned against a table, arms over her tummy, standard at-rest posture for her. "I'm... similar to The Doctor. I seem to have most of his abilities and a wild, instinctive, hit-or-miss ability to use them, especially since my first regeneration. But I wasn't born naturally of his species and none of us are quite sure how exactly like him I really am. I was-- progenated off of him, it's sort of like cloning-- in the middle of a war zone on a distant planet in the year 6012. Part of that progenation process was to fill my mind with the kind of training and indoctrination that would make me a perfect soldier in our war against The Hath." "But my Dad was rather fed up with wars. And he taught me a better way." "He thought I died, and we got separated. I went looking for him through time, riding a shuttlecraft back through Rifts and Time Eddies and wormholes until I got to the early 21st Century. Picked that cat up along the way-- he's a funny story in and of himself." "I managed to find my Dad almost by accident. We both got roped into a conflict that almost unwrote all of reality-- and I got killed. Again. And we were separated. Again. And now I'm looking for him. Again." "Except this time when I came back I think I got a little more of my Dad in the bargain, a little cooler a little cleverer, and this time-- this time I have Magenta. So I'll find Dad again. It's only a matter of time." "But until then, I try to do what he would do. Fight the good fight, the only way I know how. And it looks like that includes fighting magical monsters, not just alien ones." "That's why I'm here, Mr. Singer." "It's my Family Business too."

He tipped the cup back in one knock and placed it gently on the desk. "Yep, that was pretty much as weird as I'd expected." He waved at the chair. "Sit down, yer makin' me edgy. Well, edgier." He arranged the research he was doing into a coherent pile and sat back in his chair. "I don't do a whole lot of field work anymore. I'm gettin' older and I'm sorta the only one who keeps track of the lore." He indicated the overflowing bookshelves and bookfurniture. "The hunters on the road who run into somethin' they don't recognize, or don't know how to get rid of, they call me. I reckon I'm the Spooky Shit Database." Bobby sighed and poured himself another shot, still debating whether to empty the bottle and send this girl packing or not. "I get that you've seen battle. I even get that you've fought some of the evil bastards we deal with. I understand the whole Family Business thing, lord knows. Half the hunters who do this have that particular baggage attached. What I want you to understand is that if I do take you on as an...apprentice, I guess you'd call it, there'd be more book learnin' to start with than actual monster killin'." Taking a sip of his drink he eyed her for microreactions. "If yer not stayin', if yer gonna run off in that pink box of yours more than you're here, there's not much point in this exercise either. You were gone a bit longer than the 5 minutes I didn't see you, which means whatever I teach you is gonna be gone just through diminished retention and intermediate distraction." He chuckled. "Yeah, I'm self taught, but I know the big words." "Here's what it boils down to. If I agree to this, I am accepting responsibility for your ass, no matter how much you tell me I'm not, so don't even start. Just cause you can't physically die don't mean there ain't a thousand other ways you can get damaged, possibly permanently, and if I start trainin' you then you run off and get pureed by a Hellhound, that's on me." He downed the rest of his drink. "That's it. That's the speech. If we can come to an accord, fine. But then I get the scoop on what the hell is goin on with that cat."

That was... quite a speech. Her microreactions had been-- perhaps infuriatingly steady, though there had been a furrowing of brow near-infinitesimal when he had mentioned book learning. She sat for a moment, in the chair he'd indicated, and dwelt in the moment. Weighed and measured. Considered all the angles. And when she spoke, she spoke from the heart, and her eyes didn't flicker upward at such an angle as suggested deceit or prevarication. "Your autodidacticism is impressive," Jenny replied, after a period of silence, see, I can do big words too. "I concede that I don't have a lot... of experience... with actual book learning. With protracted study. It's been programming and muscle memory and fieldwork all the way. So this will be an... adjustment. But it's an adjustment I'm willing to make, if you're willing to put up with the fact that it is an adjustment. An operation is useless without good intel-- even more so, an operative." "Mr. Singer, I have a brain like a sponge and I have near-eidetic physical memory. Whatever skills I learn, I retain. But I can promise you-- when I'm here, I'm here. I only went away for-- an unexpected interval-- because parking my machine isn't an exact science. (At least not for me.) But now my boots are on this ground and unless I'm called away suddenly by unexpected cosmic events-- it's been known to happen --I expect to carry out my tour with you without going AWOL or MIA or getting KIA... or worse." "A superior officer is always responsible for those under his command, whether he likes it or not, whether they like it or not. But I, in turn, will fulfill my responsibility to you. I'm reporting for duty. And that means something. I won't derelict that duty. I won't disgrace your leadership or your teachings." "An accord?" She glanced at Captain Jack, who didn't say anything, but he did that slow-blink thing cats do when they trust you. Jenny nodded to him gratefully, then looked back to Bobby. "That's affirm, if you'll have me." "But. Two things." "One:" she grinned softly, wrly. "She's Magenta. Not pink. She's very particular about that. It's her name and it's her color." "Two: Captain Jack is a really long story. And you might need a bigger glass."

"Alrighty then." Bobby reached behind him and pulled out a smallish, oldish tome; his most reliable book of exorcism incantations. He handed it across the desk to Jenny. "You take a look at that. Tell me what language it's in and based on the contents what you think its purpose is. If you need that box to help you translate, you'd either better start learning earth languages, or make sure it's with you every single time you go anywhere." He smirked and refilled his cup. "I recommend option one."

Jenny warily took the book from him-- but she pointedly didn't glance at the cover immediately. "Well. She is with me every time I go anywhere. She's how I go everywhere." "But I do see your point. Forewarned is forearmed, as they say." She stared to nowhere for a moment. And sort of-- conferred-- with that psychic presence always at the back of her mind. Well, sometimes at the front. And Magenta was... surprised by the question. She'd been programmed with just the scantest source-code for a Matrixian OS, and a lot of the things she did she sort of did just on... instinct. Jungian default settings, so to speak. So she really didn't know a lot of what... wasn't possible. So when Jenny asked if Magenta could temporarily disable the autotranslate function of the telepathic circuit formed by Jenny's ersatz "Time Lady" brain and Magenta's learning psychic interface-- Magenta had no idea. But she didn't see why not. All of this communicated in a couple of heartsbeats with just-- the vaguest impressions. Like holding a conversation with just your eyebrows. But then Jenny felt a certain neuropsychic sensation-- that was, itself, completely untranslatable if you didn't already know what it felt like --just sort of fade away. And then she nodded. "Okay, I'll give it a go." She glanced down at the book, and frowned. "...actually. I think I do know this one. Sort of." Jenny opened the book and began to page through it. "Okay, definitely only sort of. My programming includes the entire military history of humankind, including the martial philosophies of Ancient Romans, and this is... Latin? It doesn't read like military rhetoric, though. For one thing, Cicero was funnier. There's a lot of names and epithets I don't recognize." Her eyes narrowed to laser thin lines as she concentrated. "It's for... removing something. Uninstalling? ...something?"

Bobby nodded and put down his glass. "I'll have to take your word on Cicero's wit, but yeah, that's Latin. The fact that they didn't put anything in your programmin' about any of the 13 crusades leads me to suggest you get your money back on that Roman History section. "Those other words are religious in nature. I don't know how things work out there in the rest of the universe but down here on good ol terra firma, there's gods, demons, angels, demigods, all that bullshit. And there's different pantheons that follow different rules and different hierarchies. What you got there is the Roman Catholic Church's Greatest Hits for exorcisin a demon from a human host. Takin the black smoke out and sendin it back where it came from." He leaned back in his chair and rested his elbows on the arms. "You've got a good basic understandin of readin a second language and takin cues from context. That's important. It's a skill I'd like you to keep workin on a little while every day, without the box." He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "Right now, I sure as hell ain't gonna turn down something that can read Aramaic, and I'm hungry." He grabbed his research pile, stood up and walked toward the kitchen. "So you and the box can take up this translation I've been workin on all mornin, and I'll make lunch." He plopped the pile on the kitchen table. "You got a food preference? I don't serve safety pin soufflé or anythin weird like that."

"27 Crusades," Jenny corrected automatically, and then paused. "Oh, right. 21st Century. No, right, just 13 at this point. Well, most of the historical files embedded in my head were translated into 61st Century English, not a lot of the original Latin text was preserved. Just... bits and pieces. Cicero. A bit of Marcus Aurelius. That bit about coming, seeing, and conquering, that's in there a lot." "Suffice it to say that the better part of my real-world religious education is Anglican in nature. Not much call for Latin in the 51st Century Anglican Marines. And so far-- most of? --the deities and celestials I've encountered were just aliens posing as gods, or misinterpreted as gods, sufficiently advanced biology is indistinguishable from godhood. But I suppose all myths have an element of truth. Some more than others, it would seem." Her eyes widened and glittered almost animalistically as she processed what he was saying about the black smoke. These creatures were mental in nature! Psychospiritual, neuropsychic, of course their Achilles heel was conceptual in nature, spoken aloud instead of fired as a projectile! This book was an arsenal! "You're an arms dealer," she murmured, not realizing the lyrics she was paraphrasing. "Filling us with weapons in the form of words." "Yes," she nodded, as Bobby described his intentions as regards her lesson plan. "That sounds like a good way to arm myself." She smirked at the idea of fair exchanged he suggested, and gently mentally asked Magenta to re-furnish the translation protocols. Magenta only hesitated a little while she scrambled to figure out how, bless her, and Jenny felt that untranslatable sensation reinitialize in her limbic system. "Aramaic back online. And food sounds lovely, thank you." "Safety... pin... no, I'm afraid I'm not familiar with that recipe." "I've... I've developed sort of an affection for late 1950s diner food. D'you have anything like that? Chili?"

Bobby only understood about every third word she said, but he got the gist. "All I know for sure is that all the critters of a deific persuasion here are indigenous. And all the things that you need to kill, maim, or trap 'em are also indigenous. Either incantations, spells, weapons, they'll all be found on Planet Earth." Hearing her request, he went to the fridge to see what he had in stock. "You're in luck. I ate my way through childhood on late 1950s diner food and I do indeed have the makins for chili." He started pulling things from shelves and putting pots and pans on the stove. "With beans or without?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Fascinating." Jenny frowned. She didn't have nearly the experience or the education necessary to conceptualize this. But there were beginnings. Beginnings of learning and moving beyond just the soldiery indoctrination embedded in her brains and her genes. "The whole of The Universe to choose from, and all these... 'gods' emerge here? Their whole food chain evolves... here? No wonder aliens are always trying to invade this planet, no wonder my Dad can't stay away for more than a little while. It's like some sort of... spiritual junction-point for the whole of Reality..." She trailed off, lost in thought, trying to wrap her head around the theory... but a moment later, she realized he'd asked her something. "Oh! Um. Beans, please. And five alarms minimum. I'm fairly red-blooded." She paused. "Well, a tinge of orange." "It's a good color," Captain Jack approved, curled up in a ball and mostly asleep on Bobby's wheelchair.

Opening the cupboard and taking out the Scotch Bonnets he looked at her and mumbled, "On your head be it.". Bobby started frying, chopping, boiling, and reducing while glancing at the table to see if his 'student' was making any progress on the text. He had two fellas tryin not to get killed by a particularly nasty Tunannu living in the Clark Fork River. "You and the box getting anywhere with that text?" Then he remembered the cat, for some reason and asked if that critter needed feedin too.

Jenny had never gotten to fight a lupine-wavelength haemovariform with her dad. (Family business, indeed.) So she had never gotten to see him pore over tomes and find the weakness of a monster hidden between the lines of ancient poetry or prose. The greatest weapons in the world were books, he'd be the first to say-- and without even realizing it, Jenny was just now realizing how true that was. She squinted down at the page, mouthing words to herself. She turned one page forward and back and forward again, trying to get the flow of the text, and then nodding to herself. It took her a moment or two before she realized Bobby had asked her anything, so intent was she on her search. Though of course Jack had sat up instantly at the mention of critter-feedin' time. "Oh, um-- what?" she glanced up and blinked. "Ah-- tuna? He's not supposed to have too much of it, but once in a while as a treat is fine, if you've got it. Or any of that tinned chicken. Just put a plate down, he'll go mad for it." Captain Jack didn't need the plate to be down for him to go a bit mad, he bounded down from the wheelchair and padded as close as he dared to Robert Singer's clompy booted feet, and the glass-pack that was his purr rumbled like he was carrying the storm in his wake. His eyes were wide and his tail expressive and he kept saying "Food please? Food? Please?" instinctively excitedly even though he knew for whatever reason Bobby couldn't hear him. Speaking a little louder over the cat's perseverations, Jenny continued: "As for your-- ah-- Tunannu--" she paused to reflect wryly on the false-cognate similarities between Tunannu and Tuna "--it seems here like it's related to The Leviathan, and can take many forms, whale, fire-breathing sea serpent, hydra... crocodile... not much is said about how to kill it, something about Ba'al killing them, or-- Ba'al's sister binding them-- in one version, God Himself shatters the heads of the beast. In another, he slaughters Leviathan to feed the faithful in Heaven." She hesitated and she frowned. "Oh, hang on a tick. It's afraid of a... parasite? A 'kilbit' worm? Gets in the gills? ...Does that help? I don't know if you can find that at the local bait shop."

Bobby looked down at the ginger furball, who appeared as if called, purring and emanating Did Someone Say Food? vibes. Feeling a bit silly he indicated the stove. "Delicate cookin goin on here, cat. Gimme ten minutes and I'll see what kinda white meat I have on hand." Rolling his eyes he added "Please." He figured he should get his head examined for talking to a damn cat, but it just seemed the thing to do. As he was combining things to put on the simmer, he heard about the worm. "Ok, Antediluvian fauna." He tapped the wooden spoon on the pot handle rhythmically. "Back in the living room, over in the wall shelves in the corner there are some scrolls. Should be on the third shelf down." Then he turned to the cabinet looking for tuna.

"Ten whole minutes?" Jack squeaked disappointedly. "But I could be starved by then! Utter cactus!" Jenny rolled her eyes, and muttered. "Drama queen. I haven't seen a Captain this hysterical since we ended up on that starship that was a mock-up of The HMS Pinafore and were beset by robots that thought they were The Pirates of Penzance. Besides, ten's a good number. Ten's my favorite." "Yeah, yeah," Jack grumped, wandering back away from Bobby again so the busy kitchen boss wouldn't clomp a boot down on his tail as previously discussed. "Living room, wall shelves, corner, third shelf down," Jenny nodded at Bobby's instruction, and whisked off to investigate, the orange cat trotting on after her, gazing up at her like she was the sun and he was Copernicus. "Now, when you say 'antediluvian,'" Jenny called out loudly as she examined the scrolls on the shelf to find the ones he meant, "do you mean strictly in a metaphorical sense? Because while my files are strictly military based, I happen to know that there was never any literal Flood--" She stopped talking. She had opened one of the scrolls and was staring at it bewilderedly. Then she returned to the kitchen, gazing bewilderedly from the scroll to Bobby and back again as she walked, Jack wandering in a lazy zig-zag ahead of her like he'd gotten into some rum as an apertif for the impending victuals. "...I don't understand. I know for a fact that the fossil and the geological record give an accurate representation of historical progression, but according to this... according to this there was a Biblical Deluge, and before it, Enoch, and Nod, and Eden... how can... how can this be possible? Two histories simultaneously true and completely contradictory, parallel lines nested into each other like a double helix? This is... this is making my head hurt."

Holding the can of Chicken of the Sea and now digging through a drawer for a can opener, he listened to her walking back into the kitchen and probably got one out of five words this time. Improvement. "I think that intel you got grafted on your gray matter was shoddy at best, young'un. Cause as long as I've been alive on this earth the fossil record has shown evidence of the Flood. Not sayin it was Biblical in nature cause all the religions that I know of have a myth related to it, but it definitely happened." He found the can opener, scooped the tuna on a ceramic dish and put it down outside his cooking area. Then he got a bowl and put some water in it and decided that was about as hospitable as he was going to be to a cat. "Alright, cat. Come and get it." He walked over and examined the scroll over her shoulder. Yep. Biblical flood. He pulled his wallet out and got Kimber Mac's cell number out. "Here's my contact on all things alien, and timey. And really good Scotch. Give her a call if you want to discuss the whole layered thing. That shit doesn't even stick in my brain long enough to make it hurt. Or ask your box. I gather they understand that nonsense better than any of us."

Jenny frowned. "How perplexing. I'll need to talk to Magenta about this. She has a better multidimensional perspective than I do. But no, the creation myth where I came from was a little... different. Had more of a feminine touch, for one thing. But more focus on the mission at hand." Of course then Jack basically galloped over to the bowls that Bobby put down, skidding to a stop on the floor and diving his orange face deep into the bowl of the tuna. Immediately he started rumble-purring as he chewed, creating a fantastic combination of noises-- rumblechewing-- --all the while crowing telepathically about it. "Strewth, I haven't had proper albacore in aaaaaaages, this is brilliant--" Jenny squinted down at the scroll as she spread it out over the table. "Don't talk with your mouth full, it's rude." Captain Jack chuckled and kept making a sound as close to the onomatopoeia OMNOMNOM as humanly imaginable. Jenny glanced up from the scroll and took the number Bobby offered her. And she blinked. "Wait. I know this one? I met her! We fought The Knell together! Oh, I loved her hair!"

"Never met her in person. Seems nice enough though." He sat down while the chili simmered and tapped the tabletop. "Ok. The chili's gotta simmer an hour. That's plenty of time to consult with your box. Now, you can tell me what the story is with that cat."

"She's a peach," Jenny informed him in no uncertain tones. Not to mention-- maybe she could get in contact with my dad? All this fruitless searching... She snapped back out of her reverie when she realized he'd asked her that question again, and it still wasn't any easier an answer than the last time he'd asked. "That's a funny story." "I actually picked up Jack when I was stranded on a spaceship fighting xenomorphs in 2179, as cliche as that sounds." "And you know? He's never actually given me a straight answer as to where he comes from. He thinks it's hilarious to give a different answer every time someone asks him for a backstory, like it adds to his 'feline mystique.'" "In one story, he's descended from an orange cat that got ionically manipulated by an empathic Isolus, that it left a permanent impact on his genetic structure and future descendants had a latent gene involving teleportation and psychic communication, which Jack manifested as a kitten." "In another story, he's descended from a Cheetah World kitling who crossbred with a local feline while hunting for prey on Earth." "In yet another story, he's the immortal spirit of a small town in Lowell County, Kansas." "He once tried to tell me he was a Whifferdill who copied a psychokinetic alien cat too closely and got stuck. Or that he was a ship's cat for a certain Pirate of The Caribbean that got lost in The Bermuda Triangle. Or that he's from a planet with superheroes and he just happens to have a metagene. Or that he was the result of genetic experimentation gone wrong by The Bureau Tygon in the latter half of The 24th Century." Jack scoffed. "Not gone wrong, it went perfectly, it just had unexpected results. They were trying to make some wishing thing, but I think I came out much nicer." Jenny rolled her eyes, and kept going. "He could also have been the Earth's memory of Tasmanian Tigers once they'd gone extinct, living on in the Aboriginal Dreamtime, but he managed to escape to the material world by taking the form of an extant species." "Doesn't have to be Earth's Tasmania," Jack pointed out. "Lots of planets have a Tasmania." Ignoring him, Jenny continued: "But my favorite is this, because it seems to be the one he mentions the least often and I think that's likely to make it the truest: he's the son of a rogue Time Agent with one of The Catkind from New Earth shortly after The Year 5 Billion. How he got from The Year 5 Billion to The 22nd Century, I don't know, but still-- I think he's named after his dad, not after that Caribbean Pirate as he claims." Jack got a bit grumpier at that one, his tail rattlesnaking, and he sullenly began lapping up the water in the bowl next to the tuna. "They named the monkey Jack. Why not me too?"

"So, boiled down, that's an alien cat that can appear and disappear, and can talk with it's brain." Bobby sat there a minute, then got up to stir the chili. That kind of made sense of the weird feelings he got around the cat sometimes, like it was person-ish. Well, more person-ish than most cats thought they were. "I reckon the reason I can't hear him is one of the amulets or charms I carry around. I tend to be paranoid about things that ain't me getting inside my body." He looked down at the cat taking a drink and looking slightly moody. "Alright, Jack. I apologize if I've been rude. You're a guest in my house. If there's anything you need, just tell Miss Jenny and she can tell me. That work for everyone involved?"

"Well, he might not be alien," Jenny clarified. "Unless he is." Not really much of a clarification, but that was Captain Jack for you. "That makes sense," she then nodded. "I've encountered amulets that enable latent telepathy in humans. Makes sense there would be artifacts that instill the opposite effect. Psychospiritual firewall. Smart precaution. Where can I get one?" Jack paused in his drinking, and glanced up at Bobby. He squinched his golden eyes at the man, and his tail curled and unfurled and swayed back and forth behind him. "Cheers, mate. No worries, she'll be apples." And then he started cleaning himself again, happily full-bellied.

"I'm gonna take that as a yes since your not currently tryin' to shred me or my belongins." He went back to the table and sat. "I can probably dig somethin up for you, but for one thing, you couldn't talk to your pal there, and for another I seem to remember your clan can do your own internal warding. "Now. What does that say about aquatic parasites?"

"Don't count your chickens, mate," Jack chuckled, gleefully enjoying being able to prattle on incognito. "I show affection by sharpenin' me claws on your best leather furniture." "Rethink it," Jenny chided. Captain Jack scoffed. "My 'clan' usually has some pretty substantial training, or so I'm told," Jenny admitted, "and I'm at best a self-taught amateur. It would be great to have a back-up option in case of mental incursion." She paused. "And a little peace and quiet during my sleep cycles wouldn't hurt." Jack snorted. "If you just made my food dish bigger on the inside, I wouldn't have to come wake you up when you lie there for hours and let me starve." Jenny rolled her eyes, and then refocused on the matter at hand. "Right. Well. So we've got the cranial breach option-- the shattering of heads-- but since it's God described as doing it in the, ah, 'lore,' you'll probably need something with some serious kick. Man-portable, your options would probably be a Carl Gustaf 84-milimeter recoilless rifle, or a Kinetic Energy Penetrator if you know someone with access to that level of ordnance. My old sonic shotgun might have done it on full blast but somebody planted bananas where they used to sell fresh batteries." "As for the bioweapon option," she gestured to the scroll, frowning, "I mean, from the sound of things they've been extinct for--" She trailed off, stared to nowhere for a second. "I could get some. I could go back and get some."

Watching the girl talk to the cat and knowing it was talking back was a little unnerving, he had to admit. She had a point about the ordinance. It was very rare that they'd had to physically blow some shit up, so he back burnered that one for a while. He knew where he could get some military grade stuff, but getting it to those boys out there could take time and still might not work. He pondered what she'd said about going back and getting some. Not completely dismissing the idea. "Can you steer that thing to exactly where and when those things lived? Does that thing have a close enough illustration of what they looked like, so you'd know one when you saw it? Hell, can you even swim?"

"I beg your pardon!" Jenny arched both eyebrows. "I can swim like a seal! Well, a Navy SEAL, maybe not a seal seal." "Not to mention, the first Time Lady ability that I managed to teach myself-- completely by accident --is a thing called the respiratory bypass system that lets me hold my breath for ages. Came in handy when I was blowing a Queen Alien out through an airlock..." "Cheers for that, by the way," Jack piped up. "As for finding them..." Jenny shook her head. "Maybe I can convince Magenta to tune into their position-- to home in on them? Like what we were talking about earlier, asking her to figure out the timelines..." "It's more negotiating than steering at the best of times. I'll just have to negotiate... harder?"

Bobby chuckled. "Alright, you won't drown. But my more important point is, these are millennia old illustrations of critters that have never actually been sampled for DNA cause they're extinct. How're you gonna know if you found one when we can't even be a hundred percent sure this is what they actually look like?!"

"Yes," Jenny grimaced. "I suppose there is sort of an element of Here There Be Monsters mapmaking about this. Not exactly a 68T manual." She tilted her head and squinted at him. "Guess I'll have to bring a trained, experienced monster hunter with me. I mean, you use this lore all the time to figure out how to catch things with undocumented or poorly documented appearances, right? I mean-- you've fought invisible things!"

TBC