#nah don’t call the police I’ve got a warrant-

[clickerflight]

Muir: Part 1 - Warehouse

A bit of a treat for ya here! A two parter about how Muir became a vampire. The second one will be up as soon as I have it edited. Enjoy!

Master list

Part 2

Content: human police whumpee, gun violence, mentions of cults and what happened to Joseph, hidden injury vibes

........................................

Muir spun his chair back and forth impatiently, watching Granger work her way through her paperwork for the week. She kept eyeing him, annoyed. 

“Isn’t there something you should be doing?” she asked, typing away at her keyboard. 

Muir clicked his tongue. “No.”

“Paperwork?”

“You know how I am about paperwork,” he replied. “It’s all done.”

“How do you even manage that? I know how many cases you take at a time, on top of your bondmate.”

Muir gave her a side eyed look when she said bondmate. She always said it with disappointment, like he’d made a bad decision in bonding with Joseph as a human. He personally was fine with it. He was pretty sure that it gave him some sort of extra energy somehow, and it was comforting knowing someone would always know where he was. “Maybe I sold my soul for paperwork powers.”

She didn’t even roll her eyes at his terrible joke and just gave a long, long sigh. 

“I don’t know, Granger. I just work on it when I have a spare minute here and there,” he said with a shrug. 

“Isn’t there research you can do?” 

“I’m out of leads till my warrant goes through.”

“You could help someone else get their work done. I wouldn’t mind help with my paperwork.”

“Nah,” Muir said, going back to spinning. “I’m enjoying watching you do it.”

Granger flashed her fangs at him, but there was no real fire behind it. “Okay, whatever. But if the chief sees you sitting on your hands she’ll find something for you to do.”

“Oh, I know,” Muir replied. “But she’s in a meeting with the Fire Inspector right now.”

Granger groaned at Muir’s grin. “Yeah, and he comes in and wastes her time. What could he possibly need to talk to her about that oft-” She spotted the look on Muir’s face and her eyebrows shot up in a rare show of surprise. “No. No!”

“Yes,” Muir said, deeply amused. “They’re being responsible and making sure they have their work done just so they have time for little meetings.”

Granger put her face in her hands with a groan. “That is so wrong.”

“I think it’s cute,” Muir said, spinning a full circle before he pulled up a screen on his computer and started typing so smoothly that Granger almost didn’t notice as the chief’s door opened and the Fire Inspector backed out, holding up a hand in goodbye. 

Muir waited till the man had left and the door to the chief’s office was fully closed before he went back to spinning his chair back and forth, practically taunting Granger. 

She sighed, shaking her head and going back to her paperwork. 

Muir scrolled through his computer, occasionally refreshing his emails and chatting with a couple of friends. 

Then, he refreshed his email again and he rushed to click on the link and print out the warrant. “I’ve got it. I’ll call the guys together. Be at the cars in 10 minutes, Granger.”

With that, Muir was off with his fresh warrant to let the chief know where he was going and how many officers he needed to take with him. 

Granger sighed one more time as she worked to finish what she was working on. This should at least be fun. Until it gave her more paperwork afterwards. 

……………………………..

The warehouse the warrant was for was attached to the new cult formed out of the ashes of the previous one that have been involved in killing David and causing harm to Joseph. Muir had been investigating it, reopening the case. He had quickly discovered that the previous case had actually been connected to a lot of missing person’s reports. It seemed that on the same night of the ritual,every single cult member had completely vanished, and the only living witness to the incident was buried in a box in the ground and unable to know what happened. 

Muir had been worried that would be the end of it, chasing dead end after dead end, looking for unclaimed bodies to see if they had performed a mass suicide somewhere else, but he had found nothing. 

Nothing except for a record of a new cult starting soon after, using the same name and locations with different people involved, though some of them were friends and family of the missing cult members. 

This warehouse would hold even more information. Muir had worked his tail off to get enough evidence that something shady was going on here to get himself a warrant. If they could just get inside, they might actually find out what has been going on here. Even if he couldn’t put the original group in jail for what they did, he could keep this group from doing any more harm.

And they had already done plenty of harm. There had been some vampire disappearances in the area since they had established themselves again. Muir had got the warrant based on some illicit potion deliveries he managed to confirm at this address, though he was fairly certain they would be finding some vampire ash inside, if not the whole cult all high on it. 

Muir got his gun ready, flashlight in the other hand as he and the group of officers approached the door, Granger at his shoulder ready to intercept any attack thrown his way. He had to admit he envied her abilities as a vampire. He would love to intercept attacks for the others without too much concern for his own life. 

He looked around and nodded at Officer Blaire. He had the loudest voice and was the best at kicking down doors. His eyes lit up at the chance as he made his way to the front of the group. He banged on the door and shouted, “Police! Open up!”

There was a long long moment of silence, counting out the seconds legally required before continuing, before Officer Blaire smiled like a kid on Christmas as he stepped back and slammed the door in. 

It opened easily enough and officers moved in quickly, flashlight beams swinging around in the darkness beyond. 

The place was fairly dusty, and smelled of drugs and potions. 

Muir carefully made his way forward, clearing spaces and calling out to the others, listening to the others shout out ‘Clear!’ to make sure no one went down without his noticing. 

There didn’t seem to be anyone here. There were old style coffins lined along the walls, some of them nailed shut, others with free swinging lids. The old warehouse was filled to the brim with crates and boxes and a quick peek in a couple of them assured Muir that his warrant had certainly paid off. 

“We’ve got Vampire Ash here!” 

Muir made his way through the crates over to a set of long tables where there were boxes of vampire ash along with the equipment to make it into a potent drug. The process had been discovered fairly recently and the drug was beginning to spread like wildfire through the streets of most major cities because of its addictive and healing effects while the authorities tried to figure out where all the vampires were that were being mutilated, mistreated, and killed to make the stuff. 

“Alright, the Icky guys should be here soon to deal with this,” he said, referring to the Illicit Substance division that would come through to help them clear the place out safely. “Let’s just make sure this place is empty.”

“Yes sir.”

Muir continued on into the dark, searching for more leads. He had to have another lead. This was a lot, but he wanted to find where the cult kept some of their files, maybe even see where they got the vampire ash from and bust a few drug rings.

He found an office space towards the back of the warehouse and whistled sharply to let Granger know where he was. He found the door to be unlocked and quickly swung his flashlight around the office. It was empty besides a couple of computers and some files piled haphazardly around the room. 

Delighted by this, he stepped into the room, looking around at the files and picking one up to see what was on it. 

Before he could really see what it was, he heard movement behind him, though he wasn’t that concerned. That would be Granger catching up to him and keeping an eye out while he poked through all of these papers and computers and happily picked out lead after lead like he was foraging cheerfully through a forest for mushrooms like he did with his dad when he was younger. 

He was abruptly jolted from his satisfaction as a terrifyingly loud sound lit through the room and he felt something impact his body. 

He managed to keep from falling forward into the papers and turned to find a pale, wide-eyed human staring at him, a gun in their hand and long greasy hair in their eyes. 

Muir jumped forward, his blood rushing in his ears as he pushed the gun to the side and shouted as he fought with the person. The attacker scratched at him and screeched like a wild thing, struggling to get away no matter the damage to their person. 

Grager shot out of the darkness, grabbing the human and forcing them to the ground on their stomach and cuffed their hands behind their back, kicking the gun away. 

“Are you alright? I heard two shots. Were they yours?”

“Two?” he asked, still jittery from the surprise. He must not have processed the other one in his shock. “Yeah, no, I’m fine. My armor caught it, I think.”

“You’re sure.”

“Yeah. I’m alright. 

More agents and officers hurried over to see what had happened and Muir was quick to explain the situation. Afterwards, he said, “Officer Blair, if you could get the suspect out to the…. To the car that would be… be… ummm.”

Muir started to sway, the blood draining from his face. What was going on? He should probably sit down. He slowly took a step back towards a crate, leaning against it as Officer Blair stepped forward. “Sir? Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” he said weakly. “I’ll be alright. Just the shock of being shot at, I think. Here, Granger, you take over. I’m going to get some air and water really quick.”

Granger nodded, giving a bit of a side look as he made his way out of the warehouse. The pain where he’d been shot started to register and he groaned. The armor kept you alive but it still hurt like nothing else. He’d have a bruise for a week. He felt something wet drip down his arm and realized the suspect had scratched him with their long jagged nails where they’d untucked his sleeve from his glove. He’d have to remember to get it cleaned. He hoped it didn’t get infected. He wondered how long that person had been here. Long enough to go pale and hollow and…. And…..

Muir stumbled, and then he fell, pain blazing out through his stomach and back. He tried to take a breath to shout for help, but all he could do was lay there in the dust as it gradually dawned on him that something was very, very wrong. 

Part 2

From Dust to Ashes: @honeycollectswhump @writereleaserepeat @tragedyinblue @hyrules-sleepiest-knight @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question @thecyrulik @gt-daboss @currentlyinthesprial @pigeonwhumps @not-a-space-alien

[kimburgess-ruzek]

You Have No Idea.

chapter one.

summary: Something Kim does changes her future in Intelligence forever. In ways no one can imagine. But when she is caught on the wrong side of crime, will her previous reputation and relationship with the police help her? Or are her actions so damaging that nothing or no one can save her?

t/w: mentions of sexual assault

read on ao3.

one.

*months before the prologue.*

“What do we got?”

Adam lifted the yellow tape to allow Voight to the scene. It was super early. 5:29 am. And the constant flashing lights and sirens made Adam too tired to joke around. He had to get up early to meet Rojas on the scene and take statements. He was wearing sunglasses and his hair wasn’t even done.

“Group of witnesses claim to have seen a woman kidnapped. They were outside of the bar and saw the woman and a man arguing in the alley, they thought it was nothing since it just verbal. Then a van drives by and the man pulls the girl inside and they take off.” Adam caught Voight up while they walked to where the rest of the team was.

“Did they catch a look at the plate?” Voight asked.

“No. The car was unmarked.” Kevin answered.

“The group wasn’t able to identify much of either the woman or the man. It was too dark. But they did say they were dressed for the club. The woman had on a dress. So my guess is camera footage of the club might have their faces. Jay is securing security footage from both inside and outside.” Rojas explained.

“Okay. Get back to the district and watch every second of the footage. I want to see if they were inside that club and if we can get facial rec.”

“We’re taking this Sarge? The witnesses were drunk themselves. They might not be credible. How do you know we’re just wasting time?” Hailey asked. There didn’t seem to be anything worth dragging Intelligence into. They probably could’ve handed this off to some other unit.

“We’re taking this case because I said so. This club has been on the radar for PD a while now. So go watch that footage. While you’re at it, grab the manager. Maybe he has some talking to do.”

“Copy, Sarge.” Adam walked back to his truck and sat inside there, trying to keep his eyes open. They had nonstop cases, and he hadn’t gotten much sleep in the last few weeks. The whole team hasn’t. With one member down, they had to do overtime most nights in order to be one step ahead of the bad guys.

Before he could drive off the scene, his passenger side door opened and Kevin sat down and buckled himself in without permission.

“Hey man, mind giving me a ride to the office? I rode with Jay and he’s still getting footage.”

“Nah, you got it.” Adam took off, heading back to the district. He didn’t talk much on the ride there. He just focused on not letting his eyelids close.

Kevin tried to ease the silence, “So, have you heard from her?”

Adam sighed and rubbed his forehead. “No, I haven’t. I’ve called her everyday. I’ve even dropped by her place a couple of times. She doesn’t want to be heard. Or seen.”

Kevin looked at Adam with sympathy. “Give it time. She took it hard.”

Adam answered as they pulled up to the parking lot.

“Yeah, I just don’t feel okay with it. Something doesn’t seem right.”

...

buzz, buzz. buzz, buzz.

It took everything in Kim to open her eyes. She rarely gets any sleep anymore; she is either pulling all-nighters or she is waking up sporadically at odd hours of the night. Her new lifestyle, as she would call it, isn’t the most healthy. She doesn’t have a sleep schedule, doesn’t have anything but beer in her fridge, and always wakes up hungover. But she doesn’t really care. She’ll do anything to keep going through life at this point. She takes every opportunity to rest her eyes, and she waits until the last seconds to rise out of her slumber. The light was already shining through her half closed curtains, and it took a few seconds for eyes to adjust. She yawned and stretched her arms before reaching for phone, reading the new message that she just got. However, before she could read it, she had a missed call notification. Kim sighed, she could probably guess who it was from. Nevertheless, she opened her phone and played the missed message.

*one voicemail from Adam Ruzek*

“Hey Kim. Just checking up on you. I haven’t heard from you in a while and I know you’re probably upset over everything that happened. I know I am. I miss being able to see my friend everyday at the office. Um, anyways, I just want to make sure you’re doing well. The whole team wants to make sure. Kevin won’t stop bothering me about making sure you’re doing good. I’ve tried visiting, but you must not have been home. Maybe we can meet for coffee or something. I have to go, but please. Just call me. Reach out. And know that I’m already here for you.”

Adam has called Kim everyday for two months now, ever since Kim left intelligence. And everyday, Kim would either sleep through it or she would ignore it. And everyday, Adam would leave a voicemail. Sometimes short, sometimes long. Always asking if she is okay and if she can call him back. Kim couldn’t help but laugh at how persistent Adam is. He will probably never stop calling he’s so stubborn. He’s probably just doing it out of spite now. Part of Kim wanted to pick up the phone one day and tell him to leave her alone and stop calling. To forget about her because she is not coming back. Part of her wanted to answer the call and just tell him the truth. But she knew that she couldn’t do either, because it would distract her from her new life.

...

Kim remembered the day like it was yesterday. The day that changed her life forever.

Two months ago.

The bastards that raped her sister, Nicole, were fully released. Kim dreaded that day, because she knew that she had to inform Nicole of the news. Nicole was healing to the best of her abilities. She felt okay living on her own, but every once in a while she would call Kim, scared and crying. When she heard of the news, Nicole was shocked and felt uneasy. She said that she felt unsafe and asked if Kim could stay the night with her. Kim obviously said yes, but she feared that Nicole would start to retreat to her previous ways.

Within a week of the release of the two men, two women were found in the basement of the train station with obvious signs of rape and signs of drugs in their system similar to what Nicole experienced. After hearing the news of the two women, Kim’s fear turned out to be a reality. Nicole would not leave her house, and she begged Kim to stay at her apartment during the night. Kim often times had to stay late to work on the case, so she would leave Nicole on speaker phone, being there for support and calming her down when her anxiety picked up.

A week later, two more women were found in the train station. It was enough for Intelligence to be looped in. All of the women were drugged with ketamine and raped. They couldn’t remember anything, other than they were invited to an after party after being out at bars.

Kim immediately saw similarities in this case with Nicole’s. She wanted to go a storm the two men’s apartment, but the team shot her down.

“We have no other leads,” Jay tried to reason. “There’s no evidence that it’s the two men, and there’s not enough probably cause for a warrant.”

“Are you kidding me? Of course there’s enough evidence. This is the same exact scenario we saw four years ago. The exact same. You can’t tell me this isn’t enough probably cause.” Kim replied.

“Kim, I get it, okay. I do. But we have no dna evidence, nothing useful from the women. A judge won’t sign off on a warrant. And who’s to say these aren’t just other men?” Hailey jumped in. Even though she wasn’t there when the first case went down, Hailey had heard about it when she arrived. She heard Kim’s concern about the release of the two men about a year ago. She felt for Kim, she really did; but she also understood Jay and knew it wouldn’t be enough for a warrant.

Kim let out a sigh, shaking her head. She was about to respond when Adam jumped in, trying to diffuse the situation.

“Let’s just try to find some evidence. Let’s pull pod footage and see who dropped off those two women.”

It was obvious Kim herself wasn’t handling the news well, either, and the team could tell. She couldn’t shake the feeling of Nicole missing. She couldn’t shake the image of Nicole helpless on a bench at the station. So helpless, no one even looking her way. And she can’t can’t shake the fact that Nicole was doing so good, actually taking a step forward before those two bastards were released. Now, all Kim could do was watch Nicole retreat to her previous ways. She tried being there for Nicole, but Nicole was shutting her out again.

If Kim couldn’t be there for Nicole physically, she was going to do everything in her power to make Nicole feel safe again. She was the first one at work and the last to leave. She just threw herself on the case, which meant getting little sleep or lunch breaks. Even without knowing for sure it was the same two men, Kim had a gut feeling that it was, and it made her sick to her stomach that they got off so easily. Kim asked to run point on the field, but because this case was so close to her, Voight said no without hesitation.

“Kim, I get it. You’re close to this. But I can’t have you going off the books like you did last time.”

“Sarge, please. I won’t. I—“ Kim tried but was shot down by Voight again, this time more assertive.

“No. I’ve made my decision. No further questions. Kim you will run the calls in the office and you are not to go on the field. Got it? Cause if not you can just go home.” Voight stared down Kim. He wanted to make a point to not only her but also the whole team that he is in charge.

The bullpen was silent, and there was so much tension in the room no one dared to even breathe. Kim could feel all eyes on her, waiting for her to make a move.

“Yes sir,” was all Kim could get out before clearing her throat and shifting her eyes to her desk, almost in embarrassment. Adam swallowed hard, he felt so bad for Kim.

“Good. So what do we got?” Voight slid his hands in his pockets and shrugged his shoulders, getting back to business.

“We tried searching for pod footage of the train station, but couldn’t find anyone dropping the women off. Instead, we pulled video footage from the club.” Rojas began typing in her computer while the other gathered around her. Kim still sat at her desk. She felt like she couldn’t move. She was still stunned at what Voight did. And right in front of everyone too. Adam went to see the footage but kept a close eye on Kim.

“Here, you see the two victims, getting into a car. But you only see a portion of the faces of the two men.” Kevin explained.

“So not enough for facial rec.” Jay stated.

“No, but if you pause the video right here.” Kevin stopped the clip and zoomed in on one of the men’s arm, “You can see a scar on the shoulder. I ran all credit card transactions and the same two men that got Kim’s sister were there that night.”

“How does the scar link the same two men to both crimes?” Hailey asked out loud.

“Kim stabbed one of the guys in the shoulder as self defense.” Adam answered quickly, being sure not to share too much information in case Kim was sensitive to it. Everyone looked to Kim, seeing if she had a reaction. She instead was still staring at her desk. Jay began to put the pieces together.

“Do you think that’s enough probable evidence?”

“It can be.” Voight answered, starting to walk away from the desk. “Hailey, Jay, get together a paper lineup. Go see if the women can point out the suspects. Good job Rojas and Atwater. Write up a warrant for the judge.”

“Thank you sir.”

“Got it.”

Everyone stirred to action. Hailey printed out a sheet of random men, with the two suspects on there to see if the women can identify them. Jay put on his jacket and they headed downstairs to the hospital. The sudden noise and movement stirred Kim from her thoughts. She quietly rose from her desk and went to the locker room to splash water in her face. To her dismay, Adam saw Kim her up and he followed her. He wanted to make sure she was okay.

“Hey, Kim. You doing alright? Voight went down on you pretty hard.” Adam followed her into the locker room and closed the door, for privacy. She was drying off her face with a towel, and she turned to walk back out, not meeting his gaze.

“I’m good, Adam. I just want to catch these bastards.” Kim tried to move past him but he stepped in front of her, not letting her out the door.

“No, really. How are you doing? With everything?”

Kim sighed. She didn’t want to express what she was truly feeling, and she especially didn’t want to in front of Adam. Even though they had been through a lot together, this felt different. This not only affected her, but it also affected her sister and her niece. Her family. However, she knew that he wasn’t going to let her leave without doing so, so she opened up a little.

“I feel like I’m helpless. I can’t do anything up here sitting at a desk, that won’t help Nicole. That won’t help those two women. God, I just need to be out there. I need to close this case.” Kim ran her hands through her hair and then put her head in her hands, almost in self defeat.

adam places his hands on her arms, rubbing them up and down to try to sooth her. He gently consoled her, “Hey. Hey. It’s okay. You are helping by being up here. A lot. You have to be strong. For Nicole. And when we get these perps, when we do, you’ll be able to tell her you helped put those men away. We will get these perps. I will make sure of it. For you. I’m always here for you, Kim.”

Kim calmed down a little. She started to give in to her tiredness and fell into a hug when her mind ran back to the case, and she remembered that she had work to do.

“Yeah, thanks.” She pulled away and slid past him to head back to her desk to bury herself with paperwork.

Unfortunately, the two women weren’t able to identify the two men. They were too drugged to remember much of anything. However, the judge did sign off on a house warrant, saying there’s enough probably cause without the women identifying the suspects. The suspects being the same two men that assaulted Nicole and attempted rape on Kim and Erin. This information made Kim sick to her stomach. She knew that they should have been charged with more and sentenced to more time behind bars. Her gut feeling was proving to be true. She knew it had to be the guys. Fortunately, because of this, and with the previous evidence, Intelligence didn’t have to do any undercover operation. Kim was at least pleased with this, because she certainly couldn’t have gone under again, and she didn’t want anyone else going through what she and Erin did years past.

“We’re fifteen minutes out.”

“Copy. No one moves in until I say.”

“Copy that, Sarge.”

It was just past 11:00 pm, so the team was going to the nightclub that their phone pinged to about 15 minutes ago.

“Just rolled in. Both of their cars are here.”

“Twelve minutes out.”

Suddenly, a notification popped up on Kim’s computer screen. This changed everything. Kim clenched a fist, tensing up at the thought of the two men taking advantage of another pair of women. In the very same room that they tried to take advantage of her. In the very same room where Nicole was raped. She made a split second decision, and before she could talk herself out of it, she grabbed her jacket and her car keys. She headed for the back exit in order to avoid running past Trudy.

She didn’t know what she was doing. She didn’t know what she was going to do. She just knew that she had to see this case through.

...

Kim sighed. Adam. Never fails. She rubbed her eyes to try to get herself to forget about him, and she looked at her other missed massages.

*one text message from Ryan*

Babe. The cave. One hour. And don’t forget the beer.

Kim quickly look at the time.

11:43 am. Shit.

She only had twenty minutes until she would be late. And she could never be too late. Not with Ryan. She sprang out of bed and ran to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

[toomanyf4ndoms7]

welcome to the bread bank mk edition.

Erron Black: welcome to the bread bank. we sell bread, we sell loafs. we got bread on deck, bread on the floor. TOASTED.

Kabal: bro shut the fuck up. listen, i just need a baguette and a brioche.

Erron: we don't have either of those, you can get the gluten free white bread, the potato bread-

Kabal: what the fuck is gluten? take that shit out.

Erron: it's gluten free.

Kabal: i don't CARE if it's free.

Erron: swear on your fucking YEEZYS; if you wanna fight, we gon' fight.

Kabal: what, you tryna be on worldstar?

Erron: what, you gon record it?

Kabal: ye. i got my dollar store camera on.

Kano: What's the fucking situaaaaation?

Kabal: what the fuck do you want?

Kano: I'm the motherfucking manager.

Kabal: at the bread store?

Kano: BREAD.

Kabal: tell him to take the motherfucking gluten OUT THE BREAD.

Kano: I'm to need you to shut that bullshit up chief, we can't take shit out the bread.

Kabal: why put it in the first place? i know y'all smoking that pack.

Erron: We've got crackers, no gluten.

Kabal: fuck crackers.

Erron: it's gluten free. you want the gluten or nah?

Kabal: hell no. you better take the gluten out that damn shit.

Kano: Look, we've got whole wheat gluten free texas toast gluten free tortilla.

Kabal: fuck all that. what bitch ass country are y'all from where they got this bullshit at?

Kano: Australia.

Kabal: i knew it

Erron: look, you can either take this yeast, or i'm calling the police.

Kabal: i'm going WEAST.

Kano: Nah, don't call the police, I've got a warrant.

Kabal: honestly, fuck y'all. i ain't never seen nobody act like this over no bread.

Kano: What the fuck are you saying?

Kabal: all i'm saying is: fuck yalls bread, fuck the gluten, and fuck them crackers.

Erron: but the crackers don't have gluten.

Kabal: i'll take those.

Erron: okay, that's gonna be five-

Kabal: nah, fuck that i ain't paying.

Kabal nomad dashes out of the bread bank.

[mercurryblack]

Chapter 10: Hattie

The night is but young.

❃❃❃

“Are you done yet? Are you done yet?” Hattie asked, squirming as she repeated her question for what seemed like the thousandth time.

“For the thousandth time, no, I’m not done yet. Stupid three thousand word count.” Cait groaned, slouched over their desk. “I swear, the day I graduate, I’m gonna kick Professor Rook square in the junk… boring old bastard… ”

“Sorry, time’s getting away from me.” Hattie apologized. “You’re still using that trick I told you about?”

Cait shrugged. “Even if I don’t count it as I go, it still feels like I’m never gonna finish it.”

The two had been spending the entire evening in their dorm room; Cait had been working on their assignment since the moment the Armilde sisters had left, and Hattie had been trying to keep herself busy by dusting, staring outside, dusting again, and even going as far as to read a lesson they hadn’t yet covered in class.

Tossing the Modern Remnant History textbook to her side, Hattie fell back on her bed spread-eagled, disappointed at the evening so far. She regretted how she had never really fostered a social life outside of Haven Academy— or much less her team, for that matter.

She had grown up as a ward of the underground Sisterhood, mostly keeping to herself and her small collection of fairytale books back then. Having dwelled for so long down in the habitable mine tunnels that the Sisterhood called home, she had recently found herself wanting to explore the world outside more often, if only to make up for lost time.

Those extracurricular lessons with Professor Gormlaith don’t count, she mentally noted.

Hattie didn’t have many friends, either— ironically, the happy-go-lucky girl could be a lot more introverted than extroverted at times. She knew a few students in their year by name, but not enough to warrant anything closer than a “hello” in the hallways. Plus, she didn’t find it to be much fun going out without her friends, which essentially consisted of LLAC and pretty much nobody else.

Well, there is CMYK, she thought to herself, remembering the team of now-second-years that they had tutored in the previous semester. I bet ol’ Mallow or Kara would have been free at this hour… but they’re all over in Vale helping with the set-up for the Vytal Festival, lucky dogs.

And since Lillian and Amaryllis were out doing their own things, she was left cooped up with Cait, who had been taking their time in writing an essay she had already finished.

“…Don’t you have anywhere else to go, Hattie?” Cait asked, glancing over their shoulder.

Hattie turned, wilting slightly as she did. “Should I leave you alone?”

“Nah, it’s not that.” Cait replied. “I just don’t want you to feel stuck here with me, y’know? You could go if you wanted to.”

Hattie shrugged. “Yeah, but I don’t really wanna. I’d prefer to wait for you rather than leave by myself.”

“Fair. Are we going somewhere after I’m done, anyways?” Cait said, turning back to their writing.

“I don’t know. I mean, Ammy said we can come down to her boyfriend’s family’s charity event, but it sounds kinda formal.” Hattie said, then shook her head. “I’m not in the mood for formal tonight.”

“So you don’t have a plan for this evening?” Cait inquired.

“I was kinda hoping you had that part sorted out,” she said with a lopsided smile. Having hung out with them the most, Hattie had always left the ideas up to Cait— they did always know where to go for a fun time. Also, she tended to worry that she’d make a big plan and it would turn out to be a flop.

Lost for any follow-up, she wondered aloud, “What do you think Detective Yuen and the old guys are up to now?”

“Probably living their nice and worry-free adult life.” Cait said sarcastically.

“Do you think we should give them a call? You know, check up on them?”

“Nah. I’m sure they’re doing fine on their own for one night.”

Hattie grabbed her Scroll from the far edge of her bed and waved at Cait, sticking out her tongue. “I’m gonna do it anyways! What if they’ve finally found the bad guys or something?”

Cait rolled their eyes. “Whatever you say…”

***

Sardion paced back and forth in Yuen’s office, his gaze fixed on the vinyl floor. The day had been yet another bust— Rudyard had hung back at Yaara’s house, while Sardion and Yuen, with little else to do, had returned to the precinct.

“I’m just saying, don’t you think we should give LLAC a call?” Yuen suggested. “They’re part of this investigation too, and we could really use some help right now. Plus, they might see something we’ve overlooked.”

“They’re having a night off, Yuen. I’m sure they have better things to do.” Sardion replied. “You don’t want to tire the young’uns out before they even graduate, right?”

“Maybe.” Yuen sighed. “Hear anything from Rudyard?” 

“Not yet, but he said he’d call if he found anything to go on.”

***

Rudyard stared up to the inky heavens, taking in the starry night sky from Yaara’s old lawn chair, a half-empty bottle of beer loosely grasped in his fingertips.

In the backyard of her humble home, the Huntress had cultivated a small flower garden. In the back of his mind, Rudyard reflected on the visits he had paid her, how she had meticulously tended to them every day; thoroughly watering them, rooting out any weeds, gently humming while she kept her garden impeccable.

Now, seeing as their owner had been dead for a week, the garden had slowly begun to die as well. The bright petals and leaves of the flowers had begun to fade and wilt from a lack of water, and weeds had taken over a small patch of dandelions.

Rudyard rose to pick up a rusty old watering can on the back veranda, then filled it up with a nearby hose. As he let the water trickle down onto the garden’s parched soil, he let out a long sigh— after all she had done for him, it was the least he could do. Eventually emptying the can, he opted to go back inside, as the night air started to grow colder.

Searching for a spot where the police hadn’t tagged or taped anything of interest, he made himself comfortable in a reclining chair in her personal study. Looking around, a single book lying on her desk caught his eye, the tip of a torn sheaf of paper stuck in the pages halfway through. The title on the cover read Eternal Blue Sky, luminescent gold font on a pastel blue background.

“Of course.” Rudyard chuckled to himself. “You would have hated this, Yaara, leaving a book unfinished.” Absentmindedly, he picked up the book and opened it up to the bookmarked page.

He paused.

Written on the scrap of paper in what was unmistakably Yaara’s handwriting was a short message; 1100 apr 23 for further details - stored on hosaki comm log 1138.

“April…?” Rudyard muttered, squinting at the writing. He remembered that April 21st had been the starting date of the last mission on her and Berilo’s record, and it had been marked as remaining within city limits.

He had never heard of a place called “Hosaki” anywhere in Mistral City.

Frowning, he tucked the sheaf of paper into his pocket and rose from the chair, reaching into his pocket. “Wonder what Yuen’ll make of this.”

He paused, fingers fumbling inside an empty pocket.

“…Where’d I put my Scroll?”

***

“Do you know of any other places they might have escaped to?” Sardion asked as he took a closer look at the map of Mistral spread over Yuen’s desk, doing his best to focus despite his inner restlessness slowly clouding his mind.

“Besides the forest, nothing, and if that’s the case then they’re likely long gone by now.” Yuen said, leaning back in her chair. “Maybe the Manju-Shage District, but I doubt it. The whole thing’s cordoned off by a tripwired security fence. There’s no way someone could’ve broken in without us knowing about it.” She continued, tapping her fingers against the armrests in mild frustration.

“Well, maybe they could’ve snuck in, if they had the right Semblance for the job. At this point, I’m ready to try anything if it means we might find a lead,” Sardion paused, sharply exhaling, “Any step we take, no matter how small, is at least a bit closer to the whoever’s behind this.”

“True.” Yuen said, glancing up at him. “After all, there’ve been times that thugs occasionally get the great idea to break in and squat there, to lay low or whatever… you want to check it out, just in case?”

“Might as well. I’ve already got my weapon on me.” Sardion shrugged. “I’ll call up Rudyard first, see if he’s up for it.” He pulled out his Scroll and sent a call to Rudyard’s contact.

Bzzzzz. Bzzzzz. A small buzzing hum came from beneath a stack of papers on the right of Yuen’s desk. The Huntsman and the detective exchanged confused looks, before realizing what was making the noise.

“Oh, for the love of…” Sardion muttered, sticking his hand underneath the stack and pulling out a Scroll— Rudyard’s own. “Perfect time to forget this, you freakin’ cueball…” He stuck his Scroll back in his jacket and tossed Rudyard’s onto Yuen’s desk.

“Okay, well, that’s a bust… like I said before, we could call up LLAC.” Yuen suggested.

Sardion was inclined to disagree with her, given that it had been the students’ night off— calling them in for duty at such an hour wouldn’t be the most gracious move. However, he figured that they’d best bring some backup, if only to cover more ground if nothing else.

“Alright, go for it.” he said.

Yuen took out her Scroll and pulled up Lillian’s contact. “Here goes. Hope for the best.”

***

“Why do I always have to be the one to make the food?” Rosario asked, swinging her now-empty basket from one hand as she walked alongside Lillian down the cliffside path.

“You’re a great cook, and I can’t even season my food correctly.” Lillian replied. “Do you remember the last time when I tried to make instant ramen unsupervised?”

“Point.” Rosario said. “You did literally set a pot of water on fire. I’m no scientist, but I’m pretty certain that violates every law of thermodynamics that there is.”

Lillian nodded. “See?”

“Riiiight.” Rosario drawled. “Imagine what adult life would be like. Every night, it’ll just be me greeting you, ‘Welcome home, mi amor! What do you want first? Dinner? A bath? Me?’ And then you’ll go, ‘I’ll have you for dinner in the bath!’”

“I know you’re trying to make fun of me, but you’re drooling, Rosario.” Lillian said, giving her girlfriend a flat stare.

Rosario flushed red, wiping the corner of her mouth. “I am not.”

Lillian snorted.

***

“Damnit, her Scroll’s turned off.” Yuen groaned. “Her sister’s offline as well.”

“Thought so. They have private lives too, you know.” Sardion shrugged, slinging his coat over his shoulders. “C’mon, might as well see if any airships are available and just get this over with.”

Yuen rose from her chair. “Fine. I’ll leave them a message if we do find anything.” Just as she was about to follow Sardion out, her Scroll suddenly vibrated in her coat.

The profile picture that displayed the caller wasn’t Lillian— rather, it was the Lazuli kid calling her.

It’s something, I guess. Yuen thought to herself, swiping to accept the call.

“…Hey, Detective Yuen.” Hattie chirped up on the other end.” How’s it going? It’s Hattie from, uh, Team LLAC. Uhm, we just wanted to check in, and—” She continued, stumbling slightly over her words.

“As a matter of fact, I’m glad you called.” Yuen replied. “Listen, Sardion and I are going to investigate a possible lead down in the old Manju-Shage District, and your help would be very much appreciated.” She hesitated before continuing. “That is, if you’re not already preoccupied.”

***

On the other end of the line, Hattie’s face lit up as she heard Yuen’s invitation. For the moment, she managed to suppress the urge to whoop and cheer out of deference to the still-working Cait. “Nononono, no problem. We’ll be there right away, Detective,” she said, struggling to contain her excitement as she ended the call.

It took her a few seconds before she was able to produce words, since all that was coming out of her mouth were muffled joyful squeaks. “…Cait?”

“Gimme a sec.” Cait replied, holding up a finger.

Hattie paused, her smile falling slightly.

“Cait.” she repeated, her tone becoming  normal.

“Wait, I’m almost done.” Cait said, focused on their computer’s monitor.

“Cait!” Hattie repeated for a third time, her voice rising slightly as she grew irked by their dismissal.

“I said wait, Hattie.” Cait said, still not turning around. “…’Make sure to provide footnotes along with citations’? Aw, what the hell’s the point of that?” they muttered to themself as they reviewed their essay.

Hattie scowled darkly, thoroughly annoyed at the brush-off. After a moment, she tiptoed up next to her teammate’s shoulder and leaned in towards their ear as close as possible.

“CAAAAAAAAAAAIT!” she screamed.

“AUUUUUUUGH!” Cait screeched, jumping up from their seat in shock as they spun around to face her. Their brow contorted, startled and frustrated at the girl’s outburst.

“WHAT?!” they snapped.

Hattie’s expression morphed into a tooth-bared cheshire grin, her attempt at emulating Cait’s own habit.

“I know what we’re gonna do tonight~♪.”

[soliddaddy96]

Welcome to the bread bank, we sell bread we sell loafs we got bread on deck, bread on the floor, toasted, ro- shut the fuck up listen I just need a baguette, and a brioche we don't have either of those you can get the gluten free white bread or the potato bread what the fuck is gluten take that shit out it's gluten free I don't care if it's free swear on your fucking yeezys if you wanna fight we gon fight you tryna be on worldstar? What you gonna record it? Yeah, I got my dollar store camera ON

What's the fucking situǽtion? what the fuck do you want? I'm the motherfucking manager. at the bread store? BREAD. tell him to take the motherfucking gluten OUT THE BREAD. I'm to need you to shut that bullshit up chief, we can't take shit out the bread. why put it in the first place? i know y'all smoking that pack. We've got crackers, no gluten. fuck crackers. it's gluten free. you want the gluten or nah? hell no. you better take the gluten out that damn shit. Look, we've got whole wheat gluten free texas toast gluten free tortilla.  fuck all that. what bitchass country are y'all from where they got this bullshit at? Florida.  i knew it look, you can either take this yeast, or i'm calling the police.  i'm going WEAST. Nah, don't call the police, I've got a warrant. honestly, fuck y'all. i ain't never seen nobody act like this over no bread. What the fuck are you saying? all i'm saying is: fuck yalls bread, fuck the gluten, and fuck them crackers. but the crackers don't have gluten. i'll take those. okay, that's gonna be five- nah, fuck that i ain't paying.

[solynaceawrites]

Wires [3]: Bearers Of

Rating: Mature Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death Categories: F/F, F/M Fandom: Devil May Cry Relationships: Dante/Original Female Character(s), Implied Nero/Kyrie, Implied Vergil/Original Female Character(s), Implied Lady/Trish, Dante/Lirael Thorne, Dante/Lir Characters: Dante, Morrison, Nero, Original Female Character(s), Lirael Thorne, Lir Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Violence, Gore, Dark, Horror, Supernatural Elements, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Serial Killers, Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut Summary: In Red Grave City, a serial killer stalks the streets. Lirael Thorne, recently transferred from Fortuna and looking for an escape from her past, winds up on his trail. Hunting him with her veteran partner, Dante Redgrave, they try to piece together the wires that bind the three of them together. In a race to catch him before he leaves more victims in his wake, the things thought buried will come to the surface, tearing lives and comfort apart.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

“It is much, much worse to receive bad news through the written word than by somebody simply telling you, and I’m sure you understand why. When somebody simply tells you bad news, you hear it once, and that’s the end of it. But when bad news is written down, whether in a letter or a newspaper or on your arm in felt tip pen, each time you read it, you feel as if you are receiving the bad news again and again.” — Lemony Snicket

»»————-　⚜　————-««

“Sure, I know her.” The waitress pops her gum, handing the grainy photograph back to Lir. “Comes in every Friday like clockwork, doesn’t tip, takes a new man home with her when she goes. She in some sort of trouble?”

Dante smiles charmingly. “You could say that. She wouldn’t have happened to pay by card, would she?”

“You’ll have to ask Joan. The bartender? She handles the tabs.” After a moment, the waitress bats her lashes, reaching out to place a hand on Dante’s arm, and Lir resists the desire to throttle one or both of them. “I can keep you company while your partner talks to her.”

“Who am I to say no to a pretty lady?”

He cuts his eyes to Lir. With a snort, she turns sharply on her heel, trying to keep her irritation from showing on her face, adding lady’s man to the list of ways she’d describe him. It’s far from the worst, but the bright giggles that follow her to the bar have her wondering if pig would be better. A woman emerges from the back as she claims a stool, pretty with her dark eyes and darker hair, and if she weren’t on duty, Lir might have considered leaving her number. Which probably only makes her slightly better than Dante, a fact that has her reaching into her pocket for her badge to buy herself a bit of time to settle.

“What can I get ya, sugar?” the woman asks.

“Are you Joan?” With a raised brow, the woman nods, and Lir holds out her badge. “I’m Detective Thorne with the Red Grave Police Department. I was hoping you’d be able to answer some questions for me?”

Joan studies her badge. “Detective, huh? Sounds like your questions are gonna be heavy enough to warrant a drink. What’s your poison?”

Against her better judgement, Lir replies, “Vodka sour, with Chopin if you’ve got it.”

With a smile that seems a little more than flirtatious, Joan gets to work. Lir watches her deft, slender hands scoop ice into a strainer before adding the vodka and sour mix and shaking, and that coy expression is still on Joan’s face when she sets it in front of her. “On the house for the city’s finest.”

“Thank you.” Lir takes a long drink, closing her eyes as her tongue comes alive under the bittersweet flavor. Then she slides the photograph of Jane Doe across the bar. “Your friend said that you might know her?”

Joan studies it, bracing her arms on the bar and giving Lir a very good glimpse of her cleavage. “Mm-hm. That’s Sophie. Pays with her Amex, likes a frozen margarita with sugar instead of salt on the rim. She the body they pulled from the alley yesterday?” Lir shrugs, and she sighs. “Shame. She was a sweetheart.”

“I heard the opposite.”

“I’m sure you did. She tips for the service she gets, and Lacey’s usually too busy flirting to pay attention to her tables. Never did me wrong, though, and most of the girls here will tell you the same.”

“I have to say,” Lir watches her sharply, “you seem awfully calm for someone who just found out there was a murder next door.”

Joan looks back at her steadily for a long time, not saying anything. When she finally does speak, her voice is quiet, “Don’t get me wrong, Detective. I’m pissed as hell about what happened to her. I read the papers, y’know? So I know that she was . . . If I could find the bastard, I’d wring his neck myself. But I’ve got to trust you to do it, and me crying won’t get you any answers. I’ll do it after you’ve left.”

“Alright. I’m sorry.”

Just like that, the tension is gone, the warm smile sliding back onto Joan’s pretty face. “No hard feelings. You can make it up to me later, if you want.”

“Maybe. Anything else you can tell me?”

The way she catches her plump lower lip between her teeth has Lir vividly imagining what it would be like to do that herself, and she breathes deeply to push the thought away. “Nothing unusual happened last night, not that I noticed. Sophie came in, sat at her table, ordered her drink. She was with some friends, but they split up to dance for a while, and I didn’t see her again until she paid her tab. We get pretty busy on Fridays,” she adds apologetically. “It’s easy to lose track of people.”

Lir takes another sip of her drink. “Did she leave with anyone?”

“If she did, I didn’t get a look at him. But it wouldn’t surprise me. Nothing against her, people can do what they want, but she knew the effect she had on others.” Lir thinks of the face on the slab, beauty made sorrowful by death. “Give me a moment, and I’ll get her last name for you.”

“That would be great, thanks.” As Joan moves to the register on the back counter, Dante slides onto the stool next to her, and Lir eyes him irritably. “Get anything from your witness?”

“Nah, she was too busy cryin’ to talk,” he replies. “Drinkin’ on the job?”

Before she can reply, Joan is back, and she hands a folded piece of paper to Lir. To her pleasure and amusement, not once does she look at Dante. “Here you go. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you, Detective.”

Downing the rest of her drink, Lir gives a little salute and heads out of the club, Dante at her side. She ignores him for the moment to unfold the note, a small grin breaking tugging at her lips as she reads over it; there’s a name on the top half, which she tears off to give to him, but on the bottom is a phone number and Call Me written in an elegant, looping script. “Sophie Marons,” Dante recites. “Wonder if there’s a connection to Simon Marons.”

“The lawyer?” Dante exhales slowly, and she curses. “Shit. Draw straws to see who makes the call?”

“Nope,” he drawls. “Your lead, your visit. Let’s go.”

Lir frowns at him, an expression that’s becoming more and more common the longer she works with her frustrating new partner. Her mother used to warn her that her face would get stuck eventually, and she’s starting to wonder if that’s true; at least he’s not sending her off alone, which she wouldn’t really blame him for but would still be angry over. And he turns the volume on the radio down once they're in the car when he notices her pulling out her bottle of aspirin and popping one into her mouth. It looks like he wants to say something and thinks the better of it. Good. The less she has to talk to him, the better. The drive to Marson & Co. passes with only the harsh strumming of rock and the quiet purring of the engine, and their silence persists into the lobby, where Lir speaks briefly to a receptionist, and in the elevator ride up to the seventh floor.

Dante whistles when they step off into an office that sprawls over the entire floor. Glass windows that stretch from floor to ceiling on three of the walls give a stunning view of the city, allowing plenty of sunlight in, and it glows over the interior decorations: a large oak desk, numerous shelves full of books, a sitting area, a bar set next to the elevator. It’s the office of a man who wound up rich and, as the figure behind the desk stands, Lir takes a look at him and decides it was probably inherited. Simon Marsons is as immaculate as the space he occupies, his suit pressed and his salted hair pressed back from a hairline that’s only starting to thin, a lavender handkerchief folded into his coat pocket and diamond cufflinks glittering at his wrists. Lir walks towards him, her boots thudding dully on the polished tile floor; up close, she can see the vibrant green of his eyes and that his teeth, when he smiles, are too even and straight to be anything but bought.

“My apologies, but I’m afraid I’m not open for visitors today,” he says, his voice pleasant yet oily somehow. “If you leave your name with Mary, I’ll try to—”

“Simon Marsons?” Lir cuts him off curtly. “I’m Detective Thorne. This is my partner, Detective Redgrave. Are you related to Sophie Marsons?”

His tanned face goes ashy. “Sophie? She’s my daughter. Has something happened to her?”

“You might want to sit,” Dante advises him, not unkindly.

Marson’s legs go out from under him, and Lir watches with embers of sympathy as he collapses into his grand chair. “Please,” he says, his voice shaking. “Where is she? Was she hurt? I knew I should have called when she didn’t show up for work yesterday, but I assumed she was sleeping off a hangover . . . Which hospital do I need to go to?”

Lir takes a deep breath. “Is your office always open on Sunday?”

“What? Yes, yes, I have a number of clients, and Saturday and Sunday are when I go over all of my notes. Please, Detective, Sophie . . .”

That ember sparks to a dull blaze. Speaking quietly, Lir says, “I’m sorry. We found her yesterday morning.”

A low keening erupts from Marson’s throat. It’s not unlike the cry of a wounded animal, caught in a trap from which it cannot escape and too weak to continue struggling, and Lir thinks of the fox her father had snared one year after it killed their chickens and her mouth fills with the heavy taste of iron. Dante steps around her, his own face displaying a hint of discomfort. It’s oddly reassuring to realize that he probably hates these visits as much as she does, the transformation from detective to confidante and terrible messenger that is a cruel necessity of their job. “When was the last time you saw your daughter, Mr. Marson?”

The man mumbles something incoherent, and the two of them share a look. “Sir?” Lir presses.

“I don’t know,” he whispers, his voice choked. “You’ll have to . . . Mary will know. I’m sorry. Excuse me, I can’t . . .”

Lir exhales slowly. “Okay. Thank you. I’m going to leave my card. Please call us if you think of anything.”

He buries his face in his hands, and she slides her card onto the desk before heading back to the elevator. Once inside, she leans against the wall, and even Dante looks tired, the hollows under his eyes dark and deep. “Never gets easier, does it?” he mutters.

She shakes her head. Outside, she turns to him, her mouth dry and her limbs heavy. “I’m goin’ home. I need sleep. You?”

“Can’t argue that. Want a ride?”

The idea of him knowing where she lives makes her skin prickle uncomfortably, which is strange, given that they work together. Still, she points to the road. “I’ll catch a cab. See you in a bit.”

“Mm-hm.”

Lir leaves him there, feeling his eyes boring into her back as she hails a taxi and slides inside, nearly slurring with exhaustion as she gives the driver her address. She dozes on the ride, woken by the cabbie tapping the glass partition between them, and she fumbles to pay and tip before heading into her building. It’s quiet inside, warm in a stuffy sort of way, which makes her more drowsy. Another short trip in an elevator, and she’s at her door, which she unlocks with trembling fingers and kicks shut. Too tired to bother showering, Lir strips as she walks to her bedroom in the back, where she manages to pull the curtains closed and set an alarm on her phone before collapsing into bed. Behind her closed eyes, visions of Sophie Marson’s body linger, chasing her into her dreams.

In them, she is once again in the morgue. The lights overhead flicker as she stares at the slab in the middle, upon which rests a form covered by a white sheet, and her breath frosts in the air around her and chills her lips. As she stands frozen, the thing under the sheet moves, pallid fingers poking from beneath to curl over its edge and push it slowly down, and a low whine locks in her throat, the remnants of a scream she cannot voice. Creeping, unhurried, the corpse of Sophie Marson sits up, her pale hair spilling limply over her shoulders; when milky eyes focus on her, Lir twitches. But she’s paralyzed, her legs unresponsive no matter how desperately she pleads with them to work.

A low rasp falls from the corpse’s mouth, which forms soundless words. With every attempt it makes to speak, air whistles from it, barely audible over the thrum of the air conditioning, until, at last, it stands on trembling legs, bracing itself on the slabs as it clambers towards her. As it draws closer, the whispers take form: “You saw . . . you saw . . . you saw . . .”

No, Lir tries to shout, no, no, I didn’t see a damn thing. There was nothing to see! Just you, dead on the ground, and if something else was there I had to ignore it because things like that don’t exist!

Grasping fingers reach for her. The murmurs take on a fevered rhythm, rising in pitch and volume until they devolve into a shrill ringing, those dead eyes bulging as its hands land on her face—

Lir snaps up with a strangled scream, reaching to grab and shove and fight. Yet there’s nothing there; just her room with unpacked boxes cluttered around, and she hunches over and presses her palms to her cheeks, fighting to get her panicked breathing under control. The ringing cuts off, then starts again. Cursing, she fumbles for her phone, finding it buried under the covers, and jabs to answer it, fear making her bark into it. “What?”

Dante’s voice comes through the receiver. “Sorry to wake you, sleepin’ beauty, but Marson’s at the station to make a statement and Morrison is liable to rip you a new one if you aren’t there soon.”

“Fine, just . . . Wait, there?”

“Yeah. I’m outside.” Startled, she darts to the window and peers out, seeing Dante parked on the street below, leaning on his car, looking back up at her. He waves as he says, “Better get your ass in gear, Thorne.”

Furious with him, she hangs up and stalks to her bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face. Then she grabs a fresh change of clothes, tugging them on as she follows the trail of dirty ones she’d left earlier to her boots, which she slams her feet into. Keys, wallet, badge, gun, Lir grabs all of them from the table next to the door, then she leaves, choosing the quicker option of the stairs at the end of the building hall. Dante straightens as she emerges, his lips twitching like he’s trying not to laugh, and she glares at him as she yanks open the door and slides into his car, vindicated by his, “Hey!” when she slams it fiercely. It’s his turn to scowl, climbing behind the wheel, and he cranks the volume up to near painful levels before putting the car in drive and pulling away from the curb. 

Tired of his dickish behavior, she turns the knob back down and snaps, “How the fuck did you find my apartment?”

He scoffs. “We’ve got personnel files.”

“For emergencies!” Lir shouts. “You don’t just go into them whenever you feel like it!”

“If you’d just told me—”

“I don’t have to tell you shit,” she seethes.

Dante slams on the brakes, yanking the car into a parking spot and turning to glower at her. “You’ve had a fuckin’ chip on your shoulder since we met. Like it or not, we’re partners, and that means I need to know where the hell you live in case somethin’ comes up, like it did tonight.”

“I could have gotten there on my own!”

“Yeah, sure, and Morrison would’ve reamed your ass out for takin’ so long. Shit, I had to call you four times before you answered your goddamn phone. You think he’d have stood for that?” Lir merely shakes her head, and he throws his hands up in frustration. “What the hell is your problem? Jesus fuckin’ wept, you’d think I’m the biggest prick you’ve ever met—”

“Because you are,” she says curtly. “You’ve been ridin’ me since yesterday, havin’ me run your errands—”

“Oh, so you’re above goin’ to the morgue—”

“—acting like I don’t know my head from my ass—”

“—or dealin’ with reporters—”

“What is with you?” she cries, exasperated. “I get it, you idolize Sam Spade, but do you need his fucking sexism along with the outfit?”

Dante closes his mouth, staring at her intently for a moment, and she realizes that, in their arguing, they had each leaned in, as if to intimidate the other. Then he grins, slowly, and this one reaches his eyes, melting the glaciers there. “You like Humphrey Boggart?”

Thrown by the question, Lir can only blink at him. “Uh . . . I guess? I watched his films a lot as a kid, so . . . What does that have to do with anything?”

“Got a favorite?”

“What?” He’s still watching her. With a groan, Lir slumps back into her seat. “I dunno. Marked Woman, probably.”

Dante nods solemnly. “Bette Davis was a babe.” He continues speaking as he eases them back into traffic. “Look, Thorne—”

She huffs. “Can you just call me Lir like a normal person, for the love of God?”

“Lir,” he amends without batting an eye. “Me ridin’ you? Sorry to break it to you, but Red Grave is a beast of its own. Maybe you were good in Fortuna. Hell, your record says you were. Here? You’ll get eaten alive if you aren’t careful.”

“What a load of shit,” she mumbles.

Dante sighs. “You know somethin’ else? It’s been buggin’ me since yesterday, and the only reason I haven’t suggested Morrison take you off the case is because I’m worried you’d get yourself killed if I couldn’t keep an eye on you. You’re too eager to prove yourself.” Lir bristles, but his next statement, spoken flatly with no hint of emotion at all, has a faint prickle of fear creeping up her spine. “You look an awful lot like our victim. If this guy’s gonna go serial . . . Well, you’d fit his profile nicely.”

[sillyfudgemonkeys]

I was wondering Thoughts on Sakamoto and Kitagawa?

Under the cut cause it got a bit long

Ryuji: Really good in the first dungeon and CoOp. A bit of a loudmouth but has great values imo (kinda gets screwed in his CoOp, why is the MC letting him get beat up???? Why do his stupid teammates still feel the need to beat him up???Like what the hell????).

After that.....I get really sour (also I hate his anime adaptation, really fudged up his characterization in the 1st dungeon, he is NOT lecherous towards Anne or any girl during that dungeon, in fact he is downright HORRIFIED of everything in that dungeon). I really love his dedication to the MC (like as a friend he’s just such a great bro), but...well....I like how he was willing to almost get hit by a car to save Makoto (he was annoyed but considering the stupid stuff she was doing it was understandable).....and I’d say I liked how he was willing to help Anne with her “stalker” problem but....he just seemed like he almost didn’t want to be bothered in that scene despite her fears (and knowing what she just went through).....his carefree attitude in that scene left a bad taste in my mouth, esp when he even questions her after looking at Yusuke (who cares what he looks like, he’s been following her for like what? a week? of course only the MC knows this if you talk to her but like she has every right to be worried and he just is so ‘whatever’ with the situation, like he still has her back but his attitude felt like such a 180 slap in the fact just following the first dungeon, and nothing Anne did warranted that annoyance). 

He gets screwed by the writing a lot, like he’s the butt of a joke he doesn’t deserve, or gets beat up for no reason and that’s just.....bad. But he also does some not so great things with the girls, which makes it extra worse considering this is post-dungeon 1..... I like the guy but....I really do question some of Atlus’ writing with him. ;w; Ryuji’s writing deserved better

Yusuke: I hate him. Probably my 3rd most hated (Goro’s right behind him), probably cause, unlike Goro, Yusuke provides absolutely nothing with his skill. Plus I hate his super blunt attitude, just cause “he’s just blunt” doesn’t mean he can be an asshole. I especially hate it when he uses it with his friends. But back to Yusuke being useless (and tbh I actually kinda feel bad Atlus just....forgot about him it feels like). He’s one of the worst tiers in terms of gameplay (he might be better than Goro), and I mean not endgame gameplay (cause by that point everyone is OP and a team structure shouldn’t matter). He’s out damaged by Anne and Ryuji (or even Haru), he has no buff for Ice, Ice isn’t as common as Frei/Fire/Thunder, just cause he has a strength stat doesn’t cover Ryu’s power charge+swift strike/bad beat/other abilities (this is stuff that’s been tested by the gameplay meta scene I’m just the messenger). His agility boost isn’t nearly as good as a defense/attack boost or defense/attack debuff (because att/def is ALWAYS 50% increase/decrease, while the agility it’s only a 50% CHANCE of helping with crits....so it’s not even guaranteed). Plus Mona is a better crit player than Yusuke and he also has healing. Anne/Makoto synergize well with Makoto’s defense buff and Anne’s attack debuff, and Anne/Ryuji(or Haru) just deal more damage. 

That’s just gameplay, what about Yusuke’s actually artist skills? How does that help the PT (I know skill cards, but that’s gameplay, I mean story, and it’s not like they couldn’t do something else with the skill cards I mean P3P/4G didn’t have an artist and they did just fine)? That’s right, it doesn’t. The only time it helps is that one specific puzzle with telling which is the real Sayuri, which is just process of elimination and you have to fight if you get it wrong so it doesn’t matter. He did the thief logo? Well thanks I hate it, sure it’s stylish but Ryuji’s matched better with the cheesy PT genre more (and gdi what do you hate what makes the PT genre good Atlus? ;w; Ryuji’s logo is really the only thing PT in this game I swear). But despite how I feel about the design, it doesn’t do anything useful. Oh but the Shido ship thing right? His big moment? Yeah no still doesn’t do anything, actually he opens his big fat dumb mouth and says another assholery thing, and they get mad at us and fight iirc. His art didn’t stop us from having to fight the mini boss, he just prolonged us getting to that fight (actually on Anne and Haru got their letters from their mini bosses without having to fight them, I mean we were still forced to fight cause P5 sucks like that, but they are the only ones on the team who got their letters using their special skills aka femme fatal and business relations/financial back person (even tho she didn’t back them financially missed opportunity) whatever thing. basically that ‘shining moment’ of his isn’t so shining when he couldn’t even avoid a fight....and there’s really no reason to fight them....it leaves no impact! sorry I have an issue with that part of the dungeon).

I know some people will say he’s (one of) the “level headed” character of the group, but it wasn’t like Anne or Ryuji were going off the rails..... esp in dungeon 2 (I mean I do love how all of them worked together), and it’s not like Mona isn’t there. Tbh I think he could’ve been, I think if Makoto never came along he could’ve been that character, and I think he did a much better job esp since we actually were all utilizing our teammates in dungeon 2. But in the end that didn’t happen....and thus he doesn’t really provide that to the table. 

I also don’t like how he blackmailed the team. Well no, mostly the contents of his blackmail (btw I dislike all the characters who blackmailed the team inb4 someone says “what about” yes yes I dislike them too ok?) Like listen. MC/Ryu were not trespassing until he revoked his invitation to them (aka after he said to never come back there again and Ryuji said “nah we’re coming back” and Yusuke was about to call the police....Yusuke has every right under the law, at THAT moment those two boys were trespassing). The SECOND (ironically it look almost a second for him to switch too) he said he wouldn’t do it as long as Anne nude modeled for him....that’s when it blackmail/extortion and he lost the high ground (and while it led to the funniest scene in the game, it still leaves a bad taste in my mouth that Atlus has him 1) stalk Anne and then 2) rope her into his blackmail to get her to nude model for him after the events of dungeon 1). And I know, “Yusuke didn’t know about their record” blah blah, who cares? No one wants the police called on them to begin with. (sorry just a weird counter argument I’ve seen and that annoys me)

I also hate his CoOp, I know what they were going for at the end but like....he had the perfect deal.... “I don’t want to have my work be tainted by money but I need money to live.” and then the deal is like “we’ll give you money regardless, we just want you to live so you can make art but really no pressure it’s all in good faith” and it’s like/????? so perfect???? And he says no????? The boy is gonna starve to death I’m not joking (also I really hate those jokes, more than the Protein and meat ones from P3/4....they are worse imo). I also just don’t care about his relationship with Madarame, it might be because I blame Yusuke for derailing Madarame as a villain. I found Madarame more interesting when it was just about his ideology and exploiting people, but as soon as he was like “I let your mom die Yusuke” it felt like it became all about that and....yeah....

And ok, I know I just shit all over Yusuke for like 5 paragraphs (btw this is just my opinion/personal thoughts on the guy, I’m not the word of god and you can still like him, I’m just being honest with how I feel), but tbh...the game did him dirty too. Gameplay wise, screentime wise. Just everything. I’m sorry Yusuke fans the game did you and your boy dirty. Yusuke deserved better. 

[littlelovelymemes]

✰   —  —  —  BUZZFEED UNSOLVED SENTENCE STARTERS

‘  strap in ‘cause this one is rough.  ’ ‘  it’s-- it’s yucky.  ’ ‘  i’m aware of some details of this and it’s-- it’s yucky.  ’ ‘  i’m not a gambling man, but i don’t really like those odds.  ’ ‘  we could conceivably run into this guy taking a dump in the woods or something.  ’ ‘  are you fucking out of your mind?  ’ ‘  i’m starting to think you want to die.  ’ ‘  you turned a corner on that one pretty quick.  ’ ‘  oh my god, it’s fucking horrifying.  ’ ‘  there’s an elk, though. there’s a deer over there.  ’ ‘  here’s the remains and rubble of one of the greatest unsolved mysteries of all time and you’re looking at the fucking deer in the forrest.  ’ ‘  maybe they were in there telling ghost stories.  ’ ‘  that’s not what pillow talk is, i don’t think.  ’ ‘  pillow talk could either mean something you do after sex or it could mean what’s like sleepover talk.  ’ ‘  do you tell ghost stories after sex?  ’ ‘  all very effective for-- for murder.  ’ ‘  they stabbed him so hard that the knife bent.  ’ ‘  you would think that there’d be at least one witness.  ’ ‘  you see someone running through the forrest covered in blood, you’re probably not gonna bat an eye.  ’ ‘  that’s not how the forrest works.  ’ ‘  excuse me, sir. why are you covered in blood?  ’ ‘  i’m glad to know that you would be the worst crime scene witness of all time.  ’ ‘  oh, you were phrasing it in a dramatic way.  ’ ‘  what is it about killers-- that they want to be caught so badly... or like they want to get as close to being caught without being caught?  ’ ‘  i can’t put my mind into the mind of a criminal.  ’ ‘  i can put my mind into the mind of a criminal.  ’ ‘  some of them must be friends, others would like to plunge knives into each other.  ’ ‘  i can imagine one friend of yours murdering you.  ’ ‘  i’m pretty sure there was a coverup by the police department.  ’ ‘  70′s and 80′s police were always just like, ‘oh, you murdered someone? you got forty bucks?’  ’ ‘  great! what else do you want?! i murdered people for you! and now... what?  ’ ‘  oh, so i’m the psycho cause i murdered for you!?  ’ ‘  what, the police were just writing fan fiction?  ’ ‘  this is just baffling to me.  ’ ‘  i guess that’s their job, but can you imagine how much goddamn paperwork is involved in that? so much!  ’ ‘  i’m pretty sure we’re being watched, so i kind of wanna leave, to be honest.  ’ ‘  i’ve had enough of this place and i haven’t even been here that long. i hate this place.  ’ ‘  this boogeyman is very thorough.  ’ ‘  i guess we’re lucky he got lazy.  ’ ‘  the greatest safety precautions of our time are written in blood.  ’ ‘  i think they’re tired of this ongoing saga that never ends.  ’ ‘  you know, i actually disagree with that last sentiment.  ’ ‘  this is like straight-up end of days shit going on.  ’ ‘  this could’ve been the beginning of the zombie apocalypse, in my mind.  ’ ‘  i’ve daydreamed about having an amazing bunker that has satellite tv.   ’ ‘  ‘bad advil’ sounds like a shitty indie band.  ’ ‘  the wild west was the 80′s.  ’ ‘  in the 80′s you could walk in a store, pocket a soda, punch a guy in the face, and then be like ‘see ya later. fuck you!’ cops wouldn’t get to your door for weeks.  ’ ‘  he had books that were just titled ‘how to crime’? if he had a book called ‘how to crime’ then there’s your guy.  ’ ‘  oh, yeah... nah, i’m good. eh, bit of a reach.  ’ ‘  some old lady in florida bought the unabomber’s typewriter?  ’ ‘  maybe this guy was really in the dog house and was just desperate for any kind of turn of affection from her so he thought, ‘i know that i’ll do! i’ll write the fbi!’  ’ ‘  no, i didn’t-- what, is there anything to suggest that i would chase my mom with an axe?  ’ ‘  i think you wear a mask sometimes.  ’ ‘  maybe you should keep digging and see what happens.  ’ ‘  these are two messed up weirdos who have found each other and it’s almost a shockingly beautiful love story.  ’ ‘  i don’t get it. i just wanna talk about my work and everyone just keeps seeming to bring up all my past of all the shitty stuff i’ve done.  ’ ‘  ugh, this guy’s gross.  ’ ‘  it must’ve been fun to be a criminal in the 80′s.  ’ ‘  everything before the 80′s -- just lawless.  ’ ‘  get your sunglasses ready because this one is packed full of bright stars.  ’ ‘  i’m good to go. i’m always ready, baby!  ’ ‘  it came true so she was actually warranted in all these fears.  ’ ‘  this would be like if you were eaten by a shark.  ’ ‘  i thought for a second we were talking about things that are actually scary.  ’ ‘  i’m gonna let this slide because i know you’re just trying to get a rise out of me.  ’ ‘  does that man have a magical penis or something?  ’ ‘  you think the only reason someone would go back to someone is because they have a magical penis?  ’ ‘  i feel like divorce is probably a lot of work.  ’ ‘  do you not know how love works?  ’ ‘  maybe i don’t know how love works.  ’ ‘  i have a hard time imagining someone going gaga over christopher walken.  ’ ‘  i bet when you get in a room with christopher walken, he commands the space.  ’ ‘  i brought some cocktail weenies.  ’ ‘  one of my greatest fears is that someone will trick me into doing heroin.  ’ ‘  that’s the dumbest fear i’ve ever heard in my life.  ’ ‘  how many situations can you be in that would put you up to that potential danger?  ’ ‘  how many parties are you going to where heroin’s involved? it seems like a lot.  ’ ‘  it’s the fear that someone would come up to me on the street and put heroin in me and then i’m hooked forever.  ’ ‘  here’s what must’ve happened... these forty things, in succession.  ’ ‘  what are you trying to do, fuck my wife?  ’ ‘  why would he make this up?  ’ ‘  he-- he was just trying to fuck someones wife.  ’ ‘  i can’t imagine murdering someone even when drunk.  ’ ‘  when you drink you can imagine murdering someone?!  ’ ‘  i ate a pumpkin once when i was drunk... i just took a bite out of a pumpkin.  ’ ‘  that’s a rational fear!  ’ ‘  that is not a rational fear!  ’ ‘  these are the musings of a paranoid man.  ’

[theabominableblogger]

My Reaction to “Gotham” S2E19

Yep.  Told ya I’d get this one up.

AN:  I managed to record my reactions to this episode and hopefully I can transcribe what I said into this post.

Whoa....

What the....

“Has there been any improvement since he [Theo] woke up yesterday?”  “No.  But he's wonderful, isn't he?“  I... I wouldn’t say that...

“The Will and Order of St. Dumas.”  What?

*Jim stops by Arkham*  Oh SNAAAAAPPP!

“Pinewood Farms was started by Thomas Wayne in an attempt to cure humanity's greatest ailments on the genetic level old age, disease, even death.”  “But that's not what happened, is it?“  *snaps sassy Z-line in the air*  No it ain’t!

“Karen said the program tried to play God, and you [Hugo] ended up creating monsters.”  “I was just a researcher with no knowledge of that until it was too late.“  Uhh, ha ha, no.

“I’m [Jim] not here for a therapy session, Professor.”  Thank you.

“No.  It’s more like an interrogation by a man who is no longer a police officer.”  Ohh!

“[Jim] You're trying to make up for the sins of your past, and you believe that this case will somehow bring about your own personal redemption.”  *grimaces*

“Victor Fries is dead, Mr. Gordon.”  Well that is a lie.

“Really?  I saw him last night.”  Thank you!

“I [JIm] can read tells, too.  [Hugo] You’re lying.”  *claps and points at screen*  Yeeess!

Oh there it is!  There’s the theme!

*Ed explains to Aaron that the other inmate’s personality is not him via pretending to scold the air AKA “Lucy”*  OK, this is actually not a bad way to diffuse the situation.

Look at Ed being the negotiator when it comes to situations in Arkham! 

*claps*

“Go to hell, Ed.”  Thank you!

“Nobody beats me.”  Really?

“I [Jim] did.  See you never, Ed.”  Hahahaha!

There’s the Jim Gordon I know!

“What has no hands but might knock on your door, and you better open up if it does?“  Fate?

“I [Ed] can help you [Hugo] take him [Jim] down.“  You better not!

*One of the inmates tries to lick Ed*  EEEWWW!!

*Ed explains to Hugo how he manipulated the other inmates by simply listening to them and what they want*  Holy crap, Ed!

This is the Riddler!

“Everyone has a story...”  Azrael?

Ed, what did you do?

“We have got to give him [Theo] a great, heroic story.”  “We need to give him a good heroic dose of Thorazine, but you're [Hugo] the boss.“  ...Yes.

Uhhh.... is this a good idea??

“Hello?”  *in best Hugo Strange voice*  It’s me.

WHOA

“Don’t you [Theo] feel a father’s love when I [Hugo] look into your eyes?” *in high pitched voice* NOT REALLY!

“No. No. There is another life. There is a sister, a high tower-”  *puts hands on head in shock*  Ohhh, he [Theo] remembers Tabitha!

Whoaaa ho ho hoooo... oh my gosshhh...

“This man [Hugo] ordered my parents' death?  You're sure?“  Why would Hugo Strange order the deaths of Thomas and Martha Wayne?

“Bruce, I [Jim] know you're frustrated, but we need to do this the right way.”  “The right way? And how many times did that fail with Galavan?“  HOOO!!

“We'll work on Barnes, get him to sign off on a warrant and put Strange away for good.  The right way.“  Where are they gonna put Strange if they do arrest him?  Blackgate?  Probably not Arkham.

Is this immersion therapy [the St. Dumas video Strange is showing Azrael]?

AN:  The video actually reminded me of the conversion video from the video game “Outlast” (and no, I’m putting a link of that video in because it is also a trigger video from a disturbing game- a game that I’ve only seen gameplays for and don’t actually plan on playing anytime soon).

“This Dumas character was made a saint, performed a lot of miracles and so forth. And one of the miracles was bringing Azrael back to life.”  “I [Miss Peabody] still prefer Thorazine.“  Heeheehee!

What the heck did they do to Theo’s face?  Was that from when they re-stitched his face back together after removing the umbrella from the back of his head??

*Ed watches Miss Peabody take Aaron down to Indian Hill*  Oooohhh...

Oh my God, is this gonna be how Ed escapes?  Please do not follow them!

Yeah, where are they taking Aaron?

Waaait, they’re taking him to Azrael!  Oooohhhh...

Oh I like that shot of Ed with the rose-tinted windows behind him.

*Aaron meets Azrael*  Oh.  Snaaaappp...

“I [Hugo] am crafting your [Azrael’s] armor as we speak, but first, your skills must be tested.“  NOOO, he’s gonna kill Aaron!!

*gasps when Azrael knocks out Aaron with the briefcase*

“Not exactly what I had in mind, but good enough.  Try opening the chest, my son.“  Hahahaha...

[It’s like in “Hercules”]  “USE YOUR HEAD!”  “Riightt...”

Hahaha, this is exactly what happened!

“The Sword of Sin.  Your [Azrael’s] ally and instrument of justice, a vanquisher of evil for generations.  She thirsts for blood.”  How’d they get a sword?

“My lord, I [Azrael] am the Angel of Death.  James Gordon dies... tonight.”  Hooo!

Why would they [the GCPD] let the press anywhere near the crime scene?  That is way too close!

Where is the tape?  Where is the line?

“Listen, kid- Mr. Wayne- I [Barnes] don't care how much money or pull you have in this town.  I'm through talking to him [Jim].”  “Are you through listening to the truth?“  Whooo...

“What are you [Ed] gonna do with all this stuff, anyway?”  That’s a good question...

“I think Professor Strange is hiding something.  And I think that something is a secret way out of this dump.  So I'm gonna use this stuff to find it.“  This is totally like Jim Carrey-level Riddler right here... and I like this better than the actual Jim Carrey Riddler!

I like the Riddler better than Ed.  What’s goin’ ON?!?

“[JIm] You self-righteous punk.  You think you have all the answers?  Maybe you should run it yourself!”  “Maybe I will one day.“  HE DOES!

*softly gasps when the precinct lights go out*

“Who’s there?”  OH SNAP!

Here’s my question:  how did Hugo Strange get all the armor for Azrael?

If this armor’s bulletproof, I swear to God...

WHOA!

Grab his [Azrael’s] cape!

*Azrael leaps out of the precinct*  Whoa...

Masked man in a cape- Bruce, do not take any ideas from this for Batman!

“Calls himself Azrael.  Wants to kill me [Jim].  We know Hugo Strange is responsible.“  Do you?

“Excuse me, Captain.  I [Bruce] find your flippant attitude to be inappropriate.“  Hoo hoo hooo!

“I [Jim] can't make the moves I need to make if I'm worrying about you [Bruce].  You need to be at home, where Alfred can look after you.“  Bruce is like “...no... I’m never liking this.  When has there ever been a situation that I liked?”

Whoa!  Oswald, what the heck happened to you?

*gasps when Azrael gets flashbacks of his past life*

Whoaaa!

“I'm [JIm] not a cop anymore, remember?  I don't need to follow your [Barnes’s] orders.“  No, but you’re a citizen now, technically.

Through the Looking Glass?  We’re getting a sneak peek of Mad Hatter this season?

Dutch angle!

If Azrael tries to storm the GCPD to get Jim, I swear to God..

*The lights go out*  Oh snap, are you freaking kidding me?

Yeah, that’s freaking him [Azrael].  Hooooly crap.

He’s gonna bust through that window-

*Azrael crashes through the window*  Oooohhh!!

Oh he’s [Azrael] gonna do the superhero landing.  Wait for it!

Oh he didn’t- THERE WE GO!

*claps*  WHOO!  Superhero landing!

How do they not recognize Theo’s voice?

*gasps when Azrael butchers one of the cops*

Whoa!

*Barnes knocks Azrael to the ground*  Oh, go Barnes!

“We need a bigger gun.”  *laughing*  Yeah...

You’re gonna have to like nuke him!

Oh yeah, like a freaking pipe [wedged in the door handles] is gonna stop Azrael.  When he can literally punch a hole through the door!

[Barnes] Do not go at freaking Azrael WITH A PIPE.

“Let’s dance.”  *after a five second pause*  Put on your red shoes and dance the blues...  let’s sway!

*gasps when Barnes knocks Azrael to the ground*  Oh snap!

He’s [Barnes] gonna see his [Azrael’s] face!

*gasps when Azrael stabs Barnes in the knee*

NOOOOO!  NOOOO oh my God!

Nooooo!

*Jim comes onto the rooftop*  Ohhh snaaaappp...

This better not the end of the freaking episode.  I’m gonna riot.

“Come to me [Azrael], and I will show you [Jim] the way to hell.”  “I know the way.“  Whoooo....

*Jim manages to shoot Azrael off the rooftop*  OooohhhH!

*gasps when Azrael falls on top of the news van*

Nah, no no no no, Barnes ain’t freaking dying nope!  We’re not doin’ this.

*Tabitha, Butch, and Barbara go through the TV channels*  OH SNAP!  They’re gonna see the TV!

What the heck...

“OK, she [Barbara] scares me [Butch].”  Heeheehee!

“Do we have any limes?”  HAHAHAHA!

Oh my God, Oswald’s gonna go after hiiiimm [Azrael] ...

*counts off with fingers*  Wait, so Jim’s going after him, Hugo Strange is going after him, probably Tabitha’s gonna go after him to... teach him his humanity, Bruce is probably gonna go after him....

“Strange must be behind this.”  He’s always behind this.

“What the hell is happening to our city?”  That’s a very good question, Alfred!  You should ask that every single freaking time!

*trying not to laugh*  What the heck is this music?

*ends up boogie-ing to music while laughing*  This music!

AN:  It’s “I’m Looking Over a Four Leaf Clover” by Mitch Miller

Is Ed gonna encounter Azrael at the end of this episode?  Hoooly snot!

Hiii Indian Hill...

“Oh my.”  Oh my, indeed.

That’s a really good shot of Ed in the middle of the aisle

Oooooh, is this Jim’s leitmotif?

*puts hands around mouth* CGI TRANSITION PANNING SHOT!

*Azrael stands on top of the bridge overlooking the city*  Oh my God... that’s a freaking Batman pose!

*Azrael brings about the end logo by flourishing his cape*  YOOOO!!!

*about ready to lose voice*  That was so much Batman!  Before we even get Batman!  Aaaaahhh ha ha...

*jams out to ending theme*

[captainschmoe]

“Nah don’t call the police, I’ve got a warrant” LMFAO

I accidentally deleted the first one 😩

[gothchic6]

Silver’s Skater Girl Chapter 13: Rocket Adventures and The Talk

Disclaimer: gothchic6 doesn't own Pokémon or any of their characters. I only own my OCs.

***

Chapter 13: Rocket Adventures and The Talk:

*Calypso's POV*

"I'm coming to kick your ass, Team Rocket!" I announce as I advance towards the Grunt, who replies,

"Try it, teenaged twerp! You and Hiker dude aren't getting past here without winning a battle against me!"

Anthony, like most of the people I hang out with, has the sense to grab me by the back of my vest when I start getting angry. Wow, I can't believe I'm actually making people I can call friends!

"I don't think that's a good idea, chica! Your Pokémon aren't healed yet, remember?" Anthony interrupts me before I go to punch the Grunt in the face and start a fight.

"Yeah, I guess you're right, " I mutter irritatedly to Anthony, who lets go of my vest.

"Ha! Admit it! You never thought you could beat me, huh, brat?" The Grunt retorts snidely to me.

I roll my eyes at his boastful arrogance. "Nah, Rocket douche, I'm just too hungry to battle you right now. But I'm coming to kick your ass after food!"

The Grunt starts calling me all of the most ridiculous insults in the book, the most creative being, "A Munchlax Wearing a Wig and Pretending to be a Pokémon Trainer."

"You hear that, Anthony", I speak lowly as we ignore the ranting Grunt and start walking to Azalea Town, "he basically called me fat, among other things. The nerve of that guy!"

Anthony chuckles, so I nudge him lightly in the shoulder for laughing at my misfortune.

"I would agree that was rather rude. Insulting a lady like that." Anthony says after a brief moment of silence.

I shake my head while smiling, "Not exactly my point, but yeah, I'm definitely coming back to kick his ass after I go eat food."

It takes us five minutes to walk to the Pokémon Center, but when we get there, Anthony and I heal up. Being my paranoid self, I check the Pokémon Center bulletin board to check to see whether Silver or I's wanted posters are hanging around. Thankfully, there's no sign of either poster. JP is working her magic at the department well. I sigh to myself in relief.

Anthony and I have a small lunch of vending machine microwavable ramen, because, let's face it, most Pokémon Trainers are broke. We have a conversation that mostly consists of small talk. In that conversation, I learn that Anthony is 33 years old, has two-ex wives, and three children with said ex-wives. That conversation is such a mess by itself that I don't even bother to say anything about myself at that point. There's no need.

We start to leave to confront that idiotic Rocket Grunt at Slowpoke Well, but just as we're about to walk out the door, my Poké-Gear phone starts ringing. I recognize the number as JC's, so motioning my intentions to Anthony, I excuse myself to the women's bathroom for a private conversation. I walk into a stall, and answer the phone.

"Hey, JC, what's going on?" I greet her when I pick up the call.

"Hey Calypso, just wanted to check in on you since the last time we saw each other was a little shaky. How's your day going? Have you made it to Azalea Town yet?"

I twinkle slightly at her Mom Friend concern. It's nice to know I have people I can count on, especially since most of my actual family is gone.

"Yeah, things are going okay. I made it through Union Cave after battling a shit ton of Trainers, and I met a new friend outside of Union Cave! We were walking to Azalea Town to heal up our Pokémon, but then I saw a Team Rocket Grunt outside of the Slowpoke Well. That pissed me off, so I went to go to kick his ass, but my new friend stopped me! Isn't that nice of him?"

JC's voice develops a suggestive tone at the mention of my new friend's gender.

"Him, eh? What did you say his name was? And is he cute? Tell me everything, girl!"

I shake my head in disbelief at her suggestion. "JC, it's not even like that, so get your mind out of the gutter. He's a Hiker named Anthony who's in his mid thirties. He's a nice guy, but if a guy that old wants to date me, a seventeen year old, I'm running the fuck away."

JC pauses for a moment before replying, "Yeah, you make a good point. Sorry for making stupid assumptions."

"All is forgiven," I assure her, "but do you have any updates on JP working on my case?"

"Oh yeah, that's what I meant to tell you when I called! JP called me about a half hour ago to let me know that she talked to her boss, the Sergeant Officer Jenny in Violet City about your case. She convinced her that there was suspicion of domestic abuse and corrupt judicial activity in your case, so she's contacting the Sergeant Officer in Cianwood City in order to open a domestic abuse investigation on your Gran.

Because of that, they ordered to suspend your arrest warrant and that all of Johto trash the wanted posters of you until the investigation processes, so they can tell whether you were pressured into doing what you did because of abuse, like you said."

Placing my hand over the left side of my chest, I can feel my heart beating irregularly in reaction to JC's words. Will the Johto Police Department actually believe what happened to me all those years, and go after Gran for domestic abuse?

My voice cracks as I continue, "Tha-at's amazing news, JC, thank you so much! And tell JP thank you too! You guys have really helped me out and made it so I can live my live freely without having to worry about getting arrested. But one last question: Are all of the charges are dropped, including the ones Monica placed against me for theft?"

"Yeah, the Cherrygrove Police Department trashed the police report after Monica repeatedly called them and insulted them for not getting her case done with quickly. She bit herself in the foot with that one," JC replies with a laugh. I can't help but feel satisfied at Monica fucking herself up.

"Yeah, figures Monica would do something that ended up fucking the dumb bitch in the end," I drawl harshly.

"And while that is probably the best thing that has happened all day, I am also excited to hear about your Pokémon too! Has your egg hatched?" JC asks.

"Nah," I said, "But my team has grown a lot. Cyndi is at level 19, Spirit and Dusk are both at level 16, and Forest is at level 14. Oh! And I forgot to tell you! I traded an Unown for a Buizel named Zellie in the Ruins of Alph, and she grew to level 6 on our way to your Pokémon Center."

"Oh, wow! So you have five Pokemon now! Damn, only one spot left on your team to fill. That's awesome! Hey, while you're in Azalea Town, make sure to check out Kurt's house. Remember I told you he makes special Poké Balls?" She reminds me.

"Yeah, and since I've been traveling, I've collected quite a few Apricorns. I think I have two green, two pink, and two black ones."

"That's nice. Oh, hey, Calypso, I just looked at the time, and my break is over. I'll call you sometime later tonight or tomorrow morning. If you don't hear from me by the end of tomorrow, assume I'm dead or kidnapped, okay?" She ends the conversation morbidly.

"Deal! Talk to ya later!"

"Bye."

The Poké-Gear beeps as I hang up the call. Maybe it would be a good idea to go see Kurt before confronting Team Rocket. I leave the bathroom to go suggest the idea to Anthony.

*Third Person's POV*

As Calypso leaves the bathroom, she doesn't notice the strange high-pitched giggling or the phone beeping coming from the stall closest to the wall.

"I listened in on that freak's conversation the whole time, and she never even realized it, Sharon! No one calls me a dumb bitch, and gets away with it!" The lime green haired girl growls in hatred to her friend, Sharon, over the phone.

"Well, if she's such a pain in the ass, Monica, then what are you going to do about her?" Sharon replies exhaustedly.

"I've been training for this moment for way too long, Sharon", Monica snarls, "and when that freak gets to Goldenrod City, she's not going to know what hit her. Goldenrod is my hometown, and I have connections there. So she better watch the fuck out."

"Oh, I'm sure, Monica. Listen, I gotta go. The Growlithe that I'm dog-sitting for my aunt is trying to set the curtains on fire. I'll call you back later. Bye!"

"Bye." Monica grumpily hangs up the phone.

"She will pay for what she's done to me."

*Calypso's POV*

Apparently while I was busy in the bathroom with my phone call, Anthony also got a call himself. When I come out from the bathroom, the man is in tears.

"My second ex wife, Linda, wants to get back together again for the third time! So I have to start heading back towards Violet City, where we used to live together with our kids. But it was great hanging out with you, though."

I look at him quizzically. "So this is really random… all of that happened when I was in the bathroom, I guess? Did you still want a battle before you leave?"

He smiles warmly. "Of course, that's why we came here in the first place."

So Anthony and I go to the training arena on the right side of the Pokémon Center to have our battle.

Anthony sends out his Level 11 Geodude, while I send out Forest.

"Geodude, use Rock Throw!" Anthony instructs.

"Forest, dodge it and use Sleep Powder!" Forest gets hit on the shoulder with a small boulder, but he doesn't look too hurt. Forest shoots a large amount of silvery powder out of his mouth. It hits the Geodude dead on.

It doesn't take long before Forest suffocates the sleeping Geodude with a Vine Whip that knocks it out in one hit. Anthony recalls his fallen Pokémon.

"Damn, your Bellsprout is strong, chica. But you won't take out my next Pokémon so easily! Go Machop!"

Anthony's Level 11 Machop flexes its tiny muscles like it's at a tiny body building competition. I smirk. I know who is perfect to take his Machop on.

"Dusk, come on out!"

Dusk pops out of her Poké Ball, and floats over to the battlefield. She's yawning because she just woke up, but Machop interprets her yawns as her mocking him.

"Machop, use Karate Chop!"

Machop goes to injure Dusk with a powerful Karate Chop, but the Pokémon's fist goes straight through her!

Anthony's looking at Dusk and making the realization that Youngster Joey never did. His Machop can't land any hits on Dusk because fighting type moves don't affect her!

"You and Machop are in for a nasty surprise! Dusk, use Psywave!" I exclaim.

The piercing psychic sonic wave hits Machop directly. Machop loses all but a bit of HP due to it being super effective. The loud noise makes Machop a bit dizzy, so Dusk goes in for the finish.

"Psywave!" The attack hits again, and Machop is knocked out.

"Misdreavus! (I won!)" Dusk cheers happily. I cheer along with her.

"Wow, you are so strong! Here's your prize money," He says as he hands me 352.

"So I have to return to Violet City to see my wife and kids, but if she ever kicks me out again, call me! I'll be on Route 33, probably very depressed, and in need of another battle."

So Anthony and I exchange numbers and heal our Pokémon before going our separate ways.

I walk the five minute distance to Kurt's house on the left side of Azalea Town. I notice a white apricorn tree behind his house, so I pluck the apricorn off before I knock on the door.

A short old man with grey hair opens the door, and his jet black eyes zero in on me.

"Hm? Who are you?"

"I'm Calypso, and my friend told me that you can make Poké Balls out of Apricorns?"

He studies me up and down before looking back up to my face, "Calypso, eh? You sure look familiar, but I can't remember from where.

Anyway, you want me to make some balls? Sorry, but that'll have to wait. Do you know Team Rocket?"

I go to answer yes, but he completely talks over me, "Ah, don't worry, I'll tell you anyhow. Team Rocket's an evil gang that uses Pokémon for their dirty work. They're supposed to have disbanded three years ago."

A look of determination settles in Kurt's narrowed eyes.

"Anyway, they're at the Well, cutting off Slowpoke Tails for sale! So I'm gonna go give them a lesson in pain! Hang on, Slowpoke! Old Kurt is on his on his way!"

Then he dashes off towards Slowpoke Well with a speed I never would've expected from an old man. I try to power walk to keep up with him, but he quickly sprints out of sight, leaving me in the dust.

A five minute walk later, I come upon Slowpoke Well, but both the Rocket Grunt and Kurt are nowhere to be seen. I advance towards the entrance, until I feel one of my Poké Balls shaking.

"Bui!" Zellie squeals as she lets herself out of her Poké Ball. She yawns and stretches her muscles.

"Oh, so you're finally ready to train some more?" I ask her teasingly.

She rolls her eyes at the comment, but rubs her head on my leg in affection. I scratch her head a few times before we climb down the ladder into the Well.

At the bottom, I find Kurt flat on his back on the cold stone floor!

"Kurt! Are you okay?"

He opens his eyes and gazes up at me.

"Hey there, Calypso! The guard up top took off when I shouted at them."

Surprised, I remark, "Really? Cause all he did when I yelled at him was call me fat."

He pauses to stare at me with a weird expression but continues on,

"But then I took a tumble down the Well. I slammed down hard on my back, so I can't move. Rats! If I were fit, my Pokémon would've punished them… Ah, it can't be helped. Calypso, show them how gutsy you are in my place!"

"Are you sure you don't just want me to help you up? You look like you fell pretty hard." I suggest to him.

He shakes his head. "Nah, I just need a few more moments on my back before I can get up. I'll be fine. You go take care of them. They're all yours."

"Okay, if you insist," I affirm as Zellie and I carefully walk past Kurt, and into the next chamber of the Well.

I know that I have to be careful because Zellie is around the same levels as the Pokémon that live in the Well, so I'm guessing that Team Rocket's Pokémon will be a bit stronger than Zellie is used to facing.

Zellie and I climb up to the first high platform on the right. As soon as we reach the platform, a Team Rocket Grunt notices us.

"Hey, Team Rocket is here cutting off Slowpoke tails for profit! You can't be here!"

"Make me leave, Rocket douche!" I challenge.

The Grunt sends out two level 9 Rattatas that Zellie has no problem taking out with her Sonicboom + Water Gun combination.

"Zellie grew to Level 7!" The Pokédex echoes loudly in the cavern.

I congratulate Zellie on her growth while the Grunt looks astonished at his fallen Pokémon, and then back at Zellie in puzzlement. He silently hands me 360, and let's me pass.

Zellie got hurt a few times when the Rattatas used Tackle or Quick Attack, so I go ahead and heal her with a Potion.

We walk further past the first Grunt, only to have a female Rocket Grunt confront us,

"Look what we have here… A little brat of an intruder! Go Zubat!"

"Zellie, let's kick some Rocket ass!"

Zellie eagerly goes to face the Grunt's Level 9 Zubat.

"Zubat, use your Supersonic attack!"

"Zellie, cover your ears and use Sonicboom!"

She doesn't cover her ears in time, so Zubat's Supersonic confuses Zellie. As she dizzily waddles around in confusion, Zellie attempts to use her Sonicboom attack, but she hurts herself in her confusion.

"Zubat, Leech Life!"

Zubat flies towards Zellie and bites her hard, draining a fourth of her HP. It doesn't concern me too much, but I decide to switch her out so she doesn't keep stumbling around, confused.

"Zellie, return! Spirit, you take care of this!"

"Zubat, use Supersonic again!" The Grunt tries to pull off her confusion tactic again.

"Spirit, dodge it and take Zubat out with your Wing Attack!"

Spirit flies up high to avoid the Supersonic, and she swiftly dive bombs the Zubat, striking it powerfully with her wing. Due to her seven level advantage and high attack, she knocks Zubat out in one hit.

"Spirit grew to Level 17!" The Pokédex echoes again. I praise Spirit by ruffling her head feathers a few times. She chooses to perch on my shoulder instead of returning to her Poké Ball because she likes the darkness of the Well.

The female Grunt grits her teeth in frustration. "My last Pokémon is way stronger than my first!"

She throws a Poké Ball, and out comes a hissing Level 11 Ekans. My instinct is to call out either Dusk or Cyndi, but I decide that Dusk is the better choice.

"Go Dusk, use your Psywave attack!"

The sonic wave hits Ekans straight on, but the super effective attack only eats about a third of Ekans' large amount of HP. To my disappointment, the Ekans recovers quickly from the Psywave, and listens to the next command from its Trainer,

"Ekans, use Bite now!" Ekans uses its high speed to sneak up on Dusk and bite her on the back of her ghostly hair. Due to the super effectiveness, it nearly halves Dusk's HP. Dusk shrieks in pain, and uses Astonish on Ekans to get it to let go of her. The Astonish becomes a critical hit and it reduces Ekans' HP to about a little less than a third.

The Astonish makes Ekans flinch for a few seconds, so I instruct Dusk to go in for the finishing move.

"Dusk, use Psywave for the last time!" Dusk's accuracy doesn't falter, and she takes the Ekans out.

The female Grunt recalls Ekans. While growling grudgingly at me, she hands me 440. I heal Dusk with a Potion before continuing past her, and onto the last Grunt.

With Zellie's HP fully healed, I send her to take out the last Grunt's Pokémon. His team comprises of a Level 7 Rattata and two Level 9 Zubats. Zellie uses her Sonicboom +Water Gun combination to take out all three of the Grunt's Pokémon, to his dismay. She loses about half her HP in the process, but the experience she gains from it is more than worth it.

"Zellie grew to Level 8. Zellie grew to Level 9."

The last Grunt pays me 360. I heal Zellie again before recalling her so Spirit is the battling Pokémon.

I walk a few more steps past the last Grunt, and I can see a large man wearing an ugly black beret on my far right side. He hasn't made any indication that he's noticed me yet, so I loudly announce my presence while walking into his sight,

"Hey, Ugly Beret!"

The man's head snaps over to stare at me sharply. I immediately notice several things about him.

He's at least 8 feet away, but when he turns around to face me, I can tell how tall he is. I start walking closer, and I can tell his full height is probably around 6'2" or 6'3".

I get close enough to see that he appears to be in his late twenties. He's well muscled and broad shouldered.

His uniform is different than the rest of the Grunts. The regular Rocket Grunts wear black uniforms with grey boot and belts. This guy is wearing a grey uniform with a white belt and boots. I assume this means that he's of a higher rank.

To many, I guess his outfit might be considered stylish, but I just can't get over that beret. And underneath the beret, his hair sits neatly, but the color throws me for a loop: Mint Green?

I don't know what would be worse: That hair being natural, or deliberately choosing to dye your hair that color.

We finally make eye contact, his cat-like eyes staring me down intensely. Oddly enough, his eyes are the same color as hair.

I notice his gaze move down from my face, and I start to feel uncomfortable. He lingers too long on certain areas, and it's pissing me off. I feel a shiver run down my spine because of the way he's looking at me. It's the same way PG stares at a hot fudge sundae; like he's going to devour it! The mere thought makes me almost gag.

I have the sudden urge to cross my arms over my chest. The entire time, he never tears his stare away, and when he goes to speak, I'm almost afraid of what he'll say.

"Well, look at what we have here? Aren't you the cutest thing, trying to interfere with Team Rocket business," he says in what many could consider a smooth voice. I find it nothing but whiny and grating. I can't help but shudder in disgust.

"After I teach you a lesson and put you in your place, I might just keep you for myself!" He remarks while giving me the stare down again.

I purposely fake cough a few times while muttering the word, "Creep."

Apparently, he deciphers what word I'm saying because he frowns in response. His cat eyes glower at me, warning me not to make him angry. But I've never been one to listen to warnings.

And though he probably has 7-8 inches and 50 pounds on me, I'm not intimidated in the slightest. Big buff guys like him often rely on their huge build to intimidate people into doing what they want them to do. And since people rarely disobey them, they don't really want people calling their bluff. I think this guy is of the same breed, though I'm not sure if he's bluffing about the "keep me for himself" part. Ew.

I'm not even that that attractive by society's standards. Sometimes, at first glance, I look like a guy. I have no idea why a guy his age would ever be attracted to someone like me. Either way, he better keep his hands to themselves unless he'd like some broken fingers.

"I doubt you'd be able to catch me, let alone keep me," I reply cooly, whilst placing my hands in my pockets casually and allowing one eyebrow to rise.

His tough guy persona almost falters for a second, but he quickly recovers, and gives me the stink eye. Then, an expression of realization suddenly pops onto his face. He smirks at me, almost as if he has something to blackmail me with.

"My name is Proton," he introduces himself, "and I know who you are! You're Calypso Primrose, the delightful young woman who has a warrant out for her arrest. Your wanted poster was very interesting. I believe you're being charged for theft, aren't you?" He states smoothly, his smirk growing into a full blow grin.

He thinks he has me cornered. How cute. Well, I'm more than happy to show him how wrong he is. I smile sweetly, which seems to faze him.

"Had, motherfucker. I had a warrant out for my arrest. Not anymore. As of today, the wanted posters have been trashed and the warrant has been suspended until my investigation pends. So nice try, Rocket douche!"

I flip him the bird with both hands. His smug expression turns into a rueful smile. It's the smile of a guy who's struggling to control his anger. Let's see if I can push him a little bit too far…

"You're really testing my patience, sweetheart," He growls tensely, "and you wouldn't want to make me angry. I'm not just a mere Grunt, I'm a Team Rocket Executive. I'm considered to be the cruelest and scariest guy in Team Rocket, and I'm not afraid to live up to my reputation. So, Callie, are you gonna be a good girl and behave, or am I going to have to punish you?"

The mocking nickname and sexist comments cause my little self-control to instantly disintegrate into nothing. I barely comprehend anything that I am doing as my left fist does a meet n' greet with Proton's face. I hear a sickening crack; Blood starts spurting from Proton's nose in a steady stream.

"You crazy fucking bitch! You broke my nose," Proton screams, though his voice is slightly messed up due to the broken nose.

"The name's Calypso, motherfucker, and you know, just as a suggestion, why don't you use your ugly beret to soak up your nose blood? It really has no other useful purpose. No, wait, I was wrong, it covers up your hideous hair color! Tell me, is that natural, or did you purposely want to look like a weirdly deformed tree?"

I see that I'm in for a real fight when I see murder in Proton's kitty eyes.

"You," Proton snarls sinisterly, "You made a big mistake, sweetheart. I was going to be nice, and let you leave here unharmed. But now? You've ignited the wrath of Team Rocket, and you've made it personal. You got here with your Pokémon, so I'm going to end it with Pokémon. Go Zubat!"

Proton's Zubat is Level 8, weaker than I expected for a Rocket Executive.

Spirit indicates that she'd like to take on the Zubat, and flies to face the Zubat in the air.

"Spirit, let's take these fuckers down!"

*Spirit's POV*

I am staring at the sleaze ball's Zubat, who looks mildly terrified. He looks like he has no idea what's going on, and he refuses to make eye contact with me. Wait, never mind, I forgot Zubats' don't actually have eyes.

"You seem to be really confused right now. Are you okay?" I ask the Zubat.

"No, not really, miss. I was captured by this man a few days ago, and this is the first time I've been out of that Ball since then, and I have no idea what's going on."

"Zubat, use Supersonic!" The sleaze ball commands. The Zubat hears his name, but doesn't use the move.

"Is he talking to me?" The Zubat asks me.

I don't know whether to laugh or cry at this situation.

"Yes, he is talking to you. He's your human. Look, this is a Pokémon battle between two humans and their Pokémon. Your human pissed off my human, so I have to knock you out now."

"Zubat, USE SUPERSONIC!" Sleaze Ball bellows. His Zubat finally figures out that the command is for him, so he screeches a super sonic sound blast to try and confuse me. I've seen too many of my team members fall for this tactic, and I refuse to. So I manage to fly up and dodge it.

"Spirit, use your Faint Attack!" Calypso instructs.

I enjoy using this move. It has an above average power base, it gets a 1.5 typing bonus, and it plays well with my high attack. Plus, it never misses.

I disappear into a cloud of darkness, and the Zubat freaks out because he can't figure out where I am. A second or two later, my cloud opens up behind him, so I strike.

The Faint Attack knocks him out in one hit. Calypso ruffles my head feathers in affection before returning me to my Poké Ball for a nap.

*Calypso's POV*

Proton grits his teeth and growls in anger, "Return, you waste of space!"

Part of me feels bad for the Zubat. No Pokémon deserves that verbal abuse.

"That first battle was a fluke! I just caught that Zubat, and hadn't trained it yet. But my last Pokémon is much stronger!" Proton tries to boast.

"Yeah, that's what they all say. At least you just admitted that you basically suck as a Trainer, though."

Proton growls again but says nothing as he sends out his last Pokémon, a Level 12 Koffing.

I can't help but start to cough. Koffing's poison gas is nothing to laugh at.

I go to send out Dusk, but Cyndi's Poké Ball starts shaking. She let's herself out of her Poké Ball.

"Let me fight!" Cyndi requests, "I haven't been battling lately, and this guy looks like a chump."

"Good observance, Cyndi! Go ahead and wreck them."

*Cyndi's POV*

The Koffing's toxic gas is really making it hard for us all to breathe.

"Cyndi, use your Quick Attack!"

I begin charging the Koffing, but his human says a command first,

"Koffing, use Poison Gas!"

I plow into Koffing just as he starts amping up his Poison Gas. The hit reduces his HP by 2/5ths, but I also get poisoned in the process. Definitely not my favorite status problem.

I can feel the poison in my bloodstream, and I start to feel a bit woozy. But for Calypso and the Team's sake, I am going to be strong.

"You got this, Cyndi!" Calypso cheers in encouragement, "use your Ember attack!"

"Koffing, use Smokescreen!" His human screeches. Arceus, I hate that guy.

I charge a fire ball until it's blue, and shoot it at the Koffing. Unfortunately, he releases his smokescreen right before I see whether it hit or not.

When the smoke finally clears, I see the Koffing collapsed on the ground, fainted. Calypso loses her shit when she realizes that I'm poisoned.

"Here, Cyndi," She says soothingly as she uses an Antidote and a Potion on me. The physical relief of the medicine makes me feel so tired that Calypso recalls me into my Poké Ball.

*Calypso's POV*

"Grr… For a rookie Trainer to be this good… I didn't see it coming." Proton says as he recalls Koffing.

Proton crosses his arms together, and refuses to make eye contact with me like a Growlithe with its tail between its legs.

"Humph… Team Rocket was indeed broken up three years ago. But we continued our activities underground. A small obstacle like you won't be much of a problem for our mission. I advise you to be very afraid of what's to come!" He warns me before flinging a small wad of money at me for winning and fleeing the Well using an Escape Rope.

I go to check on the Slowpokes, when I hear footsteps coming closer. I get nervous, only to relax when I realize that it's Kurt.

"Way to go, Calypso! Team Rocket has taken off! My back's better, too. Let's get out of here."

"Sounds like a plan!" I reply. Kurt and I safely transport the injured Slowpoke to the Pokémon Center for treatment before returning to Kurt's house.

We get back to Kurt's house, and he invites me in. The moment we step in, I hear a yell of,

"GRANDPA!"

A little girl who looks to be about six runs into the room, and clings to Kurt. Then, she takes one look at me, and says,

"Where's Slowpoke? Who are you? You look funny. Did you help get Slowpoke back from the bad people?"

"Calypso, this is my granddaughter, Maizie. Maizie, this is Calypso. She helped bring Slowpoke back from the bad people. And Slowpoke is at the Pokémon Center so they can heal him."

Maizie marches up to me, and to my surprise, she gives me a hug!

"I like you! I hope grandpa makes Poké Balls for you all the time!"

"Calypso, you handled yourself like a real hero. As I mentioned before, Team Rocket was disbanded by a boy called Red three years ago. Now that they have come back… I have a bad feeling about it… In any case, it would please me greatly to make Poké Balls for a Trainer like you, Calypso. This all I have now, but take it."

Kurt hands me a Poké Ball that I don't recognize.

"It's a Fast Ball," he explains, "It works especially well on Pokémon with a high speed stat."

"Thanks, Kurt!" I take a glance at the nearby window, and I notice the sky getting dark.

"I think I'm going to need to rent a Pokémon Center room tonight so I'm going to head out. It was awesome meeting you guys."

"Noooooo!" Maizie runs towards me and wraps her arms around my legs.

"Don't go! Grandpa has one more bed for when I want to have sleepovers! You should staaaaaay!"

Kurt smiles softly at Maizie's fondness for me. "Maizie is right, you know. You are more than welcome to stay if you'd like. We have an extra bed, and you wouldn't have to pay for a hotel room."

"Well, when you put it like that, I can't really say no."

Maizie squeals happily, "YAY! Sleepover!"

So Kurt makes a homemade chowder for us all to share for dinner, and despite me asking several times if he needs help, the old man refuses to let me help him.

"You're a guest at my home. The only thing I need to for you to do is to sit down, and enjoy your meal."

After dinner, Maizie and I play a few board games, including her favorite, Chutes and Ladders. We play that game about three times, Maizie winning two of the three times.

At around 8:30, Kurt sends Maizie off to bed.

I start towards the room where Kurt said I'd be staying, but the soft utterance of my name stops me in my tracks. I turn around, and Kurt is standing in the hallway, a strange expression gracing his features.

"Calypso, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to have a few words with you before you turn it for the night."

Part of me inwardly panics. What if Kurt saw my wanted poster? Is he going to confront me?!

"Sure," I reply nonchalantly, hoping he doesn't pick up on my anxiety, "After, I am a guest in your home. How can I say no?"

"You are one clever girl," Kurt chuckles, and gestures me to for me to follow him.

He leads me back to his kitchen/dining room and we sit at the dining room table, which is placed right next to the kitchen window. Taking a gander out the window, I notice that the moon is full. That explains all the crazy energy going on with every thing today.

I turn my head back to Kurt, and he's looking at me with that weird expression again. He stares at me for long enough that I ask,

"So, Kurt… what did you wanna talk to me about?"

His stare breaks, and he looks like he's snapped out of a trance. He still doesn't say anything, so I question,

"Hey, Kurt, you there? You seem a little off."

He finally comes back to reality and starts talking in a flurry.

"I've just been thinking and pondering constantly since I saw you for the first time today, Calypso. You looked familiar, like someone that I used to know, but I just couldn't put my finger on it. Then, when I fell down the Well, I had to lie there for long enough for my back to feel better, so I could get up. It took me almost the entire time you were defeating Team Rocket to figure it out, but I did."

He hasn't mentioned anything about the wanted poster yet, so that makes me feel better. But I'm still anxious.

"So what did you figure out," I ask tentatively.

"I'll tell it to you in a story. When I was a young Pokémon Trainer, I had a group of friends that I was rather close with. Professor Oak and Agatha of the Elite Four were among these friends. Another member of this group was a young man by the name of Peter Marken. Most people called him Pete."

I flinch at the surname, which I know I shouldn't because it's my dad's surname, but it's also Gran's surname. I resist the urge to vomit.

If he notices my reaction, he doesn't say anything. He continues on,

"Anyway, Pete was a talented Pokémon Trainer. He routinely competed against the other members of the group, and won about 60% of the time. He could've trained to become the Champion, but Pete had a different passion. He joined the Goldenrod City Police Department at age twenty, and he served as an Officer and a Detective.

When he was 21, he met a woman named Ruth who worked in the Attorneys' Department. They fell in love, and when he was 25, they had a son named Daniel.

Pete served in the Police Department for 15 years until a leg injury forced him to retire when he was 35.

Then, his son, Daniel, grew up, and became a semi-famous fisherman. He met a Kimono Girl named Akira Primrose while she was vacationing in his hometown of Cianwood City.

They fell in love and got married, and he moved from Cianwood City to her hometown of Ecruteak City, despite Ruth's insistence that he stay in Cianwood. Dan felt that her job as a Kimono Girl was more important. They settled there, and soon Akira became pregnant with a daughter."

Then he has the audacity to look pointedly at me. I throw him a tight lipped smile.

"Okay, you caught me. My name is Calypso Aspen Primrose. I am the daughter of Daniel Marken and Akira Primrose. Pete and Ruth Marken are my paternal grandparents. Happy?"

"Yes and no. Pete was one of my closest friends, and to see his granddaughter carry on his Trainer legacy makes me happy. But I also miss him, too. He died a year after you were born, from a heart attack. He was only 48! Oh, well, the good people always go the fastest." Kurt finishes.

"Do I look like Pete?" I ask Kurt after a comfortable moment of silence.

"Huh? Oh yeah, you do. You look like both Pete and Daniel. You've got that brown shaggy hair that both of them had. But you also have the smoothness of Akira's facial features, and her purple eyes. So, in all, I'd say you're a nice mix of your parents' features."

That makes me smile instantly.

"No one has ever told me I look like my parents, ever! Mostly because they're dead, but Gran also hated them, so she never talked about them. I'm just glad I look nothing like her," I say gratefully.

"Ruth has been a selfish person ever since I met her. When Pete and I were still close, he would tell me what was going on with his family at times.

Ruth hated Akira because she married Daniel, and she hated Daniel for daring to move away to Ecruteak, where she couldn't control him.

And she put all this stress on Pete, trying to get him to help her break the two up so Daniel would come home, but he always refused. It's no wonder the man had a heart attack."

"Yeah, Ruth still isn't a good person. Did you ever hear what happened to me after Daniel and Akira died," I ask.

Kurt shakes his head, and says,

"No, after Pete died, no one in that family kept contact with me. I had to find out that Dan and Akira had died from reading a newspaper article. There was no way Ruth was ever going to contact me. She hated and was jealous of Pete's friends and coworkers. She wanted nothing to do with us."

"Well, then I have a story for you," I declare,

"I was only four years old when Mom and Dad died. In accordance with their will, their family friend, Tina, was to be my legal guardian if anything ever happened to them. I think my dad put that in there after he moved to Ecruteak, and cut off Gran, so she couldn't control me like she did to him.

Well, Gran didn't like that, and she put in a request to the Goldenrod City Court, claiming legal custody of me because of her being an immediate blood-related family member. She used her power within the Legal Department to make an old conservative judge that she knew take the case. And, because of her corrupting and cheating the judicial system, she gained full custody of me!"

Kurt's expression goes from curious to horrified in a split second.

"You're telling me you spent your entire childhood with Ruth, and you turned out okay?"

I can't help but laugh at his statement, "Yes, and believe me, I had to fight to keep my sanity intact the entire time. She was always overbearing, and tried to control every aspect of my life. At that point, I was the only thing left of her life with her husband and her son, aka, the only thing left for her to control.

I tried to escape multiple times as a kid, but I was always clumsy. She'd hear me knocking stuff over, and bust me. Then, when I was fifteen, I started to behave in order to gain her trust. After a year of good behavior, Gran let me go outside unsupervised for the first time.

On one of my outside excursions, I met a Medicine Guru who lives at the bottom of Cianwood City. I told him my story, and he said he'd help me escape from Gran, because he thought she was crazy, too. Over the next year, he helped me keep my sanity in check, and he gave me my first Pokémon, Spirit.

There was a day where Gran had to go serve jury duty in Goldenrod City. The Pharmacy Guy and I used that day to do my escape. After Gran left me in charge of the house while she was gone, I ransacked the place, and did quite a lot of property damage. Then, PG got me a ferry that took me to New Bark Town, where I finally started my journey."

Kurt takes a second to process all of that information. After a moment, he says decidedly, "Ruth probably deserved it. That woman has been bad news since day one."

I pull out a wanted poster of me that I took from the Pokémon Center back in Violet City. I roll it out, and show him it.

"Ruth is trying to charge me with Grand Larceny and Destruction of Property. What she doesn't know is that I have a few friends who work in the Johto Police Department, helping me work on my case. They've gotten the wanted posters taken down, and my arrest warrant suspended. They're going to investigate Gran for corrupt judicial activity, and for domestic abuse."

Kurt gives me a sharp look. "Abuse? You never mentioned abuse in your story before. What type of abuse?"

"Let's just say Ruth has depression, alcoholism, and anger issues, in that order," I say dismissively.

"Humph! And she claimed to be the superior guardian… Well, Calypso, I'm so sorry you had to suffer through such circumstances as a child. I will do everything in my power as your grandfather's friend to keep Ruth away from you. I might be a little old, but I still got some kick left in me," Kurt exclaims warmly.

I can't help but tear up at his dedication. "Thank you so much, Kurt! It's so satisfying to know someone else sees her the way I see her. I can't handle her obsessiveness anymore. I am my own person, and she needs to realize that."

"I don't think she ever will," Kurt interjects, "that's the kind of person she is. She doesn't have enough of a sense of self to sustain her so she suffocates the personalities of the people around her."

"I've never heard a truer statement, Kurt."

We both look at the clock. It's 10:30. My mouth stretches open as a yawn I didn't know I had forces its way out.

"Well, we better get to sleep if we want to be rested for tomorrow. It was nice talking to you, Calypso. Goodnight."

"Night, Kurt."

That night, I fall asleep with a peace of mind that I don't know if I've ever felt before. I feel at home.

[ghostbustermelanieking]

x files fic: under the stars (minimal fate required)

or: ways mulder and scully could’ve been happy

for @leiascully‘s challenge: list sort of

01.

The X-Files are never shut down and Scully is never abducted.

They fall into a comfortable rhythm of partnership: an incredible solve rate, an easy repertoire. (He never convinces her to believe in aliens, and she never convinces him not to.) They start spending time together outside of work - getting drinks, watching movies over long-abandoned paperwork. It’s at least two and a half years before Mulder realizes that she is his best friend. (Even over the Gunmen, he thinks about telling her, but how would that go down? They don’t say things like that to each other. She’s only ever called him Fox once, and he’s called her Dana a total of six times before she asked him to stop; what kind of friends are they?)

She almost dies - goes to pick up a witness while Mulder stays at the tiny local police station, doesn’t come back; he finds her five hours later in a basement with a gun pressed to her head from behind, has to negotiate for twenty tense minutes before the witness shoves her to the floor and tries to run out the back door, where the local police are waiting. His heart rate doesn’t slow down the entire time. He helps her off of the floor and pulls her into a fierce embrace. We never do anything like this, he thinks. She might smooth his hair, take his pulse, rub his neck, check for head injuries if he’s hurt, but they never full-on embrace each other. Her arms are pinned between them; she wasn’t expecting the hug. You must really like me, she teases, poking him in the arm. If you’re this relieved.

Nah, he says. I hugged Frohike like this that one time we brought him on a case and he almost took a bullet; remember?

Glad I measure up to Frohike’s standards, she says seriously. Like she really thinks he likes him better than her. He hugs her tighter because his heart is still pounding too hard and she could’ve died, really; his best friend dead in a crummy little basement because he didn’t go with her to pick up a witness or he didn’t negotiate right.

They keep meeting with Skinner, and he keeps looking at them disapprovingly over his glasses, and Scully keeps going head-to-head with people for him. Mulder, I wouldn’t put myself on the line for anyone but you, she’d said, and goddamn it, she was right. She’s vicious in a subtle, professional way that makes people want to look to her for authority, especially him (he’d make her the supervising agent if she’d take any good cases, or if it wouldn’t ruin her career).

You should ask for reassignment, he says one day over beers, studying the stem of his bottle seriously.  

She flicks her bottle cap towards the trash can, and it lands perfectly. Tired of me, Mulder? That might be hurt in her voice, because she isn’t looking at him.

No. Just worried you’re never going to be able to go anywhere else. That you’ll be stuck with me forever.

Her ocean-colored eyes meet his. What if I don’t want to go anywhere? she says, taking a sip from her bottle.

He watches the motion of her throat as she swallows the beer. He smiles. So, I’ve finally convinced you of my paranormal beliefs, Scully?

She smirks. I didn’t say that.

(When she grabs his hand later, it’s not as much of a surprise as he thought it’d be. It feels right.)

02.

Melissa doesn’t die and neither does Scully. She and Melissa arrive at the same time, and as she’s unlocking the door, she hears the rustle of people inside, the cocking of a gun. She tells Melissa to keep a low profile and runs to Mulder’s apartment where she finds Skinner, and then Mulder. Skinner refuses to give them the tape and they run.

Skinner tries to negotiate the tape for their reinstatement, but it doesn’t work. Skinner meets them the next day, covertly, wearing a hood in the park. (He looks ridiculous, like he’s trying to be hip with the kids, Mulder whispers in her ear, and she has to jam her hand in her mouth because it’s definitely not a convenient time for laughing.) There are warrants out for the both of your arrests, he says. They have proof, they say, that Mulder killed his father and you’re hiding him, Scully.

Mulder pales. It’s not true, Scully says firmly, standing her ground. The evidence must’ve been manipulated. They’re trying to take us down.

Skinner looks uncomfortable, but he says he believes them. I’m going to work on clearing your names, he says (awkwardly, because, you know, he’d pointed a gun at her the other day). In the meantime, you need to disappear.

(I’m sorry, Scully, Mulder says in the car. They’re both grimy, in need of sleep and bathing. I didn’t mean for this to happen to both of us.

She tells him it’s okay; she’s sacrificed so much for this, the truth, that this feels almost mundane in comparison. Her family will be worried, but at least she isn’t dying. She thinks maybe she will resent him later, but for now, she’s just relieved he’s alive and okay.)

(She hugs Mulder for the first time since his return from the dead when they stop for gas; says I’m sorry instead of I missed you into his smelly shirt. She’d thought maybe he’d killed his father but knows it isn’t true, knows how much he must be hurting.)

The Gunmen get them fake IDs and Scully cuts and dyes her hair a dark brown in their crappy apartment bathroom. She asks them to get a burner phone for Melissa, something she can use to check in and reassure her family that she’s okay. She and Mulder leave with the burner’s twin and hastily packed suitcases with cheap Walmart clothes in a car paid for with cash from Mulder’s father’s will. What’s our identity? Married couple? Mulder asks casually from the driver’s seat, raising an eyebrow at her. (He’s been joking around since they left that gas station, after embracing for what seemed like forever, and she recognizes it as a coping mechanism. That night, when they’d stopped, she’d put her hand on his knee and asked him to talk to her - I can see you’re hurting, Mulder, please, this isn’t healthy. He got mad at first, stalked off into the darkness. He returned upset, later, cried and let Scully hold him, buried his face in the crook of her shoulder. He was a bastard, but he was my father, he’d whispered hollowly against his skin. They don’t discuss it the next morning, but they can tell a barrier’s broke. Since then, she’s let him joke, pretend that nothing is wrong.)

We don’t have any rings, she says, fingering the ends of her dark, shorn hair. (It hasn’t been this short since 1993, at least, and never this dark. She yanks it back in one of the half-ponytail things she used to wear all the time then, and Mulder smiles familiarly and tugs at it. She’s glad he’s not dead.)

They get a ratty little hotel room with one bed (married couple, remember, Mulder says, waggling his eyebrows). Scully calls her sister and pulls at the comforter with her overlong fingernails while Mulder showers. She smiles as soon as she hears her voice.

You’ve gotten yourself into a pickle here, Day, Melissa says, and it sounds like she’s teasing, but it comes out strained because she’s worried about her sister. I blame your partner.

Oh, me too, Scully says loudly as he comes out of the bathroom. He’s impossible to live with, really. She giggles - giggles, my god, has she gone off in the deep end - when Mulder lobs a balled-up t-shirt at her head.

Seriously, Dana, Melissa says. Are you okay?

Yeah, Scully says. Mulder flops on the bed beside her, mattress rippling under his weight. It’s beyond bizarre to be actually sharing a space with him. Are you? she continues, tugging a thread loose from the duvet. I’m worried about you and Mom. (Because maybe the people who were going to kill her, and probably Melissa when they saw her, won’t hesitate to go after her family. Leverage. Punishment. She thinks about convincing Skinner to put them in witness protection.)

We are, Missy says. They… question us about you a lot. About Fox. About where you are.

Scully bites her lip. Skinner swore he was doing his best the last time they talked, but she hates putting her family through this. It’ll all be over soon, she promises. I’ll be home someday. I love you.

Love you, too, Day. Melissa sounds less relaxed than Scully’s ever heard her in her entire life when she hangs up.

You okay? Mulder says.

Yeah, she says. She’d say what she’s thinking - that she’s just happy Missy’s alive, that she heard what she did before opening the door - but it seems selfish, considering what’s happened to Mulder’s father, considering Samantha. She ignores the thought. They’ve been ignoring a lot, here; sleeping in seedy hotels is an easy escape, they can joke and flip channels on the TV and pretend nothing from the outside world exists. It’s the most mundane existence she and Mulder have ever shared, and it’s somewhat blissful: Mulder is fun, almost, when he’s not absorbed into the monster of the moment, and this is the first time they’ve ever hung out, at least without work as a pretense/distraction. (Even if hanging out involves sharing a bed to keep their identity in place.)

Are you sure you don’t want me to sleep on the floor? he asks, almost nervously, as she stretches out beside him.

No, you just came back from the dead, she says. It’d be cruel. She flips off the light.

(On the first night, she ends up curled against his back, face pressed in the space between his shoulder blades. On the third night, he rolls back against her, burying his face in her chemical-y hair, soft from the hotel conditioner. By the seventh, she’s unintentionally grabbing him in their sleep and he rolls closer instead of away. They don’t talk about it.)

On their fourth week as fugitives, they’re playing Blackjack on the cracked concrete under the street lights, feet dangling in the five foot end of the pool. Mulder’s been quiet, chewing on a straw in his mouth. Hit me, Scully says.

He starts, sets a card down absently. She resists the urge to swear: 24. Are you happy, Scully? he says softly.

She’s startled by the question, tempted to say as happy as anyone can be in this situation. I’m thinking of it as an overdue vacation, she says instead.

He nods, straw bobbing in his mouth. I just feel bad about tearing you away from your life, he says. You didn’t ask for this.

Scully deals them a new hand, trying to meet his eyes. I didn’t ask for it, but they involved me when they abducted me and tried to kill me and my sister, she says. And hurt you, poisoned you, killed your father, she adds silently. And besides that, even if I wasn’t dismissed from the FBI, I would’ve come with you anyway.

He looks up at her in shock. She smiles shyly, setting the cards down between them, pokes his foot with hers in the pool.

I guess it’s just for the X-Files credential, he says finally, waggling his eyebrows. A real life man come down from the dead.

Shut up, she says, splashing him. They play cards until a family comes out with grouchy kids wrapped in striped beach towels; they never want to risk being recognized.

(Eventually, Skinner gets their names cleared and they come home and get their old jobs back and Scully hugs her sister gratefully. But for now, they play cards under the stars. It’s almost good, almost perfect.)

03.

Hey, Scully, he says, watching the curve of her neck as she puts files away.

Yes, Mulder? she replies, somewhere between amused and irritated.

He scuffs his shoes on the floor. Would you, uh. Like to get dinner with me? Jesus Christ, he hasn’t been this nervous asking anyone out since college. Of course, he’s only dated Diana since college, and that didn’t go over very well.

Sure, she says, not looking up. I get to pick this time, though. And can I put a veto on discussing certain cases? It’s Friday night, Mulder.

I know, he says. I, um, actually. Wanted to know if you wanted to go out. With me.

She looks up at him with surprise, although not rejection or disgust. His stomach flips like a pancake. On a date, he supplies, and immediately wants to slap himself.

You’re asking me on a date, Scully says. Matter-of-fact. Clarifying tone.

Um… He scuffs his shoe again, looking at the floor. They need to sweep in here; the janitor only comes down by request and he has a vendetta against Mulder for his discarded sunflower seeds. Yes? he says questioningly, and waits for the end of their friendship.

Okay.

He looks up; she’s replacing files in the cabinet calmly again, as if he’s asked her to pick up a candy bar at the store or something. Okay? he repeats.

She looks up, the ghost of a smile gracing her lips. Okay, she echoes, warmly.

The relief is overwhelming. Okay, he says another time, smiling. Okay.

04.

They kiss in Mulder’s hallway, and Scully doesn’t go to Utah.

(I wish you wouldn’t quit, Mulder whispers against her scalp that morning in bed, and Scully tugs his t-shirt and says, I’ll keep fighting. This isn’t over.)

Mulder tries to get the X-Files back, tries to convince Skinner to let Scully come back, but it nevers works. Scully becomes a doctor, takes up permanent residence in his bedroom. (She goes to Nevada with him, on a dare, and when they come back, there’s a waterbed, and she agrees to stay over at his house; every once in a while, she says sternly over his pillows. [It’s a lot more than every once in a while, and he never lets her forget it.]) He steals X-Files from their old office under Spender and Fowley’s noses and they argue about them over takeout.

(I miss it, sometimes, being at the FBI, she tells the space between his shoulder blades one morning, hugging him tightly from behind. She’s become clingier since, doesn’t quite know why. She didn’t know she could love someone this catastrophically.

I miss you being there with me, he tells her, clasping her hands and pulling them up to rest against his chest.)

After they’re dragged to quarantine and the Syndicate dies off in a fire, Spender doesn’t recommend Mulder be reassigned to the X-Files. Quit, Scully says that night. The FBI hasn’t done anything for you but ruin you. They don’t deserve you, and you don’t need them.

I don’t want to quit, he says. I don’t want this to be over.

We aren’t over, she tells him. We’re both still here. We don’t need the FBI. We can still find the truth.

It’ll be dangerous, he says into her mouth. (She’s pressed him up against the cabinets, kissing him so hard he thinks he’ll melt.) Without their credentials, there’ll be a lot more roadblocks; and no one cares if two ex-FBI agents die in a random accident. They’ll be vulnerable.

She smiles. When has that ever stopped us before?

05.

The IVF works.

Mulder doesn’t expect it to, because honestly, how the hell could anything happen in their lives that’s as perfect as this? They are the type of people who don’t get to kiss, whose sisters stay lost and whose daughters die before they get the chance to know them. He expects this to end in tragedy, expects it to end with Scully crying into his shirt and him unable to comfort her - although he doesn’t want it to. He wants to make her happy, to be able to do one damn thing right. He waits for her on her couch. The Christmas tree she’s set up in the corner sits dormant and dark; he thinks about plugging the lights in.

Scully comes home, and his stomach twists when he turns over and sees the smile on her face. She looks happier than he’s seen her in months; the last time she smiled like that is when he opened his eyes in the hospital at some point after she woke him up from Spender’s botched brain surgery; she’d smiled like he was the entire world, squeezed his fingers. Scully? he whispers in wonder, shifting on the couch to sit up.

She smiles, hand ghosting her abdomen. It worked.

He gapes at her, mouth hanging open a little. Scully, that’s fantastic! He moves towards her, expecting a hug or a chaste kiss to the forehead, but she kisses him first, hands cupping the side of his face.

She pulls away a minute later, red already spreading across her face. I’m sorry, Mulder, she whispers, I don’t want to obligate you to anything, you didn’t agree to…

He kisses her again before she finishes; he’s wanted to do that for years now. Scully, I want this, he says. I wouldn’t have said yes if I didn’t.

She smiles again, eyes welling up, and buries her head in his shoulder. He rubs circles on the small of her back, trying to remember how he ever got here. This is all I’ve ever wanted, she says into his sweater, so quietly he almost can’t hear her. This is it.

06.

Mulder doesn’t go to Oregon, or he doesn’t leave three days after their son is born, or he comes home to find them waiting for him and he and Scully cry in the threshold of her apartment, or Scully never gives William up and the three of them disappear into the sunset after breaking Mulder out of prison. They get to raise their son, watch him grow up to morph into a child who inherited their looks and intelligence and Scully’s snark and Mulder’s curiosity. In some cases, there is another baby, and in other cases, there’s only ever William, their miracle baby. But in every case, there is the three of them and they are happy. A family.

07.

The IVF doesn’t work, and Scully never gets pregnant. (She gets uncontrollably sad about it, sometimes, like when Bill and Tara call to announce that their second child is on the way, or she talks to an old friend who has to go in the other room because her kids won’t let her talk on the phone in peace, or - one time - because they see a baby in a dingy small-town diner, and she gets teary and tries to hide it with scratchy napkins. Mulder tries to comfort her every time, although he’s worried he’s just making it worse - it’s his fault she can never have a baby. He has his moments of teary-eyed weakness himself.)

They go to Oregon, but Scully isn’t sick and Mulder isn’t abducted. Two months later, the X-Files are shut down. Too much money towards a dead-end project, the man who comes to tell them says. Scully surprises them both by being the one to retort sharply, standing up and glaring at him like he is the scum of the earth and sliding in a sir at the end to barely pass it off as respectable. Scully, it’s okay, Mulder says quietly when they’re alone in not-their-office.

Mulder, this is your life’s work, she says, still breathing a little hard and glaring at the door.

He reaches down and takes her hand. It’s okay.

They’re reassigned to the VCS - Skinner fights hard for them to stay partners. (They go to his office to thank him, and he looks at them critically, says, As long as you don’t let… whatever this is… interfere with your work, then we won’t have a problem, agents with a spastic motioning towards them and red spreading across his cheeks. Which leads to a ten-minute bickering about who is the reason Skinner knows.)

They stay at the FBI for two more years. Things are different, darker, in the VCS, but Scully still does autopsies and they still have to travel out of town sometimes (it’s almost more exciting to be in a hotel with ten other agents; it makes sneaking into one of their hotel rooms more risky, and Scully seems to like it) and they still are a singular unit no matter how many people are in the room.

(Things come to a head when they are both taken by a serial killer, found bound and bruised and traumatized together just before the man starts to kill them.)

Let’s quit, Mulder says in the hospital that night, tracing her fingers with his. Their hands haven’t stopped shaking since they were rescued; they’ve held hands since their wrists were untied, in front of the entire task force, and don’t care.

Mulder, she says, astonished.

The X-Files are gone. And besides that, we can’t keep doing this, Scully. We can’t keep almost losing each other. He kisses the back of her hand, a small, warm patch on her chilled skin. Remember what I told you in Oregon? There has to be an end. I’m ready.

(Skinner looks almost sad when they hand in their resignations. He shakes their hands and tells them their services will be missed and not to be strangers. I’m surprised he didn’t hug us, Mulder says in the elevator. Skinman’s gone soft.

Let’s invite him to our wedding, Scully says slyly, and can’t stop giggling at the expression on Mulder’s face.)

They buy an apartment together, one that doesn’t have bloodstains or monsters in the corner, where no one has ever died. They get jobs teaching at Quantico - Scully teaching pathology and Mulder teaching profiling, at first, but eventually an additional class on paranormal investigations that takes a large amount of fighting to receive. He writes books at night, putting his insomnia to good use. (Thank God you have something to do at night, Scully says, or I would never get any sleep.) The X-Files are eventually reopened by an eager agent, Monica Reyes, and a more reluctant agent, John Doggett, who have some dark past no one asks them about and no one wants to - they’re good friends, good partners. Agent Reyes insists on Mulder consulting, which leads to them being semi-regular appearances at the apartment (there are usually arguments where Reyes and Mulder gang up on Doggett; Scully feels sorry for the guy, has to intervene at least 70% of the time; she grows an affection for these outcast agents that remind her of she and Mulder when they were young).

Let’s have a baby, Mulder says one lazy summer night almost three years after they’ve left the FBI. They have a habit of taking blankets up to the roof of their building and watching the stars (or looking for UFOS, as Mulder calls it), and Scully’s curled beside him, nearly asleep.

We can’t. The IVF process didn’t work, she says sleepily, sadly into his shoulder.

So we try again. I have more money than I did when we tried the first time - my mom left the entire estate to me. We can afford it. His palm nearly covers her forehead, brushing hair away from her face. Or we could adopt. Save someone. We could get Skinner to write a letter of recommendation.

I love you, she says. At his sharp breath of pleasant surprise, she realizes she’s never said it. She rises up on her knees and kisses him under the stars.

08.

Mulder doesn’t join the FBI because Samantha is never abducted. Dana joins the FBI, stays at Quantico. They meet by accident - she’s guest-lecturing at the university where he teaches. There’s a teacher’s lounge and a friend of hers tugs her towards him, saying she needs to try the coffee loud enough for everyone to hear, but whispering something about how she should go talk to the psychology professor because he’s cute and exactly her type, she swears.

Her friend tugs her forward and she stumbles, almost crashing into him and the table at the same time. Sorry, she says sheepishly, reaching for a mug on the rack.

It’s fine, he says. Although the coffee isn’t nearly that good. He smiles; he has a nice smile. I’m Fox Mulder. He extends his hand.

She takes it. Dana Scully.

[o-a-crutchfeild]

The Note of the Chat- Chapter One: A Book and a Proposal

Next

Adrien Agreste looks out the window, watching the rain slide down. "How dull," he murmurs, eyes dark. "Same thing, over and over..."

"Dude, you might want to pay attention to the lesson?" Nino suggests, raising an eyebrow. "Instead of doing the dramatic model angst thing?"

"Nino, it's just so... do you realize that the whole world is falling apart, and we're helpless to stop it?" he frowns, tension creasing his forehead. "I hate feeling powerless..."

"If you don't graduate high school, you're going to be helpless forever," Nino deadpans. "Pay attention to the lesson."

"I know it already," Adrien sighs. "Anyway, I... wait, what?" He blinks, as the sky opens up slightly, and a beam of light is sent down... something falls from the sky, just past the window. "Nino, did you see that?"

"See you staring out the window, and totally missing everything the teacher's talking about? Yes, yes, I did."

Adrien watches, before flinging his hand in the air. "Miss Bustier, may I be excused?" She nods, and he ignores Nino staring at him like he's lost his mind. Something fell, in a shaft of light, from the sky. Something like that... it warrants checking out. He runs down the stairs, heading out to the lawn, where a small book lies on the concrete of the path... He frowns, leaning down, and lifting it up. "

The Death Note," he murmurs, flicking it open, noticing how the rainwater doesn't seem to hit it. "How to Use," he reads out. "The person whose name is written in this note will die. This note will not take effect unless the writer has the person's face in their mind when writing his/her name. Therefore, people sharing the same name will not be affected. If the cause of death is written within 40 seconds of writing the person's name, it will happen. If the cause of death is not specified, the person will simply die of a heart attack. After writing the cause of death, details of death should be written in the next 6 minutes and 40 seconds." He stares at the writing. "Well, that... sounds simple enough, I guess? This can't be real..."

Still, he slides it into his bag before heading back up to the classroom.

...

Marinette Dupain-Cheng gasps, eyes widening as she jerks up from bed. "Tikki!"

The woman smiles, entering the room. "Yes, Ladybug?"

"I just had a wonderful dream..." she smiles slowly. "A challenge. A mystery I couldn't figure out... in Paris. A serial killer with beautiful green eyes..."

"Are we to go to Paris, Ladybug?" Tikki asks calmly. She does everything calmly...

Marinette nods slowly. "I think so. Not right away. I'm no psychic, but... but I really do think..." She shakes her head quickly. "What am I saying? I'm acting like an actual sixteen-year old. Dreams mean nothing."

Tikki sighs, sitting on the edge of the bed and stroking Marinette's hair. "You are an actual sixteen-year-old. It's natural that you'd want that kind of challenge. Just remember that you're more than emotions. You're the World's Greatest Detective."

"The World's three Greatest Detectives," the girl corrects. "Don't forget the Paon and Papillon identities."

"See? You're beyond this. Just wait out the emotions, and by the time you're an adult, you'll be able to forget them completely," Tikki promises.

Marinette sighs, closing her eyes and remembering that clear, vivid green gaze. "What if I like emotions?"

"Your mind is too important for that, and you know it."

She nods. "Got it. Of course, Tikki, you're absolutely right." The woman nods, and Marinette tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, looking out the window. "Still... do you think I could maybe take a more hands-on role? On the next case? I've never really..."

Tikki thinks. "We'll see."

Marinette is the top three detectives in the world. She's smart enough to know that 'we'll see' means 'no.'

...

Adrien gets home, and smiles to Nathalie, before going up to his room, flicking on the tv.

On the news, a story tells of a man holding a class of children hostage. His name is Armand D'Argencourt...

Adrien yanks the Death Note out of his bag, writing the name down in clear, neat handwriting. "Thirty nine... thirty eight..."

He slowly counts down from forty, and the moment he reaches. "One... now!" there's a disturbance on the screen.

"The children are coming out! Sources say that the shooter appears to have died of a heart attack!"

He gasps slightly, eyes widening. "It... It actually happened..." he shakes his head. "It could be a coincidence, but... no. No, it's too exact."

A smile traces across his face. Things just got a lot less boring and helpless.

...

"You were right," Tikki slams a file in front of Marinette's desk. "The killings appear to have started in Paris."

The headline inside the file says it clearly:

"HUNDREDS OF CRIMINALS DIE OVERNIGHT"

Hundreds of criminals, all having committed some disgusting, violent crime, died of heart attacks last night. There seemed no way for it to be a coincidence, and yet, no way for such a grand conspiracy to truly be carried out... The police were baffled, governments stunned.

It's exactly the kind of case that Ladybug takes.

"So, Paris then?"

"Paris."

...

Adrien leans back, hands behind his head. "The internet's screaming. My internet history is deleted. And there are almost five hundred of the worst people to exist, in new graves."

"Well aren't you impressive?" a voice comes from behind him. Adrien spins around, screaming at the sight of the giant, hulking cat-beast. "Now, kiddo. I expected something interesting when I dropped the notebook, but half a grand of bodies in a night? I'm impressed!"

Adrien takes a shaky breath, getting to his feet. "You're the one who this book belongs to."

"Got that right. The name's Plagg."

"Are you going to kill me?"

The cat-beast... Plagg, laughs. "Are you kidding me? Nah, kid, I have a proposal for you! You entertain me... and I let you keep that book."

Adrien frowns. "Entertain you?"

"Keep up the murders. Become someone the world will watch."

"I already am," he smirks, opening the tab on his computer. "They're calling me the Chat Noir on line. Because if you cross my path, you die. They say I'm a god..."

"Keep it up then. And I'll let you hang onto that book. Do you accept?"

Slowly Adrien nods. "Alright, Plagg. I accept your proposal." He stands up. "I'll become Chat Noir. The hero this world needs."

Thunder cracks, and only thirty miles away, Ladybug lands in Paris.

[davidedwardking]

The Black Square

It was simply there on one humid morning about six weeks ago. I walked out of my house, looked right on the way to my car, and there it was: a black square in the middle of the street. I thought it was a strange box or something. Thinking nothing of it, I went off to get lunch.

But it was still there when I returned, and this time the neighborhood kids that usually collectively played in the yard to my house's left were now instead off to the right. Circled around the black square, they were talking, laughing, and poking at it with sticks. Something didn't seem right about the scene, so I got out of my car and stood for a moment watching. What was wrong here?

It hit me: they weren't poking at it. They were poking into it.

One of the local teenagers was sitting on the porch behind me, so I knew the kids were being looked after. If it was some strange prank or something, well, I'd hear about it later. I headed back inside and returned to writing that day's story.

Around eight in the evening, someone began knocking on our front door. Two of my roommates were in their rooms with the doors open, but we were all playing an online game together, so we ignored it and hoped the guy in the room downstairs would get it. He either didn't hear it or didn't care, so we sat there listening to the pounding and knocking for about fifteen minutes before one of my roommates logged off the game and stormed down to the front door. I heard, "What the HELL do you want? None of us are parked in your goddamn spot! We never park in your spot!"

That didn't sound good. I left my computer and slid down the hallway to see what was going on. They'd told me stories about Bill and how he insisted that one section of the sidewalk was for his food truck; apparently, he'd go around at literally any time of day or night knocking on every single door in the neighborhood until he found the 'offender.' This time, Bill was looking not for a car owner, but for the perpetrator of the black square prank.

After much arguing, he finally moved on to the next house, but I couldn't go back to playing our game. Instead, I wandered out under evening orange and headed down the street. The black square was odd; its angle seemed to be changing to match me, and I moved my head back and forth a few times rapidly to confirm that it always looked exactly square from any angle.

Anton was sitting in his open garage in a lawn chair as I approached. He handed a man a bag, pocketed a stack of cash, and coughed and leaned back. The stranger hurried away without looking at me. It was not an unusual sight.

Standing in Anton's driveway, which ran straight at the black square and Bill's house beyond, I asked, "Hey, what is this thing?"

"No idea man," he responded. "But it's got me on edge. It's just been there all day. I thought maybe somebody was scopin' me out, but it doesn't do nothin'."

I didn't want to get too close to it, so I picked up a stick. "Kids were messing with this earlier, right? Did anything happen?"

"Nah."

It was strange. There seemed to be some sort of scaling perspective at work. As I moved closer to the square, it grew larger in my sight than the change in distance warranted. Far away the effect had been imperceptible, but up close it was extremely unsettling. It felt almost as if the black square was looming up to encompass me, and might even leap out at any moment.

It was becoming increasingly obvious that this was no prank. The sides were exactly equal in length from what I could see, and absolutely nothing showed or reflected on its surface. I'd seen Vantablack nanofabric in person once before, and that superblack material had definitely left an impression on me. It had felt like staring into absolute void—and I had that same feeling now. The only difference was that my stick encountered no resistance as I moved it forward.

I took one step. The stick still moved freely ahead.

Was it past the threshold yet? It was disturbingly impossible to tell because the square always seemed to be facing me, so I couldn't tilt left or right and get a look from the side. The square also got bigger faster than it should have with each step, so I couldn't get a good idea of exactly where it began and ended. Worst of all, the forward perspective had no landmarks and no shadows. It felt as if I was inside a television show and reaching forward into a CGI background: the studio lights offscreen were still lighting the stick and I was reaching into something that didn't really exist.

I swung my branch left and right. There were no edges to strike, either. The pointed end traversed from ultrablack to the green of Bill's lawn and back with no resistance. It was then I truly understood that we were in trouble.

"Hey Anton?"

"What up?"

He was usually one to play it cool, but I could tell by his subtly concerned expression that I must have looked very strange standing in front of complete nothingness. "Let's, uh—" How to phrase it? "Let's make sure nobody goes near this."

He nodded and gave a nervous laugh.

We didn't have any sort of housing association or community building, so it would really be up to word of mouth. Bill was two houses past ours now, still knocking on doors, and he was doing a decent accidental job of warning everyone. A few neighbors had come out onto their lawns to stare at the thing, and I saw Idil emerging one lawn over. While studying the black square from afar, she shivered and pulled her headscarf a little closer. I smoothed down my shirt reflexively as she approached.

She stopped on the sidewalk just short of Anton's driveway. "What is the square?"

We just shook our heads.

"You call police?" she asked, looking at me.

Anton leaned back in his seat and watched me.

Put on the spot, all I could say was, "Um, I don't think so."

She was visibly confused. "Why not?"

Anton snickered. "Cops don't come here, girl."

"Police don't come this area?"

"Nah. They do, but trust me, you don't want 'em. They don't come here to help."

"Oh." She looked down at the ground, then over to the black square, and then to her front door. She departed without a word.

The rest of the neighbors began to emerge from their homes as Bill pissed them off in sequence, but we did not meet or talk beyond the distant glances of confusion and confirmation. I didn't like that strange square in the street, not one bit, but there wasn't much to do about it. A few people were taking pictures, so I went back inside and put my phone on the charger to do the same.

My roommates and I locked the house up tight that night. We couldn't see the black square from any of our windows, but the mere knowledge of its presence was like a chill in the air. I was the night owl of the four of us, and when the others went to bed, I quietly stacked boxes full of junk from the basement to block the windows—just in case. In the morning, nobody commented in approval of the boxes, but neither did they take them down.

I stepped outside to confirm that the anomaly was still there. This time, I took pictures.

I'd seen more than my share of movies and shows about creepy anomalies, but it was another thing having one actually show up outside my house. In person, there's a balance of risk versus curiosity, and there was nothing we could do about the square without endangering ourselves. We couldn't get too close to it, because who knew what would happen? And we certainly couldn't go inside it.

So it sat there, and, in large part, we ignored it in our day-to-day lives.

But there's also another kind of risk: the unknown, and the stress effects on your community and on your health. Each morning for a week I would look to my right at that eerie black square and wonder if I was being watched. Or, worse, was it some kind of hole from somewhere that might let in horrific entities beyond our understanding? Or hell, even just basic clawed creatures we could understand would be horrifying. A simple wolf or bear on the loose on our street would have been an emergency warranting help, and here we were with the possibility of literally anything appearing at any time.

On a random night that about eight people were over to play board games, Idil asked again if I would call somebody. This time, I agreed.

But who? And how?

I did find some numbers for two local news channels. I sent in my pictures, but they laughed at me and said they looked photoshopped. I insisted that no, it was literally just a black square, and they told me to call back when I had something scarier.

The military was an obvious answer too, but how does one 'call' the military? I didn't exactly have a phone number for 'the military.' Each night for a week, I waited on hold with various desks, bases, and institutions, repeating my story verbatim each time. "A strange anomaly has appeared in our neighborhood and I need somebody to come take a look at it."

Most secretaries hung up on me immediately, but I finally got one that laughed. He asked, "Watching some X-Files tonight?"

I sighed. "Look, I've been trying to contact someone about this for a week. Let's say, hypothetically, that I'm serious. Is there some sort of division or group for that?"

"Let me just call Area 51, buddy. They'll take care of you."

"Come on! There has to be some guy that takes weird phone calls and checks them out, right?"

"Aww, that's no fun. Fine, I'll give you the number."

I had it. Finally, I had it. The next conversation I had was promising, and a military jeep showed up the next morning. Idil texted me when she saw it park on the street, and I hurriedly went outside to greet—one man, apparently. He was only slightly older than me, and he stood staring at the black square with a haunted gaze. As I finally got his attention, he turned his head to look at me and said, "Motherfuck!"

"Right?" I pointed down the street at the black square. "That thing's been sitting there like that for a week and a half."

Finally prompted to move, he went to the back of his jeep, pulled out a tripod and a camera, and set it up facing the anomaly.

Watching him, I asked, "So you're going to call in the big guns, right? Someone will take care of this?"

His only answer was a glance, and then he got in his jeep and drove off, leaving the equipment running.

That was progress, I told myself. Somebody was aware of the issue now, and somebody was on it. Small consolation as the days wore on. One of the neighbors boarded up their windows—and then everyone did. Nobody asked the first house to do it if they had seen or heard something scary. We just did it. That day we went to the hardware store, endured the awkward process of explaining what we were doing to the overly-helpful employees, and then took our boxes of nails and stacks of wood and began hammering into the window frames.

I winced at the first one that went awry and damaged the wall, but I figured our security deposit was long gone anyway. We kept the curtain between the glass and the wood so that the landlord wouldn't notice on a casual driveby, although he would certainly see that the entire neighborhood had suddenly acquired bars and boards. If the area went to shit, would he lower our rent? Doubtful.

Then, my roommates and I got drunk together for the first time in months. The neighbors were doing the same thing in their boarded-up houses and on their lawns, and eventually we had a sort of block party going. It was an eerie thing all being connected and bonded by a common threat—but being unable to mention that threat even as it loomed in the distance at all times. There was nothing we could do about it, so mentioning it publicly was impolite.

As dusk deepened and someone started a bonfire in their back yard, I almost couldn't stand the pressure of what was happening. That thing might turn deadly and kill us all any time, but I wasn't even allowed to mention it without pissing people off! Boarding up our houses? We were all reacting to it! We were all aware it existed and we all knew everyone else knew too, but we couldn't talk about it?! A weird defensiveness was emerging among the conversations I overheard; this was our street and none of us could afford to move away, therefore the black square had to be harmless. There were even people talking about the idea that there was nothing wrong at all—and that talk was growing.

Agitated, I left the block party. I still wanted to drink, but angrily now, so I went to the nearest bar and sat. By pure chance, to my left was the soldier who'd set up the camera equipment. He was half-sloshed already, and he looked sidelong at me while holding the bar to keep himself up. He laughed darkly. "Oh, it's you."

It was almost a relief to see that he was still in town. "You guys going to do anything about the black square once you collect enough info?"

He sat taller and focused his bloodshot eyes on me. "Guys?"

"Yeah, your team or whoever."

"It's just me."

"Oh, well what about the higher ups?"

He downed another shot that had just been delivered. "Higher ups? My whole department got cleaned out by the new administration to 'cut costs' or something. I'm the only guy in my entire building."

My beer arrived, and I took a sip of it while trying to fully understand what he meant. "Like, temporarily? Are you waiting on new hires?"

He gave an exaggerated shrug. "It's been seven months, and nobody talks to me or tells me anything. I just get a paycheck automatically. No emails, no nothin'. I'm thinking maybe they just forgot to transfer me when they got the rest. I don't think anybody even knows I'm still there."

That was an off-putting thing to hear. "Then what do we do about the black square?"

He gave a long drunk belly laugh. "Brother, there are forty-seven anomalies in Ohio alone and I'm the only person in this state left in the department that handles that shit. Just be happy that yours isn't making people crazy or changing your muscle tissue into acid while you sleep."

"What? Does that happen?"

He stared forward at the venue's long mirrored back wall for a moment, unmoving except for the muscles in his jaw tightening as if he was grinding his teeth. After a tick, he suddenly reached over and clapped me on the back. "Nothin' so dramatic as all that. I'm just playin'." He got up, threw some cash on the bar, and began to stumble away.

"Wait!" I called after him. "What's your plan for the black square?"

"Plan?" he yelled back on his way out the door. "You are on your own brother."

I skirted through the crowd and pushed out into the night. "And what about the forty-six other anomalies?"

He just kept walking and soon became small in the distance.

Was it really possible that there was nobody manning the defenses for things like this? Were we simply open to danger with no one to respond? Was the only working plan to hope that nothing bad would happen? What the hell kind of plan was that? I returned home even more agitated than before.

It was about three weeks after the appearance of the anomaly that those that insisted the black square was harmless became the majority. We'd been able to complain about it, make jokes, and watch it fearfully before that afternoon, but the winds changed and I immediately found myself on the outside with no warning. If I glanced suspiciously at the black square, someone would deride me for it. If I tried to measure it to see if it was growing at all, someone would come out on their lawn and tell me to stop and that I was wasting my time. By the fourth week, those reactions became veiled threats.

Bill was standing out on the sidewalk the first day of that fourth week. I had just come home from playing a card game elsewhere, and he approached me rather angrily. "Stop causing trouble," he said without sugar-coating it.

"Me?" He was a large man in multiple ways, and I took a step back warily. "I'm just not willing to accept that the incredibly odd anomaly in the middle of our street is safe."

"The black square isn't causing any trouble," he growled. "You're the problem here. Pissing people off, going against the grain. People wanna sleep soundly and they can't do that if you fill their heads with nonsense dangers."

"If it's nonsense," I asked. "Then why are your windows boarded up?"

He balled a fist. "'Cause that's how it's always been around here. Everybody does it, and always has."

"The hell are you talking about? It was just last month that—"

He slugged me in the stomach.

I backed away. There was nothing left to say. I understood exactly what was happening.

He glared from the sidewalk until I went inside and closed the door behind me.

Two mornings later, screaming erupted from a few houses down. Nine of us rushed out of our houses with makeshift weapons—only to find that the danger had been the night before. Someone's window had been broken, and the wood beyond had been clawed mightily by something that had left traces of azure ichor behind.

I thought that certainly it would be undeniable now. It was obvious that something had come out of that black square and tried to get into a house. The only reason the single father and his two girls were alive: they'd boarded up their windows like everyone else.

"See?" I said to those gathered. "I told you it's dangerous!"

But the single father in question shook his head. "Of course you'd say that. How'd you do it?"

I began backing away almost instantly as all eyes turned on me. "What?"

Bill said, "Yeah, likely what happened. What tool did you use to make those marks? And what is that blue shit? Is it toxic? Did you put Ethan's girls in danger by throwing toxic blue sludge on their house?"

Ethan added, "And you'll pay for that window, too."

"The hell is wrong with you people?" I clutched my bat and continued moving backwards.

Idil came out of her house then, and asked some of the others in the group what was going on in Somali. They backed off, and Bill and Ethan shot me hateful glances.

On the way back to my place, Anton shook his head as I crossed his driveway. "Gonna get yourself killed boy."

Whispering, I asked, "What, by insisting that the physics-defying anomaly in our street is possibly dangerous?"

"Just sayin'. I sit in front of this thing all day every day and it freaks me the hell out, but I don't say nothin' to anyone else around here. Neighbors are more dangerous than that thing, get it? Keep your head down."

I mulled over his words for another few days while the attitude in the neighborhood became openly hostile. More claw marks and strange azure liquids appeared during each night, and Bill started enforcing what he called 'his right to open carry' by walking around on the sidewalks with an automatic rifle slung over his shoulder.

And then Ethan started doing it, too.

It made me tense as hell, but they'd often talked about gun responsibility, and part of me was glad to have weapons around given that something was probably coming out of the black square each night and trying to get into our houses.

At four in the morning on the first night of the fifth week, I heard loud banging on the front door. For twenty minutes I listened to someone pounding and yelling outside until one of my roommates shouted from his bed, "Fuck off, Bill! We don't have to answer the door for you! We're not parked in your goddamn spot!"

The knocking went silent. My other roommate called from his room, "That's the first time he's ever actually just gone away!"

At that, I sat up starkly in my bed. I knew. In that keening instant, I knew. Something had happened out there; some spark. Perhaps the unseen creature had finally gotten someone. Perhaps it had gotten one of the neighborhood children.

I grabbed my baseball bat and put on my tennis shoes. Other than that, I was only in shorts and a t-shirt, but there was no time. Running into the dark hallway that connected our rooms, I whispered, "Get your gun out."

"What?" my roommate asked.

"Get your goddamn gun ready," I practically hissed. "They're coming for us."

There was a crash of glass and the sound of boards being ripped off in the back of the house to punctuate what I'd said, and I heard my roommate jumping up and fumbling around with the case that held his gun. My other roommate just said quietly and fearfully, "They're not coming for us. They're coming for you." In the dark, I heard his door close and lock.

This was no movie situation. I knew this would end very quickly between untrained civilians, and I knew I was at a big disadvantage. If the windows hadn't been boarded up, I would have escaped that way, but I was forced into a corner. I only had knowledge of the terrain and the advantage of surprise. Using long steps to avoid the parts of the floor that creaked, I moved out into the board game room, and a big silhouette moving around the corner became a wide open target for my bat. I swung without restraint and as hard as I could. I'd never tried to kill anyone before, but I was amazed at how lethal my strength felt when the restraints were off.

The bat snapped in half on Bill's head, and he fell to the floor. He limply tried to resist, but I pulled at his rifle while screaming obscenities, and he gave it up while groaning on the floor and whimpering about his head bleeding. I'd won.

But, unfortunately, there were seven more silhouettes behind him.

Ethan was among them, and I saw his face by moonlight as they dragged me out into the street. "This asshole nearly killed Bill!" he shouted. "Proof positive he's the one behind the attacks!"

"You came into my house with guns!" I screamed at them. "You goddamn psychopaths!"

There were twenty other people out there already, many sticking to their own lawns. By the light of the full moon, they watched fearfully. Some of them asked if what I was saying was true.

Ethan yelled over me, "He'll say anything to trick people. Fake news!"

"Fake—?" They were still holding my arms, but I struggled. "This is ridiculous. You've all got guns and you literally just broke into my house in the middle of the night!"

"Fake, lies," Ethan insisted to the neighbors we passed as they kept pushing me and dragging me. As we passed Idil on her lawn, I realized where we were going.

She ran forward and kicked at Ethan. "I did not leave my country just for you to be the same!"

One of the men stayed behind to keep her restrained, and I nearly got away because of the distraction. Unfortunately, they caught me, and continued moving me toward the black square. Even by moonlight, it was starkly visible. "Why are you doing this?"

Ethan snarled, "You know, you monster. I can't let you live after what you did to my little girl."

I could see one of the wooden barricades among his windows had failed. Something had broken its way inside, and red blood was mixed with the azure pools usually left behind. "So you're going to try to kill me by throwing me inside the black square?" I asked loudly so that everyone around could hear. "How does that make any sense if you insist it's not dangerous? That I'm the one who somehow orchestrated these attacks in the night?"

One of the neighbors screamed, "Stop trying to get out of this. Fake news!" She turned and insisted to someone else that I was a liar. "Getting rid of him will stop the attacks."

They were lost. I'd known it, but it was only now that I truly accepted that I was not in a neighborhood surrounded by peers. I'd been living in hostile territory surrounded by enemies for weeks, and they'd become delusional because of their own fear. Living with fear every single day and being unable to do anything about it had turned their fear to anger, and now anger had become violence directed at the only target they could actually reach: their neighbor.

On that first night of the fifth week, they kicked me forward and pointed their guns at me, forcing me to walk into the black square; the unknown source of their fear. It had come to us from somewhere else, but it was now the desperate void at the center of our lives. It was our heart.

I'd never felt more sharp and aware. Adrenaline seared fire through my every nerve as I kept moving forward away from the guns at my back. The dark square expanded rapidly in my sight, but then grew more slowly as I came nearer than ever before. It asymptotically filled half of the sphere of what I could see; I kept waiting to pass the threshold like a door, to see the sides I'd tried to find with sticks and ropes over the last five weeks, but it never came. I kept pressing forward only to find myself still half in the world I knew and half in the darkness—until I turned around and saw Ethan and the others very far behind me. My brain struggled to process the shape or curve of what was happening, but I had the distinct sensation that I could keep walking forever and the black square would remain a giant sail pressed against half of me.

Except I knew there was an unseen dropoff, and perhaps that was the key. Perhaps the door was actually down, and the black square we could perceive was merely a higher-dimensional perspective on it.

I got down on my knees and hands and began to crawl. I couldn't afford to fall accidentally.

"Don't bother!" Ethan shouted in the distance. "You're going over. You're not getting out of this."

There it was. I could feel the edge. Here, the black square was almost exactly half of what I could see around me. Directly above, to the left, to the right, and down. The paved street far beyond Bill's and Anton's houses—part of the street I'd stood upon many times coming the other direction—now met sheer void.

But it wasn't dark.

Light had always been coming up from below. There'd just been nothing for it to reflect from so that we could see it. Light came up from below now, illuminating my face, my eyes, my mind. It was a ghastly light, certainly not ever a color that had graced our world before, and I could see everything by the cast of its deep glare. I'd never seen that color with the rods and cones in my eyes before, but I knew what it was. If you could open a door into the mind and observe the hues within, if you opened that door into the mind of a person being tortured with perfect and exacting skill, you would see the chroma of pain. Not just the feeling of it or the idea of it in thought, but the blood of the concept, the core, as a brushstroke on existence.

For some reason, I laughed—but I did not smile.

I stood and began to walk back.

Ethan held his assault rifle forward. "Don't you come back here. Don't you fuckin' do it!"

I just shook my head.

The other men behind him raised their guns, too, but they were waiting on him.

I didn't slow. I couldn't. As I moved toward Ethan, I told him, "You're human, Ethan. Fundamentally capable of good, or just neutrality, of cooperation, of peace." The words spilled directly from my raw brain and into the night air. "You are not like what's over that edge. Take a look for yourself. You'll understand."

The barrel of his weapon glimmered darkly by moonlight—but the square behind me was blacker.

"What do you mean?" he asked after a moment, the strain of oncoming terror dampening his tone. I think he saw the look in my eyes. Some small fraction of what I'd seen had to still have been lingering in my irises like a rotting reflection gone bad. "What's in there? What's over that edge?"

I couldn't really think at that moment. I put my forehead to the barrel of his rifle and grasped for the trigger under his hands. "Please."

He pulled away in fear. "You're crazy!"

They were no longer a threat now. I drifted past them and back to my house, where one of my roommates peered out his door and apologized and the other finally finished finding his ammunition. "Danger's past, don't bother," I murmured before going into my room and sitting on my bed.

It took six days for my brain to develop a coping mechanism. For six days, I sat and stared at any blank white wall I could find. It was eye bleach, in a way, because it had every color and none. After six days, I felt nothing, and that was my release. To scab and scar over what had happened to my mind, my brain had amputated my emotions.

And good for that. I would feel horrible at the loss of love and joy and friendship and companionship—but I can't.

And that's better than feeling what I witnessed over that edge.

Bill was back from the hospital by then, and feeling rather sheepish. A neighborhood watch had been set up and armed men were taking turns guarding the black square, around which they'd built a wall out of bricks and cement. They knew that nobody would be coming to help. No police, no military, no government. We were on our own, a fact which made Idil sad as she talked to me about the home she'd left, where it had been exactly the same in her village. "This is humans," I told her. "Sometimes we do better, for a little while. Sometimes we don't." She didn't have a chance to reply before Bill came up and sat carefully down next to me on my porch.

He rubbed his bandaged head and said, "Sorry about what happened last week."

I kept watching my armed neighbors around the black square. "It doesn't matter."

"It does, though," he muttered, looking downcast. "We coulda killed ya."

"It doesn't matter," I said again.

He swallowed audibly and then asked, "What'd ya see in there? Think the neighborhood'll go to shit now?"

"Now?" It amazed me that it was right there. It was right there just a hundred feet away. We were alive and standing here breathing air and eating food and having conversations just a hundred feet away from that. "It was always here, Bill. The only thing that changed six weeks ago is that we can see it now."

We don't talk much anymore. The neighborhood is quieter than before. We just sit and wait for the inevitable, each day and each night. The black pit is among us, lurking in open sight, and one day it will spill forth ungodly hordes I don't need to describe because you already know what they look like.

Sometimes we do better. Sometimes we don't.

[theexfactorblogs-blog]

Story One- The Gal In Jail

I will say that I have to leave HER with negative ratings because every lady I’ve found on there happened to be batshit crazy in the end.

Let’s get on with it.

So, the first girl that I ever met on the Her app was named lets say... Nikki. Because it’s close enough. 

Anyway, she seemed amazing. Besides the immediately asking me to be her girlfriend after showing her my face incident, amazing.

People fail to disclose several objects of rather important matter on dating apps, which I found out happened to be packaged in just one person.

At the time I was freshly 18 years old, I just turned the age about 2 months prior. I went on Her to see if I could find anyone between the ages of 18-21 that would be interested in me and as I said Nikki was very much so.

So, we planned our first date and guess what folks- she cancelled a few hours before. That’s better than not showing up or cancelling last minute, but I was disappointed. 

“Why’d ya cancel?” I asked, creepily scrolling through her Facebook. 

“Oh, um.” she seemed to be reluctant to tell me when I happened to stumble across a picture of um-

Her kid, that she never disclosed to me about. Remember, I’m 18. I’m not ready to be mami to this latina’s child yet. 

Oh forgot to mention she is Latina, btw that has nothing to do with her going to jail you racist fucks I know your brain jumped there.

Anywho I got pretty ticked off that this chick failed to tell me she had a child with her most recent ex boyfriend. What was she thinking I was gonna do? I’m not some stereotypical Sims 2 lookin ass who will ditch you and go make out with Shauntel over there.

I hate lying, and I told her that right after she explained herself and who the motherfucking babydaddy was. I just said if the guy is an asshole and no longer part of your life I’m still in this 100% because hey, I don’t ditch girls because they’ve got a kid alright that’s cruel.

Aaaaand she said yes, so I stuck through for a month.

Now, here is where we come to the next referendum. We were officially dating now, so I figured she’d tell me the truth about everything. She already told me that she was a pothead, and that’s why she lost custody of her kid. But she didn’t say there was other reasons.

This lady went off the grid for about 2 weeks, without letting me know by the way. So I was just there freaking my ass out and texting everybody she knows to know where she was. In the capital of my state. Yea, alright what the fucking hell are you doing in the middle of the goddamn state??

All I figured out was it was some dealing business, and also that her roommate was pissed as fuck that I kept asking if she was alive or nah because she hadn’t shot me a text for 2 weeks. So, this chick nearly dumps me.

Next day, I find out from a friend that Nikki actually has a record. I mean, I thought that it’d be small but NOPE.

Nikki had a probation violation charge and a warrant for her arrest. She was in HIDING. Well now that fucking explains it all doesn’t it? Mhm, keep reading.

I asked her about that and you know what she does? Yell at me, scream at me, say “wtf are you doing creeping around my records” and doesn’t believe me that I’ve got intel (a lot of my friends deal weed). 

I was dumped that day.

We were supposed to talk on the phone about it the day before but I called her the next day, and this bitch is RUNNING FROM THE POLICE as we are speaking. I can hear it all, I can here her cursing her ass out in Spanish. I mean jesus Christ.

I hung up because I don’t want to be involved in that.

1 week passed and I don’t hear from her, finally I send her a text and ask what is going on. She said she was getting arrested that day, that there is absolutely no way after last week that they won’t find her.

Another week passes before she shoots me a “goodbye” text and gets arrested.

Funny thing is that I cannot find any information on this girl so I don’t even know if she was telling the truth or not, but stay tuned for story number 2! :D

[sending-the-message]

The Black Square by M59Gar

It was simply there on one humid morning about six weeks ago. I walked out of my house, looked right on the way to my car, and there it was: a black square in the middle of the street. I thought it was a strange box or something. Thinking nothing of it, I went off to get lunch.

But it was still there when I returned, and this time the neighborhood kids that usually collectively played in the yard to my house's left were now instead off to the right. Circled around the black square, they were talking, laughing, and poking at it with sticks. Something didn't seem right about the scene, so I got out of my car and stood for a moment watching. What was wrong here?

It hit me: they weren't poking at it. They were poking into it.

One of the local teenagers was sitting on the porch behind me, so I knew the kids were being looked after. If it was some strange prank or something, well, I'd hear about it later. I headed back inside and returned to writing that day's story.

Around eight in the evening, someone began knocking on our front door. Two of my roommates were in their rooms with the doors open, but we were all playing an online game together, so we ignored it and hoped the guy in the room downstairs would get it. He either didn't hear it or didn't care, so we sat there listening to the pounding and knocking for about fifteen minutes before one of my roommates logged off the game and stormed down to the front door. I heard, "What the HELL do you want? None of us are parked in your goddamn spot! We never park in your spot!"

That didn't sound good. I left my computer and slid down the hallway to see what was going on. They'd told me stories about Bill and how he insisted that one section of the sidewalk was for his food truck; apparently, he'd go around at literally any time of day or night knocking on every single door in the neighborhood until he found the 'offender.' This time, Bill was looking not for a car owner, but for the perpetrator of the black square prank.

After much arguing, he finally moved on to the next house, but I couldn't go back to playing our game. Instead, I wandered out under evening orange and headed down the street. The black square was odd; its angle seemed to be changing to match me, and I moved my head back and forth a few times rapidly to confirm that it always looked exactly square from any angle.

Anton was sitting in his open garage in a lawn chair as I approached. He handed a man a bag, pocketed a stack of cash, and coughed and leaned back. The stranger hurried away without looking at me. It was not an unusual sight.

Standing in Anton's driveway, which ran straight at the black square and Bill's house beyond, I asked, "Hey, what is this thing?"

"No idea man," he responded. "But it's got me on edge. It's just been there all day. I thought maybe somebody was scopin' me out, but it doesn't do nothin'."

I didn't want to get too close to it, so I picked up a stick. "Kids were messing with this earlier, right? Did anything happen?"

"Nah."

It was strange. There seemed to be some sort of scaling perspective at work. As I moved closer to the square, it grew larger in my sight than the change in distance warranted. Far away the effect had been imperceptible, but up close it was extremely unsettling. It felt almost as if the black square was looming up to encompass me, and might even leap out at any moment.

It was becoming increasingly obvious that this was no prank. The sides were exactly equal in length from what I could see, and absolutely nothing showed or reflected on its surface. I'd seen Vantablack nanofabric in person once before, and that superblack material had definitely left an impression on me. It had felt like staring into absolute void—and I had that same feeling now. The only difference was that my stick encountered no resistance as I moved it forward.

I took one step. The stick still moved freely ahead.

Was it past the threshold yet? It was disturbingly impossible to tell because the square always seemed to be facing me, so I couldn't tilt left or right and get a look from the side. The square also got bigger faster than it should have with each step, so I couldn't get a good idea of exactly where it began and ended. Worst of all, the forward perspective had no landmarks and no shadows. It felt as if I was inside a television show and reaching forward into a CGI background: the studio lights offscreen were still lighting the stick and I was reaching into something that didn't really exist.

I swung my branch left and right. There were no edges to strike, either. The pointed end traversed from ultrablack to the green of Bill's lawn and back with no resistance. It was then I truly understood that we were in trouble.

"Hey Anton?"

"What up?"

He was usually one to play it cool, but I could tell by his subtly concerned expression that I must have looked very strange standing in front of complete nothingness. "Let's, uh—" How to phrase it? "Let's make sure nobody goes near this."

He nodded and gave a nervous laugh.

We didn't have any sort of housing association or community building, so it would really be up to word of mouth. Bill was two houses past ours now, still knocking on doors, and he was doing a decent accidental job of warning everyone. A few neighbors had come out onto their lawns to stare at the thing, and I saw Idil emerging one lawn over. While studying the black square from afar, she shivered and pulled her headscarf a little closer. I smoothed down my shirt reflexively as she approached.

She stopped on the sidewalk just short of Anton's driveway. "What is the square?"

We just shook our heads.

"You call police?" she asked, looking at me.

Anton leaned back in his seat and watched me.

Put on the spot, all I could say was, "Um, I don't think so."

She was visibly confused. "Why not?"

Anton snickered. "Cops don't come here, girl."

"Police don't come this area?"

"Nah. They do, but trust me, you don't want 'em. They don't come here to help."

"Oh." She looked down at the ground, then over to the black square, and then to her front door. She departed without a word.

The rest of the neighbors began to emerge from their homes as Bill pissed them off in sequence, but we did not meet or talk beyond the distant glances of confusion and confirmation. I didn't like that strange square in the street, not one bit, but there wasn't much to do about it. A few people were taking pictures, so I went back inside and put my phone on the charger to do the same.

My roommates and I locked the house up tight that night. We couldn't see the black square from any of our windows, but the mere knowledge of its presence was like a chill in the air. I was the night owl of the four of us, and when the others went to bed, I quietly stacked boxes full of junk from the basement to block the windows—just in case. In the morning, nobody commented in approval of the boxes, but neither did they take them down.

I stepped outside to confirm that the anomaly was still there. This time, I took pictures.

I'd seen more than my share of movies and shows about creepy anomalies, but it was another thing having one actually show up outside my house. In person, there's a balance of risk versus curiosity, and there was nothing we could do about the square without endangering ourselves. We couldn't get too close to it, because who knew what would happen? And we certainly couldn't go inside it.

So it sat there, and, in large part, we ignored it in our day-to-day lives.

But there's also another kind of risk: the unknown, and the stress effects on your community and on your health. Each morning for a week I would look to my right at that eerie black square and wonder if I was being watched. Or, worse, was it some kind of hole from somewhere that might let in horrific entities beyond our understanding? Or hell, even just basic clawed creatures we could understand would be horrifying. A simple wolf or bear on the loose on our street would have been an emergency warranting help, and here we were with the possibility of literally anything appearing at any time.

On a random night that about eight people were over to play board games, Idil asked again if I would call somebody. This time, I agreed.

But who? And how?

I did find some numbers for two local news channels. I sent in my pictures, but they laughed at me and said they looked photoshopped. I insisted that no, it was literally just a black square, and they told me to call back when I had something scarier.

The military was an obvious answer too, but how does one 'call' the military? I didn't exactly have a phone number for 'the military.' Each night for a week, I waited on hold with various desks, bases, and institutions, repeating my story verbatim each time. "A strange anomaly has appeared in our neighborhood and I need somebody to come take a look at it."

Most secretaries hung up on me immediately, but I finally got one that laughed. He asked, "Watching some X-Files tonight?"

I sighed. "Look, I've been trying to contact someone about this for a week. Let's say, hypothetically, that I'm serious. Is there some sort of division or group for that?"

"Let me just call Area 51, buddy. They'll take care of you."

"Come on! There has to be some guy that takes weird phone calls and checks them out, right?"

"Aww, that's no fun. Fine, I'll give you the number."

I had it. Finally, I had it. The next conversation I had was promising, and a military jeep showed up the next morning. Idil texted me when she saw it park on the street, and I hurriedly went outside to greet—one man, apparently. He was only slightly older than me, and he stood staring at the black square with a haunted gaze. As I finally got his attention, he turned his head to look at me and said, "Motherfuck!"

"Right?" I pointed down the street at the black square. "That thing's been sitting there like that for a week and a half."

Finally prompted to move, he went to the back of his jeep, pulled out a tripod and a camera, and set it up facing the anomaly.

Watching him, I asked, "So you're going to call in the big guns, right? Someone will take care of this?"

His only answer was a glance, and then he got in his jeep and drove off, leaving the equipment running.

That was progress, I told myself. Somebody was aware of the issue now, and somebody was on it. Small consolation as the days wore on. One of the neighbors boarded up their windows—and then everyone did. Nobody asked the first house to do it if they had seen or heard something scary. We just did it. That day we went to the hardware store, endured the awkward process of explaining what we were doing to the overly-helpful employees, and then took our boxes of nails and stacks of wood and began hammering into the window frames.

I winced at the first one that went awry and damaged the wall, but I figured our security deposit was long gone anyway. We kept the curtain between the glass and the wood so that the landlord wouldn't notice on a casual driveby, although he would certainly see that the entire neighborhood had suddenly acquired bars and boards. If the area went to shit, would he lower our rent? Doubtful.

Then, my roommates and I got drunk together for the first time in months. The neighbors were doing the same thing in their boarded-up houses and on their lawns, and eventually we had a sort of block party going. It was an eerie thing all being connected and bonded by a common threat—but being unable to mention that threat even as it loomed in the distance at all times. There was nothing we could do about it, so mentioning it publicly was impolite.

As dusk deepened and someone started a bonfire in their back yard, I almost couldn't stand the pressure of what was happening. That thing might turn deadly and kill us all any time, but I wasn't even allowed to mention it without pissing people off! Boarding up our houses? We were all reacting to it! We were all aware it existed and we all knew everyone else knew too, but we couldn't talk about it?! A weird defensiveness was emerging among the conversations I overheard; this was our street and none of us could afford to move away, therefore the black square had to be harmless. There were even people talking about the idea that there was nothing wrong at all—and that talk was growing.

Agitated, I left the block party. I still wanted to drink, but angrily now, so I went to the nearest bar and sat. By pure chance, to my left was the soldier who'd set up the camera equipment. He was half-sloshed already, and he looked sidelong at me while holding the bar to keep himself up. He laughed darkly. "Oh, it's you."

It was almost a relief to see that he was still in town. "You guys going to do anything about the black square once you collect enough info?"

He sat taller and focused his bloodshot eyes on me. "Guys?"

"Yeah, your team or whoever."

"It's just me."

"Oh, well what about the higher ups?"

He downed another shot that had just been delivered. "Higher ups? My whole department got cleaned out by the new administration to 'cut costs' or something. I'm the only guy in my entire building."

My beer arrived, and I took a sip of it while trying to fully understand what he meant. "Like, temporarily? Are you waiting on new hires?"

He gave an exaggerated shrug. "It's been seven months, and nobody talks to me or tells me anything. I just get a paycheck automatically. No emails, no nothin'. I'm thinking maybe they just forgot to transfer me when they got the rest. I don't think anybody even knows I'm still there."

That was an off-putting thing to hear. "Then what do we do about the black square?"

He gave a long drunk belly laugh. "Brother, there are forty-seven anomalies in Ohio alone and I'm the only person in this state left in the department that handles that shit. Just be happy that yours isn't making people crazy or changing your muscle tissue into acid while you sleep."

"What? Does that happen?"

He stared forward at the venue's long mirrored back wall for a moment, unmoving except for the muscles in his jaw tightening as if he was grinding his teeth. After a tick, he suddenly reached over and clapped me on the back. "Nothin' so dramatic as all that. I'm just playin'." He got up, threw some cash on the bar, and began to stumble away.

"Wait!" I called after him. "What's your plan for the black square?"

"Plan?" he yelled back on his way out the door. "You are on your own brother."

I skirted through the crowd and pushed out into the night. "And what about the forty-six other anomalies?"

He just kept walking and soon became small in the distance.

Was it really possible that there was nobody manning the defenses for things like this? Were we simply open to danger with no one to respond? Was the only working plan to hope that nothing bad would happen? What the hell kind of plan was that? I returned home even more agitated than before.

It was about three weeks after the appearance of the anomaly that those that insisted the black square was harmless became the majority. We'd been able to complain about it, make jokes, and watch it fearfully before that afternoon, but the winds changed and I immediately found myself on the outside with no warning. If I glanced suspiciously at the black square, someone would deride me for it. If I tried to measure it to see if it was growing at all, someone would come out on their lawn and tell me to stop and that I was wasting my time. By the fourth week, those reactions became veiled threats.

Bill was standing out on the sidewalk the first day of that fourth week. I had just come home from playing a card game elsewhere, and he approached me rather angrily. "Stop causing trouble," he said without sugar-coating it.

"Me?" He was a large man in multiple ways, and I took a step back warily. "I'm just not willing to accept that the incredibly odd anomaly in the middle of our street is safe."

"The black square isn't causing any trouble," he growled. "You're the problem here. Pissing people off, going against the grain. People wanna sleep soundly and they can't do that if you fill their heads with nonsense dangers."

"If it's nonsense," I asked. "Then why are your windows boarded up?"

He balled a fist. "'Cause that's how it's always been around here. Everybody does it, and always has."

"The hell are you talking about? It was just last month that—"

He slugged me in the stomach.

I backed away. There was nothing left to say. I understood exactly what was happening.

He glared from the sidewalk until I went inside and closed the door behind me.

Two mornings later, screaming erupted from a few houses down. Nine of us rushed out of our houses with makeshift weapons—only to find that the danger had been the night before. Someone's window had been broken, and the wood beyond had been clawed mightily by something that had left traces of azure ichor behind.

I thought that certainly it would be undeniable now. It was obvious that something had come out of that black square and tried to get into a house. The only reason the single father and his two girls were alive: they'd boarded up their windows like everyone else.

"See?" I said to those gathered. "I told you it's dangerous!"

But the single father in question shook his head. "Of course you'd say that. How'd you do it?"

I began backing away almost instantly as all eyes turned on me. "What?"

Bill said, "Yeah, likely what happened. What tool did you use to make those marks? And what is that blue shit? Is it toxic? Did you put Ethan's girls in danger by throwing toxic blue sludge on their house?"

Ethan added, "And you'll pay for that window, too."

"The hell is wrong with you people?" I clutched my bat and continued moving backwards.

Idil came out of her house then, and asked some of the others in the group what was going on in Somali. They backed off, and Bill and Ethan shot me hateful glances.

On the way back to my place, Anton shook his head as I crossed his driveway. "Gonna get yourself killed boy."

Whispering, I asked, "What, by insisting that the physics-defying anomaly in our street is possibly dangerous?"

"Just sayin'. I sit in front of this thing all day every day and it freaks me the hell out, but I don't say nothin' to anyone else around here. Neighbors are more dangerous than that thing, get it? Keep your head down."

I mulled over his words for another few days while the attitude in the neighborhood became openly hostile. More claw marks and strange azure liquids appeared during each night, and Bill started enforcing what he called 'his right to open carry' by walking around on the sidewalks with an automatic rifle slung over his shoulder.

And then Ethan started doing it, too.

It made me tense as hell, but they'd often talked about gun responsibility, and part of me was glad to have weapons around given that something was probably coming out of the black square each night and trying to get into our houses.

At four in the morning on the first night of the fifth week, I heard loud banging on the front door. For twenty minutes I listened to someone pounding and yelling outside until one of my roommates shouted from his bed, "Fuck off, Bill! We don't have to answer the door for you! We're not parked in your goddamn spot!"

The knocking went silent. My other roommate called from his room, "That's the first time he's ever actually just gone away!"

At that, I sat up starkly in my bed. I knew. In that keening instant, I knew. Something had happened out there; some spark. Perhaps the unseen creature had finally gotten someone. Perhaps it had gotten one of the neighborhood children.

I grabbed my baseball bat and put on my tennis shoes. Other than that, I was only in shorts and a t-shirt, but there was no time. Running into the dark hallway that connected our rooms, I whispered, "Get your gun out."

"What?" my roommate asked.

"Get your goddamn gun ready," I practically hissed. "They're coming for us."

There was a crash of glass and the sound of boards being ripped off in the back of the house to punctuate what I'd said, and I heard my roommate jumping up and fumbling around with the case that held his gun. My other roommate just said quietly and fearfully, "They're not coming for us. They're coming for you." In the dark, I heard his door close and lock.

This was no movie situation. I knew this would end very quickly between untrained civilians, and I knew I was at a big disadvantage. If the windows hadn't been boarded up, I would have escaped that way, but I was forced into a corner. I only had knowledge of the terrain and the advantage of surprise. Using long steps to avoid the parts of the floor that creaked, I moved out into the board game room, and a big silhouette moving around the corner became a wide open target for my bat. I swung without restraint and as hard as I could. I'd never tried to kill anyone before, but I was amazed at how lethal my strength felt when the restraints were off.

The bat snapped in half on Bill's head, and he fell to the floor. He limply tried to resist, but I pulled at his rifle while screaming obscenities, and he gave it up while groaning on the floor and whimpering about his head bleeding. I'd won.

But, unfortunately, there were seven more silhouettes behind him.

Ethan was among them, and I saw his face by moonlight as they dragged me out into the street. "This asshole nearly killed Bill!" he shouted. "Proof positive he's the one behind the attacks!"

"You came into my house with guns!" I screamed at them. "You goddamn psychopaths!"

There were twenty other people out there already, many sticking to their own lawns. By the light of the full moon, they watched fearfully. Some of them asked if what I was saying was true.

Ethan yelled over me, "He'll say anything to trick people. Fake news!"

"Fake—?" They were still holding my arms, but I struggled. "This is ridiculous. You've all got guns and you literally just broke into my house in the middle of the night!"

"Fake, lies," Ethan insisted to the neighbors we passed as they kept pushing me and dragging me. As we passed Idil on her lawn, I realized where we were going.

She ran forward and kicked at Ethan. "I did not leave my country just for you to be the same!"

One of the men stayed behind to keep her restrained, and I nearly got away because of the distraction. Unfortunately, they caught me, and continued moving me toward the black square. Even by moonlight, it was starkly visible. "Why are you doing this?"

Ethan snarled, "You know, you monster. I can't let you live after what you did to my little girl."

I could see one of the wooden barricades among his windows had failed. Something had broken its way inside, and red blood was mixed with the azure pools usually left behind. "So you're going to try to kill me by throwing me inside the black square?" I asked loudly so that everyone around could hear. "How does that make any sense if you insist it's not dangerous? That I'm the one who somehow orchestrated these attacks in the night?"

One of the neighbors screamed, "Stop trying to get out of this. Fake news!" She turned and insisted to someone else that I was a liar. "Getting rid of him will stop the attacks."

They were lost. I'd known it, but it was only now that I truly accepted that I was not in a neighborhood surrounded by peers. I'd been living in hostile territory surrounded by enemies for weeks, and they'd become delusional because of their own fear. Living with fear every single day and being unable to do anything about it had turned their fear to anger, and now anger had become violence directed at the only target they could actually reach: their neighbor.

On that first night of the fifth week, they kicked me forward and pointed their guns at me, forcing me to walk into the black square; the unknown source of their fear. It had come to us from somewhere else, but it was now the desperate void at the center of our lives. It was our heart.

I'd never felt more sharp and aware. Adrenaline seared fire through my every nerve as I kept moving forward away from the guns at my back. The dark square expanded rapidly in my sight, but then grew more slowly as I came nearer than ever before. It asymptotically filled half of the sphere of what I could see; I kept waiting to pass the threshold like a door, to see the sides I'd tried to find with sticks and ropes over the last five weeks, but it never came. I kept pressing forward only to find myself still half in the world I knew and half in the darkness—until I turned around and saw Ethan and the others very far behind me. My brain struggled to process the shape or curve of what was happening, but I had the distinct sensation that I could keep walking forever and the black square would remain a giant sail pressed against half of me.

Except I knew there was an unseen dropoff, and perhaps that was the key. Perhaps the door was actually down, and the black square we could perceive was merely a higher-dimensional perspective on it.

I got down on my knees and hands and began to crawl. I couldn't afford to fall accidentally.

"Don't bother!" Ethan shouted in the distance. "You're going over. You're not getting out of this."

There it was. I could feel the edge. Here, the black square was almost exactly half of what I could see around me. Directly above, to the left, to the right, and down. The paved street far beyond Bill's and Anton's houses—part of the street I'd stood upon many times coming the other direction—now met sheer void.

But it wasn't dark.

Light had always been coming up from below. There'd just been nothing for it to reflect from so that we could see it. Light came up from below now, illuminating my face, my eyes, my mind. It was a ghastly light, certainly not ever a color that had graced our world before, and I could see everything by the cast of its deep glare. I'd never seen that color with the rods and cones in my eyes before, but I knew what it was. If you could open a door into the mind and observe the hues within, if you opened that door into the mind of a person being tortured with perfect and exacting skill, you would see the chroma of pain. Not just the feeling of it or the idea of it in thought, but the blood of the concept, the core, as a brushstroke on existence.

For some reason, I laughed—but I did not smile.

I stood and began to walk back.

Ethan held his assault rifle forward. "Don't you come back here. Don't you fuckin' do it!"

I just shook my head.

The other men behind him raised their guns, too, but they were waiting on him.

I didn't slow. I couldn't. As I moved toward Ethan, I told him, "You're human, Ethan. Fundamentally capable of good, or just neutrality, of cooperation, of peace." The words spilled directly from my raw brain and into the night air. "You are not like what's over that edge. Take a look for yourself. You'll understand."

The barrel of his weapon glimmered darkly by moonlight—but the square behind me was blacker.

"What do you mean?" he asked after a moment, the strain of oncoming terror dampening his tone. I think he saw the look in my eyes. Some small fraction of what I'd seen had to still have been lingering in my irises like a rotting reflection gone bad. "What's in there? What's over that edge?"

I couldn't really think at that moment. I put my forehead to the barrel of his rifle and grasped for the trigger under his hands. "Please."

He pulled away in fear. "You're crazy!"

They were no longer a threat now. I drifted past them and back to my house, where one of my roommates peered out his door and apologized and the other finally finished finding his ammunition. "Danger's past, don't bother," I murmured before going into my room and sitting on my bed.

It took six days for my brain to develop a coping mechanism. For six days, I sat and stared at any blank white wall I could find. It was eye bleach, in a way, because it had every color and none. After six days, I felt nothing, and that was my release. To scab and scar over what had happened to my mind, my brain had amputated my emotions.

And good for that. I would feel horrible at the loss of love and joy and friendship and companionship—but I can't.

And that's better than feeling what I witnessed over that edge.

Bill was back from the hospital by then, and feeling rather sheepish. A neighborhood watch had been set up and armed men were taking turns guarding the black square, around which they'd built a wall out of bricks and cement. They knew that nobody would be coming to help. No police, no military, no government. We were on our own, a fact which made Idil sad as she talked to me about the home she'd left, where it had been exactly the same in her village. "This is humans," I told her. "Sometimes we do better, for a little while. Sometimes we don't." She didn't have a chance to reply before Bill came up and sat carefully down next to me on my porch.

He rubbed his bandaged head and said, "Sorry about what happened last week."

I kept watching my armed neighbors around the black square. "It doesn't matter."

"It does, though," he muttered, looking downcast. "We coulda killed ya."

"It doesn't matter," I said again.

He swallowed audibly and then asked, "What'd ya see in there? Think the neighborhood'll go to shit now?"

"Now?" It amazed me that it was right there. It was right there just a hundred feet away. We were alive and standing here breathing air and eating food and having conversations just a hundred feet away from that. "It was always here, Bill. The only thing that changed six weeks ago is that we can see it now."

We don't talk much anymore. The neighborhood is quieter than before. We just sit and wait for the inevitable, each day and each night. The black pit is among us, lurking in open sight, and one day it will spill forth ungodly hordes I don't need to describe because you already know what they look like.

Sometimes we do better. Sometimes we don't.

+++