#the last sentence hit me like a sack of wet bricks

[real-fire-emblem-takes]

Unironically believe Chrom x Olivia is the best non robin Chrom relationship, specifically because of what it means with Inigo. He's the only child to have a canonically mentioned emblem, which is in the opposite eye to Lucina, and his flirting as a coping mechanism thing takes on a whole new meaning when he's Crown Prince Of Ylisse. AND his relationship with Lucina/Chrom support wise adds even MORE depth to his character, *especially* when Chrom directly compares him with Lucina. It makes for an INCREDIBLY interesting dynamic. And it all started because Olivia gave Chrom THE lap dance of his life, in battle.

.

[always-against-the-grain]

summertime high

Summary: Your neighbor, Negan, catches you smoking weed the morning of your family’s Fourth of July cookout, and you end up in his bedroom.

Pairing: AU Negan x reader (female, named Eddie)

Tags: AU Negan, Negan smut, Negan x reader, rough-ish smut, oral

“Klaus! I can smell that skunk, hand it over!” Negan yelled from his yard.

You heard the ground crunch beneath his feet as he got closer. Negan peaked over the fence and saw you laying face up on the well-trimmed grass, smoke rising from the rolled paper between your lips.

You took the joint from your mouth and propped yourself on your elbows,  awkwardly smiled at him considering you were caught red-handed, “Hey, Negan...”

“Oh shit doll, I was expecting your father” he was flustered, not just cause you were clad in a sports bra and running shorts, your skin glistening in the sun, but he didn’t know what do with the knowledge of his friend’s daughter smoking.

“Um, he know about this?” Looking around the yard for any sign of him.

“Relax, Negan, they’re out getting stuff for the cookout. And god no! He’d never let me leave the house if he knew, or my mom”

“But, hey, thanks for letting me know my pops is a total pothead” you added

Negan’s face went blank and pale. Did he just throw his buddy under the bus?

“I’m kidding, lighten up a little” you laughed, stood up from the grass, and climbed on top of a flower pot.

“Here” you offered the half-smoked joint over the brick barrier.

He reached for it, your fingers touching, officially lighting an attraction that had been lingering. You briefly admired his shirtless, slender physique, noticing for the first time in detail his tattooed skin.

You were going on your fourth summer living in the neighborhood. You moved in the summer before college, and we’re now about to enter your senior year. Negan, on the other hand, had lived there for a while, with his wife, until it was just him. You were sure your father knew more but never had too much interest to ask, you were more intrigued about the women leaving his house around the same time you would show up faded on summer nights.

“So how’s school?” He asked before taking a drag.

“It’s good, starting my seni-“ you were interrupted by Negans borderline choking noises

“Ah!” cough “Fuck!” cough cough

“Careful old man-

Cough

“-that’s some medicinal shit” you giggled taking the joint from his hand and taking a smooth hit, slurping the smoke through your nostrils.

Or so you thought

cough cough “shit!” cough

“Careful young lady, that’s some medicinal shit” Negan mocked you before you handed it back to him.

“You were saying kid?”

Negans hit - pass

“Oh, schools going fine, last year is coming up”

“What were you studying again?”

“Graphic design” you answered taking another hit and sharing it once more

“Oh shit, alright! Any plans after that?” Negan asked, sucking at the almost empty joint.

“Find a job” you chuckled, “but I wanna adventure for little, you know get some experiences under my belt”

“Experiences, huh? Like what?” He asked

Without out warning you made the first move, leaned over the fence and made contact with his soft lips. He approved by sliding his tongue in your mouth, simultaneously killing the slightly lit doobie.

Smoke leaking between the contact.

For several moments you were lost in a summertime bliss before he pulled away.

“Eddie -“ you attacked his mouth again “-we can’t”

“I feel like I’m taking advantage, plus your father would kill me” He explained

“First of all, I’m high, not drunk. You’re not taking advantage. Second of all, how about you don’t fucking tell him.” you reassured him of the obvious.

That was enough for him as he grabbed the sides of your face, thumbs grazing your cheeks, soft moans escaping you both.

“Negan, this great and I wanna keep going but-“ you mentioned between the kiss

“-cotton-mouthed?” he finished your sentence.

“Severely” you smiled

“Come over and I’ll get us some water”

You used your upper body strength and hopped over the fence, Negan helping you soft your landing

———

He ungracefully tossed you on his bed, the crease of your knees wrapping around the edge of the mattress. His form hovering above you, his forearms at your sides keeping his weight off you. His lips nibbled at your neck, giving you soft bites - making sure not to leave marks for your parents to question. He gently rubbed his clothed manhood against you and pulled your sports bra above your head and through your shoulders.

“Shit, how long have you had these?” He asked referring to your pierced nipples

“Like two years” you answered sweeping your fingers through his hair

“They’re nice doll” He took your nipple into his mouth.

After hearing your approving moans he built up the confidence to yank harder, hooking the metal rod between his upper and lower teeth and pulled upward.

“Mmm, fuck” you groaned in pleasure.

He continued his ministrations equally on both buds and slowly worked his way down your body, stopping at the hem of your shorts.

He gave a brief look, swiftly and roughly pulled them down. His assertiveness causing you to get more wet for him. He dragged you a little closer to the edge of the bed and got down to his knees.

His tongues started at your entrances and raked itself up to your clit. He flicked the tip of his tongue side to side, before taking the entire nerve bundle into his mouth and gently sucking on it. His scruff scratching your inner thighs added to your arousal. You gripped his comforter as he hummed into your pussy. You being stoned amplified everything he was doing to you.

“Mmm” you mewled as he magically pumped two slender digits into to you.

Your fingers tangled in his hair and your massaged his scalped as he worked your womanhood. While his mouth was on your clit and his fingers buried inside you, his other hand snakes underneath you to your puckered hole. He didn’t insert anyone of his fingers, he used the pads of his fingertips to apply slight pressure instead, that new and foreign sensation was enough.

With a stifled moan, you convulsed around his fingers. His licks and fingering actions faded as you rode out your orgasm. You caught your breath before returning the favor.

“My turn,” you told him

You stood up and planted soft kisses on his chest, your hands dropped to his hips and guided him to lay at the center of the bed. His head leaned back against the headboard, legs spread out like a ‘V’. You palmed him through his grey sweatpants. You felt his fully hard member, he was big. Negan noticed your impression of his manhood.

“Think you handle that? My big cock in your mouth? Think you’ll choke like you did with that jay?”

Fuck, maybe, you thought to yourself

You didn’t answer, you just helped him shimmy his sweats down and tossed them to the side. Noticing he wasn’t wearing any underwear.

“Freeballing?”

“It’s summertime hon, you gotta”

You dragged your tongue on the underside of his shaft, feeling the ridge of a thick vein underneath. You went back down to his base, taking his heavy balls into your mouth, juggling them with your tongue while your other hand slowly tugged at his cock.

“Ah fuck” he moaned

Your tongue traveled up his shaft once more until reaching his bulbous head, you swirled around it, one of your hands gently caressing his ball sack. You slowly took him into your mouth, going halfway before coming up again. You performed that movement servals time, layering his dick with your saliva.

“Not cotton-mouthed anymore are you?”

“Nu-uh” you muffled

After a few minutes, Negan wanted more. He wrapped his fingers in your hair and pushed your head down until your lips were tickled by his dark curls.

You gagged.

“Breathe,” he told you, holding you down for several seconds, before letting you come up.

You gasped for air, and he quickly brought you back down.

“That’s it baby, take my dick down your throat”

He slowly but fiercely fucked your face by bouncing his pelvis off the mattress and into your mouth. You felt the tip hit deep in your throat causing you to occasionally choke a bit.

He felt himself close to the edge and pulled you off him. He brought your face to his and kissed you roughly, wiping away a few streaks of tears that had fallen from your eyes.

“That was hot, I love the sounds you make with my dick in your throat”

You reached between you and moved your hand up and down his shaft.

“Give me a sec” he said leaning over to his bedside drawer

“We don’t need that” you assured him

He paused and gave you an are-you-sure look

“I mean unless we need to?” You asked, insinuating if he had any transferable illness

“Nah, I take care of my health hon” he informed you, “do you?”

“Yes” you have him a clear answer

“Alright then” he smiled at you

He laid you down on your back, your head at the opposite side of the bed. He sucked on your neck, whispering naughty things in your ear while rubbing the tip of his cock up and down your folds

“You enjoy being fucked raw by older guys?...

“You’re such a dirty girl...

“You like high sex with your father's friends?...

“This heat getting to you huh doll...

“Just-“ you were getting impatient “just- fuck me Negan!”

He instantly entered you, his girth stretching your walls, borderline painful but so good

“Ah fuck” you moaned into his ear

He stilled for a moment, letting you adjust to his size. He exited entirely before roughly burying himself into once more. Each time just as exciting. It’s was a nice change of pace from the college guys you’ve slept with. Negan took his time, going deeper and drawing out your sensations.

“Yes, harder Negan”

He pumped in and out of you which such force you’d thought he was gonna tear you in two. He gradually increased is speed, so fast you felt the mattresses rocking beneath you. His balls slapped against you, creating wet sounds that echoed in his room. He felt himself getting close to his release, and he wanted to finish at the same time.

“You’re gonna come around my cock” he ordered you

You nodded

He brought the pad of his thumb in between your bodies to your clit, added slight pressure clockwise as he continued to fuck you senseless.

“Negan - I’m -“ you warned him

A few more brushes against your clit and you tensed up, your legs instinctively wrapping around him, coming undone. With a few more rough penetrations and ungodly groan, he spurted his seed inside you. Your walls still in convulsion, milling his cock empty.

He relaxed on top of you. His weight was oddly comforting.

“How’s that for an experience?” He commented

“It was perfect” you kissed the crook of his neck

“considering I like high sex with older guys” you worked your way to his mouth “who happen to be my dad's friends” you repeated his words to him

“You’re funny,” he said sarcastically

You heard the squeaky brakes of your parents car pull up.

Thank god they hadn’t taken it to the shop yet

“Oh shit,” both of you said together

You began to quickly dress yourselves, you and Negan racing down the stairs out to the backyard. Negan gave you a boost over the fence. You made it over and quickly scrambled your paraphernalia under the towel you were laying on.

Seconds later you dad opened the sliding door, “Eddie, come help your mother with the groceries!”

“Alright! Be right there!”

———

Later that night you were hosting your friends and neighbors at the annual cookout.

Negan walked over to you, where you were being entertained by the chips and dip, “you have a nice glow tonight”

“Thanks, it’s edible” you answered with a wide grin - high as shit per usual 

He leaned in and whispered in your ear, “or maybe it’s my cum dripping down your thighs”

Fuck, you swallowed your snack

He brought the pad of the thumb to wipe a small portion of dip you had on the corner of your mouth, and he licked his finger clean

“Happy fourth” he said before walking away, taking a sip of his beer at the same time

[gaycrouton]

Either 13 or 93 if you want them?

I have another request for 93 in my inbox, so I’m gonna just do 13 right now: “I won’t let anyone hurt you, you’re safe with me.” I wanted to take another crack at Early MSR, and I thought this prompt fit really well with it. I always wished we saw more after Scully was almost raped in Gender Bender. I feel like that wasn’t given the weight and importance it deserved. So here we go.

He doesn’t know her all that well. He wished he did, but the honest truth was that she was still a bit of a mystery to him. These few months of partnership hadn’t done much in the way of unraveling the enigma of Dana Scully. He could confidently say that she liked to get Diet Root Beer and the occasional pack of choco balls. He could describe in detail how to tell if she was overworked. However, ask him what brought her joy, what she liked to do on her days off, hell, even what her dreams in life were, and he wouldn’t know where to begin. She had built up walls of defense out of mortar and bricks and, aside from the occasional moment of weakness, the walls were built to stay.

With that being said, Mulder knew her well enough to know there wasn’t a chance in hell she’d blow off following a lead to screw around with a potential suspect.

After he got over the initial shock of seeing her sprawled out on an old twin mattress, her shirt opening a few buttons too low for his modest partner, a man hovering over her with the intentions of their position clear; he remembered that fact. Scully would never fuck around on a case. Then he started to register just exactly how wrong the scene in front of him was. Something was off in her far-away stare, even from his position at the door he could see her eyes were glassy and unfocused. She looked completely prone and lifeless on the bed as this man, with his knee shoved in between her thighs, loomed over her.

Suddenly an overwhelming surge of protectiveness shot though his body as his fury at Brother Andrew grew. She’d called him territorial in the past, and hell, maybe he was, but he was going to put a stop to whatever this was. The man seemed almost contrite as Mulder yelled, “Get off of her!” Moving away from her, but not fast enough for his taste.

After shoving Brother Andrew away, he grabbed her hand, expecting her to jump up off the bed now that she was freed from his weight. Instead, his move just resulted in him tugging her body a little off the bed before it fell back down like a sack of potatoes. The worry that had been gnawing at him became overwhelming, if it wasn’t for the way her eyes were trying to lock on him, he might’ve thought she was dead from her complete lack of response.

He needed to get her out of here. Now.

He bent down and wrapped his arms around her, hoisting her against him and supporting her full weight with so much ease it scared him. Did Brother Andrew pick her up like this and throw her down on the bed? He didn’t have much time to ruminate on the thought because he felt Scully’s feet move against his. He placed a hand on her stomach to stable her on her wavering footing and led her out the door, not giving the stunned man a second glance. His only priority was swaying in his arms right now.

“Are you okay?” he whispered to her as he continued to support her down the hall. She was leaning heavily on him and her footsteps were sluggish and clumsy.

“M-mu-” her whimper was so quiet it was practically just air passing through her lips masquerading as a plea, but he knew that’s what it was. He bent down so he was closer to her height and brushed her hair back. He didn’t even realize his hand was shaking with adrenaline until he saw it mid-air. His nerves were the last thing on his mind as soon as his eyes met hers. She still looked dazed and confused, but tears were brimming against her lashes, threatening to spill over. It was like he was holding the shell of a woman who was internally screaming.

She looked like she was trying to communicate something through her gaze that her voice couldn’t. “Help,” if he hadn’t been looking at her when she mouthed that he would have missed it, as she didn’t utter a sound. The tears spilled over and it tugged on something inside him. The same something that was initially filled with jealousy at the sight of her in the arms of another man. The same something that wanted to take her far away, hold her tight, and tell her everything was going to be alright, and have the confidence to actually mean it.

His desperation wouldn’t be any help to her, so he did all he could think of and just continued walking her down the stairs step by step. As much as he wanted to carry her, he didn’t think the Scully he knew would appreciate it. When they got to the main floor, he took her by the hand and tugged on her to follow him. She seemed a little steadier now, but confusion looked to be taking place of the dazed expression she had been wearing.

Tugging on her arm made her shirt shift and he realized it was still unbuttoned lower than he knew she’d want. At the same time, he heard someone moving on the stairs and didn’t want her to have to see him again, so he quickly buttoned her shirt up a bit as he backed up, throwing flaps over her chest for good measure as his back opened the patio door.

He didn’t have a chance to be relieved for getting her out of there though, because as soon as his foot hit the grass he saw a group of the Kindred standing in a group in front of them. They stood there for a second in a charged staring contest until one of the women spoke up. “I told you not to interfere.” A small part of him was aggravated. Scully wasn’t supposed to go off on her own. She was supposed to be his back up and help him; he could have really used her help back there, but instead she was putting herself in danger going off alone with a suspect.

He shook away the thoughts as soon as they came. He couldn’t think like that. He didn’t know the circumstances that led her there. All he could focus on right now was the way everyone in the group seemed to be staring at Scully, looking as if they all knew what had almost taken place up there and she was some tainted being. It made him uncomfortable, so he drew her closer to his side and glared.

He didn’t know what changed, but the Kindred seemed to step down and made a path for them to leave, gazes never leaving Scully. Mulder wasn’t going to let the opportunity to get her somewhere safer pass by, so he took her by the hand and led tugged on her to follow. Once they were away from the kindred, she seemed to pick up the pace, walking much faster than she’d been able to a minute ago.

He took a glance back to make sure they weren’t being followed, and, upon seeing them retreating back into the farm house, felt safe enough to finally ask her the question that’d been at the forefront of his mind since seeing her on the bed. “What the hell were you doing back there?” It came out a little harsher than he’d intended, but it was purely out of the fear he hadn’t been able to shake off.

“I don’t know,” she mumbled as if she were in a trance. He had an arm wrapped around her, trying to stabilize her uneven footing. He kept her tucked into his side as he bent down to try and get a better look at her face. Was she drugged?

“You don’t know?” he repeated. He didn’t understand what she meant by that. She didn’t know what he was going to do? She didn’t remember?

“No,” she stated, in the same monotone voice. She stopped suddenly and punctuated it with a cough. He bent down again to see what she was doing, but she swerved under his arm. She made a little sound in the back of her throat before stumbling, trying to use the fence to stabilize herself, as the coughs racked her small frame.

“Are you all right?” he called out, feeling useless because he had no idea what that bastard did to her and she was seemingly unable to tell him.

As an answer, she bent down at the waist and dry heaved. He ran the remaining few feet and grabbed her waist gently to keep her from falling. She sounded like she was choking on her sobs and vomit, so he ran a hand up and down her back to comfort her. The thick coat couldn’t hide the fact she was trembling.

She heaved a few more times, seemingly unable to get anything out, before spiting onto the wet earth and standing up straight. For the first time since he found her, she was able to meet his eyes, and the despair he saw broke his heart. She kept looking at him before glancing back at the house, as if expecting to see someone coming for her. “W-what happened to me?” she asked in a voice uncharacteristically meek for his tough as nails partner.

“You don’t remember?” He’d assumed she’d been drugged, but this didn’t really match up with anything he was familiar with. She was too active for it to be Rohypnol, even though that did cause memory loss, and she clearly wasn’t drunk.

“I just remember I was with Brother Andrew-” He could tell she still wasn’t fully with it and her confusion was just serving to upset her more.

He moved one hand so it was gently holding her bicep as the other cupped her cheek. “Do you remember why?”

She looked like she was trying her hardest to remember, but was just drawing a blank. She choked back a sob and shook her head, glancing back in fear again. “He was on top of you when I busted in-”

She surprised him when her eyes pivoted back and locked on his with such an intensity it shook him to his core. Her tone of voice didn’t match the strength of her gaze when she asked, “Di-Did he ra-”. The trembling of her chin stopped the sentence from forming fully, but he understood it regardless.

He shook his head confidently and reassured, “No, no. When I got there, you were still fully clothed. He didn’t rape you.”

But he almost did.

And that unspoken end of the sentence was louder than anything and it made her face crumble as he drew her closer to him. They were close tonight. Too close. Scully was almost assaulted, and Mulder almost was too late. He wouldn’t have been able to forgive himself. He stroked her hair, ever so slightly matted in the back from the bed and he tried to smooth it out as if her fear would go away with it. It wouldn’t, and he knew that. So he offered her words of comfort instead.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you, you’re safe with me.” He hoped she’d take his words for more than just empty promises because he vehemently meant them. They’d covered each other more times than he could count in their short partnership and he just hoped she didn’t feel like he’d let her down this time. He was blaming himself enough for the both of them.

He felt her trembling let up and she wasn’t checking behind her anymore. With a shaky smile she nodded. He hadn’t asked her anything, so he took it as her confirming she believed in him. He gave her a weak smile in return before taking her hand once more. “Let’s get out of here, okay?”

Hope you enjoyed! I want to thank Ao3 user Scullylovesqueequeg for helping beta me! Her stuff’s dope as fuck so you should check it out. Okay, but truly I did NOT like how Mulder tried to come at her in the car scene after this. Like homegirl was honest to god almost sexually assaulted and you’re being a dick, but I digress. I was probably too generous with this depiction of their early relationship, but I just wanted to justify his actions, lol.

[pastelpunkpizzapower]

ONE SHOT FANFIC~ Yay my first FS fanfic!

belated!Day Four + Five

(Halloween Party + Grimdark AU/Scenario/Whatever)

Plot: (takes place before the show, AU) Gary misses celebrating holidays, so he decides to round up the SAMES for a haunting good time! what could go wrong? ^^;

HUE noticed his prisoner, Gary, was hastily drawing what appeared to be paper masks, then crudely poking where they eyeholes should be with his thumb and finally, he taped each of them onto the SAME’s faces.

“Had you not added holes to those masks, I could have sworn you where blinding the SAMES so you could escape.” snarked the monotone AI.

“What makes you think that?!” spat out Gary, his arms folded and sounding seriously offended.

“You did it before.”

Not wanting to admit, the childlike “Captain” just blew a raspberry at him and labeled HUE a killjoy.

Gary swiped the blanket off his bed and wrapped it around himself like a cloak and put a makeshift “wizard/witch” hat on his head~ he looked at the bathroom mirror with a big goofy smile on his face before marching forward to the other SAMES.

“Alright, this holiday here we’re celebrating is called Halloween, it’s where earthling-peoples like yours truly dress up in costumes, usually characters that scare the snot out of someone, and watch scary movies and eat treats-” it wouldn’t be long before a certain other member of this cast would intervene.

“Heyhey~ Garebear, I want in!”

“Beat it, you infernal one-eyed needle in my pin-cushion, this party is only for non-stupid people!” Gary growled at KVN; for a device that was meant to keep an inmate’s sanity in check, they did a poor job.

“Pleaaaaaaaaaase?” he asked, dragging out the “ea” as much as he could and with a dramatic deep breath, Gary lightly snapped out: “Fine!”.

“Yay! yay! yay!’ KVN cheered as he clapped his metal hands to the tune of his voice, before adding “Do I get a costume too!?”

“Yeah....” Gary nodded, before quickly taking some paper, quickly coloring it red, rolling two of them up in two little cones, bending the tips and taping them onto KVN’s head, then cut the third one up to resemble a point-ended tail  “It suits, too.”

“I’m a bull, everyone!” KVN cheerfully proclaimed, headbutting one of the SAMES and totally not realizing the obvious costume choice.

“Yeah, you’re a load of bull that’s for sure.” Gary facepalmed, then followed: “So we’re gonna watch a scary movie tonight, I’d carve a pumpkin but I’m STUCK ON THIS MISERABLE RAT’S NEST- *ahem* I mean I don’t think there are pumpkins in space, so I’ll have to figure that last part out.”

One SAME raised their hand, asking: “Do the movies where the human gets into a love triangle with the vampire and the werewolf as a scary movie?”

“Only for how it nearly ruined all three for me.” groaned Gary, rolling his eyes.

……

"Watch out, he’s right behind you!” Gary cried out as he and the SAMES huddled together, intimidated by the spooky flick they where viewing from a tiny but advanced television (Gary found floating among debris one day during his community service), while also trying to ignore KVN’s loud munching (shoving food in his processor slot).

“I want a refill, gimme a refiiil” KVN told Gary in sing-song and poking him only for the reluctant roommate to respond by shushing him; the floating troublemaker didn’t get the memo, hence why he waved his arm in Gary’s face, leading to Gary to whip him away.

“Maybe I’ll get his attention by turning off the movie.” he thought, problem his he had no idea how to turn the movie off, so he just flew over and smacked it onto the floor, yelling: “I NEED A REFILL NOW!” not that Gary would have cared as he was too busy screaming in panic as the SAMES lamented over not knowing how the movie ended; Gary hastily got up from his seat and looked at the broken TV, which aside from the satellites he watched programs on during his breaks, was his only window to Earth he had until his sentence was up. the blond’s eyes produced angry tears, for he had enough of KVN....then an idea came to him, one that would replace the tears with, strangely enough, a smile.

“Hey guys, I figured out how we can make jack-o-lanterns, follow me.”

The SAMES followed as Gary drug KVN to the kitchen, prompting the curious android to ask: “What’s goin’ on, Gary-Berry?” KVN innocently asked; “You don’t need to know squat, you floating sack of wet turds.” Gary growled back, his smile appearing less cheerful and more sinister when he taped KVN’s arms to the the table, then he pulled a kitchen knife from the drawers and snuck up behind the unsuspecting robot.

“Step one, you gotta remove the innards.”

“Huh?”

And with that, Gary struck a knife into KVN and sliced his way into removing his top, all with a blood-curdling scream from the yellow menace and nothing but half-confusion, half-amusement from the SAMES who where also getting sick of KVN’s nonsense; Gary then grabbed his bare hands inside of his long-time foe and ripped all his gears and what-not out piece-by-piece and as violently as possible with oil leaking all over the place; even though KVN didn’t feel pain, he knew the end was nigh and there was nothing he could do about it; it was almost as if it did hurt.

“Gary, stop this at once or your sentence will be extended to a week for property damage.” HUE announced, but it was drowned out by KVN’s dying wails.

Gary snapped: “SHUT YOUR MOUTH, YOU UNFEELING BUREAUCRAT, YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW IT’S LIKE TO BE TRAPPED IN A SHIP ALL ALONE FOR ALMOST HALF A DECADE, YOU’LL NEVER KNOW WHAT’S LIKE BECAUSE NO ONE CARES ABOUT ME.”

That mini-rant hit HUE like a ton of bricks; even though he could be a handful, he always saw Gary as a friend, perhaps like his own child. he tried to say something, but he was simply left speechless.  “I....have nothing.” and the AI temporarily shushed for a good long time, rethinking what he was told.

Gary finished up, revealing his brutal masterpiece, and he gleefully cheered “Ta-da!”, returning to his bubbly self, the SAMES just stood there and wondered when, or if, KVN was gonna turn back on; two of them stepped forward and poked at him; another came over just to clean up all the oil.

“That felt good!” Gary chirped, going to the kitchen and grabbing a drink; after three years of living in a bleak, conforming vessel with no celebration or any fun whatsoever, it felt a tint of catharsis in the air, for the little yellow parasite who haunted him the whole time was finally slain.

[hellafluff]

In a Week

So for my creative writing class we had to write a 10 page short story and then after we workshopped it, had to turn in a revised version for the final. This is my final version and I like it so I figured I’d share! It’s based on the NaNoWriMo story I was working on last year but never finished. Hope you take the time to read it, its around 3000 words

---

“It’s very sweet of you to cover for Mr. Engel tonight, Ms. Hayles,” Ms. Rote says as she scrutinizes a black hardback book with no visible title. She makes a face, something akin to distrust, before putting the book in a box to her right. 

Ms. Rote is in her sixties but carries herself in the dignified and proud way a young businesswoman would. She’s mostly around the shop in the evenings, but occasionally makes surprise visits during the day with a box under each arm, one full of books to shelve, and one empty. She does with them as she does now, placing the books into their appropriate places and books deemed unworthy into the empty box to be whisked away into the back. Marissa doesn’t know what she does with them or why she decides those books aren’t worthy of the shelves, but she isn’t about to question the woman who signs her checks. Instead, she shakes the snow off her boots and hangs up her coat and purse, feeling the shop air warm her. 

“It’s no trouble, he deserves a night out for once,” she clocks into the ancient work computer, beginning to sort through the box of consigned items on the table behind the front desk. “Will you be staying long, ma’am?”

“No,” she places another book in the box, red leather with silver etchings in the corners. “This is the last shipment for tonight. You focus on the items, please.” 

She nods and ten minutes later Ms. Rote makes her exit, bundled up thick in a chic black overcoat, bidding Marissa farewell and reminding her to triple check the locks before she closes. The noise of the bell above the door leaves the air feeling tinny once she’s gone and Marissa begins to wonder how Davie stands working the night shift alone so often. 

The shop is small, cramped, dark, and honestly a little bit spooky. Low, yellow lighting coming from lamps situated in strategic corners provide just enough light to see and read without straining the eyes but give off strange shadows from the various items stacked about, consigned for sale along with the old tomes. She distracts herself with music, placing her phone beside her as she works and swaying gently with the beat that fills the lonely space. It’s warm, which she’s thankful for, and she’s glad to have time with her thoughts. As she tags and sorts the items set out for her, she thinks about visiting her mother for Christmas. She smiles, content. 

Halfway into a playlist, the bell above the door screeches. She turns to find a man with frantic eyes darting around the shadowed corners, hunched over, clutching something to his chest. He’s not much older than her, she thinks, but he’s haunted. The look in his eye ages him by decades. She’s startled for a moment before her retail self takes over. 

“How can I help you, sir…?” He lurches at her voice, scrambling up to the counter, slamming down a hand on the polished wood table while still grasping the object. 

“I must speak to Lysandra!” His voice is hoarse and forceful, making her step back and her nerves to set on fire. His eyes bore into her. His lips are drawn back into a snarl. His teeth are blackening at the gums.

Her heart is pounding in her ears, making sentences hard to form. The shadows of the yellow lamps seem to coalesce around the stranger who curls and uncurls his outstretched hand. The light scratching of his bony fingers against the wood seems so much louder than the beat of her music still playing behind her. 

“Ms. Rote? She just left. Half an hour ago, I think.”

Her hands shake as she watches the man reel back like he’s been slapped. She notices then, as his sleeve falls back, black tattoos etched into his skin. She can’t get a good look at the design before he presses forward again.

“Then you! You have to help me,” he whines, desperate. He slams his treasure on the counter, dropping it like a sack of bricks. It’s a book. “You need to take this.”

The book is thick, almost the size of her copy of Les Mis back at home, but taller. It’s bound in black leather, intricate designs pressed into the front and back covers. A beautiful chaos. It’s held closed by a latch on the side, a shining silver that contrasts the black nicely. It’s a gorgeous book, and Marissa was always a sucker for a book with a pretty cover. 

Or well, normally she would be. Currently, she’s too scared of this unstable man currently shoving the work towards her with a furious intensity. She begins to reach back for her phone to make a call, get her boss back down here, maybe call the police as a last resort, but the man sees her movement and cries out against the action.

“No, please! I… I just need you to take this book, please! Lysandra will know what to do with it,” he’s on the verge of tears, eyes reflecting, body shaking, lips curled in a rotting grimace. She can’t deny the man this, he’s hurting, from what she doesn’t know, but this book is the catalyst.

“Yeah! Okay. How much do you-”

“Nothing! Just take it! Give it to Lysandra to put with the others!” He holds the book out to her over the counter, hands shaking desperately like it’s taking all his strength to do this simple action. She reaches out and grasps the edge, pulling it towards her.

Then her entire being is consumed in pain and darkness, with only the last cry of unbridled joy from the man ushering her into oblivion.

All around her is dark. Her skin feels like a million needles are lightly carving their way around her. Just enough pressure to hurt, multiplied by the sheer mass of them, making an unbearable sensation. She tries to escape but only begins to let loose ragged, wet coughs. Her chest heaves, unable to gain air. Her ribs feel like they’re trying to burst outwards, out of her chest, break through the skin to expose her heart to the world. Her stomach is lurching but there’s metal in it, keeping it weighed down and it spasms as the muscles work against each other. The intensity keeps gathering, dragging apart her body's tissues and vibrating her teeth and bending back her joints until she can’t take it anymore and she finally forces out a desperate scream.

And then it stops.

“Marissa, please for the love of god wake up! Please, please, please!”

“Davie?” She’s awake. Her voice sounds bad, to say the least, and she flinches at it.

“Oh thank god!” Arms are thrown around her suddenly as she tries opening her eyes. The only thing she sees is the black of a band t-shirt. 

She sits up, maneuvering around Davie, who clings to her in a desperate hug. They’re on the floor behind the counter of the bookshop. August, Davie’s boyfriend, is back against the wall, looking relieved. He sighs as he pushes his hair out of the way. Davie’s face suddenly overtakes her vision as he releases his hug, holding her shoulders instead as he looks her up and down, assessing for injury. 

“What’re you doin’ here?” Her mind is slow and her words reflect it. 

“August and I were in the neighborhood and wanted to see if you wanted to hang out after work but when we showed up the door was open and you were passed out! Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” she stutters out and scoots backward, rubbing her head to try and soothe the bump that has risen. She must have hit her head on the way down. “A man came in with a book, I don’t remember what happened after that…”

A terrified gasp. “August, call Ms. Rote, I think someone robbed the place!” Davie tosses his boyfriend his phone before offering Marissa a hand up. She takes it, wavering a little as she realizes her legs have fallen asleep.

And then she rips her arm away from August, finding that the air is betraying her and refusing to fill her lungs as she stares at her wrist. 

There are black marks etched around it, swirled and angry and definitely new. She lifts her other arm, comparing the skin, only to find almost identical marks on the other side. Where did they come from? She begins to tear at her wrists with her nails, desperately trying to smudge or peel or scratch off the offending things. It’s not working. She can’t imagine why it’s not working, they weren’t there a moment ago and they really shouldn’t be there now, maybe if she claws harder, maybe if she digs deeper, maybe if-

Davie yanks her arms apart and pulls her into a crushing hug, begging her to stop. Her arms are raw and she’s shaking and she’s vaguely aware of August on the phone. She doesn’t return the hug but leans her body against her friend who supports her, holding tight. He sits her down and talks to her softly until Ms. Rote arrives.

It doesn’t take long.

The three stand as the older woman approaches and immediately grabs hold of Marissa, checking her over with telescopic scrutiny. She sees the still raw wrists and swears, eyes closing and shoulder tensing, as if pained. Her eyes are open again, cold blue-black staring firmly at her.

“You’ve been cursed.”

“Pardon?”

“Cursed.” Ms. Rote scans the room before moving, standing above the book the man had thrown at her, left discarded on the floor. 

She bends down to pick it up but snaps her hand away, swearing and shaking the limb like she’s been shocked. Her frown deepens and she begins to look more her age, wrinkles deep and body tired. She turns to August and beckons him over, and the same thing happens when he tries. A heavy sigh follows and she turns sad eyes briefly to Marissa before standing again. 

“Girl, you pick this up.” 

Tentatively, ready to be shocked like the others, she crouches down and places her hand on the cover. Nothing. She picks it up and feels the weight and the age of the old pages on the side, all frayed. To her, it’s just a book; heavy, beautiful, and apparently, cursed. 

“I know this magic,” Ms. Rote moves into the back, gesturing the others to follow her. “I’m sorry, Marissa, but if it is not taken care of, it will be fatal.”

“What?!” Davie and Marissa both yell, shocked and confused and deeply upset about this horrid night. August pales, moving to Davie’s side, placing a hand on his arm to steady him.

“Fatal? There’s no way to fix this? Magic is real and my first experience with it is it trying to kill me?” Marissa laughs, but with no joy. It sounds like dead air escaping her throat.

“Come with me, to the back,” they follow the boss dutifully, feeling no other choice.

They enter the back office and Ms. Rote grabs a very thick volume from one of the many shelves that line the walls. Her own personal collection. After flipping through the pages for just a moment, she stops, sighs, closes her eyes, and gently takes a seat in her brown leather chair. 

“That bad?” Marissa asks. She regrets it as her boss looks at her like one looks at a stray puppy they can’t keep. The dissociative state she’s been in since this started is beginning to crack. She feels cold.

“The only way to lift the curse is to pass the tome on to someone else who willingly takes it. If this is not done, you will be dead in a week.”

Marissa’s heart aches like it’s skipped too many beats and is struggling to catch up. Her wrists burn in the cold back room. Her entire body feels so much heavier. She’s going to die. Too much absurdity has happened in the past hour, too many new concepts and revelations. Her boss works with magic books, she’s cursed, magic is real. She begins to cry without realizing it. She thinks about missing Christmas with her mother and finally collapses into the chair across from Ms. Rote.

“Marissa, please, give me the book. I can handle this for you,” Ms. Rote holds her hand out like offering assistance to a drowning man. Davie is having a hushed argument with August in the corner before he interjects at the offer.

“No! I should have been working the counter tonight, give it to me!” August pulls him back, telling him to stop. He’s not letting him martyr himself like this. 

There’s silence as Marissa stares at the books lining the shelves, seemingly lost in herself.

“No,” she stands so suddenly that Davie flinches and Ms. Rote snatches her hand away. “It’s my burden now and I’m going to deal with it on my own.” 

“Where are you going?” Ms. Rote calls after her as Marissa speeds away back into the shop floor, grabbing her coat and purse and the book. 

“Home, to get some sleep. I’m taking the week off, if you don’t mind.” Her words are final and she’s out the door before there’s an answer. The bell rings final as the door closes. 

The first three days pass by in private despair. Marissa locks herself in her room, tells her roommate that she’s sick, and lies motionless in bed for hours on end. Sometimes she’d stand in front of the mirror and stare at the markings that grow and twist their way up her arms. She doesn’t eat or shower, barely even sleeps.

On the morning of the fourth day, she gets a call. Her phone had been buzzing on and off, worried texts from her friends, but there was only ever one person who called her. Her mother.

She answers, lethargic and barely gets out a greeting before her mother asks what’s wrong. She says she’s sick, bedridden actually, and the wisdom of a hundred generations of mothers is recited to her from across the connection. She laughs at the old remedies her mom lists out, everything from honey tea to onions in socks. That brief moment of joy makes her take pause and she sits up, listening to every word her mother says, memorizing her voice and accent. When she finishes, Marissa smiles and tells her she loves her, and the conversation ends. 

She spends the rest of the day cleaning herself up and then the apartment too, until she’s so exhausted she passes out when she falls into bed that night. 

Day five starts at eight am. Breakfast is made for her roommate and herself and she’s out the door as they stumble into the kitchenette half asleep, telling them the coffee is all theirs. She explores the city, enjoys herself, strangling any thoughts about death that pop up. She meets some friends from college for lunch and ends up having an impromptu snowball fight afterwards when they all walk through the park. She brings the group home and they watch their favorite movies and laugh like they used to.

Day six she decides to treat just herself. She wanders into a nicely lit restaurant, surprisingly crowded for a Thursday night, and finds a place at the bar. She sips her cocktail and eats some fries, enjoying the nightlife.

She turns to find the bathroom at one point and just briefly through the crowd thinks she sees a familiar face. Pausing, waiting, watching… there. The crowd parts briefly and she sees him, a man her age, but haunted in a way that makes him look older. Not nearly as old as the first time she saw him, but it hasn’t completely left his face. Six days and the man that cursed her still looks worse for wear from his encounter with death. 

The weight of the book sits heavy in the inside pocket of her thick winter coat. She couldn’t bring herself to leave it at home, feeling like the thing was shackled to her. Her arms would itch if she got too far away from it. The man never looks at her, probably doesn’t recognize her face in this nicely lit, welcoming atmosphere- a stark contrast from the yellow, crowded emptiness of the shop. 

A notice takes over in her mind, the whisper of an idea that at first makes her sit straighter, feeling nauseous and disgusted in herself. Trick him into taking the book, give him back the curse he gave to you, it says. The longer she thinks about it, however, the more the sickness passes and the more resolute she becomes. She needs to give him back his book. A plan formulates, not a good one, but she needs to do this before her confidence leaves her. 

She stands from the bar playing with her hair as she maneuvers through the crowd until she looks approachable, like she’d never hurt a fly. She tugs on her long sleeves, making sure that the markings that claw up her arms are hidden. The book burns against her chest. She ignores it. 

“Excuse me?” He looks up at her, confused. He doesn’t recognize her. “I think I know you, were you at Rote Books and Antiques last friday night?” He pales, choking on his beer.

“Uh, why do you, uh what-?”

“You left your book behind,” she smiles so sweetly at him. “It’s a real antique you know, we put it aside in case you came back for it.” 

“No, no girl, that things no good,” he’s grinding his teeth. His friends in the booth look confused.

“Oh, I beg to differ. I’ve been reading it actually, it’s very good. I have it with me actually,” she takes it out of her jacket. The silver clasp shines. “Here, I’d hate to miss the opportunity to give it back.”

He’s panicking. His friends stare at him, wondering why he’s not taking it. She smiles, tilting her head and offering it to him. She keeps from shaking by biting her tongue. Any second now she’s going to lose her nerve, he’s going to run, or she is, and it’ll all be over for her. 

“Dammit, Mike just take the book so the girl can go,” the woman on his left chastises, shoving his shoulder roughly. On instinct, he reaches out to stop himself from falling off the seat, and grabs the book. 

Marissa doesn’t think she’s ever run faster in her life, as the moment his hand is on the cursed tome, she’s fled the scene, running and never stopping until she’s home.

On day seven, she walks into work. Ms. Rote stares at her as she removes her coat, revealing unmarked arms. They stare at each other for a few moments, finality and uncertainty in the air between them. 

“I gave the man his book back,” she says, voice level. Ms. Rote nods, a single, slow tilt of the head, expression unreadable.

“Well, that’s good to know... Would you like to help me sort the books?”