#the other i dug out of a trashcan and its screen is going out

[theskeletoninthegarden]

I'm taking a few days off for my birthday, I have some appointments, but otherwise I wasn't sure what I was going to do, until today when I decided to strip my laptops for fun parts

[tojisveryown]

𝙸𝚗 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝙴𝚢𝚎𝚜 | 𝟶𝟸

© 𝙰𝚕𝚕 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚜 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚘𝚓𝚒𝚜𝚋𝚋𝚢𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚛

𝙰𝚌: 𝚠𝚃𝟼𝙸𝙳𝟸𝚀𝟺𝙰𝙺𝚄𝟿𝚏𝚛 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚠𝚝

𝚂𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜: 𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎, 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚜𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚙𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚍 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚎 𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝.

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚑𝚘𝚕, 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚎𝚡, 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚛𝚞𝚐 𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚜

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 𝟸.𝟻𝚔

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚜: 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎 𝙰𝚄, 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎, 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏 𝚖𝚒𝚡𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝

𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 | 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝟶𝟸 | 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

(𝚄𝚗𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚍)

⋆ 💌⋆ 

3 am, it was three o’clock in the morning and you woke up to the sound of your phone going off. Who the hell would be up at this hour, especially since there was a lecture everyone had to attend in four hours.

You took a glance at your screen, slowly adjusting to the brightness, you allow yourself to wake up, you check your messages, and realize Gojo has been texting you nonstop 

“Seriously, what the hell is wrong with this guy its three am..” you whisper to yourself trying not to wake up Utahime

“Who would ever wanna fuck you anyway?” 

Sheesh. 

Am I that un-fuckable? You walked over to the bathrooms and gave yourself a long and judgmental stare. “Shit, I am un-fuckable aren’t I?” 

Before you let your insecurities get the best of you, you decided that it’d be best to catch some sleep and worry about your appearance later. It’s not that your body was ugly, or that your face was ugly, it was definitely how you dressed. 

The way you dressed practically presented to everyone what type of vibes you give off, and as of right now you gave off pretty much “Hi, my name is L/N Y/N and I still shop at the kids' section from target.” and that is NOT the impression you wanted others to have when glancing towards you. 

You sighed, “That fucking man whore really did a number on my self-esteem.” You rolled over and checked the alarm clock placed on the nightstand that was sandwiched into yours and Utahime’s bed. 5:38 am 

“Maybe I should go shopping after the lecture.” you rolled off your bed and decided to get an early start. After finishing up you left the girls dormitory. 

6:45 am

Coffee? 

Coffee.

⋆ 💌⋆ 

You hurried to the coffee shop that was a floor below your first lecture, luckily there weren’t that many people waiting in line, after what felt like two minutes it was finally your turn to order.

“Hi welcome, what may I get you?” The barista said, 

“Hi good morning, may I get an iced caramel macchiato?” 

“Of course, that’ll be 5.47!″

You dug in your bag to find your wallet and before the lady could take your card a hand placed itself over your own “I got it, add a white mocha to it will ya’ make it for Y/N Gojo, thanks.” That voice belonged to none other than the pest you dealt with yesterday. “G’morin’ Y/N.” he smiled as he slung his arm around you leading you outside the small coffee shop. 

“Mmm, so about yesterday.. I’ll forgive you if you let me take you out on a date? How ‘bout it?” 

No. Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with this guy?

“Huh? I didn’t apologize.” You feel yourself leaning on the pillar that stood outside the coffee shop. 

Gojo scoffed, “That’s exactly why, you won’t have to if you let me take you on a date. Think about it Y/N.” he leaned closer resting his forearm on the same pillar you were leaning against right above your head. He was practically towering over you.

���And if i don’t want to apologize?” He scoffed once more and held your chin, forcing you to lookup. His touch was cold, almost concerning really.. it’s probably from some sort of std.

“Y/N Gojo your coffee is ready! Y/N Gojo!” 

Gojo stepped away to grab both cups of coffee, he handed you yours and walked alongside you. “You know Y/N, so many girls would kill to go on a date with me, you’re really missing out.” there he goes flashing that cheekily smile around again. 

“Guess I’m not like the fuckable bimbos you go after then.” 

“You know you could be if you wanted to,” he walked in front of you, turning on his heels so he was now facing you as he continued to walk backwards. “All you have to do is give me a call.” he pulled his sunglasses down and gave you a wink.

Cheeky bastard.

You shoved the iced coffee into the core of his stomach signaling that you wouldn’t be swooned so easily by his escapades, you held out your arm until he realized you were giving the coffee back. His fingertips grazed over your hand and you flinched at the subtle contact. Before Gojo had the chance to call you out you were submerged into the crowd.

“Y/N stop being so difficult.” 

⋆ 💌⋆ 

6:58 am, you made it on time for your first early morning lecture and sat in the fourth row. As you began to pull your stuff out more and more people started filling up the seats. You were beginning to regret returning the coffee Gojo had bought for you due to the lack of sleep.

“Y/N don’t run off like that, I almost lost you in the crowd.” You turned your head and there he was, sitting right next to you while wearing that stupid grin “Sorry some of it spilled out, but it’s still perfectly fine.” he admitted as he slid the iced coffee towards you. You looked away, you thought Gojo would finally get the hint to leave you alone and yet he just kept going on Until..

“Good morning Satoru!” a girl smiled as she sat down in the row in front of us “Why do you have two coffees?”

He cocked a smile “Good morning Yuri,” he greeted before he took your coffee and handed it in her direction, “Ehh, they gave me an extra drink. But I wouldn’t mind giving it to you.” 

You turned your head to watch the scene play out, that bastard and his cheap tricks. “That was supposed to be my coffee” is what you wanted to say, but you knew it’d be best not to get tangled in Gojo’s business. You turned away looking for a new seat. You packed your things and headed towards the back of the lecture hall.

The girls face lit up in excitement “Of cour-”

“Kidding, this is Y/N’s.” but before Gojo could turn his head back to you to flash that idiotic smile of his you were nowhere to be found. 

⋆ 💌⋆

The lecture was finally over and just as you were finishing up your notes a figure appeared. “Y/N it’s rude to leave without saying anything.” He slid your cup of coffee on the desk.

“Thought you gave it to that girl.” 

“I bought it for you, not her.” he stated firmly, he grabbed your bag and walked towards the door, “Are you coming or not?”

“Huh, where are you and I going? And give me back my bag.” 

Satoru turned on his heels and leaned down to your height pressing his pointer finger on his lips. His crystal blue eyes met yours and you were at a loss of words, his eyes truly were beautiful and you almost let a compliment slip until you realized who those eyes belonged to.

“It’s a secret of course, and its ‘we’ Y/N, say ‘where are we going’, what good if there in having a parter if you aren’t even acknowledging them correctly?” 

“You aren’t my partner, work alone.” you handed him the cup of coffee and  seized your bag out of his arms. For the second time this week Gojo was now staring at your back as you walked away, your figure getting smaller and smaller each step you took before you were one with the crowd. Gojo stared down at the cup and noticed that you didn’t take any sips of the caffeinated drink that he purposefully bought for you. 

“Warm up to me soon will you?” he whispered to himself as he passed by a trashcan throwing the drink away.

⋆ 💌⋆

The next morning you found Gojo patiently waiting for your arrival, in his hands were two cups of coffee, it doesn’t look like he’s noticed you so you take that advantage and walk behind a group of students going to their next class. As you were passing by desperately trying to avoid any form of contact with Gojo you unintentionally eavesdropped on a conversation he was having over the phone. Unfortunately you weren’t able to hear the other side of the line.

“Another bet? Sugu’ that’s shitty” He laughed  “No, she already thinks I’m an asshole and making a bet with you involving her would make things worse. Okay okay okay one month right? Okay bye.”

Fucking bastard. Who does he think he is, making a bet to see if he can fuck someone he called unfuckable.

⋆ 💌⋆

Just when you thought you were finally free from the virus known as Gojo, the chair next to you became occupied by the person you thought you’d be able to ignore. 

“G’morin’ Y/N!” he cheered gaining the attention of all the students that had the decency to come early “Got you some coffee, promise I won’t give it to anyone this time.” 

You ignored him and reviewed the notes you took yesterday, as class began the thought of Gojo sitting next to you slipped your mind until he moved his elbow with the intentions of hitting yours but knocked down the coffee he brought you onto your notes. 

“Whoopsies.” He laughed it off and gave you his notes for you to copy off of

“Gojo I can’t read this.”

“You don’t have to be so picky Y/N, who else is gonna let you borrow their notes you don’t have any friends.”

Asshole.

⋆ 💌⋆

The next morning Gojo showed up with two cups of coffee again and this time he brought a couple of napkins. He sat down next to you and placed the cup in front of you. 

“Didn’t you learn from last time?” you questioned as you slid the cup back to Gojo.

“Well maybe if you actually drank it I wouldn’t have spilled it.” he pouted and pulled out a new notebook “Here, since I did ruin your old one.”

You opened the notebook and there was a drawing of a penis on each of the pages.

You took a deep breath and faced Gojo, it took almost everything out of you not to dump the coffee on this man whore again. 

⋆ 💌⋆

As the next day came you expected Gojo to sit next to you but today he didn’t, you finally got to pay attention and take proper notes without anything getting spilled on them. After class ended, you found yourself going to get bread from a bakery near your school, but as soon as you were about to pay a pair of cold hands reached over yours handing his card to the cashier instead of yours.  “’s okay I got it.” he said smiling as he slithered his hand around your shoulder. You slid his hand off and pulled him to the back of the bakery.

“Woah Woah Y/N we can’t do it here there are people from our class watching!” He teased as he threw his hands in the air as a sign of defense. 

“What do you want from me.” 

“What?”

You took a step forward, closing the little space you had between the two of you “What do you” poking his chest with your pointer finger you inched closer “want from me?”

Gojo leaned forward and whispered “Be my partner again Y/N.” Gojo felt you stepping away, furthering the distance you once closed. He pulled you into his chest and rocked himself, along with you following side to side due to his strong grip. One of his arms wrapped around your neck as the other slid down to the small of your back.  “What’s so bad about being my parter? Afraid I’m gonna use you like the chick you saw me in the library with?”

“I don’t want a man whore as my partner.” you huffed. Gojo flinched at the harsh words you used to describe him, nonetheless he still held you close, his cold hands grabbed your wrists guiding your arm to his back wrapping them around himself. 

“What do I have to do to prove to you I’m not a man whore?” he asked rubbing your back and pulling you closer to his chest. God how many layers of cologne  does this man lather on himself. 

“You can start by getting off me.” 

“Mmm.” he pulled you even closer to the point where you two had little to no space whatsoever between your two bodies. “Only if you agree to take me back as you partner.” 

You sighed giving in “Let me think about it?”

“M’kay!” he said pulling you even closer before letting you go.

⋆ 💌⋆

You walked back to campus with Gojo, the walk was quiet and peaceful. The sound of cars passing by along with the birds chirping filled your ears and it was a much needed break after eating at the bakery with Gojo filling your thoughts with nonsense. 

You and Gojo were on your way to the next lecture of the day until Gojo stopped walking. 

“Gojo?” 

“Sorry Y/N I have to take a leak, can you please wait for me? I wanna be able to sit next to you in class.” 

You nodded and waited on a bench that was within a few feat of the bathrooms, moments later you heard footsteps approaching.

“Hey that was fast, did you wash your hands?” You questioned finally looking up realizing it wasn’t Gojo but the girl who Gojo offered your coffee to, Yuri. “Oh.. Can I help you?” 

“Is Satoru really dating you?” She began to laugh and the two girls behind her joined after giving you a hard gaze. 

“What no-”

“Probably one of his bets with Suguru. Like Satoru would ever wanna date you. What are you after? His money?”

“Huh no.”

“Please, save the bullshit, how much did you sell yourself for Satoru to hold you in the bakery like that? Or did you force yourself on hi-”

Before she could continue the stinging sensation that was both on your hand and face shut her up. She held her hand up and you flinched waiting for the contact that her hand would soon make with your face, but instead when you opened your eyes Gojo’s hand had grabbed her wrist before the contact was ever made. 

He shoved Yuri’s hand away and grabbed your hand dragging you to your next lecture. 

⋆ 💌⋆

During the long boring lecture the only thing you were able to think about was everything that happened moments before class began. Losing yourself in your thoughts Gojo slid a piece of paper with the words: “are you okay :( ?”

You replied with: “Yes. I’m fine, thank you.” Gojo smiled to himself as he replayed the scene of him coming to your rescue, cocky bastard.

Ripping off a piece of paper from the corner of your notebook, you wrote down a few words and placed the folded piece of paper onto Gojo’s open palm. 

“I guess, you can be my partner again.”

That day Gojo Satoru wore the smile that you gave to him proudly.

⋆ 💌⋆

𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 | 𝙽𝚎𝚡𝚝 | 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 

𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚎: 𝙻𝙼𝙰𝙾𝙾 𝙸 𝚊𝚖 𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙶𝚘𝚓𝚘 𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛, 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚘 𝚏𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎. 𝙰𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌!  𝙷𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚢'𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥

⋆ 💌⋆

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: @peppytine @enesitamor

𝙽𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗 𝚃𝚞𝚎𝚜. (𝟺/𝟸𝟶) 

© 𝙰𝚕𝚕 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚜 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚘𝚓𝚒𝚜𝚋𝚋𝚢𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚛

⋆ 💌⋆

[nimmy22]

A Mistake: Chapter 1

summery: Set before the events of spencer's mansion. Slight AU where the Birkin's most recent babysitter gets more than she ever bargained for on one stormy night as she watched over Sherry. Cara was ready for a blackout but she almost got her life snuffed out when two forces attack the Brikin’s home, their goals unclear. All Cara wanted to do was get Sherry to safety but with the phone lines dead, she has to rely on herself. Will Albert Wesker be an ally? Or will he add Cara to the list of things needing a "clean up"?

I hope you enjoy!

Reposted from my account on AO3 under my username doomer.

https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomer

------------------------------

This was not how she thought the night would go. The worst that should have happened tonight was a power outage due to the howling winds and rain threatening to shatter the glass and uproot trees.

Cara was prepared, having dug around the house for a flashlight as soon as she arrived, making sure the windows were closed. Her clothes clung to her like a second skin, suffocatingly tight. She regretted the black skirt and navy-blue sweater she chose to wear for the day as the wind wouldn't stop nipping at her skin. The whole way here, Cara clung onto Claire's body as the redhead dropped her off after school on the back of her motorbike before heading home. Her red leather jacket was envy, but at least now, Cara had found shelter in the spacious home.

Storms like this weren't out of the norm here in Raccoon City. Nowhere in the city was immune to the outages, not even in this affluent neighborhood where the Umbrella's most prominent employees, as well as the mayor, lived.

And so, it wasn't long before the cartoons playing on the bulky T.V screen flickered to darkness. Sherry turned back to Cara, immediately crawling towards her babysitter from where she sat cross-legged on the carpeted floor in front of the TV.

Cara was ready and flickered the flashlight on, but it seemed like the batteries were nearly dead. The beam was weak, and she had to shake it a few times before the light would give a steady glow.

"Cara, I'm scared," Sherry said, sliding next to the high schooler on the couch. Her tiny fingers wrapped around the hand that Cara held the flashlight with as if to help power it up. It did not work—what a surprise. Cuteness is not an energy form.

"Don't worry. I am right here. You live on the nice side of town. It won't be long before we get the power back." Cara said, pinching Sherry's little chubby cheeks. "While we wait, let's go look for some new batteries. These won't last for another hour."

"Ok, I saw some batteries in daddy's office the other day," Sherry said, beaming at her friend. The scent of Cara lingered around the house more often than her own mother. It helped soothe her loneliness for a time, until it faded. She had been beyond happy to finally convince her parents she still needed a babysitter after her old one vanished mysteriously. A babysitter was the only way to have any form of company in the empty house. No friends were allowed over while her parents were out. And they were never home.

"Great! I would rather replace these before we're forced to run around in the dark to find some," Cara said, returning the young girl's smile.

Sherry grabbed Cara's hand and began leading the older girl up the stairs. Two steps up, and her little feet paused their ascend.

"Daddy wasn't happy the last time I snuck in there. He just knew that I went in, but I didn't even touch anything. What should we do, Cara?" The little girl looked down at Cara from where she stood, fiddling with her pendant. It was a present from her mom for her last birthday. The pendant regularly brought the little girl comfort, but she would have easily traded it for more time spent with her parents.

"Don't worry. I'm sure we can find some in other places without getting in trouble with Mr. Birkin." Cara said, leaning towards the little girl with a grin.

While Cara hadn't expected anything from this babysitting job over the weekend, she got something she didn't know she was missing out on. A little sister. Like Cara, Sherry was also an only child, and they found an instant connection with each other. Cara felt a familial love towards the young girl that she herself never received from her mother and father—another thing they had in common.

While Cara was at the Birkin’s home, she found herself pretending that she was watching over her little sister while their parents were working into the late hours of the night. Her real home, real family, were something that she would much rather disengage her mind from for as long as possible. Any excuse to stay away was a good one.

With Sherry in one hand and the flashlight in the other, Cara set out to search the house for batteries. They rummaged through the kitchen drawers only to come up with eating utensils and loose change. Strangely, the kitchen was very much lacking in cooking appliances, but it was clear the Birkins were rarely home, and when they were, cooking was not a priority.

The trashcan was piled high with takeout boxes, and Cara made a mental note to take it out before she left, seeing as no one was going to remove it anytime soon. She could come next Friday and find it still there. The house wasn't exactly dirty. Almost everything was covered in layers of dust. Other than Sherry and her parents, Cara did not know who else sets foot into the spacious home. Many rooms went unused. The home appeared grand on the outside, but the inside did not live up to the expectation she once had the first time she came here. However, this was still a safe haven for her away from home.

Everything was all too quiet, too still—no buzzing of the fridge, no cars passing by, no humming of the electricity. The silence was filled with the sound of their feet, and their exhales. Compared to Cara, Sherry's feet were much quieter against the wooden floors. But her nervous breathing was louder.

While Cara was trying to appear strong and confident for the little girl, she couldn't help but begin to flatter in her steps. She wasn't afraid of the dark, but something did sit right.

Tik Tok. Tik Tok.

As they neared the staircase on their way back to the living room, they passed a clock hung on the wall. It was half-past ten.

"This will have to do," Cara said, reaching for the clock and removing its batteries. "Don't be scared, ok? I'm just going to replace the batteries. Can you hold these for a second?" the little girl nodded, clutching her tiny hands onto Cara's shirt as she accepted the batteries with her other hand. The metal cylinders were icy cold in her hand, but she gripped them harder. With a reassuring smile, Cara removed the batteries from the flashlight, and the room was engulfed in darkness.

"Here, pass them to me," Cara said, feeling for the little girl's hand.

Just as Cara felt the now warm metal cylinder in her hand, a bang startled them both. It wasn't loud, it wasn't enough to shake the walls, but it started them just enough for the batteries to drop to the wooden floor before rolling into the darkness. There was nothing but the sound to indicate which way it went.

Sherry yelped, clinging to Cara even tighter. "What was that?" She whispered, a tremble taking over her lips.

"I don't know," Cara answered, her pulse racing. She drew the girl closer to her body, waiting for another sound—but heard nothing.

"Maybe daddy or mommy came home?" Sherry said, completely unconvinced by her own proposal.

"I don't think so. Your dad said they won't be back tonight." Cara answered, gently nudging the little girl toward the staircase. She inserted the old batteries back into the flashlight before leading Sherry upstairs. The beam was weak, but it got them there.

"You'll be safer in your room," Cara said before reaching to close the bedroom door as the little girl entered. "Wait here, Sherry, I'll be right back, I promise. It's probably just kids with nothing better to do on a Friday night. I know a few idiots right off the top of my head who would think this is funny."

"Wait! Where are you going, Cara?" The little girl said desperately, her eyes growing twice their size as she realized Cara was leaving her.

"I'll be back," Cara said and again attempted to leave. Above them, a skylight window bathed the little girl's room with the pale moonlight.

"But what if you don't come back?" Sherry whispered, swallowing the lump in her throat.

"Why wouldn't I?" Cara said, her eyebrows furrowing. She was trying to convince herself that this was nothing, but Sherry wasn't helping whatsoever.

"Sorry," Sherry responded, crawling her way under the bed.

Cara left, gently shutting the door behind her as she went. She made her way downstairs, doing her best to muffle her breathing and lighten her footfalls. She checked the front door and found it pleasantly locked. "It's probably some idiots," She muttered, feeling the tension lifted from her shoulders. She checked the windows on the first floor and found them similarly untouched. With an eye-roll, she made her way to the staircase, keen on heading back to comfort the little girl and inform her of the lack of danger.

She hadn't taken four steps before she spotted a shape in the darkness that hadn't been there before from the corner of her eye. Her heart jumped a beat better than she could've ever jumped the obstacles in track and field. Her gut screamed at her to flee in the other direction, to hide next to Sherry under the bed. Instead, she Collected her scattered courage and pointed the flashlight at the source of her unease.

Only there was nothing. The silhouette was gone. Before Cara could continue her search, the flashlight died, and she was left with an even stronger gut feeling. "Not now, damn it!" She cursed, aggressively shaking the flashlight.

She sighed in relief for a split second as the weak beam returned, only to feel all the breath being snatched from her lungs. A six-foot-man, heavily armed and dressed in black fatigues, came straight for her, face obscured by a ski mask. A scream bubbled its way out of her throat, only to burst prematurely as the intruder raised a gun to his lips. She forced her lips shut, feeling hot tears build up before they trickled down her cold cheeks.

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “What Death Tastes Like” Part 3

Scarecrow’s daughter might be only 22, yet the terminal lung cancer she was diagnosed with six months ago didn’t discriminate against her age; the young woman didn’t show worrisome symptoms until it was too late. Y/N always had a fascination for the much older King of Gotham and despite the consequences, maybe it’s finally time to do something about it.

Part 1      Part 2       Part 4       Part 5

You’re done sampling the food that J brought over, quite annoyed he lied about the crepes; it was probably the only reason why you opened the door for him. Or maybe it was a different motive that you don’t like to think of because… what’s the point anyway?

“Crane said he added a new ingredient to your capsules,” The Joker brings it up. “I have no idea how he was able to get Cromyxillium since it’s just in experimental phase; I suppose he has awesome connections,” your guest chews one last bite of cashew salad.

“I know, he texted me but I didn’t answer back… I’m mad at him… I’m mad at everything these days,“ you admit and The King of Gotham piles up the empty styrofoam boxes, calculating how much money Scarecrow spent on a product that might be able to improve your condition.

Y/N watches him absent minded, too preoccupied with her problems to realize The King of Gotham is attentive to her words.

“I used to help my dad develop my remedy, still nothing works and he entirely immersed himself in this ridiculous task of saving me from terminal cancer. He ignored Evelyn for weeks until she left: she understood what he was doing up to a certain level; when it became an obsession…” and you sigh, aggravated by your father’s stubbornness. “I told him he has to patch up their relationship; I don’t him to be all alone after I’m gone…” you sulk and J grabs the containers, dumping them in the trashcan near the table.

“Yeah, Crane will probably be very lonely without you…” and J stops his innuendo when he comprehends how it sounds. “On a positive note,” The Clown Prince of Crime stretches, “I’m actually here to ensure you’re ok taking the capsules containing the new ingredient. Your father asked me to and I am notorious for being this…this selfless person ready to offer my services,” J over exaggerates his ability to sympathize with your situation. “He also warned me not to try anything funny. I don’t understand why I’m not allowed to share any of my funny jokes; doesn’t make any sense,” the distorted interpretation of your parent’s threat almost prompts Y/N’s smile.

“You probably pushed for this visit, taking advantage of the fact that me and my dad had a fight, hm?” you bluntly describe the truth and J can’t defend his absurd statements because your cell phone starts ringing; you glare at the screen, debating if you should answer or not.

“Is that him?” The Joker inquires and you nod a yes while deciding to accept Scarecrow’s call.

“Hello…” you sneak out on the patio as J figures he should walk to his car in order to retrieve the duffel bag fixed in advance for his sleepover.

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

Your conversation lasted for about 20 minutes thus The Joker jumped in the shower lacking any type of permission from Y/N; perhaps it could be the reason for your abrupt intrusion in the cozy bathroom.

“Can I take a shower with you?” he hears your question and for once J is uncertain of his reply, yet he is not the kind of person to show reluctance no matter the context.

“It’s your place, isn’t it?” he grumbles and distinguishes your silhouette beyond the steamy glass panels quickly stripping your clothes.

The Joker continues to scrub his skin, undisturbed by your request: he simply doesn’t care if you join him or not.

“I’m using your stuff,” J announces and your arms suddenly hug him from behind.

“You can use whatever you want,” your lips kiss the dragon tattoo on his back a couple of times and he doesn’t even turn around to peek.

“I gotta wash my hair,” he mutters and you brush your lips against his shoulder, sweetly offering:

“I can wash it for you.”

“I got it!” Y/N’s demand is cut off immediately; you’re so humiliated by his lack of interest you curse the dumb choice of being so straightforward: it’s not the first time he shows zero attraction towards his daughter’s best friend.

Your arms release the embrace and The Joker reprises his important chore while hearing you fumbling with toiletry items: you are finishing off your routine at an increased speed, willing to exit out of there as soon as possible.

A few minutes of silence, then The Clown Prince of Crime finally pronounces an insolent remark:

“I hope you saw a naked man before, Y/N! I don’t wanna be accused of traumatizing you. If it really makes you feel better, you can wash my hair.”

No smarty pants attitude rendered upon him and J gazes where you stood only to notice you’re gone: after quietly tiptoeing out of the shower, Y/N took her medications and prepared for the night ahead; she plans for J to sleep in the second bedroom at the small cabin, thus she will spend the night on the couch in the living room, watching TV until she’ll doze off.

“Miss Crane,” The Joker emerges from the bathroom in a t-shirt and shorts. “Are we cuddling on that couch or do we have further arrangements?”

“Spare bedroom,” you grouchily mumble, getting comfortable under the blanket.

“I thought we’re cuddling buddies,” he pretends to be offended at your affirmation mostly since pushing the limit is encoded in his wretched DNA.

“We’re not cuddling buddies!”  

“My bad,” he grins. “I guess I was misled by your actions at the mansion.”

He has such a nerve bringing that up!

“I’m not the type of person to force myself on women,” The Joker innocently informs, “but can I watch TV with you? I’ll camp on the floor by the sofa which is my way to hint I need a bunch of soft blankets to pile up so I won’t break my back. I mean, it’s not very nice of you to deny me access on the couch; must I remind you I granted you free passage in my bed when you asked for it?”

“Are you for reals?!” an increasingly fuming Y/N shrieks slowly rolls out of her relaxing nest. “You were horrible to me and then tried to make it better just because you worried I’d tell Emma or my father! Well, rest assured: I’m not a snitch! You truly don’t have to extend your good will to such lengths on my account! It’s not necessary, ok?! You don’t have to drive here to bring my capsules, you don’t have to bring me food. You don’t have to do anything!!”

“Watch your tone!” J growls, displeased with your feisty attitude. “Do I have to remind you who barged into my privacy to take a peek at me naked?”

Your eyes are big at his derogatory insinuation: he’s playing stupid regarding the incident.

“I barged into your privacy?!” you shout, aggravated. “How can…”

“Umm…” The Joker interrupts, “…your nose is bleeding.”

You didn’t even detect the blood trickling down your skin and you touch it, confused. The King of Gotham watches you a few hesitant steps before you unexpectedly collapse to the ground. “Hey!” his voice echoes in and out. “Hey what’s wrong?... … Can you hear me?”

There’s this high pitch taking over your mind and you can barely discern bits and pieces of a conversation J is carrying with your father. You’re not even aware you’re in a moving vehicle, that’s how much you lost grip on reality.

“What’s in for me if I bring her over, huh?”

“I compensated you!!  Two Nightmare ampoules, a small fortune on the black market! Get off your fucking high horse and bring me my daughter, would you?!” an exasperated parent admonishes.

“Maybe I will stop the car and let nature follow its course,” The Joker fights back Scarecrow’s affront, yet your dad has plenty on his plate .

“If you do such a thing and she dies, I’ll hold you responsible and trust me when I say you don’t want me to hold you responsible!!!” the serious ultimatum prompts your chauffeur to take a sharp turn on Highway 68. “Am I on speaker?” Jonathan checks without given his apparent opponent a chance to rationalize his behavior.

“Yes!” J snarls, pissed at the stupid rescue mission entrusted to him.

“Y/N, hang in there! I’ll get stuff ready by the time you arrive, alright?” Scarecrow encourages his daughter, afraid of the severe consequences of the experimental drug she ingested.  

“Mmmm,” you moan in your daze, not being able to respond.

“Keep her alert; we can’t have her sink into a coma! I have to formulate an IV mixture to flush the Cromyxillium out of her system!”

“She’s completely out!” The Joker states although there’s nobody at the other end of the line anymore. “Who’s we anyway?!” he huffs and elects to give it a go regardless. “Y/N, how many kids we would have had if we were married?... … … … … I think the precise answer is at least 4, am I correct?” J blabbers on since you don’t engage in the conversation. “Great…I’ll be held liable for your demise,” he bites his lower lip, vexed things didn’t shine too bright for him; in fact, no matter how hard The Clown tries the blame it on somebody else, he dug his own hole on this one.

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

You’re not sure how long you’ve been in the darkness, but the sharp poke in your arm makes you groan in pain.

“I’m sorry honey,” your father whispers. “We have to keep the IV for an hour, then I can take the needle out.”

“D-daddy…” you find the strength to stammer. “Am I… am I dying…?”

“No… No… I won’t let you die…” Scarecrow kisses your forehead, upset you don’t seem fine at all. “It’s my fault, I didn’t think you’ll have a reaction to Cromyxillium, not the way I bound the particles with the rest of the molecules.”

“You didn’t test it?” The Joker intervenes into a dialogue he should steer clear off.

“No, I didn’t have time to test it!” Jonathan hatefully stares at the man he wishes to strangle on the spot. “I don’t have time for anything!! Do you understand? My daughter is dying!! I’m not even that kind of doctor yet she’s breathing nevertheless due to my capability of manipulating compounds! Y/N would be 6 feet under with traditional chemotherapy, which proves I am doing a few things right!!! If Emma was sick, I’m certain you wouldn’t run your mouth like you do now!”

J wiggles in his chair, definitely about to erupt at Crane’s justified tirade.

“I’m so cold…” you utter, the ruckus adding to your general discomfort.

“That’s normal, it means the intravenous remedy is working; I’ll bring more covers,” Jonathan strolls out of the room only to gasp upon his return: J is snuggling with you, totally oblivious to your parent’s stupefied question: “What the hell are you doing??!!”

“I got off my high horse and I’m keeping her warm,” J stresses the importance of his random deed. “It’s not cheap thought! I demand…”

“You demand nothing!” Scarecrow covers you with more layers, irritated The King of Gotham has the audacity to milk out benefits in these circumstances; the latest wants to protest Jonathan’s vehement denial while not being conceded the prospect of such luxury:

“Dad…” you reach out your left hand and he sits by you, keeping the shaky fingers on his face. “Did… did you call Evelyn?” you barely blink, exhausted from the intensive treatment.

“I will…”

“You have to; I don’t want you to end up alone… She loves you… You could have more children with her… or at least one more…”

Jonathan Crane inhales, flustered his daughter is worried about him when she should worry about herself.

“I could have more kids, but don’t you know you’re irreplaceable?” he kisses your wrist and pretends to brush off the agony building up in his heart. “Don’t cry honey,” he wipes your tears, then casually shoves The Joker’s arm since is wrapped around your waist. “Your help is no longer required,” Scarecrow hints and his advice falls on deaf ears: J has important news that might switch the balance in his favor.

“I also called Emma on my way here to report about Y/N’s ordeal; she’s cutting her trip to New York short and I received strict orders to make myself useful until her arrival. Now, unless you want to deal with another pain in the ass besides your offspring, I suggest you tolerate my presence!”

Jonathan curls up in a ball on the vacant side of your bed, relieved to see you’re napping. "I didn’t feel the urge to punch someone in ages!” he sneers.

“Likewise!” The Joker barks too from behind your shoulder. “How come she passed out again?” he switches the subject and Jonathan explains without any trace of enthusiasm.

“I included a serum that promotes nice dreams in her IV bag: she’ll be in a deep sleep and envision things she likes.”

“Oh, that’s awesome. I’m sure I’ll pop up in there then,” the excited Clown Prince of Crime emphasizes to your father’s disapproval.

“I said things she likes!”

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

10:12am

“Hello Miss Crane,” you are greeted as you narrowly open your eyes; it takes a minute to recollect from the dizziness and confusion of last night’s episode.

“Where’s my dad?” you lick your dry lips, noticing J by the windows.

“At the lab; he’s consulting with some doctors or whatnot and left me in charge,” he effortlessly forges half a truth with half a lie.

“Where’s my phone? I want to talk to him.”

“I think I left it at the cabin, I was in a hurry to get you here.”

“You drove me?...” you skeptically interrogate.

“Yeah, you don’t remember?”

“No…” you stretch while touching the band aid placed where the needle used to be. “Where’s Emma?”

“On her way back to Gotham; she called several times and tried talking to you but you were out.”

“Was I?...”

“U-hum,” J shakes his head. “I reckon she promised she’ll assist with your birthday party next week and she’s terrified you’ll kick the bucket in the meantime. She didn’t precisely articulate these sentences, but I��m her dad: I can read in between the lines,” the proud Joker blurs out, loving the shocked look you display. “Am I invited to the celebration?”

You signal a no and he’s not discouraged by your vehement denial.

“Can I bring Mara?”

“Absolutely not!!!”

“Oh, so I’m actually invited but not her?”

He takes advantage of the speechless Y/N, setting up the stage for his own benefit:

“I can work with that,” he glares at you, gratified. “However, I can’t show at a party without a date; it’s not dignifying for a man of my social status. This leaves us with only one solution.”

“NO!” you protest because you can estimate his proposal.

“Cool, then we have a deal Miss Crane: you got yourself a date!”

“I already have a date!”

“Who?”  The Joker smirks. 

“Sam is my date for my birthday.”

“Sam as in Bane’s son?”

“Yes,” you squirm under the blankets, uneasy at the concept of having J as partner for the upcoming bash.

“Pfft,” he huffs. “That’s a huuuge load of baloney,” your own words from last night are used by the obnoxious green haired menace. “I’ll pick you up Wednesday at 3pm, ok?”

“The party is here at my house!”

“Ok, then you pick me up at 3pm.”

“I’m not picking you up!” you scoff at his nonsense.

“Damn, you’re hard to negotiate with,” The Joker scratches his chin. “Fine, I’ll bring myself here.”

You contemptuously stare at him, appalled he keeps on insisting when you declined his plan. On top of everything, the whole universe is getting the confirmation today that Jonathan Crane’s genius is frankly skipping a generation since you enunciate:

“Don’t be late!”

Also read: MASTERLIST

You can also follow me ON Ao3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho.

[all-hail-the-witcher]

one expensive can of easy cheese

crack head hours my kids

also inspired by a hot guy i saw at walgreens today

the walgreens chaos returns

______

ship: ralbert

genre: crackhead angst

words: who knows, not super long

warnings: mentions of a twine kink, easy cheese, concussions, walgreens, race thinks another guy is hot, uhhh, hot men in scrubs, minor bits of violence, new yorkers been new yorkers, albert is a dumbass, race is more of a dumbass

editing: nah

_____

Race was sat on top of the counter in his and Albert’s apartment, a piece of duct tape over his mouth and his hands tied together with kitchen twine. He sighed against his restraints, resigned to watch his boyfriend make their contribution to this year’s Thanksgiving gathering: mac and cheese.

Now, of course everyone and their mother knew that mac and cheese was not a Traditional Thanksgiving Food. But, Albert had won (best out of three) mario kart yesterday so he had gotten to decide what they would bring to Jack’s house. Had Race known that he had been planning to make mac and fucking cheese, maybe he would have tried a little harder.

Apparently, Albert was not pleased with Race’s reaction to his decision to make mac and cheese, and thought that Race might try to get in the way somehow (which he may or may not have fully intended to do). So he did what any loving boyfriend would: sat him on the counter, put duct tape over his mouth and tied his hands together so he wouldn’t interfere.

Race was beginning to wonder why he had agreed to move in with Albert in the first place.

With a violent shake of his head and one final spat, he was able to dislodge the duct tape.

“Albieeeeee,” he whined, laying down on the counter. “Can you pleaaaaaaaseee let me helllllllllp?”

Albert barely glanced up as he pulled the big wooden spoon out of the pot and gave it a thoughtful lick. “Hmmmmmmm. No.”

“But-!” He wriggled around to give Albert his best puppy dog eyes. “Can I make something else then? Ple-OW!” He glared at the spatula that had been hurled at his arm. “You apologize for that!”

“Nah.” He smirked and went back to stirring his wretched pasta. Well, actually Albert’s mac and cheese was quite good. Race was just salty that he was making it for Thanksgiving when it was very well known that he was the chef of the two and Jack was expecting something good not the mac and cheese Albert famously made at 2am in college when they were all high as hell.

“Can you at least untie me then?”

“No.” Albert even bother considering this time.

“Well.” If logic wasn't going to work on Albert he would have to try another method. “I know you know how to make a guy feel good Albie, but I never expected ropes to be a part of it. What’s next? Handcuffs? Whips? Chains?”

In two seconds flat Race was out of his kitchen twine bonds and flexing his sore wrists.

“Man Albie, who knew you had a twine kink.”

“You know,” Albert began loudly, as if thinking that his loudness would cover up his totally obvious twine kink, “if you want to do something that's actually useful, you could go to Walgreens and buy me another can of Easy Cheese.”

“Is that what you put in your fuckin mac and cheese?” Race swore he actually felt bile rise in the back of his throat when Albert nodded. “That’s it. I’m never eating your mac and cheese again.”

“But-!”

“I’ll eat you though,” Race winked, taking a moment to enjoy the startled, yet somehow pleased look on his boyfriend’s face.

“Not until after we’re done at Jack’s.” Albert said only half jokingly as he dug around in his pocket for a second before throwing a crumpled five at Race. “In the meantime though, be gone thot!”

Race barely managed to catch the bill without falling on the floor, but still blew a kiss to Albert before walking out of the apartment.

Who the fuck puts easy cheese in mac and cheese? He wondered for the millionth time as he stomped the three blocks to Walgreens. Albert claimed that he had chosen his apartment for its proximity to the store, but up until today Race had always assumed that he had been joking. The man did make a lot of mac and cheese and if Easy Cheese was an ingredient well….maybe there was some truth to that story after all.

Race pulled open the door to the Walgreens, pausing briefly to wonder why the absolute fuck it was open on literal Thanksgiving before remembering that it was a fucking Walgreens and why wouldn’t it be open to sell his dumbass boyfriend a can of fucking Easy Cheese.

In order to get to the Easy Cheese, or at least he assumed so because he had never bought a can of Easy Cheese in his whole glorious 25 years of life, Race had to walk past the Pharmacy section of the store. And, it just so happened that there was a guy sitting behind the counter at the Pharmacy. A very attractive guy. With a beard. In scrubs.

Now, of course Race loved Albert and nothing would ever change that, but he could appreciate an attractive man when he saw one. He thanked whatever deity was out there for the bit of man candy that he had been granted and went in search of his Easy Cheese.

“Mac and cheese, velveta cheese, microwaveable mac and cheese, where the fuck is the- oh thank fuck there we go.” He pulled a can of Easy Cheese off of the shelf, tossing it once and catching it before turning to go pay for the horrendous product, happy to finally be done with the whole ordeal when-

“Easy cheese? Really?”

Race whirled around to see Mr. Man Candy himself leaning against the opposite shelf. “Wh- who?”

“Oh,” he dusted his hand off on his scrubbs, “allow me to introduce myself. My name is Brett O’Hare. And you, sir, are a disgrace to society. The very reason why so many Americans are in poor health in this day and age.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“The Easy Cheese!” Brett gestured wildly toward the can in Race’s hand. “Gosh do you even know how many preservatives are in that stuff? And all the cancers that it can cause? It’s terrible. We wouldn’t need free healthcare if people just stopped eating Easy Cheese!”

Race had lived in New York City his whole life, and he had seen some pretty strange things, but never had he seen a pharmacist in a Walgreens lecture anyone about the health benefits of Easy Cheese.

“So let me get this straight,” Race rubbed his head, trying to make sense of the situation. “You go around yelling at people about the ingredients in the things that they are purchasing?”

“Yeah.”

“You do realize that this is a Walgreens, right? Everything in here probably contains some kind of chemical.” New Yorkers never ceased to amaze him.

“All the more reason for me to inform them of their poor eating habits!” Brett pointed a finger at him. “And stop distracting me! You’re the one buying the freaking easy cheese here!”

“It’s not even for me!” Race shouted back. “It’s for my boyfriend’s fucking mac and cheese that he insisted on making for Thanksgiving even though everyone knows that mac and cheese is not a fucking Thanksgiving food and he’s only making it cause he knocked me off the goddamn rainbow road right before the fucking finish line!” Race was fuming but the time that he was done.

“Oh, man I’m so sorry, that's lousy.”

Race looked surprised. Of all the things that he thought he would get out of this Walgreens experience, a therapy session was indeed not on the list. But neither had been hearing a lecture about the preservatives in Easy Cheese from a pharmacist.

“But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re still buying Easy Cheese!” Between one second and the next, Brett had grabbed the can of Easy Cheese out of Race’s hand, wielding it like a brick. “Buy some fucking vegetables!”

And with that, he struck Race over the head with the can of Easy Cheese.

Now, Race had definitely done some questionable things during his life. Once he had slept on the roof of his dorm building in January for a week because he lost his dorm key, and another time he had been tricked into making an entire wedding cake using salt. However, being smacked over the head with a can of Easy Cheese by a health nut in scrubs on Thanksgiving put any and all other situations he had been in to shame.  

He opened his eyes, suddenly blinded by the lights, and reached for his phone, muttering curses about man candy and vegetables. Squinting so he didn’t have to look at the screen, he somehow managed to dial Albert.

“Racetrack Higgins, where is my Easy Cheese?”

Race pulled the phone away from his ear and winced at the sound of his boyfriend’s voice. “Um, it may have been used to give me a concussion by a health nut in scrubs?”

Albert let out a loud sigh. “Ah man, did you run into Brett? That guy’s the worst.”

“Wait, you know him?”

“Race, I know every Walgreens employee in Manhattan, of course I know Brett.” There was the jangling of keys in the background. “I thought I told you to go to the one on 4th for this reason, ah, well. I’m on my way. I’ll take you to urgent care. Hang tight.”

Race’s head hurt too much to process what Albert had said except for the words ‘I’m on my way.’ “Okay,” he sighed.

“Love you.”

“Love you too.” Race’s eyes focused on the dented can of Easy Cheese rolling on the floor. “And Al?”

“Yeah?”

“This is going to be one expensive can of Easy Cheese.”

______

that was a ride

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[jj-lynn21]

Thank you, Mommy: Bill Skarsgard (AU) & X-reader/Princess

Warnings/Notes: Smut and fluff. Happy Mother’s Day to all kinds of Mommy’s taking care of their loved ones

 Bill reads over a new script he got in the mail. As he reads the script for the third time, he tries out different vernaculars and facial expressions for the character. The writer and director want him to send in a video test screen. This is the new normal for his audition process.

With not much to get in the way of the creative process since everyone is still on lockdown in Los Angeles, screen writers are turning out loads of projects. Meetings with studios and directs are all on video conferencing. The Corona-19 virus may have brought filming to a halt, but it could not stop future projects from starting. Bill gets a load of scripts in the mail daily. He reads over the synopsis before deciding if he wants to dive into the whole thing.

While he is working in his office you spend your time cleaning, reading, and watching either television or a movie. He only locks himself away for four to six hours a day. Sometimes a few hours more or a few less. You think this is definitely better than when he was gone for months at a time. Having Bill with you every day is a good dream you do not want to wake from.

On the other hand, Bill did not know when he would be working again. He has always saved for a rainy day. The two of you were never that extravagant on purchases but since the CDC and WHO suggested the virus could quarantine some people for up to eighteen months, he wanted to make sure money would last. No more random shopping online. He assured you, you had enough cloths. He would stop ripping your under garments off in the throes of passion so you did not have to replace them. He stopped the house keeping service not wanting anyone in and out of your home, so that saved money.  

Bill did not think you needed to worry about money with as much as he saved for a rainy day, but it was best to cut back on just a few things. He still had residual checks being deposited from merchandise sales for movies and memorabilia people were still buying. Right now, movie sales and rentals were up since everyone stayed home more so he still had a steady income. He was glad he opted in for a part of sales over a bigger paycheck.

 You laid on the couch. Feet flung up on the arm. A few pillows under your head in the center. You were reading The Institute by Steven King. Getting the chills, you decided to put the book down to watch something with some comedy in it. You flip on the television to Hulu. The first thing listed is Villains. You giggle that your man’s movie is the number one suggestion, as it should be.

Bill never watches his own movies unless he was forced to do it at a premiere. He fidgets the whole time. Picks out things he thinks he did wrong. Talks to you for hours after about how he could have done things different or better. You tell him how much you loved the acting choices he made. And remind him of the crowd’s reaction. He still insists he could have done better.

Since he should be in his office for three more hours you decide to watch. You were not able to make the film festival premiere, so you never got to watch this film yet. You prop your pillow against the arm rest so you can comfortably snuggle in to watch Villains.

You giggle a few times. Smirk as THAT ACTRESS gropes your man. Of course, you are not jealous. You know it is all part of the job. Plus, you watched him bang a chick up against a wall and do other things much more gratuitous than this. Then you bit your lip when Mickey was handcuffed to the bed letting out a slight, “Oh,”.

When Mickey says, “I know I was a bad boy. But I promise you I’ll be a good boy if you just give me one more chance, Mommy.” Your eyes are wide.

“Fuck,” you murmur as you continue to watch.

You go through the gambit of emotions while watching the rest of the movie. By the end your knees are curled into your chest as you ball your eyes out. Blanket wrapped around you. You use it to bury your head down as you continue to sop.

Bill sits next to you. He takes the controller and turns the television off. Then he pulls you into his arms. “Its just a movie Princess. I’m right here. I’m fine.’

“But Mickey’s not fine, Bill.” You look up at him tears still streaming down your face.

Bill’s lip twitches as he does his best not to laugh, “It wasn’t all sad. I heard you laughing. And um other sounds come out of your mouth while you were watching.” He pauses a few seconds, “Mommy.”

You stare at him frozen for a minute, “How long were you watching?”

“I was watching your reaction for long enough,” Bill grinned.

You blushed, “how was work today? Any great scripts come your way?” You change the subject.

“Some possibilities,” Bill leaned in to give you a lingering kiss. The blanket you held in front of you slid to the floor. “I want to wait until dusk to record a video outside of me as one of the characters that intrigued me.” He kisses you deeper as you slide under him. One of his hands reached to slide off your shorts and panties. “You will always be the best part of my life.”

Bill stood to strip his dress cloths off. He still dressed as if going to an important meeting daily, incase he had to video chat with industry people. You pulled off your shirt and sports bra as you looked up at his perfect body. He leaned down to swoop you up. You held on to his neck kissing along his jaw as he carries you upstairs to the bedroom.

He puts you down in the bed slowly as he hovered a moment with a sweet smile on his face. He grabs a condom from the draw putting it on quickly. Then pushed some phantom hair from your forehead. Repeated himself in a huskier tone that gave you chills, “you will always be the best part of my life.” Bill linked his hands with yours as he slid inside with low groan.

You whine as he filled you. He moved slower than his usual pace. It was almost torcher as your passion built up.

“Are you alright?” he murmured as he looked down at you so innocently.

“Yes,” you murmured looking in his eyes as you figured out why he seemed different.

He picked up speed with his thrusts. You mewed as you dug your fingernails into his back. You rolled your hips harder into his every thrust. He sucks in his breath. Then lets out a whine. He changed potions slight to go into it to hit your g-spot. You moan out as your orgasm hit your body. Head back as your mouth forms the perfect O. Bill breaths heavily as his balls tighten. He groans three times before he finishes. Forehead to yours as he slows.

He kisses you softly before pulls out to lay beside you., “Nothing will ever feel like this again.” Bill tosses the condom in the bedside trashcan. he  pulls you to him holding you closes quietly for while before speaking, “I hope you didn’t mind helping me getting ready, Princess. It wasn’t the same, but it was still good, right?”

You turned to look at him your hand stroked his cheek, “whatever I can do to help. You need me to be your camera person tonight?”

“Can you tape me without giving any emotional response until I am done runny through it a few times?” Bill said seriously.

“I could try,” You murmured.

“How about you make us some dinner while I work.” He kisses your lips before getting up. “I don’t want to ruin anything for you in case I get it.”

“You are so secretive about your projects,” you giggle. “I love it. I’ll make us some bison burgers and poutine. You go do your thing. Break a leg.”

Bill puts on the loosest fitting jeans he has that he uses for auditions. And a dark blue t-shirt. His cloths need to be within the character description but not take away from the dialogue.  He heads out by the pool where the twinkling hanging lights illuminate his face perfectly as he sits in a straight back chair. Two tables are setup in front of him. One for him to rest his hands on fingers laced together, forehead down touching them to start. The other table is where his phone sits on a tripod. He let the camera start filming as he positioned himself. He looks up at the camera. Eyes red as if he had not slept or has been crying. He starts his monologue.

“As I said, we had our first date night. She invited me inside. While we watched a movie, I leaned in to give her a lingering kiss. She turned off the television. I slide her panties off. She took her shirt and bra off as I took my cloths off. I kissed her again and picked her up to take her upstairs. She told me where to go. I laid her down softly. Slowly penetrated her. I know it sounds strange for a first date, but I told her how she would always be,” his voice hitched as tears streamed. “the best part of my life. She was. We had been video chatting for six months before this first date. I thought the sex was good for our first time. I took her slow and easy. I would never hurt her.” He pounded on the table. Paused a few moments reacting as if someone else was speaking. “I’m sorry. After I went outside for a smoke,” He voice crescendos, “I do not fucking know what happened.”

Bill performed this monologue for the camera on his phone a dozen more times different ways before calling it a night. As soon as he slid the glass door open the aroma of what you made him made him smile. He practically floated into the kitchen. You were setting the dining room table when you saw him. His eyes still red.

“No picking at the poutine Bill,” You knew he was going to if you didn’t stop him. “I poured the wine. Come sit. I hope your eyes aren’t red because you didn’t like how your video turned out.”

He walked over wrapping his arms around you, “I still have to edit which performance I want to send but I did the best I could. Had to make myself look upset so that is why my eyes are still all red.” He kisses you on the cheek and sits down.

“If your character cries, I’m going to cry,” you pout.

“Sometimes that’s the point, Princess,” he grins.

The next couple of weeks you notice he is growing some facial hair. Getting a bit sexy scruffy. You love the feel of it when he goes down on you. The more his mustache and slight hair under his chin come in the better you like it. Of course, you love him clean shaven. But something different is great to. It must be for some role he needs to send a tape in for, you think.

You lay in bed snuggling. Tomorrow is Mother’s Day.

“We have to make sure we video chat our Mother’s tomorrow.” You remind him.

His lips resting on the back of your neck as he dozes off, he murmurs, “ok.”

When you wake, you sit up and stretch before seeing Bill at the door holding a tray with your breakfast. “Oh, breakfast in bed.” You smile.

Bill puts the tray on your lap. He nuzzles his nose through your crazy morning hair to whisper low and airy, “I wanted to do something special for you today,” he pauses for effect, “Mommy.”

Your body stiffens. You hold your breath a moment. Did you hear him correctly?

“I’ll try to be a good baby boy today, Mommy.” He murmured. “If I’m not you can punish me, Mommy.” He got up and went to the toy chest. Tossed the handcuffs on the end of the bed. “I’ll try to be good, honest.” He snuggles back by your side kissing on your neck.

“Um let Mommy eat baby boy.” You manage. “Be a uh good boy.”

He looks at you pouting, “I need to touch you.”

“After I eat sweet boy or Mommy will have to punish you.” You try not to laugh but you are also very turned on by this little game Bill has devised.

As soon as you drink your coffee and have eaten a few bites of breakfast he starts nuzzling against you again. Kissing the back of your ear. Sucking on your neck. You love it but you also told him to wait until you were finished.

“Stop,” you ordered. “Mommy told you not to do that until she was finished. “

“But Mommy,” Bill whines. “I don’t want to stop.”

“Take the tray to the kitchen,” you took your last bite.

He got up reluctantly, grabbed the tray and gave you a big pouty face at the door before turning away.

“Come right back here when you are done young man,” you commanded. You giggled when he left.

He heard you and grinned. It all felt a little strange for Bill to not really be the dominate personality you usually craved him to be, but he also noticed you were enjoying this game so would keep it up just for you.

You attached the cuffs to the headboard how he always did. When he came back you were standing the end of the bed with a sweet smile on your face, “You’ve been a bad boy.” You smacked him lightly across the face. Then bit your lip hoping you didn’t go too far.

Bill looked shocked for a moment. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you eat your breakfast in peace Mommy.” His bottom lip stuck out.

“You know you have to be punished for being a bad boy.” You grinned. “Go on, go on. Get in bed. No touching Mommy now since you did it when I said no.”

“Yes, Mommy,” Bill whispered.

He got into bed. Your hips grinding against him as you put his wrists in the cuffs. You leaned back up on your knees looking at him in this position.

“Mommy?” he whispered as you did nothing for a for moments. “You alright?”

You leaned back to kiss up his neck. Lips brush over his as you murmur, “Such a good boy.”

You get up to take your panties off. You go to the bed and slide your hand up his leg. “Big boy needs to come out and play?”

Bill’s cock twitches, “Yes, Mommy.” He sucks in his breath. Then lets it out slowly.

You pull his boxers off. Kiss his tip making his cock rise completely. You straddle him not easing down until you kiss his lip. His eyes wide watching you as you take him in with a small whimper. He pulls at the restraints. He loves putting his hand on your tits running them down to your hips as you ride. He seethes pulling at the restraints more as you roll your hips getting into a good rhythm.

“Mommy, please let me touch you,” Bill begs as he pushes up into you powerfully.

“Patience,” you breath heavily.

You undo the cuff whimpering as he slides out a little. Bill sits up. Looking right in your eyes as he positions you over his lap better. Your knees up around his body. You both gasp for breath as his thrusts hit your core. Panting he keeps eye contact.

“Fuck, I love you.” He manages between breaths. “I should, I should pull out. No condom.”

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you moan. “almost there. Don’t stop.”

He holds your back. Your arm wrapped around him. Fingers holding on to his shoulder blades. Moving together in perfect sync. Your back arches as you come. Bill can’t help himself as your walls squeeze his phallus, he paints them with his seed. Your foreheads find there way to one another as he slows inside you. He lays back pulling you with him. You stay there a few moments catching your breath. Then lays beside him.

“I love you to,” she sighed exhausted.

“Happy, Mommy’s Day.” Bill pulls you in to spoon as he drifts off to sleep.

You giggle holding his hand close to your heart ready to rest.

[kandadiff]

HA Chapter 11: Creepy

--- Its about to get creepy also this is more from Viktor’s POV ---

As soon as he stepped foot back into the hotel room he flipped the sign that rejected maid service and locked the door behind him. Odd enough part of him felt at ease, Kevins words seeping into him, he was right after all, if tehre were to be no repercussions then why nit have a little fun, that was his intention of coming over in the first place. 

But as soon as he looked over at my limp body, a wave of shame washed over him and he felt panicky and hot. He moved toward the thermostat as though that was going to make everything more clearer as he lowered it. Honestly, this scenario crossed his mind once or twice but in a very different light. He pictured it more that he would wander into one of the parties I would be invited to and one of the ingrates I hung out with would have left me passed out on the floor or a couch somewhere and him acting like the knight in shining armor would nurse the hangover out of me and we would go back to being friends like once upon a time ago before Zayn or any of his friends tainted my opinions of him and before all my focus lay on Marcel. 

He had to do this, how else was he going to compete with the other boys. He couldn’t go against Woo or even Yoongi one on one. No he had to approach this smart - like Namjoon or Kevin would. He had to learn and use what he learned against the others. yes, this was worth it. He turned back toward me, the wave of shame washing over him although it felt like it was less then before. 

“Sorry love,” he said as his hand stroked my bare cheek “but I have to do this, for you- for us.” he sat next to me on the bed looking over the 1960′s style turtleneck tea dress I was wearing. Due to the sudden passing out it was a little disheveled and my hat and phone had both fallen on the floor. This reminded him to set an alarm for his own phone. Kevin said only three hours but he didn’t want to risk it. After two hed walk out that door and tuck me in maybe I would think I just took a nap for something. He reached over me and picked up the hat, smiling at the posh design and fixing it before placing it on the night table. He then picked up my phone pressing the ring button on, if Yoongi were to get suspicious where I was then he would need a warning. He placed the phone next to the hat and for a while just stared at me. 

The steady rising and falling of my chest, the small gestures my face mad as I dreamed, he wondered what I was dreaming about and if the ‘love Potion’ even allowed dreams. He started to carefully run his fingers through my hair smiling at the purple tips that had almost faded out at the bottom. He liked my hair when it was curly and natural … was it Yoongi that preferred it straight? Is that why I haven’t had it curly for a few months? Or perhaps Negan? The true threat even Viktor couldn’t bring himself to share with the rest of his friends. 

He had been suspicious of Negan ever since he came to sub for a month at the school two years ago. He had done ‘research’ about that on his own and while it wasn’t confirmed he knew the relationship with me and the older man was romantic possibly a sugar baby deal... how else would I be able to afford that ring that Yoongi had been wearing. He would never ask for such extravagant gifts when we’d get together. No instead he’d be showering me in gifts - his parents had money and with the promise of grandchildren they would be happy to give him his inheritance early. 

As he played with my hair he thought of our future and the things I have wrote and said on the matter, like in my journal. Another wave of shame washed over him remembering when he found my journal while installing the long-range modifier with Kevin just a few weeks ago. Kevin had went into your room and he had gone into mine. Just looking around innocently and the journal had fallen from behind a book on the shelf. He didn’t mean to read it... no that was creepy and wrong. But its not like he was some creepy pervert like Ian or Mark... All he wanted to do was feel closer to me - plan our future so I wouldn’t have to whats so wrong about that? He read about a pheoneom in a science magazine about psychology. The more you mimic a person in certain things or the more you know about a person they will more easily become attached to you. And that was the whole point. So he can plan things out - something he knew freaked me out and it wouldn’t be weird. Yes it wasn’t weird it was smart. 

He went back braiding my hair and began to talk about our future half wondering if like in a coma I could hear him, maybe my subconscious will link the ideas and make them stick in my head. It would be much easier that way. “I know you like New York, but that's no place to raise a family. We could get married there have the Gastby Wedding you always wanted. I know how much you want you dad to walk you down the isle but I know how much he doesn’t like me- so maybe we do something else. I would never take away your first dance with him but maybe down the isle is a bit much. He’d never give you up to me.” he laughed finishing one braid and beginning another. “And then we should move to England, I know, I know its always raining but you love the rain and plus our children will have my accent - not that yours isn’t charming - I love it, but imagine four little Malik kids speaking Japanese with british accents. How adorable. Yeah I want four kids, I know I know its ambitious but I am willing to adopt two if we have two of our own. We can even adopt them from Japan. Two boys and two little girls, I love the names Connor and Henry, I liked the name Jackson to but Wang really ruined that for me.” He finished another braid and moved to the next “For girls I know you love the name Marceline but Sara is so classic and beautiful. Okay how about you name one girl and a boy and ill name the other?” He laughed to himself looking down at my sleeping face. “You’re so beautiful Kay,” he let go of my hair, the third braid unfinished and leaned down towards my lips. he placed a chaste kiss on them a flush overcoming his body. He smiled with a new found confidence and went to do it yet again before spotting a deep purple mark on my neck. Due to the sudden onset of sleep that over came me my turtleneck dress that expertly hid the markings came down just a bit and now all the deep purple bruises Yoongi left on my neck were visible. Viktor felt a surge of anger hit him and he quickly turned away from me. He opted to distract himself with the buzzing of my phone. It was a group texted entitled ‘FUNHOUSE BIQTCHES!’ He grabbed my finger pressing it to the home button and unlocking my phone. He scrolled through the messages only half paying attention to them. Most of them just telling Adi to shut up and that she was being to loud and if she didn’t shut up GD was going to wake up. 

It took him a few moments before he could look at me again. His eyes stayed glued to the marks and he leaned over me fixing my collar so it covered the marks “I know this isn’t your fault but you can’t let him do that to you.” He was getting angrier and angrier with each word. When he pulled the color up the dress went up slightly revealing the marks Yoongi had left on my thighs. “Disgusting” He remarked yanking the skirt down with such force that he heard a tear in the dress. His anger instantly turned to fear. The dress had a visible tear in it. How would that be explained? Sometimes hotel rooms left sewing kits incase. He dug through the empty drawers of the room and came up empty. “Look what yoongi made me do!” He shouted at me then rushed over fingering the tear. “This wouldn’t have happened if you picked me first. he marked your body like you are some common whore, Youre not - stop acting like one!” He shouted and sighed looking at the timer. He had only an hour left. He looked back at me and pressed his lips to mine again. “I’m sorry, you just make me loose sense sometimes.” He sighed laying next to me. 

For the next half an hour he lay cuddled next to me speaking about whatever came to his kind, that was until an idea presented itself into his head. He used my finger to unlock my phone - it had a lot more texted then before not all from the group chat. He saw Negans name on it and had to resist going through that if he was going to have enough time to link our phones together. He saw a few texts from Yoongi and once again had to say no to temptation and set to work.

His alarm went off just as he was finished. Satisfied he pressed the small bird app on his phone. If anyone were to go threw his apps they’d find the one labeled Bird Watching and scroll past it thinking nothing of it. But as soon as he clicked on it. The screen changed to a copy of my screen, every app, every text, every picture - he could see. This was perfect. He took one last look at me and kissed my lips once again. “I love you.” He said before walking out the door and into the elevator. 

----

I woke up confused feeling like death. I knew I was in Hotel Dumont due to the patterns on the ceiling but it took a moment for me to remember why I was here. I was here with Yoongi “Oppa!” I called out and immediately felt like vomiting. Did we drink last night? No. I was sober.. yeah I had breakfast. Why did I feel like this? I sat up and quickly grabbed the trashcan by the bed vomiting whatever breakfast was in my stomach out. I groaned, my head pounding and looked around for Yoongi. “Oppa?”

He wasn’t here. I was alone in the room... wait thats right. He left to get Jungkook... then why was I still here? My attention was drawn toward my phone dinging next to my hat on the night stand. I put my hat on the night stand but woke up across the bed? Something was wrong. I grabbed at my phone seeing text after text of people asking where I was and missed calls. I stood up shaky and grabbed my purse and keys. 

I barely made it downstairs, my entire body felt like Jello and my stomach turned every time I took a step. A bellhop helped me to my car before another familiar face walked up to us a cocky grin on his face. “Yoongi treat you so well you can’t walk?” Damien smirked “Or where you just waiting for me to come home.”

“Fuck off” I mumbled and his eyes furrowed in concern. he grabbed me from the bellhop ordering him back to work while I leaned on him. “Bring me to my car?” He nodded walking me over but the closer I got the more I knew I couldn’t drive home in this condiotion and so did Damien. So we took a sharp turn towards his hulking black truck. “No I want my car.”

“Fuck off.” He mimicked and helped me into the passenger seat. He hopped in the drivers seat. “What Yoongi dumped you and you got drunk and waited for me? Next time shoot me a text and believe me I would have come over right away.” 

“None of that happened.” I said taking his sunglasses from the dashboard and trying to steady my stomach. “Me and Yoongi had a wonderful night.”

“Yeah he tear your dress too?” He pointed as the rip in my dress as he started to drive. I looked down at it, that hadn’t been there this morning... had it?

“No, I don’t know what this is.” I huffed “I feel sick, D. I kept throwing up but I was fine this morning then I had your hotel food!”

“My hotel food is great!” He said defensively “What did you order?”

“Well they gave to to me for free-”

“Free? You brought Yoongi to my penthouse.”

“No dick brain we were on the second floor. Room 221.”

“And they gave you food for free?” he shook his head “Did you say my name?”

“No I tend not to think about you.”

“Then why the fuck would they give a nobody free food?”

“A nobody?!”

“Yeah! When your not with me in there your a fucking nobody.”

“Pull over the car im getting out!”

“Oh shut up im taking you home!”

“DONT TELL ME TO SHUT UP!”

-

[weirdponytail]

Huntik Fanfic: Pneumonia, pt 1

(A/N: Ahh, the sickfic. A staple of fanfiction everywhere.

I think it’s fairly common in the Huntik fanfiction canon that many think that Zhalia wouldn’t let anyone know she was sick. It’s just something that I’ve seen in quite a few fanfics here. And I’ll be honest, I believe it. Certain traumas can make you incredibly averse to showing any sort of vulnerability. To add my own color to it, I personally think that it would be hard for Zhalia to actually get sick. Eating dirt and trashcan food builds that good ol’ immune system up, take my word for it.  

But when you get dragged into taking care of two snot nosed kids that track in all sorts of nasty germs from school and you go on long, tropical locale missions, you can’t really stay healthy all the time.

PS– Yeah, I’ve never actually had pneumonia, only a brief and mostly annoying and mild bought with bronchitis. So I’m just going with what google says the symptoms are. And fuck it, it’ll act like viral but it’ll be bacterial, because I don’t feel like getting the entire team sick.)

Pneumonia, pt 1

Zhalia closed the door to her flat as softly as possible. Her flight had been delayed by five hours, but she had let the Fears boys come back to the flat instead of staying at Dante’s another night. She peeked into their room as she went past, satisfied that they were asleep.

It had been a hell of a mission chain. The former spy was starting to regret agreeing to take on some higher risk collection jobs around the Amazon Rainforest, centered on the famous raging river.  She had been smashed in rapids, literally wrestled a caiman until she could get Kilthane Summoned, and spent five long nights camped at the edge of the water. Her whole body ached and her ribs felt cracked, her Nerveblock spell having worn off while at the airport, and her head felt like she had put it through a damn window.

To put it simply, Zhalia Moon would have felt better if she had jumped out of a plane with a punctured parachute.

The former spy slipped into her room and deposited her backpack next to the door. Unpacking its mostly sodden contents could wait until morning. She shed most of her clothes, tossed on an old pair of shorts and a loose tank top, and threw herself onto the bed with a wince.

‘Back. Sleep now talk later.’ Zhalia hit send on her message to Dante before plugging her phone in. The room felt unusually cold, and she made a mental note to remind Den and Harrison to ask before messing with the thermostat as she grabbed the edge of her comforter and rolled over.

Curled in her own little piece of warmth and solitude, Zhalia allowed herself to relax and drift off into sleep.

Den and Harrison were used to Zhalia sleeping in after long missions, especially after getting in so late. They didn’t give it a second thought after peeping into her room to see her buried under a wild pile of comforters and pillows, and happily pounced on the couch to play a few rounds of Left 4 Dead co-op with bowls of sugary cereal. It was Saturday after all.

Ten AM came and went. Then eleven. Noon rolled around and there was still no sign of their surrogate sister.

“Hey.” Harrison paused the game, ignoring his brother’s cry of protest. The elder twin was stuck in the menu at the exact moment a Boomer vomited on him. “You think Zhalia’s okay?”

Den looked over at the door to Zhalia’s room. To be honest, he was getting a little worried as well. “I mean…I think so. Dante’s text said she got in at like…three or something.”

The younger twin rubbed his thumb on the side of his controller, still unconvinced. “Yeah, I know, but…should we check on her?”

His question proved unnecessary, because at that moment Zhalia shuffled out of her room looking about as chipper, and about as pale, as the zombies frozen in the game’s pause menu.

“Well look who’s up!” Den cracked a wide grin and nudged Harrison’s bony side, shooting him an obvious ‘see, I told you’ with his hazel eyes. “Harrison thought you were in a coma, Zee.”

“I did not!” Harrison’s eyes narrowed into a glare at his elder twin before he looked back to the dark haired woman making her way to the kitchen. He couldn’t drop the nagging suspicion that something was wrong with her. She was grabbing whatever was nearby for support as she walked, and stumbled a bit when she coughed into a crooked elbow. “Hey, you okay, zus? You don’t look so good.”

Zhalia waved him off with a grumbled nonsensical reply and finally made it to the fridge. She fought with the door for a moment, swearing in garbled growls, before yanking it open and letting it smack hard into wall behind it.

“…Den, I really think something’s off.” Harrison whispered, turning his shoulder to block Zhalia’s sight of his face as she proceeded to down an entire bottle of the cold water they chilled for after training in one go. Her talent for lip reading had gotten him in trouble before.

Den glanced up and tucked his head lower. He had to admit, the brief exchange had him doubting his earlier confidence. “Dude, she didn’t even snark at you.” He dared another quick look, seeing Zhalia glaring at the empty bottle with what appeared to be seething rage.

And then she crumpled to the kitchen floor with a disturbing thud.

“I hate it when you’re right!” Den leapt from the couch, forgotten controller skittering across the coffee table and clattering to the ground. Harrison jerked, startled by the sound behind him, and went sheet white when he saw his sister shivering on the tile. “Call Dante!”

Dante shifted in his usual armchair, Holotome balanced on one hand as he dug around in his pocket for his buzzing cell phone. Lok, seated next to Sophie on the couch as they scrolled through recent reports from the various Casterwill compounds together, grinned slightly and gently took the precious machine off his mentor’s hands so it wouldn’t become acquainted with the ground.

Dante nodded his thanks and managed to pull the offending phone from his back pocket, taking a glance at the screen to identify the caller before hitting the ‘accept’ button.

“Hey, Harrison. Are you all coming over fo- Hey, wait, slow down.” Both teens on the couch looked up at Dante’s sudden change of tone. “Harrison. Harrison! I need you to start from the beginning, okay? Zhalia did what?”

Dante was silent as he listened to the boy on the other end of the call. Lok cast a troubled glance at Sophie as he heard faint yelling in the background, just barely audible from the phone in Dante’s hand.

Both younger Seekers jumped when their mentor suddenly bolted to his feet, phone trapped between his shoulder and ear as he began violently searching the trench coat draped over the back of his chair. “Okay, Harrison, listen to me. I’ll be right there, just put her in the recovery position and get something soft under her head, okay? I’ll be there in a few minutes; just keep an eye on her. I’ll be there soon.” He hung up and tossed the phone on the table, practically turning his coat inside out.

“What’s wrong?” Sophie was already up. She had never seen their usually calm and collected leader act so franticly.

“I need the keys!” The offending key ring clattered to the floor as Dante vigorously shook the trench coat upside-down at his words. He snatched them up and pointed to the Casterwill. “Sophie, call the Venice safehouse and tell them to send a doctor here. I’m taking the car. Zhalia passed out and isn’t waking up. I’m going to get her and the twins.”

Sophie didn’t argue, grabbing her Cypherdex from Lok’s lap and starting her call as her boyfriend got to his feet. “Do you need me to do anything?”

Dante was already halfway out the door. “See if you can find Cherit! We might need his help with an Energy Bath.”

(A/N: This part of the fic was written a good long time ago. It’s gone through several adaptations and changes, and it’s definitely not complete. I’ve held off on abandoning it, and I’m picking it back up again for what feels like the eleventh time. Don’t expect much in the way of another update with this one tonight, but it’ll be worked on I assure you!

~Cheers from North Carolina this time around! :D )

[thenineliferexists]

chapter 1:bagels in the park

              M.T. awoke to a rustling. She startled a little and discovered that there was a massive kink in her neck, and immediately after realized that she was on the floor. On the floor, laying on her side in front of the door to her apartment, with a rotten copper taste in her mouth.

Craning her neck, she looked across the way toward the rustling to see a black cat with just a little white spot around its blush colored nose daintily stepping in and over her pile of packing boxes.

M.T. stared at it blearily for a short time. Then, she tried to pick herself up but her arms and legs felt distant and numb, so she lay for just a little longer before trying again. This time, she stumbled up while the cat sat inside one of the boxes, watching her evenly. She hobbled over to it, stretching out her hand very slowly, and let it tickle the long side of one of her fingers before it bumped its head beneath her palm.

“What are you doing here?” She asked. “How’d you get in?” She pet it, then, until bending over started making her back ache. So she gave the cat one last pat and turned to make her way over to her kitchenette.

She dug through one of the two cabinets in the kitchen with anything in it, and pulled out a bottle of pain pills. The other cabinets had an assortment of very nice dishes she had bought to fill the space, but she never used any of them. She tossed the pills onto the counter and went to the fridge, pulling out her jug of milk. The water filter on the fridge had broken a few weeks ago, and she knew she was out of water bottles.

She cracked open the lid of the milk and was smacked by a foul smell. Spoiled? She’d bought this yesterday. She’d used it last night. She put a hand on her stomach, wondering if that had been what made her pass out. She shrugged, setting the milk on the counter next to the trashcan.

She swallowed three or four pills dry and turned around to find the cat up on her counter, watching her again. She stared back at it, a little disconcerted.

“You want something?” She asked it. It tucked its butt under itself and sat, tail swishing back and forth. “Yeah, sure.” She answered what she took as affirmation. “Hungry?” Its tail flipped again. “Ok.” She took out a bowl, and brought down the cereal she had. She poured the cat the bowl of cereal and set it on the counter.

“That’s all I got,” She told it, feeling defensive. “I don’t know what cats eat.”

It blinked at her, unimpressed, but bent its head down to eat.

With the cat crunching behind her, she moved back through her apartment to her bathroom. She glanced at herself in the mirror, and was a little surprised to see a line of dark, dried blood from her nose. What kind of night had she had? She wondered. She touched the blood, but it had dried so completely that it hurt when she tried to rub it off. Stripping quickly, she stepped into a very hot shower and let the water work out some of the stiffness and tension in her body, from an apparently long and solid sleep on the floor.

After showering, she did feel better. She had to knock off hard crust from the top of her toothpaste bottle, and brushed her teeth before moving back into the bedroom. She found her phone on the floor, dead, so she swept up her charger from behind her nightstand and plugged it in before throwing herself onto the bed.

Exhausted. She was exhausted. Floor naps did nothing, apparently.

The last week or so had been harrowing, and she would need a solid month to truly recuperate from this job.

She rolled over and stared at her phone, watching it intently as the empty battery symbol blinked at her, waiting for the white screen so she could check her messages.

Finally, it did, and she forced herself to sit back up.

#571, her associate who remained nameless on her devices, had messaged, called, and emailed her a total of 86 times, each sounding more harried.

The texts, of course, were in code.

The plants need watered, they said. Don’t forget to water the plants.

Do you know how long it’s been since the plants have been watered?

How do the plants look?

Are the plants dying?

Do you need me to pick anything up from the store?

And they continued. Over email, they were more specific, because her associate was better at controlling things on the internet, but that made them worse.

MT, are you there? Do you need me to do something? You haven’t checked in. Can you meet? I think we need to meet.

She felt a short rush of anxiety, and scooted to the edge of the bed. She stuck her hand under it, feeling the rough side of her overnight bag. Still ready to go.

Then she swiped her finger across her phone screen, and found that…

The notifications had come in over a number of days?

She exed out of her messages and to the calendar. She had been asleep for a week and a half.

She started feeling sick and paid much closer attention to the way her head felt. She grabbed her overnight bag from under the bed and dug through it to find the burner phone she kept tucked under the folds of some clothes. She dialed a number and sat nervously.

“Hello?” A voice came through, hesitant.

“Ezekiel?” She asked.

“Who’s asking?”

“It’s Mercedes – I mean, shit.” She rubbed her face. “It’s Maizy.”

Silence. Silence for a solid minute and a half. Such a long minute and a half – her stomach flipped and maybe it was empty, because she didn’t remember eating for the last week. But, she waited for him to respond.

“Maizy?” He asked finally, sounding faint.

“It’s me.” She answered.

“Fuck me…” He whispered. “What… I mean… Are you ok? We need to meet.”

“Yeah, yeah we do.”

“Regular place?”

“Affirmative.”

They hung up simultaneously.

She sat on her bed for a solid hour, mentally mapping out every inch of her body over and over again. She didn’t… feel wrong, or different. She didn’t feel like anything had happened to her. Maybe that was worse. Had her… temporary employers found out why she was there, actually?

She couldn’t remember anything. What had they done to her?

•••

              That evening, she left a window cracked for the cat, and was intent on going to the grocery store. Had to, all of her food had spoiled: she had had to throw all of the food in her fridge away, down to the dumpsters behind her apartment building. Nonperishable good items were cumbersome, she needed things she could go through quickly. Leaving behind things like that was sloppy, and there was absolutely no way in hell she was taking any of it with her.

On her way out the door, she found her key on the floor directly in front of it, instead of in her wallet where she’d thought she’d left it.

She grabbed a basket and some essentials: half a gallon of milk, a few rolls of sushi, some fruit and lunch meat. She paused in the cat and dog food isle, wondering what to get for the cat. It had seemed to like the cereal well enough, but that wasn’t healthy, was it? She grabbed a couple cans of cat food, then, that looked like what she’d seen in movies, and moved on.

What were the best foods to help one recover from a week of amnesia-inspiring drugging? She grabbed a box of immunity-boosting tea, and went on to the check out.

The cat was gone when she got back to the apartment. She gagged when she opened the cat food anyway and set it on the window sill, then she set aside one of her boxes of sushi and stuck the rest of the grocery bag in the fridge.

She hiked herself up onto the counter and ate there, content for a little while to let her mind wander. By the time she finished her meal, she turned around to see the cat back, poised over the can of food she had left out. She smiled a little, and went to bed.

After an hour or so, the cat came and curled up at her feet.

•••

              Mid-morning the next day, Maizy dressed herself, grabbed both phones and her wallet, and headed out. She strolled to a park four blocks away from her apartment, and made her way slowly on the walking path. After about ten minutes or so, she felt someone sidle up beside her and keep pace for another few steps. It was not much longer, however, until the figure sped up just enough to swing around and grab her into a tight hug.

“Ezekiel,” She hissed.

“Damn protocol,” A voice answered, muffled in her shoulder. “I thought you died.”

Briefly Maizy hugged back, before taking hold of the person’s shoulders and pulling him back. Ezekiel was… well, almost tall, and lean. He wore baggy, layered clothes and a bulky pair of headphones around his neck. He had shaggy black hair and was currently carrying a crumpled paper bag.

“Do you want to sit down?” Maizy asked him. He nodded, and they walked over to a bench across the way. “What’s in the bag?” She asked, nodding toward it.

He passed it to her. “Breakfast,” He answered. “You always forget.”

“Oh, thanks.” She opened the bag to find a bottle of orange juice, a big bagel and a container of cream cheese. She pulled the bagel in half and started tearing chunks out of one of the ends, scooping the cream cheese out and shoving the bites into her mouth.

“So, what happened?” He asked urgently.

“I don’t know,” She answered around a mouthful of bagel. “I woke up yesterday evening on my floor. But I thought I’d only lost part of a day. My phone was dead, all of your messages came through at once.” She paused to swallow. “Did you have anything new about the job before I dropped off the radar?”

“Nothing that could have pointed to you being in danger. And nothing after you disappeared, either. It had to have been an outside job. If you had been found out by the big guys at Macron, my best guess is they knew better than to get their hands dirty.”

“So I guess we have to scrap Macron?” Maizy asked, and rolled her head down, trying to relieve some tension in her neck. “Solid month of recon wasted.”

“You’re telling me. Mercedes Truman was the perfect identity. But yeah, to be safe, Macron is off.”

“Alright.” Maizy said, finishing off the bagel and trying not to think about the projected payout for that job.

“Burner?” Ezekiel asked, holding out his hand.

“Yeah. And Mercedes’.” She dropped both of the phones into his hand. “Mercedes’ apartment will be empty by midday tomorrow. Here’s her card, too.” She flipped out her wallet and slid the card out of one of the sleeves, holding it out for him.

“Excellent.” He said, taking the card. “Well, I’ll let you go. I’ll try to do some more digging for what happened, but… something makes me think there isn’t anything to find. Be careful, yeah, Maizy?” He asked.

Maizy grined at him reassuringly. “Sure thing, Eezy.” She answered. “Don’t worry about me.”

He gave her a bleak look that said “Yeah, right.” But she pushed herself off the bench.

“Thanks for the bagel,” She said, ruffled his hair, and was off.

[backgroundnoiseblog]

from These Little Things

The wind outside was getting colder and a robin had dropped dead onto the front porch. Hannah stepped outside and stopped to stare at it, her eyes bound to the cold figure ragged on the concrete. The air smelled of rain.

“Dad,” she called through the screen door. “Come see the birdy.”

John appeared at the door. Hannah still stared down.

"Is it moving, Hannah?"

"I don’t think so."

She bent over to pick up a stick and her arms shook as she broke the stick in half.

"Don’t poke it."

"I wasn’t. But why not?"

"It’s just not polite."

She turned around and stared at her father, an uneven brow.

"If something dies, are we supposed to be polite to it?"

"Just don’t touch it, okay?"

"Okay, Dad."

John went inside and snapped several paper towels from the roll next to the kitchen sink. He returned to the front porch where Hannah still stood examining the bird. John gently plucked the robin from the stoop and turned it over, cupping it in the paper towels, the underside of the animal still flat like the cement where it had laid. John moved towards the side of the house, toward the large trashcan. He opened the lid, lightly balancing the bird in the other hand.

"Dad?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Is it polite to throw animals in the trash?"

John stopped, gawked at his daughter.

"Well…more kind than leaving it on the ground, right?"

"I guess."

"Do you have a better idea?"

Hannah thought for a moment, her face squeezed together like her mother. She turned without a word and disappeared around the corner. John waited. When she jumped back from the front of the house, she carried in her hand a pink plastic spade. She stopped a foot from her father and held it up towards his face.

"I see," said John. "Where to, undertaker?"

She stretched her arm out straight, pointing toward the backyard. John followed her and opened the gate with his free hand and let his daughter slide underneath him with the dead thing in his other hand. 

The air was cold but the sun was shooting small rays of light across the green grass where the clouds allowed it through their grayness. Hannah was wearing her pink raincoat and it creaked and rubbed as she stomped her way towards the back of the yard. Once they arrived at the swingset on the left-hand side of the plot’s backend, Hannah stopped and took inventory of the possibilities.

“If we bury it by the swingset, it will get stepped on a lot,” she said. “How about…here.”

She had taken five steps away from the playground equipment and she kicked away a small pile of leaves. The grass was brown and matted where the leaves had laid. She kneeled down and then stared up at John, awaiting something.

“It looks like a fine place to be buried, my dear.”

“I’ve seen lots of birds back here, Daddy. Probably his friends. They can visit.”

“That’s important,” John mumbled.

She stuck her shovel into the soil. She lacked the physical power to dig into the ground; she only lifted the topsoil from the spot and tossed it aside. She lifted both hands above her head and drove the spade into the dirt; it spiked into the ground but when she pulled it out, only a few clogs came pouring from the shovel’s head. John watched her as long as he could before putting his hand out and offering to help. She was hesitant but allowed it. John set the bird down behind him and dug a hole, approximately a square foot in size and just as deep. Hannah sat beside him and ran her fingers over the pile of dirt he had created in front of her. He stood up, his knees tight and sore as he stood. He leaned backwards to stretch out his legs and back.

“So,” he looked at his daughter. “Should I do the honors?”

She stared up at him. She shrugged her shoulders.  John turned around and bent down to pick up the bird. He still had the paper towels underneath the creature and he picked up the paper at the corners and carefully moved it close to the hole and dumped it in. He picked up the spade again.

“Do you want to say something?”

Again, Hannah stared at her father.

“That’s what people normally do at funerals, see.”

“People say something nice?”

“Yes, something nice.”

“What if the person was mean?”

“Well, then,” John smirked. “Still have to say something nice, I guess.”

“I’ve never done that before. You can do it, Dad.”

Hannah pushed herself up from the ground and brushed off her hands on the front of her pants. John scratched his chin. They both stared down at the bird. John noticed the bird’s feet and, as he looked closer, saw that the bird only had two talons on one foot. A gust of wind blew the dirt on the ground off of the pile. The cold air was becoming more apparent and John could feel it climbing into his shirt.

“This bird,” he began. “This bird was a great flier.”

John thought and Hannah looked up at her father.

“He helped build many a nest and was always kind to his family and friends.”

John dug the shovel into the loose soil pile beside the grave.

“He will be missed by the entire animal kingdom.”

John poured the first bit of dirt on the bird. He had a smile on his face when he looked back down at Hannah. She did not find it amusing and John quickly changed his appearance because he knew she was right. John again stuck the spade into the dirt pile and placed the load onto the bird and its grave. He continued to do this until the hole was full and the bird was no longer visible. Once the dirt was completely returned to its position, or as much as possible, he patted the dirt down with the back of the shovel as he had seen done.

“Dad?” asked Hannah.

“Yes, Hannie Fannie?”

“Can we go play with the chalk in front?”

“Sure, kiddo. But just until Mommy gets home, okay?”

“Okay, deal.”

John grabbed the paper towel from off the ground, crumpled it up, and they began to walk back towards the front yard. Before they got the wooden fence, Hannah turned around and strutted back towards the burial site.

“What are you doing, girl?”

Hannah stopped and turned around. Her body shivered, a quick chill.

“I decided I want to say something to the birdy.”

“Okay,” John replied. “Go on.”

Hannah walked back to the site and John waited by the gate. His experience told him that she probably didn’t want him to hear what she was going to say. He listen closely but stayed at the gate. Just as Hannah reached the bird’s new home, the wind died down and the leaves stopped rustling.

“I love you, bird,” she said.

[ourlastbastion]

Wild Fire Ch. 18

AO3

FFNet

Slowly… take it slow and steady.

The world was dark, the only light available was flickering from the windows, casting a faint glow on the outside world. Maleko hunkered down close to the ground, hidden by the grass and garden, kneeling and eying the top of the trashcan. His body was tense, yet the muscles were loose, ready for him to move at a moment’s notice, ready to charge, to pounce.

He breathed deeply, holding it for a moment before letting it out once more. Rinse, repeat. Keep breathing, stay calm, stay still.

At the corner of his eye, Maleko saw movement. He refused to move, but his eyes followed the small figure as it ran across the lawn, pausing only to snuffle at the ground. He waited as a dark head poked up and looked around. Waited as it started drawing nearer, closer and closer. The vermin had yet to notice anything wrong as it continued scuffling towards him.

Drawing towards the garden, it’s protective wiring still a gnarled mess from Maleko, it perked its head again. Something was wrong, it must have noticed. It hurried towards the carrots, intent on getting its food and getting out. Maleko watched, digging his fingers into the ground as he waited, shifting so that his legs were ready, muscles coiled, ready to spring.

Just a few more feet… one…two…three… count the seconds as it got closer; five… six… seven...

The raccoon paused, Maleko sprung forward.

At his sudden movement, the raccoon froze. It was only for a moment, but that brief hesitation of fear was all Maleko needed as he landed atop it, throwing his entire weight on the animal, small hands grabbing it tightly. A snarl escaped him as he dug his claws into the coarse, dark hairs. The raccoon squirmed, Maleko grabbed it by the neck.

A swift movement, a firm twist and it fell limp in his hands.

Maleko relaxed, pulling himself back so that he sat crouched among the garden. He took a deep breath, an open smile on his face as he stared at the prey. His heart was racing now that it was over, adrenalin and excitement mixing together. It had been so long since he had hunted, actually hunted, he’d missed the thrill, the rush he got when he caught his prey.

He wanted to dig into it right now, tear it’s pelt off and eat the meat. It’d been long since he’d hunted, longer since he’d had fresh kill to eat. As much as he had loved how cooking tasted, there was something special about fresh meat.

Before he could bite into it, the door opened reminding Maleko of why he’d hunted tonight. He got to his feet and scampered out of the garden, holding the dead racoon up proudly for Mickey to see.

“Ga-got it!” he slurred, still smiling.

Mickey laughed, reaching over to ruffle his hair. “You weren’t kidding when you said you were a hunter,” the teenager praised, moving aside so that Maleko could enter the house. “Having you around might be a better solution to our raccoon problem than mom and her gun.”

Puffing his chest out, Maleko couldn’t help but feel pride at the praise. But when Mickey made to take the raccoon, to stuff it in a trash bag to be disposed of, he held it closer to himself and shook his head.

“Not done,” he said, swatting his hand away and making his way to the kitchen. “Skin it. Meat is—is good. Is,” Maleko hesitated, fumbling with his words, trying to find the right ones. “is good with,” he shook his head, frustrated at his own words and gestured desperately at the spice rack, hoping Mickey understood.

He did. “I’ve never had raccoon meat before,” Mickey said, watching Maleko throw the raccoon onto the counter and climb into the chair so he could reach. “And you’re sure it’s good?”

“Uh-huh!”

Maleko hadn’t really ever had these kinds of raccoons before. But there had been similar small animals back in the jungle, surely they’d taste the same. Any meat was good meat, after all. And he would be lying if he said he wasn’t particularly excited to show Mickey this. To show that he was proficient in something, himself, that he had something he was good at the same way Mickey was good at games.

Before he could grab the raccoon again, Mickey swiped it and placed it in some kind of metal tray.

“As delightful as some cooked raccoon may sound, I don’t think ma will be too thrilled about it, you know?” he offered, bringing the trayed raccoon out of Maleko’s reach. “She’s already got some chili cooking for tonight’s dinner, I doubt she’d be happy with us changing it on the fly for some raccoon meat instead.” He didn’t stop smiling, however, as he began edging away towards the back door. “How about we toss this one out, and we can see about you catching us a different one tomorrow night. Does that sound good?”

He was soft as he spoke, patient. Mickey didn’t speak to Maleko in a way that suggested ‘this is what we’re doing and it doesn’t matter what you say even though I asked’. Even if Maleko knew that what he said wasn’t going to change anything, the way Mickey talked to him made him feel like his words would hold some sway. He liked that. “Aight,” Maleko said, nodding his head. It was like Mickey had said, he could catch them another raccoon any time.

Satisfied, Mickey took the raccoon to the outdoor trashcan, the metal bin making noise as he dumped the body and tray in. “Asahi, you go wash yourself up, then we can play some games until it’s time for dinner, alright?” he called from the doorway.

Nodding his head, Maleko scampered out of the kitchen, making his way to the bathroom to scrub his hands clean of dirt and raccoon.

This family was nice, he thought. He’d only been here for a day, but he liked this household, liked this family. Maggie was a lot like mama in many ways, and Mickey was a lot like an older brother. He listened to Maleko and played with him, and none of them asked questions he couldn’t answer. He liked being here. He wanted them to meet mama, she’d like them too. They took care of him, bandaged him up, were nice to him.

And they were safe, too!

Taka hadn’t given him any warnings or cautionary words since he’d come here, only telling him to be careful of his identity, to not run out just yet. Not when Kim and Jackie were probably still out there and looking for him. Even if he wanted to leave this house, he couldn’t, not until he knew it was safe to keep moving. Taka hadn’t given him any reason to worry about Maggie and Mickey, either.

The bird kept close, always in the trees by the house, keeping an eye on him, always close enough to talk to him. That’s what mattered, Maleko wasn’t sure what he’d do if he lost Taka, he had been there for him this entire time. Losing him would be terrible.

He hummed as he scrubbed his hands clean, nose twitching at the citrusy smell of the soap as he cleaned his hands and wrists.

By the time he’d finished scrubbing his hands and arms clean, making sure that not a speck remained from his earlier hunt, he’d come down to find that Mickey had already set up the living room for the two of them. The TV was on a low buzz, the familiar home screen of his game console up and waiting for a game to be chosen. The stairs creaked as Maleko climbed down, watching the teen fiddle with a controller.

Hearing the creaking, he looked up at the boy and smiled, dark eyes warm and friendly as Mickey gestured for Maleko to come over. Which he did, scampering the rest of the way and climbing onto the couch beside his friend.

“Alright,” Mickey smiled, ruffling Maleko’s hair when he settled in. “We’re going to play one of my RPG games tonight,” he explained.

Maleko tilted his head, “Are-Pee-Gee?” he repeated slowly, he’d heard the term before. Sometimes from Soul and BlackStar when he played with them, even David brought the word up from time to time. He’d never seen one before, however. “Fun?”

“Very,” Mickey confirmed. “Pick a number from three to five.”

Three to… huh? Maleko stared at him, head cocked to the side. He wasn’t very smart, he knew that, but he’d been certain that numbers started at one. Asking to start from three just made his head hurt and for him to start questioning what little he understood of numbers.

“Just humor me, kiddo.”

“Uh… aaah… five!” Maleko finally decided after a prolonged moment of confusion, trying to make sense of what was going on. Five, he’d decided, because it was the bigger number.

Mickey snorted, sliding off the couch to rummage through his game cases. “A man of good tastes,” He laughed, and though Maleko couldn’t see it, Mickey slipped a game disc in, the machine whirring to life. Mickey returned to his spot on the couch and then tugged Maleko up so that he was seated on his lap, arms around the boys midsection in a lazy hug as he held his controller. It was nice, it was warm. “Persona 5 it is, then.”

Maleko’s brows furrowed. “Persoh-sona 5?” he asked. That meant it was… the last game in the series, right? Then he shouldn’t he start with the first one?”

“They’re all pretty much independent of each other,” Mickey said, as if he had known what Maleko was thinking. “Most people don’t consider the first half of the series to be part of the same, universe, I guess? As the last three games. But you can play pretty much play the series in any order you want. You like supernatural stuff?”

“Eh?”

“Mythology,” he explained. “Folktales. Demons and angels, that sort of thing.”

“Oh. I, uh, I dunno?”

That only made Mickey laugh, “Well, you’ll find out if you do or not after this.”

As it turned out, Persona was fun.

Even though Maleko wasn’t handling the controller, wasn’t the one actually in control of the protagonist, Mickey made sure to involve him in everything. During fights, Maleko got to suggest actions, during dialogue, he got to help decide what to say. Whenever they had the little quiz questions, however, Mickey was the one who answered the, for obvious reasons.

Maleko felt like he was just as involved n playing the game, not just an outsider watching.

They got to the first palace, Maleko a jittery mess of excitement and confusion on Mickey’s lap, he had burst out into uncontrollable laughter when he saw Kamoshida. He didn’t understand why, but a cap and speedo looked funny, so much so that he hadn’t been able to stop and had almost fallen off of Mickey’s lap and onto the floor—would have had Mickey not kept his arms wrapped around the boy. It took five minutes for him to calm back down for them to continue the game.

That wasn’t even talking about how pretty it all looked. So much color. And the music, it was something else entirely.  He’d squirmed and swayed and bopped to the music wile Mickey laughed behind him.

“Yeah. The Awakening music kicks ass,” Mickey laughed, and Maleko could just hear the capital letters. “You’ll hear it a few more times.” To that, Maleko squeaked and yipped happily.

He loved the outfit that Joker wore, the mask, the coat, the style. Maleko had never been one to care about fashion, he’d go around his everyday life naked if he could, clothes were sometimes just uncomfortable and constricting. But he didn’t, because people didn’t like that. Even so, there was something about the clothes Joker wore that made Maleko want them for himself.

The volleyball coach wasn’t really that good of a person, Maleko found himself curling his lip whenever the man appeared. It was his attitude that bothered Maleko. Everything else he did, or apparently did, well, Maleko couldn’t really understand, but Mickey really didn’t like him, so Maleko didn’t either.

Then the girl, the nice, quiet one with the sad eyes, jumped off the school roof. She wasn’t able to catch herself like Maleko had when he jumped out a window at the Academy. She got hurt. Badly. Maleko decided that he wanted to tear the teachers throat wide open.

They had only reached the first boss when the front door opened and Maggie burst into excited chatter with the newcomer.

Pausing the game, Mickey grinned and nudged for Maleko to get off of him as he, himself, rose from the couch. “Dad! Welcome home,” he greeted as he left the controller on the coffee table.

“Hey, there, Mickey. Boy, it smells good in here, are you cooking chili?” a man’s voice asked, a rustle of clothes suggesting he was removing a coat to hang on the rack. “Oh, do we have a guest?”

Maleko squirmed and turned around, still kneeling on the couch as he peered over the back at the new man, the father of this household. His brows furrowed in confusion and his mouth set in a straight line as he saw a familiar tall man with a head of thick black hair. There was a look of equal surprise and confusion on Mickey’s fathers face.

“Ah, dear. This is Asahi,” Maggie introduced, standing at her husbands side and holding a hand out to Maleko with a warm smile. “I found him last night all tangled up in my garden. He’ll be staying with us for a little while, until we can find a way to get him back home.”

That only made the man’s brows furrow, the creases of his forehead becoming more apparent. “Asahi?” he repeated, as if that didn’t match up with what he’d already known. Of course it didn’t. Kim had called out ‘Maleko’.

This was the man from last night.

This was the man who had almost run Maleko over with his car.

This was the man who’d held Kim back when she caught up with him, giving Maleko time to flee once more before finding safety with Maggie.

“Well,” Taka’s voice rang in his head, he wasn’t sure at this point if it was Maleko imagining or Taka talking. “Fate certainly has an interesting way of working.”

With a trembling smile, Maleko raised his hand in a scared wave. “’ello,” he greeted, awkward and anxious. Was this man going to rat him out? Was he going to kick him out? Turn and hand him over to Kim? The doubts were bubbling up inside of Maleko, growing stronger the longer the man waited to reply.

But then he smiled, it was bright and genuine, a smile that made Maleko feel safe. The man got down on a knee and watched Maleko, smiling peacefully. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Asahi,” he said, a knowing glint in his eyes.

Maleko decided that he was good.

It wasn’t long after that Maggie called them all to eat, claiming the chili and sandwiches were all ready to be had. Maleko sat beside Mickey, careful as the husband—Robert—questioned him about this and that. Where was he from, how was he feeling, simple, not probing or suspicious. All the same, Maleko was careful as he answered each one as ‘Asahi’.

Until Taka told him otherwise, he’d be careful, even with the people he felt he could trust.

-----

The sun had set, replaced by the grinning moon, drooling it’s blood and chuckling cruelly as it overlooked the world below.

Kom had been distant.

Usually, Kai wouldn’t care, nor would she notice—she was hardly a cozy individual herself, but Kom of all people distancing himself was abnormal enough to catch her attention. He claimed he needed to avoid any distractions if he was to perfect all the new drugs and poisons he was manufacturing for her and the Acolytes, she could understand that, but it was off all the same. He was hiding something from her and it made her… anxious wasn’t the right term… tense.

She loathed to admit it, but it made her angry. Kom was her most loyal ally, she dare say he was a friend. She knew his loyalty went beyond just friendship on his end, she wasn’t blind, she just never had interest to reciprocate. So, for him, who was known for obsession and loyalty, to be hiding something and sneaking about, it was off-putting.

It wasn’t as if she feared him betraying her, no, treachery wasn’t even a question.

Kom cared about Maleko, not nearly as much as she had, but he had loved the boy in his own way. There was no way he wouldn’t have wanted to seek revenge himself. He would want the heads of those who had slain her boy, the ones who devoured his soul, just as much as she did. So no, she didn’t think he was planning to betray her.

Not that it eased her nerves much. Betrayal wasn’t the only reason someone could go skulking about like he was, and even if he wasn’t planning to go against her, whatever he was doing under the guise of his drugs was something he clearly felt she would not approve of enough to be open about. It was the unknown of what he could be doing that bothered her. She would much rather suspect him of being a spy than to have not a single inkling.

She tried not to think about it too much. Kai couldn’t afford to cast Kom out this late in the plans, he was irreplaceable at this point. Even if much of his work was alchemical rather than magical in composition, there were very few Acolytes with the talent and knowledge of alchemy to be able to resume his work if she disposed of him. She’d have some keep a closer eye on the sorcerer, pretend to be in the dark.

There were more important things than for her to focus on the distrust she felt towards those around her. Not that she could say she actually trusted any of the Acolytes, witches or sorcerers who had joined her cause.

Everyone here had their own reason for joining her. Most were only here because they hated Death, they hated the demon weapons and their meisters. It was understandable among the witches and sorcerers, the war between the two sides was as ancient as time itself. The humans, now that was a grab bag of reasons. Some hated the DWMA for various reasons, some disliked the idea of a God of Death ruling over them, were opposed to the notion of a being of death making laws for the living. Some of the more radical numbers, which was surprisingly the majority of the Acolytes, honestly believed Kai to be a God of some kind.

Was water manipulation really so astounding and unbelievable that she was considered a God? Well, she wouldn’t encourage nor deny the notion so long as it kept them loyal. These cultists were the ones who she could say were the most loyal. They believed her to be their God, of course they wouldn’t go against her lest the face divine retribution.

Humans were unbelievably stupid. They clung so desperately to a belief that they refused to believe anything else.

Oh well, they weren’t going to last much longer, anyway.

Kai was pleased to say that the curtain would be closing soon. It had taken a few days since the decision, but she and her company had reached Antarctica. The entire landscape was full of water, from the ice, snow, to the ocean and the people on it. This would be the battleground. The snow would run deep with blood, bodies would be scattered, and Death’s army would be crushed. She’d have complete control over the terrain here.

She had little doubt that Mabaa and other witches would join her once she has her victory here, finding the crippling blow she deals Death as proof enough that her side is the winning one.

Even now, more and more followers and allies were arriving to the frozen wasteland.  

Perhaps Kai wouldn’t kill Death. She could kill his son instead, let him feel the pain. Leave him abandoned in that city of his, unable to leave, picking off any allies he hoped to find before they could enter. He could watch helplessly as all that he built was destroyed, unable to lift a finger to help.

Whatever she chose to do, she had time to decide.

“Are you ready?” a witch squeaked as Kai walked past. Skoya, if Kai remembered right, another of the witches who only joined because of a hatred for Death. A small, timid girl, probably no more than two hundred years of age, old enough to know the trauma that Death’s ‘order’ causes, young enough that she’s not made herself a complete recluse living only within the With Realm.

Kai nodded, feeling the corners of her lips turn down in a tighter frown. An address to her followers, Yuri had claimed. She hadn’t really seen him since she first rejoined the Acolytes. He had been gone from her party for a while to assemble others and had regrouped with her only a short while ago. He said she needed to make a statement to all those who believe in her, who follow her, to bring them here and remind them why they must fight.

A bunch of empty words, a boring speech, just to put a fire under their asses and get them to move faster.

She wasn’t going to say no, Yuri was smart, she would admit.

As she stepped into the wide open ice ‘stage’ that had been constructed, the crowd before her waiting anxiously for her to speak, she spotted him off to the edge, a coy smile on his lips. At the other far side of the stage was Kom, when their eyes met, he ducked his head down to look away.

It took all her strength not to glare.

Instead, she turned to look at the man who had his camera raised, wires attaching it to his laptop. Streaming, no doubt. One of her followers had set up a private website to address each other, password protected so that only fellow Acolytes could access. She didn’t know how secure that really was, but she also didn’t care. There was also a screen set up behind her, hooked up to another technologically talented individual somewhere she couldn’t see.

Kai watched as the hundreds of men and women, humans, witches and sorcerers rustled about, anxious balls of energy. She watched as they murmured and muttered to one another before finally raising her hand, watching Yuri gesturing something to the man with the camera.

The murmuring fell, rolling into a silence until only the wind and crunching snow was heard. She took in a breath.

“How many have family or friends whose children were taken by Death, by the Academy?” A quiet mumble as people whispered to one another, she let the initial buzz run its course. “Either hunted by the school, or taken in because they could turn into a weapon or possessed qualities to hunt witches. Children, might I remind you, children.”

She continued to speak. Children were what made up a sizable chunk of Death’s army. Teenagers, kids. Death sent children to hunt monsters that murdered adults, sent children to hunt witches and sorcerers. Wasn’t there even a famous Death Scythe who had only been thirteen when he acquired the title? Yes, there was, a boy by the name of Justin Law, he had been thirteen, how crazy. How cruel. How fucking inhumane.

They hunted witches and sorcerers of all ages as well. It was no small rumor that Death had sent one of his meister-weapon pairs to hunt down Angela Leon. The poor girl was even younger than Maleko! Had it not been for that swordsman of hers, she would no doubt have died.

The screen behind her came to life as Kai kept talking, bringing up an image of a young boy with black hair and glasses, wielding some heavy looking glove like weapons. The images were clearly taken secretly, from an angel off to the side out of sight as the meister attacked the kishin egg. They kept flipping through until it landed on the weapons transforming into their human forms.

Two little kids in an orange and yellow hat. Younger than the usual twelve-year-old threshold that most of his soldiers began fighting at. As young as Maleko, perhaps as young as Angela.

Angry hisses and gasps rang out from the crowd before her.

“Is this the kind of ‘God’ you want running this world? A God who won’t fight the wars he started, but rather sends your children to fight for him?” Kai was playing on the parental fear many had. Even if she didn’t trust the mental stability of any who thought her a God, she trusted that they at least knew how morally disgusting it was to have children thrown into life or death situations such as this. Children shouldn’t be handling weapons, shouldn’t be fighting and killing, shouldn’t be training to be soldiers. Children should be children. Playing, studying, having fights with their friends, making up, developing crushes and getting into trouble.

Before she’d met Maleko, she wouldn’t have cared that Death used children as cannon fodder. But that changed. Now, as much as she hated them, she hated Death even more for using them.

How can someone who claimed to be ‘good’ do something so deplorable?

The screen behind her began to show members of his staff, his trusted leaders. “His personal ‘Death Scythe’ is a slut. An alcoholic manwhore who spends more time with hookers than doing his duty. One of Death’s top meisters? Psychotic, treads the line of madness, at any moment he could easily snap and begin cutting up the students under his care, if he hadn’t already,” she was pacing the stage, her shoes clicking against the ice with each step. “A normal school would hardly let them anywhere near children. Yet Death has the two as the primary influences for weapons and meisters. The ones that these kids should aspire to be.”

Kai continued yelling to the crow, marching and growing more heated with each point. Death was a coward, too afraid to leave his castle, unwilling to bend to others. Why should a God of Death rule humanity? He doesn’t know the first thing about humanity nor mortality, why should he use their children as his soldiers? Brainwashes them into thinking they’re doing something great, that it’s a high honor to be spending their childhood, risking their lives when they’re not even adults. Whatever law a country creates, Death and those associated with him are above. It doesn’t matter if someone tells them ‘no’, he and his superiority complex are above it all.

The crowd was cheering, or rather screaming, already brought to rage by her opening on child soldiers that it didn’t matter much else what she said, yet she kept talking, stoking the fires of her followers, fueling their rage and starving them for battle.

By the end, even Kai was grinning, an unsteady smile, but a smile nonetheless. She was breathing hard, her throat hurt, but she gazed upon the crowd and knew that this was it. “If Death wants us gone, then he will have to bring his armies here and fight us. Then, when all that comes back to him are corpses and coffins, he’ll know that he’s not above us.”

Before her, the crowd broke into cries.

----

Maleko shook his head, speaks of water splattering all over as the towel hung around his neck. Maggie had sent him upstairs to take a bath and he had just finished it up. His small body shivered a little as he went from a warm tub to a chilly room. It was hard to get used to how much colder everything felt when he had his magic locked up, when he was left without his natural heat.

A shudder ran through him and Maleko hurried to crawl into the warm pajamas that Mickey was loaning him, then slipping his feet into fluffy bunny slippers.

He liked it here, he was going to miss the family when he finally moved on and continued his search for his mother. If she allowed it, he’d like to come and visit them again, thank them for taking care of him while he hid from Kim and Jackie.

Stretching, yawning, and scratching at his stomach, Maleko left the bathroom and began heading towards the stairs. It was too late to go outside and play, but it was too early to go to bed. Maybe he could ask Mickey if the two of them could go back to that game of his, he wanted to see how the teacher was going to get in trouble. Maybe he’d still get a chance to tear out his throat.

He smiled, his hair still damp, but his body warmer now as he approached the stairs, a hum on his tongue and a bob to his head. As he reached the first step, his entire body froze.

Ears perked, twitched, his eyes narrowed and his heart began to race. Hope flooding through him, followed by confusion. He wasn’t mistaken, was he? This… this couldn’t be, it had to be…

“Is this the kind of ‘God’ you want running this world?”

She was quiet, but the voice, the passion… Maleko recognized it so easily. Even though so much time had passed since he had last heard her talk, he’d never forget how she sounded, he’d recognize her no matter, whether it had been days or years.

“A God who won’t fight the wars he started, but rather sends your children to fight for him?”

A wide smile spread across Maleko’s face, his body was positively vibrating with energy, so much so that he didn’t hear Taka’s warning, instead he raced down the stairs, nearly falling down half of them in his haste. She was here, mama was here! Maleko was blinking back tears.

How had she found him? Maybe Taka brought her here, or she’d been searching for him all this time—of course she’d been searching for him! It didn’t matter how, his mama was amazing! She finally found him, they could finally go home! This awful nightmare was finally over, it was over, she was here, she was really, really here! She was here!

He skidded into the living room. “Mama!” he cried out happily.

Except… she wasn’t there. No sign of her, not even a trace of her scent.

“He’s deserves neither respect nor love, he deserves nothing but scorn and wrath!”

It was Kai’s voice, there was no doubt about it, she was there, she was talking, but at the same time, she wasn’t there.

Robert, Maggie and Mickey had been huddled on the couch, and when Maleko came barreling down, they froze up and turned to him. Maleko watched as Maggie recovered herself and reached over to the laptop that sat on the coffee table, fiddling with it—then mama’s voice was gone.

Maleko felt his heart drop. “Mama…? Where’s mama?” he asked, desperately hoping for an answer, that she really was here, that he hadn’t imagined it all.

“Asahi,” Mickey began, staring at Maleko with a look of confusion and pity.

But then Robert stood up, brushing his hands against his pantlegs and coming around the couch to stand before Maleko. His face unreadable as he glanced towards the laptop. Maleko followed his gaze and saw Kai on the screen. “Your mama… huh?”

[elzasteelmane-blog]

Serial 2

“We been on the job eighteen years. We never once had one like this. What do we do with this mess?” Jake put back a shot of some rotgut or another at our regular after-work bar across from the station. “Iunno, kid,” I said. The want to reach the bottom of my glass of scotch was just about the only reason I was still upright. “The bottles! All ‘em little bottles carved into the pages. Like each one was special.” “Did we find the cat?” It dawned on me after I’d seen it that once, I hadn’t seen it again. “What? Chad, snap out of it, there was no fucking cat. You saw a dust bunny or a giant silverfish. Ya’ know, they eat books.” Jake tipped his empty shot glass in my direction, accenting his useless knowledge. I pictured a giant monster consuming books for sustenance and laughed. “That right? A giant silverfish?” I sipped my scotch. The D.O.A., Samuel, had been drunk when he’d tipped over the coffee table and wrung his own neck. The bedroom had been far different than the living spaces. The bedsheets were soaked with repeated soiling, the garbage can filled with a week’s worth of vomit. Coroner said, with as much bile as was in there, the D.O.A. had been on a steady diet of cheap liquor. “Did the lab say when they would have the samples back?” I asked over the rim of my rock glass. “Donna said she’d have some of ‘em by morning. Something about one’a her machines ain’t spinnin’. You know just as much as me.” Jake watched a thick hipped waitress walk by with a tray full of beers for a rowdy table near the back filled with rookie beat cops, each one trying to out-do the others for the shittiest job of the day. I had a few stories to contribute. “I should get home to Liz, her texts are getting ferocious.” Jake stood and slipped his jacket off the back of the worn vinyl bar stool. “How do you know how she sounds?” I asked, raising an inquisitive brow in his direction. “We’ve made a kid, there isn’t much about her I don’t know, Chad. Maybe it’s time you get yourself one. She could wash your clothes for you.” “I do just fine on my own.” “If I have to sit in that car with you for another week…” “Yeah, yeah!” I knew he was busting my ass, and he knew I had a little OCD when it came to being clean.

Jake left, and I sat there for another hour, putting back three more and letting everything from the apartment settle. I’d seen some strange shit. Unexplained shit. Like, how a hundred year old corpse ended up on the top floor of a building being renovated, but the grave had never been disturbed. Not a clump of grass out of place. The body in the casket was who the headstone said it was, but the body in the building also matched in DNA. The lab claimed they were identical twins, but no one in the family or in any birth records had matched to say there was a twin, even one who had died. It remained a cold case, but the family had been kind enough to bear the expense of burial. This case wasn’t like that though, this one pushed boundaries. Nearly every book contained a little vial of liquid that had been hidden within its pages. An 1812 copy of Grimm’s Kinder und Hausmarchen had been open on the floor, missing its vial, but it had otherwise been in remarkable condition. A book dealer may have pissed themselves to have their hands on it. Or pissed themselves because someone took a knife and carved out the center of each page. I found myself staring at the front of the apartment building sometime in the darkest parts of the night. Not like there are many places of real darkness in the city, but it had to be nearing three. Something had drew me back. I had an image, a symbol in my mind, but I wasn’t sure if it was from inside the apartment or an old case. The lobby was cold, vacant, with empty florescent lights. A rickety, laminate table purchased at a cheap box store sat below the first row of in-wall mailboxes. They must be the special tenants. A large trashcan with a few stray advertisements poking from under its lid stood in a shadowed corner like so many perps looking for a quick snatch-and-grab. “9C,” I muttered out loud. “9C? Whatta ya want with that kid?” My feet left my shoes for a second, and I thought my heart might leave my chest, too. “Jesus Christ, I nearly shit myself,” I said, grasping my chest in an attempt to slow my heartbeat. I looked toward the voice and found a stunning picture of the city. Dressed from head to toe in sequins and glitter, the young lady was a hooker. Not the escort kind, but the kind that stands on the side of the road in the rain pretending to be anything other than what she was. She was still looking decent, but I hesitated to ask if business was slow. As if she sensed my question, she smoothed the front of her silver sequin skirt and clacked her heels against the vinyl floor. “Yeah, well, whatta ya want with Sammy?” “Is that his name? You gotta last name for ‘im?” I asked, peeling my eyes away from her overly-exposed cleavage. I already knew his name, but if she thought she knew more than I did, she might slip some information. “On the mailbox.” She pointed toward the shadowed wall by the garbage can, “He get arrested or son’thin?” “How did you know I was a cop?” I asked, expecting the answer she gave. “You look like one.” “He’s dead,” I said. I was never good at padding that news. “He’s what? Dead?” She shrugged. “Didn’t expect much more for him. Poor guy, couldn’t get a break.” I stopped mid-stride on my way to his mailbox and looked at her over my shoulder. She didn’t look the least bit concerned that he was dead. Maybe it was a common thing for her, or she was desensitized to it. “A break from what? Did he have enemies?” “Naah, no one ever came ‘n went from his place but him. And me, if he had cash. He sometimes asked me for, ya know, favors.” I raised an eyebrow at her. “Washin’ dishes, ya perv. Housekeeping stuff. You been in there? That place is disgustin’.” Her answer seemed recited, but what did I know? “Sure, whatever you say.” I wouldn’t have arrested her for hooking anyway, not my beat, but she smelled like she knew something she was keeping to herself. “Haynes. Sammy Haynes; is that right?” “Iunno, yeah, if that’s what it says on his box,” she dug into her purse for  cell phone, clicked on the screen and made like she had to get to the elevator. “It’s late, I gotta work in the mornin’. Hope you find out who did it.” She turned to go, and pressed the button before I could get my question out. “What makes you think it was murder?” I asked. “Sammy has problems, but I don’t know if suicide was his thing, ya know? He was always away on business trips to these exotic places.” “Landlady said he didn’t have job,” I offered. I stood there, staring at the row of “C” floor mailboxes, when I noticed that there was a small white symbol drawn on each one. None of the other mailboxes had the symbol, or any symbol at all. “What’s this?” I pointed toward the mark as the elevator doors burst open. She shrugged, put her phone to her ear and let the doors close behind her.