#then when I went to see the place the previous tenant said 'any of this furniture can stay if you need it' which

[marzipanandminutiae]

Marzi how do you not die of frustration dealing with the most self important people on the planet flocking to your posts

In this case? By being secure in the knowledge that I'm right.

Also, you know, I'm dealing with my new landlady being passive-aggressive about furniture she offered to move out of the room I'm renting, due to the whole "nobody told me it was rented furnished until three days ago and I already bought furniture from FB marketplace" situation.

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Fortuna Major Chapter 2

Summary:  Steve Rogers came home from World War II shell shocked and overwhelmed by the place he once called home.  After losing his mother he and his injured best friend Bucky decide to find a quieter, slower way of life to heal from the war.  They head out west until they hit Fortuna, California, and get jobs in the lumber industry.  Steve comes across a local lodging for miners and lumber workers, and falls head over heels for the female owner who takes no man’s shit.  

Warnings: mentions of war; injuries, loss of limb; PTSD; talk of suicide; cat calling; sexual harassment; attempted sexual assault; eventual smut

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Bucky was embarrassed at first, but Y/N was quick to reassure him that it was fine and she was happy to help him.  If any of the other tenants ever even whispered an unkind word in his direction she would reprimand them heavily.  Everyone learned very quickly not to mess with the owner’s star employee.  The only person who refused to get the memo was Brock.

“Ugh,” Brock groaned as he went through the line of people grabbing their plates for dinner one night.  Bucky didn’t even glance up as he was plating the food and handing them out to the line.  “Do I have to get served by a fucking cripple?” he sneered at Bucky louder to get his attention.  Bucky looked up at him finally with a dark glare.  “Aw, did I hurt your feelings?” he pouted.  Suddenly a hand shot out and slapped the plate from Brock’s hand, clattering loudly to the floor and making the food fly everywhere.  Brock made an indignant sound at the loss of his meal, stepping back as the hot mashed potatoes fell down his front.  “What the fuck?!” he yelled.

The lodge fell silent as Y/N stepped forward in front of Bucky.  “Pack your shit and get out,” Y/N growled.  “You are no longer welcome.”

Brock scoffed.  “Are you fucking serious?  You’re kicking me out over this sad sack of shit?” he yelled, pointing at Bucky.

“ENOUGH!” Y/N screamed.  “Get out, or I will have you removed.”  She glared at Brock, who turned to the group of workers behind him, looking for a friend, but there were none to be found.  The rest of the men kept their faces down, pretending to be unaware of the situation.  Steve started to walk forward from the table he was sitting at, ready to step in at any moment.  

Brock turned back to her.  “You’re gonna regret this,” he muttered.

Y/N’s head tilted.  “Is that a threat?”  Brock smirked at her and she scowled.  “Steve?” she said, not looking at him.  Steve stepped closer.  “Out,” she gave Brock a disgusted look up and down his frame, waving her hand and turning away from him.

Steve nodded and pushed Brock forward.  “Let’s go.”

Brock turned to him.  “Oh, I see, so you’re the lapdog, huh?” He mocked him.  “Big, bad war hero come to save the day?”

“No,” Steve grumbled.  “I just don’t like bullies.”

Brock swung his fist at him, but Steve quickly dodged it and punched him in the stomach.  Brock doubled over, wheezing as the air was knocked out of him.  Steve grabbed him by the shirt and hauled him to the front door.  When he opened it Brock tried to twist out of his grip, rearing back to try to hit him again, but Steve caught his hand and with the momentum aimed at him made Brock hit himself in the face, causing him to fall back on his butt outside the door.  Y/N came over with the key to the front door.

“Stay away, or I’ll have you arrested,” she barked at Brock, then shut the door and locked it.

She turned back to the lodge and saw the faces of the men staring at her.  “If any of you even think of acting out of turn like that, you’ll be treated the same.  Do I make myself clear?” she yelled. 

“Yes Big Mama,” they all said.

Y/N sighed heavily as they all turned back to their food and conversation slowly picked up again.  She turned to Steve.  “Thank you, Steve,” she said quietly.

“No problem,” he smiled at her.  “I enjoyed it.”

Y/N huffed a laugh.  “I’m sure you did.”  She breathed deeply.  “Can you go check on Buck?  I need to go grab Brock’s stuff.”

“Yeah, of course,” Steve said, quickly walking to the kitchen.

Later that night as Bucky was walking the trash out to the trash bins outside, Y/N gathered Brock’s things together and walked them outside to the side of the lodge.  She let them fall in a heap before turning back to the front door.  When she walked back in she was suddenly grabbed from the side.  Before she could scream a hand was clamped over her mouth.  “You bitch,” Brock grunted in her ear as she struggled against him.  “You think you can embarrass me and throw me out like that?”  He leaned down and bit the space between her neck and her shoulder hard, making her yelp and try to squirm away.  “I’m gonna teach you some manners,” he groaned as he dragged her to the kitchen.

Bucky, not seeing what had happened, walked back to the building slowly, and once he entered the front door looked around for Y/N for his next instructions.  When he couldn’t see her he walked around the bar.  “Y/N?” he called out.  He heard a faint, muffled cry coming from the kitchen, quickly followed by a shuffling noise and whispering.  His brow furrowed as he rounded the corner to the kitchen.  He slowly looked around the cabinets in the corner then gasped.  Brock was holding Y/N against the counter, his hand over her mouth and his other hand trying to pull down her pants.  Her shirt was ripped open, nearly falling off her shoulders, and her bra pulled down so her breasts were against the counter.  Y/N looked at Bucky with wide eyes and let out a muffled scream.

Bucky turned back to the hallway.  “STEVE!” he screamed.  “STEVE HELP!”

Steve, already back in their room at the other end of the lodge, bolted off his bed where he had been sitting and ripped the door open, looking down the hall.  Bucky looked frantic and turned back to the kitchen, running in.  Steve didn’t know what was going on but ran as fast as he could down the hallway.  As he came closer he could hear a cry and shouting, then scuffling and the sound of pots falling against the floor.  When he finally reached the kitchen he ran in and saw Bucky punching Brock as hard as he could in the face with his one hand, his knee on Brock’s chest to keep him still.  He looked over at movement in the corner and saw Y/N huddled against the wall, covering her chest with her arms and crying heavily.  He saw her ripped shirt and the pieces fell together, making him see red and stalking over to Bucky and Brock on the floor.  He pulled Bucky off of Brock and then grabbed Brock up off the floor.  “I thought we’d made it clear,” he growled as he hefted him back towards the front room.  As he passed the hallway he could see men peeking out from their rooms, some of them walking into the hallway to see what was happening, dark looks on their faces as they saw Brock.  “You are no longer welcome,” he sneered and punched him in the face.  Brock buckled and fell to his knees, grunting and holding his now shattered nose.  

Steve kicked him, making him sprawl backwards and knock over some of the chairs at one of the tables.  “Bucky,” he called back without looking.  “Call the police.”  He grabbed Brock by the scruff, dragging him to the front door and throwing him against it.  Brock tried to swing at him, then kick at Steve’s legs, but Steve merely shoved them away. He leaned down over Brock, kneeling on his chest like Bucky had.  He slapped him across the face, making Brock cry out.  “I should kill you,” he said quietly.  Brock looked at him with wide, scared eyes.  “You sad, pathetic, waste of human skin,” he growled.  “If you ever come near Bucky or Y/N again, I will see to it that I personally escort you down to the gates of hell, do you hear me?”  Brock huffed but nodded.  “Good,” Steve said, then punched him again, knocking him out.  He stood up as Brock lay motionless on the tile near the front door, bleeding heavily.  Steve turned back to the kitchen and walked back in.  He found Bucky sitting next to Y/N in the corner, whispering to her as she stared at the cabinet in front of her, every once in a while speaking louder into the phone that he was holding.

“Yes, he’s still here, please hurry,” Bucky said quickly, before pulling the receiver away from his mouth and turning back to Y/N.  “It’s okay, Y/N, they’re coming.  He won’t hurt you again.”  Y/N wasn’t responding and Bucky turned around to look at Steve.  “I think she’s in shock,” he said before holding up the phone again.  “Okay, yes, we’ll see you soon.”  He stood up and walked the phone back to the wall as Steve walked forward to meet him.

“Are you okay?” he asked Bucky.

“I’m fine,” Bucky shook his head, wiping at the sweat on his forehead.

Steve nodded and turned back to Y/N, walking slowly over to her and kneeling down next to her.  “Y/N?” he whispered, reaching a hand out to her arm.  When his fingers touched her skin she flinched and stared at him wide-eyed.  “Hey, it’s okay, it’s just me,” he said quietly.  She still stared, barely blinking as her breathing sounded strained.  “The police are coming, they’re gonna take him away.  He won’t hurt you again, I promise,” he said.  Y/N’s breathing started to calm down, and she nodded slowly as he spoke.  “I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said, leaning forward a little bit, his hand moving up to cradle her face in his palm.  “I’m so sorry.”

Y/N’s lip trembled as her tears started again.  Bucky came up behind her, pulling off his flannel shirt and spreading it over her to help cover her up and then sat on the floor in his undershirt, letting her lean against him as Steve helped her put her arms into the flannel.  Y/N continued to cry for a few more minutes until they could hear the police enter and start shouting.  “I’ll take care of them,” Steve said, standing back up.

As he handled the police, who quickly took Brock away and took statements from Steve, Bucky, whatever they could get from Y/N in her fragile state, and from a couple of the men down the hallway, they finally left and Bucky walked Y/N to her room as Steve cleaned up the blood from the floor in the kitchen and out to the front door.  When he was done he walked toward her room to check on her and Bucky.  He knocked on the open door and peered in.  Bucky was sitting on a chair from a desk across from her bed, where she was sitting in her nightgown, holding it to her chest tightly.  “Hey,” greeted them.  Bucky looked up at him and gave him a tight smile.  

“Hey jerk,” he said.  “We’re okay.  Just trying to relax after all that.”

Steve nodded and looked at Y/N.  She kept her gaze to the floor.  “Is there anything I can do for you now, Y/N?” he asked, unsure of what to say or do.  She finally glanced up at him and shook her head.

“I just want to sleep,” she whispered.

Bucky nodded and stood, taking a step toward her and reaching out his hand to squeeze her knee.  “We’ll be down the hall if you need us,” he said before walking towards Steve and out the door.  

Steve sighed and walked over to Y/N.  He kneeled down in front of her so he could look into her eyes.  She slowly looked at him, her tired eyes making his heart hurt for her.  “Seriously, anything you need, please tell me,” Steve pleaded.  He reached a hand forward and held it out for her.  Y/N stared at it for a moment before letting go of her nightgown and taking his hand.  She squeezed it hard as she fought off another wave of tears.  Her movements made it so her nightgown slightly moved away from her neck and Steve could see the red and already bruising imprint of Brock’s bite mark on her and grimaced.  His other hand moved to touch it, but quickly paused when her eyes widened at him.  He breathed in deeply before moving his hand away and focusing back on her face.

“Thank you Steve,” she whispered.  She pulled his hand up and kissed his fingers and then his knuckles that were red and starting to bruise.  

Steve’s eyes widened, but he merely nodded, squeezing her hand back.  “I’m with you, doll.”

Y/N was surprised by the pet name, but gave him a small smile.

@slayerofthevampire

[questioningwriter]

(I'm not dead, I promise! But I did recently start my job, which has sporadic hours, so I haven't had time to write. But I finally got this finished and I wanted to post it, because I promised it weeks ago. Hopefully the next one will come sooner.)

Edit: I'm an idiot, who forgot to link everything. Fixed it.

Morally Grey Pt 3

Part 1 Part 2

TW: Imprisonment, obsessive behavior, Mentioned no-con drugging

The press was having a field day with this, Superhero mused as he stood at the podium, the other hero's standing behind him. It wasn't necessary, but none of them knew that.

“-I can assure you, we will find Villain, and put him back where he belongs.” Superhero finished addressing the media, but before any of the hero's could leave, there was a shout at the back of the crowd.

"You liar!" Everyone turned to the shout, and there were screams as Other Villain burst from the crowd, gun in hand. "I know you did something! What did you do with Villain?"

"I can assure you that I have no idea what you are talking about." Superhero said smoothly. "I had nothing to do with Villain's disappearance."

"Bullshit!" Other Villain yelled. "You were the last person to see him. You were the one who he was going to meet, I know it! Where is he?"

Superhero stepped back and his team came to flank him. "For the last time, I had nothing to do with Villain's disappearance!"

"Then how did you know?" Other Villain snarled. "How did you know that Villain was missing?"

"...Because the prison called us about their disappearance?" Superhero said. "And it's all over the news? The whole reason we have to have his press conference in the first place?"

Other Villain floundered, which gave the officers time to sneak up behind them. But before they could be caught, Other Villain blasted them back with his power, then turned to Superhero. "I'll prove you were the one who did something to Villain!" He pointed his weapon at Superhero. "I swear it!"

With a dramatic swirl of his cape, he was gone. Superhero turned to his team. "Get everyone to safety." He ordered. "I'll start putting out the feelers to find both Villain and Other Villain. It's more important now than ever to figure out where they went."

The team did as he asked. Superhero watched them proudly for a moment before turning and leaving. Such obedient puppets.

He quickly changed out of his hero costume in the back room, then left. On the way home, he made several calls and made sure his spies in Villain's organization were ready to fake his Villain's death. He contemplated taking out Other Villain at the same time. Make it look like the two were working together, and something went wrong.

Arriving at his house cut off his thought process. Pulling into the garage, he got out and went inside his house. Looking around, he walked to the basement door. Unlocking all six of the locks on the door, Superhero went downstairs.

When Superhero had purchased the house, he found that the former owner had converted the basement into an apartment, complete with it's own bathroom, so that someone could rent the room, and the previous owner could have a second income coming in from the tenant. Over the years, Superhero had had no need for it, so it had been left to gather dust.

Until today.

His guest stood from his place on the bed as Superhero entered.

"Where the fuck am I?" Villain snarled. "What did you do?"

~

"Villain, sweetheart." Superhero said happily, as if they were discussing the weather. "I'm glad to see you're awake. How are are you feeling? Did the drug give you a headache?"

Villain glared at his lover. "Don't pull that bullshit with me." He snapped. "Where the hell am I? What the fuck did you do?"

Superhero's smile waned. "Villain, why don't we sit down to discuss this?" He said.

"No." Villain backed away from Superhero's reaching hands. "Don't touch me. And, while you're at it, let me go."

Superhero sighed. "Sweetheart." He soothed. "Please just listen to me. Aren't you even a little bit curious as to why I did this?"

Villain hesitated. Truth be told, he was a little curious as to what drove the crime-fighter to this point. They broke their own moral code by kidnapping Villain. He was curious as to lovers enemies motives.

"Alright, I'll bite." Villain sat back down. "Why am I here?"

"It's simple." Superhero sat down next to his ex-partner. “Because of our last conversation as lovers.” He answered. “You told me it was either you or them-”

“-and if you picked them, I would never see you again, at least not in the sense of lovers.” Villain cut him off. “What does that have to do with you kidnapping me?” 

“Well. I made my choice.” Superhero took Villain's jaw in a bruising grip. “I choose option three.” 

"Did you know that the same day you escaped prison, a hospital exploded?" Superhero asked. "Unfortunately, a lot of people died that day. It was a tragic accident, but I saw a way to spin it to my favor."

"I planted signs that you were behind it. Little things, like your symbol painted on a still-standing part of the building. camera footage placing you there, a few hours before the explosion happens. All things that sign your metaphorical death warrant.

Throughout Superhero's speech, Villain's face had gotten paler and paler until it was almost completely white. "You're a monster." He breathed.

"The other heroes think you blew up the hospital." Superhero continued like Villain hadn't spoken. "You are not safe anywhere beyond this house. I have made sure of that." 

Villain's face was drained of color. "You're crazy." He whispered. 

 "Crazy in love with you." Superhero joked, but quickly grew serious. “Villain, I am only trying to give us both what we want - each other. I love you, more than anything, and I want to be with you.” He reached out and took his boyfriend's hand. “You gave me an impossible choice the last time we were together. Either I choose you, or I choose my team.” 

“I remember.” Angel said tersely.

“I knew I could not abandon my team.” Superhero continued like he had not spoken. “They needed me, and so did the public.” He reached up to cup Villain's cheek. “But I need you.” Superhero pulled his hands back. “And the world doesn’t need you like I do.” 

Villain’s eyes widened. Jumping from the bed, be backed away. “No, I will not be caged.” He snarled. “I won’t let you keep me here.” 

“I don’t expect you to.” Superhero told him. “What I expect is for you to fight. I expect escape attempts. I’m even expecting you to try to kill me.” I leaned forward. “None of which you can do without your power.” 

His eyes narrowed. “You can’t steal my power. It’s impossible.” 

“No.” Superhero admitted, “but I can block it.” 

Villain didn't have the chance to run before Superhero was lunging to grab him. Getting ahold of the criminal, Superhero injected him with a sedative, and Villain blacked out.

`

Villain woke up to weakness. Weakness so strong it was hard to move. And an emptiness where his powers usually were. It was an effort to lift his head to meet his captors eyes. 

"Villain.” Superhero spoke calmly, like he was talking to a wild animal. “Villain, sweetheart, can you hear me?” 

“Fuck you.” Villain slurred. Superhero’s gaze hardened. Villain thought that the hero was going to hit him, but he just turned away.

"The weakness will wear off soon." He said. "Unfortunately, I could not prevent it from happening completely, but I was able to decrease its effects." He messed with something out of Villain's vision. "This apartment is fully furnished, and has everything you will need to survive." He smiled at me. "You'll be safe here."

"If by safe, you mean trapped here as your prisoner, then yeah, I'm totally safe." Villain snapped, fighting to stand. "Guess what, Supes, I'm not going to stay here complacently, I'm going to fight this with everything I have in me. And when I strike, it will leave you crumpled in the dust." 

Superhero laughed. "Good luck." He left, leaving him in his prison.

[reassambled-dragoon]

16: Third-rate

   Star frowned as she closed the door and surveyed her new, tiny flat. It was dirty, the single window dingy, the tiny table, single chair, and empty bedframe all splintery and worn. There was no hearth, not even a way to heat a kettle for tea. While the flat was not in the Brume, it was third-rate at best, and for a fleeting moment, Star regretted not accepting a room at the Fortemps manor.

   Childish regret passed, and adult resolution set in as the machinist’s agile mind went to work, already seeing Possibility where, at present, there was Sad Neglect. It wasn’t the landlady’s fault that the previous tenant had been unwilling or unable to keep the place clean. Hells, at least the window, while so grimy barely any light could come in, was still intact. Glass wasn’t cheap.

   “Right. First order of business: Buy a broom, a mop, a bucket of rags, and a bucket for dust and one for water,” Star said aloud, clapping their hands together briskly. “Second: Gather sandpaper, wood oil, and wood polish. Third, gather a rug, a pair of curtains, a feather bed, and a good duvet. Worst case, I’ll sleep on my bedroll after I get the floor scrubbed.”

   The slim Roegadyn nodded, allowing themself a moment to see what could be. The wooden floor, clean and gleaming softly, with a colorful rag rug or two. The window, squeaky clean, with good heavy curtains to keep drafts out. The table, sanded and smoothed, with one of Star’s miniature replicas in lieu of a flower vase, and its chair now nice and sturdy, the wobbly leg fixed. In the corner, the bed was as good as new, a featherbed covered with several good, thick, warm, colorful blankets over a mound of pillows.

   “...hm. Just in case, I think I’ll want a partition to hide the bed,” Star mused. “And a heating array, of course. And a hot plate, so I can make some damn tea.”

   But first, they needed to clean. With one last clap of her hands, Star trooped back outside and down the rickety staircase, noting which steps needed to be fixed. Oh, yes. Miss Jeannine couldn’t possibly say no to Star’s planned improvements, not when they would ultimately benefit everyone in this set of flats. 

   …okay, perhaps not Star’s collection of miniatures, but sharing resources that sold nice-quality necessities to the lower classes at affordable prices? Oh, definitely. And Star knew exactly where to start looking, too.

   On one hand, damn Ilberd and his bullshit keeping Star and Storm from going home. On the other…

   Restoring and setting up a new place was a challenge, and Bhaldstyr didn’t just thrive on challenge, she relished it.

[hanmi-xo]

CHAPTER 1: "Haven and Hell"

| We Who Remain | Chapter List |

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I heard a noise come from behind me and I quickly pointed my gun up to the threat. There stood a soldier with an assault rifle in her hands ready to shoot me. I stared at the woman who looked oddly familiar.

The blood on my face was drying and stiffened me. It was strange to see her in a place like this. I haven't seen her in a year yet her features were easily recognizable.

"Jaewon?"

Her voice slightly raspy under its monotone layer. There stood my sister who I haven't seen since the start of this plague.

"What the hell are you doing here?" She asks me while she brought her gun down away from me.

I mirrored her action and watched as she drew closer. The sound of broken glass can be heard while she took careful steps not to trip over the debris that laid on the floor.

The place was an utter mess. Her eyes darted to the bodies on the floor. Her body froze with her gun ready to shoot.

"They're dead," I tell her.

She slowly turned to me while her gun remained pointed down at what remained. Her eyes grew big as though she tried to understand what happened.

"They called me two hours ago to have dinner with them, and by the time I got here, they ended up like the rest of them..."  my voice came out quiet towards the end.

I watched my sister stare at our parents' heads that were filled with holes. Their remains gushed with blood, and pieces of their body were flung like paint. The scent filled this area like a gas chamber. I held my handgun tightly before analyzing it. I had a few bullets left in the magazine, and one ready in the chamber.

"They tried to bite me, you know," I explain.   My eyes remained on my weapon. "I don't know if they knew they were mutated when they called me or if they mutated afterwards. Whatever it is- it doesn't make any fucking sense."

My eyes met with my sister for a moment before she turned away.

"This place was supposed to be protected, Dowon. Do the people down stairs not know there's mutants in the apartments?" I dare question her.

It's been a year since I last saw her, and although I'm grateful she hasn't become one of them, I was mad with these turn of events. If this world wasn't so screwed over then we wouldn't be in this position.

My sister's eyes remained low. Her attention was on the mess that covered this space. I wasn't sure if she knew what was going on in this safe haven, but her expression may have told otherwise.

"The higher ups said there were only few that entered this place," she starts. "Our mission is to escort the healthy without making a racket."

She squatted down to take a sample of our parents' flesh. Her hands shook as she tried to remain calm.

"I didn't think it would get this bad so soon," she whispers.

I frowned at her words. "So, you knew, but the higher ups didn't send you guys sooner?"

"Listen Jaewon," she tries to calm me. "I had no say in this. I only follow orders."

I scoffed. "Orders. Fucking orders."

Her brows narrowed. I didn't mean to raise my voice, but all of this- all this that just happened angered me.

I may not have gotten along with my parents, but this wasn't fair to all those people who thought they were safe. My parents being one of them.

"All those people that I saw greeting me at the entrance..." My eyes went to the front door that remained open. "They don't know about the hell that's about to happen. They smiled like everything was going to be okay when it wasn't."

Dowon sighed. She stood in front of me with an unreadable expression. She was never good at expressing herself, but I could tell through her mannerism that this was bothering her as well.

"Let's get out of here. I already spoke to the other tenants before meeting you here." Her hands remained tightly on her AR that had a sling wrapped around her body. "We got rid of the mutants that wandered inside this building. There weren't many..."

She got quiet towards the end. She walked passed me with haste. I got a glimpse of her eyes, and I knew my questions would have to wait. My sister was never one to show how she feels, especially when she's upset.

I knew she needed time to mourn over the dead. Mourn over our parents.

Just like me, she wasn't close to them. Even so, they were once alive like everyone else. They had a life to live, but it was taken from them.

Apart me believes I could have stopped this from happening if I came sooner, but I knew that even if I did, would anything change? I saw scratch marks on their bodies when they attacked me, but if they came close in contact with them- who knows how many got here.

The guilt I had ran over me like it ran over my sister. We could have protected them.

I could see it in her eyes. She couldn't stop this from happening, so she remained quiet. Her eyes were watery but no tears came out.

I watched her retreating figure head to the front door, trying to avoid any eye contact with me. I remained where I stood while I looked once more at the hellbent place my parents once called home.

I narrowed my brows.

There were things I wanted to say to my parents one last time before leaving their remains here. But I couldn't find the words.

I never liked expressing myself or showing weakness. My dad would beat me if I so happen to cry. He would say that I was weak and that I should have been a boy. My father was sexist, but he was still my father. He ended up raising my sister and I without much affection. Our mother didn't do anything about it.

After all, she was the one who wanted to name us male names. Boys were all they wanted, so we were raised as if we were one.

Maybe things would have been better if I was a man. Maybe things would have been better if they appreciated my sister and I more. Whatever the case, my relationship with my parents came to an end the moment I pulled the trigger.

They were gone. And what we once had couldn't be fixed.

"You-you weren't the best, but you weren't entirely the worst," I whisper. The memories I had with them were many and not great- but they were still memories.

It was hard to remember the good ones since there were so many bad ones, but they were my parents. It's only normal to feel bad for the fallen.

"Maybe... we'll meet again in the after life..."

With that, I bowed one last time to give my respect to the deceased. My body shook as my mouth quivered. I refused to cry. My heart ached with each step I took, but I didn't dare turn back.

There's no point looking back at what could have been fixed when it's already been done.

They're dead.

Just like half of this damned world.

~

My sister guided us down the complex with her squad that was ready for any attack. I remember talking to my sister months before the plague came. She said she was leading ten people, but there were only six with us.

I didn't want to ask what happened. Especially not at a time like this. I don't want to imagine the events that occurred before they got here. We're losing to many too soon.

There were tenants that stuck behind me with fear running through their bodies. We were centered in the middle of the line while my sister's squad mates split into two groups. One group in the front and one group in the back. We were treated like important people, but even important people end up dying. I couldn't shake the feeling that even with all this preparation- we will still lose people.

I could hear the tenants quiver through their words as they try to calm each other. They shook like there was no tomorrow. I understood that fear, but I said nothing to them.

There were mothers with children, old couples, and unfortunately, there were few children without any parental figure. Most of the men were drafted to protect the country from the effected.

From my knowledge, the drafted stay in the area near family, but with what happened, who knows if any of them survived. This place will soon be bombarded by the mutated, and everyone that survives will be gone, dead, or far from here.

The safe haven was supposed to be protected so the healthy can continue our society while the rest fought, but this will be another spot that will be lost on the map marked with safe havens. It was important to keep a safe haven alive for the sake of humanity, but whenever we lose one, the government announces it on the speakers set out across the country.

It was like boot camp, but we were treated better. Follow the rules and nobody gets hurt. Or at least, thats what we're told.

I walked behind my sister with my hand on my hip holster where my handgun rested. I never liked being helpless. I was never allowed to carry a gun in the country unless I was in the military base doing training or on missions, but ever since I finished my years of service and became a civilian, I lost my privileges until the plague came.

Only those trained were allowed to carry firearms, whereas everyone else had to rely on any weapon they can find at home. I pity those who aren't trained for this. And I pity those that are.

In the end, nobody is safe. Soldier, civilian, politician, or whatever.

All we can do is fight to survive.

A scream filled the tight corridor before echoing in our ears. My sister signaled us to stop and immediately her squad and her went into formation ready for any attack.

We were reaching the lobby floor through the staircase when we heard the scream.

I watched as my sister peaked through the doorway that lead to the entrance lounge. There were other soldiers within the area, but their guns were pointed away from us.

It was like there was something coming.

I was here almost an hour ago, and this once peaceful space has become hostile. The change of atmosphere shouldn't surprise me, but it still bothered me.

Anything can happen. And it was coming.

It was faint, but I could hear it. There was a car alarm blaring. I couldn't see what was going on, but the noises I heard...

There was a horde coming.

Their inhumane shrieks and snarls were like hogs mixed with a monster. It didn't sound real. It was frightening.

Something or someone must of hit that car in order for it to alarm and attract the mutants.

Cars aren't allowed to be used unless the Head of the safe haven approves of it. The rules for safe havens varied on location. When I got here, I had to leave my bike behind.

I should have picked up that hint of danger once they stopped me at the safe point. If I wasn't allowed to bring my bike here, who was the idiot that brought their car?

First mutants entering this building with nobody speaking about it, and now a car that appears that shouldn't even be in this perimeter. How did nobody notice? Or rather, why did they not speak out about it?

Something wasn't right. This whole thing didn't feel like an accident. If the people in this complex really wanted to live, then they wouldn't do something so foolish.

The creaking of the doorway alerted me from its sharp noise. My sister pushed the door open.

"Stay together and pick up the pace." Her command caused her squad to stay on high alert. I can hear the children crying behind me with fear, but my eyes didn't go to them.

My hand remained on my gun. My attention was towards the blaring noise that wouldn't stop.

My sister signaled us to halt while the rest of her squad stood by our side. There were soldier that guarded this floor, and they seemed ready for a fight. One person stood out who had a slightly different uniform. It was similar to my sister's.

I don't know who that was she went up to, but he appeared to have the save rank as her.

Sergeant.

Was this guy in the same platoon as her? If so, then he had to be here.

My sister motioned us to come over before making us run past the soldiers whose guns pointed at the glass panel. I got a glimpse of the swarm to come.

We were good as dead even with these many soldiers. That horde looked more than a hundred mutants. They were coming. And they were coming fast.

"Jaewon."

My attention went to my sister who held a duffel bag filled with military equipment. There were duffel bags on the ground lined up on the wall, and I could only believe she got it from there.

"Take this. We're gonna need your help if we're going to get out of here." She sounded calm, but I knew she wasn't. She had to pretend for the sake of the civilians that were with us.

We can't let them know that soldiers are fearful people too. I've had my share with my time in the military, and pretending to be strong had to be the one thing you had to be good at.

Otherwise, you're good as dead.

I grabbed the bag from her. It was heavy with an assault rifle's heel and comb sticking out.

"Did they order you to do this?" I ask her.

Her eyes wandered from mine. She stared at the chaos that was going to unfold.

"No," she whispered.

I watched as my sister's eyes became soft behind that serious expression.

"It's extra equipment," she tells me.

I put the sling over my arm after taking the weapon out of the bag. I analyzed the equipment that was now mine.

"Just use the damn thing," she suddenly says.

Before I could read the name engraved on the bag, I heard the snarls of the beasts come closer. My eyes went back to the glass panel that protected us. The mutants banged their body against the surface with a horrendous sound. The more they banged, the more I saw how tense everyone got.

It was like a ticking time bomb. That glass was going to break at any moment. We need to leave while we still can.

"We have to escort these people to the truck," Dowon tells me.

"Truck?" I repeat her words. "Is it far?"

"It's outside in the back," she quickly says before guiding us to our getaway. The back entrance was only a few yards away from us, but even with that short of a distance, anything can happen.

Her squad remained close with us with the tenants running in fear right behind me. The noise of glass breaking can be heard in a distance before the following of loud gunshots.

"Don't look back," my sister says. "My squad will deal with them."

Although I knew the mayhem that will be happening, I couldn't help but turn around when I heard a number of footsteps drawing closer to us.

They weren't just running sounds, it was like they were sprinting.

The noise sounded rampant. It was unsteady and jagged. I knew that sound that was all too familiar. There it came- a snarl.

Once I turned to look, there they were.

"Duck! Take cover!" I hollered.

I quickly pointed my assault rifle to the group of mutants running towards us. Behind them, I could see soldiers fight for their life along with the sergeant that my sister was talking to just a while ago. They looked scared but their guns remained hot. They took turns shooting so the one having to reload can be protected.

Next to me, my sister's comrades began to shoot as well. The sound rang in my ears with a mixture of the beasts unending noise that sent chills throughout my body.

Screams of terror can be heard in the background as soldiers began to get picked off one by one. I can hear the civilians shriek in horror.

But I tried to remain calm. You can never be reckless at a time like this. My focus remained on those monsters. I shot each one with as much accuracy as I had. I never liked wasting a bullet.

Headshots after headshots.

But there was too many of them.

Dowon's squad remained their ground as they slowly got small in number. I could hear her yell at the civilians to run to the truck where another platoon would be guarding.

"Jaewon! Go!" I heard her shout behind me.

I backed up as I heard her get closer to me. My eyes remained on the threats that kept coming. I had to change magazines but I needed her to cover me.

"Just go Jaewon!" She yelled at me once more while I fumbled switchings mags.

She grabbed me by one of my arms to grab my attention. I turned to look at her and there was a hint of fear and worry in her eyes.

"Go," she said again. "I'll be right behind you."

I wanted to believe her. I really did. My sister usually sticks by her word, but right now even if I do leave this building, will any of us even make it out of here?

I pushed her back once I saw an evolved lung towards us. It was aiming at her, and I quickly shot it at its legs. It feel to the ground before rolling. It hit the glass panel before staring at me with its red eyes.

It twisted its head at me as if it was analyzing me. I tried to shoot at it, but it crawled away with such speed like a demon.

I can hear Dowon yelling at me to go while she tried to shoot at it.

It was like it was on steroids. Its speed was not normal. This has to be one of the fastest evolved I ever encountered.

Dowon tried to shoot at it but its speed was immaculate. It dodged every bullet as if it saw it coming.

"What the fuck is this thing!" I shout in anger.

It contoured its body like it had no bones. This thing- what the hell made it like this!?

Within a second, I saw it lung at me. It's body weight pushed me out the building through the open door and I could hear Dowon shout. I used my rifle to push it off me. The thing kept trying to bite as if it was desperate.

"GET THE FUCK OFF ME!" I yelled.

I lifted my leg and kicked it off. My adrenaline rush was kicking in and the moment I tossed it off, I shot at it with a direct hit in between the eye.

Its body flung back while the civilians that were entering the truck rushed inside the vehicle. They were scared and didn't even try helping me.

I don't blame them. There's only so much they can do.

I turned back around to see if Dowon was okay. I watched as another evolved lunged at her, but this time she had her gun up ready to shoot.

I ran towards the doorway to help her, and behind her I could see the horde coming towards us. She looked at me before looking back at the horde.

Before I could reach the door, she shut it on me and locked it. I banged on it in hopes she would open it, but she didn't.

Through the glass- the only thing separating us, she gave me a look that I couldn't forget.

She nodded her head at me with a smile that wasn't too happy.

She was protecting us from the horde that would make it outside. This glass panel- this surface that stopped me from helping her-

I watched her flail her arms for the hordes attention before running off. Her fallen soldiers remained on the floor before turning into the rest of these monsters.

The few that remained fought with her as they made their way to another staircase entrance. I couldn't see what happened since the horde engulfed my sight.

They were gone.

My sister and her squad.

They sacrificed their lives to protect these civilians. I was alone with them. Was I supposed to just go with these people? What about Dowon? Will she even be alive if I go inside?

No, I can't open the door. Even if I break it, it'll put all of us in danger.

The horde is already distracted. So why I can't I just move?

I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what I could do.

Did I really lose all my family in a day?

A voice came through the duffle bag, and my ears perked up. I looked down at the bag my sister gave me. I dug through the equipment and found a radio.

I held it in my hands and heard the voice speak once more.

I knew this voice.

"Noe Dowon. Do you copy?"

I didn't speak.

"Noe Dowon! Are you there!?" The voice slowly grew frantic.

I narrowed my brows. It was him.

The man in charge of my sister.

Staff Sergeant Lee Dokyeom.

• • •

Previous | Next

[the-ghost-in-my-dreams]

The Pleasure Is Mine

Full Moon Bright City

I read a post just now laying it out that wise guys don't take pleasure in seeing someone's downfall and only fools engage in such barbaric behavior. And he is exactly right. For me anyways, I was a fool the whole nine yards baby. From May 2016 to a couple days ago if my memory serves me right especially after all I have been through. I was fooled into a big bag of fool's gold to exaggerate it a little. I was the only one left out of the joke for all those years. So if I stand up for myself and do the right thing by myself for myself, why is it held against me if the result is just a correction of another's mistake, a huge long mistake. I regard myself as a pretty great judge of character based on first impressions and to be frank. That dude doesn't know shit**. You would have to actually take someone down to know how it feels before you can comment on it in the first place. Most people only experience downfall which I bet he has gone through plenty of times. Anyways, that brings me to the topic of right now. Due to recent underwhelming reaction, I am going to be as vague as a I can explaining what I found. Well let's begin.

I went down the rabbit hole that goes past the two year one I just got done with. It is regarding ownership of properties around the area, specifically around my area. More specifically, the neighbors. So I began by looking at properties where I had received a tip or lead to. I typed in the address into the search engine and let it do its thing. I used Google Maps to help out in my search. Soon I was hitting the good free people and address search engines and it just went on forever. When it comes to searching and just shuffling through so much data, its best to go at a steady pace. I looked up the address that I went to, to meet up with this native guy I met last year. And I noticed in the results that it had foreclosed. I then took note of the owner. I didn't think anything of it until I began searching other properties. This includes the one next to my domicile. Long behold, a search brought back the information of previous tenants and anyone that lived there at any point. I have searched the property before but never got back that much information. I scanned it all and noticed the owner for the property that had foreclosed, is also listed under the property next door. His name actually came up a lot in my search and the search was just in my local area. Considering what I know about what the house was used for that got foreclosed, and what I saw in behavior on the app by this native guy, I am suspecting that it was a whore house per say. And according to one Uber driver, it has been a penny pinchin' time for prostitution nowadays. They could not pay their rent and they had to leave. They must have had a lot of business in the beginning because rent is not cheap these days. I then went through more addresses, particularly the closest ones to me. There is a house down the street that was bought by the realty company but has not sold it on market. However, I have seen a lot of traffic there so I am wondering what is going on because the house is finished. The rest did not reveal anything worth mentioning except the fact that the said neighbor next door, has a mega huge family. And also a female that supposedly stays there, apparently is not employed or has been according to the search engine. And the rent is mind glowingly high. Having said enough, I will finish with this: What if there are two different groups and from what it appears so far, the group that survived doesn't seem to care because it didn't affect them more or less. That for sure is a working theory. Believe me the rabbit hole goes much deeper but its just too much for one person. I am still searching, I mean I will continue to search tomorrow. Till then.

I found a family of Silvas that once lived down the street at the house in question, and moved to Plume street in Cabazon where I see prostitution activity as well. This other family of Silvas I had no idea about and so I'm wondering how deep this goes. Starting to think the owner I mention Juan Alfredo Jimenez is an investor or owner in this illegal business as well. I also reported this Andrew dealer in Beaumont to the dea along time ago and I turned out to be right, I think they were trying to kill me at one point. I think that I am going end up right and I was right the first time I called everything out. I'm getting a clearer picture the more time passes. Of course I know more than I publish or say I can only really see the magnitude this goes.

[dine-on-nervine]

Always good when Steph gets back on her blog

When did you last drink coffee? I finished my carafe (like one swallow) this morning, which I intended to do two days ago when I drank the rest, and should have done yesterday before work, but in both cases forgot.

When did you last cry? And why, if you feel like sharing. It probably involved some meaningful music in the car.

What was the last beach you visited and when? I can answer in advance: In a few days I will be visiting my parents on the Oregon coast, so will stop at one of the beaches (presuming Moolack or Agate) that are nearby this coming Thursday.

What book do you plan to read next? I was at the bookstore today and found they had a ton of Johnny Hart's B.C. paperbacks, some of which I'd never heard of and others I'd seen in the title listings but hadn't seen in person. But to answer the question specifically, "The Return Of B.C. Rides Again."

What fictional character/s remind you of yourself? Charlie Brown.

What's in your fridge right now? List as many things as you can think of. Food. Just got my cabin fridge put together under a shelf last night so today, now that it's cold, there are no longer (as many) sodas and seltzers in my regular fridge, and the icepacks are out of the freezer.

If you could have any artist, living or dead, paint your portrait, who would it be? These two are fairly obscure but meaningful: My mother's friend Berghoff and my grandmother's friend Bishop. Berghoff did a charcoal portrait of me when I was 4 so it'd be great if I could have one as an adult (he passed on several years ago), Bishop primarily did still lifes of flowers [and one of Zulus dancing!] but I would love to see what she'd have done with her friend's grandson.

Do you smell anything in particular right now? Happily, no. I say that because the house has been a bit humid and mucky today, but I opened the windows when I got home from being out -- and then there's that corner of the kitchen where the previous tenant apparently had a dog, and wherever it pissed has just recently become volatile.

Do you make enough money to live comfortably? [can be in combination with a spouse] I have been doing that for years. Moved two months ago from someone's upstairs room to an apartment, and thus require a roomie since my rent essentially doubled.

What is one thing you like about your appearance? Don’t say nothing! I have amazing eyes.

What would you like to tell your father? Let me ponder that since I will be seeing him in 4 days. Nothing comes to mind and I am unsure just how much he will remember or care of whatever we do discuss.

What would you like to tell your mother? This I have: "So if you asked me whether you need this SIM card you were sent, then admitted it was for Dad's phone which you said he never uses, but then gave me crap for not texting him, why the fuck didn't we put that new SIM in his phone so he could get a text?"

Whose was the last wedding you went to? Geez, I'm going to say it was Greg & Kimberly's back in the 2000s.

What is your greatest fear? Trump somehow getting into office. To those who favor him and get testy on those who see him as a problem: Name one world or national issue he has said he will address. He hasn't. It's ALL been talk about revenge. Nothing about domestic policy, nothing about international issues, it's all personal shit he painted himself into the corner with and now has to face.

What is a chronic health issue you deal with, even if it’s minor? Coxafloppin.

What was your college major? If applicable. I hold a Bachelor's in computer science. Do you want fries with that?

What new place have you been to recently? I have been to some new stuff locally but names are not springing to mind. I guess you could say that Ronald General Store.

What are you a geek about? Computers.

What is something you have no patience for? Blind-faith right-wingers.

What celebrity would you want to go out for a meal/drinks with? No idea.

Are you happy with your weight? I want to lose 20 pounds.

When did you last hold a baby, if ever? Whose? It's been several years. <<

How many cats do you have? Pistaschio Underfoot's 16th birthday is tomorrow.

How many dogs do you have? None.

How many other pets do you have? None.

How old were you when you got your driver’s license? 18. Didn't get a car until 30 though.

What year did you graduate high school? Frankie Goes To Hollywood put out their second album that year.

What is the first number of your zip code? 9. Just like the person I reblogged this from. Steph: You're in California you readily admit, and the entire Western seaboard is 9. That digit is no secret.

How many of your grandparents are still alive? Zero.

What is your favorite number? I don't have one.

How many kids do you want? Zero.

How many apartments have you lived in? Four or five.

What age do people say you look? I hear 45.

Do you feel like your family accepts you for who you are? Not really.

Do you feel like your friends accept you for who you are? Yes.

Who is the best doctor you’ve ever had? I dunno.

Have you ever been flipped off by a random stranger? That happened just the other day. He was quite the nutter.

Do you have a lot of people blocked on Facebook? I have blocked a number of people. Mostly because they're idiots.

Do you consider yourself spiritual? Not really. I just follow the Golden Rule and it sorts itself out.

Do you consider yourself religious? I believe in God. Does that make me religious? << Yes, it does. I am not, I gave that up for health reasons.

Are you afraid of spiders? Size matters.

Are you afraid of snakes? Variety matters.

Does everyone in your family know your sexual orientation? They should by now but I'm sure some still get it wrong.

What is one thing you find offensive? People who speak from a place of absolute ignorance and will not have anything to do with facts when offered.

Do you often post about politics on social media? Regularly. If you're not angry, you're not paying attention!

Would you ever want to go back to school? Absolutely not. Done with that shit.

What are three things you are naturally good at? Eating beaver, figuring out computer issues, and packing boxes.

What are three things you are NOT naturally good at? Social graces, charm, and knowing when to keep my mouth shut when someone is criminally wrong about political issues.

Is your dream to get married and have kids? No.

Where do you hang your towel to dry after showering? On the towel bar.

If you were the opposite sex, how would you style your hair? Probably not far from what I already do, it's easy and quick.

Last person you hugged? Tanya.

How is the weather right now? Overcast at times, but since it's 9:55pm it's getting dark. There was about a minute where the sky wanted to rain but didn't do it.

Are you missing someone? I don't think so.

What is the wallpaper on your cell phone? The lock screen is a 1930s ad for Nervine, the wallpaper on the icons screen is a 1970s shelf paper of a mushroom pattern.

What do you have handy at your bedside? Tissue, hand lotion, and stuffed sharks.

What is your dad's middle name? Michael.

What is your mom's middle name? Rae.

First thing you'll save in a fire? I'm sitting in front of it right now.

[secondhand-trash]

Decadence

A/N: I felt a sudden dash of inspiration at 2am and this is the result lmao

Descrption: Fushiguro Toji was like a cat, came and went as he pleased. It never really provided you with a reason to let him back in each time, yet it had become a habit of yours to leave a window for him in the times he was away. 

Pairing: Fushiguro Toji x reader

Warning: slightly suggestive, if you are reading a toji fic I’m just going to assume you have read the manga, smoking, mentions of drinking, not exactly a happy piece of writing 

Word count: 2620

Playlist:

Cigarettes//Russian Red

-

Sometimes you just laid there and stared at the ceiling after you woke up, the tender rhythm of your breathing echoing back to you through your eardrums reminding you that you were still alive no matter how much it didn’t felt that way.

They said there’s a weight to your soul, but right now you just felt nothing.

There was a special type of letting yourself go called waking up when the sun was shining bright outside, the blinding shine breaking through your cheap curtains. You had just woken up but you wanted to go back to sleep again, yet the heaviness in your head almost alluring to what having a fever felt like forced your eyes awake. 

You had no choice, or rather, no motivation to do anything but stay put right where you were, on the thin mattress that you took from the previous tenant who lived next door (”What?” you clicked your tongue at the above you man who paused as he slammed your back down on the bed, it was not comfortable and he most definitely felt that one spring stabbing at his knee, “it’s free.”). There was a stain at the corner of your tiny room, probably because the kitchen fan forcefully installed on the wall was not doing its job. The greasiness lingered in the air every time you tried to cook anything, making you sick in the stomach when you buried your face on your pillow that was just a few steps away from your stove. 

You gave up cooking soon entirely, it was not like there was anyone you could eat with anyways.

Fushiguro Toji came and went as he pleased, showing up at your door with a few cans of beer and a pack of cigarette whenever he was in the mood like he did not disappear without a word after the last time you saw him.

You didn’t ask where he had been or where was he before he was here at your place, you knew this was why he always came back to you. 

Just like how you never asked him, or yourself for that matter, whether any of this meant a thing.

“Don’t smoke here,” you said with your arms crossed in front of your chest, your back to the door as he tilted his frame to pass through your doorframe that seemed ridiculously small with him under it, “took me days to get rid of the smell last time.”

Sometimes he came every few days, mostly you would see him waiting under the lamp post at the corner of your block every other week. There was one time when you did not see him for a good few years. You were certain he had died, he had business enough people for it to not be a surprise to anyone. You could not say a word when you came back and saw him crouching in front of your door with an unlit cigarette between his teeth, toying the lighter in his palm. He was staring ahead but not focusing on anything, looking so out of place in the middle of the thin corridor of your apartment building.

It was also the one and only time you had felt the urge to ask him if he was okay, you refrained.

instead, you gave his frame a push with your heel. He did not budge, like you did nothing but gave him a tap on his shoulder and looked up. “You look like shit, Zenin.”

Where have you been? You swallowed the words that were so close to the tip of your tongue back down to your stomach together with the knot at the back of your throat.

He only shook his head as he stood up, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and took a breath that would have been a drag. “No,” you had no idea what had gotten into him, “Fushiguro.”

He did not sleep with you that night, but you did let him smoke in your tiny little flat.

To this day, you still had no idea what made him show up at your door again.

“Hm,” you were not sure if he was really answering you when he slummed down at the foot of your mattress. It was a talent how he acted like he had never left, like this was his spot as he leaned back with one palm holding him up and cracking a can of beer open with another. You always had a fascination with how easy he made it look, one crock of his index finger and you could hear the foam rushing out, “you want one?”

The smashed cans were still laying on the small table at the corner of your room. It was your dining table, writing desk and bedside table all at once, you hoped you did not spill anything on it last night. The half-gone pack of cigarettes was next to your bed, the joints sliding off of each other in the stack it was in. 

There was an ashtray next to it and it was really just a centerpiece when Toji was not here. You had refused to get one for the longest time, but gave in after you realised the only difference it would make was that the burnt out tobacco would be in your kitchen sink or somewhere it should be. The one he had lit up when he finally crawled off of your tired body begrudgingly was roughly put out on the glass, bent into half and somewhat intact.

Shamefully, you did not have nearly as much distaste for his addiction as much as you protested it. You could not deny that it was a picture when he leaned against the only window in your flat, his back to you in all his glory as the spark lit up and cast a warm glow to your ceiling. He sounded calm when he took the first drag, a soft hum following the inhale as white smoke blended into the dark of the Tokyo sky. It was never really quiet out there, and sometimes you would hear the cars running by the highway at a distance or the people with a home they refused to return to shouting down the streets. All with the swirls coming out of his lips, his shoulder easing down slowly with each puff.

Sometimes you wondered if you should be like the girls you saw in films, reaching out for the brooding man looking out their window and ask them to come back to bed sweetly. Perhaps you should act more lovable, like someone that would giggle into their lover’s chest when they did come back with a gruff.

The thought made your skin crawl, and you turned to your side until you could not see his frame before poking your tongue out in disgust.

That was not the way things worked with you two.

You had no idea what time it was but you guessed that it could not be early. The shadow that cut diagonally on the wall had already gotten defined, the sharp black border moving slowly across the oxidized wallpaper. Occasionally, in midst of the silence, you could it each time a train drove in and out of the station. The railway being near your apartment was the only thing good about it, but it also meant that each click on the tracks pounded into your ear like piles driving into your brain.

Tuk. Tuk. Tuk.

The room was starting to feel stuffy and hot, the body next to yours on your crowded mattress did not help at all. Toji usually left first thing in the morning, either that or he would not stay the night at all. You could not remember when was the last time you woke up next to him, but it was almost always followed by a long period of him being out of your sight. The thin blanket felt tiny trying to cover his large frame, the fabric pulled taut with you refusing to give up on it. It was your blanket on your bed in your house, who was he to hog it? 

You felt the temptation to reach out and trace the faded cut slashed down his lips with them parted just slightly, a rare serenity on his face. His lashes were long, that was another thing you had picked up on as you just watched. You could imagine him to be a beautiful man, before the scares and the scrawl and the smell of smoke lingering in his breath.

Fushiguro Toji was like a cat, came and went as he pleased. It never really provided you with a reason to let him back in each time, yet it had become a habit of yours to leave a window for him in the times he was away. Do not ask where he had been, the only thing you would get is your own reflection in his eyes. He was not your cat, never. You doubted that strays could truly adapt to domesticity.

Or rather, you never had the guts to see what would happen if you trap them down.

Instead, you watched, watched as the cat elegantly yawned and stretched its limbs out like the tyrant it was.

The blanket slid off his chest when he moved, showing you the many scars littering all over his skin. Scratches did nothing compared to all the other ones that darted over his frame like badges, you gave up trying to leave a trace anywhere on him a long time ago. One hook of your leg around his waist caught his attention and he yanked you by the arm to place you on his chest, not forgetting to slide his palm down your waist under he was cupping the swell of your hips.

‘Tsk’, you wanted to snicker, ‘skillful.’

“You wanna fuck again?” he quirked one eyebrow up, his tone sounding more like a question than an invite by any means.

“Huh...” the nasal in your voice was apparent as you laid your head on his firm muscles. 

And it was not like you had never wanted to make him stay past the few moments he was with you in the rare hours of daylight you spent together, you were just certain things would get messy whether he did as you asked or not.

Afternoons in bed were lazy, slow, sticky and hard to peel your hands away.

That just wasn’t what this was supposed to be.

“Don’t you have anywhere to be?” you asked, as always.

“I do, actually.” 

You lifted your head to look at him in, “But the horse races are not open today.”

He gave your ass a slap, and you gasped before trying to hit him back.

“Surprise, surprise, I’m working again,” the corner of his lips tugged up into a lazy smirk at your irritation, “someone contacted me, I’m going to see what they are offering today.”

You blinked.

“Are you taking it?” you asked, carefully.

He shrugged, before giving where he smacked down a condescending pat before sliding you off of him. 

“Who knows,” he rolled his arms back, the defined edges of his biceps flexing as he cracked his neck, “depends on how much they are paying me.”

So he would be gone for god knows how long again, lovely. You gave yourself a subtle nod of acknowledgement at how you saw this coming. 

He strode to the side to pick up his clothes that were littered across the floor, and your gaze followed him as he went to your table last.

If he was just a regular man you happened to bring home, you would roll your eyes at him for not at least shoving the beer cans into the trash as he took his shirt from the pile.

You tucked your arm under your pillow as you watched his fingers took one out of the box swiftly, feeling your body sink down the ill-quality mattress.

It was always at this point that the rush to ask him to stay would surface. But you would never try to do that, obviously.

‘When will I see you again?’ you were almost tempted to ask when he had one hand on the doorknob, but you weren’t sure if this was something he could give you an answer to.

So you said what you always say when he was about to disappear from your life again, with a smile as you bury your face deeper into your pillow.

“Try not to die.”

-

There was a daunting feeling that this was it. 

But again, the thought always plagued you during these blank periods.

Something at the back of your head told you that something went wrong. Maybe he died, you savoured the taste of these words on your tongue as you laid flat on your bed. After all, no one could say it was a surprise if he truly got killed on the job out there. He never really told you too much about what he did for a living. You figured out the gambling part on your own, and the scars on his skin warned you against asking further. 

Your relationship, if there ever was one, relied heavily on neither of you caring about each other enough to want to know more than the way he liked you to take his shirt off for him and the spot behind your ear was sensitive. There was a moment when you wondered if you had, or ever was in love with Fushiguro Toji. Back when he was still Zenin Toji, or when you felt the drop of your heart as he casually told you the change in his family name. 

It would be a travesty if you did.

The pack of cigarettes he forgot to take with him was still laying exactly where he left it, together with the lighter that was tugged into the cap. You had never smoked, one thing that he always made fun of you for. You did not like the smell and could barely imagine what it tasted like. 

You only liked it when you were the one watching him do it.

The tiny stick felt strange on between the pads of your finger, and you awkwardly mimicked the way you had seen him do it all these times. A forceful shove of the window sent a current of wind into your flat, the breeze tickling your cheek as you let your head fell back and took a deep breath.

Like someone waiting for their cat to come home.

Your body hung out of the window with one arm on the frame. The lighter did not work until the third click, and you stared as the end of the cigarette slowly started to glow under the flame.

The pungent smell made you furrow your eyebrows together and you clicked your tongue. The sun was starting to sink in a distance and the white smoke was all the more visible under the bright orange sun. You lifted your hand up to the sun, and tipped it like you would at a toast.

This was for you.

One inhale sent you coughing, and your eyes teared up at the unfamiliar sting at the back of your throat.

“Fucking hell,” you hissed, slamming down on the window frame as you sucked in a deep breath to wash the feeling away.

If he ever showed up again, you thought to yourself as you violently put off the cigarette on the ashtray, you were definitely questioning him what was so good about this.

-

You did not see him for a long, long time after that.

[nanayoungishere]

Play It Cool (Part Eight)

TK knew the day was gonna be horrible the moment they came to work and saw that the entire diner was filled with cranky old people.

The fact that you weren’t there and your apparent replacement -- a waitress named Tina who may or may not be banging their boss -- came in forty-five minutes late only confirmed that fact.

But it wasn't until the seniors cleared out and TK got to talking with Tina about where you were that they came to realize just how God-awful the day really was.

“Kidnapped?!”

Tina nodded rapidly, her eyes wide. “Yeah! They passed out and some guy just,” she made a sweeping motion with her arms, “picked them up and ran!”

TK’s head swam as they processed the information, forcing them to lean on the counter to steady themselves. They wanted desperately for it to be a joke, but they knew it wasn’t.

The look on Tina’s face told TK all they needed to know. She was dead serious.

“Picked -- did someone chase after them?! Did you call the police?!” The panic was making TK’s voice rise to tea kettle levels. They ran their shaking hands through their hair, needing to do something to keep their mind off of --

the things they saw on the news the things they saw in scary movies thriller movies crime movies all the horrible horrible horrible things that could be happening to you right now as they just stood there and shook

“I-I don’t -- how did this --”

Tina didn’t seem to be aware of how close TK was to flipping their shit. Instead she went straight into gossip mode, leaning in close like she was telling a juicy secret. “Okay so like, I was waiting tables right?”

TK wanted to shake her. They didn’t need some long winded, dramatic story right now, not when you were fucking kidnapped oh dear God --

“And Y/N walks in and I’m like, what? You know how bad the food is, why would you eat here? But then they order a milkshake and I’m all like, ooooh, that’s why! ‘Cause the milkshakes bring all the customers to the yard --”

“Tina --”

“But then they just keep ordering milkshakes and they look super nervous the entire time, right? Like they’re shaking and muttering and sweating which, ew. But they keep ordering milkshakes, like a dozen of them. And they keep looking super nervous and scared and checking their phone a lot. And then someone came in!”

“Who?”

“I dunno. He was like, super tall? And creepy. And bald which, mega ew. I think he was old or something.” She shrugged. “Anyway, Y/N knocked over their milkshake and went to the bathroom to clean up and when they came back the guy was like, holding out a bunch of flowers which, you know, kinda made up for being bald and old? But after they took the flowers they like, passed out.”

“Passed out?” TK repeated, sounding as though they were being strangled.

“Yeah! I think he like, drugged the flowers? Which was weird ‘cause like, I didn’t even know that was a thing --”

TK wanted to throw up. Preferably over Tina’s shoes because why the fuck was she not taking this seriously and --

Oh God what happened to you.

Oh God what was happening to you right now.

Anything could be happening to you right now! You could be murdered or tortured or ra--

They could feel the bile in their throat. “Oh God…”

“A bunch of the customers ran after them, but the guy was fast. Super fast,” she said emphatically. “He was gone before anyone could catch up and the police, they showed up like ten minutes later asking a buncha questions.”

TK covered their mouth, their face growing paler by the second. “Did -- did they find them or --”

She just shrugged and went back to washing dishes.

Like she didn’t care. Like she couldn’t give any less of a fuck that one of their coworkers was kidnapped by some freak.

Calm down, a distant, more rational part of them said. Maybe there’s a reasonable explanation for this. Maybe this is all a misunderstanding. Maybe if you call them right now, they’ll pick up and everything’ll be fine.

TK clung to that shred of hope like a lifeline. They had their phone in hand and your contact on call before they realized what they were doing.

“Hello!”

“Y/N, are you --”

“I can’t come to the phone right now! Leave a message after the --”

TK hung up and tried again.

And again.

And again.

Each time it went straight to voicemail, they could feel their heart rate picking up, dread pooling in their stomach.

They didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to even consider it because these sorta things didn’t happen to them. It happened to other people, people on the news, people in crime shows, not someone they knew.

There had to be another explanation for this. You couldn’t be --

Be…

“I-I’m going on break!”

They threw off their apron and ran to the backroom before Tina could say anything.

Where is it, where is it, where -- there!

A black book, one filled with all the employee contact information. Specifically phone numbers and emergency contact numbers.

TK flipped through it until they got to your information. For your emergency contact you listed your roommate, Lucy. TK wasn’t sure why considering how often you complained about her and her willingness to leave you with all the rent, but whatever. They weren’t complaining.

They called her up, fidgeting at the dial tone. “Come on, come on, pick up…”

It answered. The person on the other line sounded irritated, and oddly breathless. “Yo! Who the hell’s this? I’m kinda --”

In the background TK heard a long, loud moan. It took a second for TK to realize what they were hearing and when they did, they had to resist the urge to immediately hang up.

Jesus Christ.

“-- in the middle of someone, ya know?” she said with absolutely no shame. “It better be important.”

TK grimaced, blushing despite themselves. “Is this Lucy? I’m --”

“Whoa.” The playful tone in her voice dropped, turning into a snarl. “Who the hell told you that name? Who the fuck is --”

“I’m TK, Y/N’s coworker from work,” they cut in. “Are they there? It’s an emergency.”

The phone was muffled for a moment. TK heard Lucy call out to someone in the background. “Nope. Not here.”

“Shit.” Their hands were trembling again. “Did they at least come home last night?”

“I don’t -- hold on.” They heard her yell to someone in the background, followed by a banging sound. The moaning, thank God, came to a stop. “What the fuck is this about? What’s going on?”

TK hesitated before giving her the whole story. She was your emergency contact, she needed to know.

She took it as well as TK did. “WHAT THE FUCK?!”

“I --”

“I’m coming over there right the fuck now. You stay there, understand?” She hung up.

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

Lucy dressed herself as she walked out the door.

She didn’t even bother to tell her newest “study buddies” to fuck off out of her apartment; she just left.

Halfway down the narrow hall she bumped into the landlord. She didn’t apologize and kept on walking.

“Lucy, your rent is --”

“Y/N got fucking kidnapped at their workplace. I don’t have time for your shit right now, Don.”

Any other time she would’ve fucking cherished the blindsided look on his face. “Wha --”

Lucy jumped down the steps and hit the ground running.

She didn’t have time to waste. Not with you.

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

Left in the hallway, Don briefly considers the idea of just letting it go.

It didn’t have anything to do with him. You were a tenant, nothing more.

Or at least, that’s what he kept telling himself. Something about you had been catching his eye lately, though maybe that was the lonely divorcee in him grasping at straws.

He scowled down at the phone in his hand before finally biting the bullet and making the call. Fuck he hoped this was an actual emergency, because this was gonna get awkward.

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

Officer Williams -- also known as Roy to his friends and his Dad -- considered the information at hand.

A handle of witnesses, all who said the exact same thing. Tall, bald, hoodie vest, male, creepy looking. Short, baseball cap and hoodie, very nervous, undetermined gender. Short one passed out, tall one took them away. Flowers were involved.

And by the time the officers came to the scene, they were long gone.

Roy and the officers with him combed the area, but there was no sign of them. If he had to guess, the tall one must’ve taken a car along the way. Which meant they could be anywhere, even out of town for all he knew.

No security footage, because the boss of the place was too cheap to fix their broken cameras. Didn’t catch anything on the nearby traffic or store cameras either.

He knew your name, Y/N, and where you worked. But he knew nothing about the man who took you. Or why you were so scared of him, according to the other patrons.

An abusive ex? A thug shaking you for money? Roy had no clue.

He could look through some of the nearby shops, maybe see if they knew anything about it, but that could take some time. And he already had enough on his plate; maybe he should shift this over to someone else --

His phone rang.

“Hello? This is Officer Williams.”

“Roy, it’s me.”

He blinked. “Dad? What --”

“Listen, I’m gonna need a favor…”

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

You briefly woke up, hit with the sudden feeling that you were forgetting something.

But the warmth -- fuck, he’s so fucking warm -- curled around you kept you from fully waking.

His arms were wrapped around you. You could feel his heartbeat against your cheek. He was with you, he was yours.

You had never felt more comfortable, more loved in your life.

You snuggled back into your Honey’s arms, ignoring the nagging feeling in the back of your head. It couldn’t be that important. Not compared to snuggling up with your boyfriend.

(Previous)

(Next)

[darkwants]

it wasn't like ezra had any major ideas in mind for what he wanted from his new house when he moved, not beyond 'not this place', so buying a new house was actually fairly easy since he didn't have a lot of requirements beyond 'affordable.' considering the previous tenant was an old woman, ezra wasn't surprised the place seemed outdated by a couple decades and in need of repair, but that would give him something to do when he couldn't sleep. not all repairs required power tools, he could paint or sand or do a lot of different things in the middle of the night without disturbing his new neighbors.

although judging from the one neighbor he'd met so far, there was a chance he may not be home or may be too drunk to even hear what was going on next door. that wasn't ezra judging, more just recognizing the type, and he fully planned on taking up the offer of hitting up the bar and playing poker with some of the guys. it would be good to get out and give him something to do, a distraction from everything else. if unpacking went like packing, chances were that ezra would want a drink at the end of the day, at least something to look forward to somewhere that didn't feel fucking haunted.

there was a knock before ezra could get too maudlin thinking about how his life felt all boxed up, boxes of baby things donated to hopeful new couples, boxes of memories returned to people that didn't feel like they were chewing glass looking at them. considering the hour of the morning and that he was surrounded by boxes with barely any furniture to his name, ezra hoped that it wasn't some neighbor with a fucking casserole because he wasn't in the mood for it.

swinging the door open with perhaps more force than necessary, ezra felt the woosh of air before his hold on the door knob turned into a fucking death grip, his life turning into that scene from the wizard of oz where everything went technicolor. "fuck." she looked warm and ezra didn't know how better to describe it than that, but her eyes seemed to shimmer with depth and her hair caught the sunlight where it slipped under the porch he'd need to repaint and holy fucking shit, he could see what color it was. he could see her and it felt like the cruelest joke in the world to have color flood his life right at its darkest point.

looking at the case of beer in her hand, ezra suddenly wasn't sure he'd manage to make it until noon before cracking one open, but he sure was going to try. "i think you should come in." he finally said, stepping back and trusting her to follow when she'd have every right to run, making his way into the kitchen where he at least had a table set up and he'd even made progress in finding the coffee pot, thanks to the box clearly labelled 'KITCHEN SURVIVAL PACK' in handwriting that wasn't his own.

closed for: @darkwants

pairing: billie & ezra

based: things we plotted

all that billie wanted to do that day was catch up on some much needed rest. there was also the fact that she had a few chores she had been meaning to do. the chores being stuff that was outside. yet she had been forcefully ripped from sleep's embrace by her father yelling at the top of his lungs. plus he was slamming the broom into the ceiling since her room was above the kitchen. apparently he needed her to go to the grocery store. that was why she dragged herself out of bed far earlier than she had anticipated. after all she hadn't gotten home till about four in the morning. she glanced at the alarm clock on her nightstand to see it was only eight. she cursed but forced herself to get dressed. a yawn was escaping from her as she stumbled down the stairs only to find that he actually had written a list. what made her pause was how many six packs of beer he wrote down. normally she just bought a twelve pack but he was asking for her to buy two separate six packs. yet she knew better than to question unless she wanted her head ripped off.

by the time she returned home she had noticed what looked to be a moving truck in the house next door. it had been empty for the better part of a year due to the old woman who resided in being shipped off to a nursing home. she had noticed the for sale sign was gone a few weeks prior but had honestly forgotten about it. she shrugged before she carted everything inside. once it all was put away she was going to take care of the pile of dishes in the sink. only for her dad to appear, yawning as he told her to take one of the cases of beer over to the neighbor. she sighed before she was going to grab one of the cases. only to step back outside and make her way across the yard. a sigh escaped from her as she glanced around. the dull lifeless colors that greeted her just made her mood that much worse.

she pushed that thought from her mind as she stepped onto the front porch. of course she had to shift the beer in her grasp to actually knock on the door. part of her wasn't sure if she wanted whoever it was to be home or not. it was likely her luck that it would be some woman her dad wanted to make a good impression on. yet the moment the door opened, she found herself gasping loudly. the moment her eyes had landed on him it was like a flash and suddenly her vision was flooded with the blues, the greens and all the colors around them. it dawned on her right then what happened and she nearly dropped the beer as the thought hit," i just-holy-this isn't possible!" there was no way in hell she had a soulmate.

[plaidbooks]

The R Drug part 2

A/N: I promise I still have summer bingo fics ready to go, but this idea wouldn’t leave me alone, so here it is. This is a part 2 to The R Drug, and is a lot of talking and exposition, and a lot of Sonny hating himself. This will most likely get a part 3. No chapter will ever be darkfic or as dark as the first one was. It’s only up from here.

Tags: self-loathing, mentions of rape (like, one line--references first fic heavily) and therapy, otherwise none, just a lot of angst with a maybe happy ending?

Words: 4657

Taglist:  @witches-unruly-heart  @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @permanentlydizzy  @ben-c-group-therapy @infiniteoddball @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @lv7867  @storiesofsvu @cycat4077 @alwaysachorusgirl @glimmerglittergirl @joanofarkansass @redlipstickandblacktea @caracalwithchips @berniesilvas​  @reading--mermaid  @averyhotchner  @mrsrafaelbarba @detective-giggles @crowleysqueenofhell @dreamlover31

For the first few days, you sat on the couch in pain and exhaustion, wallowing in self-pity and self-loathing. The doctor said that you were severely dehydrated and had kept both you and Sonny overnight after the club, though separated. Olivia and Amanda interviewed you, while Fin interviewed Sonny. You were both then sent on leave until you could come back to work…if you could come back at all.

Thankfully, you weren’t pregnant. But you were sore, every movement causing aches and pains as you shuffled around your apartment. Obviously, you weren’t pressing charges, and neither was Sonny; what happened was a freak accident, something you never wanted to think about again, but knew you’d have to in order to move past it.

When you could finally walk normally again, you went to a therapist. It took a while to find a groove; therapists specializing in rape victims had trouble dealing with the fact that while yes, you were a victim, you were also a perpetrator. The other strange thing was that you weren’t angry with Sonny; you were angry with yourself. You assaulted him, just as he assaulted you. And that was the part that was eating you up inside.

It took months of therapy, going every day and working through your confused and frustrated emotions before you finally came to terms with what had happened. You were ready to put your badge and gun back on, ready to move on with your life. You missed your job, your squad. But most of all, you missed Sonny. He was your best friend before all of this happened, and you hadn’t seen nor talked to him since the club. You missed his boyish charm, his bright smile and his loud laugh. You missed the little inside jokes you had together, and the late nights spent curled on the couch, watching reality TV and sports. You missed your Sonny.

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

On Monday morning, four months after the club incident, you made your way into the familiar precinct. You were heading for Olivia’s office when you stopped short. Both Amanda and Fin were at their desks like normal. Even your desk was how you left it; a few photos, baskets to hold paperwork, little knick-knacks that made it yours. But Sonny’s desk, the one next to yours, was completely different. There wasn’t a single photo of any Carisi, no Mets or Islanders memorabilia, no nothing that made it his. Instead, there was a picture of two men, one you didn’t recognize posing with…Deputy Chief Dodds?

Before you could ask questions, Amanda said, “that’s Mike Dodds’s desk. He’s the new Sergeant.”

“Where’s Carisi’s desk,” you asked, turning to look at her.

But it was Fin who answered. “He doesn’t have one.” You swore you got whiplash turning to look at Fin so quickly. “He turned in his badge and gun months ago…just after the club fiasco.”

“What?” you almost yelled. You were loud enough that Olivia heard you, and she and the new guy—Mike?—came out of her office. She beckoned you to her office, and you passed by Mike, who tried to give you a smile that you did not return.

“Welcome back—” Olivia started before you cut her off.

“Carisi’s gone?!”

She closed the door behind you before taking a seat at her desk. She motioned for you to sit, and you all but collapsed into the chair. “I tried to keep him, to talk him out of quitting. But he refused, saying he needed to work through things. I’m sorry, but there was nothing I could do.”

You stared in disbelief at the top of her desk. Sonny was gone. You had to talk to him, had to see him. You said as much to Liv.

“If you think you can get through to him, then by all means. Because it’s been hard around here not having two of my best detectives,” she replied. “Dodds has been a godsend, but he doesn’t replace either of you, and especially not both of you.”

You nodded. “I’ll talk to him, try and bring him back.”

“I wish you luck. I think he’ll listen to you; you were close before…all this.”

 **********************

After leaving the precinct, you tried texting and calling Sonny, but to no avail. In fact, it was going straight to voicemail, as if his phone were dead or off. So, you swung by his apartment. You buzzed his place, but a deep, gruff man answered.

“I just moved in a few months ago; the previous owner seemed to be in a hurry to move out,” he said. Clinging to the hope that this was still Sonny just trying to put on a fake accent, you buzzed a neighbor. But they confirmed that Sonny had moved out a couple months ago, and that a new tenant moved in.

Out of desperation, you tracked down a phone book, and looked up his parent’s place. Then you took the drive out to Staten Island. You shifted nervously on the porch, waiting for an answer after knocking.

A woman in her 60s, who could only be Mrs. Carisi, answered. Her eyes darted to your waistband, the badge there, then back to yours. You watched them slowly fill with tears.

“Please, don’t tell me yet,” she muttered, and you furrowed your brow. “Don’t tell me my Bambino is…is…” she hiccupped, and you understood; she thought you were here to deliver the news that Sonny was dead.

“No, no! I’m actually…I’m Carisi’s partner…or I was. I’m just…having a hell of a time tracking him down,” you quickly explained.

She sniffled, trying to compose herself. “Well, I hope you do find him.”

“You mean…you don’t know where he is?” you asked, heart sinking.

She shook her head. “He told us he needed some time, and that he’d be in touch. That was the last we saw or heard from him, and that was back in March.” It was June now, and you were realizing that this was going to be a lot harder than you thought.

You nodded, muttering out an apology for bothering her as you turned away, but she grabbed your wrist, stopping you. “Please, if you find Sonny, tell him we love him. And that we want him to come home.”

“Of course,” you replied before leaving, holding back tears until you were back in your car.

 ****************

Your first real clue as to where Sonny went came through looking at his bank statements. There, you found a one-way trip to Genoa, Italy. Without too much thought behind it, you booked a flight, texted Olivia your intentions, then headed to the airport. In your hurry, you didn’t pack, didn’t even book a place to stay. You only had one thing on your mind, and it was to find Sonny Carisi.

With the clothes on your back, your phone, passport, and wallet full of bills that you converted to euros, you got on the one-way trip to Genoa.

 ***************

You barely slept on the plane, landing early in the morning. The sun was just peaking over the beautiful Italian landscape. Even in your exhaustion and worry, you had to stop and appreciate the architecture of a different country. Genoa was beautiful, and you’d be enjoying yourself if the drive to find your missing partner wasn’t so high. You had a picture of him on your phone, and you went around, asking everyone you passed by if they had seen him. At first, you were asking in English—you didn’t know Italian. But eventually, you learned the phrases you needed.

“L'hai visto?” you asked desperately.

You understood “no,” and saw the look of sadness on their faces.

“Grazie,” you replied, moving on.

You must’ve asked hundreds of people. The sun was high in the sky, and you felt a hopelessness in your fruitless search. Why did you ever think you’d find him? There was a good chance he wasn’t even in Genoa anymore; he could’ve landed and moved somewhere more isolated. You had nothing to go on, and your voice and face took on a pleading, desperate tone. You must’ve looked like an unhinged person, asking the same question over and over again while pointing frantically to your phone screen.

Another thought came to you in the form of a growling stomach. You hadn’t eaten, hadn’t had so much as a sip of water since you got off the plane. Which then led you to think about what you were going to do once the sun went down. You didn’t have a whole lot of money on you, and you didn’t know how much anything cost.

“I’m such a fucking idiot,” you muttered to yourself in frustrated hopelessness. You sat down hard on a bench, cursing yourself for not thinking this through better.

A woman came over to you; she looked somewhat familiar. You must’ve talked to her before. But she started speaking rapid Italian to you. You gave her a puzzled look, brow furrowed. You tried to express that you didn’t speak Italian, and she stopped, her face contorted as she thought.

“Man,” she said in slow, pronounced English. She pointed to her left. “Man...you want?”

You followed her finger and froze when you saw the tall, lanky frame of Sonny through a shop window. You jumped to your feet, shouting a “thank you!” to her as you ran on tired legs to the shop. Sonny was just paying for groceries, and was heading out of the shop when you reached him.

His eyes widened as he saw you, guilt flooding his eyes. “...[y/n]?” he asked. “What’re you doing here?”

“Looking for you,” you replied, grinning. “I thought I’d never find you.”

He gave you a hard look. “I wish you didn’t,” he muttered before turning to leave.

You stared in disbelief as he walked down the street, bag in his arms. Snapping yourself out of it, you hurried after him. “Carisi, what are you doing here in Italy?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked, not breaking in his stride. You struggled to keep up with his long legs, your body and mind exhausted. “I’m trying to start over, away from my past.”

You pushed yourself to get in front of him, cutting him off. “You can’t just—just run away.... Don’t I...don’t we mean anything to you? The squad, your family—”

“Of course you do,” he replied, eyes softening for a moment. “That’s why I left.”

You looked at him, eyes pleading. “Look, Dom, I know what happened was...traumatic. But—”

“I’m not talking about that. Not now, not ever.” And then he was walking again, easily stepping around you. “Please, just go home,” he called over his shoulder to you.

You watched him retreat for a moment before heading after him again. “Dominick, you need to talk about it, if not to me, than to someone else. But you can’t bury it down, move on like nothing ever happened.”

Sonny whipped around to glare at you, face hard. “Like nothing ever happened? You think that’s what I’m doing?” He shook his head, huffing. “I’ll never stop thinking about it! This will haunt me to my grave! And when I’m burning in Hell, I’ll know why.”

It broke your heart to see him like this. “Please, listen to me. You need to work through this. It took me months to come to terms with my actions, and I know you can do it, too.”

“I’m too disgusted with myself,” he replied, shaking his head. “I hate myself too much for what I did to you.”

He tried to turn away again, but you grabbed his shoulder, stopping him. He flinched at the contact, pulling away from your touch, and you let your hand fall. “I hated me, too. Still do sometimes. But it wasn’t our fault; we were drugged. There was nothing we could do—”

“I could’ve fought it. I could’ve controlled myself.”

“And what, I couldn’t?” you shot back. Sonny’s eyes widened at your outburst. “If you hate yourself so much, then you must hate me, too. I did the same thing you did.”

He was quiet for a moment, eyes scanning yours. “I could never hate you.”

“Then why are you so hellbent on hating yourself, but not me?”

“Because I...” he trailed off, thinking through his words. You could tell there was something he wanted to say, but instead he whispered, “I don’t know.”

You moved closer to him. “Then please, let me help you.” You didn’t make the mistake of touching him again, instead just gazing deeply into his eyes.

Sonny sighed heavily, regripping the bag in his arms. “Yeah, okay. But...let me sleep on it, first?” He saw the skeptical look you gave him, and he quickly added, “I promise I won’t run away again. I just...I need time to process things. Where are you staying? I can swing by in the morning.”

“Uhh...” you said, looking at the ground.

“...please tell me you have a place to stay.”

You shifted uncomfortably. “I was going to try and find a place, soon?” you tried.

You could see the inner struggle he had as he fought himself. “I could...you could stay with me, if you want.... That is, if you feel safe with me...if you can trust me.”

“Dominick, I trust you with my life,” you said softly.

His eyes widened for a moment. “Yeah...okay. Follow me.”

 ****************

Sonny lived in a small apartment. Though it was a little smaller than his place in Manhattan, it was absolutely stunning, the view from his window gorgeous. It was simply furnished, yet it still somehow felt like...Sonny. He put his grocery bag down on the little counter that acted like an island in a kitchen. In reality, it was just a piece that separated the kitchen from the living room.

“Have you eaten?” he asked as he put his things away.

You stomach grumbled loudly in response. “Uh, no,” you muttered, embarrassed.

Sonny gave you a look. “So, let me get this straight. I can tell by your no luggage or place to stay that you just flew to Genoa with absolutely no backup plan? What if you didn’t find me? What if I went to Vernazza or something?”

You smiled sheepishly. “I wasn’t in the best state of mind, okay? I was worried about you; no one had heard from you, not even your parents. And your phone just went to voicemail.”

He sighed. “I left my phone in New York; I didn’t want it. Maybe I also wasn’t in the best state of mind when I left.”

You dug your phone out of your pocket; you only had 10% left on it. You unlocked it, then shoved it towards him. “You need to call your parents. Your mom is heartbroken, and asked me to tell you that she loves you. But I think it would be better coming from her directly to you.”

Tears filled his eyes as he took your phone from you. “If I do, then it’ll kill your phone battery. There’s no way the call would be less than five hours long.”

“Call them,” you urged. You could buy a phone charger in the morning. Sonny sighed, dialing the number. “I’ll give you some privacy,” you whispered, heading outside. You heard a soft, “hey ma; it’s me,” before you closed the front door behind you.

You were so relieved to have found Sonny. Sure, he was still broken and hurt, but you knew you could help him find himself, pull himself back from the darkness in his mind. You just didn’t know how long it would take, how long you’d be in Italy for. You didn’t want to rush him, couldn’t rush him if you tried. And you knew a lot of this would be an internal battle, something you knew intimately well based on your own experience. In the end, he’d have to find the strength to forgive himself on his own before he could move on. You sighed, looking up into the dark clouds above you, the muggy heat making your skin sticky.

 *********************

Sonny came and got you about an hour later. His eyes were rimmed red, but it seemed as though a weight had lifted off him as he handed back your now dead phone.

“Sorry; I can buy you a charger in the morning,” he muttered, leading you back inside.

You shook your head, smiling softly. “Don’t worry about it.”

You both ate dinner in silence; Sonny was pensive, thinking, while you were starving and shoveling the delicious food into your mouth. Once you finished—your huge bites compared to his little nibbles had you finishing in record time—you took your dishes to the kitchen and started cleaning them.

“I can do that—” Sonny started before you cut him off.

“It’s fine; you cook, I clean.” It was your rule back in Manhattan, and Sonny smiled softly at the memories of you both in his kitchen.

“Look, Sonny, I know you said you don’t want to talk—and that’s fine! But, if you ever do want to talk, I’m here, willing to listen,” you said. You scrubbed at your plate with the sponge, forcing yourself to not turn and look at him.

He sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity. You resolutely stayed facing the sink, washing a now clean dish, waiting for a response that may not come.

“I...I know it was R. I know it was. But I just...I can’t stop the self-loathing I feel,” he said so quietly, you barely heard him over the water in the sink.

Slowly, you turned the water off, then turned to face him. “I know. It took me months to not hate myself. To not blame myself.”

Sonny took a deep breath, then rubbed his eyes. “I never asked; how are you?”

You knew he didn’t mean in general. “I was very sore and exhausted the first week. I was stuck in a downward spiral. But the thing about hitting rock bottom is that you can only go up.” You sighed. “I’m doing better. I doubt I’ll ever be 100% me again. But I’m working every day to get closer.”

He nodded, thinking. “See, I feel like I hit rock bottom, then grabbed a shovel. I’m still fighting to get back to rock bottom.”

“Well, just know that I do not blame you in any way. All the anger and hatred I felt was directed at myself,” you huffed out an emotionless chuckle. “In fact, you hardly came up in my therapy sessions at all. Just that I hated myself for doing that to you.”

Sonny stood then, bringing his own dishes into the kitchen. “I never blamed you, either; still don’t. I—I guess because I’m bigger and because I was...on top, I blame myself instead. I didn’t even consider the fact that you got drugged, too....”

“That’s the thing; I know you. And I know myself. Neither of us...that wouldn’t have happened without outside forces making us do it. Like I said, I trust you with my life, Sonny. And while I understand why you turned your badge in, I really would like my partner back one day,” you said, hope tinging your voice.

He reached past you to put his plate in the sink, and you gazed up at him. This was the closest you’ve been since that night in the club, his face inches from yours, bright blue eyes boring into your own. For a moment, it was like nothing had happened. You could pretend that you were in Sonny’s Manhattan apartment, having just finished dinner he made, Love Island playing on his TV. But then reality set in, and Sonny backed away from you, a look of guilt in his eyes.

“M—maybe one day. But I’m not sure I want to go back to that line of work yet,” he muttered, looking at the floor.

You nodded. “I understand—” you were cut off by a loud clap of thunder, sounding directly above you. You dropped the plate you were rinsing off into the sink, the clatter loud in the shocked silence.

Sonny looked from the ceiling to you, saw your petrified look. He knew you hated storms, would often get a call at 1am from you, asking to come over when a thunderstorm rolled in. When he saw you on the streets of Genoa, he didn’t connect that Italy had some of the most intense thunderstorms in the world.

“Hey, it’s okay; I’m here,” he murmured out of instinct; the words he would say back home to you.

You were trembling, tears in your eyes. “S-Sonny, I—”

Another loud rumbling resounded through the apartment, and he saw you shrink in on yourself, slowly dropping to the floor, curling around your legs. You tucked your face against your knees, shaking with quiet sobs. He came over to you, kneeling in front of you. Normally, he’d wrap you tightly in his arms, whispering to you that you were safe. But now, he was afraid to touch you.

“Dominick, I trust you with my life,” he remembered you saying, with no hesitation. Swallowing the thoughts propelled by self-loathing, he placed a hand on your shoulder. He knew he wouldn’t assault you, wouldn’t do anything without your consent, so why the hell was he hesitating when you needed him?

“Come on; let’s get you into bed, okay?” Sonny whispered to you. You nodded without looking up. Gently, he unfolded your limbs, helping you to your feet. He had been planning to sleep on the couch, give you his bed. Now, though, he was leading you to his bedroom quickly, trying to make it before more thunder sounded.

He got you into his bed just as another clap of thunder shook the walls. You pulled the covers over your head, tucking down as hard as possible into the bed. Sonny climbed into bed next to you, laying on top of the covers. Gently, he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you back against him. He could feel you trembling, the whole bed shaking. What else could he do besides what he normally did?

“It’s okay; you’re safe. I got you,” he whispered, rubbing your arm over the blanket. You rolled over until you were facing him, and curled in against his chest. Sonny stiffened for only a moment before relaxing in the familiar position.

“I hate storms,” you choked out, tucking your face into his shirt.

He rubbed your back in comfort. “I know you do. It’ll be gone soon enough.”

But unlike Manhattan, where that may be true, thunderstorms in Genoa lasted hours. Simply because you didn’t sleep the night before, you were able to drift off in Sonny’s embrace. You’d jerk awake every time a clap of thunder was heard, though, shaking and sobbing softly as he murmured sweet words to you before succumbing to sleep again.

Sonny, however, didn’t sleep a wink. He was too lost in thought, holding you to him. You trusted him enough to sleep in the same bed, his arms around you, even after everything that happened. You didn’t blame him, felt no hatred towards him. And while most of his problem stemmed from his own self-hatred, he was always afraid that you felt the same way about him. And he couldn’t deal with that, couldn’t stand it. Not when he—

He almost said it out on the street earlier, when you asked him if he hated you. He almost told you that he loved you, had come so close. In fact, he was planning on asking you out after work that day. The day that changed his life forever, and not in the way he had been hoping. If only Liv hadn’t called you both into her office that day, then maybe there would still be a chance....

But he could never tell you, not now. How would you even begin a relationship after this? He was too afraid to even touch you, for Christ’s sake. Though, that was before the thunderstorm started. Now, you were curled against his chest, your trembling stopped for the moment, breathing deep as you slept. His arms were around you, and god he loved it, loved the feeling of you sleeping in his arms, whether from a storm or not. This wasn’t the first time he held you throughout the night, and he loved it every time, regardless of circumstances. But how could anything evolve from this? How could he kiss you? How could you be...intimate together without the memory of the club popping up in either of your minds?

A small part of him whispered that if he could get over his fear of touching you—evident by the cuddling—then he could overcome his other fears, too. But would you want that? Did he?.... Yes, yes he wanted that very much. He wanted to be able to love you without fear and/or guilt in his heart. Before the club, he had thought that his biggest obstacle would be 1PP. Oh how ignorant he had been.

He resolved that he wouldn’t tell you, not now, maybe not ever. He couldn’t, not when this darkness was still inside his head, not when his hatred for himself was so high—

Thunder rolled out, and you jumped, instantly waking. The trembling started again, and you grabbed Sonny’s shirt, pulling him closer to you.

“I got you. You’re okay, you’re safe,” he whispered to you.

But for the first time ever, you responded. “You make me feel safe, Dom,” you muttered back.

At first, he was filled with such a profound warmth and happiness, feeling protective and strong. But then a flash of your face, beet red, your body moving erratically underneath his while loud club music played, and he sunk in on himself. He felt like such an asshole, such a coward, holding you like this. He should’ve left you on the streets in Genoa, closed himself off. Or at least offer to put you up in a hotel or a hostile, not fucking take you home with him. He hated that side of him that couldn’t let you go, almost as much as the hatred of that night in the club.

“What’s wrong?” you asked suddenly. You were still shaking in his grasp, but you noticed he was deep in thought. He had stopped talking, and was humming slightly. Sonny only hummed when he was thinking hard. He didn’t respond right away, unsure of what he’d even say. So, you pressed on, “need me to comfort you?”

Sonny’s expression softened. Here you were, scared out of your mind, but still offering him help. This is one of the main reasons he loved you. “No, I’m fine. Just sleep, okay?” he murmured.

Without thinking about it, he brushed his lips against your forehead, giving you a gentle kiss. You smiled at the gesture, tucking your head against his chest again, quickly finding sleep once more.

But Sonny was silently cursing himself. Why the hell did you kiss her?! he thought in anguish. In truth, he didn’t think, just reacted. He often kissed your forehead in comfort, trying to coax you to sleep. It seemed as if when he turned his brain off, he could rely on instinct, doing things he normally did. But that nagging side of his brain never left him alone for long. Things he used to do that brought him joy, like holding you or kissing your soft skin, now filled him with regret. How was he supposed to move on and leave you behind in New York when he did shit like this?

He sighed, glancing at his clock and seeing that it was only a little past 1am. This was going to be a long night. And he still wasn’t sure what to say to you in the morning.

[renegadewangs]

Van Zieks - the Examination, part 4

Warnings: SPOILERS for The Great Ace Attorney: Chronicles. Additional warning for racist sentiments uttered by fictional characters (and screencaps to show these sentiments).

Disclaimer: (see  Part 1 for the more detailed disclaimer.) - These posts are not meant to be taken as fact. Everything I’m outlining stems from my own views and experiences. If you believe that I’ve missed or misinterpreted something, please let me know so I can edit the post accordingly. -The purpose of these posts is an analysis, nothing more. Please do not come into these posts expecting me to either defend Barok van Zieks from haters, nor expecting me to encourage the hatred. - I’m using the Western release of The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles for these posts, but may refer to the original Japanese dialogue of Dai Gyakuten Saiban if needed to compare what’s said. This also means I’m using the localized names and localized romanization of the names to stay consistent. -It doesn’t matter one bit to me whether you like Barok van Zieks or dislike him. However, I will ask that everyone who comments refrains from attacking real, actual people.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

It’s time to take a close look at Episode 2 of the second game, The Memoirs of the Clouded Kokoro!

Episode 2-2: The Memoirs of the Clouded Kokoro

Remember how in the last episode we vaguely got Barok on our side near the end of the trial by proving Mrs. Garrideb was actually involved in the crime? … Yeah. Forget that progress. It's being undone. Case 2-2 is the first case of the second game which features Barok, which unfortunately means he needs to be 'reintroduced' to the audience and it takes him back several steps in his growth. It makes sense, I suppose, it would've been weird starting a new game with him already being lightly on Ryu's side. Even so, it's a bit insulting how this case acts as if the chronologically previous one accomplished nothing.

So anyway, this case flashbacks to something which supposedly happened right after the first game's fourth case. The day after Soseki's acquittal, even. Turns out, Soseki awoke to find one of the other tenants in his building dead and asked Ryu for help, but (S)Holmes tagged along. Gregson is at the crime scene, keeping an eye on the place and on Soseki in particular since he's suspicious. (Sure, Gregson. Sure. Has nothing to do with the Reaper's curse, probably.) After some investigation with (S)Holmes, Gregson has enough evidence to actually arrest Soseki, which definitely feels like a step backwards. A bit later, it turns out the victim is Not Actually Dead Yet. Again! The Great Ace Attorney really enjoys throwing us for a loop by pretending we're in for another murder case.

Anyway, during the course of the investigation, I found two mentions of Van Zieks. The first is when you investigate the broken glasses and bottles in the victim's room. Susato is immediately reminded of Lord van Zieks.

And when examining Garrideb's old army uniform, Susato points out it might suit Lord van Zieks.

Haha, as if his usual outfit isn't ostentatious enough already. So we learn that Susato doesn't have a very high opinion of him at all, and I should hope it's not still related to that time he called detective novels pathetic. It's fun of them to refer to him in an investigation that he's not involved in in any way, especially when they don't know yet that he's the prosecution again.

Speaking to Soseki in the gaol, we're once again told that he's had a dreadful time in England so far. He sees foreigners everywhere and he's sure they're all laughing at him. He's been so on edge the past year that he's moved 'more times than he can remember'. So once again, we're reminded that racial prejudice in 1900s England is a focal point of this game's story. Once the conversation is over, Gregson appears to let the gang know that the victim has regained consciousness and is accusing Soseki of poisoning him. We're going to trial for an attempted murder charge, y'all!

The next day, in the defendant's lobby, Susato comes bursting in with the dreadful news that Barok van Zieks has once again taken on the prosecution. It's definitely safe to assume now that either Ryu or Soseki is the reason he's taking on these not-really-murder trials when he normally wouldn't. As I mentioned before, this is his reintroduction in the second game and so the game feels compelled to remind the player of what went down in case 1-4:

He sure did! The game also once again reminds us what the Reaper's Curse entails, and that perhaps that's the reason why Soseki is on trial yet again. He's doomed, perhaps. Susato also informs us that (S)Holmes is running late, just as he was two days ago, and Ryu thinks that's a good thing because if the Great Detective were there, Ryu might come to rely on his help.

… I suppose? He already relies on Susato for help and I feel like that would warrant far more 'preying' from Van Zieks than relying on a male, adult British detective for help. Though knowing (S)Holmes, he'd end up stealing the show and taking the words from Ryu's mouth, but that doesn't seem to be what Ryu's worried about here. I suppose the main point to take away from this remark is that Ryu wants to do as much as he can by himself. He wants to appear strong in front of Van Zieks to avoid presenting an easy target, and I think this might actually be the first time we see a sentiment like that from him. Is he afraid of Van Zieks? Does he actually care about the man's opinion? Anyway, he swears to show Van Zieks what a Japanese lawyer can do.

Inside the courtroom, Van Zieks does the usual prosecutor spiel about how the defense needs to be ready for defeat. Ryu thinks to himself that Van Zieks has a particular animosity towards Japanese people for some reason.

Good thing we got a second game in the series, eh? So because the defendant was on trial only two days ago, the same jurors were chosen where possible. The only juror not returning is Mrs. Garrideb, who's too busy being in prison. Her spot is now taken by a very fancy lady we later learn to be the wife of the Altamont Gas Company's owner. She may as well be the CEO herself with how she's acting, though. Anyway, Van Zieks addresses the jurors directly.

“However, the innocent verdict afforded to this eccentric Nipponese before... has had dire consequences. Did the accused repent for his wrongdoing in that affair? Far from it. Instead, he used his freedom to perpetrate a most blood-curdling crime!”

Van Zieks makes record time by taking off his cloak immediately after this line. He's gone straight into overdrive. The witnesses summoned this time are Inspector Gregson and... Soseki? It's very irregular for the defendant to be testifying, especially this early in the trial and especially by the prosecution's request. I can't really make much of it. It feels like the only reason Soseki is testifying is for this joke:

Also found when examining the testimony is a remark from Van Zieks that I honestly found shocking in how ferocious and scummy it is.

Unnecessary, that remark. It didn't need to exist at all in my opinion. So after Ryu shatters the testimony and scatters Gregson's fish 'n chips, Van Zieks calmly pours himself a glass of wine. I have to be honest, by now whenever he does this I'm left wondering what he'll do next. Will he crush the chalice? Will he throw it? Will he actually take a sip? The versatility of the action and unpredictable nature of Van Zieks add a bit of suspense. Turns out, his mind wandered during the testimony.

And then he ends up crushing the glass in his hand anyway. Alas, poor chalice. We knew it. So after a bit of debating back and forth about whether Shamspeare drank the supposedly-poisoned-tea after Soseki left the room, Van Zieks suddenly falls silent. We get three different, consecutive frames of him going “......” and when the judge asks what's wrong, he says this:

Supersonic hearing, this one. That is, unless the carriage entered the courthouse and literally pulled up in the hallway outside the room? Haven't we learned our lesson from the last time a carriage was driven into the Old Bailey?! So Shamspeare was apparently subpoenaed by the prosecution and has shown up to testify (with his doctor's permission). Bad news for us, since he's the one accusing Soseki in the first place. There's also a second witness to support Shamspeare's insistence there were no other visitors to the room and therefore only Soseki could have poisoned him. After that testimony is over, Van Zieks gets his wish and all the jurors vote guilty.

Van Zieks really seems to think that Soseki is a terrible person deserving of justice, huh? He was right there during the previous trial, saw Ryu prove without a shadow of a doubt that Soseki was innocent and still insists that justice will be done “this time”. Calm the heck down man, you're the one who sided with us when Mrs. Garrideb needed to testify, remember? And here comes another example of the game pretending the previous trials didn't leave an impact; when the Summation Examination is brought up, it's with disdain and this remark:

Bro, we used the Summation Examination successfully like five times already. Sit your butt down and watch the show. The jurors once again give prejudiced reasons for their decisions:

And unfortunately, instead of changing their minds by proving Soseki is a morally upstanding, innocent citizen, Ryu instead gets through this Summation Examination by basically proving Shamspeare is a worse person than Soseki. That's... not the direction you should be taking here, narrative. After convincing four of the jurors that Shamspeare is a fishy liar, Van Zieks flings another chalice of wine in frustration. The judge still thinks he could technically pass a ruling on the trial, since the new information didn't exactly disprove that Soseki is the culprit, but the jurors have been influenced so thoroughly that they can't let this new info go ignored. Testimony from the Altamont Company is allowed! Van Zieks thinks it's a waste of time, of course, and if this were reality it would be. Since it's an Ace Attorney game, we know Shamspeare's gas thievery is bound to somehow be related to the incident. Van Zieks flings yet another chalice after hearing the testimony (how many has it been already? Five?) and very shortly after, he tosses the entire bottle over his shoulder. Susato points out that he seems to be in a violent mood. I feel like someone must've pissed in his oatmeal that morning, because I've got no real explanation for why his character regressed this badly in the course of what chronologically was only two days.

Van Zieks flings two more chalices as the testimony progresses to prove that Shamspeare made fake coins to fool the gas meter. At the end of it all, he supposedly 'throws his hand up in despair and happened to catch his hallowed bottle along the way', flinging yet another one of those into the gallery. I'm starting to feel very bad for the people seated behind him now. Is the game overdoing these quirky animations to compensate for his regressed attitude? Because I'm not sure it's working... Van Zieks continues to insist that the situation hasn't changed and only Soseki could have poisoned the victim, so he calls for immediate adjucation. The game gives Ryu the option to either object or wait and see, and I have to be honest, this gave me pause. After what happened with the penalties in case 1-4, I was sure Van Zieks might dish out more punishment for waiting and seeing. Turns out, he doesn't. Ryu points out that Shamspeare likely used the tea to make these fake frozen coins of his, meaning there's still tea left at the scene of the crime which can be tested for poison.

Head in my hands right now. Again, I get it, they basically had to reintroduce Van Zieks to newcomers of the game (however few there might've been) so they had to regress him a bit, but I really don't like this. He honestly felt like he'd grown at the end of 1-4 and the game's not only undone it, it feels like they've made him even more of a scumbag. This line and this gesture honestly doesn’t quite correspond with the character established in the previous game. Anyway, court adjourned till the next day so the police can test the tea for poison.

During the investigation segment, we get a conversation that I'd quite honestly forgotten even exists. Turns out, (S)Holmes and Van Zieks are acquainted! ...or are they? (S)Holmes says he 'must pass the time of day with Mr. Reaper again, as it's been too long' and when asked whether they're acquainted, (S)Holmes replies that there isn't a person in the world who doesn't know his name, expertly dodging the question. Naturally, a new conversation topic opens up about it, so we can still attempt to needle more details out of him.

He explains the history of the Reaper's curse a bit more. Previous defendants found not-guilty would 'disappear from the capital' by falling under a passing carriage, drowning in the Thames, succumbing to a sudden fever... Etc. Susato points out that if those rumors are true, then surely the obvious conclusion would be that they were killed by Van Zieks's own hand. (S)Holmes points out that's impossible, since Van Zieks was already investigated on the matter before and for every single incident, he had a solid alibi. (This... doesn't disprove Van Zieks had anything to do with it, but okay (S)Holmes. Sure.) (S)Holmes also rubs it in yet again that Van Zieks retired from the courts five years ago and didn't return until the day Naruhodo arrived. I honestly don't know why they keep bringing that 5 year hiatus up in every single case, because as far as I can recall it was never fully explained or relevant.

I love how “foul smell” is wedged in-between those two topics as if it's also related. Anyway the conversation continues when Ryu brings up that Van Zieks seems to have a particular disdain for Japanese people. Susato demands to know whether (S)Holmes knows a bit more about it and while he's silent at first, he relents and tells us a tale (which will apparently be forgotten by Ryu and Susato in case 1-5). Van Zieks “chose to enter the legal profession ten years ago, but before that time, the man's closest companion hailed from the empire of Japan”. Which is a wording that baffles me, because it implies that Van Zieks chose to enter the legal profession at the same moment that Japanese person betrayed him, which we know is not the case. He was already in training to be a prosecutor before that, otherwise how could he possibly have prosecuted the Professor trial? Ryu is shocked and asks to know more, but (S)Holmes says the veil on the events from the past will be lifted soon enough. I'll get back to the implications of what this means for Van Zieks's backstory when we hit this exact same reveal in case 1-5.

Van Zieks is mentioned very little in the rest of the investigation segments. We only learn that he tasked Gregson with finding new clues, much to Gregson's dismay, as there isn't much to be found. The Inspector does immediately leap at new information when we uncover it, which implies he's eager to either please Van Zieks or avoid being scolded by him. I'm assuming the latter, but it's also possible Gregson feels guilty over the whole Reaper thing and Klint's autopsy, and is now compensating by working his hardest to fulfill Van Zieks's requests.

At the very end of the investigation, when evening falls, (S)Holmes reminds us that “it'll be hard to escape the grip of our friend, Mr. Reaper”. The next day, in the defendant's lobby just before the trial begins, Ryu thinks to himself that he doesn't believe in the legend of the Reaper any more than he believes in the convict's curse Soseki keeps mentioning. What's interesting here is that Ryu isn't dreading the confrontation anymore. After the McGilded trial he seemed genuinely intimidated by the concept of going up against Van Zieks (not because of the racism but because of what happened to his first defendant), but now he's not so hesitant anymore. He's beginning to see that Van Zieks can be defeated, that the Reaper thing is nonsense and that protecting his client is a fight worth fighting.

Into the courtroom we go for day 2 of the trial! When the judge asks about the results of the tea test, Van Zieks is silent for a moment. He pours himself a glass of wine, asking for a moment to “savour a liquid of a more sanguine hue”, then refers to Gregson for the full report. Gregson confirms no poison was found in the tea remains, but the prosecution wouldn't be the prosecution (and the game would be pretty boring) if they didn't have a backup plan. When Ryu proclaims Soseki is innocent, Van Zieks accuses him of jumping to conclusions, “a typical Nipponese reaction”. It's also a typical prosecution reaction to be hypocritical, no surprises here. He throws his chalice (first one of the day) and summons Shamspeare back to the stand to testify about how Soseki's unpoisoned and undrank cup of tea had been used to make the ice coins.

There's some lines here that I thought I might as well include:

“Yet on occasion, tedium distracts me and I pour more times than I intended until the bottle is dry.”

You know, it occurs to me that this drink is pretty much confirmed to be wine. He's very extra when talking about it himself, but he had his silly little wine analogies in the previous case and Susato referred to his glasses as “wine glasses”. And you would think it's obvious that it's wine, but we know Ace Attorney's long history with 'grape juice'. Either way, this dialogue leaves a pretty harsh implication that Van Zieks drinks alcohol simply to distract himself from troublesome moods. Sure, he says “tedium”, but this is a stoic prosecutor in the year 1900. They referred to depression as “melancholia” back then, and since he doesn't appear to have any friends, I expect he experiences “tedium” quite often outside the courtroom. He apparently set a rule for himself not to fill his glass more than seven times during a trial which, in turn, implies he's aware any more would cause problems. All of this is moot, of course, since 80% of the wine he pours for himself ends up on the floor between shards of glass. Still, though... Zieks, are you okay?

I don't think he is, because he pulls a very dirty trick here. Ryu proves Soseki drank all his tea and therefore it couldn't possibly have been used, so Van Zieks insinuates to Shamspeare that perhaps he misremembered using the tea from Soseki's cup and instead used tea still left in the teapot. An excuse Shamspeare happily takes, of course. Not gonna lie, I got angry, not because it's a dirty trick but because it's inconsistent. This is the very same character who all but dragged Mrs. Garrideb down from the juror bench to testify when it became clear she likely threw a knife out the window. And now he's feeding slippery excuses to a man who's very clearly lying about all sorts of things? What??? And remember this incident, because I'm going to be referring back to it later.

He crushes another chalice, removes his cloak and continues to insist that we should believe this thieving liar at the witness stand. The jurors for some reason buy the baloney served to them on a tinfoil platter and even twist Ryu's sentiments around, with some bloke going as far as to interpret the situation as 'the lawyer lad believes anyone who steals gas deserves to be poisoned'. Summation Examination gets very funky this time around, with the outcome being that Shamspeare probably blew the gas pipes (s-snerk) and the poison was laced on the pipe.

Van Zieks pours himself a glass of wine and pretty much immediately flings it, saying these are all empty assertions without a shred of proof. When Ryu presents the picture with the skin prints, Van Zieks once again breaks the rule of the prosecution staying silent during Summation Examination to point out that skin prints cannot be used as evidence, since that method is not recognized by the court (yet). Aaand he crushes yet another chalice in his hand.

Susato claims it was never meant to be used as official evidence, it was only a tool to demonstrate a new possibility to the jury. Jumping through some loopholes here, we are, since the picture is clearly in our Court Record as evidence. But, well, the prosecution cheats too so what's the harm? Some jurors vote not-guilty, but there's still one more that needs convincing on order to keep the trial going. Ryu says he has a witness who's already testified that the pipe-blowing incident did indeed occur that night, as Soseki stated the other day before the court that his stove went out in the dead of night. (Hang on, is this why the narrative made him testify alongside Gregson?) With that the majority of the jury votes not-guilty and the trial has to continue, but Van Zieks is extra rattled now. (Another bottle goes soaring.)

He once again reminds the court that skin prints aren't admissible evidence and therefore, there is no real proof Shamspeare put his mouth to the pipes (ghghhh I'm sorry this is such a silly thing to have to type out). Ryu asks for an investigative team to test the mouth of the gas pipe for poison, but since it would've evaporated by now, that's a no-go. Also, Van Zieks says that “what appears to be simple is my Nipponese friend's mind” and that's a scumbag point. Ryu attempts to turn the trial around by claiming that Shamspeare attempted to kill Soseki, making the defendant the victim, but Van Zieks ain't having it. The aggrieved being the accused is an interesting notion, but doesn't change what actually happened. In fact, if anything, it establishes a motive for Soseki to lay a trap for Shamspeare. Because who else could have known about the gas pipe trickery and put the poison there, right? Why, the true culprit, of course.

Our man Van Zieks really doesn't like (S)Holmes, huh? A tidbit which the games will never bother to explain! Either way, Ryu raises the name of Olive Green, the victim of the previous case. And I gotta say, I do genuinely like the way they integrated these two Clouded Kokoro cases together. The chronology of everything that went down is very fun to decipher, but long story short, Olive Green was at Briar Road the day she was stabbed for a reason and knows more about the 'convict curse' Soseki and Garrideb kept mentioning, so let's drag her into court! Van Zieks agrees to subpoena Miss Green in order to 'see his Nipponese friend's farce through to its conclusion'.

So during intermission some more evidence is handed to Ryu and when trial resumes, Van Zieks continues to be his usual self.

“The prosecution has tried to extend every courtesy to this amateur newcomer from dubious Eastern shores.”

Ryu sweats bullets as he meekly thanks Van Zieks “(for his backhanded consideration)”, but once again the judge is the one to call Van Zieks out on his attitude.

Amazing. It's so refreshing to see a judge who actually disagrees with the prosecution's haughty attitude problems and acknowledges it has no place in a courtroom. Nothing against Udgey, because we all love Udgey (and his Canadian brother), but this man actually grows and learns. So Olive Green takes the stand alongside Shamspeare (maybe not the best idea since Ryu just accused her of trying to murder this man) for dual testimony. When Green brings up what a dreadful ordeal the knife to her back was, Van Zieks says this:

Hang on, empathy? He's giving her advice? This reeks of humanization! Green seems taken aback and thanks him for his words, so the sentiment was genuinely accepted. This in itself is a very nice scene to see in action, similar to Van Zieks allowing Roly Beate to keep his job. Unfortunately, Van Zieks's character is in a wild rollercoaster of moral inconsistency during this particular case which sours the experience somewhat. Case in point:

YOOOU hypocrite! This actively angered me, because at the very start of this same trial day he was personally feeding lies to Shamspeare. Now he's warning Green not to lie? It gets even worse a bit later on when Green gets cornered about stealing the note, she asks him whether it could all be some sort of misunderstanding, and he says:

ACTIVELY FEEDING SHAMSPEARE A LIE. THE VERY SAME DAY. I'm all for prosecutors using dirty tactics. It helps to juxtapose them further to the honest defense attorney we play as. However, it needs to be consistent. Either a prosecutor condones a witness's lies to help their case, or they feel that they're above it. The third, most used option is for them to start off condoning it, only to learn that truth takes priority over victory. This sloppy back-and-forth morality that Van Zieks has going on here is insanely frustrating, so it's no wonder some players end up disliking him. It honestly feels as if they rewrote this case so many times, they screwed up the exact growth trajectory Van Zieks has.

Anyway, it seems Van Zieks is suddenly fully on our side now to help Ryu prove that Green was in Shamspeare's room and laced the gas pipe with poison. And I mean help help. When the judge points out that if Green had laced the pipe the very same day she was stabbed, the attempted murder would have happened six days ago. Van Zieks is the one to say “Perhaps not, My Lord” and explain Briar Road was full of police at that time. At this point, Van Zieks and Ryu (and also Susato) actively start to take turns to explain the proper chronology of events. So the defense and the prosecution are in perfect sync right now, working together to explain the whodunnit. This is the ideal outcome to any trial, usually not seen until the last case of the game, so it's curious that this dynamic abruptly shows itself in a case like this. Van Zieks does still have one moment of gaslighting when he claims Ryu may have inhaled some dubious gas, causing his judgment to be clouded, since there's no motive behind Shamspeare's attempts on his fellow lodgers. A matter that's very easily resolved, of course. Once the name of Selden is brought up, Van Zieks continues our little game of back-and-forth-truth-reveal until (S)Holmes shows his face.

“Your usual haunts are the filthy backstreets of the capital, are they not?”

To which (S)Holmes replies that it's been too long, and Van Zieks's complexion has worsened since last they met. Alright, so Van Zieks and (S)Holmes definitely have met in person before, some undetermined amount of time ago. You'd think that going by (S)Holmes's friendly attitude they might've even been friends once, but our great detective is like that towards everyone. This is evidenced by an earlier encounter with Gregson where (S)Holmes insists they're friends and Gregson says that they're not friends, to which (S)Holmes quietly agrees. So really, this little exchange tells us nothing about the history between the great detective and the Reaper.

Some shenaniganry, a breakdown and admittance to guilt later, the court is finally ready to deem Soseki innocent. Van Zieks once again has some interesting lines here:

“And one I certainly didn't envisage walking... with you.”

Considering he attempted to trip us up for most of this walk up until the very last stretch, I don't like this remark very much. It feels very unearned. This is another one of those things that would've been more suitable in the last case of the game, but instead it's being crammed into a messy mid-game moment with the pretense that Van Zieks learned a lesson about being our ally.

In the defendant's lobby, the game basically gives the exact same dialogue as at the end of the original Clouded Kokoro case; that Soseki is returning to Japan and hopes to pen his own literature there, with the rest of the cast pointing out that the Reaper's Curse must factor into his decision to some degree. So we're still holding onto that question of whether Soseki will escape an untimely death or not. Anyone who's already played the last case of the first game will know the answer, of course.

So to summarize... I genuinely didn't enjoy Van Zieks's portrayal in this case. It really feels as if something went horribly wrong and they got some notes mixed up about where his character was already headed in the previous game. It's a crying shame. There was a lot of potential for a case set between 1-4 and 1-5, but they really dropped the ball when it comes to consistency and I've no doubt that it reflected badly on people's opinions of him. Though I think when we return to the first game for The Unspeakable Story, everything will right itself out again to some degree. Stay tuned!

[mimisempai]

Wait for me on the other side 2/8

Chapter Summary:

The mystery becomes clearer... or thicker... in any case a strange correspondence is born...

3888 words

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32948254/chapters/81944953

Alone, in the teacher's lounge, Loki poured himself a cup of coffee. His hands were shaking. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

He didn't hear the principal come in and jumped at the sound of her voice.

"I know about the accident in Vanaheim Square.  Carol and I had to get there because there were students from the school on the bus. Fortunately none of them were hurt. The paramedics who knew you were a teacher here, told us you put up a good fight for that man."

Loki sighed, "But it wasn't enough. I may know first aid perfectly, but it wasn't enough." He paused, his throat tight before continuing, "I have to get back to class."

He headed for the door.

"Loki?"

Loki stopped and turned around, Natasha put her hand on his shoulder and said gently, "Do me a favor. On your day off, get as far away from here as you can. Okay? Go somewhere you feel... somewhere that brings you peace."

Loki nodded his head before going on his way.

**********

Mobius left the house and headed for the pickup. Before entering, he slipped a letter into the box and raised the flag, then set off for his work.

**********

At the same time Loki decided to follow Natasha's advice and headed for New Asgard. He drove north of the small village.

The day was clear and bright, with a slight breeze.

He stopped at the small local grocery store where he knew the owners well, to buy his lunch.

He greeted them as they entered the store, "Hi Laura, hi Clint!"

"Hey Loki! Haven't seen you in a while. How are things in the Big Apple?"

Loki shrugged and replied, "Good. I'm getting my bearings little by little"

Clint asked, curious, "What are you doing here?"

"I just needed to get out of the city. Needed the fresh air, and I missed the peaceful life here."

"I hear you, I wouldn't want to come back to the city for anything in the world." replied Laura while bending down.

"What's the matter, honey?"

She stood up straight, a little girl in her arms.

"Hey Lila, how big you've gotten!" exclaimed Loki. "How old are you now?"

"Two." replied Laura. "Say hello to Loki, Lila, you like him don't you?"

"Hi Woki!" chirped the little girl and held out his arms. Loki took her in his arms and pressed a kiss on her forehead. She giggled.

They talked for a few more moments and then Loki headed for the house on the cliff.

Once there, checking first that no one was there, Loki got out of the car and walked through the forest just behind and then went for a long time to admire the lake below the cliff, the wind blowing his long black hair. As the sun began to set on the horizon, he thought it was time to go home, but didn't hurry either.

Just as he was about to get into the car, he noticed the flag raised from the mailbox. Acting on an impulse, he opened it. Inside, there was a single envelope. To his surprise, it was addressed to him.

Loki sat down in the car parked in front of the house, and began to read the letter.

I got your letter. Is this supposed to be some kind of joke?

Because, if so, I don't understand.

Loki frowned as he continued to read.

I am not the "next tenant".

There was no previous tenant.

The house has been uninhabited for over twenty years.

At first I thought maybe you had the wrong place.

But how did you know about the paw prints?

Lok was confused. He pondered for a moment, then reached into his bag to find a pen and paper.

**********

Mobius pulled up in his pickup truck, happy to have finally finished his workday. The flag on the mailbox was up. He opened the box. A letter inside, he recognized Loki's handwriting. He looked at it as he walked along the path to the house. It was from the same address Loki had given him to forward his letter, 105 MacDougal Street - Greenwich Village.

Once inside, Mobius was startled to feel something crawl between his legs. It was the alligator that had left the pawprints. Apparently it had chosen to live here and had figured out how to get in.

Perfect! Now he would have to find out what an alligator might need.

He opened Loki's letter and began to read.

**********

A few hours later, Mobius was waiting in front of the huge building exuding opulence and majesty, overhung by the two familiar letters, TK, Time Keepers.

He smiled as a short, dark-haired man, looking a little younger than him, stepped out.

Mobius shouted, "Casey!"

The younger man, seeing him, exclaimed, "Mobius! What the hell are you doing here? You're supposed to be busy in your little store."

Mobius replied with a smile, "I'll never be too busy to seek out an old friend and buy him a drink."

Casey answered softly, "I'm really touched."

Then Mobius added sheepishly, "I had to do something in town actually."

Casey laughed and retorted, "It's good to see you." before giving him a hug.

Over his shoulder Mobius saw a woman walk out.

Their eyes met and Mobius whispered, "Ravonna." The woman froze before continuing with a quick step. Mobius watched her go.

"Come on Casey, let's get out of here."

A little later, at a bar in Manhattan, Mobius and Casey are sitting at a table with burgers and beers.

Casey asked him, "So, how's life in your little store?"

Mobius smiled before answering, "Well, it was a challenge starting out on my own, sometimes it's frustrating depending on the clientele, but basically I..."

Casey finished his sentence, "Say no more, you're enjoying yourself."

Mobius nodded, "That's right, I'm also my own master and all in all it works out pretty well."

Casey toasted with his drink can, "I'm happy for you."

"Mind you, I bought a house.."

Casey's eyes widened, "So your business is actually doing really well."

Mobius chuckled, "I mortgaged up my underwear. But I don't regret it."

Casey took a sip of beer and asked him, "You never regretted leaving TK?"

Mobius shook his head, "Even though I know you like working there, this big conglomerate was not for me. When we wanted to create it, it was to give everyone access to quality watches at a fair price, but Ravonna got lost in the process. Does she ever ask about me?"

Casey shook his head, "She's too busy making money, and I don't think she likes me, I thought she was going to fire me today, because I didn't sell enough watches."

"Don't worry, you know her tantrums, she'll be like she used to be tomorrow."

They continued the evening, chatting happily.

Mobius offered to drop Casey off at his house before heading home.

"If you don't mind, I'd just like to mail a letter before I leave."

He parked his pickup around the street corner and walked, looking for an address.

He said aloud, "105 MacDougal Street - Greenwich Village."

Casey, who had followed him, asked, "What is it?"

Mobius looked around, puzzled, and replied, "I'm not sure."

"Who lives there?" inquired Casey, curious.

"I don't really know."

Mobius checked three times, but he was in the right place. Except there was only a recently dug foundation, no habitable building.

He took the piece of paper out of his pocket. The last letter from Loki. The return address was correct: 105 MacDougal Street - Greenwich Village

Mobius stared at the letter because he noticed something odd. It was dated March 31, 2021.

**********

Loki walked through the hallways of the school, examining the new letter from Mobius.

There must be a mistake, I tried to mail the letter in person, but there is no habitation at this address, it's just a foundation.

And the date is wrong too.

Loki, annoyed, scribbled a note and as soon as class was over, he went to put the letter in the box.

**********

In the house on the cliff, Mobius was reading the last letter received in his kitchen, leaning against the counter.

I received your last letter.

I don't know if you will get the answer, but I want to get to the bottom of it.

By the way, for some reason the mail is not getting through to me. I still have to drive here to get it.

Anyway, all this to say that I didn't make a mistake with the address.

I know where I live thanks!  Ok, it's ugly, but it's not a foundation either.

And I'm not stupid either, it's 2021.

Mobius laughed at what seemed to him to be a foolish joke and continued reading.

Just out of curiosity: what year do you think it is?

**********

On his couch with a glass of wine in hand, Loki studies Mobius' latest note.

It's 2019

SO PLEASE STOP BULLSHITTING ME.

Loki laughed, incredulous. Croki looked at him.

He patted his head while thinking, before getting up and walking over to his dresser and from a drawer he pulled out a shoebox full of pictures.

He began to rummage through the photos. He came across a photo he had forgotten about, him as a younger man with his then girlfriend, Sigyn. They were in each other's arms, laughing, in love.

He looked at it for a second, then put it away and continued searching.

He finally found the photo he was looking for. It showed Loki and others, outside at night, wearing T-shirts and jeans, with snow falling around them.

He turned it over. On the back is a date printed by the developer: APRIL 3, 2019.

**********

The wind was blowing hard when Mobius arrived home to find the flag on the mailbox raised. Inside was a new letter from Loki. He picked it up and ran across the road, because the sky was really starting to darken.

While preparing his meal, he read the letter.

Since you don't believe me, I'll give you a little warning.

There was a bad flu in the spring of 2019.

I remember it because it snowed suddenly in early April and for a long time.

After that, everyone got sick.

Mobius rolled his eyes and looked at the calendar, today was April 2.

He continued to read.

So, my mysterious pen pal, if you really are where... or when... you say you are...

I hope you are getting plenty of rest and drinking lots of herbal tea and eating fruit to store vitamins.

Warm milk with honey is also effective. And above all, cover yourself well.

Mobius chuckled, "Snow, right."

He crumpled up the letter and went to throw it away.

As he opened the trash can, he suddenly began to sneeze.

After a few seconds, the realization fell on him and he turned back to the bay window.

A magnificent sight was displayed before his eyes, although the beauty left him indifferent, so shocked was he by the implication of what he saw.

It was snowing heavily.

Stunned by both the cold that was coming on and what had just happened, he went to bed and slept like a log.

The next morning, he went to the snow-covered mailbox, and after struggling with the flap, he quickly slipped in a letter and closed the box, almost as if he was afraid it would bite him. He pulled up the red flag.

**********

Same day - 2021

Loki opened the box, took out the letter from Mobius and then lowered the flag.

He pulled out the letter, which had only one line.

CAN THIS BE HAPPENING?

Loki, with trembling hands, took a pen and answered, then put the letter in the box and raised the flag.

Same day, same place - 2019

Mobius stared at the snow-covered box whose flag had just been lowered and it began to scare him a little. Shaken by a sneeze he rolled into a ball and when he raised his head he saw that the flag was up again. He took a step backwards but after a few moments, curiosity being the strongest, he opened the mailbox with great hesitation and took out... his note. The same as the one he had just put there. Slightly disappointed, but also reassured, he sighed and relaxed.

But when he opened the note, he gasped.

CAN THIS BE HAPPENING?

YES.

**********

April 5, 2021

Loki returned home, a little dazed.

Sensing that something was wrong with his owner, Croki followed him into the living room.

Loki took him in his arms and placed him next to him on the sofa. Croki put his head on Loki's knee and Loki patted his head absentmindedly.

Then Loki took a paper and began to write.

April 5, 2019

Mobius was on his bed, surrounded by used handkerchiefs and still having trouble believing the letter from Loki that had just arrived in the box.

The alligator, that had really taken up residence in his house, was lying at the foot of his bed.

I don't know about you, but I don't even know the right questions to ask. Can you tell me something that might shed some light?

Mobius wandered around the house, thinking, trying to find a connection, when he arrived at the front door and saw the alligator's tracks in front of the door.

He grabbed a piece of paper from the phone and scribbled quickly.

I think we have the same pet.

Let's do a little test, so that we don't always have to wait for the other to answer, let's meet on April 7th at 10am in front of the mailbox.

He went to put the letter in the mailbox. He raised the flag and went home to crawl under his comforter, exhausted by his cold and the emotions.

April 6, 2021

Loki got up early to drive to the house on the cliff, hoping that his mysterious pen pal had answered him.

His heart pounding, he saw the flag raised and ran to the box, opened it and grasped the small piece of paper with trembling fingers.

He answered and put the note in the mailbox.

Is it a dwarf alligator?

See you tomorrow then ;-)

April 7, 2019/2021 - 10:00 am

This is how, two years apart, an extraordinary letter exchange began, punctuated by the movement of a small flag on a mailbox.

M: Hello and yes it is an alligator.

L: Does it rub against your legs as soon as you come in and follow you around until it gets fed.

M: Yes.

L: I named him Croki.

Mobius looked at Croki at his feet and said, "Nice to meet you, Croki."

The little alligator rubbed at his feet as if it understood.

L: Perhaps we could introduce ourselves properly.

I'm Loki, you know that, and I've just arrived as a literature teacher in an institute for extraordinary students.

M: My name is Mobius. I make and repair antique watches. I have a little store called Miss Minute. This is the mascot of my store.

Loki giggled when he read the name of the store and saw the little drawing next to it. A small watch straight out of a 1950s design. It was actually kind of cute.

He took on a serious look as he read the following words.

M: Okay. I'm still trying to figure that out. If two years from now you're living in a building at 105 MacDougal Street - Greenwich Village... that doesn't exist yet... where are you, uh, "now" in 2019?

L: I'm studying for my PhD in literature at the Brooklyn College of the Arts.

Loki stopped writing and looked around before continuing.

L: And now I'm corresponding in an extremely weird way with someone I've never met. Too, too , too weird!!!

M: What's it like in 2021?

L: It's great. Everyone is driving around in flying cars. We all wear metal colored suits and we all have super powers.

Mobius smiled at the joke before continuing to read.

L: Actually nothing has really changed. No. We're moving to 5G and Samsung and Apple are still competing as much as ever.

I'm going to have to leave, I have class this afternoon. I won't be able to make it for three days, my next day off.

But... one thing worries me. What if, by sending these letters, by communicating in this way, we are accidentally altering the course of time itself, thus changing human history forever?

Mobius reflected for a moment before answering.

M: You're right, let's not do that.

Mobius posted the letter and went into the house, Croki as usual rubbed at his feet and started following him around.

"Croki! That's enough!"

He took the alligator in his arms and placed it next to where it used to eat. "You wait here and stop following me."

For three days he repeated the same trick several times until Croki quietly waited actually near his bowl. He gave him a small piece of fresh fish to congratulate him, "Good boy.

Despite what they seemed to have decided, he then wrote a small note and went to put it in the mailbox, which he raised the flag. He just hoped that Loki would still come and check.

April 10, 2021

Loki read the letter again as he entered his apartment, having understood absolutely nothing.

Sorry, I did change one little thing.

Loki closed the door and while he expected to be almost knocked over by Croki who always came to slip between his legs, nothing.

He went to the kitchen and was surprised to see Croki waiting for him next to his eating place.

No need to thank me.

Loki laughed out loud in a way he hadn't in a long time.

**********

The next day, sitting in class waiting for the next students, he was still wondering how he could thank Mobius.

When suddenly appeared shyly on the doorstep, Kamala.

Which was strange, because the bubbly girl was anything but shy, and especially not with him.

Surprisingly, since she knew that he specialized in Norse mythology, she had become attached to him and it was not uncommon for her to linger at the end of a class to discuss with him some point of her reading on the subject.

Natasha and Loki's colleagues had told him that this was the first time since Kamala had arrived that someone had managed to channel her energy.

"Ahem Professor... Loki?" she wore her strange oversized red scarf as always.

"Loki will be enough as always, Kamala." replied Loki softly to her.

"Come in."

She walked over and put something on his desk.

"Um... I wanted to thank you, because you always take the time to answer me no matter when I come and no matter what my question is, so I made you this little something myself."

Loki, touched, unwrapped the small package, he took out a green scarf, obviously hand-knitted, whose workmanship looked a bit like the one the girl was wearing all the time.

He looked up and said in a soft voice tightened by emotion, "Thank you Kamala, that's very thoughtful of you."

"You're welcome! See you later." She left as always with her bouncy step.

Loki contemplated the scarf for long minutes, it had been a long time since anyone had had such a thoughtful gesture for him, and especially for something he had done.

"Congratulations professor."

He looked up at the owner of the voice that had pulled him out of his thoughts.

It was the gym teacher, Thor.

"What?"

"You are one of the chosen few who have the privilege of being among the people Kamala respects the most. She only gives this kind of personal gift to people she holds in high regard."

"Oh..."

Thor leaned against the doorframe.

"I came to invite you for tonight. We're having a movie night with colleagues, the ones you know, at the Bi-frost. Interested?"

A while ago, Loki would have refused, but tonight, perhaps because of Mobius or thanks to him, he decided to accept.

"I'll come, thanks for having thought of me. What movie?"

"You've got mail. After class we'll meet at the door and go together."

A few hours later, they were discussing the movie over beers and burgers. There was Heimdall, Thor, Bruce, Carol and even Natasha the principal.

Carol laughed at the main characters, "Honestly, it's really stupid this match,

falling in love over words, I'd go to her as soon as I knew who she was."

Loki squeezed Mobius' last letter into his pocket before speaking, "I find there is something pure about it. A correspondence, free from social barriers, appearances, free from the past...no need to worry about details. There's something exciting about it."

Loki didn't realize that they were all looking at him, surprised to see him showing so much passion.

Thor elbowed him, "Do you have someone in your life Lokes?"

"Hm?"

Natasha looked at him knowingly, "It's hard not to notice that you're writing or reading letters all the time."

Loki blushed slightly, "It's not that kind of relationship, although it's true I've never met him."

"Why?" asked Carol, curious.

"Let's just say it's... complicated."

Seeing that Loki didn't feel like talking about it, the others changed the subject and they continued to have a pleasant evening.

As he left for home later, Loki felt a pleasant warmth. For the first time in a long time, he no longer felt lonely.

He pulled Kamala's scarf tighter around his neck in the cool spring evening. Suddenly he knew how to do something for Mobius.

The next morning, he went to clothing stores in search of what he had in mind.

Three hours later, at the house on the cliff, he put a letter in the mailbox with a small package. He raised the little flag and headed back to town.

April 12, 2021

Mobius had just gotten up, and like every morning since the beginning of this strange correspondence, he went to check for mail and was pleasantly surprised to see the little flag up.

He returned a little later with a letter and a small package.

He opened the package and took out a black scarf adorned with small silver watches. He put it around his neck and sat down with a coffee in his armchair and started to read the letter.

Thank you for educating my little Croki. Here is a little gift to thank you.

Put this on and don't take it off for the rest of the month. It will be cold until the end of April.

Mobius tightened the scarf around his neck and smiled softly.

Mobius, I don't know if what we're doing will change the course of time, but what I am sure of is that it is affecting my life in a positive way, so I don't want to stop.

This connection I have with you has allowed me to reach out to others and for the first time since I left home, I don't feel lonely anymore.

I don't want to stop.

But if you want to, I will, all you have to to is to let me know about it.

In 3 days at 7am I'll come for your answer.

Yours, Loki.

_______

What will Mobius answer? Is he ready to continue this strange long-distance relationship... or rather long-term...? Answer in the chapter 3

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 (End)

As always, bear with me as it is not beta'd and english is not my native language I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless🥰

[vintagegoddess12]

Lie To Me (2)

[Cordelia Goode x Reader]

A/N: Advanced Happy Holidays, everybody! Thanks for your support in every little crazy work that I put out, even if I give very slow updates. The tag part is very incomplete I feel. All of you that asked to be part of the taglist are scattered in so many post. I have to scroll really deep in my very messy timeline just to see yah names. If I forgot to tag you, please don’t be upset. Just DM. No worries, I love entertaining your requests tho. Part 2 is here with Student!Delia x Student!Reader feels. Hope you enjoy it!

Tags: @ravenforce​ @cordeliasflowergirl​ @athenamgh​ @stevenuniversetanzanite​ @germansarechill​ @chonisbestmistake​ @alurous​ @coconutlipss​ @saucy-sapphic​ @ghiblitearss​ @emilyprentisswife​ @thats-my-peach​ @suckerforsally​ @worldssocialantisocial​ @shelby-victoria7​ @madamvirgo​ 

Cordelia’s POV

Shit! That was the first thought that crossed Cordelia's mind when she heard [Y/N]'s voice fill the room. She wasn't supposed to be here yet. "Delia," your presence immediately affecting the composure of the young witch, "what are you doing?" She tried to excuse her way out of the situation when no words came out of her. You stood in front of her, waiting for an answer when the unconscious man stirred from the bed. Cordelia's gaze remained fixed on your face, still trying to recover from the shock of being discovered red-handed. "This bitch tried to-" "Oh, shut up, Dan." you immediately cut-off the guy and sent him back to sleep. Your hands found Delia's shoulder, shaking her back to reality. The blonde looked at you, her roommate, and mustered the courage to answer her previous question. "It wasn't supposed to do that." "Do what?" Myrtle's question hung in the air as the two young witches remained silent, watching their instructor stand in their bedroom doorway. The redhead witch glanced at the unconscious body on Delia's bed before returning her attention to her impossibly silent ward. "If you're not going to answer me," Myrtle paused to take a hit from her signature cigarette, " you will answer to the council." She proceeded to walk away.   Delia turned to you, fear, and panic present in her eyes. "Why would the council be involved?" You took a deep breath as if summoning all the patience left in you before answering. "There's an unconscious spellbound warlock in our bedroom," Cordelia's eyes went wider as you continued, "who happens to be a Level 2. Of course, the council will be involved." This time, Cordelia no longer had the energy to hide her vulgarity and simply exhaled, "Shit." [Y/N] looked at the body and agreed. "Shit indeed."

As the two young witches are ushered by Myrtle down to the living room, where the Council has convened, Cordelia can't help but remember how everything started. 

"You will be happy here," Myrtle whispered in my ear as I watched my mother drive away from the academy. Once Fiona decides that it's time, it is time. You do not question the Supreme, you learn that early in life about her. I flashed a smile to Myrtle after Spalding took my luggage and went ahead of us. The redhead witch ushered me up the stairs as she gives me an introductory lesson about the house and its tenants. "You will be a great addition to this year's class," she remarks after seeing some of her students, dressed in black, pass by. They gave me a double look before fully walking away. I don't think that's welcoming at all. "Do we have to wear black all the time?" I blurted out just as we stopped in front of a bedroom door. Myrtle, who is obviously wearing a gold-themed outfit, looked at me like I just spoke alien. "It's just that I've always seen Mother dressed in black." "Cordelia, darling, don't be ridiculous." She caressed my hair before continuing, "Your mother may be the Supreme but she's not as good as I am when it comes to fashion." I was taken aback by how bold her statement is against Fiona. I never thought anyone had the guts to say something ill of her, especially not one from her council. "You can absolutely wear anything you like, dear." She knocked on the door as she said, "$4,000 per fit is the limit for your age range." I laughed softly at her remarks. I think I'll love her. She looks at me like there's something special in me. That's something you would not get when you stand in front of literally the most powerful witch on Earth. She opened the door and led me inside. The room had two beds, placed on opposite corners, with white sheets covering them. The bed beside the door was unmade while the one near the window had a heap of clothes on it. The sunrays give the room a heavenly feel. It's warm and homey. I think I like it. Suddenly, the bathroom door on our left opened and a woman emerged wearing only a bathroom towel. She had her hair in a bun and droplets of water run down her exposed skin. Her sight made my throat dry and I had to clear my throat just to remain focused. The sound I made did not go unnoticed by the two witches in the room.   You glanced at our reflections in the mirror; your eyes showing surprise in an instant. You looked back at us and flashed a smile before saying, "give me a second." You looked back into the mirror and snapped your fingers. In an instant, the bathroom towel was replaced by a black dress with spaghetti straps. The sudden display of magic made me jump a little and I can feel the experienced witch beside me chuckle a little. "[Y/n], why don't you introduce yourself here." You walked towards us and flashed the sweetest smile I've ever seen in my life. You squinted your eyes before introducing yourself. "[Y/N] [Y/L/N]. You held my gaze, as long as I did. "Cordelia." I shifted on my feet under your gaze. "You'll be sharing the room with her, [y/n]," Myrtle pat my back, "for the whole duration of your stay in this coven." Still entranced by your smile, the pat on my back jolt me back to consciousness. "Which bed will I be using?" You pointed at the bed near the window before looking in that direction. "That one," your excited tone turned embarrassed upon seeing the bed situation. You gave me a sheepish smile as you wave your hand to move the clothes on your bed. "[Y/N], what did I say about using magic for trivial things?" You smiled at the reprimand given and mouthed sorry to the older witch. "I'll leave you two to check on our dinner." We both nodded in her way. As she was walking out the door, she turned back and said, "[y/n], behave." "When am I not?" You replied teasingly and closed the door. I walked towards the bed and noticed that my luggage was nowhere to be found. I looked under and near the bed but there was none. You must have noticed my actions. "You looking for your things?" You asked leaning on the door. "Yes." "Yeah, Spalding checks the luggage of newcomers," you sat on the edge of your bed, "to see if anyone brought any illegal items." I mimicked your action and sat on mine, silence blanketing the room for the first time. It didn't last long though. "So Cordelia," my name felt natural coming out of your lips, "where have I heard that name before?" Confusion is evident on your face. "Actually, it's Cordelia Goode." "Oh," your immediate response, "the daughter." It was now my turn to look confusingly, which you picked up easily. "People have been buzzing about you here," you started folding the heap of black clothes. "Supreme's daughter and all." I get this every time I go somewhere she's known. I shook my head and said, "too bad nothing's special about me." You looked like you were personally offended by the statement. "Everyone's special in their own way-" I was about to disagree when you raised your hand, "-trust me." A knock echoed through the room that cut off our conversation. You opened the door, revealing Spalding with my things. I stood from my bed and retrieved my belongings from the butler. You thanked him and closed the door. I started unpacking - looking - for that family heirloom from my grandmother that I tried to take with me here. I opened my jewelry box and discovered that it wasn't there. "Shit," I muttered. "You okay there, Cordy?" My head turned sharply in your direction, surprised by the nickname. I opened my mouth trying to come up with an answer only to have nothing. I don't understand why I get flustered easily in your presence. "If it's okay, I'll call you Cordy." You explained. I nodded. "I don't see any problem with that." I kinda like it actually. "So," your tone concerned, "is anything wrong?" "I think my mother bribed the butler to get a family heirloom that I may have smuggled here," I replied, trying to feign innocence. You let out a chuckle causing you to smile, the kind that I will look forward to in the years to come. "That's an oddly specific request to make, don't you think?" You said in between laughter. "She may have asked me about it before leaving the house," I replied. Somehow, my reply made you laugh even more. At this point, I don't even mind being funny if I can hear that laugh every time. "Oh, honey," the pet name causing goosebumps in my arm for some unknown reason. "You do know that putting 'may haves' in your statement doesn't necessarily make it hypothetical." "I see that now," was all I could say while trying to hide the blush forming on my cheeks. You smiled before giving advice that I should have taken seriously, "Do me a favor and don't try to lie. You're terrible at it." --- [Y/N]’s POV Fleming. Pembroke. Snow. Three respected witches and ally that stands as the Coven's Council. Three sets of eyes that did not hide how displeased they are with what happened. If that wasn't enough, Fiona Goode is in the room to witness all of this. Myrtle, who is seated in the middle, asked the first question to the two young witches in front of them. "Who cast the first spell to Dan Miller?" Her eyes darting between Cordelia and yours. "A Level 2 warlock," Quentin Fleming added. Cecily Pembroke did not miss the chance to speak up after, "who shouldn't even be in the premises;" clearly insinuating something. You and your roommate remained silent. You sense her cowering from the death stare being shot to her by her own mother, who is constantly blowing out smoke from the other side of the room. "I am going to ask again. Who-" "Myrtle, this is a waste of time." The Supreme spoke as she moves towards the both of you. "They're young. They're witches." Her gaze now burning through your skin. "Just because you didn't fool around, doesn't mean they shouldn't." She looked at you like she can read you from head to toe. With the extent of her powers, she probably can. Myrtle huffed. It was no secret that the two older witches have great animosity between them that started since they lived at the academy. For you to see it in action, that was another thing. Their relationship is the total opposite of what you and Cordelia have. You're inseparable. It only has been months but you're pretty sure you found a second home whenever she's around. So you know that whatever she did, it was an accident. "I did it," you confessed. Cordelia sharply turned her head in your direction, not minding that her mother is standing in front of her. You remained looking at the Council of three to gauge their reaction. Fiona, who is now moving away from your periphery, looks so pleased she might- Actually, you don't know. You have no idea what type of kindness the Supreme can show you. The redhead let out an exasperated sigh. As if she expected this kind of behavior from you. "What did you do?" "Dan is my boyfriend," you can feel the raised eyebrows and judgment. "I mean was, probably, because I'm pretty sure we'll break up after all of this." There's no lie to this. Cordelia looked down once again, feeling sorry for what she did. You continued to explain, as you make up the story on the fly. "Which is the point of the spell." Myrtle urged you to go on. "I've been trying to break up with him. I've said it nicely. Politely." Your face now turning sour, "but he just keeps coming back." This is where the fiction begins. "So I thought, maybe I can urge him to break up with me if I use my powers on him." Quentin looked puzzled before asking his question. "What is her power anyway?" Myrtle, who tended to you since birth, replied, "reality alteration." You continued. "I didn't know the spell would fail, terribly. When he started to wake up, he started asking questions, So I sent him back to sleep." You gulped, ready to cement the lie. "That's when Cordelia walked into our room. Followed by Myrtle." "See it was just a lover's quarrel," the Supreme quipped from behind. The redhead looks like she's so close to throwing a vase at her. "If you had relations with a non-witch individual, we wouldn't be here." Myrtle stood up to further emphasize her point. "But you know that any spell used against our brothers and sisters is considered a grave offense." "I never meant to hurt him," you reasoned. "I just want to lead him to the idea of breaking up." The small sobs of Cordelia did not go unnoticed in your hearing. "Besides, this wasn't the first time a spell is used in the course of the relationship." The instant stopping of the typewriter signaled that even Pembroke was surprised. "What do you mean?" She said. "We've used certain spells," you paused thinking if saying this was the right thing. Delia couldn't even look at you whenever you recount your romantic adventures to her. You continued, "to heighten certain experiences." "It still doesn't change the fact-" Myrtle once again was cut off by her archnemesis. "Enough," the commanding voice of the Supreme filled the halls. "She already admitted it. She said she never meant to hurt him. She went as far as to recount a personal memory just so you would understand." The council member did not hide how she tried to bite her tongue before speaking up. "Let me remind you that you are here as Cordelia's mother and not as [y/n]'s lawyer." Delia once told you how sharp her mother's eyes can be when she's mad. If looks could kill, Myrtle would probably be dead now. The sound of her stilettos was crisp against the tiled floor. She situated herself in front of the Council's table, starting the three of them down. If that's even possible. You took this time to see how your Cordy is doing. "Hey," you whispered. She looked up to you, not knowing how puffy her eyes had been. "You didn't have to do this, you know." Her sobs now getting weaker. You send a small smile her way before replying. "Yes, I have to because he's my baggage and you, honey, are still terrible in lying." You reached her hand to give her a squeeze. A little reminder that you're still here, beside her - always. Turning your attention back to the staring contest in front of you. You realized that 2 out of the 3 are already hunkered at the sheer proximity of their Supreme. It's actually a surprise that Myrtle can hold her own against her. "Let me remind you," Fiona's voice laced with poison, "that I am your Supreme." Your mentor clenched her jaw before sitting down - a sign of submission. Cordelia sat on her bed, waiting for you to come back from the Council deliberation. She insisted she wanted to stay but her mother is not the person she would say no to. So here she is, worried for whatever punishment you'll receive that should have been hers. There is no doubt she's beating herself up. She just wanted to help you get rid of Dan. She absolutely did not want it to go this way. Such a stupid, reckless mistake. The door opened to reveal you, with Fiona behind. The young witch jumped from the bed and hugged you like it's second nature. Your hands found her back and relished at the warmth her body emanates. "Hey, everything's fine." You cooed. You can feel her jaw move against your skin before you hear her say, "Are you sure? You're not getting burned at the stake?" The both of you heard Fiona chuckled as you release her daughter from the embrace. "The next time the two of you want to play boner hot potato, can you do it without attracting the Council?" Delia was about to react when she felt your hand stop her from doing so. She leaned into the touch, always welcoming whatever physical affection you give her. "Noted, ma'am." You replied before the Supreme walked away. "I'm really sorry," Cordelia sat you down and never let go of your hand. You sent a soft smile her way before replying. "I know you are but," you pulled her to sit beside you, "why did you use re vera falsum on him?" Cordy fidgeted with her hands, unable to look at you. Your hand reached for hair and caressed it all the way down to her back; a simple action that sent chills down her spine. Still unable to answer, you next asked her, "Do you like him?" Cordelia was obviously shocked by the question because not only did she stop fidgeting, she also looked up to you with wide eyes. "I mean you could have just told him that you wanted a threesome or something, he would probably say yes," you continued. "No," she shook her head. "No, I don't." You looked at her, trying to understand why she did- "Do you not like him..." you paused to put pieces together, "for me?" Once again, Cordelia felt shame inside, and looked down before saying, "I'm really sorry." To be completely honest, you would have settled with a nod as a response to the question. 

It's not in her character to meddle in your romantic life and you're pretty sure that her reason runs deeper than simply helping you break it off with him. You shrugged it off and told yourself that this is a conversation for another day or decade. You shot her a smile before replying, "it's okay. Just remember you can't use re vera falsum ever." Her eyes did not hide the curiosity that she instantly tried to bury. "Did Fiona really not tell you anything about our heritage?" "Only that she's the most important part of it," she quipped. "Well, Cordy," you made yourself comfortable on the bed, "let me tell you about the only witch alive who can alter reality."

[taking-over-his-life]

The old shop

Written by my old friend Colt.

On a bright autumn day, when the low angle of the sun, the sudden warmth of Indian summer, and the riot of scarlet and yellow leaves all cast a spell over the Virginia countryside, I set off for a drive, with the car windows rolled down. Intense glare alternated with deep shadow, as the road wound through fields and woods. It led to a town called Hapsburg, where it became Main Street, nearly deserted on Saturday afternoon. I parked along the sidewalk, and got out to stretch my legs.

The buildings were of red brick or painted clapboard, one or two stories. Shop windows were empty, or contained faded posters, long out of date. I walked past a café, a drugstore, a lawyer's office, and a barbershop, all closed. Next came a shop that sold old furniture, chipped plates, sentimental pictures, obsolete farm tools—the debris of former households, past lives.

In the display window, draped over the back of a chair, as though the wearer left it there minutes ago, and would soon reclaim it, was a black leather jacket. Creased and scuffed, it had evidently seen hard use. So casually was it thrown on the wooden chair—was it also for sale? I tried the latch, and the ancient shop door opened. A bell jingled sharply overhead, as I stepped inside.

A pale, thin man seated behind a counter barely looked up from his newspaper. His eyes were watery blue or gray, and his hair was sparse, showing the scalp. I pretended to look at a dusty shelf of books, then wandered to the back of the shop, which seemed to have nothing of value. At last, I returned to the front. Except for the man at the counter, there was no one else.

The black leather jacket was compelling. I touched a sleeve—the leather was thick and heavy. I searched for a tag, a price, a label, but found nothing. On the shoulder, a red patch bore the legend: "Hapsburg Motor Patrol." "Go ahead," the man said. His voice was unexpectedly clear and strong, despite his age. "Try it on. You'll be the first, since it just came in. Who knows, this may be your lucky day."

I slipped my arms into the sleeves, shrugged the weight of the leather over my back, and tried the zipper, which worked smoothly.

"A perfect fit," the man said, "like it was custom-made for you. There's a mirror, if you don't believe me."

It was uncanny, but the old leather jacket did fit perfectly. Stiff yet pliable, it was already molded to my shape, broken in by the previous owner.

"Whoever wore it must have had exactly the same upper body size," the man said.

"So you don't know who owned it?" I asked. "Anything about him?"

"Not a clue."

"What about the patches? Will I be arrested for impersonating a police officer?"

"Oh, don't worry about that. The town police department disbanded years ago, when the county took over everything—schools, taxes, roads, jail. The county police wear a different uniform, not that red patch. As it stands now, that jacket is a collector's item, a genuine Hapsburg Motor Patrol issue. Quality leather—they don't make them like that any more. The badge is missing, of course. It went in that reinforced hole in the chest."

The leather creaked, as I flexed my arms and walked to and fro. I inhabited the jacket, inhaled the smell of leather, and felt slightly giddy.

"There's plenty of wear left in that jacket. It will keep you warm on the road, and protect you in case of a spill. When you're riding, that is. Yes, sir, it fits you like a glove."

"How much do you want for it?" I asked, trying not to sound desperate.

"That depends on how much you want it," he answered, suddenly shrewd. His pale eyes glittered in the shadowy interior.

Though I detest haggling, I was unable to take off the jacket. I named a price, a round number, which I hoped was low. To my surprise, the man instantly agreed.

"Sold!" he shouted, as though at an auction.

I reached for my wallet, anxious to complete the transaction before he changed his mind, or before I did.

"Like I said, that leather jacket was meant for you. What are the odds that someone would walk in here, exactly the right build, with an eye for police memorabilia?"

"So you don't know where it came from?"

"Sorry, my friend. It could have been someone cleaning out an attic, getting a house ready for sale, winding up an estate. Wait! Now that you mention it, some other things came in with the jacket. Here's a helmet, the standard police type."

He handed me a white helmet, and I lowered it over my head. Snug, but comfortable. I started to ask the price, but he cut in.

"At no additional cost—special today. And check out these beauties." He rummaged behind the counter, and produced a pair of black leather riding boots.

"Somewhat the worse for wear, but you can replace the heels, and shine them up like new. Here, try them on."

Hurriedly, I untied my shoes, and shoved my feet into the tall boots, folding my pants inside the cylindrical shaft. Amazingly, the boots fit. I wiggled my toes, rocked from side to side, and strode a few paces. Like the jacket, the boots felt eerily right, as though I had worn them for years. Looking in the mirror, I caught my breath.

Instead of the man who entered the shop, an ordinary citizen like millions of others, I saw a police officer, a motorcycle cop, a figure of speed and power, a member of an elite squad, albeit from decades before. The fantasy was exhilarating.

"Do you want a bag?"

Abruptly, I remembered where I was, in a dusty junk shop, in a forgotten country town. I took off the helmet.

"No bag, thanks. I'll wear it."

"What about your shoes?"

"Oh. . . yes."

I handed the man my shoes, which he dropped into a crumpled paper bag. He handed the bag back to me, with a wink of his gray eye.

Jacketed and booted, as though dressed for a costume ball, I exited the shop, and blinked in the dazzling sunlight. The air was growing cooler, and the sun would soon set. With the helmet under one leather sleeve, and clutching the paper bag, I strode to my car for the drive home, through the inflamed countryside.

In the following weeks, as the weather turned cold and windy, I sometimes wore the leather jacket. As promised, the thick, back skin kept me warm. It did not attract attention, other than a smile or nod of approval. The thrill I felt on first putting it on mellowed, and in a way, I grew into the jacket.

One day, it occurred to me to search the pockets. An inner zipper revealed a small black and white photograph of a man standing beside a motorcycle. He appeared to wear the same jacket and boots, with the same white helmet on his head. He also wore a police badge, a silver star on his chest. His posture was upright and confident. The photograph bore no identification, no name or date. It was impossible to tell the man's age, or where the photograph was taken. Still, I was convinced that this was the officer who owned the items I had bought.

His uniform included a pair of riding breeches, tailored snug at the calf and flared at the thigh, almost as though inflated. It was a picturesque style, something that went out of fashion long ago. I could not recall ever seeing such a uniform on the street. In color, the riding breeches were dark, with areas of sheen. Were they made of black leather, too? I placed the photograph in a dresser drawer.

Though out of sight, the image haunted me. Who was this man, in purely physical aspects so much like me? What were his tastes, his habits, his personality? What was the police officer's story?

With no conscious intention, I began to read classified ads for used motorcycles, and I looked more closely at those I passed in the street. I wondered what type of motorcycle my officer rode. What type would a small-town police department be likely to have? When a neighbor parked a motorcycle in his front yard, a machine much like the one in the photograph, with a "For Sale" sign attached to the seat, I did not hesitate.

The neighbor, an engineer who would soon move to another city to start a new job, taught me how to ride the motorcycle, and he gave me advice on maintenance and repair. My luck continued in the form of a mild winter, which allowed me to ride on weekends, gradually learning how to handle the motorcycle on narrow roads, and in traffic. Though not especially powerful, it was quick and responsive. I wore my leather jacket, boots and helmet, of course, and sturdy jeans. By spring, I had become a confident, if careful, motorcyclist.

One Saturday, as the trees were coming into leaf, and the air was newly fragrant, I set off to ride through the green landscape. I started with no destination, but the road became familiar, as it wound through fields and woods. Just as it did six months before, it led to Hapsburg. Slowly, I cruised Main Street, looking for the old shop where I had bought the leather jacket, the same one I was wearing. Not seeing it, I turned around, and rolled in the opposite direction, but still failed to find the dusty display window. I parked, pulled off my helmet, and stood in the middle of the street, baffled.

A place I did not remember, a combination art gallery and custom frame shop, hinted at economic revival. Clean, freshly painted, with a gleaming steel and glass door, it was open for business. I entered, and at once was greeted by a young man with black hair, dark brown eyes, and an eager smile. After browsing the drawings and paintings, all by local artists, I explained what I was looking for.

The young man grew solemn, and said he would be right back. He walked briskly to a storage room in back, and returned with a large envelope, which he handed to me. Scrawled on the envelope, as a kind of address, was the phrase:

"For the man in the leather jacket, when he returns."

I studied the envelope for a moment, then asked:

"How can you be sure that this is for me?"

"The junk shop you describe was here, this space. I cleaned it out, renovated, put in new lights, and so on. A lot of work, you can imagine. The previous tenant passed away, I was told, and he left the shop as you saw it. I never met him—a retired police officer. Nothing of the contents was worth saving, but I did save one thing. That envelope was lying on the counter."

I lifted the flap, and extracted something heavy and pliable, made of black leather.

"Looks like a pair of pants," said the young man, clearly interested.

"Yes," I said, "or riding breeches. I saw them in a photograph."

"Awesome! They match your jacket and boots. Want to try them on?"

"I don't need to. They're exactly my size. Don't ask how I know."

"Okay, I won't. Strange things happen, even in Hapsburg. But here's the really strange part. They told me that the old man passed away more than a year ago. So how could you have met him here last fall?"

I shrugged my shoulders, and the leather jacket creaked. I slid the breeches back in the envelope, and tucked it under my thick black sleeve.

"Thanks," I said, turning to leave. "And good luck with the shop."

[skzwriternet]

Fourteen Days//Lee Felix

A/n: So the author that wrote this submission of our First Snow Collab has deleted her tumblr but we still wanted to share her amazing work. This was written by the amazing @crscendoforsung (who has since deleted her account).

Word Count: 1.7k

❅

On the day before quarantine,

You kinda missed your flight...

On the day before quarantine,

You caught your flight back home! The cabin was almost empty and the passengers that were there sat several seats away from each other. You were instructed to keep your mask on at all times and so, you had to endure twenty long hours with an increasingly stinkier piece of cloth stuck to your face. 

On the first day of quarantine,

The taxi ride back to your apartment complex was quiet. As expected, there was barely any traffic. You heard the brittle ground under you crunch as you stepped out of the car. You thanked the driver and loaded your luggage onto a trolley— you had been stuck on the other side of the world for several months and a lot of new things had accumulated, you even had to get a new suitcase. The familiar scent of your apartment flooded out as soon as you opened the door. You tried your best to not disturb the layer of dust on your furniture.

On the second day of quarantine, 

Your phone had died the night before so you ended up sleeping ‘till noon. You woke up with a terrible pounding against your temple. It felt as if your brain was grinding itself against the side of your skull. You kept accidentally breathing in the dust that settled on your bed frame. There was nothing in your fridge except a frozen microwave pizza that was stuck to the floor of the freezer. After stuffing your lunch down your throat, you began to plan out how you would go about cleaning your apartment. You would trigger a cloud of dust to waft up into your face whenever you did something. You decided to start with the kitchen and living room— the two rooms were connected and were the rooms you spent most of your time in.

On the fifth day of quarantine,

You began cleaning your bathroom early in the morning. It was relatively easy, you washed down most of it with water. Later that night, you gave in to the urge and ordered Chinese take out— it was delicious. While you ate with the window open and noticed that the apartment directly across the courtyard had its balcony light on. Scraping food off the sides of the plastic container, you noticed something move out of the corner of your eye. When you turned to look back out the window, you saw a blonde-haired figure waving back at you. Assuming they were just the tenant of the apartment, you waved back. It was difficult to make out much more than that— though they had their balcony light on, it acted more as backlighting rather than anything else— the rest of them were shrouded in black. You finally saw their face from a quick glance when they took a few steps back to go back inside.

On the seventh day of quarantine,

It was time to tackle your bedroom, your throat had become dry and sore from the dust you had been breathing in the previous few nights and you were determined to finally finish off cleaning your apartment. You were changing the sheets when your doorbell rang, it was the groceries you ordered earlier. After ripping the mattress of its sheets, you gave yourself a quick break and decided to make yourself an early lunch. Your job had given you a few days off but you would have to start working soon. You sat down next to the same window from the previous night and ate as you checked your emails. The light breeze felt cool against your skin and allowed you to relax a bit. Though you made it back home, you still couldn’t see your family— in fact, you couldn’t go anywhere, much less spend the new year with your relatives.

As you were standing up and about to take your dishes to the kitchen, you noticed the figure was back and was looking at you. The daylight made it much easier to see and, unlike the previous night, you could see all of them. Their cheekbones lifted as the corners of their lips quirked up and their eyes formed two crescent moons— they were smiling at you. One of their hands was on the railing and the other was waving at you. They then put their palms on either side of their mouth and you could see their lips moving, but you couldn’t quite hear what they were trying to say. You looked at them with your eyebrows furrowed before they went back inside. A few moments later, they came back with something in their hands. 

They began scribbling on it before turning it towards you, in black ink, it read, “Are you new?” You had to squint to discern the words but once you figured out what they were trying to say, you responded by shaking your head. Their eyes widened and they rubbed the ink out with the back of their hand and quickly scribbled something else, “What’s your name?” You stood there and stared at him, trying to think of a way you could respond. You held up your palm gesturing for him to wait and rushed into your room. You scrambled to your closet and dragged out a box containing all your old school materials. Shuffling through it, you found a marker and an old whiteboard. 

On the ninth day of quarantine,

The boy named Felix came out on his balcony for the next few days and greeted you while you had lunch. In the beginning, most of it was small talk— that was all that could fit on the whiteboards. He told you he was a new tenant and had moved in just a few weeks ago— you told him about how you ended up stuck on the opposite side of the world for months on end. 

You learned that he liked to bake as a hobby, even bringing out a tray of freshly baked cookies to show you— though all it did was make your mouth water. To try and get back at him, you brought out a box of fried chicken you had delivered in and proceeded to eat it in front of him. His cookies were too hot to even nibble at so he just watched you eat the chicken from afar with his jaw almost touching the floor. 

On the eleventh day of quarantine,

You finally ditched the whiteboards and asked for his number— he gladly complied. He had a tendency to reply to you with stickers, way too many stickers. From there, you were able to talk to each other much easier since you didn’t have to worry about space management like you did with the whiteboards. After a while of texting back and forth, he suggested that you’d call each other. He was still on his balcony and you were still sitting next to the open window, but now you would actually be able to hear each other. 

Suddenly, your phone started vibrating in your hands— the expectant boy waited for you to accept his call. 

"Hello?" He didn't sound like what you expected— contrasting from his cheerful demeanor, you were surprised by how deep his voice rang. 

"H-hi," you responded, looking out the window to find Felix holding his phone to his mouth. 

On the fourteenth day of quarantine,

One more day, you thought. By then, you had already told Felix about your fourteen-day quarantine but neglected to mention that it was pushed a day back due to your missed flight— he didn’t need to know that. 

“I’ll make sure to bring you cookies first thing in the morning then!” he exclaimed, followed by a hearty giggle.

“Are you sure? I know I said that I’ve been quarantining but you don’t need to com—”

“Ah-ah no, I insist.” 

On the day after quarantine,

You woke up to your phone vibrating violently next to your head. Groaning, you tried to get your legs off of your bed and onto the hardwood floor, pulling them back up when the floor felt way colder than it was the night before. Now that you were properly awake, you began to notice that the air itself was chillier. 

You reached over and grabbed a pair of socks from the clothes rack— they made the floor bearable enough to walk on. Slipping a hoodie on over your shirt, you hoped that the cold would subside soon. The tile of the bathroom floor felt bitter against the soles of your feet, even with the layer of cloth in between. 

When you pulled open the blinds, you were met by streets and buildings covered in a thick layer of white. Snow. It was snowing. 

The doorbell going off shook you out of your daze and you quickly scrambled to the door. When you looked through the peephole, all you could see was a bed of blonde hair. For a moment, it hadn’t registered in your brain, but when you swung open the door, you immediately recognized the person that stood before. 

You looked at him up and down, “Where are the cookies?” You raised an eyebrow and looked at him in suspicion. 

“Oh uh, so…,” his hand whipped around to scratch the back of his neck, “I may have kept them in the oven for a little too long and…”

“You burnt them.” You looked at him with wide eyes, the other looking down at his feet in embarrassment. 

You chuckled, “I’m kidding!” He looked up at you and started laughing as well. You finally had the chance to look at him close-up. There were so many things you hadn’t noticed or just couldn’t see from across the courtyard. Tiny, pink dots freckled his face, his blonde hair lit up in the light, and his cheeks were painted with a soft shade of pink— probably from the cold. 

“Well, it’s really cold out today, come in!” you gestured him into your living room.

“I had some ingredients left so I thought we could try baking a batch at your place?” he showed you the plastic bag in his hand with all the bags of flour and cocoa in it.  

“Uh, sure,” you began, “but I should probably tell you I’ve never baked anything before.”

“Oh, yeah it’s fine!” And those would be Felix’s first last words of the new year. 

❅