#we still need to paint the ugly orange cabinets though

[chatdomestique]

my family covered the ugly orange tile in our house with nice gray wood laminate, and i just know there’s gonna be a future owner who pulls up the flooring just to lament about the evils we committed by covering up “such beautiful tile”

[preciousthingsareprecious]

Hearts Pounding and Blood Coursing

I am back with yet another D&d week fic! Is everything I write going to be set in Dick as Batman times? Maybe. Maybe. This one certainly is. 

Dami Calls Dick “Baba” / First “I love you” / “You’re not my father!” “I am well aware.”

Summary: When Batman goes missing on patrol, it's up to Robin and Batgirl to track him down. Will they fall into the same trap he did, or make it out in one piece?

AO3 Link

~

The old warehouse looked ready to collapse in on itself any second. Damian wondered why Gotham was so littered with them. He’d told Grayson a hundred times that they needed to do something about them. Wayne Enterprises could surely step in and repair them or rebuild them or do anything to prevent them from becoming hives of villainy as they were wont to do in Gotham. 

Grayson. Damian’s chest tightened. Grayson would not be able to talk Lucius into anything if they did not rescue him soon. The stupid man had gone on patrol alone and had not returned. Thus it was up to Batgirl and Robin to rescue him. 

“You ready, Baby Bat?” 

“Call me that again and I will paint that horrible motorbike of yours a garish shade of orange.” Damian snapped, less focused on coming up with proper revenge threats and more on finding his lost partner. 

“Alright, remember the plan, you’ve got the window on the second floor and I’ve got the one on the first. We meet in the middle or wherever we find Batman.” 

“I would not forget such a simple plan so soon after making it.” Damian replied, already pressing a gloved hand against the window in question to test it, “Now may we begin? Or would you like to chatter until whoever is inside parades Batman’s dead body out of the front door?”

“No, let’s go.” Brown replied. 

Damian nodded, the glass was firm under his palm, not quite as ramshackle as the rest of the building. He slipped a laser cutter out of his belt and ran it across the edges of the window, and let it fall backwards into his palm. 

“And Robin?” Brown added, as Damian was setting the glass aside, “Batman’s going to be just fine, okay?”

“Tt.” Damian responded, then added a quick, “I know. He will.” as if to convince himself of the fact as well. 

He climbed in the window and dropped quietly into the building. Damian found himself in what looked like an office. An old desk stood off balance, titled down on a broken leg. Papers and overturned file cabinets took up most of the rest of the room, with huge windows that looked out over onto the warehouse floor below.  

Damian slipped out of the door and into the hallway beyond it. He flicked a flashlight on to illuminate the dark interior and crept through, ears perked up for any sounds. 

The whole building smelled of dust and mildew, and something else that was sharp and sour. Around him, the walls were covered in ancient cracked paint that might have once been white, but now looked more yellow than anything under the beam of the flashlight. Cracked and broken picture frames featuring staff, products, and some construction site Damian couldn’t recognize decorated the walls, and floor where some had fallen. 

An eerie unsettled feeling crept it’s way into Damian’s head, tingling from the back to the front like cobwebs. He spun on his heel, the flashlight swinging wildly first behind him, then up to the ceiling to check for the source of the feeling. 

Nothing. He was alone. 

Slightly abashed, but still feeling odd, Damian turned again to continue down the hall. The feeling only seemed to increase as he walked. No doors presented themselves at first, which was strange. This building should have a number of offices in it. 

Damian thought back to the blueprints he and Brown had analyzed a few hours earlier. Grayson had left them open on the Batcomputer. Their one big clue to where he’d gone. 

There was one section of the building with a longer hall than others, but Damian had thought he hadn’t come in that way. Had he already gotten turned around? That quite simply wasn’t possible. He’d only been moving for a few minutes. 

He slowed his pace, flashlight swinging from wall to wall as he carefully examined each one. No doors still. So he must have come in the other way. Perhaps his fretting over Grayson had caused the error. Mother had not been entirely incorrect in her assumption that feelings for another caused problems. 

Still, Damian had decided that he was willing to fail a little more if it meant keeping Grayson in his life. 

The further into the building Damian moved the worse it smelled. The sour, acrid, scent that had been mostly hidden under mold and disuse gradually became the prevailing one. Damian scrunched his nose at it, and tried to figure out where he knew it from. It tickled his memory, like something he should know and made the hair on his arms raise. 

So far, he had heard nothing from Batgirl. Though, that was a good sign. They had decided to keep the comms silent until they found something or needed immediate assistance. They had no idea what Batman had run into in this warehouse, nor how he had been taken down. It was best not to draw too much attention to ones self, and wasting time with pointless updates or incessant chatter would be just that. 

He could have sworn he’d seen the same picture of the construction site three times now. But, no he was probably just seeing things. Mistaking the weird old building and land for something else in the dim light.

With every step that unsettling feeling grew stronger, until at last, he came across a door. 

Damian should have been relieved seeing it, but the anxious feeling only grew as he reached out to turn the knob. 

Slowly he eased the door open, and peered into the room, listening for any sounds of occupation. When no lights flared on or voices sounded he took a step into the room. 

The smell here was far worse than it had been in the hallway, as if something inside were the source of it. Damian gulped back bile and stepped further inside, his flashlight held ahead of him like a shield. 

As he did so, the world swayed sideways. Damian blinked, trying to clear his vision, but the room still seemed skewed to the side. 

He took another step forward and all at once the memory of the smell hit him. Fear toxin. Not as strong or as tick as he was used to, and still masked with unknown notes but Crane’s toxin all the same. 

He reached up to alert Brown of the situation and tapped the comm unit in his ear, comforted by the fact that the usual hum of connection reached his ear. 

Before he could say a word though, something cracked against the back of his skull and his world went black. 

When Damian came to, it was slow and plagued by shadows cast over everything from the back of his eyelids to the ceiling above him. He blinked at the ancient popcorned paint and yelped as all at once it seemed to morph into staves, razor sharp and now raining down on him. 

Damian shot up from where he lay, and found himself not impaled by a hundred sharpened stalactites of paint but simply faced with a throbbing headache and hands bound in front of him. 

He sat, just breathing for a few moments and staring down at the cuffs and his gloves. After a moment the nightmare faded, but left that same lingering uncomfortable feeling he’d gotten on entering the hallway. Fear, he now recognized it as, not the overwhelming fear Crane’s toxins were best known for, but something more subtle. Like waiting on the jump scare in a movie. 

The room didn’t smell of the toxin, and Damian assumed what he was feeling was lingering effects from what he’d breathed in earlier, and not a new dose. 

The lighting in the room was provided by a dim bulb hanging from the ceiling which Damian glared at. Of course Crane would be so predictable as to make the room he’d been placed in creepy in the most cliched of ways. 

His gaze travelled down from it and across the mostly bare room. More yellowed walls, cracked with age, and decorated with dreary photos resided here. And then there was—

“Batman.” Damian breathed. 

Grayson lay in a crumpled heap in the center of the room. Damian had been dropped in at the back, either before his brother had been returned or Crane had purposely carried him over the unconscious body of his partner. And Grayson had better only be unconscious or Crane would feel Damian’s wrath unleashed fully against him without hesitation. 

Damian scoffed at the flimsy cuffs Crane had put on him and picked the lock quickly. The villain had not even bothered to attempt to remove Damian’s belt or other gear. 

Soon he was up on unsteady legs, much to his displeasure, and then taking the few strides needed to reach his Batman. 

He crouched beside him and began his examination of his partner. The first thing he noticed was the rise and fall of Grayson’s chest. Then his eyes caught sight of the variety of bruises coloring his chin, how his lips were split and swollen, and the various rips and tears littering the Batsuit. One lense of his cowl was broken out and Damian could see another ugly black bruise over his closed eye. 

Crane had not wasted a moment with Batman it seemed. Something he would pay for if Damian had the opportunity to avenge Grayson. But first, he needed to get his brother out of here and inform Brown of the true danger lurking in the warehouse. 

This time when he activated his comms no one bashed him over the head. 

“Batgirl.” He said, keeping his voice low, “Scarecrow is here. He has incapacitated Batman and locked us in a room together. I will do my best to get him out, but I would do better with your assistance.”

As much as he despised asking for help, Damian was not a fool. He could not both carry Grayson and defend him if Crane returned. Batgirl’s backup would be key in them all getting out of there alive, and in potentially apprehending Crane. 

“I will be right back.” Damian promised Grayson, then stood. 

There was only one door in the room, and Damian moved towards it. He was careful in his examination, wary both of traps and his mind playing tricks on him. He was far too lucid for the earlier gas to have been pure fear toxin, but he could not discount it having lingering effects beyond what he had experienced waking up. 

He tried not to wonder if any of this was real or fake. He was sure now he’d imagined the hallway being longer than it was. If that was false, what else might he be seeing that was a lie? What if he was hallucinating his Batman being there, beaten and bruised? What if something worse lingering outside the door? 

What made it worse, was the fact that with Crane lurking it was highly likely a nightmare was waiting for them, real or imagined. 

It didn’t matter. Damian couldn’t be frozen by what ifs. His Batman was hurt and needed him. Grayson needed him to act like this was real and keep moving. 

The door was not locked. Of course it wasn’t. This trap was turning into an even deeper trap with every minute longer they stayed. It made the fear in his chest twist into dread. A cold sharp worry right between his ribs. 

Damian swung the door open right into more darkness. He growled, this was getting ridiculous. The one thing he no longer had on him was his flashlight, dropped when he’d been foolish enough to get knocked out. 

Fine, he had other light sources he could work with. And if he had to walk in the dark he would. Brown was surely on her way, even if she had not responded to him yet. 

He turned back to Grayson to crouch beside his brother. 

“Batman?” Damian prompted, shaking Grayson’s shoulder gently, “I would much prefer it if you were mildly conscious and were not complete dead weight.” 

He prayed that the Grayson who woke up was both sensible and toxin free. It was a hope he thought might be in vain, but based on his own experience with Crane’s toxin tonight the man seemed to be testing a new strain. It seemed less all encompassing and more designed to disorient and instill a quiet, constant, fear of a more general nature. 

His brother groaned. 

“That’s it.” 

Damian’s encouragement seemed to help drag Grayson back to the surface. So much that he watched a bleary blue eye blink open through the shattered cowl lense. Grayson’s eye was bloodshot, but his iris looked normal. Well, normal enough for a possibly concussed, probably drugged, and definitely beaten, Batman.  

“Come on Batman, we need to go.” Damian said, tugging at one of Grayson’s arms. 

His brother mumbled something incoherent, but allowed himself to be dragged up from where he’d been curled. It took some effort, but eventually Damian had Grayson awkwardly positioned over his back like some kind of kevlar covered sloth. One arm draped over Damian’s shoulder, fingers brushing against his uniform, with the other was held tightly in Damian’s hand. 

He tapped his R insignia to light it up. The beam was pathetic compared to his flashlight, but it was all he had right now unless he wanted to waste time searching Batman’s belt for a flashlight that might or might not be there. 

On Damian’s first step forward, Grayson seemed to be putting in some effort to push himself with his feet. By the time they made it out the door, and took a random left down the hallway, he was already flagging. 

Damian grit his teeth and bit back a complaint. Even this situation was better than the alternative. Damian would drag Grayson for miles over dealing with him under the influence of fear toxin the way it normally worked. 

He hefted Grayson a little higher against his back from where he’d slipped. His brother’s chin rested on his shoulder, and Damian could feel his breath against his neck. He felt Grayson’s breath pick up, as he stirred back to wakefulness. 

“What’re we doing?” he asked, voice thick with exhaustion. 

“We are escaping a trap you fell into.” Damian explained. 

Grayson tried to pull away, “S’not safe. You have to go.” 

He was thrashing now, so much so Damian had to stop moving forward just to keep him held up.

“Stop fighting me and we will! If we do not keep moving we will be in even more danger--idiot!” 

Grayson had thrown himself off Damian’s back, and thumped against the floor with an oof. After a moment he flipped over to look up at Damian, a deep frown on his lips. 

“Batman!” Damian snapped, then realized, that perhaps he had been wrong in his assumption that Grayson was not dealing with toxin effects. 

He was a fool. He should have given Grayson a shot of the anti-toxin the moment he found him. 

“Calm down.” Damian said, lowering his voice to something soothing, “You are injured and drugged, and if you do not listen you may hurt yourself worse.” 

Grayson pushed himself up on his palms, wincing, “You need to leave, Scarecrow is here and he’s after Batman.” 

He nodded, kneeling beside Grayson, “I know. You need to let me give you a dose of the anti-toxin, and then we are leaving.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” 

Damian blinked at him, surprised by the sudden petulance in Grayson’s voice. It sounded a bit like Drake when he was disagreeing with Grayson. 

Careful, Damian slipped a vial of anti-toxin out of his belt, and popped off the lid. He held it out so Grayson could see it. 

“Okay. I am not telling you what to do, simply asking. Will you let me give you this? It will help you feel better.” 

Grayson shook his head, lips going from a frown into a pucker. Is this how everyone felt when Damian was being difficult? He would have to keep that in mind in the future. Grayson was a saint for putting up with his antics longer than the ten seconds Damian had been dealing with Grayson’s. 

“Listen. We need to get moving. If we stay here much longer we’re going to get caught. You need to let me do this.” 

Damian reached out to take Grayson’s arm. He was just about to press the syringe between a tear in the uniform when Grayson yanked his arm back.  

“You’re not my father!” He shouted, sounding almost just like Damian had heard himself sound a  hundred times when he’d still been wary of his brother. 

“I am well aware.” Damian frowned, furrowing his brow. 

It felt very strange to him to imagine Grayson seeing Father in Damian. It was a complicated feeling that made his chest feel tight like he was about to cry. It was also something he could not linger on for long. Grayson was not in his right mind, and every moment they sat there on the floor was another moment Crane could find them in. 

More than that, it was frightening. A word Damian did not use often or lightly. Seeing Grayson like this was...wrong. Grayson should not be childish. He should not be so confused he saw Father in Damian. For one they were nowhere near the same height. For the other, well, Damian did not think himself worthy of being compared that closely with his Father yet. Perhaps ever. 

But it was more unsettling to see Grayson so helpless. So disarmed by this drug in his system. Damian did not like it, and he wished to right this wrong as soon as possible. He resolved himself to get the anti-toxin into Grayson’s veins now, no matter how the man fought him. 

Of course, that’s when he heard it. The creek of a footstep on the wood paneling in front of him. 

“Stay down.” Damian said, standing, then added, “Please.” 

He didn’t wait for Grayson to respond. Instead he spun on his heel, trading the syringe in his hand for a batarang. 

A few feet before him, Crane stopped in his tracks. Even illuminated by Damian's dim light he could see the man wore his typical scarecrow mask, and carried a scythe in between his palms. 

“Hello, Little Bird.” Crane sang, “I see you found your bat.” 

“Tt. He was not hard to miss.” Damian said, bracing himself. 

Crane hefted the scythe, pointing it towards them, “Of course. I was hoping you’d be a little more impacted by the sight and not run off so quickly. You’re a hard bird to frighten. Do you know how much toxin I pumped into that hallway earlier?” 

Damian shrugged, “I don’t care. In fact, I’ve had enough of your blabbering.” 

He threw one then two batarangs at Crane watching the man deflect one with the scythe, and dodge the other. 

Crane tsked him, stalking forward. “Not so fast, Bird Boy. I have a bone to pick with your mentor first.” 

“No.” Damian growled, brandishing a third batarang in his hands, “Keep moving and I will end you.” 

“Doubtful.” Crane said, his mask pulling up into a smirk, “Bats don’t kill.” 

“Batman doesn’t kill.” Damian corrected him, “You touch him again and I will not hesitate to take you down.” 

Crane chuckled, and took a step forward, only to yelp, then jerk as if he were being shocked. When he collapsed forward, Damian saw the source of his sudden strangeness. Batgirl stood, taser held forward, a blinding grin on her face. 

“I had it covered!” Damian protested. 

“You’re welcome.” she said, already moving to zip tie Scarecrow. 

“Tt.” Damian said, and opened his mouth to argue further, but was stopped by a hand on his ankle. 

“Damian?” 

He turned, and found Grayson leaned forward just enough he could grab Damian. He was looking confused, and concerned mouth turned down and eye worried. Damian’s heart skipped a beat. Grayson had heard him say he’d kill Crane. Damian would not break his promise, not with Grayson safely behind him, but he’d also been furious with Crane and ready to defend his Batman however he needed to. 

Dread pooled in his stomach. What if Grayson thought Damian serious? What if he--He did not have time to worry about that right now. They needed to get him home and taken care of. Batman’s health was his priority, not how he viewed Damian. 

“It’s alright.” Damian said, voice dropping back to a careful softness he hoped would soothe an toxin induced reactions, “We are leaving.” 

Damian knelt again by Grayson’s side, and began the process of trying to help him up. Thankfully, Brown was here. Once she’d finished with Crane, she added her own strength to Grayson’s other side, and together they carried him out of there. 

The exit was surprisingly close, and soon Damian was settled in the back of the Batmobile beside his Batman. While Brown drove, Damian held Grayson's hand and did his best to explain the rescue to his brother. At some point, however, Grayson passed out again, tilted over, and against Damian. It was not an unpleasant feeling being the one Grayson trusted enough to fall asleep against. 

Pennyworth took over when they got home, and Grayson was, mercifully, mostly fine. Bruised, battered, and unconscious, but he’d be fine. That knowledge eased some of the tension in Damian’s chest.

Both Grayson and Damian received doses of anti-toxin. The way it almost immediately started to make Damian feel better hinted that he'd been more effected than he'd first assumed. Damian would never voice it, but he was grateful for Brown's save. He wasn't sure how well he would have done in a true fight against Crane in that cramped hallway.

He showered quickly then planted himself at Grayson’s side, ignoring Pennyworth’s suggestion that he should lay down and rest his own bruised head while he waited for the anti-toxin to completely remove the lingering feelings of fear in his system. Sitting was just as good as laying, and this way he could keep an eye on his brother. Brown offered to stay, but Damian waved her upstairs along with Pennyworth. He’d be fine keeping an eye on Grayson, while they moved for a cup of victory cocoa, or tea in Pennyworth’s case. 

There was no victory for Damian tonight. Not until his brother woke up and he knew he was fine. 

Even being home, and not in the middle of some wild trap, Damian still couldn’t get over Grayson being so vulnerable. It was wrong. His Batman could be an idiot, but he was also competent and strong and worthy of respect. He was not helpless or so confused he viewed a child as Batman. 

So Damian held vigil. 

He played on his phone, opening up a mindless game he could pass the time with while still being able to keep one eye on his brother. Unfortunately, Damian ended up getting kind of wrapped up in a particularly hard level. It took a solid ten minutes for him to clear it, and when he looked up again it was into bright blue eyes, totally aware of where they were and who they were watching. Damian’s cheeks flushed. 

“Grayson.” he said, dropping his phone into his lap and straightening. 

As he did, his phone slipped off his thigh and smacked onto the floor with a loud thump. Damian stared down at it for a moment, briefly considering leaning down to pick it up. Instead he planted his fists in his lap and looked back up at Grayson.

“I am glad to see you have awoken.” 

His brother’s lips quirked into a wry smile, “You would have seen a bit earlier if you hadn’t been so focused on, Candy Crush?”

“Angry Birds.” Damian muttered, cheeks still hot. 

He leaned forward to examine his brother. He couldn’t say Grayson looked too much better, but the split skin on his forehead was cleaned and closed with a butterfly bandage, and his lips were looking less swollen. His expression, happy and open is what was truly improved. 

“You are looking better.” he said, “I’m glad.” 

“I’m feeling better.” Grayson responded, “Wanna give me a run down of what happened? My memory is spotty at best.” 

Damian kicked his feet up onto the bar on the bottom of his chair, “When you did not return by morning Brown and I began to make a plan for your rescue.” 

Grayson nodded, “You found me?” 

If his cheeks were not already red they would have blushed again, he shook his head, “Crane got the drop on me. I am not sure what he was planning, however it seems my intent on getting you out upset his plans.” 

“We were moving down a hallway--” Grayson stopped, his eyes widening, “Oh, Dames I’m sorry. I was the worst wasn’t I?” 

Damian tilted his head, “What do you mean?” 

“I kept seeing Bruce, and for some reason I was mad at him.” Grayson ran his hand through his hair, “That was you, right?” 

“You were not too much trouble.” Damian shrugged, “In fact you may have helped prevent Crane successfully sneaking up on us again. In the end, Brown saved us both.” 

He wanted to ask if Grayson remembered the actual confrontation, but at the same time Damian was not sure he wanted to know. He almost squirmed, but held back. Robin did not squirm. 

“Thanks for coming after me.” Grayson said, reaching a hand out to Damian. 

After a moment, Damian took it. 

“I am glad you are okay.” he said, “I--did not like seeing you injured.” 

“I bet. You sounded pretty angry.” 

Damian wasn’t sure how to respond. He tapped his heel on the wood under his foot. 

Grayson squeezed his hand, “It was sweet, you threatening him.” 

“You--” Damian spoke before he thought about it. 

“I?”  

He swallowed, “You did not think I was serious, right?” 

“You promised me you wouldn’t kill, right? I believed you then, and now.” 

Damian nodded, “Of course. He should not have hurt you.” he added, again losing the words before he thought about them. 

Grayson slipped his hand out of Damian’s to reach up and brush it through Damian’s hair. 

“You either.” 

“Tt, do not be so sentimental. It is foolish.” 

There was that smile again, “I think I have the right to be sentimental. My baby brother and basically little sister came running to my rescue.” 

Grayson reached for Damian’s hands with both of his, “In fact, I’ll be a little more sentimental.” he pulled Damian forward, “Join me? I’m tired and I don’t want to be alone. Plus I doubt Alfred’s going to let me trek upstairs until at least tomorrow.” 

Damian rolled his eyes, but allowed himself to be tugged forward, “Fine.” he relented, “but only because Robin must make sure Batman rests properly.” 

[themadlostgirl]

When It’s Cold (2)

*Horny teens are horny. Mild smut mentions ahead.*

~~~

I laid in bed watching the lightning flash outside my windows as thunder shook the room and rain poured down. As a child a storm like this would have had me hiding under my covers. Tonight though I watched the storm, every inch of my body on alert with every crack of lightning and thunder. The doors to my room burst open with a roll of thunder. A shadowed figured stood in the hallway. My heart hammered fast as I tried to see through the darkness at my intruder. A flash of lightning illuminated the once dark room and I recognized the jagged line down my visitor’s face.

“Felix?” I sat up straighter. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to make sure you weren’t scared.” He prowled closer, a wicked grin on his face as he got to the foot of my bed. “You always were so scared of storms.”

“I was…” I murmured. He was dressed only in a pair of pants. That same chiseled torso I had gawked at earlier on full display.

He crawled onto the bed until he was hovering over me. “Do you want me to stay?” His voice purred in my ear, “I can keep you warm if it gets cold.”

“Yes please,” I let the robe around me fall from my shoulders leaving me exposed. “Keep me warm, Felix.”

“Gladly.” He swooped down upon me.

~~~

I woke with a start. My body was wound up tight and I was tangled in the blankets on my bed. I gazed around me confused before the previous day’s events caught up to me. It felt like a dream that Felix and I had found this mansion last night.

Felix…

The real dream came back to me with stark detail. What had that been all about? I’ve never had a dream like that before. I never have dreams in the first place. Even when I do they’re nothing like that and most certainly do not feature Felix. Yet he had been the epicenter.

Half naked with a devilish grin looking down at my own nude body. I had wanted him to--to--

I buried my face in my pillow. This wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t gone to his room last night and saw him coming out of the bathroom. Why did I have to see that? Now I was having borderline erotic dreams about him. Oh screw borderline! I knew exactly what I had been hoping to happen and the aching between my legs only solidified it.

It’s not like I never found Felix ugly or anything. He was pleasant to look at. I dare say at times he was handsome but I never dwelled on it. Maybe a stray intrusive thought or two but they never went so far as my dream had. I couldn’t stop picturing it. Felix and I in bed, his large hands on my body, his lips caressing my skin…

I pressed my legs together as the image took root in my head. Maybe I deserve to indulge a little. For right now there is nothing to worry about. Besides, it’s not like Felix will ever know. My hand dipped between my legs as I let myself fall back into the dream. My body was extra sensitive since I hadn’t been able to indulge in this particular past time since Neverland. Not that I got to do it a whole lot there either. I swear there is absolutely no privacy on that island.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

And none here either it seems.

With a small whine I swung out of bed and pulled my robe in tight. I opened the door and Felix was waiting on the other side already dressed. Could it be considered poetic irony that the boy I had just a moment ago been masturbating to interrupted said masturbation?

“Did you just wake up?” Felix looked me up and down.

“Kinda. I figured I was allowed to sleep in. What do you want?” I stepped back and started collecting my clothes from the floor. 

“Get dressed. I discovered something you’re gonna wanna see.”

“Can’t you just tell me?”

“No. Now hurry up.” He closed the door and left.

With a sigh a pulled my clothes back on and followed Felix up a set of stairs to a hallway that led to a dead end. “This is what you wanted to show me? A wall with a picture on it?”

“Watch this,” He pulled the light fixture next to the painting and suddenly the wall came loose and rotated opening up a passageway into a whole new room.

“This place has secret rooms now. Very cool.” I stepped inside. “A library?” I looked at the books but there were no names on the spines. I pulled one off and flipped through it but all the pages were blank. “I will say I wasn’t expecting this.”

“Oh but it gets better.” Felix went over to the desk at the end of the room and pulled open the drawer. There was a button inside. He pressed it and a section of the floor popped up. I knelt down and opened the hatch and my eyes went wide. It was a safe!

I turned the latch and nearly cried at what I saw. Money. Just stacks and stacks of money! One less thing to worry about. We wouldn’t need to scrape by or get jobs. This safe could keep us comfortable for months! Years even!

“How did you find this?” I asked Felix.

“I like puzzles and I like to snoop.” He grinned pulling out a stack of hundreds. The band around it said ten thousand. Ten thousand dollars and there were easily a hundred or more just like it from what I could tell from the naked eye. We have someplace warm to sleep and we have money for food.

I started sniffling and I could sense Felix watching me befuddled. “Sorry, I just--” I took a deep breath and wiped the tears from my eyes, “We’re going to survive the winter. We don’t have to be hungry or cold again.”

“I know,” Felix pulled a few hundreds from the stack and dropped the rest back in the safe. “Now how about we go do that grocery shopping you were so insistent on?”

“Yes!” I hopped to my feet. We put everything back in place and left the room. I found a pad of paper and started making a list of everything we would need. Unlike Felix who had spent so much time on Neverland that he couldn’t remember who he had been before being a Lost Boy , I did remember who I was. I remembered the responsibilities I had before Neverland. What was needed when I was made to go to market. The grocery store wasn’t like the open air markets I was used to but it was still the same general concept.

Felix and I got weird looks as we entered the store and I took one of the trollies. My first stop was to grab some toiletries. Toilet paper, shampoo, body wash, loofah, deodorant, toothbrushes, toothpaste, floss, and even a set of razors in case Felix wanted to shave. Next we grabbed laundry detergent, dish soap, paper towels, spray cleaner, trash bags, aluminum, and hangers. We would need to go to a different store for clothes. Lastly, food. Now, being the designated responsible person out of the two of us I know we couldn’t just indulge in the sweets and other delicious yet not necessarily healthy food for us.

I sped up and down the aisles with Felix trailing after me as I dumped stuff into the trolley. Chicken, beef, bacon, vegetables, fruits, a ten pound bag of potatoes, bread, milk, two dozen eggs, pasta, rice, butter, flour, sugar, brown sugar, baking powder, baking soda, vanilla, yeast (it’s been forever since I baked anything but I figured I could give it a try), orange juice, apple juice, cheese, canola oil, olive oil, and spices. Then came on the things I knew less about, peanut butter, chocolate chips, gummy candies, dressings, chips, ice cream, instant brownie mix, pizza rolls (they sounded good), cans of soup, yogurt, pancake/waffle mix, whipped cream, cereal, granola bars, pretzels, and tea bags.

Our trolley was overflowing with items as we wheeled our way over to the register. The man bagging our items looked at us strangely as we started unloading our groceries onto the counter. Several minutes and a trolley full of groceries later we were given our grand total. I was scared that we wouldn’t have enough but thankfully we did. We left the store and looked at our haul.

“Hey, Felix,” I paused as we were halfway through the parking lot, “How are we gonna get all this back to the mansion?”

“We steal the cart.” He said it like it was obvious. “Who is gonna stop us?”

“True.” We started out trip back to the mansion and pushed the trolley into the house. We spent the next several minute cramming things into cabinets and the icebox. I pushed the trolley back outside and went to put my toiletries away while Felix took the laundry items down to the basement. I would also need to learn how to use the electronic washers they had here if I wanted clean clothes.

Speaking of clean clothes, “Felix!” I shouted down the steps, “We’re not done yet today. We need to go clothes shopping.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t bring any extra sets of clothes with me when we left Neverland and I’m sick of wearing these dirty rags. Now get a move on!”

Felix came upstairs with a scowl. “Don’t pout. Even if we kept these clothes clean they stand out too much. I think it’s part of the reason everyone glares at us. We’ll arise less suspicion if we blend in. Especially since our mission is to find a way out of here and back to Neverland.”

“Fine.” Felix grumbled. He counted the remaining money in his pocket. “Let me grab a few more bills from the library just to be safe.”

My stomach grumbled and I decided to grab a granola bar to settle my stomach while I waited for Felix. This house was so strange. They didn’t have any dish soap but they had pots and pans. No shampoo but they had combs. Not a lick of food but a cabinet dedicated to what looked like a very fragile table set.

Felix came back a few hundred dollars richer and we made our way back into town for the second time that day. The clothes store was emptier than the grocery store which put me more at ease. Felix and I went our separate ways as I perused around the racks and racks of clothing. I grabbed a few shirts, pajamas, sweatshirts, sweat pants, underwear, socks, gloves, a scarf, hat, a thick jacket, a new pair of boots, and a large messenger bag. When I went to try on some pants though I was thoroughly disappointed. They fit fine but the pockets on them were tiny! I could barely get my hand in them. Was this what pants were like here? Why?!

I went over to the men’s section and found Felix also trying on some new clothes. It was a simple black t-shirt and a pair of dark denim jeans but it looked really good on him. He almost looked less foreboding. Maybe that was just due to the fact that he didn’t have his cloak hood up like usual.

“You look mad,” Felix chuckled upon seeing me stomp up to him.

“I am! Look at this.” I squeezed a few of my fingers into my jeans pocket. “These pants have absolutely no room! Are yours like this as well?”

“Mine?” he stuck his entire hand in his pocket up to the middle of his forearm. “Nope.”

“What the hell?” I stuck my hand in his other pocket. These were so much roomier than mine! “Why are these better than the ones in my section?”

“I don’t know,” Felix pulled my hand out of his pocket, his face was red with anger again and he wouldn’t look me in the eye, “You can stop invading my personal space though.”

“Oops, sorry.” I snatched my hand back to my chest. What had I been thinking? I essentially stuck my hand down his pants and for what? Because I was jealous of the size of his pockets? I grabbed a few pants from his section that looked to be my size and raced back to the dressing rooms in my section. These fit just as well as the ones I was wearing now but the pockets were much roomier so I chucked the others away and got the men’s pants.

Felix met me at the registers when he was done browsing. He still wasn’t looking at me. I think I made things between us really uncomfortable. We paid for the clothes but had no trolley this time so had to carry everything in large bags back to the mansion. After we got back Felix disappeared into his room. I changed into a pair of the comfy new clothes I bought and went downstairs to make myself something to eat.

I heated a can of soup up and sat down to eat. I wasn’t in the mood to be so adventurous as to make a full blown meal. Now that we had all the essentials Felix and I could start our search for a way back to Neverland in earnest.

I didn’t see Felix for the rest of the night. Figures he wouldn’t want to be around me after we spent all day together. I drew myself another hot bath and this time was able to actually wash myself with the soap and shampoo we had bought. I felt truly clean for the first time in a long time as I slid on the pajamas I bought and crawled back into bed.

Rain pattered outside and I was reminded of my dream from this morning. A part of me dreading and hoping that I would have another just like it.

~~~

Fucking hell! You were killing him! You had to be trying to kill him! That’s what Felix concluded as he locked himself in the master bedroom of the mansion.

Ever since Felix had let himself be talked into going to Storybrooke with you he had been forced by your side. You were the only Lost One in Storybrooke still loyal to Pan when all the others had run off to find families for themselves. He told himself he was tagging along instead of staying in Neverland to enact revenge on those that murdered Pan but that was only half of the story.

He should have never followed you though. Revenge aside. It hadn’t worked out anyway. Even after he learned that Pan was still alive, albeit in someone else’s body, it wasn’t enough. Pan died anyway before he got to enact the curse that would have turned this worthless town into a new Neverland. Now everyone was happy and safe and you and Felix were both very much stranded.

Finding this mansion had been a sweet turn of luck. He knew you were right when you mentioned needing a better place to stay over winter. Felix didn’t like the cold either but he could tolerate it better than you. Every night since you two got here you would shiver the night away at your camp. The night before it had been so cold that even Felix was cursing the wind. While he shivered though he glanced across the fire pit at you. You were huddled in so tight to yourself. Teeth chattering and body convulsing.

He was glad that you didn’t make any mention of him giving you his cloak as an extra form of warmth that night. He didn’t want to try explaining why he had done it. Terrible complicated feelings that he refused to acknowledge. He pushed them down hard, stomped them into dust so they could never rear their ugly head again.

Then he had gotten out of the bath. Truly clean for the first time in years he had left the bathroom and all those complicated feelings from before shot to the surface at the scene laid out before him. You knelt on the ground with only a towel barely covering you. Your wet hair leaving drops of water rolling down your shoulders and back.

His jaw clenched and he fumbled to maintain some composure as you explained what you were doing practically naked in his room. He had found the robe in the master bathroom and was planning on wearing it to bed himself but when he caught sight of you he was only too happy to chuck it into your arms. He needed you to cover up. He needed you clothed and out of his room that instant!

He was far from relaxed after you had left that night. The sight of you knelt over, the towel just barely covering your ass was burned into his brain. He ignored the stirring under his towel and dove into the large bed. He tossed and turned most of the night trying to rid the image and the thoughts he was having. His mind betrayed him though as it brought him much more vivid fantasies of you on his bed wearing nothing at all and beckoning him to take you.

He woke soon after breathing hard and his hand around his cock. Felix cursed the fact that he had a lewd dream about you of all people. He tried to ignore the images flashing in his head but when he closed his eyes there you were on all fours again with a teasing smile. He jumped into the bathroom and turned on the shower hoping a cold jolt would snap him back to sense but then he was thinking of you in this shower with him. Water rolling down your body, that same teasing smile and sultry voice begging him to take you against the wall.

For a few minutes he swallowed his embarrassment and let the fantasy play out fucking into his fist and pretending it was you squeezing around him instead. He thought of your moans and whimpers egging him on. Begging him to be harder, faster, rougher. He bit his lip to keep from shouting as he finally spent himself and started coming down from his high.

He felt more relaxed afterwards but the release of tension didn’t make him feel better knowing he had masturbated to you. You were his...friend? You two had never been friends before coming to Storybrooke and he doubted that you two were that now. Whatever you were to him he shouldn’t be thinking about you like that. You both wanted to get back to Neverland and having obscene fantasies of you was not the way to go about that.

It was still fairly early but he was too wound up to go back to bed. So he got dressed and went exploring throughout the mansion. That’s how he had found the secret library full of blank books and that secret vault under the floorboards. He put everything back in place before racing to wake you up and show you. He had almost forgotten about his dream until you opened the door and he was met with your sleepy face and bedhead. Had you always been this attractive or was it just the layers of dirt that had gotten washed away last night that made you much more appealing to him suddenly? He decided not to dwell on why he was having these thoughts and instead took you down to see the stash of money he had found.

You were so giddy at the knowledge that you could actually have a roof over your head and food in your belly that he found himself smiling too. Your smile was so infectious. He let you take the lead when you went shopping. He didn’t recognize half the stuff he saw in that store but trusted your judgement when you dropped something in the cart.

Then there was when you went to go clothes shopping. Felix wouldn’t admit that he was getting a little worn out of his Neverland attire. It was functional but that was all he could say about it. The smell of it after he had gotten out of the bath the night before almost made him gag. Perhaps this was the reason no one wanted you or him around. You both reeked of years of living in a jungle.

You two were on totally opposite ends of the clothing store so Felix thought he was safe until you came charging into his dressing room ranting about the tiny pockets on your pants. The tight fitted pants that hugged your legs and ass perfectly. Then when you unceremoniously stuffed your hand down his pocket to see how deep they were it took all his self control and thoughts of rotting animal carcasses to not pop an erection right there in the store.

You were trying to make him burst a blood vessel and you didn’t even seem to notice! Which is why he was back in his room sitting on his bed hungry and horny. He was waiting until after he was sure you had gone to bed to get some food. He really didn’t want to chance running into you again and risk those impure thoughts bubbling to the surface once more.

Hopefully today had just been a spoof and tomorrow all these strange new thoughts and feelings would be gone. You two had a mission after all. Get back to Neverland. Lust wasn’t going to help that mission.

---

(Previous) (Next)

[harcourtholmesii]

Unintended Purpose (Part I)

Pairings: As Of Yet; Unknown

Warnings: - Swearing - Slavery (Whether Realised Or Not)

Words: 2923

Enjoy!

The first thing he felt was the tickle of fine, soft hairs against the ridge of his nose. He turned his head, scrunching his face in slight annoyance.

 Through his eyelids, the darkness was being slowly washed away with a golden shine. He could feel the absence of a blanket over his right leg, and the chill of the fan as his leg was exposed to the breeze.

 Hank’s eyes opened lazily, revealing oaken locks that spread about the sheets in an odd, dark halo. It was several of those strands that were tickling his face this morning, and his annoyance receded almost immediately.

 Hank propped himself up on one arm, leaning over to press a soft kiss to those locks. He glanced at the alarm clock on her side of the bed; they had slept in. He turned over in the sheets, and stood, stumbling for a moment in the wake of morning nausea. He cracked the bones in his back, muttering about his old bones and aching muscles, before stepping away and across the hall into the bathroom.

 He took a moment to just observe himself in the mirror. His tired eyes, crusted at the corners with tears, and his face framed by growing, silver hair. Renee had told him many times that the white hairs he was so self-conscious about made him appear the silver fox. Even now, Hank tried to shrug the thoughts of his age behind him, picking up the razor and contemplating for a moment.

 He could feel the itch as fine bristles of his beard had started growing in. Renee hated feeling them scratch her skin whenever they kissed. It made him look older, according to her. The hair appeared refined but the beard was too much. Hank never questioned her judgement, as his own thoughts on fashion or his appearance were lackluster at best. Comfort was his primary concern followed closely by how motivated he was to get a haircut or shave his face.

 He tossed the razor aside, beginning his morning routine. Brush teeth, use the can, and then have a shower. He picked up the pace this morning, if only because they were all due to be late to their appointment. He kicked a plastic, toy boat out of the tub as he turned the broiling water on. He needed to speak to Cole about leaving his toys about.

 Once he was as clean as he cared to be, Hank dressed himself in one of his cleaner shirts and pairs of pants for the day. The shirt was a bright blue with obnoxious, yellow lines painted vertically across it. His wife called it ‘ugly’. He called it ‘nostalgic’.

 Once he was dressed, he stepped around the bed and pressed another kiss to Renee’s head. One hand swatted at him sleepily, almost playfully. He just smiled, turning to leave the room and go wake up the little tyrant instead. She must have returned home late from the trip, if she was this exhausted. He’d let her sleep and attend the appointment with Cole.

 Across the hall, Hank opened the door to reveal his little boy. Soon to be turning six years old, Cole had received an early birthday present. He was certain he had told Cole to leave the puppy in the laundry overnight, but he had clearly been ignored.

 Sumo, as Cole had named him, raised his little head from Cole’s chest, and had begun wagging his tail when Hank entered the room. Hank tried his best to shush the little pup, but the tiny thing had started yapping and bounding over to him and leaping up at his knees. It was enough to wake Cole, who rubbed his eyes and beamed up at Hank. Soon, Hank was toppled over by both a bundle of fur and Cole’s combined weight.

 ‘Mornin’ Cole.’ He laughed, rubbing a hand roughly through his son’s hair. There was a giggle, something that warmed Hank’s chest.

 ‘Morning Dad!’

 ‘Sh-sh!’ Hank raised a finger to his lips, hoping to quiet them all down before they woke Renee. ‘Mom’s still sleepin’.’ He sat up, gently resting Cole awkwardly on his knee and trying to push the tiny St Bernard off. ‘Get dressed, and we’ll pick up some breakfast on the way.’

 Cole nodded, excitedly running to his closet and throwing his clothes hurriedly onto his bed. Hank retreated from the room and headed to the kitchen, looking about for the big bag of dried food. He found it beneath the kitchen sink, and filled the bowl up with one and then an extra cup of food. Sumo had buried his snout in before Hank had a chance to tell him to ‘sit’.

 A few minutes later, and he had Cole in his arms, tussling with him all the way to the car. He had picked him up in his arms, feeling the groan of his old bones, as he began to tickle and then chase Cole to the backseat of the car.

 The air outside was cold, an early Winter on the horizon. The sun shone rays of gold through the still red and yellow treetops. A bit of ice caught Hank, causing him to slip for a moment, and he was thankful not to hear a rip in his jeans. Cole just laughed as he pulled himself up and into the backseat.

 They peeled out of the driveway with an apologetic wave at Sumo; the puppy having climbed the couch to see out the lounge-room window. They would try and make it quick. Hank hated seeing those wide eyes. It made him feel like a fucking criminal.

 Cole peered out the window the whole drive, sometimes pointing out the occasional android on the street with their owners. He seemed so excited. Hank, whilst delighted Cole was as happy as Renee to get a new addition to the family, felt some bitterness growing in a pit in his stomach.

 He never much liked the concept of owning an android. Sure, they were made of plastic, synthetic skin and wiring, but they looked too close to humans for his comfort. Perhaps, if they looked more like robots then people, he would be less creeped out by them. To him, it felt like they were buying a slave, not a helpful instrument or device.

 Renee had insisted though.

 Since her job paid well, and both she and Hank were often faced with conflicting schedules, they didn’t wish to leave Cole alone through the day. Having someone clean the house and look after Cole gave both her and Hank more freedom to spend time together and work. But it frustrated Hank; wasn’t the point to spend more time with Cole and not have an android look after him 24/7?

 Hank and Renee didn’t often agree, but they made it work. He loved her, dearly, but sometimes, he felt her head was too focussed on her job rather than their son. He usually felt like a hypocrite after he had these thoughts. After all, as a police officer, Hank was constantly busy with reports and constant action out on the streets. Cole admired him for it, but Hank hated that he often had to work late.

 It was why he had taken the week off to buy the new android and spend that time with Cole before his birthday.

 He had hoped Renee would do the same.

 He nearly missed the turn into the shopping mall parking lot. He parked; his grey, busted car stuck out like a sore thumb between the newer and sleeker designs. He helped Cole out of the seatbelt and hurried after the boy as he tore excitedly across parking lot and into the mall entrance.

 Hank caught up to him, near chastising him for running off when Cole pulled him eagerly by the hand into the large CyberLife store. It reminded Hank of an Apple store before the company had all but become extinct. Sleek white walls, monitors filled with advertisements of the newest models and people milling about, asking what each model was capable of.

 He felt a shudder roll up his spine as he looked about the store. Androids of all types stood up high on pedestals, hands at their sides or behind their backs with their eyes forward. Along the back wall were glass cabinets filled with the odd components, and ones that were spare of shelves instead contained the newest models. The ones in the cabinets smiled and waved and posed, like they were modelling their likeness and functions to the world.

 Cole had rushed off to explore, taking a keen interest in the ones at the back; they smiled at him through their glass enclosures. He waved right back at them, his giddiness kept Hank from peeling back out of the store’s front door in discomfort. He hated these stores, hated anything really that had to do with technology, but he despised the ‘stock’, so to speak.

 ‘Can I help you today, sir?’ A chipper voice spoke to him, and Hank turned his head, swallowing thickly at the appearance of a female android. She smiled brightly up at him, her LED a bright blue and Hank couldn’t help but stare at it. He needed to remind himself that this was an android; not a person.

 ‘Uh, yeah… Cole!’ With that, his son was at his side in a moment, looking up at the android with wide eyes. She beamed down at him and tilted her head in an odd mimicry of human behaviour.

 ‘We’re here to get an android. We didn’t know where to start, so we had an appointment made. ‘Anderson’, and I think Renee put it under her name.’ The LED’s little ring turned a bright, neon yellow, and Hank watched as its eyes almost flickered. The LED returned to its usual blue.

 ‘Ah, of course, Mister Hank Anderson. If you would like to take a seat, we can discuss what model may be best suited to your needs.’ The android gestured to some plastic, rounded seats across the way with a desk between them and a computer. Hank was pretty sure it was more for aesthetic purposes or the owner’s use, rather than the android staff.

 Cole and he took a seat, Cole immediately taking a small, holographic picture book and beginning to drag his finger across its surface like a stylus. He watched as the android on the cover had its uniform change from white to red and then to orange as Cole decided what colours he liked best.

 ‘So, Mister Anderson, let us start with exactly what price you are looking for. What is your price range?’ Straight to business. Hank hummed a moment, glancing about the models in the store and at their prices. The prices of androids had gone down over the years as they became more and more commonplace, but that didn’t mean the number was one to scoff at.

 ‘At most… Uh… Four thousand, I guess.’ The LED switched to yellow and blinked almost immediately back to blue. The android hummed, once more a mimicry of human behaviour. Hank didn’t appreciate it much.

 ‘That does, indeed, narrow most options down, I am afraid. The cheapest model would be the AX400, but most of those have been handed down and not in the best condition. However…’ She retrieved a holographic magazine from beneath the desk and offered it to him. She skimmed the ‘pages’ with her finger until halting on one with a selection of different android types. There were no images on this page to accompany the prices, but she pointed to each one in turn.

 ‘The PL600’s price is on the decline recently. It has all the usual capabilities of most home assistant androids, including the ability to perform all home maintenance tasks, help with school work from Primary through to High school and speak up to 150 different languages, as needed.’

 Hank didn’t really know what to think.

 ‘Or, you have the MP500. Part of our newest stock, but they have further limitations to allow for a cheaper price. They start at $2999.’ Hank whistled, as if acting impressed. He wasn’t. Honestly, hearing this android advertise and sell off their own was giving him a headache.

 ‘Can you just show us what models you mean first? I’m not gonna pay for anything unless he agrees with it.’ Cole looked up from the colouring book and grinned, peering about the room. His eyes landed on the glass cabinets at the back once more and he pointed at them, tugging on Hank’s sleeve. The android smiled and followed behind the two of them as Hank was pulled out of his seat and to the back of the store.

 ‘What about that one?’ Cole pointed out one blonde, male-looking android, marked with the PL600 badge. Beneath the badge, the name ‘Simon’ was printed there. He showed his teeth through his smile, crouching down and pressing his hand to the glass. Cole pressed his hand right back and grinned.

 ‘Simon has already been reserved I am afraid.’ Cole pouted, and ‘Simon’ mirrored the action, returning to stand once more. ‘We have one of the same model, the PL600 as I mentioned, that is in the back? His name is Daniel, if you would like to meet him.’

 ‘What’s that one?’ Cole was once more moving across the room and to another android behind glass. Hank was thankful Cole was at least asking about the ones in their price range, even if the android assistant had given them the details on these models previously.

 The AX400 smiled down at him but didn’t stoop to talk with him. Cole looked up at the female android, and she rested her palm against the glass as well. She didn’t stoop down like Simon did, but her smile grew wider. Hank noticed Cole seemed a little disappointed, and Hank just hurried him along. He ignored the look of almost disappointment in the AX400’s eyes.

 Then, Cole stopped, and pointed to the corner of the store. It was a corner cabinet, a little more cramped then the others. Hank wasn’t sure what to think of this one. It seemed much like the other androids, but its appearance was off somehow. Unlike the others that moved in their cabinets and showed themselves off, this one stood almost at attention, like the many models on pedestals.

 When Cole approached it, brown eyes lowered to watch him. They flicked back up to Hank, back to Cole and then back to staring ahead. The assistant android looked over the cabinet, and, once more, took a second to process the inquiry, as silent as it was.

 ‘This android was not originally intended to be a model for public use. It failed its original test, and had the necessary programs downloaded for housework. Unlike other models, this RK800 was not designed to integrate with a family or a household setting.’ Cole had stepped up to the glass once more, and once again, his hand rested on the glass.

 Those brown eyes lowered and stared at him. The male android tilted its head in response, as though attempting to contemplate such a foreign concept. Cole tilted his head to mirror him and smiled. The android didn’t smile, but it tilted its head the other way. It reminded Hank of a puppy.

 ‘This RK800 is due to be taken off the market and terminated. It is currently sitting at $450, due to its previous failed tests. I would not recommend such a model, as it may be a bit unpredictable in how it behaves. It hasn’t had the necessary home assistant program installed since the start, so it may revert back to its previous function.’

 ‘And what function is that?’ Hank huffed, blowing some silver strands out of his face. He was not exactly impressed if such an unstable model was being sold to the general public, and had a moment of wondering about its legality before the assistant android spoke up.

 ‘Originally, the RK800 was built to be a police detective, and-’ Cole didn’t let her finish.

 ‘That one!’

 ‘Now Cole, I’m not sure mom would much like this choice. It is not exactly stable, and wasn’t even what we were after.’ Hank offered, crouching down to Cole’s level. He rested a hand on Cole’s shoulder, watching as those hazel eyes pleaded with him to reconsider.

 ‘But he’s like you, dad!’ Hank sighed. Of course that was what Cole had focussed on. ‘He was a police officer, like you are! I want him!’ Hank turned his gaze from Cole back up to the android. Beneath the model badge, was its name; ‘Connor’. Doe like eyes turned from Cole to Hank; his face was a soft one but it held a distant expression, unlike the other androids in the store. He turned his head, watching as one stepped off a pedestal and its features transitioned from distant to kind. He didn’t think it would be the same thing.

 He sighed.

 ‘Where do I sign for it?’

 Cole hugged him tightly, and the android assistant smiled. It seemed a little strained somehow. The android, ‘Connor’, didn’t move. Didn’t even blink when his payment went through. He stepped out of the cabinet as the glass slid away, took one step and spoke.

 ‘Hank and Cole Anderson. I’m the RK800 android as made by CyberLife. Intended purpose; a failure. New purpose; home assistance. May my work be satisfactory to you both.’

 Hank hated this already.

((I don’t know why, but I fell in love with the concept of Detroit: Become Human the moment I played its first sequence. I felt the need to write this out, but I swear, I am not trying to forget other stories I am in the process of writing! I intend to get back to them!))

[toreadorwriter]

What happens in the dark ch 2: Marie's past.

Several hours later, Susi came back home and Jewel practically jumped into her arms. Marie came out of the bathroom with Alysa, who was nice enough to hold what little amount of hair she had left when she was puking up a storm.

"Damn dirty hot cheetos," she muttered. To make matters worse, Susi and Jewel were chatting up a storm. The other ghouls were so happy to see one another that Marie's stomach churned seeing them hug and ask about each other's day and frankly seeing them all happy and just plain not miserable.  Just being in the same room as all that positive emotion made Marie want to throw up again. God,she couldn't stand the new roomate. Jewel didn't do anything bad to her but still the pangs of jealousy hit Marie like a truck and the beast in the Nosferatu was begging to frenzy.  

"Let me out, I can help you solve your problems" the beast whispered seductively into Marie's thoughts.

Before things went too far out of control, Marie rapidly excused herself from the room leaving everyone else behind. Alysa tried to follow her concerned for her friend's safety and happiness,but  received a glare so nasty and cold that if looks could kill the other vampire would have been ash in the wind by now. 

Going upstairs, the nosferatu slammed the door and locked it and switched on the dimming lamp before flopping down in her bed.

Her punk themed room was filled with underground band merch and posters and a huge American flag. She grumbled curses as she dug underneath her pillow and pulled out some paper and a bag of weed and rolled a fat blunt before putting on her headphones and letting the wailing of guitars take her away from all her problems.

Marie

"Stupid Jewel, Isaac used to be mine. Before she came along, I used to be a really popular musician and Isaac's favorite ghoul. I was a pianist and I was talented as hell, smart, and gorgeous, and both men and women swooned whenever I entered the room. It's not fair, why did I have to be turned into a ugly Nosferatu? I'm not a bad person andiI didn't deserve this- if it wasn't for stupid Gary fucking Golden getting jealous of Isaac and embracing me. I would still be rich and famous- and most of all HUMAN. God, I just wish I could be human again and see the sunrise and be able to show my face in public without the revulsion my presence causes. That's all I ever wanted! not this cursed unlife!" 

Marie's thoughts mixed with the lullaby wafting through the air from the smoke  led her to sleep and ignore the real world completely.

Five years earlier

Marie was busy putting on a tight fitting black dress which showed off her assets quite nicely. The young woman gazed affectionately at herself in the mirror across her vanity and went over to her walk in closet and pulled out her Red bottom High heels and slipped them to complete tonight's ensemble. She then placed the gorgeous diamond necklace that Isaac had gifted her around her neck and finished the look with the matching earring set.

While she was finishing touching up her makeup and curling her hair, she heard a knock on the door. 

Spritzing an expensive perfume all over, Marie ran to the door to reveal Isaac standing there with a rose for her hair.  Isaac ,smiled he nearly had to keep his jaw from dropping as Marie looked absolutely beautiful. And that dress! He had a hard time believing her beauty was not supernatural and he definitely couldn't wait to introduce her to the other local Cainities at tonight's piano concert she starred in. His soon to be bride and child was going to make him proud tonight and his undead heart almost beat again with excitement.

Marie smiled at him, her hazel eyes sparkled and Isaac's breath was taken away even though he hasn't needed to breathe since his own embrace. Isaac will never forget the time he first met Marie, she was as beautiful as she was 2 years ago she was still the same young,  carefree, musician she was then. He met her at one of her performances and her sparkling orange dress caught his eye, and the angelic sounds from the piano drew him into the first row of the audience. From this point of view, Marie looked absolutely angelic in the spotlight and his Toreador sensibilities approved wholeheartedly of the scene.

He was absolutely enthralled for the two hours of the concert until she gave her final encore and exited the stage. Isaac scrambled to meet her offstage when the audience began cheering and she left the stage, dodging roses thrown by other admirers.

Isaac found Marie busy pouring herself some punch as a young man with an atrocious fake tan and frosted tips approach her and he placed his hand on her shoulder. Marie was startled and almost dropped the punch in her hand. She looked at the stranger in the eye and sighed but cracked him a polite smile anyway.

''The names Chriss Tapper and I'm a big fan of your work," he said, not even bothering to give her eye contact. His eyes were busy ogling down her dress anyway. Feeling a bit uncomfortable, Marie did her best to ignore his ogling.

"Thank you, that means a lot. I'd love to stay and chat but unfortunately it's getting late and I have other obligations" Marie said while covering her chest with her purse. Isaac could feel her discomfort from across the room. 

Marie tried to leave the situation at hand, but Mr. Staring Contest was not having any of that and blocked her way. Chris grabbed her roughly by the arm shocking her completely. What nerve! Who the hell did he think he was?'

'''Let go of me! I won't tolerate this behavior!" she snapped and that caused Chris to chuckle obnoxiously.

 "You don't scare me. Try to start some shit with me and I'll make sure you never play in this city again!" He threatened.

Marie instantly decided she didn't like the city much any how and tipped her drink over his head.

Isaac decided to intervene and stepped in between Marie and this horribly dressed man before anyone had more than their egos hurt. The punch left streaks in the spray tan as it ran down the man's face.

"Sir. I wouldn't do that if I were you. You might end up in prison or six feet under" Isaac said casually with just a hint of anger in his voice. 

Surprised and scared from the speed of the other man, Chris backed off.

 "Fuck you, she's not even cute anyway…." He muttered before slinking off like the coward he was.

Turning around ,Marie gave a sigh of relief

.

''Thank you so much for helping me, that guy was a total creep.”

Marie trailed off, entranced by Isaac. He looked so enticing under the lights in the ballroom. 

If Isaac was alive,he'd blush from the look she was giving him. He also noticed Marie was wearing the delicate rose shaped necklace he had made especially for her in his shop the night they met. 

Isaac led Marie to the dance floor and began to lead her in slow circles and pulled her closer to him. She breathed in his cologne scent and sighed contently.

“I could live in this moment forever” Marie said longingly into Isaac’s ear. 

Isaac purred a response “we can live this moment forever in private, are you interested?”

Marie nodded and he lead her out into the night. 

Isaac called one of his cars to the theater to take the pair back to Marie’s place. The driver was able to ignore the two in the back seat whispering sweet nothings during the ride home. 

Marie lived in a cozy but small brick apartment in a rougher edge of the city. The air smelled of cheap cigarettes and fast food. Isaac did his best to ignore the smell and walked Marie up the stairs, arm in arm. Marie dug in her purse for her key and quickly unlocked the door. Stepping inside,  Marie turned on the switch and the lights fluttered on and Isaac was in awe- her apartment looked like a scene straight from a Elvira movie. It was punk and gothic and various band posters was interspersed with antiques painted black in the living room. There was an all black leather couch that beckoned to Isaac to relax, and off jumped a cute black cat that stretched and meowed and walked up to greet them.

Marie stooped down to pet the friendly animal and even though this apartment wasn't to his taste, Isaac had to admit she did have creativity. He really liked that in a woman. 

''Awww, how's my good boy. Midnight did you miss me?." She asked while kneeling down to the cat’s level. The cat meowed a happy reply and returned to his spot on the couch. After getting up from the floor and placing her thing's down Isaac, cleared his throat catching her attention.

''Would you like to continue this night forever?”

“Yes”

He then pulled up the sleeve of his dress shirt and offered his wrist to Marie.  Then he remembered that blood was a pain in the ass to get out and he did not want to ruin his new suit or Marie's furniture. Getting up, he walked over to her kitchen cabinet and fumbled around with the doors before finding a crystal wine glass. Obviously cheap and from a halloween store,  but it suited him. The toreador sat on the couch and bit into his wrist letting his crimson vitae spill into the glass. The crimson blood shone in the light and in a few seconds the cut he inflicted upon himself closed up and the vampire offered the wine glass to her.

Marie looked at it as if he just offered her a plate of deep fried cockroaches but regardless of her hesitancy, she obliged. 

She should have been disgusted and was instead surprised when the blood tasted like caramel and she felt a wave of emotion wash over her body. She instantly felt relaxed and it was stronger than any drug on the planet and in this moment, nothing hurt. It was beautiful. 

''Wow what ever you just did, I  want more." 

Isaac chuckled. ''oh you will but in due time." He promised. The vampire smiled at her, and he allowed his fangs showed this time.  Marie felt her heart flutter. She felt the strong urge to please him and be next to him at all times and she didn't know why, but surely she always had these feelings deep inside.

The world started to fade to black for Marie and  Isaac knew that the sunrise was starting. He quickly closed all the blinds and carried Marie upstairs. Opening her bedroom door he gently laid the sleeping ghoul down and tucked her in. Seeing that it was only one bed in the apartment Isaac excused himself and went to go sleep on the couch but the eyes from Midnight said he was not willing to share. Isaac went back upstairs and wrapped his arms around Marie and fell into the dreamless sleep of the dead. 

To be continued….

[trickedcoffee]

The Winter Court

A scream echoed through the forest, scattering the prowling animals of the night. It came from a throat, and thought one might have taken it for human, it was not the scream of the stage or the films – there was nothing practised about it, no decorum, communication or charm. It had less meaning than the cries of owls, less even than a roll of thunder.

The hunters were moving in unison towards the source of the scream. It had been a fine hunt, all the finer for reaching its end.

The moon was full that night, slung low and heavy over the horizon, its red-orange light darkening more than it illumined. By contrast, the stars shone high and bright in the clear skies, promising nights frozen to stillness and hunger that makes wolves of men.

The morning sun washed down the spires and roofs of the city, flooding down avenues and trickling through alleyways in a tide of crimson. A dog sleeping on the steps of Our Lady of Tyrants twitched in annoyance at the light shining through its eyelids, shaking itself with a low grumble before trotting off in search of scraps to steal.

Inside the Tempest, Jean waited. His glass shook against his lips and a single drop escaped, falling onto his shirt and leaving a small red stain on the white cloth. He had been idly drawing patterns in a puddle of spilled liquid as he waited, and spirals and concentric circles dotted the table’s surface. The years of accumulated grime coating the window by his head struggled valiantly against the dawn light, but ultimately succumbed. Jean could no longer deny the fact that Pierre wasn’t coming.

His mood was as grey as the people he passed on the streets, hurrying to tall offices of metal and stone. There were days, when his clothes hung a little looser about him and the fog of his own breath was the first thing he saw upon awakening, that he wished he were one of them. At such times he told himself that the rewards of the artist’s life were worth the sacrifices. Sometimes he even believed himself – but truthfully, it was fear that kept him going, the fear of waking up at fifty and realising he had sleepwalked his life away.

His attic room was as he had left – clothes strewn across the floor, desk bare save for a pile of blank pages and a pen (though reams of paper overflowed from the wastepaper basket, their surfaces an inky mess of scores and scribbles), large, old-fashioned mirror leaning against the only bare wall (finer than anything else in the room), narrow bed pushed into a corner (optimistically made with newly-bought sheets) into which he flung himself, still dressed, and tumbled into the uneasy sleep of the drunk.

He awoke with the sun high in the sky, blinking confused images of pale and burning hands from his eyes. In his belly, hunger and nausea were fighting for dominance. Hunger emerged the victor, forcing him to his feet. To the Tabby’s Penitence, for strong coffee and over-priced pastries.

By the time he had reached the dregs of his coffee he was no longer alone. Alexia and Christian, both former lovers and sometime friends, had imposed themselves at Jean’s table.

Christian smiled, a cigarette dangling from rouged lips.

“Aren’t you just the little lost lamb. Whatever’s the matter? And don’t tell me you’ve been rejected by another publisher – I know for a fact it’s been months since you’ve finished anything.”

Alexia fondly slapped Christian across the cheek.

“Do let him alone. Can’t you tell love-sickness when you see it?”

Her hair was stained black in accordance with fashion, her clothes cut in an androgynous, loose style which revealed nothing of what lay underneath.

She leaned forward, palms pressed flat against the table.

“So, who is it this time? Cynthia? That little tart Damien? Not Marcus again, I hope, I’m not tattooing over another poor impulse.”

“No one you know. He works at that antiques place down Martyrs’ Avenue, Artemys’.”

“Aren’t you a little old to be chasing after shop boys?”

“It isn’t like that! He’s older than I am, I think.”

There was a lapse in the conversation as mugs were exchanged for ruby glasses of sea-dark wine. Christian took a long draught, staining lip and glass both.

“Tell us about this boy you’ve found. Does he have the face of Apollo and the body of Adonis? The voice of a songbird? Have you found salvation in his eyes? Does you heart beat in time to the fluttering of his eyelashes? Is he hung like a donkey?”

“Don’t be crude,” said Jean.

It was evening when they met. A door opened, setting off a bell in some dusty corner. A young man entered, blonde hair darkened with grease, clothes at least two seasons out of fashion. He had the easy smirk of the seducer, with enough of a youthful flush that the hopeful could still believe in innocence.

(“Deceiving only yourself,” interjected Christian.

“Shh!”)

The door slammed shut behind him. The sounds of the street dropped to a soft hush, as though far more than a few inches of flimsy wood separated inside from out. The dark windows reflected the shop’s golden interior back at itself.

The shop was a seller of beautiful trivialities, tarnished and worn-smooth in places by the hands of their many owners, makers and occasionally uses entirely forgotten. A cobweb-draped chandelier shed the only light in the crowded room, whose thousand reflections off burnished metal and glass faces surrounded the viewer.

One corner was entirely devoted to books, half of them missing spines or covers, some so decrepit that one feared to open them lest they disintegrate entirely. A nearby shelf contained only timepieces, from watches to mantel clocks, all sitting in the looming shadow of a grandfather clock. Those that still worked were ticking out of sync with one another. There was a cabinet that was given over to the display of cats, made of wood or metal or glass. Lying atop was a very poor taxidermy of a cat in repose.

A painting hung from the far wall, all forest greens and earthy browns, as soft as a tapestry’s weave. The freely-worked paint made it difficult to make out any details beyond the pale woman in the foreground – was that a deer half-hidden behind a tree, or a man?

“Can I help you?”

A previously unnoticed figure stepped from the shadows. He had a boyish face, though soft creases around the eyes and wide, ironic mouth belied his true age. He wore a suit jacket tailored to someone a good few inches broader in the shoulders than he, which accentuated the slimness of his hips –

(“And limpid eyes and pouting lips and a firm arse – we can fill in the details ourselves.”)

Jean took a step towards him, the floorboards creaking underfoot.

“I find myself in want of a mirror,” he said. “One that has seen a thousand faces, that it will not flinch from my own.”

“Do you think yourself as hideous as all that?”

“Certainly not, but my mirror must; I can hardly stand to look at the face it shows me.”

The shop boy smiled a little.

“Well,” he said. “We have one that might suit your needs. Came to us from a widow selling off her late husband’s possessions. It had once, so she claimed, hung in the drawing room of a grand house whose family’s name she wouldn’t – or couldn’t – give, only that they were very old, and very wealthy, before their fall into scandal and obscurity.”

Pierre – for this, as Jean ascertained, was the shop boy’s name – lead Jean through the maze of the abandoned and the forgotten. As he passed the cat cabinet, the taxidermied cat yawned, stretched, and turned its fantastically ugly face towards Jean defiantly.

In a dark corner hung a very old mirror, prodigious surface blanketed in a thick layer of dust. The wooden frame had been carved to resemble a wreath of leaves, and though most had worn away, a few flakes of gold leaf still clung to its folds.

With the corner of his coat that was the furthest from being clean, Jean swept off the dust.

Unlike its modern counterparts, it was not so forwards as to offer up an unapologetically accurate reflection. Rather it flattered, and softened, and a certain slight distortion slimmed the viewer. The backing was unusual – bronze, perhaps – that cast a golden hue over the image, capable of rendering even the most spartan of rooms dangerously decadent and softly sinister. This tint brought out the glints of gold in Jean’s eyes and hair, while gently blurring the rest of his face into the background. Pierre’s dark eyes stood out over his shoulder like burning coal.

“How much?”

Pierre gave a number – far more than Jean could sensibly afford.

“I’ll take it.”

The mirror was delivered that very night, wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine, by Pierre himself.

It was carefully leant against the fall, still covered, and promptly forgotten about.

There are some rooms that are too small for one person but just right for two. Beds can be much the same.

It began lazily. Like painters they carefully sketched out the contours of their creation in the curves and dips of each other. Jean took a particular delight in the hollows of Pierre’s collarbones, and spent a considerable amount of time exploring the possibilities suggested therein.

Somehow or other Jean found himself stripped bare, pinned to the mattress by the thighs of a fully-clothed Pierre. He reached upwards to rectify the matter, but such thoughts were quickly dashed by a somewhat distracting grind of Pierre’s hips.

Pierre picked up a half-empty wine bottle from the selection beside the bed, unstoppered it with his teeth and exsanguinated it over Jean’s torso.

His hands slid down Jean, neck to navel, leaving slick, bloody tracks in their wake as Jean arched like Christ in ecstasy.

What followed was a timeless reverie of caresses and gasps, of fingers and teeth, far too intimate and strange to be lingered over in the cold light of day.

(Christian pouted.)

Though in the moment of highest passion, Jean could have sworn that Pierre’s eyes turned inky black, corner to corner.

The next morning, he awoke from dreams of dead dogs to sunlight spilling over ruined sheets, quite alone.

Inside the Tabby’s Penitence, lamps were being lit against the encroaching darkness, though it was not yet five o’clock. The same instincts that drive birds south and bears to deep places were filling the pub with souls seeking warmth, wine and company. Spirits were beginning to rise, and to flow.

“So far so good,” said Alexia. “You have a quick fuck, he’s gone come morning, and you’re left pining. Aren’t you a little too old to be drawn into these childish games? Lord knows you’ve been on the other side often enough.”

Jean took a sip of wine that put the glass down, grimacing. “There was a note. Pinned to the mirror’s wrappings. Come to the Tempest this evening. If I’m not there, don’t come looking for me.”

He seemed distracted for a moment. “I unwrapped the mirror after reading the note. It looked… different? Than it had when I bought it, I mean. More amber than golden. Probably just the lighting. I stood naked in front of it, I don’t know for how long. I couldn’t get it out of my head that I looked just like a nymph – like a forest nymph, spied upon while bathing or some such.”

Alexia waved a dismissive hand. “And that evening? You went, I assume.”

“Last night. Yes. He wasn’t there.”

She scoffed. “There you have it then. Blown, then blown off. I recommend you get thoroughly pissed and try to forget about him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Christian interjected. “He obviously wants you to pursue him. Why else tell you not to?”

“You really are such a man sometimes,” laughed Alexia.

Christian swallowed the last of his wine. “God this is swill. Shall we have another?”

The conversation soon turned to other matters and several hours later Jean found himself stumbling home.

The wine he had drunk burned in his belly and skin, and sleep poured over him in fevered waves.

Half-awake he dreamed he lay entranced within a bower. His four walls had been transformed into trees and thicket, his bed fashioned from heather and fallen boughs.

Only the mirror remained as it was (though, he thought dimly, surely he shouldn’t be able to see it from where he lay?), its surface glimmering darkly, reflecting nothing.

It drew his gaze terribly as a thrumming silence filled his ears and fear rose in gorge, but he could not, would not, look away.

Morning came reluctantly.

Jean washed his face, and dressed, and left.

The antiques shop was very different in the morning light. Sun streaming through the windows set alight streams of dust hanging in the air and exposed the unwanted, broken objects for the tat that they were.

A man stepped forward, not younger than sixty, limbs knotted with sinew, eyes undimmed. His hair was pure white – he had clearly not adopted the habit of hiding the signs of age with dyes.

He spoke with a deep, growling voice.

“Good morning, young sir. I am Artemys. May I be of any assistance?”

“I’m looking for someone. Pierre. I believe he works here?”

A ray of sunlight caught Artemys’ eyes so that they seemed to flash for a moment.

“Indeed? And what would sir want with him, I wonder.”

“I was just hoping for a word. He sold me a mirror the other day, and-”

“If you have found fault with anything sold here, I would be glad to be of assistance.”

“Oh! No, it’s nothing like that. I was just hoping to speak to him.”

“I see. I’m afraid you are out of luck. As of yesterday, he no longer works here.”

“May I ask why?”

“It was a result of his own choices. Far be it from me to gossip.”

“I see… in that case, might I ask where he lives?”

Artemys’ eyebrows rose.

“I do not keep such close tabs on my employees as you might wish, nor should I bandy about that information if I did.”

Jean’s heart sank. “Then I must thank you for you time.”

“A moment,” said Artemys, and with a snake-quick movement grasped Jean by the jaw and tilted his face each way.

“Pretty…”

Jean slapped his hand away and backed off.

“You know,” said Artemys cheerily, “you really shouldn’t have come here.”

Jean stumbled backwards out of the door and didn’t stop running until he was far away.

The midday sun shone on the thousand glittering panes of light that coated the floor of his room like pieces of broken sky.

Against the wall the mirror’s frame still lent, backing bare, the bronze metal softly reflecting dim shapes.

No sign of a break-in, naturally. The door had been locked, the window opened onto a thirty-foot drop into the icy river.

Mechanically, Jean swept up the glass, wrapping the broken pieces in an old blanket.

He wrote till evening. He found himself unable to string together anything resembling a coherent narrative, so allowed it to become an almost masturbatory exercise in scene and form. Again and again he was drawn to images of beautiful boys full of arrows, set upon by hounds, heads yanked back by the hair to expose the throat.

And then night came. Sleep did not find him, as though through his writing his dreams had already taken their fill.

A church bell struck one as an impulse did Jean. By candlelight he unfurled the blanket, exposing its shattered insides. A rummage through a drawer produced an old tube of glue, with which we stuck the glass back into their frame, shard by painstaking shard, like a jigsaw where all the pieces are identical.

The bell had sounded nine more times before he finished.

The artist in him could not help but be disappointed. He had half-expected and half-hoped that there would be a piece missing – a dramatic scar in its centre, just where his heart would rest – or that the glass would glow white-hot and fuse together seamlessly, perhaps rewarding him with a glimpse of something strange and forbidden for his efforts.

But the mirror had only ever been a mirror – and hardly even that now, as its spiderweb of cracks and distorting smudges of dried glue rendered it unusable.

And now sleep remembered him, weighing down on his eyelids irresistibly. His dreams that night were full of darkness, and of cold, and of a hunter with a laughing mouth.

Weeks later. A group of the young – but not as young as they were – gathered to drink, and to talk.

“Is Jean not coming?” asked one.

“Yes, where has he got to? I haven’t seen him in simply ages,” replied another.

A third leaned in conspiratorially. “I saw him the other day, you know, down Martyrs’ Avenue. I think he’s got a job at a place there. Looked like he hadn’t slept for weeks. Pale as anything. Stared through me like I wasn’t even there.”

“Turned to the needle, no doubt.”

“Such a shame. I always did say he very nearly had talent.”

[ojello]

Adrift |A Short Story|

A short story I wrote a few years back. I posted and deleted on a few sights since then. I’m actually really proud of it despite deleting it all the time. 

Oliver had a special nickname for his wife. It wasn’t a term of endearment; if anything it was the opposite. Rather, it was a description of what she was; the noise she made when she spoke—an auditory observation.

“Oliver. Where are you—get in here right now. Oliver!”

Shrill. Oliver called her Shrill.

Never to her face of course. He was smart enough to do that much. He had a different nickname he used when he spoke to Shrill.

“Yes, honey?” Oliver said as he got up from the ugly leather chair in his study.

This pusedo-nickname didn’t suit her at all—honey is sweet; Oliver’s wife was not. Perhaps a better nickname would have been “Arsenic” or “Cyanide”, those were the things Oliver would have a craving for whenever he spoke with Shrill.

Oliver entered the living room to see Shrill in her usual stance: arms crossed, eyes narrowed, foot tapping furiously against the hard wood floor.

“I told you, I don’t like coming home to a dirty house. But just look.” She made a sweeping gesture across the entire living room. She was right, it wasn’t neat. The carpet needed to be vacuumed, a thin layer of dust needed to be removed from the T.V stand and bookshelf, and the pile of magazines (that no one ever read) on the coffee table need to be rearranged.

“This is an absolute pigsty! I can’t believe this. I ask you to do one thing while I’m at work and you can’t even do that.”

Oliver took a deep breath, “I’m sorry honey. But you need to understand that I just got back from work too. I’m tired, I was going to—”

Shrill cut Oliver off, she rarely let him finish speaking. 

“Oh, you were going to? Yeah well, you’re going to clean this mess up right now.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Shrill uncrossed her arms if only to undo the bun her hair was in.

“After you’re done get started on dinner.”

“But—”

“But what?”

“It’s just that this morning you said you didn’t want me to—never mind.”

Shrill huffed and walked passed Oliver, the room felt significantly warmer when she left.

Oliver picked up the pile of magazines tapped them against the coffee table and set them down again. 

“Done.” he said flatly.

Oliver walked to the kitchen and made the only think he knew how to cook to Shrill’s gourmet standards: spaghetti in meat sauce. Once he finished he set three places at the table and went upstairs to call his family to dinner.

He started with his son, Oliver liked to call him Grumpy. It wasn’t a very nice nickname, but Oliver thought it was fair. After all Grumpy called him:

“What do you want, Lazy-ass?” Grumpy said as Oliver opened his door.

“Is that any way to talk to the man who puts food on the table?” 

“Mom puts food on the table.” 

Sure she does.

Oliver looked at Grumpy. He was wearing his pyjamas.

‘Did—did you go to school today?”

“What do you care, Lazy-ass?”

Guess I don’t. Oliver thought. He sighed. “Dinner’s ready.”

He walked next door to his daughter's room, Sleepy he called her. Sleepy was the nicest person in Oliver’s family, which is no better than being the smartest shmuck. Sleepy’s tongue wasn’t as sharp as Grumpy and Shrill’s, all she did was agree with whatever her mother and brother said about Oliver; even though she knew full well none of it was ever true.

Oliver knocked on Sleepy’s door.

“Dinner’s ready.” He said.

“Coming.” Is what Sleepy would have said, but all that came out of her mouth was a long yawn.

He opened the door a crack. “Call your mother too.”

Oliver went back downstairs and contemplated whether he wanted to eat dinner with his family that night. He took a taste of the spaghetti, it was a bit too soft. Shrill wouldn’t like that. He grabbed a plate from the cabinet.

“I’ll eat in my study.”

Oliver worked one of those generic white collar jobs. The kind that where everybody works at a desk with a computer and nobody's really sure what anybody else is doing. All they know is the work the person next to them was doing—whatever it was—involved sitting at a desk with a computer.

Oliver never liked his job. Not because his chair was uncomfortable, and his computer was slow, or because his taskmaster of boss took sadistic pleasure in working him like a dog. Not even because he seemed to be paid in stress rather than money. 

Oliver hated his job because it was inside.

He especially hated how the view from his window allowed him to see a glittering pool of blue in the distance—the ocean. Oliver loved the ocean. There wasn’t a second in his day where he wasn’t imagining he was breathing in moist salty sea air rather than dry, sweaty air in the office, or stale air freshener at home.

He first fell in love with the sea when he was a little boy and his father took him for an afternoon boat ride. The gentle breeze in his hair, the smell of salt water a cool sea spray on his face, to Oliver those were the things that embodied freedom. 

“I’d kill for a boat.” Oliver sighed. He let his head rest at an awkward angle; the most comfortable way to sit in his chair.

He sat up. 

Maybe I don’t have to. He thought.

Because I think I might already have one.

Oliver lifted the garage door. He’d hadn’t been in the garage since they bought the house fifteen years ago when Grumpy was born. If he remembered correctly there might  be something inside the garage collecting dust under a tarp—something that wasn’t a 2005 Chevy Cruise.

 Oliver looked inside and saw—a 2005 Chevy Cruise(it was actually very good shape mind you.) and what he was hoping to find: a small sailboat, big enough to comfortably fit one person. It was also in surprisingly good shape—although a fresh coat of paint wouldn’t hurt. 

Oliver walked over to the boat and ran his hands along the side of it. 

“How could I have forgotten about you?” He asked.

The boat, of course, gave no answer. 

The boat was an impulse buy, from an old man by the harbour who’s sole wish was to be rid of it. Oliver had wanted to take it for a sail right away, but at Grumpy and Sleepy were still quite young at that time and Shrill had insisted that if she couldn’t take a break he couldn’t either. 

“They’re grown now,” Oliver said wiping the dust off the stern.

“This weekend I’ll. No tomorrow. I’ll take it out tomorrow.”

The sky was the colour of blood the morning Oliver left. He had made sure to leave early in the morning five or five thirty; the time where fishermen get up and his family would still be fast asleep.

Of course, he wasn’t the type of man to leave without saying anything. He left a note. He also left his phone at home so Shrill couldn’t bother him.

A light breeze picked up, filled the boat’s sails with air, and pushed it forward in a neat line, as though someone had drawn its course with a ruler. Oliver adjusted the sails and sat back down in time to watch the sunrise. Oliver was an avid admirer of art, of beauty in general, but the sunrise he saw that day far surpassed the work of any artist past present, and yet to come.

The sky turned from red to orange as a large yellow ball of light rose out from the water. The waves become a display case for thousands of red, orange and yellow diamonds. The breath the sunrise stole from Oliver was recycled into the wind to propel his boat even farther into the horizon.

“This was worth taking a day off work, taking a day off life rather.”

Just then staying up late preparing his boat for sea, waking up at fishermen’s time, and the sound of the waves gently crashing into one another become a melodious lullaby. Eventually, Oliver laid back in his boat and fell asleep.

WOOSH! CRASH! SPLASH! 

Oliver awoke to the sound of wind screaming, and waves beating against the hull. He found that most of his face except for his nose and mouth were submerged in water. The boat had sprung a leak. Oliver stood up, only to rip and smack his face on the mast. The fracture he sustained in his tooth wasn’t vain. He found what he was looking for floating around the mast that injured him: 

Duct tape.

He located the leak and patched it up as best he could. He reached up to close the sails, but:

RIIIP!

The wind tore the sails open like paper or stretched out silk. All Oliver could think to do then was deal with the water that was already in the boat. He had brought a bucket along for that very reason. Oliver located the bucket floating about the boat and used it to remove the water.

By the time Oliver had finished the waves died down and the wind quieted. He sighed and said back down, his shorts making a soft squishing sound as he did so.

“Survey the damage.” He said. 

He looked around.

“Everything is wet.”

Oliver removed his shirt and shorts and hung them on the mast to dry. The sun and wind speed up the process.

Oliver looked around as he redressed: all his saw was water, no land, no boats, no swimmers; just water. His boat no longer moved in a perfectly straight line, instead, it drifted aimlessly across the azure waves.

Oliver laid back down resting his head against the mast. Somehow it was a lot more comfortable than his chair at work. He stared up at the sky and it stared back him with the same listless gaze.

Oliver spoke to a cloud: “Right about now, I’d be at work. Making spreadsheets, crunching numbers. Then I’d go home, enjoy a few moments rest. Before Shrill comes home and screams at me: “Oliver the living room’s a mess!” even though we both know it’s not that bad.

“Then Grumpy would come home. Not from school, from somewhere. I’d ask him how his day was he’d day: “Don’t talk to me Lazy-ass.” Then I’d eat some dinner I don’t like, go to my study contemplate suicide, and then go to bed.” 

A warm sea breeze blew by.

“But this. Floating around in the middle of the ocean, with nowhere to go. This is a lot better than any of that.”

Oliver sighed. It wasn’t a sigh of exasperation or exhaustion. Rather, it was a sigh of contentment.

 “The only thing that could make this better,” Oliver said.

“Was if I ended up on that island in the painting in my study. I imagine it’s some kind of paradise. I bet there’s a woman on that island. Would she be nice? Of course, she would.”

Oliver turned to his side to take a nap and noticed a small black object. He picked it up. It was a radio. Oliver reached for on switch. He didn’t expect it to work. After all, it was submerged in water for how long?

Oliver turned the radio on and fiddled with the dials. He heard static on some frequencies and broken voices on others. 

“It works.”

“I can call for help!”

Oliver hung his head. 

“I can call for help.”

He turned over to his back again and spoke with his cloud.

“So I have two options: I can die here. Or I can call for help and go back to my job, Shrill, and Grumpy. What would be the difference exactly? You can’t really call that living. Hating every second of every day from the moment you wake up to the moment you go to bed at night. If anything it’s worse than dying”

Oliver sat up.

“I hate my life. There’s no sugar coating it. Even so, as long as I live my awful life I’ll get to come back here.” 

Oliver looked over at the sun setting on the horizon. He reached for the radio. 

“Maybe it’s not so bad if I think about it that way.”

Shrill made Oliver get rid of the sail boat when he got back. It was a shame, it could have been repaired. For weeks Oliver quenched his thirst for the sea by going down to the beach after work. Walking along the shore wasn’t quite the same as drifting across the ocean, but he made do.

While walking barefoot along the shore, Oliver noticed a man carrying a small fishing boat. Oliver asked the man if he was planning on going fishing.

The man shook his head. “This boat’s no good for fishing. I’m getting rid of it.”

“Since you’re going to throw it away, mind if I take it?”

The man placed the boat down.

“Are you sure you want it? The only thing it’s good for is floating around.”

Oliver picked the boat up and smiled.

“That’s exactly what I need it for.” he said. 

[toreadorwriter]

What happens in the dark ch 2: Marie's past.

Several hours later, Susi came back home and Jewel practically jumped into her arms. Marie came out of the bathroom with Alysa, who was nice enough to hold what little amount of hair she had left when she was puking up a storm.

"Damn dirty hot cheetos," she muttered. To make matters worse, Susi and Jewel were chatting up a storm. The other ghouls were so happy to see one another that Marie's stomach churned seeing them hug and ask about each other's day and frankly seeing them all happy and just plain not miserable.  Just being in the same room as all that positive emotion made Marie want to throw up again. God,she couldn't stand the new roomate. Jewel didn't do anything bad to her but still the pangs of jealousy hit Marie like a truck and the beast in the Nosferatu was begging to frenzy.  

"Let me out, I can help you solve your problems" the beast whispered seductively into Marie's thoughts.

Before things went too far out of control, Marie rapidly excused herself from the room leaving everyone else behind. Alysa tried to follow her concerned for her friend's safety and happiness,but  received a glare so nasty and cold that if looks could kill the other vampire would have been ash in the wind by now. 

Going upstairs, the nosferatu slammed the door and locked it and switched on the dimming lamp before flopping down in her bed.

Her punk themed room was filled with underground band merch and posters and a huge American flag. She grumbled curses as she dug underneath her pillow and pulled out some paper and a bag of weed and rolled a fat blunt before putting on her headphones and letting the wailing of guitars take her away from all her problems.

Marie

"Stupid Jewel, Isaac used to be mine. Before she came along, I used to be a really popular musician and Isaac's favorite ghoul. I was a pianist and I was talented as hell, smart, and gorgeous, and both men and women swooned whenever I entered the room. It's not fair, why did I have to be turned into a ugly Nosferatu? I'm not a bad person andiI didn't deserve this- if it wasn't for stupid Gary fucking Golden getting jealous of Isaac and embracing me. I would still be rich and famous- and most of all HUMAN. God, I just wish I could be human again and see the sunrise and be able to show my face in public without the revulsion my presence causes. That's all I ever wanted! not this cursed unlife!" 

Marie's thoughts mixed with the lullaby wafting through the air from the smoke  led her to sleep and ignore the real world completely.

Five years earlier

Marie was busy putting on a tight fitting black dress which showed off her assets quite nicely. The young woman gazed affectionately at herself in the mirror across her vanity and went over to her walk in closet and pulled out her Red bottom High heels and slipped them to complete tonight's ensemble. She then placed the gorgeous diamond necklace that Isaac had gifted her around her neck and finished the look with the matching earring set.

While she was finishing touching up her makeup and curling her hair, she heard a knock on the door. 

Spritzing an expensive perfume all over, Marie ran to the door to reveal Isaac standing there with a rose for her hair.  Isaac ,smiled he nearly had to keep his jaw from dropping as Marie looked absolutely beautiful. And that dress! He had a hard time believing her beauty was not supernatural and he definitely couldn't wait to introduce her to the other local Cainities at tonight's piano concert she starred in. His soon to be bride and child was going to make him proud tonight and his undead heart almost beat again with excitement.

Marie smiled at him, her hazel eyes sparkled and Isaac's breath was taken away even though he hasn't needed to breathe since his own embrace. Isaac will never forget the time he first met Marie, she was as beautiful as she was 2 years ago she was still the same young,  carefree, musician she was then. He met her at one of her performances and her sparkling orange dress caught his eye, and the angelic sounds from the piano drew him into the first row of the audience. From this point of view, Marie looked absolutely angelic in the spotlight and his Toreador sensibilities approved wholeheartedly of the scene.

He was absolutely enthralled for the two hours of the concert until she gave her final encore and exited the stage. Isaac scrambled to meet her offstage when the audience began cheering and she left the stage, dodging roses thrown by other admirers.

Isaac found Marie busy pouring herself some punch as a young man with an atrocious fake tan and frosted tips approach her and he placed his hand on her shoulder. Marie was startled and almost dropped the punch in her hand. She looked at the stranger in the eye and sighed but cracked him a polite smile anyway.

''The names Chriss Tapper and I'm a big fan of your work," he said, not even bothering to give her eye contact. His eyes were busy ogling down her dress anyway. Feeling a bit uncomfortable, Marie did her best to ignore his ogling.

"Thank you, that means a lot. I'd love to stay and chat but unfortunately it's getting late and I have other obligations" Marie said while covering her chest with her purse. Isaac could feel her discomfort from across the room. 

Marie tried to leave the situation at hand, but Mr. Staring Contest was not having any of that and blocked her way. Chris grabbed her roughly by the arm shocking her completely. What nerve! Who the hell did he think he was?'

'''Let go of me! I won't tolerate this behavior!" she snapped and that caused Chris to chuckle obnoxiously.

 "You don't scare me. Try to start some shit with me and I'll make sure you never play in this city again!" He threatened.

Marie instantly decided she didn't like the city much any how and tipped her drink over his head.

Isaac decided to intervene and stepped in between Marie and this horribly dressed man before anyone had more than their egos hurt. The punch left streaks in the spray tan as it ran down the man's face.

"Sir. I wouldn't do that if I were you. You might end up in prison or six feet under" Isaac said casually with just a hint of anger in his voice. 

Surprised and scared from the speed of the other man, Chris backed off.

 "Fuck you, she's not even cute anyway…." He muttered before slinking off like the coward he was.

Turning around ,Marie gave a sigh of relief

.

''Thank you so much for helping me, that guy was a total creep.”

Marie trailed off, entranced by Isaac. He looked so enticing under the lights in the ballroom. 

If Isaac was alive,he'd blush from the look she was giving him. He also noticed Marie was wearing the delicate rose shaped necklace he had made especially for her in his shop the night they met. 

Isaac led Marie to the dance floor and began to lead her in slow circles and pulled her closer to him. She breathed in his cologne scent and sighed contently.

“I could live in this moment forever” Marie said longingly into Isaac’s ear. 

Isaac purred a response “we can live this moment forever in private, are you interested?”

Marie nodded and he lead her out into the night. 

Isaac called one of his cars to the theater to take the pair back to Marie’s place. The driver was able to ignore the two in the back seat whispering sweet nothings during the ride home. 

Marie lived in a cozy but small brick apartment in a rougher edge of the city. The air smelled of cheap cigarettes and fast food. Isaac did his best to ignore the smell and walked Marie up the stairs, arm in arm. Marie dug in her purse for her key and quickly unlocked the door. Stepping inside,  Marie turned on the switch and the lights fluttered on and Isaac was in awe- her apartment looked like a scene straight from a Elvira movie. It was punk and gothic and various band posters was interspersed with antiques painted black in the living room. There was an all black leather couch that beckoned to Isaac to relax, and off jumped a cute black cat that stretched and meowed and walked up to greet them.

Marie stooped down to pet the friendly animal and even though this apartment wasn't to his taste, Isaac had to admit she did have creativity. He really liked that in a woman. 

''Awww, how's my good boy. Midnight did you miss me?." She asked while kneeling down to the cat’s level. The cat meowed a happy reply and returned to his spot on the couch. After getting up from the floor and placing her thing's down Isaac, cleared his throat catching her attention.

''Would you like to continue this night forever?”

“Yes”

He then pulled up the sleeve of his dress shirt and offered his wrist to Marie.  Then he remembered that blood was a pain in the ass to get out and he did not want to ruin his new suit or Marie's furniture. Getting up, he walked over to her kitchen cabinet and fumbled around with the doors before finding a crystal wine glass. Obviously cheap and from a halloween store,  but it suited him. The toreador sat on the couch and bit into his wrist letting his crimson vitae spill into the glass. The crimson blood shone in the light and in a few seconds the cut he inflicted upon himself closed up and the vampire offered the wine glass to her.

Marie looked at it as if he just offered her a plate of deep fried cockroaches but regardless of her hesitancy, she obliged. 

She should have been disgusted and was instead surprised when the blood tasted like caramel and she felt a wave of emotion wash over her body. She instantly felt relaxed and it was stronger than any drug on the planet and in this moment, nothing hurt. It was beautiful. 

''Wow what ever you just did, I  want more." 

Isaac chuckled. ''oh you will but in due time." He promised. The vampire smiled at her, and he allowed his fangs showed this time.  Marie felt her heart flutter. She felt the strong urge to please him and be next to him at all times and she didn't know why, but surely she always had these feelings deep inside.

The world started to fade to black for Marie and  Isaac knew that the sunrise was starting. He quickly closed all the blinds and carried Marie upstairs. Opening her bedroom door he gently laid the sleeping ghoul down and tucked her in. Seeing that it was only one bed in the apartment Isaac excused himself and went to go sleep on the couch but the eyes from Midnight said he was not willing to share. Isaac went back upstairs and wrapped his arms around Marie and fell into the dreamless sleep of the dead. 

To be continued….