#you mention hand holding to wiggly and he almost kills you on the spot

[itsdefinitely]

Ok, OK HEAR ME OUT!-

The Lords in black dating sim/click and point adventure game

I take full destructive criticism. I'm sorry

yeah but it has to be done in the sucker for love way. can you see my vision

[five-rivers]

Prompt: some of the blob ghosts like to cuddle up with Danny while he sleeps. One/both of his parents see this when they check his room one night.

Ghosts weren’t alive.  They didn’t have cells.  They didn’t breathe.  Some of them formed from the aether, with no parents to speak of, or were born of things that were not ghosts.  That didn’t mean they didn’t participate in an ecosystem of sorts, didn’t mean they weren’t subject to their own, internal logic, didn’t mean that the graces of society and community were lost on them.  

As with more material beings, symbiosis was the rule, rather than the exception.  

Danny was a protector, and he had the tendency to drive off predators, one way or another.  The community of smaller, weaker spirits thrived under his aegis.  

Symbiosis.  Mutualism.  Both sides benefit.  

Danny trudged up the stairs, covered in thick, sticky ectoplasm.  He’d been on the receiving end of an invention explosion downstairs, and he had more than a few cuts and bruises underneath the rapidly hardening ooze.  

Would this even come out in a shower?

He opened the bathroom door and was immediately accosted by a dozen-odd blob ghosts.  He quickly bundled them into his arms and pushed them back into the bathroom.  This was difficult, because although the smallest of them was about the size of a cat, the largest were the size of toddlers.  Wiggly toddlers.  

Door shut, and immediate risk of exposure reduced, Danny let go of the ghosts, who nuzzled him, mumbling, whispering, and purring, all the sounds just shy of having meaning.  The amoeba-like ghosts didn’t really have mouths or tongues, but nevertheless it certainly felt like they were licking him.  He flinched away when one of the smaller ghosts explored the area behind his ear.  

At least they were getting something out of this.

The blob ghosts had just shown up one day, and Danny hadn’t the will to drive them off.  Plus, not having to clean up all the ectoplasm he got all over himself, his clothing, and his room on a regular basis was nice.  Also, they, and some of the other small ghosts that regularly hung out around him, gave his ghost half warm fuzzies.  Or cold fuzzies.  Whichever.  

Of course, even if the blob ghosts did take off all the ectoplasm (and the blood) Danny was still going to take a shower.  No matter how comfortable he was with the blob ghosts otherwise, he was not about to take a shower with them.  When his skin and hair felt reasonably ectoplasm free, he built up a shield on his skin and used it to gently push away the blob ghosts.  The ghosts got the hint, and retreated, mostly invisible, to Danny’s bedroom.  

Good.  Alright.  

Shower, first, then collapse.  

(Today had been exhausting.)

About half an hour later, Danny wandered into his room, the blob ghosts waiting for him.  He had to shove them around a bit to make room for himself on his bed.  

He snuggled underneath his blankets, and the blob ghosts snuggled up next to him, their ruby eyes closed to pleased slits.  Their not-weight and coolness were comforting against Danny’s skin.  

Too tired to stop it, Danny’s core began to purr.  The ghosts’ whispering and muttering took on an edge of giggling, and Danny glared at them playfully.  They did not stop.  

“Hmmnh, are there more of you?” asked Danny as a middle-sized one claimed a spot near the back of his neck.  

He had a theory (unconfirmed) that the blob ghosts and others that lived in his territory were somehow attuned to his emotional state.  There always seemed to be more of them around when he was stressed or worn out.  

Not getting an answer, he hummed, almost at the same pitch as the blob ghosts, and managed to maneuver the largest so that he could hold it like a teddy bear.  

This was good.  

He went to sleep.  

.

“I’m going to go check on Danny,” said Maddie.  

“He’s probably asleep by now,” said Jack.  

“I know.  We just pushed him really hard today, and then that explosion at the end...”  She sighed.  “Not the best way to convince the kids to join the family business.”

“Mhm,” said Jack.  “Danny’s tough, though.”

“I know,” said Maddie.  She sighed.  “He was worn out from all the way in the morning, though.  I hope he’s not staying up late playing video games again.”

“No way!  He’s learned that lesson.  I hope.”

“Yeah, we hope.”  She patted Jack’s knee and pushed off the couch.  “I’m still going to go check on him.”

She climbed the stairs, smiling at the soft music playing from Jazz’s ajar door.  Sometimes she wished Jazz relaxed more, but it was also nice to see her studying.  

Danny’s door was firmly closed, but none of the bedroom doors had locks, so Maddie just turned the handle and pushed open the door.  

She froze immediately.  

The scene in front of her was something akin to finding her child asleep in a pit of snakes, only worse.  Much worse.  Snakes could kill you.  Ghosts could do more. 

One of the many, many evilly glowing ghosts slithered up over Danny’s neck, making him shift slightly in his sleep.  None of them had noticed her, yet.  

She couldn’t wake Danny.  He’d panic, and then who knew what the ghosts would do?  She couldn’t attack outright.  Too many of them.  She’d never get them all with the tiny hand blaster she kept on her person at all times.  Even if she had something larger, she’d risk hitting Danny, and he sometimes had odd reactions to ectoplasmic discharge- some kind of allergy.  Not to mention, the bigger guns were dangerous to humans in their own right, no matter that they tried to make their weapons nonlethal.  

No good options.  

What would the ghosts do when they saw her?

She backed away, keeping her footsteps light.  She went to Jazz’s room.

“Jazz, sweetie?”

“Hm?” said Jazz, looking up from her desk.

“Go get your father.  Tell him to come quietly.  And bring the phasing net.”

“Um, okay?  What’s going on?”

Just hurry,” said Maddie, “quietly.”

“Alright,” said Jazz, still dubious, but getting up nonetheless.  “Is something wrong?  Yes.  Remember, quietly- No, leave your music on.”

“Okay,” said Jazz again. 

Maddie heaved a sigh of relief as she saw Jazz make her way down the stairs. 

Alright.   

She had... something of a plan.  Almost.  

She wouldn’t let those filthy ghosts hurt her son.

.

Of all the ways to wake up, getting a net thrown on him was one of the worst.  The blob ghosts were still on him, and, of course, their collective instinct was to phase away from the offending object, straight through his bed and floor, into the kitchen.  They hit the table, still wrapped in the net.  

The blobs keened, and Danny tensed, holding off his transformation as he heard feet on the staircase.  Jack and Maddie soon arrived.  

“Uh,” said Danny, squiggling so that he could wave at them through the net.  “Hi?”

“You,” said Maddie, “you phased with the net.”

“Oops?”

[trashyswitch]

The Truth Behind His Motives

Part 2 of The New Life of a Dying Afton

Michael is getting a bath and finally spills...not the water, but the reason behind Michael's choice of job. Henry tries to cheer him up in any way he knows.

For Lucius01.

Michael was feeling his body crumble more and more, the longer he floated in the tub. But boy, did the bath feel good. It felt amazing to him. Felt like the world’s problems were lifted off his shoulders...for just a moment.

“So tell me: Why did you apply to Circus Baby’s Pizza world?” Henry asked.

Michael groaned and opened his eyes. Damn...He was looking forward to just sleeping there...in the tub.

But...He’s gotta answer the man.

“I…”

But...what should he say? Should he tell him the truth? Or cover up the truth? He could feel it coming on...an urge to bawl his eyes out. To just weep and let it all out. But...He would be seen as weak by doing that.

“Come on...tell me. If you need to cry, then cry.”

It was like being given permission, finally broke the dam open. Michael bursted out crying and hid his face in his hands out of pure embarrassment. It all welled up to the front for the first time, and poured itself out. It felt great to finally cry, but it also felt embarrassing. It was a big mix of emotions that all climbed up to fall out of him.

With all the crying, he was starting to finally lose his filter.

“I miss him.” He told him. “I hate him, but I miss him!”

Henry’s face softened. Oh gosh…This is the deep pain that Michael had been holding in.

“WHY DO I MISS A MURDERER?!” Michael shouted.

Henry let out a sigh and scratched the back of his head. “Well…”

Michael sobbed. He hated acting like this...He hated acting vulnerable and expressing his depressive thoughts.

“Sometimes love is very complicated. It can make us love terrible people, and miss the memories despite how little there are.” Henry tried to explain.

Michael continued to double over and cry. He could hear his tears plopping into the bathtub. He felt like a complete loser. His father would’ve reprimanded him for crying so much. But Henry...wasn’t like that.

“You hold so many things inside that little heart of yours.” Henry told him.

He had a good point...He really does hold things in his heart. And now was the time to get it all out.

“I...It gets stronger with every passing day!” Michael told him. He wiped the tears off his face and looked at Henry desperately. “I feel an urge to meet him! See him! Feel him, anything with him!” Michael explained. “But I can’t!”

Henry smiled. “I get those too…I would kill to hear William’s laugh again.”

Michael sniffled. “I wanna hear his voice again. His real voice. Not his broken voice.” Michael started to rock as he talked to him. “I started to use a coping strategy.”

“Yeah?” Henry responded softly. He sounded really interested...And he genuinely was.

“I started writing letters to him...My therapist told me to.” Michael told him. “It helps a bit...Helps me feel close to him again…”

Henry nodded and continued to listen.

“But there are some days when it’s not enough...Some days, I need more. So much more.” Michael told him. “I need to be where he is. I need to talk to him...Ask him things that constantly fill my mind.” Michael told him.

“Like?”

“Like...Why did you do it?” Michael asked. “Why did you have me? If you love me, why did you do what you did?”

Henry nodded. “Trust me, I have those exact same questions.”

Michael nodded and growled. “I was sick of the hole in my heart. I wanted real answers!” Michael told him. “So…”

“You applied to a job that William used to run…and that Elizabeth is being held captive in…” Henry filled in the blanks.

Michael nodded and splashed the water angrily. “It was stupid. So stupid.”

Henry nodded. “It was...But I understand.”

Michael looked up at him.

“The truth is, the hole in your heart may never fill.” Henry told him. “But what you do with that hole, may make all the difference.”

Michael looked at him and sighed. “I...I found Elizabeth…” Michael told him.

Henry looked up. “You did?”

“Yeah…” Michael replied.

“How is she?” Henry asked.

“Stuck.” He replied.

“I imagine…” Henry told him.

Michael started to tear up all over again. “I miss her too.”

Henry walked up closer and hugged him. “I know.”

Michael continued to cry into the man’s sleeve. The pain of all he had gone through had been building up till this point. Now, it was all crashing apart. His world was upside down, and his body was decaying before his eyes.

“Now look at me…” Michael muttered, as he looked at the soggy dead skin that had fallen off as he bathed. It was everywhere...It would probably clog the bathtub. “I know…” Henry told him. “It’s both unimaginable, and disgusting at the same time.”

Michael chuckled a bit. “I’m a zombie.” He put his arms up like a zombie.

Michael actually laughed at that. “You really are! Barely awake, barely alive, heart’s maybe pumping but that’s about it.” Henry added.

Michael smiled for the first time at that moment. His teeth were still there despite the decaying body.

“I miss him.” He told him.

“I do too.” Henry said back. “Would it help if I told you some stories of when we were hanging out together?” He asked.

Michael nodded and leaned against the corner of the bathtub.

“So: there was this one time we took you to the playground when you were almost 2. Your father was ecstatic about going to the park with you for the first time. He couldn’t wait to see what you’d choose!” He told him.

Michael smiled.

“He let you go run, while I sat on a bench. I was questioning you going on your own, but I guess parents have to do it at some point.” Henry told him. “Anyway, you immediately ran to the swings first. So naturally, William started sprinting to the swing and wanna guess what he did?” He told him.

“He pushed me?” He asked.

“Nope!” Henry laughed. “He put you in the swing, and left you there while he climbed into the baby swing beside you!” He laughed. “He expected me to walk my ass over there, and push us both!” He told him.

Michael rolled his eyes and laughed. “Wow…”

“Wow is right!” Henry reacted. “Making me do all the work!”

“What did you do?” Michael asked.

“I tickled him.” He replied casually.

“You-...I’m sorry what?” Michael was surprised.

“The trick to handling his lack of common sense was to tickle him. And William, let me tell ya: William was the most ticklish man I have ever met, in my life! And he was just ASKING for it that day.” Henry told him.

Michael giggled in slight nervousness.

“His sides were the killer spot. You tickle him there? He’ll flop to the ground. Tickle him from standing? He’ll be on the ground in seconds.” He told him.

Michael laughed.

“Ahahahand his feet?”

“His feet were a good spot to go for when he was taking up the whole couch. All you had to do was keep tickling till he had his knees to his chest.” Henry told him. “And if he ever placed his feet on your knees afterwards? You just keep on going.” Henry told him.

“Wohohow! I guess I now know why I’m ticklish everywhere.” Michael mentioned.

“Yeah! I guess so!” Henry reacted. “I never really thought ticklish spots could be genetic. But, I suppose they are.” He told him.

Michael shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t really know much about genetics. But he did know about the dominant and recessive genes.

[A while later:]

Michael had walked up to Henry after having his bath.

Henry was waiting for Michael on the couch, with an evil looking grin on his face.

“What?” Michael asked with a chuckle.

“Oh nothing…” He said, clearly not meaning it.

“Don’t nothing me! Something’s up.” Michael told him.

“You’re right…” Henry said with a sly smirk.

“What are you planning?” Michael asked as Henry got up.

“Oooooh...ya knooooww..” He walked around Michael and squeezed his sides.

“EEEHEHEHEHEHEHE!” He laughed, doubling over.

“Oooooh! Just as ticklish on your sides, I see!” Henry reacted.

“COHOHOHOME OHOHON! YOHOHOU AHAHALREADY TIHIHICKLED MEHEHE TOHOHODAHAHAY!” Michael reacted.

“Did I?” Henry asked. “Oh yeah! I did, didn’t I?” Henry realized.

“YEHEHEHES!” Michael laughed happily.

“Well maybe I wanna tickle you some more!” Henry reacted.

Michael felt trapped under Henry’s wiggly fingers. His sides were almost as ticklish as his Dad’s were.

“Wow! I wonder...Are your hips just as ticklish?” He asked.

Michael widened his eyes. NO! “NAHAT THERE!”

“Not where?” He squeezed them. “Here?”

Michael absolutely EXPLODED with laughter! His hips were a super bad spot!

“Funny...I don’t remember William’s hips being this ticklish! Though, I do remember William mentioning how ticklish your mother’s hips were.” Henry reacted.

“REHEHEHEALLY?” He reacted.

“Yeah! Her hips were a really bad spot. And her only spot! Her hips seemed to make up for the lack of tickle spots on her whole body. It was quite the interesting contrast compared to William.” Henry explained.

Michael's smile grew brighter and brighter the longer he was tickled. It felt just as nice as being in the tub. He was truly getting the treatment today!

“OHOHOKAHAHAHAY, BREHEHEHEAK PLEHEHEHEASE!” He begged.

Henry nodded and gave him a break. He stopped tickling him and let him go.

Michael didn’t really lack the air to breathe, being he was mostly dead. So the man recovered rather quickly.

“Thahahank you Dad.” He said in a giggly trance.

Henry widened his eyes and quickly covered his mouth. He hadn’t been called Dad since Charlie!

Henry could feel the tears coming on. “Oh no, here comes my turn to cry…” He admitted with a laugh.

Michael quickly comforted him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.” Michael told him.

“Ihit’s fine. It was nice of you to call me Dad. I needed that.” Henry told him.

Michael smiled and hugged him. “No problem...Dad.”

Aaaaand a lot more tears were shed that evening.

This fanfic is a personal take on Daddy Issues (Which I have). The truth is, I have 2 Dad's: A birth Dad, and an adopted Dad. My adopted Dad is the greatest man I've ever met. My birth Dad...is broken. I really wanted to illustrate what it's like to hate someone you love, and explain that need to see someone you love despite the hate you feel towards them. It's super complicated, but I tried to explain it here as a therapy of sorts for me. I hope this explains some things.

[babi-correia]

Finding Fire (Part 16)

Words: 1100 Warnings: Violence (fist fight) Pairing: Matt x reader if you squint VERY hard A/N: Only around 3 more parts left to this fic! 

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

"So, when were you going to tell me that you had a restraining order on Stewart?" 

You take a deep breath before looking at Jay in the eyes.

"Did Voight tell you everything I told him?" You ask, watching the confusion on Jay's face. "I'm going to take your expression as a no. Kirk and I dated back when I was still at Squad, I got injured and moved to Truck 21. A couple years after that I became its' Lieutenant, and he was one of my firefighters until a couple of years ago, when his behavior became absolutely inexcusable; he had a hero complex, we suspect he started some fires while still a firefighter so he could reap the credits for the rescues, not to mention how disrespectful of the hierarchy he was. I broke up with him and got him expelled from being a firefighter anywhere. He started stalking and threatening me, so I got a restraining order against him. It worked up until now."

"You should have told me before, (Y/N)."

"You still had no proof about it being him. Now you have an eye witness and can pin him for attempted murder." You shrug your shoulders. "Do you have your car back?"

"Yeah, I do. Burgess and Ruzek brought it by, why do you ask?" 

"I was wondering if you minded taking me to the Firehouse, I need to talk to Chief about what happened as well." You keep it to yourself about how it is more than likely that Kirk would come by the firehouse to gloat in what he had done. "Unless Upton confronts me again, in that case, I'll take an Uber."

He chuckles and shoves your shoulder lightly, gesturing for you to follow him. You wave Will goodbye and follow Jay, hopping onto the passenger side. 

"So," Jay begins, starting the car and pulling out of the parking spot. "How come Casey thinks we're dating?"

"I have no idea." You grumble. "And he has an awful attitude about it. He tried to apologize today, right before this call. Admitted he was a jerk to me, said that you were a great guy." 

"You realize that's all jealousy, right?" Jay laughs, looking at you as he stops the truck at a red stoplight. "He sees what we do as friends and gets jealous that he doesn't do those things with you." 

"Severide said the same thing. I was about to tell him we weren't dating but the buzzer sounded out for the warehouse fire." Jay pulls over in front of the firehouse and you spot the black sedan a little ways from the two of you. "Jay."

You point at it and Jay tenses up, grabbing the radio on the dashboard.

"Main, this is 50-21 George requesting back up at Firehouse 51. Sighting of a suspect's vehicle, he may be on the premises." 

"Roger that 50-21 George." 

You unbuckle yourself and get out of the car, hearing Jay call out after you. You cross the street and see a hooded man in the driveway, hearing Jay come out of the car after you. Your heart beats faster and you feel the anger beginning to boil. 

"Stewart!" You shout, fisting your hands as you trudge forward. He turns around, a shocked expression on his face. "I bet you thought you'd seen the last of me, huh?"

You charge at him, punching him square across the face and making him stumble backward. You land another punch on his stomach, making him double-over, and push him to the floor. 

"Not so brave now, are you!?" You spit at him, your chest heaving as he wipes at his mouth.  

You lift him by his collar and punch him again as Jay comes out of the firehouse with the rest of the crew after him, all of them rushing in your direction when you punch Kirk for the fourth time. 

"(Y/L/N), what the hell are you doing!?" Severide says, shocked. Jay pulls Stewart away and Casey grabs you by your middle as you try to charge again. 

"Let me go!" You scream, writhing in Casey's hold as Jay handcuffs Kirk. "I'll kill him, like he wanted to do to me and my crew!"

Casey pulls you inside the firehouse and into your office, closing the door after the two of you are inside. You turn to him, disheveled and red-faced. 

"Calm down." Casey's voice is stern and calm, but he can feel his heartstrings pulling at seeing you like that. "That's not going to help in any way, (Y/N)."

"Does it look like I want it to help!?" Your voice is frantic and it annoys you to no end. "I want that bastard to suffer, I don't care how or what I have to do to ensure it happens."

Casey grabs your shoulders and makes you sit on the bed as you begin to calm down. It's only then that you notice the red spot on his cheek. You touch it lightly, cupping his jaw. 

"Did I do this? I'm so sorry Matt, goddammit, I'm going to get you some ice." You mutter, going to get up as Casey grabs your wrist. 

"It's ok, just sit down." His voice sounds almost defeated and you seat down, intrigued.

"Matt, what is it?" You ask, scanning his eyes for an answer. "Are you ok?"

"Today was just a hard shift, I'm fine." He sighs. "We thought we had lost you today, it was scary, to say the least." 

"I intend on being around for much longer, and no way in hell I'd let that sorry excuse of a man take me out." You try to lighten the mood as a knock on the door sounds out. You get up and open it, finding Jay on the other side. "Oh, hey Jay."

You hear Casey shift behind you and Jay gives you a funny look. 

"I'm going to take Stewart back to 21st, do you need a ride home?" He asks, making wiggly brows at you. You roll your eyes at him before replying. 

"No, I don't. Thank you."

"Alright then, see you later." Jay bids his goodbye, kissing your cheek before leaving. You close the door and turn around, seeing the hard expression on Casey's face.

"You don't have to hold back just because I'm here, you know." He says, his voice sharp and cold. "You make a cute couple."

"Matt, shut up." You snap, earning a surprised look from him. "Jay and I aren't dating. We're just friends."

You just wish to have a camera to register his face.

[eldritchrisingarchive]

                      I HEARD IT ON THE RADIO  /  DRABBLE  /  LEX FOSTER  &   WILBUR CROSS

          the house is unnaturally quiet for the first time in a week, always buzzing with some form of activity until now. the radio in the other room crackles briefly with static, and lex stands still, listening to see if a word, any word, can be made out from the garbled sound. just one. DO. nothing too special, probably the same sort of messages from the places that haven’t been bombed into the next century urging people to stay inside, stay safe. there is nowhere safe between the war and wiggly. even as he’s falling in power, it’s not safe enough. mcnamara said that if he could be defeated in hatchetfield, he could be defeated anywhere, that doesn’t mean that he will be defeated. some places have, but not many. not enough. in the fallout of the seemingly unprompted bombing and riots over the tickle me wiggly, all eyes are focused on the united states, and it seems that it’s the end of life as they know it.

         it cuts out just as quickly as it began, the static giving way to the unbroken silence that feels suffocating as she stands in the hallway, a hallway she realizes she doesn’t know. it’s sickly green walls feel as if they’re closing in on her, crushing in with every breath. where’s hannah ? or ethan ? or... anyone ? she opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. like the silence is stealing her voice, and even the crackling static is missed in this perfectly unnatural silence.

          she moves out of necessity, unable to stay still as her heart races, running down the hallway that stretches for miles as she looks for a way out. there were doors once, and turns, but no longer. just endless expanses of green surrounding her on all sides, until she sees the door at the end of the hallway. she lurches to a sudden halt. there’s something wrong with that room. something that wants to swallow her whole, like a beast sitting with its jaws wide open. if she enters, she doesn’t think she’ll ever leave, but there is no hallway behind her. only a solid green wall that hurts when she tries to kicking it to look for a weak spot.

          ‘  alexandra…  ’

          whatever is on the other side of that door knows her name, and against all odds, it sounds familiar. not familiar like a warm blanket that offers comfort, but the sort that throws you out into the bitter cold to fend to yourself. it reaches out like a hand clasping around her throat, and she batters the wall with more force, but it feels as if it’s pushing back against her every blow and she knows that she’s trapped here. the only way out is through the door, but she doesn’t want to embrace that, instead pressing her back to the wall as she slides down it. this can’t be reality. becky warned her that things like this might happen. delusions from trauma or something like that but she said it in such a soft tone that lex found it hard not to ignore, the knee jerk reaction that might be construed as pitying.

          ‘  you always were an obstinant little brat… don’t keep me waiting, alexandra, it’s rude.  ’

          ‘  fuck off.  ’  it comes off less forceful than she intends it to, but at least she has her voice back, and it feels like a victory even as it feels weak and pitiful in her mouth. she isn’t helpless. she stares at the door. is it a challenge, or a trick ? an exit or an entrance into something unfathomable ? she is no coward, even as her clenched fists shake her jaw sets and she is wondering if she dares to enter, is it bravery or an admission of defeat ?

          ‘  such language, i’m surprised your mother didn’t teach you better.  ’

          ‘  my mom’s an alcoholic bitch—  ’  she snarks, but she’s jerked up sharply from her spot on the floor like something grabbed the back of her shirt despite the fact that there is only a wall behind her. nevertheless, she would have been cut off by the sound of something slamming into the other side of the door, the voice suddenly sounding as if it’s coming from just behind her left ear.

          ‘  now that is no way to talk about your mother, lex, your daddy should have stuck around to teach you some manners.  ’  whatever is holding her shirt releases and she moves forward several steps, now at the center point between the door and the wall, which has remained just as smooth and green as the moment she first saw it. she is alone, but something was holding her up, someone was whispering in her ear. the voice is there again, on the other side of the door.  ‘  i guess that’s my fault, but i won’t make that mistake anymore… now, are you coming in ? or do I have to drag you ?  ’

          this whole situation, whatever it is, is fucked. standing in the dead center of the room, there is no escape, aside from the door or divine intervention, and no angels are coming to her aid. no signs of john either. just a stranger on the other side of the door, slowly beginning to turn the knob. like hell is she letting whoever this bastard is drag her anywhere. in a short few strides, she has the twisting knob in hand and as she starts to turn it herself to throw the door open, a wave of deafening radio static makes impact, and all she can hear is the static and the word that’s barely able to be deciphered through it. YOU.

          there is nothing too spectacular on the other side of the door. a small, grey room, that looks something like the hatchetfield rec center. dingy walls, and a few chairs scattered around, she’s only broken in there to smoke a few times, but it’s just familiar enough to put her further on edge. there is only one occupant in the room, and he’s too far away to be the one who was turning the knob, but the way he watches her with silent intensity tells her that it must have been him.

          dressed in denim, with his hair slicked back and sitting in a backward chair, he reminds her a bit too much of every teacher and counselor who’s tried to ‘ set her on the right path ’ only to express how deep their disappointment is when she doesn’t become a perfect upstanding citizen overnight. the door is already gone, there is no escaping this room until he wants her to and the slight uptick of his smile when she realizes this says that she’s exactly where he wants her.

          ‘  now that wasn’t so hard, was it ? why don’t you have a seat ? we have a lot to talk about.  ’  the voice confirms that he was the one pulling her up the wall, whispering in her ear, and commanding from the other side of the door. who else ? the way he makes her skin crawl is familiar too. a phantom itch that burns at the back of her mind.

          taking several steps back, she watches to see if he moves closer, which he doesn’t to her surprise and relief.  ‘  you know, I’m not really in a talking mood. mom didn’t teach me a lot, but i know better than to talk to strangers.  ’  she tries to act more courageous than she feels as she keeps herself steady, the same way that she does in the face of her mother’s insults. it’s easier to feel like a badass when she doesn’t almost trip herself up when her ankle catches the leg of a chair.

          ‘  i know it’s been some time, but we’re hardly strangers, lex.  ’  there he is with his cryptic bullshit again, clearly taking a sick delight in her confusion as he leans forward watching her with marked interest.  ‘  In fact, we know each other quite well… why don’t you take a stab at it, who do you think I am ?  ’

          ‘  some sort of sick bastard who enjoys toying with girls ? i’m not scared of you, you fucking psychopath. i’ve faced things a lot worse than a farmer stuck in the 90s.  ’  she doesn’t sit to appease him, it’s for the reassurance of something solid pressed up against her back that isn’t the green wall. it’s not much, but it’s something, and she sits with her feet pressed flat against the floor, arms crossed, and staring with an expression that shows annoyance, doing little to betray her fear. at least on the surface.

          ‘  not quite the answer I was looking for, and I think you’ll find I’m much more than a farmer.  ’  a shining green apple is in his hand, and lex doesn’t remember seeing him holding one before, but he is now. tossing it up, catching it, over and over. a small action, mesmerizing in its repetitiveness. she watches it with an expectancy, waiting for it to fall to the floor, but he catches it, surprising her each time for reasons she can’t name.  ‘  that’s strike one, care to take another guess ?  ’

          ‘  a jackass with a god complex ? i have no idea who the fuck you think you are.  ’  it’s true, she doesn’t know, but she blinks and she can swear that their chairs are closer together than when they started. the room smells like smoke and apples now, but she doesn’t know why. she slides herself back with the balls of her feet, taking her eyes off of the man to glance behind her. she’s almost against the grey wall, and moves the few additional inches required, but when she turns back to face him and she’s sure he’s gotten closer. she didn’t hear him move. thirty feet has become twenty now, and she feels much less secure. shoving her hands into her pockets, she feels for her pepper spray, for keys, for anything, but they’re empty.

          ‘  what is it with you prophets and your pepper spray ? there’s nothing intimidating about a bottle of seasoning and chemicals.  ’  lex looks up at him, and he grins, takes a bite of the apple, before continuing the motion of tossing it and catching it again.  ‘  yes, alexandra, i know about your pepper spray, and your keys, really everything you’ve got in those pockets of yours, or should i say had ? and that’s not to mention everything you’ve got going on in that pretty little head of yours.  ’

          ‘  i’m not a prophet.  ’  is that what this is all about ? some sort of religious weirdo ? that feels too simplistic though. that was what general mcnamara had called linda, wasn’t it ? the prophet. wake the warrior, kill the prophet, save the world. the crush of radio static fills her head again, throbbing and pounding. HEAR.  ‘  you’re one of Wiggly’s followers, aren’t you ?  ’

         for a fraction of a second, lex can see blood on his teeth when he smiles, she’s sure of it. he’s closer again, fifteen feet instead of twenty. she’s feeling claustrophobic, realizing she isn’t against a wall, but nestled in a corner. there is no way out. there is no escaping whatever the hell she’s gotten herself into, but she might at least get answers.

          ‘  no, you’re not. at least, not anymore. you were the first prophet though. you were supposed to be special, but it seemed like it skipped over you— but here we are. i guess you turned out special after all… but not special enough, apparently. How many people do you think died because of what you did ? hundreds ? thousands ? maybe it’s still burning… of course, you wouldn’t know anything about that tucked away safe and sound in a panic room. I bet the rest of hatchetfield wishes they had one of those right about now.  ’

          he stands from his chair, seemingly impossibly tall from lex’s vantage point, terrifying in the way that he seems to revel in the chaos. before she can respond, he’s moved on to her question.  ‘  i used to ask you if you could see him, but you never could. such a disappointment, maybe if you had, i might have stayed… you aren’t wrong though, lex, and it’s not too late for you… at least, not if you can answer my question… you still don’t know who i am to you, don’t you ?  ’

          ‘  all you are to me is a doll worshipping psychopath.  ’

          it’s clearly not the answer he was looking for, as he quickly closes the distance between them in a single stride— when had he gotten so close ? it doesn’t matter, because he has a fistful of her hair in his grip and she’s forced to her feet again to look him in the eyes.  ‘  he is so much more than a doll, but you know that, alexandra. what you don’t seem to know is that is no way to speak to your father.  ’

          lex has only been punched in the gut a few times in her life, she could count it on one hand. she’s heard it as a turn of phrase for devastating news but she’d rather take a thousand blows than feel the skin-crawling revulsion that pulses through her at what he says. she tries to wrench her head out of his grip, but he does not let go, only tightens his hold.

          ‘  you’re not my father.  ’  she spits through grit teeth, trying not to wince as she is forced to the tips of her toes to lessen the pain. he can’t be her father. just because he wore denim too, it doesn’t make him her father. not the slick black hair or the cloud of mortal terror that surrounds them both.

          ‘  you can see him now, can’t you lex ?  ’  the way he forms the words makes her stomach drop as they echo ceaselessly, a chorus of his voice, asking the question over and over again that fell on the ears of a girl who was blind. he lets go, and she would fall to the floor if he hadn’t caught her with that inhuman speed. she can’t breathe, and her hands claw at his arm as she kicks and struggles, held aloft by the grip around her neck.  ‘  you can see him, but you’re afraid, so i’m offering you a chance... because you’re special. the first of your kind. accept his love… ask for his mercy, and maybe, he’ll spare you.  ’

          she kicks, futilely. her survival instinct is strong but it cannot rival the immeasurable strength of the being that is supposedly her father. maybe he’s just taking his form. she knows the truth, but it’s too sickening to stomach. he’s tossing the damned apple in his free hand again, watching it with idle interest as if he’s bored and resorted to the act as a way of occupying himself. as if he’s not choking her with such force that the edges of her vision are starting to go black.

          ‘  so, what will it be, alexandra ? i understand talking might be a bit hard for you right now, so a nod will do… do you see him ?  ’  there’s radio static pouring out of his mouth, and the word plucks itself from the abyss. HIM. she is watching the apple rise and fall. suspension, falling, stopping. repeating over and over. she can hear it, the smack when the flesh of the fruit meets with the flesh of his palm with such consistency it might be a metronome.

          she closes her eyes, listens to the apple, to his breathing, to her own blood rushing as her body grows weaker. she shakes her head. she can’t see him, she doesn’t want to. the apple meets the palm again.

          ‘  what a shame you turned out to be…  ’

          the grip on her neck loosens, and she can suck in a single wheezing breath, her eyes opening. is he going to let her go ? she can see the apple fly up out of the corner of her eye, but she doesn’t hear it land. and then she is falling. without a grip around her neck, she is falling through an endless blackness, but she knows, she knows she’s going to hit the ground sooner rather than later and with a gasp, she awakens. lying on the couch, five feet from the radio, a notepad and pen on her chest, no hand around her throat. no trouble breathing except for the fearful gasping of trying to make sense of what had just happened.

          a bad dream. a nightmare. it felt so very real, but it was all inside her head, a migraine starting to form as she sits up with a measured exhale. she’s only just beginning to regain a semblance of peace, or failing that, stability, when the radio flicks back on. it shouldn’t have been off in the first place. the static fills the room, but there are words buzzing in it. not news, not transmissions from possible survivors, it’s reaching out to her directly.

         YOU CAN’T SEE HIM, ALEXANDRA, BUT YOU CAN HEAR HIM. I KNOW YOU CAN.