#I’m gonna be clean and orderly and have space to move about

[ai-luni]

You are everything good in this world

Peter Ballard/Henry Creel/001 x fem!reader 

Series Masterlist, Part 2.1

Word count: 8.2k

Summary: You are an innocent, naive nurse fresh out of school when you receive a job offer in which you think you’ll get to help young orphaned children. Instead you dig a little too deep and find the horrid truths of your work with the help of an orderly who calls you everything good in this world. 

Warnings: Literally everything... Peter himself, Dr Brenner himself, Violence, torture, a spider, swearing, slut shaming, smut 18+, overstimulation, toxic traits, gaslighting, ANGSTY TRAGIC ENDING, bad writing 

A/N: I’m not a writer and I know most of these tropes have already been written about but I started this when I finished vol 1 and needed to finish for myself. My writing is purely self indulgent so it’s a little bit of a self insert, i hope someone can enjoy it anyway. I’m gonna dip now :)

1978

You were young, keen and fresh out of nursing school when you received an offer from a job in a little town called Hawkins, Indiana. It was a good offer - too good to be true - with in house accommodation and the chance to aid young orphaned children. Or so you were told. You found it ironic how your big adventure and journey of self discovery led you to a small town instead of a big city. You weren’t any less excited about it however.

Arriving at the lab, you were taken aback. You weren’t sure what you were expecting but it really wasn’t this. Everything was so sterile and closed off. Many floors were strictly off limits, every door beyond the reception desk needed an ID pass and you greatly struggled to picture how this was a place to help children.

You were on a 6 week work trial before you could move in to be the inhouse nurse. You were staying at the motel in Hawkins for the time being. The thought of moving into that building gave you chills at night but you were excited for these new experiences (and on your first night, very excited to meet the children), however something about that place felt off.

You were given a tour of the building on your first day, meeting the medical wing staff and Dr Brenner himself. He explained to you that this lab was not a usual institution for children or just any children for that matter. But special children, the most special he has ever seen for that matter. He went on to apologise for the trial period, they need to ensure you are in fact the kind of person they are looking for and that they can ensure your trust and confidentiality. 

You asked when you’d get to meet the children and all you were given in response was “In due time.” From then on your tour continued, showing you the living quarters and work space you’d be granted access to as well your uniform of a white blouse, white pencil skirt and nurse’s cap - clean black heeled shoes were advised for appearances although not mandatory, however you learnt quickly with a guy like Dr Brenner, it was never wise to never go against his wishes.

It was the end of your first week when you finally met the orderly staff that supervise the children. They all held pleasantries very well and were lovely company. You were invited to join a few to the cafeteria for their lunch time break, to which you graciously accepted. Though they laughed at your jokes, you found many took themselves too seriously.

There was one however that piqued your curiosity. He did not speak to you that day, nor for any of the weeks during your trial period, but you saw him often. Like you were being shown a sign - he was always leaving the cafeteria when you were entering and passing you in the hallways in the mornings by your office door. He was tall, bright, blond and sympathetic looking. You wanted to hear his voice. You often wondered after seeing him if his voice was in fact as gentle and kind as he looked or boyish and playful or maybe even the complete opposite of how he looked: dark and cold.

It wasn’t until your final week during your trial did you meet one of the children. You were sitting in your little office bay as usual when you heard a knock on the door. Looking up, you saw the tall, blond boy dressed all in white walk in with a little girl holding his hand.

“Good morning Miss L/N. I understand you’re still on your trial period but thirteen here has hurt her hand and would like a bandage.” You nodded trying to conceal the fact that your thoughts were racing for the sake of professionalism. It was gentle and kind, his voice was gentle and kind.

Patting the bed next to you for the little child to sit, you retrieved the little stash of band aids from under your desk. Now ducking down to be eye level with the little girl whose legs dangled off the bed, you decided - as your actual first encounter with a child - you’d try your best to make her like you.

“I'm a nurse Y/N, what’s your name?” you said in a soft tone, perhaps coming off like you were talking to a baby.

“Thirteen.” She replied in a weak tone, to which you thought she was joking. After a silent moment of no follow up you turned to the orderly who stood next to the door, legs apart, arms behind his back and nodding at you with a smile. You hear him hiding a small chuckle and return your attention to the child in front of you trying to seem unfazed at the possibility that this child’s name is thirteen. Thirteen lifts her palm to show you a small cut.

“Oh dear, how did this happen?” You say softly, focusing more on gently applying the band aid to the little girl’s hand.

“Papa says I’m not allowed to say.” You looked at the child’s face again, clearly failing to hide how foreign this moment felt. ‘Papa?’ barely left your lips in a sigh before realising perhaps she meant Dr Brenner. Smiling again you set her free to go, to which she jumped off the bed and back to grab the boy’s hand. You completely forgot he was standing there but the intensity of his stare towards you accompanied by the smile on his face made your ears feel red hot.

“Thank you Nurse Y/N” the boy says, a smile growing wider than leading the child out of the room.

“Congratulations on passing your trial period Y/n. We’ve decided you are exactly the kind of person we are looking for and I’ll be sure to send someone to help you with your things, you need not worry.” Dr Brenner greeted you in the reception doors with these words as you entered with your things in multiple bags and cases, “It is time you finally meet the children.

He led you to ‘The Rainbow Room’ whoch you have heard of quite a bit but never got to see inside. When you entered, Dr Brenner called attention to all of the children and lined them up in front of you. The room was exactly like the rest of the building, sterile white tiles, fluorescent lights and no windows. It wasn’t exactly the place you’d want to let a child grow up in but the decorations and the toys scattered around made it a little more bearable and warm.

One by one Dr Brenner told you the numbers of each child, desperately trying to hide your astonishment at the fact all of the children were named after numbers. And there were so few children there too. It was then that Dr Brenner’s words of “not just any child” really started to sink in. What was so special about these children that they had to have their names taken away?

“Children, say hello to our new Nurse, Nurse Y/N.” Dr Brenner announces to the children.

“Hello Nurse Y/N.” The children responded in a collective bored and wavering tone. You examined the children from across the room, looking at their young eyes, some mischievous, some bright and others plain scary. You saw little thirteen that you treated yesterday, she smiled brightly while showing you the band aid still on her palm. You gave a small wave back. This adorable interaction completely making your day.

In the early weeks of moving in, you rarely interacted with people throughout the day. You found friends with some of the orderlies and reception staff however conversations with them are quick and only pleasant at best. Most days Dr Brenner would come by once to check on how you are fairing; once a week you may have someone actually come into the sick bay for treatment.

It was a Tuesday morning when you entered your office to find the tall, blond orderly sitting on the side of the bed, back slumped over and his head resting in his hands. He hadn’t heard you come in and for the brief moment when you caught him off guard, you noticed how intimidating his stare was. Usually when you saw him, he held the sweetest puppy dog eyes but this morning he looked troubled and almost angry.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” You questioned quietly, not to startle him too much. You startled him very much which startled you and brought your hand to your chest trying to laugh it off.

“Good morning.” he gave you a sheepish little smile as an apology. You returned it with an understanding one. Getting your gear ready for the day around the desk, you started to question him.

“Is there anything I can help you with this morning, mr?”

“Ballard, Peter Ballard.” He replied in his boyish way.

“You’ve called me by my name for months now and I didn’t even know yours,” you joked before returning to the task at hand, “Now what seems to be the problem?”

You treated Peter of a suspicious burn on his wrist that morning, reinforcing the common phrase that circulates this building of ‘Papa says I’m not allowed to say.’ The word ‘papa’ coming from Peter’s lips however sounds more ironic and bitter than from the children. You were told not to question ‘Papa’.

That morning - though awkward - opened a gateway to a new friendship and perhaps even a little crush on your behalf. One of which you tried to tuck away as Dr Brenner would not be too pleased about workplace relationships. You learnt many things about the boy, his favourite things - colours, foods, hobbies, etc. You connected with him about certain things like the children and complained about Dr Brenner. He’d confide in you about how this building was starting to feel like a prison and you somehow managed to get Peter to tell you about his nightmares and help him understand those nights.

You’d often catch and talk to Peter at meal times or if he brings a child into or is just passing your office. He started to take the longer route to certain rooms just to stop by your office and ask if you needed anything which then turned into any free time he had being spent in your office if there were no other children or staff in there.

He sat on the bed in your office waiting for you to finish some paperwork before engaging in conversation. More often than not, he’d prefer to wait and work alongside you rather than awkwardly waiting in any other public space on this floor. His eyes wandering around the room, he spots the remnants of a web in the cover of the room, finally catching your attention when he ventures over to investigate.

“What’s wrong Peter?” You speak, looking up once you finish the sentence you were writing. He didn’t respond, walking further to the corner of the room. Naturally you got up to see what he was doing, this was odd behaviour for him and you weren’t sure if you should be concerned or flattered that he may just feel more comfortable with you to treat your office like a home.

“Look.” He says quietly, eyes intensely focused on his hand, reaching to the floor and rising back to his face. He shifts on his toes, crouched and raises his eyes to look at you with awe in his eyes. You yelped when you saw the black spider crawling on his hand - or at least you thought you yelped but no sound left your mouth, instead your hands came to cover your open mouth.

“It’s okay.” He says softly with a genuine smile, he looked so relaxed with the spider.

“Peter?! Why would you-?! Isn't it dangerous?!” You stuttered, Peter’s calmness being the only thing keeping you from freaking out. But it didn’t stop you from almost whisper-yelling at him as if raising your voice will make the spider angry.

“Only if provoked. Here,” He reached his hand out to you, moving slowly so as to not disturb the creature. You stood there like a deer in the headlights, so frightened by the ugly thing, you couldn’t seem to find the courage. You looked back to Peter, his eyes intense - almost cold - until he noticed your nervous gaze and he softened. Shaking his head with a soft smile at your cowardice, “It’s not going to hurt you, not while I’m here with you.”

You couldn’t believe you were reaching for the thing, but your hand met with Peter’s and the spider crawled onto your soft skin. You kept you other hand close to your chest, looking back up to Peter when you felt your nerves pick up. He was intensely staring at your hand, the spider so comfortable, crawling on your delicate smooth, skin.

“It’s beautiful.” Fell off his lips almost unintentionally, his chest rising and falling deeper and deeper. There was something that hit him so differently seeing this contrast of something regarded as so ill and dangerous melding like water with the most graceful and peaceful specimen he has ever seen. As every life he’s lived, he’d yet found something different to make it all feel worth it, until now. Until he found the anomaly of the human race that would be worth respecting, worth playing with, worth his time.

“I suppose so.” You respond - assuming he was talking about the spider - still not understanding the whole thrill of this. You grew lot more comfortable looking at the spider now. Even gently guiding it back to the shelf next to you to for it to waddle back to its web.

Once seeing the spider reached it’s web again, you looked back to Peter who was now only inches from you, leaning down to face you. Your breath hitched, you didn’t even see him step closer but you could now feel the heat from him and hear his breathing. It made your heart race. He reached to push some of your hair behind your ear, gently and slowly, as though you were the most precious item he’d ever seen. However halting mid movement once he saw your neck, his thumb gracing down to outline a small dull red scar. His fingers cold to the touch, sending shivers down your spine.

“When did you get this?” He said in a serious tone that caught you off guard, now moving to your side to further examine the scar.

“I’m the nurse here! You don’t have the worry about me.” You pulled away playfully however still very taken back by the sudden change in mood.

“Y/N,” His stare unfaltering, “I need to know. When did this happen.”

“I- I don’t remember,” you were suddenly nervous, like you were in trouble, “I- well- I know it appeared after I got here, I just don’t remember how I got it. It’s just a scar, I’m not dying.”

Peter’s face boiled in an emotion that you hadn’t seen from him before. Anger. With a hint of nothing else in his face but pure anger. ‘Brenner’ He breathed out and looked up to the security camera in the corner of the room - that to be honest, you forgot was there most of the time.

From that interaction, you were hyper aware of that scar on your neck - usually just trying to cover it with your hair if you didn’t have to put it up. As well you started to grow even more suspicious of Dr Brenner. You were already a little too curious of his treatment of the children for his liking but now you were more aware of his treatment of you and his staff. Peter felt almost proud of you when he saw you put your guard up around the man whether in the hallway, the rainbow room or cafeteria. 

It was one afternoon, however, when one of the younger children came into your office with a bruised spine, burns across his scalp and a severe concussion that you were finally starting to lose your patience. You examined the child, tucked them into your sick bay bed with a support teddy (which was provided by you when you came to work here) and left for a moment to find Peter.

You were fuming though you tried to stay calm in the public eye - not that it made any difference, your stomps echoed through the tiled hallways. You made your way to the rainbow room, taking a deep breath before entering and scanning the room with your eyes for Peter. He was crouched next to the child guiding a marble with his eyes closed. The children watched you walk straight to him however pay you little mind. Peter however stood up immediately, noticing you were upset.

“Good evening Peter. I need your assistance if you have a moment to spare.” Keeping up appearances. It worked. He departed with the child and walked beside you out of the rainbow room. When you felt you were deep enough into the hallways, you stopped him and your fake persona melted in front of him.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE?! WHAT IS HAPPENING TO THESE CHILDREN?! THIS ISN’T NORMAL! THIS IS LEGAL! PETER DID YOU KNOW?!” You were whisper yelling, aware that other people may hear you. You were panicking in front of him to the point he grabbed your upper arms to steady you and telling you to breathe. He took a deep breath himself.

“The truth is…” he contemplated for a moment whether to tell you, “Not everything here is what they seem.”

You looked at him absolutely dumbfounded as he told you of the children's special abilities and Dr Brenner’s plan to build weapons out of them. The sort of training these kids are put through and so on. You almost thought it was a joke, all of this going on under your nose, all of this that sounds completely impossible. He told you about the chip in your neck and explained that’s why he got so concerned when he first saw it.

“I have never lied to you before Y/N, especially not about the likelihood of this. I’ve tried to keep you in the dark for your own sake and protection because I fear what Dr Brenner may do if you knew the true nature of this project, what it may do to you if you knew the true nature of this project. But it seems not telling you has ended up worse and I apologise so deeply Y/N. It was never my intention to hurt y-”

“Peter, you have done nothing wrong. Thank you for always telling me the truth.” You stood in complete disbelief but you trusted Peter with your whole heart and in that moment you swore to help these children, but now you know really from what. You felt Peters hand on your shoulder taking you out of your thoughts. He guided you into his arms and you hugged him in the middle of the hallway.

“Peter, Y/N.” Dr Brenner’s voice revealed itself from behind Peter. You stole another moment in the privacy of Peter’s arms to build up the courage to face the doctor after what you just learnt.

“Good evening Dr Brenner.” You said with a smile, pretending to wipe a tear out of your eyes.

“Is everything okay?” He asked, brows furrowed in his usual calm, intimidating tone.

“Yes, yes,” You pretended to compose yourself, painting on a sheepish look. Also very aware of the child holding his hand beside him. “I’ve just been a little… well homesick is all. Peters just been a dear consolidating friend in reminding me of my family and friends here.”

Your nervousness was showing through your fiddling fingers, keeping your gaze on the child next to Brenner as you shared a gentle smile at the word ‘friends’. It was in this moment as well that Peter saw you pick his side and cover for him, he felt proud of himself that he could warn you of danger and that you actually listened. He felt proud of himself that he could suede the purest person he’d ever met to stick by his side.

Peter would think of that moment, at night, in bed alone most often. The way you lied for him, the way only he could make you steer away from your ‘righteous’ nature and lie for him. The way you listened to him and believed his every word. The way you sought him out first for help, for the truth and depended on him for comfort. The way you held him in your arms and rested your head on his chest. The way his arms wrapped around your smaller frame and could feel your back through your linen shirt. He was utterly enamoured by you.

Over the course of the year, he slowly slowly started to open up to you and he knew you were just as enamoured by him as he was of you. He protected you in this building, telling you every secret he knew, who of the orderlies and staff he thought you should stay clear of and bringing you things you needed throughout the day like an assistant. On some days even, Peter became the only person you would see for the entire day. His puppy dog eyes and sweet smile was enough to keep you going in his building. Most nights the thought of his touch was all you needed.

It was only recently that Peter started talking more and more about little number 11. He held a real fondness of her, often telling you she was the strongest of all the children. The first time you heard this, it took you greatly by surprise as she was a sweet girl but incredibly fragile from the times you’ve treated her. He looked at you with the intense stare you rarely saw - the stare that raises your heartbeat and frightens you, needing to remind yourself that it’s only Peter and there was no need to be intimidated - when telling you not to pity that girl.

It was because of Peter that yourself and 11 became closer friends. Often you’d try to learn more about the girl when she came into your office and you always greeted her, especially when you entered the rainbow room to call on a child for a check up. Peter thought it very sweet however the other children started to notice as well.

A lot of the older children became more hostile to 11 as a result of getting more attention but became hostile to you as well. 11 begun spend more and more afternoons in your office after being picked on by those kids and you welcomed her every time. She’ll tell you in very limited words that the children would tell her 'you have to be put in your place’ or that ‘they do it for her own good.’ and that she just wanted to be their friend.

You told her often “Friends don’t lie.” You tried your best to make it crystal clear that they were only bullies and that she was worth so much more than to be tossed around like that. You’d remind her how powerful she was to be here. As well that she had a brave and strong heart and you really admire that about her.

One afternoon you hadn’t seen Peter all day and you were getting very distressed and restless. He wasn’t at the dinner meal time either which only made you feel worse, cleaning your office to distract yourself all night. By 7 o’clock there was a knock on your door which you ran too thinking it was Peter however instead you found little 11 standing there alone.

You welcomed her in of course and she tried to explain to you what she saw today. Of Peter being punished for helping her. You thanked her so deeply for telling you to which she replied with “Friends don’t lie.” You gave her a hug as tears started to spill unwillingly out of your eyes from worry and sent her off to her room for the night.

So that night when you were packing up your office, you hid a few supplies and ointments in your undergarments and tried your best to sneak to his room without being spotted. You weren’t sure if he didn’t come see you for treatment because he didn’t want you to see him that way or because Dr Brenner prohibited him but neither was going to stop you for helping him.

You knock on his door and he opens the door harshly thinking you were someone else. However his eyes softened immediately upon seeing you and he drags you in to close the door. He lets you fawn over him, scolding him for not seeing you and what not when all he did was groan in pain as he tried to sit on the edge of his bed.

He followed your orders in taking off his shirt so you could see his wounds, pulling out the supplies you brought. Now sitting shirtless with his arms out, he watched you expectedly as you were too focused on examining him to notice the elephant in the room. He enjoyed seeing your flustered look when seeing him shirtless and your pure worry while treating him.

“11 and I are more alike than you think.” He states out of the blue, breaking your focus. That's when you finally noticed the number. 001. He watches your face turn from concern to utter despair.

“No” you look up at him, slowly your hands rise to his head. You softly grab his hair and bring him to your chest. Pure love and sorrow in your embrace that he melts into you.

”Not you, not them.” You whimpered into his hair. Your heart broke at the thought of him going through what you’ve seen these children go through and now more.

You almost healed his inner child in that moment alone. He feels a tear drop on his hair and pulls back to look at you, his hand resting on your waist. Bringing a thumb to your cheek to wipe away your tears. In the complete silence of the little tiled room, you broke loose.

“I’m so scared.” You whimpered, tears slowly continuing to build in your eyes. He quickly retorted with his thumb now grazing over your lips, his gentle eyes comforting you, “You never have to be afraid again. Not with me.”

He pulled you to him, lips resting against his for a moment. You closed your eyes until both of you pulled back. Opening your eyes, you see him watching your lips while licking his own. Your heart was beating so fast.

“Again” he says in a daze. He’d never kissed anyone before but to share this moment with you was almost too much for him. You did as he said and kissed him again. Your lips took over and moved against each other on their own. His grip tighten and you pulled away, a small moanish sigh left your lips from the feeling. You take charge, connecting your lips to his again, tongue to tongue and he’s taken off guard. But he’s a quick learner.

With a gruff grunt, he yanks you onto his lap, your hands resting on his chest. His hand holding your jaw to him and the other pulling up your skirt. This was too good a feeling to be real, this was a feeling he could get used to for sure. A feeling of pure pleasure and love, he wants to hold you and protect you from this hell hole.

“I fear he already knows” You whisper against his lips. You didn’t dare speak the doctor’s name in a moment like this.

“I’m afraid so,” He mumbled back against your lips, “But if he lays a hand on you, I’ll be the end of everything he knows.”

You pulled back, taking out the pins in your hair and letting it fall onto your shoulders. His eyes watching your movements so intensely, his thigh bouncing from a feeling he couldn’t identify, nervousness or excitement maybe.

Your hands held his shoulders to keep you stable on his lap. You looked down to his chest, your mannerisms turning sheepish and he could tell there was something you needed to ask him. He moved a piece of hair out of your face and behind your ear, and following that motion your head turned to him and locked eyes.

“Will you have me?” He was confused by your question. You straightened yourself on his lap, gaining the courage to continue, “I don’t know what will happen beyond this point, tomorrow. I don’t know if I can even help these kids if I tried. But I know I’m here with you right now and that might be all I get.” 

His eyes grew wide and clouded full of love. He was starting to realise what you were referring to.

“I don’t want to regret anything, I don’t want to miss you. I need you.” You continued. He was so mesmerised by you that he brought you in for another kiss, rough and heavy, he wanted to express how he felt about you and this - in his inexperience - was the best way he knew how to.

He watched you lick your lips and lean back in his lap - supporting you with a grip on your hips. He watched your nimble little hands work on the button at your collar, letting it fall open. Then the next button and the next until he stopped you. Holding your delicate hands in his like fine china and bringing them to his lips for a gentle kiss. He guides your hands back to his shoulders and works on the rest of your buttons for you one by one.

Reaching the belt of your skirt, he yanks your tucked in shirt out rougher than intended and you let out a little giggle to which he matches your smile, a genuine, warm smile. All your buttons were undone and you guide his hands into your unbuttoned shirt, leaving his hands on his chest, letting your shirt slip off your shoulders.

With his hands awkwardly placed over your underwear where you placed them, he watched your chest rise and fall, up and down with every deep breath under his warm hands. Your nervous look turned to one of slight smugness, mostly adoration. You reached your arms behind your back to unclasp your bra and with that it fell to the ground. He looked so unsure where to place his hands.

You lifted his chin to look you in the eye and with a gently loving smile, you gave him a nod. With that he cupped your breast and explored the feeling. He observed the way you reacted to his movements, when your breath hitched or fastened. Hitting the jackpot when his thumb met your nipple, like a research project.

He was rubbing circles with his thumb, relishing the sight of you watching his hands as he worked. Your head almost subconsciously following the movement, as you’re lips were parted and almost drooling. He’s never had this effect on anyone before but you didn’t tell him to stop. He never knew his limits, but the effect he had was intoxicating for him in a way he didn’t know was possible.

“Aah!” His fingers were rough and dry. He looked at you jerking back his hands immediately, unsure if he did something wrong to hurt you. You still had this blissed out look on your face as you looked at him but you licked your lips. Slowly, to draw his attention and your eyes flicked down. He gave you a knowing look once it clicked what you wanted. 

He gave you a devilish smile before connecting his lips to your nipple. You gripped his hair and let out a gasp, his lips moving as they did on your lips and soon remembered to let his tongue join the ensemble. His eyes continued to watch the look on your face when he got the chance. Every time you made a noise, it only egged him on more. Soon he was onto the other nipple and your fingers were busy twisting and pulling his hair.

He committed every little movement and noise you made to memory and was absolutely addicted. He couldn’t seem to stop, he couldn’t seem to pull himself off you when you were making noises like that. You were pulling his hair and making noises straight out of a porno. Only finally giving you a break when he pulled off you, leaning back to get a look at you all dishevelled. You were falling forward in his lap, already tired, chest completely red and sore, rising rapidly as you tried to catch your breath.

“Peter” you let out a moanish-sigh and his head fell back at the sound. He let out groans in pain, you weren’t sure whether the source was from the burns or his tight white pants. Once you regain your composure, you let your hand slide along the inside of his left thigh in front of you. He returned his look to you, somehow more dishevelled than you were and you’ve barely touched him.

“Please.” he said, almost submissively and your hand fell over where he needed you most. You were only palming him gently through his white chinos but truly it was enough for him to snap. His head had fallen back entirely, hands off your waist and leaning on the bed behind him to keep him steady and upright.

His neck was on full display to you and taking the opportunity, you manoeuvred your way to lean your knees against the bed and rest your chest against his with your hand still between your bodies. Lips connecting to his neck and feeling the vibrations of every noise he made. You kissed around his neck, trying not to leave marks that might be spotted until you reached the chip behind his ear.

“I hate him.” You muttered against his skin absentmindedly, catching his attention and bringing him out of the moment. He pulled you up in front of him pulling down your skirt, slipping off your shoes and groaning once more as you stood in front of him in nothing but your panties.

“Sit.” he orders, you do as he says. With a grunt he stands in front of you like you did him moments before. He desperately fiddled with his belt, his hands were shaking but he was too focused on taking off his trousers to notice. Once finally free he lets out a sigh of relief as the cold air hits his skin.

“Peter.” you did it again and it drove him crazy, the sight of you sitting there almost naked staring at his dick was an effect he didn’t know he could have on a person.

“Lay down Peter, please.” you almost begged. 

He laid down beside you and you straddled him, pulling off your panties one leg after the other. He watched you as your cold fingers traced down his torso then gently grazed over his cock. He completely stopped breathing but couldn’t look away. 

He was in so much pain, desperate for release but he didn’t want this moment to end. Everything you did made it worse but he couldn’t bring himself to quicken the pace. You were dripping down your thigh, he watched you scrape some of your wetness off your thigh and drag it down his shaft. You wrapped your hand around him, thumb rubbing at the slit spreading the pre-cum it let out, him letting out a groan from deep in his chest along with it

“Are you ready Peter?” You said weakly, mostly the nerves were finally showing through. Positioning yourself above him with his eyes intensely trained on the sight.

“Now.”

You rode him. Slowly at first. He’d never felt this kind of pleasure before and he certainly wasn’t going to interfere with what you were doing. The room was silent beside the echoing noises of the friction of your skin, the repetitive squelching from inside you, every hum that you made involuntarily at every little movement. Everything added up into pure over stimulation on his senses. He could hear his own noises, groans and hums and moans and sighs echo back at him and he almost gave you submission. His hands rested on your hips as you rolled back and forth on him, yours hands resting on his shoulders for stability and moaning in his ear.

You grabbed his hand off your hips and guided him to your clit, helping him move in the way you like and once he got the hang of it, your body completely fell over onto him. He saw you break down in front of his eyes at this simple movement and something within him snapped in a need for dominance.

His grip on your hip tightens, bruises forming as he begins thrusting up into you. You’re yelping almost in pain but that only pushes him longer as he shows no signs of slowing down. He flips you over, delicately placing you below him, it was the only moment for you to breathe before he continued.

He begins to pound into you again, thumb still working on your clit. You’re gripping his hair and the nape of his neck for dear life as you're on the verge of screaming and crying from love and fear and pain and he’s got his arm out beside you, steadying himself, chin resting on your collarbone as he watches you scream and squirm. The sudden change in his demeanour and the pace and everything is sending you so overboard that you’re orgasming before you can even put a coherent thought together. It was only Peter.

“Pete-aA, a- AH - AgaIN PETER.”

At the point you begin to calm down only slightly, he started rutting into you with a grunt with every thrust. “You’re free now. With me you’re free Y/N. You won’t leave me, you won’t ever leave me. Y/n hmm Y/n” and it continued like that with each thrust. He’d grunt and call out for you and grunt and call out for you. Relishing the feeling of your squirming and jerking your hips, like you were a bunny he was setting free from it’s misery. He had to have you.

For a while you were way past your orgasm but he was still rutting into you. So strained you could feel the veins on his neck and see the veins on his forehead pop out. You’d scream for him and only him, not any jerk, not Brenner. You’d scream his name, and feel for him. You were gasping for air, nails frantically scratching at his back, hair, shoulders, arms, anywhere you could grip.

With what little might you could muster, you lifted your head to look at him, face red and completely tear stained, mascara pooling under your eyes. “I am free, with you Peter! You set me free!” you cried, out of breath and completely dick crazed. He was a goner. Completely inside of you he stayed and rutted as he released. Your name falling off his lips, only yours.

He fell onto you, releasing all the tension in his muscle as he gently held you. You laid there under him gasping for air and grabbing his hair and shoulder.

He looked at you with complete awe and amazement, that was the best he’d ever felt, the most free he’s ever felt yet the most powerful he’d ever felt. He loved you, he would kill for you, but watching you stay there under him, crying and screaming and taking it because you loved him. It was a love he’s never felt before. He did nothing but stare at you and breathe as he thought and you stared at him back, in love.

Something in him clicked like it sometimes did, his eyes reverted back to their Peter puppy dog eyes, he chucked and giggled and sighed resting his head next to yours in a playful ‘wow’ sort of fashion. You only giggled in return and held him closer. He jolted up on his elbow to look at you, jump scaring you in the moment and looked at him expectedly.

“Stay with me, just tonight y/n.” Your eyes lit up as he did to match until the hope drained out of you.

“You know I can’t Peter.” You looked into his eyes, deep into his wide black hole of eyes, there was a void space in his eyes that drew you into a trance. He knew how to use this power on you.

“Like you said, we don’t know what's going to happen tomorrow but you have me now.” He could see he was persuading you easily. You bit your lip and let out a loud breath when lying back down in his arms. He grabbed your chin, roughly, pulling you to look at him. 

“You’ll be with me forever, you’ll never have to feel fear again with me, especially not from the likes of those men out there.” With that the two of you spent the night, you in his arms, him in your arms. He could feel your heart racing and the fear behind it as tomorrow morning came closer and closer. You both knew tomorrow was going to be a living hell and you weren’t sure if you were ready for it but you had no regret being with Peter.

Neither of you slept properly, the night was full of deep late night conversations, giggles, you spoke of your families, he told you of his childhood and wanted to take you again when instead of rejecting him, you embraced him and were interested in the stuff he likes to talk about, spiders, power, dominance. It was the longest and shortest night of his life and he didn’t even leave the bed once.

He mentioned his plan to free 11. You saw it as a mission to heal his inner child and thought him incredibly selfless to sacrifice himself for the sweetest little girl you’d ever met. Of course you’d offer to help, you’d do anything for Peter and if he was going to sacrifice himself, you’d have nothing else left to live for either. 

You told Peter to give her your ID card, so he can meet her in the basement and in the early morning, he took you again because he couldn’t keep his hands off you and how pure of a soul you were.

“You are everything good in this world, I will protect you.” He’d repeat all night.

Now the next morning, you watched Peter prepares himself for the day then walk you to your room, trying his best to avoid cameras and keep you out of sight. And thus the most dreaded day of your life begins.

It was cold, the only warmth you felt was the redness of your cheeks and ears when you thought back to last night. Your morning went as usual except the way Peter looked at you when passing in the hall was different and made you wet in your pants.

Dr Brenner visited your medical office, notifying you that you and the other nurse will be needed in the lab room in an hour as the children are playing another game. You tried to play off your complete nervousness - of just being in the same room as him as if he already knew what happened last night - by giving a kind and understanding smile you usually try to wear. He leaves with no inhibitions but you just know deep down, he knows.

You do as you're told. In the next hour, walk to the lab room he called you too and watch the children leave. You enter to find 2 on the ground, a collar around his neck you’d seen before leaving burns on the children. Terror is evident in your eyes and Peter can see that from where he stands in the corner of the room. You walk in, trying to stay calm, everyone is watching you and the other nurse that came with you to escort the child.

Dr Brenner welcomes you and thanks you for coming on time. He takes the collar off 2 and steps aside for you to help up to your office.

“Of course. It’s only our job to help these children sir.” you gave a reassuring smile. Usually Brenner liked to hear these sort of things from his staff but today he stops you, telling the other nurse to take the child and leave you. Confused, you look to Peter, he looked seemingly more concerned than confused.

“Y/N stay with us.” Brenner says calmly. You spin to face him and his orderlies. Your heart is racing and your breathing so heavy that you could hear your heart beat in your ears. Dr Brenner motions for you to stand where you found 2.

Not daring to go against his orders, you walked to the spot in front of the Doctor. Peter was starting to catch on to what was about to happen and he was getting angry, visibly angry. His anger only made you more nervous. The other orderlies even started to look nervous and confused. Dr Brenner touches your arm and you tense up completely.

“Please, Y/N there’s no need to get nervous now.” He walks behind you, hand on your waist, collar in his hand, “No, you haven’t done anything wrong to be this nervous, have you?”

He never once falters from his scolding fatherly tone, no matter how ridiculous the situation. You’re shaking and whimpering and trembling under his touch. Peter observes the complete weakness in you, not the way you were with him. His fist was clenched, he was going to snap. He cleared his throat, trying to diffuse this situation but it only made it worse. Dr Brenner’s eyes snap to the boy, so do yours. Your eyes pleading for help and Dr Brenner notices.

“I’m afraid my suspicions were correct.” He scoffs under his breath and starts putting the collar on you.

“You say you do this for the children, correct? You want to help my children?” He says, walking back in front of you now that the collar was around your neck. You were shaking so violently that you could barely stand, tears were falling from your eyes wildly without any prior permission. Brenner looked to the man on his side, instantly getting the cue and walking over to hold Peter back. And as though in slow motion, he reached for the dial in his hand and turned it on. 

Before you could properly comprehend what was happening and that you were in pain, you found yourself on the floor.

“I didn’t want to have to do this Y/n but it’s necessary to remind you of the rules and that of basic respect and manners. This is no place for a whore.”

You were on the floor screaming in pain. Peter was screaming at Brenner from where he was being held back to watch.

After a couple long minutes, a few of which you’d blacked out through, Brenner finally turned the collar off. He crouched in front of you, lifting your chin to look at him, gazing directly into your eyes as he said, “It’s only for your own good, I don’t want to have to let go of you because of this little incident.” 

It was about noon now, after you were left to hobble back to your room alone, that Peter finally visited you. Bringing you food and water. He sat with you in your bed, holding you and apologising for not being able to protect you and saying he will get revenge for you. You went all too sure what he was saying but you were just happy to have him by your side for a little bit.

You gave him your ID card and told him to give it to her, and get her out today. It was time, today was the day. He took it and listened to you. You had to assure him many times that you’d be okay if he left you here before he actually got up to leave. And after a kiss he went to start the plan as you fell asleep.

You woke up to someone entering your room, you could sense it had only been a few hours later but Peter was already back in your room. He ran straight to you, yanking you to his chest before you were fully awake to comprehend what was going on.

“Ow” you let out and he apologised vowing to be gentler next time, “Peter? What's going on? Did you give her the ID? What's go- Peter you’re bleeding!”

You sat up now, completely sobered and concerned. You observed his neck where the chip used to be now dripping with blood. He looked at you with determined eyes, the intense stare that used to scare you.

“I’m free now Y/N. I can protect you now. I love you Y/N.” he took a rough, hard kiss from you once again and laid you back down, “I can protect you now.”

“No Peter! Wait, what’s going on?!” You were getting up to stop him leaving without telling you but he just pulled you to his chest and kissed your hair.

“You have to stay here, I’m going to protect you. You trust me.” He repeated once more before picking you up and putting you back into your bed. You watched him leave bewildered and the door shut behind him. You didn’t have your ID card or a key of any kind and now Peter’s left you confused and worried he was hurt.

You ran to the door after him, trying desperately to find a way to get it open to no avail. In despair, you slid to the floor, sitting with your back to the door and waited. The only thing you could do.

There was a scream.

And another.

The alarm started going off.

You tried once again at the door but it wouldn’t open, you were getting frantic again. You started to hit the door but no one was left around to hear.

“PETER!” You were screaming, banging at the door with your fist, desperate for someone, anyone to hear you.

[birdofdawning]

The Woman From the Sea

6. Orderliness

The beginning is here; the previous part is here.

Jane has been wearing gloves since the Woman From the Sea met her. They are black woollen fingerless gloves, and she wore them while she ate and then while she washed the dishes. She’s wearing a sweater too, but this doesn’t seem as odd. Her hands seem to be stiff or sore too, judging by how she moves them. Cutlery was just a little bit tricky for her, and she gritted her teeth several times as she manoeuvred the plates with her fingertips while she washed them. An injury? But in both hands? The Woman From the Sea is curious, but she is also shy; she knows Jane is angry with her.

“Okay, you can have this room. I changed the sheets this afternoon. Aired it out in case you were staying.” Jane opens a door off the hall and the Woman From the Sea steps into a small, white room with an iron-framed bed taking up most of the space. The window faces east, and she can see a rotary washing line in the twilight. “Yeah, it’s pretty basic,” Janes says, looking around. “But at least you didn’t turn up here in winter. These side rooms get icy. I usually sleep in the common room through January and February. Stay by the fire.”

“It’s very nice,” says the Woman From the Sea politely. “Um, I guess I could sleep in this?” she gestures down at her borrowed clothes.

“Oh! You probably want a shower! And a change of clothes too, hang-on.” Jane darts out of the room and is back a minute later, carrying some more t-shirts and pants. “Sorry, not used to guests (obviously). Uh, I have fresh underwear but nothing, uh new new — would boxers be… Oh, hey, maybe don’t look in there…"

But it is too late. Exploring the room, the Woman From the Sea has opened the trunk at the foot of the bed and is staring, eyebrows raised. “Oh!”

“Not mine!” Jane hastens to assure her, cheeks red. “As you probably guessed, it’s been all male crews before me. So when I took over I had a big tidy up and…” she gestures at the trunk and cringes. “I didn’t want to… I don’t know, burn it all or whatever; I mean, I’m not always gonna be the keeper…”

The Woman From the Sea reaches in and examines the contents. “What an exceptionally large collection of pornographic magazines,” she says.

“Yeah. Well. You know. Guys,” says Jane. “I actually forgot it was in here.”

“There is material here from the Seventies!” The Woman From the Sea has started making piles on the floor, only half-listening to Jane who has started explaining about the shower, and tank water, and possibly there are some warnings about brevity and economy. But she is content for the first time in many, many days, sorting out the various periodicals of explicit pornography. First chronologically — year, month, issue — then by title. Perhaps she pauses over the older covers, just for a moment, admiring some of the sleeker women of the Sixties and Seventies. She takes note of two issues she will examine more closely later. When she is finished she carefully stacks the periodicals back into the trunk, keeping them in order.

“So you’re easy to entertain,” says Jane, making her jump. She looks up and realises that Jane has been watching bemusedly from the doorway this whole time. Or perhaps not: she has a towel now too.

“I like to organise things,” explains the Woman From the Sea, rising.

Jane hands over the towel and the pile of clothes. “Well, don’t touch my books. Or dvds. I know where everything is. Or at least,” she adds, “ask me first. Or take one at a time?”

The Woman From the Sea hugs the clean clothes. “Thank you, Jane,” she says, smiling shyly.

“Yeah, well.” Jane looks away. The sharp angles of her face catch the light in a way that pleases the eye. “I’m gonna guess you need me to explain about the shower again?”

“Yes, please.” And the Woman From the Sea follows her down into the laundry house.

She decides that Jane striding forward in a shapeless woollen sweater and work slacks is currently more interesting than the old trunk and its salacious contents.

[arizona2004]

Safe Haven

Requested: yes

Cazriel x reader

word count: 3914

My face was pressed into the mud; I couldn’t even scream anymore. Three males held me down so I could barely move, but I was too tired from fighting so hard to struggle anyways. I was about to give up when the tip of a blade grazed my wing, and I remembered what I was fighting for. They were trying to clip my wings. I fought against the hold the males had on me to no avail. The fourth male brought his knife down, tearing it into my left wing. And not just once, not twice, but three long wounds. Then onto my right-wing. I tried holding back the tears, but it did me no good. I sobbed into the ground as not only my wings were taken from me, but the freedom and joy they stood for. 

When the knife was pulled from my wing, I thought it was done, but the male picked up mud and smothered it in the open wounds. They burned, everything burned, and it was getting blurry. I was going to pass out, I realized. “No one is to touch her, no one is to clean her wounds, no one is to heal her,” the voice of the camp leader rang out behind me before he walked away, and I fell into unconsciousness. 

I awoke a few times the next day, but when I did, it was to burning pain at my back and pitying eyes in all the females that walked by. I noticed I was no longer where I had been, pushed off to the edges of the camp, no longer in their way. So I turned my head away and looked at the forest to my left, falling asleep once more. 

It was the next time that I woke, that I was not alone. I felt someone crouching to my right, and as I turned to look at him, another person crouched to my left. I whipped my head to the left to find Azriel. Staring at me with pain and grief behind his eyes. “It- it’s gonna be okay,” I heard from my right. Cassian. I turned to him to see the same look in his eyes and tears. He’s crying. “It’s gonna be okay. We’ll fix this,” he murmured, pushing my hair back from my face.

I turn my face away, looking toward Azriel, but he’s not there. That’s when I hear the shouting. I look back to Cassian and passed him to the camp. I can’t see the women and children. There are only men; they’re being pushed inside a blue-force field? Yes. All of the men are being rounded up and forced into a prison, and there is Azriel: collecting them and pushing them all inside. I look back to Cassian and notice beneath the sorrow in his eyes is anger. He combs a hand soothingly through my hair, “We’ll take you to Madja. She can heal you,” he says, voice cracking. That’s when I notice the bandages on my back and the fact that I am not in as much pain as before. Whatever infection was settling in has been slowed by magic. 

He continues soothing me until Azriel calls, “Cassian, they’re all here.”

“I’ll be right back,” he places a kiss atop my head and stands, walking toward Azriel. I watch in a haze as my males, my lovers, question all the men. Anywho are young, innocent, or remorseful are released. There aren't many.

They decipher who the males at the core of hurting me were. The camp leader and the ones that held me down. They were pulled aside one by one, and I had to close my eyes while Cassian and Azriel took turns hurting them. Through it all, I listen to them fighting, to their yells, and their pleas. 

“We didn’t know she was your lover,” some of them screamed.

In the end, I’d turned my head away from the scene. I am no stranger to blood and gore, and I would never be angry with Cassian and Azriel for what they are doing, but I do not revel in watching those males dying. The camp leader is the last of them to die. He spits out cruel and disgusting words at all three of us, and I try not to listen. I’m not sure which of them does it, but his words are suddenly cut off as his head is cut from his neck.

Cassian returns to me first. He pulls the make-shift bandages from my wings, inspecting the wounds beneath, “Az, we need to get her to Madja. We couldn't have cleaned the wounds well enough, and she’s still losing blood,” he said over his shoulder. Seconds later, I felt a hand on my shoulder, and we were spinning through space.

The room we landed in was clean. The floors and walls were pristine white and blue, and everything looked very orderly. Nothing was out of place or messy. A few people were in the large room, and their attention was immediately drawn to us as Azriel winnowed us in. Whatever place this was, it had many doors leading out of it and many healers- I realize as several of the males and females come to inspect my wings. Faintly I hear Azriel speaking to an older female. She must have ordered me moved because soon, Cassian is carrying me through one of those many doors and into a room with nothing more than a bed and a couple of chairs in it.

Then, I must have fallen asleep again because I woke up hours later, remembering very little after being brought to this healing den. I’m lying flat on my stomach, facing Cassian asleep in a chair to my left. Slowly I blink my eyes awake and turn my head. Azriel is seated on my other side with his head in his hands. When I try to speak, only a quiet groan escapes my throat. Azriel sits up suddenly and before he can mask it I make note of the guilt and pain behind his eyes. Cassian also jolts up behind me and moves to Azriel’s side of the bed. He’s far less skilled at hiding his emotions; they’re always written all over his face.

I want to speak, but the words won’t come. As if knowing my question, though, Azriel says, “she couldn’t save them,” Cassian turns his face down, away from me, and Azriel avoids my eyes too, as he continues, “She tried. Several healers did, but they couldn’t save your wings. The infection was too great. You’re lucky to be alive.”

A choked sob leaves me as everything crashes in. My wings have been clipped. I’ll never fly again. I turn my face into my pillow, dry sobbing into it, while Cassian sits on the edge of the bed. I feel his hand hover over my back, but he pulls back, deciding not to touch me. 

I feel like I can’t breathe as I heave into the pillow and wish the entire world would just disappear. I know Cassian is saying something, but I don’t hear his words. Azriel hasn’t said anything else, but I can feel his eyes on me and the guilt in them. 

After some time, I fall asleep again. 

*

Before I even open my eyes, I know it's not a nightmare as I had hoped. My wings ache with burning pain. “You’re due to take another tonic for the pain soon. I can go get it,” Azriel says from behind me. He must have sensed my pain. When I open my eyes to look at him, he is not who I see. Slouched forward in a chair, head lying on the bed, is Cassian. One of his hands is brushing against mine, and I move it closer, wanting more contact. I look slightly behind me at Azriel and tell him with my eyes that I would like that. 

He’s gone for only a moment before he returns. I barely had the chance to blink, and he was already back. Walking over to my left side, where Cassian sleeps, Azriel helps pour the bitter liquid down my throat and gets water to ease that too. 

My hand rests on top of Cassians; I briefly look before returning to Azriel. “He must be exhausted to not have woken up yet,” I say.

Azriel looks down at him and puts his hand to Cassian's head, gently running his fingers through the dark curls, “He wouldn’t sleep. Drank so much coffee he couldn’t even dose off; he didn’t want to. Eventually, I knocked him out.”

I raise my eyebrows in shock, but Azriel just smirks slightly looking back to me, “I didn’t hit him or anything. I asked Rhys to go into his mind and put him to sleep for a while,” the moment ends then, the smile leaving his face, “I didn’t want him getting hurt too.”

He blames himself. I know he does. He always does, though I wish he wouldn’t, “It wasn’t your fault, Az,” I murmur, closing my eyes. I can feel him staring at my wings, which have already started to ease as the tonic sets in.

“If we had come to see you sooner, this wouldn’t have happened. Madja said there was nothing we could have done about the infection, even soon after they did it, but if I had been there a day earlier, then we could have stopped it from happening at all,” the words rush out of him angrily at first. He sounds like he’s speaking more to himself than me. Then his voice cracks on the last few words, and I open my eyes to see tears welling up in his eyes.

I look at him for a moment longer and say, “come lay with me,” a confused look crosses his face, “this wasn’t your fault Azriel, now please come hold me.” He didn’t miss a beat. Crossing to the other side of the bed, he laid down on the edge, gently maneuvering himself to only touch me where there was no chance of making contact with my wings. 

His right arm slithered under my head, resting his hand on the other side of my body. My right hand felt numb beneath my body, but I pulled it up to brush it with his. He grabbed my hand in his, and so I fell asleep, knowing I held both of my males close to me.

*

My dream started as a memory. It was the first time I had met my males; crouching next to the creak outside of camp, I sharpened a rusty old knife with a rock. I had been wishing I had a good knife, but that would be too risky to steal, and any protection was better than none. I didn’t hear the figure to my left, and when a branch snapped behind me, I knew I only heard it because that male wanted me to. 

Dropping the knife, I quickly stood, turning to greet the male. It had been Cassian. Jokingly he said, “You couldn't hurt a fly with that knife. You really need a lesson in weaponry, don’t you?”

I shouldn't have gotten angry, but I did anyway, “I know about weapons,” I snapped, “but not all of us are privileged enough to have pretty little knives like you,” That's when I became aware of the figure to the side. He laughed deeply, and I was sure he must be laughing at me. I would be punished severely for this.

My attention snapped back to the first male as he spoke, “I didn’t mean to offend you,” he said, “but you really shouldn’t use that dagger. I’ll get you a better one.”

“Here. She can have this one,” the other male spoke, pulling out a dagger. It is plain and silver with a simple, twisted image of shadows carved onto the surface, leading to the black hilt, “I’ve had it for ages but never really use it,” He detached a sheath from his belt and slipped the dagger in before handing it to me. I looked into his eyes a moment longer before turning away, blushing.

“What do you need a weapon for anyways?” Cassian asked.

I shrug slightly, “protection.”

“From?”

“Everyone,” I say, tucking the dagger under my skirts. I probably should keep it closer being alone with two males, but for whatever reason, I did not feel threatened by them. The memory faded away as another appeared. Only days after I had first met the two Illyrians, the high lord’s most trusted friends, and advisers, they appeared in my camp again. Not for business with the Camp leader, however. I felt them stalking me as I walked through the wood,  when I was carefully distanced from the camp, they showed themselves- Cassian with a grin spreading across his face, and Azriel with a carefully blank expression, but curious eyes nonetheless. That was when things began. When I started falling in love with them.

These meetings continued for months. We met inside a small cave just outside the camp. It was glamoured now from anyone's eyes but ours. My little safe haven. It had been where I was running when I realized they intended to clip my wings. I wasn’t fast enough, though. 

Now the dreams were turning, twisting into something more terrifying. Darkness rushed toward me as I fell into the next scene. I tried screaming and fighting as hands grabbed me in the dark, but I just kept falling. My whole body burned, and a shiver ran down my spine as I was thrown into the waking world.

*

The warm heat of a body pressed at my right ran through me as I blinked my eyes open. It was Azriel, I realized now. He brushed his fingers gently down my spine, soothing me, “It was just a bad dream,” he murmured against my hair, pressing a kiss to my head. 

On my other side, I felt Cassian squeeze my hand. He was awake now, holding my hand tightly as he laid his head closer to mine. Feeling them beside me was already enough to relieve my aches and ease my mind. “Do you wanna talk about it?” Cassian whispered between us, just loud enough for Azriel to hear. I shook my head in answer, closing my eyes tightly in an attempt to fall back asleep. 

I couldn’t, though. So I just lay there with my males on either side of me, trying to pretend we were still in that little cave, and nothing had gone wrong. I still had my wings. 

*

Days have passed now. Most of them were filled with me laying in bed with one or both of my males holding me. Other times though, they involved tears streaming down my face and screams tearing out of my throat. Cassian and Azriel were always there, rocking me through it and reminding me of what I still had, though it felt like I’d lost everything. 

Occasionally I’d wake to arguing. I heard the high lord scolding Azriel and Cassian about their actions after the first day, but he didn’t sound seriously angry. Mostly I heard the whispered arguments between Azriel and Cassian about me. My treatment, my pain, how best to help me. I hated that they were arguing. It happened less and less as I recovered, but I still hated it.

Neither male was here now though, it was a rare occurrence. I had told both males the other was staying with me and told him he should go eat. I needed the alone time, but I knew it wouldn’t last long. Rather than stay in bed, I stood on numb legs and hobbled over to the bath. It has been too long since I’ve bathed. How Cassian and Azriel managed to be near me without wanting to vomit at the stench was beyond me. 

Kneeling on the ground, I held my hand under the water as it rushed out. When the water was ready and smelling of lavender, I submerged myself to the waist. Slowly I let my wings touch the water as I lowered myself further. When I was finally in the water entirely, I relaxed and leaned my head back before slipping down lower to wet my hair. 

When I was still under the water, finally relaxed, I breathed out slowly. Everything was peaceful until a pair of large hands gripped my upper arms and pulled me from the water. My eyes shot open, and I fought the male until I noticed it was Azriel, “Stop!” I yelled at him, “What on earth are you doing?” I shouted. I shot a glance to Cassian, standing in the doorway. He looked upset, and Az was definitely angry.

“What are you doing?” he replied with a growl. I tried pulling my arms away from him. He loosened his grip, but only enough to no longer hurt. I still couldn’t get away.

“I was bathing,” I glared at him, “I didn’t realize that wasn’t allowed.”

“Bullshit,” he said

“Az…” Cassian spoke.

“You’re not allowed to kill yourself! I won’t let you,” Azriel shouted.

What, I thought, “I wasn’t trying to kill myself,” I say calmly, looking straight into his eyes, “I just wanted a bath.” Suddenly a wave of guilt hit me because I’d made them think that. Azriel must have believed me because he released my arms and took a step back.

I pulled my arms up to cross my chest and looked away from them. Cassian pulled Azriel out of the bathroom, but neither of them closed the door. I returned to the bath but was no longer relaxed. I decided to quickly clean up and return to bed. The room was nearly silent except for the short whispered argument between the males. When I stepped into the room to dress, they both studiously looked away from me and one another. I dressed quickly and laid in bed, falling asleep before either of them could try and talk to me. 

After weeks had passed, I was sitting and walking again. Most of the pain had gone, now only phantom pains and sore scars remained. I was barely able to move my wings, and Madja said with some physical therapy, I would regain much of the movement but never enough to fly again. 

Cassian sat with me now, massaging my back. Things had gotten better. I’ve tried imagining life without my wings, and as long as I remember that I’ll always have my batboys, things aren't so bad. “Do you wanna go for a fly,” Cassian whispered. 

“I can’t,” I said, tears welling up as I imagined I could.

Cassian pulled me up, “come on,” he said, pulling me by the wrist. He walked us up to the roof and stood behind me. Pulling my hips to him, he said, “stand on my feet.” I looked at him confused, “just do it.” So I did. I stood on his feet, and he wrapped his arms under mine and across my chest. “Try to keep your legs straight against mine,” he whispered against my ear, “if you need to hook your ankles around mine, do that.” Then we were taking off into the air, flying straight up. It wasn’t the same as flying myself, but it was relaxing nonetheless. We flew straight for the house of wind and hovered there for a moment. I was going to ask why we weren’t moving, but then Azriel walked out onto the balcony and shot toward us. 

We spent hours in the sky. We even developed signals so Cassian would fly however I wanted. Glide left or right. Sharp turns. Down, up, backflip, frontflip. I felt like a kid again as I tumbled through the sky with the two most important people in my life.

When finally we were too exhausted to continue, we landed at a restaurant in the city. Azriel went in first, apparently having made reservations. As I followed-Cassian's hand in mine-we were led across the room between tables until we reached a curtained wall in the back. The males both grinned at me as our host pulled back the curtain, revealing a beautiful candle-lit scene. A beautiful private area just for us.

The evening was perfect. We ate dinner and laughed and just enjoyed each other. The room reminded me of our cave: chilly, small, and with colorful pillows and blankets littering the floor. It didn’t take long after finishing our meals for the three of us to end up in the mess of fabric. I have no idea how long we laid there. They just held me whispering beautiful things into my ears and an occasional obscenity from Cassian. They always knew what I needed. 

My back was pressed to Cassian as he carefully wrapped his arms around me, avoiding my wings. I’m almost positive he’s asleep, and even in sleep, his grip is like iron. I couldn’t possibly move. Azriel, in front of me, combed the hair out of my face. “You’re gonna be okay, ya know,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to my forehead, “I know it doesn’t always feel like it, and you wanna give up sometimes, but you can’t. Please don’t ever leave us. We’re gonna be okay,” a tear slid down his cheek as he whispered these words to me.

“I promise,” I whispered back, pressing my forehead to his, “I promise.”

*

The next day I was released from the healers’ den, but it didn’t matter; Cassian and Azriel still never left my side. I didn’t mind, though. As soon as we left, they dragged me down endless streets of houses. I had no idea where we were going until I saw the large manor seated beside the Sidra, to our right. It must be the high lord and lady's house. We didn’t turn to it, though. Instead, I was led left, that’s when I noticed the smaller house, seated directly across from the manor. It was smaller, but not small. Beautiful ivy ran across the brick it was built of. It was supposed to look old but was certainly brand new. A short white fence ran along the yard. Cassian opened a little gate motioning for me to continue up the path. Inside, the house was stunning and appeared brand new. A curved staircase wrapped around behind us, and a chandelier hung from the high ceiling.

“What is this,” I asked quietly, not wanting my voice to echo.

“A house,” Cassian answered simply, “how about a tour?”

“Whose house?” I asked.

“Ours, of course,” Azriel replied. “We figured the house of wind was out of the question since you wouldn’t very easily be able to get in and out. And the beds in the River house are just big enough for two Illyrians. Not three.”

“So we bought this place. For the three of us,” Cassian finished, biting his lip nervously. 

“You bought me a house,” I asked incredulously.

“Us. We bought us a house,” Cassian replied.

This would take some getting used to. Them doting on me all the time; always near. It wouldn’t be difficult, I imagined.

“You can decorate it however you’d like,” Azriel spoke.

“Even if I want to paint all the walls pink and hang orange curtains from all the windows,” I smirked. He cringed slightly, and Cassian laughed, holding out his hand, offering the tour again.

[x0401x]

Jeweler Richard Fanbook Short Story #15

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Richard-sensei’s Cooking Classroom

On a bright morning in Kandy, a provincial town from Sri Lanka, a man was standing still in his kitchen. Leaning against the wall was a Japanese book titled “Breakfast for People Who Live Alone”. There were three items on the menu. Just an omelet with ketchup on top, boiled sausages and fruit salad yogurt.

Regardless, the kitchen where the man was standing was an explosion of colors, as if it were the atelier of some Dadaist painter. Perhaps he was wrong in trying to make an omelet, the blond man thought, tilting his head despondently. Loved by the god of beauty, his blond hair swayed smoothly, and on the wall behind him, the exploded omelet was scattered in all directions, giving off an artistic atmosphere. It was obvious that in order to cook an omelet on a frying pan, it was necessary to shake up said pan, but the specific method of how hard one should shake it had not even once made an appearance in his life, much like fairies and unicorns from fictional stories. As a result of him jerking the pan with moderate adjustment, the omelet had flown off, hitting the wall and dripping down under the influence of gravity.

The beautiful man cast his eyes at the opposite side of the kitchen with a melancholic look as well. His golden eyelashes reflected a rainbow-colored prism and shone like an emerald-green sea under the morning sun. In a corner, where a microwave and water heater sat on top of the kitchen table, something orange had burst all over the place from within the microwave. Just why did food blow up so often, the man wondered, silently ashamed of his ignorance for trying to reduce just two rules of thumb to common sense. When he put three vacuum-packed blood sausages in the microwave and warmed them up, the sausages lost their original shape with a faint explosive sound. Obeying the instructions that said, “Bain-marie or microwave”, the man had chosen the microwave, which seemed less difficult, but probably due to some process being neglected or the heating time being incorrect, the sausages had undergone a magical transformation, looking like some sort of eerie monster.

Moving his feet so as not to make a sound, the man headed to the dining room, lightly placing a hand on the large table and elegantly gazing at the tabletop. Fragments of yellow and green were floating on a sea of white.

“Fruits yogurt,” the man whispered, as if it were a magic spell, heaving a spring breeze-like sigh.

It was just chopped fruits floating on yogurt. Taking into account the possibility that he could not cut the fruits too meticulously, the man was out of luck to have a slicer with him, and by the moment he realized that this one was apparently not supposed to be used for fruits but rather for slicing things such as cabbages and carrots into thin pieces, the fruits that he had failed to chop had gone flying over the table, surrounding the bowl of yogurt and instantaneously creating a Genesis-like scene on the tabletop. It was chaos.

On 360 degrees, no matter where he looked, it was a foodstuff hell. After looking around one more time at the artistic misery he had created and sighing coarsely, he started anew and began doing a quick cleaning.

   “Morning, Richard. You slept well, I see.”

“Good morning, Seigi. So you wake up early even in Sri Lanka. Short sleepers have shorter lives. Didn’t you go to bed yesterday when it was already past midnight?”

“That’s fine for today. I have a guest here, after all. I’ll catch up with my sleep tomorrow.”

“I have not done so much to be called a ‘guest’.”

“There, there; let’s leave that for after we eat.”

His face looking like he was checking on something, the man whose appearance was impeccable even first-thing in the morning, as usual, glanced at the kitchen and dining room of my Sri Lankan house, and then let out a tiny sigh, stopping by a place close to the garden.

“Hey, could it be you woke up early this morning? Like, around 5AM...”

“Why?”

“I wonder if it was my imagination.”

In this three-story house, the first floor was a shared space for the dining room and bathroom, while the second and third floors had bedrooms. The room that I used as my main one was on the second floor, and the room on the third floor was used when Richard came over to be my overseer, but only the first floor had a bathroom. Whenever someone was going down to the first floor, one could tell by the sound of them stepping on the stairs. That was no big deal when I was alone, but this was the kind of house that would disturb other people’s sleep if I didn’t walk quietly whenever I needed to use the toilet in the middle of the night.

At around five o’clock, probably because I was drowsy, I had the feeling that someone had gone downstairs. I went back to sleep thinking that maybe Richard, who was looking after me despite having a jetlag, felt like having a late-night snack or something, but it was apparently a wrong guess.

Said man, dressed in a soft-looking shirt and the beige pants that he usually wore when he was relaxed, was standing still with eyes wide-open. It seemed he had noticed what was on the table. I was happy with the reaction.

“I’ve got breakfast for us. Hope it suits your taste.”

“Why? You said yesterday that your breakfast was just cereal and fruits.”

“I indeed said this yesterday, but I wanted to show it’s really not like that every single day. I also didn’t want you to worry for no reason.”

Plain omelets, sausages and fruit salad. For some reason, this house had many pottery dishes from European brands instead of Sri Lankan ones, but they were working out well for today. The paintings of green and pink pedicels over a white background were apparently from a German brand. It was actually my first time making a breakfast like this, which looked like it could show up in a commercial for some newly built apartment building and wasn’t as filling as its appearance suggested, but it had been surprisingly fun.

“I saw the recipe book in the kitchen. It’s a present for me, right? Thank you. I was happy to read a book in Japanese after so long, so I decided to make the part that showed up when I opened it into our menu. Now, now, please have a seat and eat up.”

For about solid ten seconds, Richard stared at the one-plate breakfast, his gaze looking like he was seeing a stone that he had never set his eyes on before, but then, after giving a start as if just remembering that I existed, he sat down with his same-old graceful demeanor.

“Well then, shall we?”

And so, Richard ate breakfast next to me. At times like these, this man would become extremely well-mannered, taking notice of and praising the details, such as the fineness of the omelet’s texture and the beauty of the fruit cuts in the yogurt, as if he were evaluating a five-million-yen jewelry or something. Even while being in Sri Lanka, I sometimes thought that if there were teachers like him in middle or high school around Japan, it would save many children.

“Thanks; that makes me happy. I’m benefiting from it too. Getting so many compliments for just boiling sausages.”

I didn’t know very well how to describe Richard’s face when I said that. His expression seemed like it could be the theme of a masterpiece painting, as if the exceptionally beautiful man had suddenly been reminded of an indescribable pain in the depths of his chest, but was struggling not to expose it in his facial expression. When I asked what was up, the reply was a gentle smile. His usual face was already back.

“I believe I have already said this several times, but you are extremely smart. You decipher the texts, assemble the methods in your head and put them to practice. There are more hardships in this process than you can imagine. Nevertheless, you specialize at it. This is clearly a talent of yours. Be sure to cherish it.”

“I will. But, well, I think doing my best because someone else’s gonna eat it also counts.”

For security reasons, I wasn’t allowed to invite guests to this house. I was sometimes called over to the house of a local friend I had made, and then I’d cook a simple dish there, but guests that make several meticulous dishes on the spot were probably not very welcome. So whenever there were days like these, when “guests” officially recognized by the house’s owner, Saul-san, occasionally came over, it was a great opportunity for me have a change of pace.

While thanking Richard for washing the dishes, I cleaned up the dining room and before moving on to stone study, which was my daily routine in the morning (at any rate, I had to examine stones thoroughly, guess their prices and drill the right and wrong ones into my head; pretty simple), I asked him about lunch. Richard-sensei was very busy. No time for leisure.

“You’ll be off again in the evening flight, right? What we gonna do about lunch? If you’re leaving at three o’clock, then you’ll still be in Kandy at noon, right? Can we go to a restaurant I like?”

“What a good thing it is that you found a ‘restaurant you like’ in this country. Allow me to accompany you.”

While smiling, Richard was about to let out a yawn, yet he hastily bit it down. He was like a prideful cat. As I thought, he seemed a little sleepy. When I suggested him to go to bed again, he said that he didn’t mind it, since he was going to sleep in the night flight either way. And yet he was calling me a short sleeper.

I glanced at the dining room and the kitchen. They were neatly organized. From their tidy and orderly state, I could tell with just a look that I obviously hadn’t cleaned them to this point last night. There wasn’t a single speck of dust on the floor. Despite the difference between the inside and outside of the house being so vague. There was no evidence left, but it was clear that something had happened here. Not a murder, but a more peaceful and heartwarming incident. The suspect showed no signs of confessing. So I wouldn’t say anything either. No particular comments on the multiple rags and some food remains at the bottom of the organic waste bag. I only had one thing that I wanted to say no matter what, so I hoped he’d just let me say it.

After finishing the meal, I waited for the beautiful man to stand up, and then I went behind Richard, clutching his shoulders. I was going to say it before he turned around, asking what I was doing. It was best if I didn’t see his face. There was no telling what I could say when I was staring at him in fascination.

“I myself don’t know very well what I’m talking about, so I want you to forget it in two seconds, but I was reeeally happy for this morning. Really happy. To a shocking extent.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I said I didn’t know either, right? I don’t get it, but anyway, I was happy. That’s all! Aight, study time.”

Without looking at Richard’s face until the very end, I started knocking a thousand gemstones in my workspace on the first floor. I had to look over them while it was morning. This was my current job. Richard didn’t say anything else, but his back looked calm under his shirt, so I was a bit relieved as well. Thinking back on it now, I had taken the wrong path at that time. I should have told him “not to overdo it” more clearly.

Two weeks later, Richard came back, but this time, I heard a small explosion at 6AM. Three times in a row. What did it take for things to turn out this way? The current time was already 7AM. Between getting up right now or not, which one would be less of a hassle later on? I didn’t even want to think about what had been made of the dining room. There was no one other than the two of us in this house and this wasn’t a matter that I had to go as far as asking the landlord, Saul-san, for advice on, so I knew I was the one who had to deal with it anyway. I wanted someone to decide in my stead. What should I do?

[jouretnuit-nightandday]

Fluffy shoni prompt: Toni taking care of a sick Shelby 🥺

Thanks! I love writing for these two :’)

--------

Toni comes home to a dark apartment. The blinds are closed. The lights are off. Even the air seems stiller than usual. She chucks off her shoes, and quietly makes her way to the bedroom, where she finds Shelby, asleep, under a pile of blankets. There’s a mountain of tissues on the bedside table, three dirty mugs, an empty pack of almond cookies, a bowl of half-eaten, congealed oatmeal, a huge bottle of Ibuprofen, and, at the foot of the bed, a pile of the old vintage comics Martha got Toni for her birthday, the very ones Shelby always makes fun of her for liking. Who’s the nerd, now? Toni thinks, with a small smile, as she steps over various discarded items of clothing to get to the bed.

The mess doesn’t surprise her. Contrary to appearances, Shelby isn’t a particularly organized person, and though she makes an effort to keep their shared space clean and orderly, that tends to disappear completely when she gets stressed or, in that case, sick. Toni, on the other hand, is very tidy. When you grow up in foster care, without much to your name, you quickly learn the habits that are least likely to get you in trouble, or to get your stuff confiscated, or stolen. So the first thing Toni does, before even checking on Shelby, is push the mound of tissues into the wastebasket. Then she puts away clothes and comics, and collects mugs and leftovers, bringing them back to the kitchen to deal with later. 

When she comes back into the bedroom, Shelby’s eyes are open, and she looks contrite. “I’m sorry you had to clean all of that,” she croaks out, trying to sit up. Toni takes a seat on the bed, beside her, and gently pushes against her shoulders until Shelby lies back down against the propped pillows. 

“Don’t worry about it.” She brushes blond hair away from Shelby’s sweaty forehead, rubs at the spot between her eyebrows. “How are you feeling?”

“Not great,” Shelby says, “but I’ll be okay.” She smiles, weakly. Toni bends down to kiss the tip of her nose.

“Has the fever gone down at all?”

“I think so,” Shelby says. She coughs, a bit, then exhales shakily. “I’m definitely a bit less woozy than I was this morning, so that’s nice.”

“Good. I’ll give you a couple more pills with dinner, and hopefully you’ll be fever-less by tomorrow.”

“Dinner?” Shelby frowns. “Toni, I don’t know if I’m up for eating.”

“Well, you have to. You need some energy if you’re gonna beat that nasty flu.” Toni’s voice grows a bit higher, and she adopts the no-nonsense tone of Dot as she says, in a perfect imitation of their friend : “Lots of liquids, lots of rest, and make sure she eats something, that should do the trick.”

“You called Dot?” Shelby reacts, her eyes widening. “Gosh, Toni, you shouldn’t have, now she’s gonna be all worried.”

“Please,” Toni snorts. “I was worried. Dot just listened to me ramble on the phone all panicky for, like, a full minute, before telling me it was”-- she makes quotation marks with her fingers --” just the flu and I needed to get a grip and go buy chicken soup.” She ends the quotation marks. “Which I did, by the way, I stopped by Trader Joe’s on my way from work. Got you some juice too, and even some ice cream - pistachio, your favorite - to help with the sore throat.”

Shelby raises a hand, and touches Toni’s shoulder, fingers trailing down her arm until they circle Toni’s wrist. She gives her a light squeeze. “You were worried?” she asks, and her voice is hoarse, but there’s a smile stretching her lips. “About me?”

Toni rolls her eyes. “Duh! Of course, I was worried. It’s almost like I love you or something.”

But Shelby’s smile doesn’t go away. “It’s sweet,” she murmurs. “You’re so sweet.” Toni’s heart flutters in her chest, a little. They’ve been together for years, but Shelby complimenting her still somehow affects her just like it did in the beginning. It makes her feel alive, and loved, hearing the fondness in Shelby’s voice. 

“Thank you for taking care of me,” Shelby says, still holding onto Toni’s wrist. Her eyes are bright in the semi-darkness of the room. Toni moves her arm so she can bring the back of Shelby’s hand up, close to her mouth, and she presses a light kiss onto her knuckles.  

“Always, Shelby, you know that.”

Shelby smiles, and opens her mouth, but whatever she was about to say is interrupted by a horrible coughing fit. Toni props her up and rubs her back as she wheezes and hacks and gasps, and her fingers tighten around Toni’s wrist, almost painfully, but Toni doesn’t move an inch, doesn’t make a sound. When it’s over, Shelby rests her forehead against Toni’s shoulder, catching her breath. Toni slips a hand under Shelby’s shirt, presses her palm against Shelby’s spine, hoping the touch will help her calm down. “You’re okay,” she whispers into Shelby’s hair.

“I hate feeling like this,” Shelby groans. 

“I know, I know. You’ll feel better tomorrow. Come on, let’s get you back in bed, you can rest till dinner.” Slowly, carefully, she moves Shelby back into a lying position, her back against the pillows. Shelby’s eyes open, with some difficulty, and she looks up at Toni. “Will you stay with me?” she asks, voice gravelly. Then she tries to shrug. “Sorry, I know I’m being super needy right now..”

“Babe,” Toni cuts her off, shaking her head. “Of course, I’ll stay with you.” She climbs into bed with Shelby, and curls up on her side, one arm across Shelby’s stomach, and her head resting on Shelby’s chest, under her chin. 

“Have I ever told you that you’re the best girlfriend?” Shelby mumbles, sleepily. 

“Hmmm, I think that’s just the fever talking,” Toni jokes, her tone light, and she feels the rumble of Shelby’s laughter against her cheek. Shelby’s hand comes to rest on her waist, pressing them closer together. 

“Go to sleep,” Toni says, low and soft. “I’m here.”

[dreamer213]

Broken Machines: Lights The Dark

Chapter 3: Evening in Atlas Part 1

A week has passed since Weiss’s escape and Jacques’s meltdown, everything has been clean up both in and outside of the manor and Jacques is hosting another evening party as an “apology” for Weiss’s behavior and to announce Whitley as her replacement. The party is set to start at 8 pm, only a few hours away, and the manor staff are hard at work finishing up preparations for the night’s event. But they weren’t the only ones getting ready for the evening. Deep within the manor the youngest Schnee is making preparations of his own.

After finishing his daily assignments, both academic and business related, Whitley tidies up his work space, gets up from his desk and walks over to his mirror.

Whitley: I only have an hour and a half until I need to get changed and two hours before the final walkthrough. I have still have some time to make sure I have it down. A few more goes and I should be ready.

Whitley takes a long look in the mirror, closes his eyes, and then preforms several breathing techniques. Once he’s finished the exercises, Whitley put his heels together, puts his arms out in front of himself with his hands together, puts on slight frown, and lowers his gazes. Where once stood a calm young man now stands a sorrowfully and disappointed boy. He looks into the mirror and signs.

Whitley: I’m so sorry about what happened with Weiss at the charity gala, it was truly a shameful sight.

Yes, I know her behavior was horrible but you must understand she was on ground when it all happened, I’m sure just hearing the word “Vytal” so soon after was far too for much for her to bare.

The fact Weiss made it home alive is a miracle in and of itself, so how could we expect her to come back completely unscathed from the horrors she must’ve witnessed.

Yes, it is terrible how things had to end but all we can do now is hope and pray that she’ll be able make her own way now that she’s on her own.

Thank you for your concern, I to hope that she’ll make peace with her decisions one day.

He continues on speaking several more scripted statements. After he’s spoken his last line he takes a deep inhale and return to his normal stance on the exhale. Soon he repeats the process, this time leaning more into the disappointment aspect, only to start over again this time using a more indifferent attitude as he speaks. It takes a hour for the boy finally stop, satisfied with his work he gives himself an approving nod.

Whitley: That should do for now.

Suddenly there’s a knock at his door, it’s the maids. He opens the door and they bring in his attire for tonight’s party. A thunder grey suit top, cobalt blue vest with silver buttons, white dress shirt, black pants, tie, pocket square, and dress socks, and a pair of navy blue dress shoes. The perfect ensemble for the disinheritance of one heir and the announcement of a new one.

After the maids set the pieces on his bed Whitley nods towards the door, they take the hint and leave the room. Once they’re gone Whitley gets dressed, styles his hair, and heads out towards the ballroom. When he arrives things are going as well as the normally do. The staff is rushing to get everything ready, food venders are setting the buffet, the musicians are tuning their instruments, and Jacques is shouting and hassling everyone over the tiniest of detail. Whitley walks up to him as he’s screaming at servant trying to hang some drapes.

Jacques: No, now that’s too low, put it up higher! No higher! HIGHER! I said higher you worthless insec-

Whitley: Father.

Jacques: Ah there you are Whitley, I was hoping you’d come down soon. Have you finished your work for the day?

Whitley: Yes, I finished my studies a few hours ago. All my assignments are in an orderly pile on my desk as always.

Jacques: And the reports and approval forms?

Whitley: All the forms have been reviewed, filled out, signed, and should be delivered to your office before the party begins.

Jacques: and the speech for tonight?

Whitley: I have both yours and mine completely memorized down to the margins.

Jacques: And if people ask about your sister?

Whitley: “ It’s such a shame that things turned out this way but I suppose it is for the best. Both for the company and her sanity.”

Jacques: Excellent. Since you have nothing to do you can oversee the rest of the preparations. I have to go change into my good suit.

Jacques begins to walk out of the ballroom, he gets a few feet away before he remembers something and turns back. Once he’s back in front of Whitley he pulls a pack of something out of his breast pocket and hands it to Whitley. They were professionally made business cards, white base with a navy blue outline and black font. Inscribed on them is Whitley’s contact information with his name written in large cursive letters with the title of Heir to the Schnee Dust Company underneath. This was his new title and another step closer to his goal. However there’s something very wrong with this situation. Having business cards made for Whitley was one thing but delivering them himself? Not possible. Jacques had too much pride and money to ever do such a menial task. No, something’s off here.

Whitley: Thank you Father but why are you handing them to me? Isn’t delivering things likes this one of Klein’s responsibilities?

Jacques: Oh did I forget to tell you, I kicked that disloyal mutt to the curb this morning, there’s no need to keep such traitorous trash in my manor.

Whitley: I see.

Jacques: Now if you’ll excuse me I have to get changed. Have everything ready before I get back alright?

Whitley: Yes Father.

Once Jacques has left the area the reality of what he just said sets in. Klein, the only person who had cared for Whitley and his sisters in the last ten years, had been thrown to the streets for helping Weiss. The closest thing to a shoulder to cry on he had was taken away because of his sister’s actions. If Whitley had been a normal child he would’ve broke down and cried. He would have shouted and screamed about the unfairness of it all and how his father was being needlessly cruel. But Whitley wasn’t a normal child, he didn’t have the luxury of throwing a fit to get his way. In fact if he ever showed any sign of discontent he’d be punished for acting ungrateful and selfish. No all he could do was stay calm and keep moving forward. He could get someone to check up on Klein later but for now he has to play his part.

Once the preparations are done, the staff is in position, and the door are about to open Whitley heads towards the ballroom entrance where Jacques is waiting. He takes his place at his father’s side and puts on his best “smile” as the doors finally open and Atlas elites begin to pour into to the ballroom. CEO’s, Politicians, Celebrities, and the like were gathered at the manor to attend to tonight’s evening party. Many of them had been present when Weiss made her scene and were anxiously awaiting the outcome of the drama she caused. This was a rare treat for the elites after all, to have the head of the world’s largest dust company the proverbial king of high society bow his head and apologize for his teenage daughter’s outrageous behavior. Oh what a show that would be, the perfect theatre for Atlas’s most wealthy and heartless.

Whitley: The audience is here and the curtains are drawn. Its showtime.

.

.

.

.

This week had been a hard one for Penny. A small riot, several bar fights that made it onto the streets, three robberies, two large Grimm attacks, and a car accident over the course of five days. It’s been really, really tiring but luckily today had been surprisingly normal compared to the other rest of the week. So much so that Penny was able to wrap up her duties on time for once. After her last report is filled out Penny grabs her things, turns in her usb, and is out the door before the front desk assistant can even say good night. Finally the work day was over and Penny actually had enough time to both unwind a bit and get lots of sleep before her next shift. Oh what she could do with that time maybe read a few chapters of “The Tome of Fables” book her dad had gotten her months ago, or try out that stitch pattern Mrs. Peri showed her last week or maybe just watch some tv.

Penny skips off towards home, happy as any girl could be when given some free time. Once she’s made it home she can already hear her dad in the kitchen, hard to work making dinner. It had been a hard week for him to as he’d been call in a number of times for consultations on improving the robot soldiers and some of the mech suits. But no matter how much he had to do Pietro would always find time for his little girl. Penny smiles at the sight and tiptoes over to him. She sneaks up behind him, gets down to his level, and gives him a big hug. Pietro responds in kind, turning his chair around and squeezing her back.

Pietro: Welcome back sweetie, you’re home early.

Penny: No, I’m just on time. Things were relatively peaceful today so I didn’t have to stay overtime again.

Pietro: That wonderful sweet pea. But I was expected you to be home later so it’s gonna be an hour or so before the food done.

Penny: That’s okay in fact I was hoping spend some of tonight on doing a leisure activity.

Pietro: Really, well then why don’t you go up your room and relax then? I’ll call you when it’s ready.

Penny: That’s a great idea thanks Dad!

Pietro: Just don’t forget to wash your hands before you come back down.

Penny: I won’t.

She gives her dad a quick little cheek kiss before hop upstairs to her room. Once she’s inside she kicks off her boots, grabs her book, and plops down on her bed for a nice read. After half an hour or so someone starts knocking on their front door. Who could that be at this hour? If it was an emergency Penny would get a call or message on her scroll from the security office. And the neighbors would usually calling her dad before coming by for anything. Penny, now curious about the situation, sat up from and puts her book down.

Pietro: Penny!

Penny: I’ve got it!

She puts on a pair of slippers and heads downstairs to answer the door. Penny opens the door only to be greeted by the sight of General James Ironwood in his army best with a shopping bag in hand and a limousine behind him. Definitely not what Penny was expecting at to see at 9:35 at night. As soon as the shock wears off Penny stands at attention and salutes her superior.

Penny: Good Evening General Ironwood.

Ironwood: Evening Penny.

Penny: Sir, What brings to my home at this hour? Is there an emergency I need to attend to? Or is there something you need my assistance with?

Ironwood: There aren’t any emergencies in Mantle at the moment but there is a mission I need your help with.

Penny: What do you need me to do?

Ironwood: I’ll explain everything in the car. But first, I need you to get changed.

Ironwood hands her the shopping bag. Penny peeks inside to see a dress wrapped in plastic and a shoe box. Penny takes the bag and heads back to her room to change. She puts the contents of the bag on her bed and opens them. The dress is a simple green evening gown and the shoes are a pair of 4 inch silver heels. Penny remove her normal attire and puts on the gown and shoes. This was strange, wearing such different clothes from her normal look. Even before her restoration Penny had only ever wore one outfit, all the clothes she had were just multiples of the same outfit, and although her new outfit was very different to her old one it still shared many of the same elements the old one did, barring the fact that she now wore shoes every now and then. The dress itself was a bit long and a little too wide around the waist but still very pretty. The shoes, while cute and her size, were hard to walk in. Penny had never wore heels before, she takes a slow walk around her room to try and figure out how to walk straight. After circling her room a few times she gets a rhythm going. It a little slow but it would do. She checks herself in the mirror and is pleasantly surprised at how different she looks in different clothes. She’s looking herself over when she realizes she had left her bow on. She only ever took it off when she was going to sleep so she’d completely forgotten it was still on her head. Realizing it didn’t quite match the rest of her outfit Penny pulls it off and fixes her hair to catch the fly aways. After one more look and a little twirl Penny heads back down stairs to her dad and Ironwood. When Pietro sees her he almost cries. She looks so beautiful, so happy, and is just beaming with pride, it’s almost too much for him. He’s little girl had become a beautiful young lady.

Pietro: Oh my god. You look so beautiful.

Penny: Thanks Dad.

Ironwood: You look nice Penny, now let’s go.

Penny: Yes Sir. Eat with me okay, I’ll be back as soon as I possibly can.

Pietro: Just be safe out there.

Penny: I will be. See you soon.

With a wave and shutting of a car door Penny and Ironwood depart into Mantle’s night. After a minute or so Penny speaks up and finally asks the questions that’s been running through her mind since she answered the door.

Penny: Sir, why did you come to my house in such an oddly noticeable vehicle and in such formal clothing? And why did you have me change into on an outfit that is equally as formal?

Ironwood: Because outfits like this are necessary where we’re going for this mission.

Penny: And where exactly are we going?

Ironwood: Simple, we’re going to a evening party.

There’s a pause as Penny processes this information. Her eyes grow wide and her mouth slowly falls agape as she finds herself confused by the sheer absurdity of the situation she found herself in.

Penny: ………….What? WHAT!

[loverofpiggies]

Moving Updates!

I am 100% moving on August 26th, and have been packing in advance so the day of moving the stress is at absolute minimum.

My room has been a wreck however, and as someone who works best in a perfectly clean and orderly environment, it’s been so hard to get out of bad habits. On top of all that, to sorta relieve myself of moving nerves, I’ve been restructuring my Animal Crossing island so I can finally open it up to the dream... world, thing, so people can see it! But when I’m not packing, I’ve been doing that. Essentially, stressed without realizing I’m stressed, and unable to work in a messy, unclean room.

I’m gonna try and get myself out of the bad habit of immediately playing animal crossing, but it’s really hard to look at my room, get the urge to put things away- and realize that I can’t. ): In the next few days, they’ll let me in to take a look at the place I’m getting, which I’m quite excited about! I’ll finally have an idea of the space I’ll be living in. And, I hope to get my own dog for the first time in my life.

So, yes, that’s everything going on!

Also, no plans to shut down my etsy store during the move. Half the reason my room is messy, is that I can’t pack up any of my merch or shipping supplies. I need every penny I can get for the move, and now that conventions are gone for the time being, etsy is literally paying most of my bills, besides the kind folks at patreon!

So, yes. A little stressed, and not taking care of myself super well right now, but that’s okay because I’ll get back into it soon!

[alex-ruins-everything]

Turning Pages - Chapter 1

Intrulogical bookshop au! Read whole thing on ao3 here

Logan Berry had a normal, content, average life. He was happy working at the bookshop that he simply loved, all until the brash and loud brother of one of his coworker's boyfriend's entered the picture. Then he found his quite perfect life interrupted by something he had never experienced before - fun. Remus Kingsley was getting him to branch out, and not looking too bad while doing it. 

Logan Berry had a normal, content, average life. He had good grades, a solid sleep schedule, an average amount of social interaction, and a job that he adored. He worked at a bookshop, the same bookshop he had spent most of his childhood in since most preteens were not fans of their intellectually superior peers. Though at the bookshop he could put all of that aside and immerse himself in knowledge - and on the rare occasion, some fantasy. In all fairness it didn’t take long for the bookshop owner, Mr. Sanders, to start recognizing the young boy that was always sitting in the armchairs by the windows. It didn’t take much more time after that for him to start to take Logan under his wing, showing him how the bookshop runs and on Logan’s 16th birthday, offering him a job that was happily accepted. Logan had always been an enthusiastic learner and that directly translated into his work. When Mr. Sanders’ attention got pulled away from the shop, Logan happily picked up the slack.

He was not a fan of summer break, finding the halt in his education to be cumbersome, but he did enjoy having more time to spend at the shop. It was 7am sharp when he unlocked the door, the familiar bell tingling to indicate entry as he flipped on the light switches, immediately soaking in the smell of the books with a smile to himself. Now to begin on the opening checklist he knew so well. Step one, lock the door to avoid any early customers. Check. Step two, count the money and open the register up. Check. Step three, check displays and ensure that bookmarks are orderly and the magazines are sitting neat. Check. Step four, go through aisles and ensure that books are neatly lined up and in alphabetical order. This step takes a while so it is vital to keep an eye on the time so that at precisely 8am the door can be unlocked again. Logan does his job thoroughly until he checks this one off as well, standing behind the register to organize the pens and highlighters, ensuring there is receipt tape in the printer. At 7:58 he pulls his apron on over his head, unlocking the door with a soft click of the lock, straightening a display of books as he passed by.

It was not unusual for Logan’s coworker to be late to his morning shift. Patton Hart seemed to always arrive at 8am dull rather than sharp, but he always made up for it in some way so it was quite hard to get mad at him. Today, for example, he skipped in at nearly 8:15, but he was holding two cups of coffee and a pastry bag.

“Sorry I’m late!” Patton apologized, reading the side of one of the cups before handing it to Logan. “Remy was extra chatty at the coffee shop today...but here you go! Large black coffee and a blueberry muffin.”

Logan thanked the other, taking the coffee and sipping at it. He had already had a cup before leaving home but it wouldn’t hurt to have another. He had already eaten breakfast so he tucked the muffin under the counter for later. Patton went into a small room behind the counter to set his belongings down and clock in, returning in his apron and a smile.

“I need to know what book you plan on reading for the kids on Saturday so a display can be set up,” Logan stated, looking over the short list of events the shop had planned. Patton hosted book readings for young children every once in a while and it was always a hit, bringing in lots of revenue for the shop. Another reason he could get away with being late.

“Oh! I was thinking If You Give a Mouse a Cookie,” he replied. “We just got a shipment in of those, right? I thought it might work out nicely especially since I did the Pigeon books last time.”

“Excellent,” Logan nodded, approving the idea by penciling it onto the schedule next to the time slot for Patton’s Reading Circle.

It wasn’t a very busy day, but it went by seemingly quickly with lots to do. Logan sat in the office for a good two hours, filling out orders for the shipment they would receive on Wednesday, making sure to get any special requests customers had ordered. When that was done he went about reorganizing the science section, making room for a new book that would be gracing the shelves and placing a space-holder in the meantime. Patton had been fluffing up the pillows on the cushiony chairs set around the store and dusting off shelves and cleaning the windows down. When a customer came in one of them would help them find what they wanted then ring them up, that bell by the door always chiming to alert them. The peaceful and known routine was part of what made Logan happy. Around noon he excused himself to the back to eat the muffin Patton had brought this morning, letting the other know that his break was scheduled in about an hour when their third coworker arrived.

When it came to Virgil Storm it was always a toss up. He was either early or late, never on time. Today however he chose to be early, walking in fifteen minutes before one, nodding a hello to both Logan and Patton as he headed to the back, sipping on an iced coffee with a tired expression. He came back out with his apron on, the cord of his headphones hanging out of his pocket a little bit as he started his usual rounds around the store. Aside from Logan, Virgil was definitely the most detail oriented.

Logan excused Patton for his break, perching on a stool behind the register and pulling out a large binder to work on some scheduling for the next few weeks. Always better to get things done in advance, of course. The bell rang and Logan looked up to greet the customer but saw it was just Roman, Virgil’s boyfriend.

“Hello, Roman,” he nodded, getting a greeting back before Roman was off to find Virgil.

Logan had never seen Roman actually read a book, but he did buy them every so often, mostly ones about theater or anything that had a dragon on the cover. He was just charming enough to have won over Mr. Sanders on the few times they had crossed paths in the shop, but really he only served as a distraction. Today wasn’t busy so Logan let him stay for a little while before leaving his post at the register to check on how he was interfering with Virgil today.

“Roman, if you shadow Virgil any longer I’m going to hand you an apron and consider it your training,” he warned lightly.

“Okay, okay,” Roman started. “He’s just showing me some new fantasy stuff, I promise I’ll be a paying customer this time.”

Logan decided to believe him, returning to his post at the register and continuing to pencil names onto a schedule, trying to work around the names to fit something that was fair for everyone. Then of course he would send it to Mr. Sanders for approval before posting it on the bulletin board in the room behind the counter. The bell rang again and Logan looked up to greet a customer or say hello to Patton who surely was due back from his break soon but was instead met with the most interesting person he had ever laid eyes on.

This man was all broad shoulders and wild hair, a streak of white gracing the front of his curls and a mustache that was twirled at the ends in ways Logan thought only the men in Victorian romance novels sported. He was somewhat dressed for the warm weather outside in a mossy green tank top that hung obscenely off his body, showing off an octopus tattoo on his left shoulder with the tentacles creeping down his upper arm, and black jeans that were more rips than pants. His eyes scanned around the bookshop, landing on Logan for a second too long to be played of as a passing glance.

“Roman! If you don’t quit making out with Virgil against a bookshelf I’m gonna leave your ass here,” the man said just a little too loudly for proper bookshop etiquette.

“Hey, shuddup,” Roman said, emerging from the shelves with a book in his hand. “Remus, I thought you were shopping down the street.”

“I was, then I got bored. Hey, this place is weird. I don’t think I’ve ever been in here,” the man - Remus - said, picking up one of the display books and flipping it open, only to put it back down in a way that wasn’t remotely how he had found it. “C’mon, I wanna swing by the park and chase the geese before we head home. Hurry up.”

Logan found that he had been watching the interaction, his scheduling forgotten as Roman came and set his selection on the counter, Remus following behind him and messing up the neat displays of knick-knacks on the counter.

“Told you I’d buy a book,” Roman said with a grin. “Oh, this is my brother by the way. Sorry he’s loud.”

Remus flicked Roman on the back of the head. “Am not. This place is just super quiet,” his eyes trailed over Logan in a way that was enough to make him feel like he was being dissected. “Nice to meet you, Specs.”

“And you as well,” Logan said, ringing up Roman’s book and sliding it into a paper bag, cuing him up to pay. Though with how brash this man was he wasn’t sure if that was an entirely true statement. “Roman, you’re good to go. Have a nice day.”

Logan watched the two brother’s leave, sighing lightly as he closed the scheduling binder and sticking it back under the counter. Patton came back with a happy wave and a box of donuts that he set in the back for them all to pick at when they wished. He let Patton watch the register, moving to clean up the damage that Remus had left behind to his strictly ordered displays. Well, hopefully that wouldn’t be a continuous issue. Remus seemed like he read books even less than Roman, though Logan couldn’t deny there was something illogically intriguing about how unrestrained Remus had been.

[saintheartwing]

Breaking Dawn, Part Four:  HOLD ON HOPE

The entities of emotion were, to many a race, creation deities. They had beget many a species, including the Irken race, a race born from a union of Intelligence and Will.

And now the species born from Hope was poised to end the Irken race. High above the planet Irk, aiding the Resisty ships as countless others formed a blockade to cut off Irk from the rest of the galaxy, it appeared as though all of Irk's hopes laid in the Wing, the host to Hope, herself an Irken...

"Please." She insisted, clasping her hands together, getting on bent knee before the Meekrob race as the "lighties" hovered before her. The rest of the Resisty stood behind her, Lard Nar frowning slightly. He had had reservations originally about having her join his crew, but she'd proven invaluable, gentle, and above all, considerate. She had owed the Resisty a debt after they'd saved her life...and she'd repaid it time and time again. Now she asked for clemency...

"Can't we give them half a year?" Lard Nar finally asked. "...I don't like the idea of giving the Irkens much time, but just a few months to surrender?" He went on, waving his hands in the air. "It's only fair."

"Would THEY give YOUR race the same mercy?" The leader of the Meekrob growled in its ethereal voice. Sarong was not a kindly being by nature. "DID they give your race half a year to submit before they pitilessly invaded, foul little BUGS that they are?"

"...aren't we supposed to be better than the bugs?" A third voice spoke up, as they turned to see two people stepping off a teleportal pad, dusting themselves off. "The Massive's been moved. Sold. Fresh off the market and on it's way to a very, VERY happy customer."

"Well, THAT would put a smile on my face had I a face!" Sarong laughed. "...alright. I'll give the Irkens a MONTH to surrender to our blockade, to come over to our way of thinking. Get the message out." The phantom-esque glowing being demanded, turning his head to his people as they moved along with the Resisty to the communications relay. "I sincerely HOPE...for your people's sake...they do the smart thing and give in." Sarong told the Wing.

"I have faith that they will make the right choice in the end." The Wing said as she stood up, nodding firmly, moving majestically back to her quarters as she laid down on her bed, noticing her room's communication was going off. She picked up the phone, listening intently. "Yes?"

"...milady, it's me."

The Wing's eyes went wide as the Entity of Hope shimmered overhead. "Turn up the volume, quick." It asked.

"What's happening?"

"The worst, that's what. My friends tapped into your powers with the Exemplar rings. I NEED access to Hope. I need a way to break a hold that Two has over Earth's Avatar of Will, Dilbert Membrane. Otherwise he won't have a fighting chance and...and kids are gonna die."

"I'll be happy to assist, but what of the Entity of Will? Have you contacted it?"

"I don't know where it IS, only you, Compassion and Love are on my speed dial...I don't suppose any others have appeared that could be of help?"

"...the Entity of Corrupted Passion, Rage. He's appeared, but he...he won't help. Not yet. We need to have faith in Sude, who is still bonding with his own host."

"They need to hurry. YOU need to hurry."

"I'll do what I can. I must ask though...you'll need a deputy to assist you. Dib is the Pillar of Will on Earth, is he not?"

"And Gaz is Rage, yes. And you wanna know if there's one for Hope on the Base Planet? Yes. And you know him."

"Who?"

"Skoodge."

The Wing chuckled. "Oh, Skoodge, that dear little soldier. Such a cheery soul. Always looking forward, always devoted. Yes...yes, I don't think we need to worry, Frequency..."

The Wing and Entity of Hope, Psyche, smiled.

"ALL WILL BE WELL.”

Dib paced around in front of his classroom, sighing as he held his hands behind his back, chewing his lip. The Principal had announced that everyone was to leave the school building in an orderly fashion, one class at a time due to a bomb scare.

Naturally, everyone thought Dib or his sister had something to do with it. Mostly because Zim and his weird "cousin", Skoodge, wasn't in class to be pointed and hissed at. M"Alright. I am about to tell you the explanation but if I know you all...and I DO..."

He rolled his eyes at this. "You're all so ignorant you won't believe it. So here goes. A psychotic alien forced a magical kind of ring on me and my sister. He turned us into Manchurian agents that would have decimated the school around lunchtime due to a trigger he put in us. I'm still not entirely sure why. But you aren't buying ANY of that, are you?"

All of the class looked at each other, blinked, and most of them broke out into laughter. Gretchen just sighed, leaning back in her chair, head hung low as Dib sighed and pinched the space between his eyes, chewing on his lip again. "...all right, fine. Nevermind. Moot point, anyhow." God they're all IDIOTS! I'm surrounded by ID! I! OTS!

"Moot point indeed." A voice, filled with snarling rage, a faint laugh lingering in the air called out.

KRUCHA-THROOOOOM! The wall was practically shattered as Two barreled through it, encased in a red energy aura, slamming Dib through the wall on the other side, windows and wall shattering. Soon the class, in fact, the whole school was watching as Dib was sent sprawling across the football field of the High Skool, Two standing tall, fists clenched as red energy rippled from his body.

"Ah, RAGE." Two laughed. "The "Passion" turned dark just like "Diligence" became "Avarice"! A step up, in my humble opinion. See, unlike Miyu, who's off to visit my daddy dearest here in town, I don't "want it all". Nah. I think smaller. I'll just settle for my existence restored to stability as your world is transformed into MINE."

He leapt through the air, fist flying, but Dib managed to roll out of the way, Two growling angrily. "Forgot, I gave you until after lunch to have most of your will back...and I DO suppose stripping any chance you have of fighting back against me would be cheating." Two mused as Dib leaped to his feet, pointing his ring at Two.

"GO!" He yelled out.

Tiny little sparks jutted out, wisps of green slipping to the ground...but nothing. Nothing happened.

"Then again..." Two laughed, his knee going squarely into Dib's gut, knocking Dib to the football field's grass below as he cracked his neck before delivering ANOTHER kick to Dib's side, "I also have kept you from using your ring. So it's hardly a fair fight. I LIKE these odds."

THWUH-THWUCK! Dib was rolled over onto his side as Two knelt down, grabbing his throat. "I...am going to beat you so...so...badly. I'll make this last. And then, after I've stopped by this lovely Chinese restaurant in town for some noodles..." The alien leered, his golden eyes glittering like a dark fire. "I'm going to come back, have you and your sister burn this whole place down with everyone in it, and make sure you're conscious through it all. See, I WAS going to strip your consciousness from your body after this, but frankly...I think me leaving you helpless, trapped inside your own body has a certain poetic CRUELTY to it, wouldn't you say?"

He sniggered darkly, throttling Dib with his clawed hands. "Ooh, I LOVE me when I'm NASTY."

KRA-THROOMP! Two was knocked clean through the air as Gaz lowered the bench she'd carried from the end of the football field, folding her arms down at Dib. "Get up, you idiot. If ANYBODY'S gonna kick your ass, it's me and me alone."

"Thanks, Gaz!" Dib said, laughing with relief as he stood up and made to hug his dear sister, arms stretching wide. I-"

"If you get REMOTELY sentimental I'm feeding you your own nose." Gaz said swiftly, Dib shutting up and turning to face Two as he stood up, nursing a bleeding head as he frowned at them.

"Gaz...almost forgot about you. You know..." He rubbed his chin. "...you look so much like my great aunt, at least, from what the old photo albums showed of her. How'd she die again? Lab accident?"

Gaz turned pale at this. Not with fear, though. This was pure, undiluted grief running through her as Two dusted himself off.

How does he know about Mom? Dib thought.

It had been an ordinary day. Well...as ordinary as life with Prof. Membrane GETS. Peggy Membrane was listening to him speak about his latest invention in his laboratory as Dib, age 7, and Gaz, age 5, stood nearby in the Professor's considerably larger-on-the-inside-than-it-was-the-outside garage laboratory was lighted up.

"How uh...how does...this...um..." Dib asked again as Prof. Membrane strode by him, a strange, bulbous helmet atop his head as he fiddled around with a screwdriver and a control pad in his long, black-gloved hands. He was wearing his large labcoat...he ALWAYS wore his labcoat in the lab, but never in the house, thank God. Peggy always said it smelled too much like plastic.

"Compression technology." The professor laughed. "Shrinking something very, very, VERY big and compacting it into a pocket dimension, I'M A

GENIUS!" He hovered in the air, lightning splitting the air around him as Peggy quickly snatched Gaz away from an accidental bolt that almost singed her hair. "Sorry, I've GOT to be more careful about where I gloat, my dear." Matthew Membrane told "Pegster", taking the helmet off and motioning for his family to come by a table with several vats nearby labeled "DANGEROUS: EXPLODING CHEMICAL COMPOUNDS! DO! NOT! OPEN! SUPER-SERIOUSLY!" written over them.

"What's that?" Peggy inquired, pointing at his latest invention, what appeared to be some kind of mechanical clip for the hair. "You told me your invention was SMALL and unassuming but...you DO know somebody's already invented these Bluetooth things, right?" Peggy laughed.

"My dear, it's a device that lets me speak any language! Even to animals!" Prof. Membrane laughed, pulling on a lever nearby as several cages filled with animals popped up from beneath the floor, all of them looking at the family.

"Ooh, big kitty!" Gaz said, pointing at the tiger as Dib looked at a snake. It began to hiss, it's eyes almost...glowing?

Prof. Membrane quickly led Dib away from the cage, the snake cursing under its breath as Membrane held the strange, segmented clip up, giving it to Peggy. "Put it in your hair. It will transmit signals to your brain, to the part centering around language recognition. All barriers are broken down INSTANTLY! The aftereffects have been odd...something of a shared link...I talked with that bunny yesterday and after that I kept thumping my foot against the ground for half an hour."

Peggy put the clip in her hair and stared at said bunny as it chuckled. "Ooh, have I got a carrot for YOU!" It said, giggling immaturely.

"OH!" Peggy clasped the sides of her face with her hands, gasping. "You little!" She waved her finger at it and took the clip off. "Maybe I should go find a nice CAT or something to talk to." She told her husband. "Here you go, Matt."

She tossed it back to him and he stepped back to catch it...

And he went knocking into a plank that had a small vat of "Exploding Chemical Compounds" placed on the other end. Like a catapult, the small vat was launched through the air at a stunned Peggy as Dib looked up in horror, eyes widening, Gaz's mouth beginning to open in a gasp as Matthew Membrane watched most of his wife become a sloughed pile of flesh...

He never took off the lab coat after that...there was always a tiny bit of Peggy still lingering on the edges of his collar...

A tiny bit of Peggy lingering in his heart.

In ALL of their hearts...

"Do you know what rage TRULY is? The most powerful kind of hatred ISN'T born from ignorance or prejudice or from a perceived threat. Oh no." The alien waved a claw in the air. "Those are Fear in disguise. The real fire that fuels the burning hatred of rage...is personal loss. That's why I wear the red."

Two held his fist up as Gaz and Dib readied themselves, Gaz shaking angrily. "You lost your mother, you must have felt so unhappy, so ANGRY. You didn't understand. Why, why did it have to happen? And I think you blamed your father...and a tiny bit of you blamed your brother, because neither one of them were strong enough to help."

Gaz opened her mouth to say something, but then closed her eyes and clenched her fists, holding them tightly to her sides. "...that's...it wasn't MY fault...somebody had to...somebody had to take the blame. I LOVED...her." She whispered out. "...I LOVED her so...so much..."

"...my own mother is slowly dying. WILL die if my world isn't returned." Two told them softly.

"Then you know how I felt. Then you know that if I had the power...I would have done anything, ANYTHING to get her back." Gaz asked in her dark, accusing tone. "I have that power now...you FORCED it on me, but with you dead and gone, and me with this power..."

She held up her ring, grinning coldly. "I WILL find a way. I'm smart, and I'm tough...and there's not a kid in the world who wouldn't burn it all down if it meant getting back his mommy."

"Oh, Gaz..." Two whispered softly, almost sadly. "You couldn't have described me any better."

And with that, he launched himself at them, claws held high.

...

...

...

... "So..." Nick inquired, his county-boy accent thick and homely as he sat down on the pink, fluffy couch with the squat Irken Invader Skoodge at Zim's house, Zim having gone off to the Radioshack to pick up "supplies" as GIR did his own "private thing" in the laboratory. "If Mr. Billingsly is the sleaziest, number one backstabbing lover in all the town, why's he defending this gal off the street? Reckon it don't make no sense." He asked Skoodge, who was, before you ask, NOT in any disguise.

Oh no, Invader Skoodge, short, fat and cuddly Invader Skoodge, was "au naturale", ladies and gents...well, except for the clothes he was wearing, his usual maroon Invader's attire with that mysterious splotch lingering on his stomach.

"It's because before he got amnesia, William Billingsly was the sleaziest number-one LAWYER in Dawson County!" Skoodge explained, waving a gloved hand in the air as Nick passed the chocolate-covered popcorn GIR had made over to him, Skoodge tossing a handful into his mouth.

He liked having the human over. It got so boring, just being stuck in Zim's basement. This way he could talk about human soap operas like "Kissy-Kissy-Boo-Boo" AND wrestling programs like "Skull Squisher" all he wanted and with somebody who wasn't too "busy" or "stupid" to care about either one. Plus, in the event he ever said too much about Irken culture, he'd just erase Nick's memories with a little mini-squid Zim had developed to be attached to people's heads.

...again.

Yeah, he'd tested out a LOT of things on Nick and-oh. Skoodge grimly frowned as Nick took off his cap, scratching at the...

He couldn't bear to look at it. Skoodge looked away, almost puking up the popcorn he'd gobbled down as Nick decided to use the bathroom, promising to come back with soda from the kitchen as Skoodge sighed, turning his head slowly back to the television. Nice kid, that Nick. Stupid, yeah, but nice. Even before what Zim had done to him.

...that had been...

Skoodge was a trained and experienced invader. He did not ever take his job personally, and he understood that Dib had his own duty to save the planet just as he had a duty to help Zim take it over. It was, on an intellectual level, sad. In another time and place, he might have been capable of being friends with the humans. It was somewhat sad he never could be. There was a lot about this world he liked. And he was beginning to fall into an enjoyable rhythm, just staying here on Earth, hanging out.

Maybe...one day...maybe this would feel like his real home. Maybe one day he'd fine that thing he needed to make him want to stay forever. Maybe one day he WOULD be friends, and there wouldn't be a need for this back-and-forth, and they could just...BE. He was fine with waiting. He was good at that...the waiting and the hoping.

Heck, truth be told, even ZIM was beginning to fall into a steady pattern. A new plan every week instead of every day, and there was a faint camaraderie between he and the Dib-human. Sometimes, Skoodge, he could swear Zim LIKED being continuously beaten. LIKED being stuck here, constantly plotting.

Heck, GIR liked Earth plenty, Skoodge thought to himself as he snuck over to the linen closet and pulled it open, a monitor revealing what was occurring in the laboratory downstairs. GIR was dancing around, a disco ball hanging overhead as lights sprayed around, the little robot posing and singing as he strutted his stuff.

Can't read my, can't read my, No he can't read my Poker Face!

"She aint' got to love nobody!" GIR sang out, waving his butt in the air before he whipped around, holding his arms behind his head and shaking his groove thing.

Can't read my, can't read my, No he can't read my Poker Face!

Yep, nothing changed around here, Skoodge thought to himself as he closed the door, returning to the couch and turning back to the television. The state of normalcy: sitting and waiting for something to happen, and usually, it did. In the end. Things tended to work out in the end, Skoodge thought to himself as he popped some more chocolate popcorn in his mouth. He just had to keep where he was. Stay happy. Keep believing...

He stiffened suddenly, as a voice called out to him, a faint accent lingering in it as he slowly turned his head, looking upon a blue-furred being that had stepped into the living room. It wore a blue cap with a strange white symbol on it's head, and blue shorts to match with a special ring in one hand...a ring with a blue symbol upon it that was being offered to him. To HIM.

"Skoodge of Irk." Frequency said cheerily. "Stoic ol' Skoodge. You have the ability to feel great hope."

He put the ring in Skoodge's hand and Skoodge slowly slipped it on, eyes widening. It felt so natural...like he'd been missing a limb all his life, forced to wear a prosthetic but now gaining back his old hand...

Meanwhile, a maroon-eyed, green-skinned being, Invader Zim himself, was walking back from Radio Shack to his house, his arms filled with sacks full to the brim of technical material he needed for his latest plan.

"Brilliant, BRILLIANT! I'll transform pigs into half-human slaves, rounding up humans and overriding their genetic code with my own glorious Irken DNA!" Zim laughed to himself. "Irken and human fused together and at my command, I'll build a new Irken Empire right here on Planet Earth!"

He blinked suddenly, frowning as he put down his bags and scratched his head. "Wait. I'm TALKING TO MYSELF...vrik na tishanti!" He cursed. "I'm becoming too much like the Dib-Stink." He sighed and reached into his maroon outfit, pulling out a small notepad from within. "And have I already done something like this lately? Better check the list."

He took out a pen that popped up from his PAK, flipping through the notebook. "Hmm. Fiddle with gravity in school...launching chickens into outer space...replacing organs with STUFF...launching COWS into outer space...launching GHOST INSPECTORS into outer space...oh. "Turn dogs into dog-people". Ah, DOGS, not pigs. Yep, this'll work!"

"Observation: You always had a knack for such ideas. Insanely brilliant...they called you mad." A metallic, yet distinctly feminine voice rang out, making Zim whip his head in its direction as he saw a robotic female approach him, black-outfit making her look VERY slim, with a red helm over her head and tipless white gloves showing off almost Irken-like long clawed fingers. "But madness is merely genius to a small mind, and when compared to you, most organics have small minds."

"...what ARE you? Explain yourself!" Zim demanded angrily, pointing at her. "Tell Zim!"

"Explanation: I have an offer for you." The woman said. "I am Miyu. I ask this..."

She held up a ring in her finger...a faint orange glow to it.

"Join my corps."

...

...

...

...The kids of the school were watching, their teachers unable to get them to leave as they saw Gaz and Dib struggling with Two, who kept flinging them around the football field, kicking and punching them whenever they got close enough. Dib had managed to bust one of Two's cheek bones, and Gaz had delivered, WAS delivering-

"YOOOOOWWW-OOOOOOH-HOOOO-HOOOO-HOOOO!"

Ooooch. Gaz fought DIRTY. Two staggered back, flailing out with his ring as a medieval torture rack attached itself via energy construct to Gaz, trying to stretch her out as Dib struggled to break her free, Two cradling his sore crotch. "Y-you dirty little...GAAAAH..."He muttered out.

"You're just going to stand there and watch them suffer like that?" Gretchen asked the others as Ms. Bitters calmly looked up from her copy of "Beyond Good and Evil", "harrumphed" and went back to reading. The rest of the class looked around at each other, almost hesitant.

"We can't just stand here and WATCH!" Gretchen insisted angrily, waving her arms in the air. "We've gotta DO something! ANYTHING to help them!"

"That thing can shoot finger-beams. What're WE gonna do?" The Letter M asked, scratching his head as Poonchy nodding in agreement.

"Oooooh. He just made a shark." Zita called out as Dib yelled for his life, climbing one of the football poles as Two danced in victory, Gaz being beaten up by a cheer-leading team he'd summoned forth with his ring, Gaz swearing to rip off Two's head and make him eat it later. Somehow.

She could do it, you know! She TOTALLY could!

"GRAAAAH!" Gretchen tugged at her hair, exiting the room and stomping out into the hallway-

Running into a beautiful-looking being who was standing by the Guidance Counselor. Her eyes widened as the Guidance Counselor nodded at the angel.

"This is her."

"I'm surprised you figured it out."

"I spent years around the Entity of Love. I know souls filled with it. And her love for Dib has marked her."

The Beautiful Angel stepped forward, putting something in Gretchen's hand. "You won't remember us. Nobody in this school will remember us, my friend will make sure of that. But when the time comes, you'll know what to do inside your heart." The Beautiful Angel crooned, taking Gretchen's cheek and kissing her on the forehead before leaving, Gretchen moving the ring in her hand to her pocket as the Guidance Counselor took her shoulder.

It was as if a veil that had been placed over her eyes was ripped away. "Wh-what was I doing?" She asked, scratching her head as Mr. Thildari moved her back to the class.

"I THINK you were watching THAT." Mr. Thildari said cheerily, pointing outside the opened-up walls as two forms descended from the sky on blue wings, Dib gasping as a green blaze swirled around him, power coursing through his body. Now he was returned to his once-heroic form, standing tall and proud, his Will reasserted over the ring as Two snarled furiously, turning on Frequency.

"You! And...and YOU?" He gasped, seeing Skoodge as Skoodge smiled over in a surprised Dib and Gaz's direction.

"Power levels at 104%...119%...124%..." Dib's ring called out as Skoodge gave Dib the best thumbs up he could.

"Don't worry, Dib-Thing. Hope's wings have always lifted Will higher than it could ever soar. Trust me...All will be well." Skoodge spoke kindly, comfortingly.

And did he look IMPRESSIVE. A cloth covering the top of his head and forehead, with the white symbol of Hope emblazoned upon it. His outfit was vaguely Shamanic...long robe-like shirt to wear, exposing his arms, tipless gloves, plain, simple...and above all, he looked so peaceful and comforted. So SMUG, almost.

"So you've betrayed us?" Two growled at Frequency.

"What can I say, dude?" Frequency laughed, holding his ring up with Dib and Skoodge. "Except...COWABUNGAAAAAA!"

With that, an ENORMOUS blue wave of energy shot forth from Frequency's ring, formed like a tidal wave that SLAMMED into Zerinim Two Jookiba with all the fury of an ocean, as Dib now launched his OWN shark at Two, the pointy nose JAMMING into Two's chest, making him gasp in pain as he was sent spiraling through the air, knocked around by the wave...

Skoodge leaped forward, forming an enormous pair of hands that suddenly pinned Two to the ground, a pair of hands that rapidly became attached to the energy construct of a professional wrestler.

"And now Rodrick has his evil twin Rodrick in a Leg Hold!" Skoodge laughed, the wrestler slamming Two into the ground over and over before tossing him through the goal posts.

"TOUCHDOWN!" Gaz laughed, racing towards Two and kicking him squarely in the face, knocking him through the air and towards the school, right in the direction of Ms. Bitters.

"Huh?" She looked up just in time.

KA-THRUNCKA!

Everyone let out a simultaneous "Ewwwww" and stepped away as Two stood up, dusting himself off and looking down beneath him at what he'd landed on. He stuck his worm-like tongue out, stepping off and watching as Ms. Bitters' feet curled up, the rest of her body melting away as she let out a final sigh of "What a woooorld".

"It's over." Dib said, cracking his knuckles as Skoodge, Frequency, Gaz and he approached Two, who growled and reached into his vest, pulling out a small capsule-like computer.

"You'll never control Dib again, not with ME here, brah." Frequency proclaimed. "And you ain't gonna get to GAZ, either. We've spoken with the Big Bad behind it himself and he's given the ALL clear. Try to take her over again, you get a wipe out!"

"No. It's just BEGINNING." Two growled out. "EMERGENCY TEMPORAL SHIFT."

With a WHOOMP, he was gone, vanished from sight as the class looked from the wreckage to Dib, who scratched the back of his head. Were they FINALLY going to believe him now about the aliens thing?

"I guess...you're all wondering about all of that, right?" He asked.

"It's a gang war, you see." Mr. Thildari said quickly, stepping forward and waving a hand in the air. "Dib informed me that members of a gang who were INSANELY jealous of our school since it's so amazing, especially the clean bathrooms..."

"Oh yeah, yeah."

"Absolutely.

"Of course." Everyone agreed, nodding their heads.

"So they prepared to carry out an attack and decided to beat up Dib because he was the most noticeable of us all with his big head. Luckily Dib's friends here were skilled enough to fend them off with the fancy technological equipment that Prof. Membrane loaned his son and his friends in the event something strange like this ever happened. Isn't that right, Gaz?" Mr. Thildari wanted to know.

Gaz shrugged. "Yeah. Whatever."

"Oh, yes, YES." Gretchen said quickly. "Oh, Dib and I have talked about this before when we're alone! Some people have mace in their pockets, he's got super-tech!" She lied with a smile, quickly putting one arm around his and grinning.

"Er...yeah! Big, bad, rival gangs! It was all a rival gang." Dib decided quickly, gulping nervously. "DEFINITELY not aliens! And these guys are just in costumes cuz they were going to a party at my house later this afternoon. Costume party. Really private affair and stuff. Right, Gaz?"

"Yeah. Costume party. I mean, you can see the zipper!" Gaz chuckled, pointing at Skoodge's teeth as he grinned.

"Well, I think Gretchen had best inform the principal of our little...predicament...with your teacher." Mr. Thildari told the class. "And I think that perhaps I should drive you home, Dilbert, Gazeline...it's been a long, long day and I think we could all use a break, especially you two..."

...

...

...

... "I can't BELIEVE they bought it. I can't believe TWO bought it! One of the worst performances of my career and he didn't doubt it for a second." Frequency laughed, slapping his knee as Skoodge poured everyone some soda using GIR, who opened up his mouth. Gaz then closed GIR up and moved him over her chips, pulling down on an arm as nacho cheese was squirted down onto her snack. "I don't even know what the Entity of Rage LOOKS like! Ha! This is off...the...HOOK!"

"Hope, huh?" Dib inquired, looking Skoodge over as he calmly sipped some Diet-Poopsi, nodding sagely.

"Yes. Our Exemplar Rings gain power from the Entities of Emotions, and I was meant to wield Hope the way you were meant to wield Will, and Gaz was meant to wield Rage." Skoodge explained.

"Meant to? Entities?" Dib asked.

"What...ARE you?" Zim inquired, eyes widening at the ring in Miyu's hand.

"I suppose I should explain." Frequency admitted, sitting in a chair nearby as GIR clapped his hands together, beaming.

"It's STORYTIME?" GIR asked cheerily, hopping up and down.

"Uh...yep."

"Ooh, does it involve monkeys?"

Skoodge snorted, looking over in Dib and Gaz's directions as Gaz growled. "What's THAT supposed to mean?"

Frequency laughed and chuckled slightly, holding out his ring as an series of images began to form for them all, GIR's eyes widening. "Oooooooh. Laser liiiiights..."

"In the beginning, there was just one universe planned for creation. What happened...was something quite different. There was a...change...in the nature of the cosmos." Mr. Thildari explained calmly.

"Instead of ONE universe being made, a multiverse was created." Miyu went on. "Endless parallel worlds, similar in some ways, bizarrely different in others, were formed. All were occupying the same space, but vibrating at entirely different frequencies."

"Like two cars parked side by side in the same parking lot...or sometimes right on top of one another, with nobody realizing." The guidance counselor suggested.

"And there were entities, beings of INCREDIBLE power, that watched over all of this and spread the power of emotions through the universe." Miyu murmured. "The first was entity of Life, Sude, of the Seraphi race."

Zim blinked. "The Seraphi?" Wait, the Irken race had SENT invaders in the direction of the soc-called home of the Seraphi, the planet Allforce. What had happened to them? Had they becme dragon chow? They'd never heard from the fools again...

"I know what you're thinking. The race did not perform things such as that. They were the kind who offered laughter and joy up to their God instead of blood rituals. They simply sent Irken laughter to Sude."

Zim raised a non-existent eyebrow. "...wait...you mean?"

FIVE HUNDRED YEARS AGO...

"WE'LL TICKLE YOU FOREVER!" One brown and yellow-horned draconic being exclaimed as he held a giant feather up from a box, the tied-up Irken nearby gulping as his friends were held in place. "Prepare to enter the unbearable world of COOCHY-COOCHY-COO!"

PRESENT...

"ANNNNYHOW, the next was the entity of Passion, Chulainn. He's turned all nasty and dark when he became "Rage". Frequency went on with a sad expression flickering across his face. "Poor dude. Then we got the pretty lil' entity of Hope, Psyche. She's cute, in a weird way." He added, tilting his head to the side. "Kinda...looks like a butterfly. I think she IS that, a big, alien butterfly."

"And I spent many years conversing with the Entity of Love before I came here." Mr. Thildari explained, putting one hand to his chest. "Jourmungdr sent me here to the Base Earth to keep an eye on the planet and those within. It said this place was too important to be ignored. I've been keeping up a guise, with the Entity taking my place back at my home planet without anybody noticing."

"This world...this MUDBALL is...actually important?" Zim scratched his head. "How?"

"EVERYTHING in the multiverse stems from the material found in this base Earth." Skoodge interjected. "Remember when he talked about the "parking lot" analogy? Think of your world as an original model of car, and every other car in the lot is a rip-off or copy of that original." Skoodge went on as visible models of the many parallel Earths floated around.

"Without this world, there won't BE any other parallel Earths. No more stories of Zim and Dib and Gaz and GIR. This world is the cornerstone upon which the multiverse of Universe I-Z spins..." Miyu went on, gesticulating in the air. "Within this world...there's the POTENTIAL to remake the world that was tragically lost."

"They want to bring it back. If one tried to sacrifice enough of this world, Earth B-S will return. The people of this world will be, well...they get folded into the historical fabric. Become reborn anew, I guess you could say..." Frequency admitted.

"I'll DIE?"

"Answer: You'll become BETTER." Miyu informed him waving a clawed finger in the air. "You will reach your physical and mental peak, and will become a being both feared, loved and admired across the universe. And it is not just you. GIR, Minimoose, they'll be better too. People will respect you, Zim, be amazed at what you've become. I would never not lie..."

She gently took his shoulder, smiling at him as the visor on her helmet lifted up, and Zim's eyes widened in surprise. "To my own father."

"I...I need to...think about this." Zim mumbled.

"Statement: I shall do you one better." Miyu informed him as he pocketed his ring. "I will take you to your wife. I think you'll be more than pleasantly surprised."

Zim's eyes bugged out, mouth flopping open. "Zim has a WHAT?"

[okaybutlikeimagine]

What if when Hopper first adopted Billy he was mentally preparing himself for a mess of clothes tossed about, dishes left everywhere, general teenage chaos? Instead, it's the complete opposite. Billy's had responsibility literally beaten into him, so he takes over all the chores thinking if he doesn't Hopper will toss him out. He cleans, cooks, drives El (and Max still) everywhere, etc while going to school and working part-time. How would Hopper react when he realizes why Billy does it all?

Oh I so agree with this, 100% feel like he was!! Like… I don’t think anyone expects Billy to be as super considerate and clean as he is. Bc he really is! He lived his whole life w/ a man who very obviously carried his military service through his life into his adulthood in a very dangerous away and so I believe Billy was scared as all hell to ever let himself slip. He keeps everything he can immaculate bc if anything isn’t Just Right, he’s the one getting punished every time.

When he was younger, Neil would put him through random, weekly checks of his room to make sure everything was clean and orderly. (when he got “old enough to be called a man”, Neil stopped with those, but still yelled at Billy for anything disorderly in his room.) When Max was really young and would accidentally break things, Billy would absolutely always take the fall. Even if Max admitted to it being her fault, Billy would be hit for not watching her close enough/for letting her reach for that glass herself/for giving her those permanent markers/etc.

So I think Billy feels responsible not only for his things but for everything. This is his house now too, after all; his space, and he’s gotta make sure it’s perfect.

And Billy moves in with very few things. Billy just doesn’t have a lot of stuff in general. I dunno if we’ve all seen the pictures, but some people on here have analyzed the little makeshift nightstand + mirror thing that Billy has. Like, he piled a bunch of things on top of each other to make his little vanity. I’ve talked before about how I don’t believe Billy was ever the type of kid to share things bc he just doesn’t HAVE a lot. He doesn’t own a lot of things and he KNOWS the cabin is small so he doesn’t bring a lot of the things he does have with him either. He gives his stereo to Max. He leaves all the furniture and his mirror. He only brings his clothes in a duffel, a couple of trinkets he holds dear to his heart, and his hair stuff.

And it’s definitely not what Hop was expecting at ALL. he was expecting absolute chaos. Like you said, clothes strewn around the place, etc, so before Billy moves in, Hop goes out and picks up a dresser he finds at a yard sale. It’s not much, but it’s something for Billy to keep his things in and on. And he’s fully prepared to have to give him a real hard lecture about keeping his shit where it belongs, which is inside the dresser or hamper and nowhere else, but he doesn’t even need to. Hop gestures to the dresser and Billy thanks him quietly before immediately folding up all of his things neatly and placing them where they belong. He doesn’t have enough clothes to even fill the dresser. Hop has to tear himself away from watching bc Billy can feel Hop’s presence and looks over his shoulder every now and then as Hop stares.

It’s just that… this isn’t what he was expecting. This isn’t the same kid he agreed to take in.

He also 100% takes over literally every single chore! Some he does out of feeling of necessity, like cooking. He didn’t cook all the time at home bc Neil felt that was a “woman’s job” but the thing is, Neil and Susan would leave Billy and Max at home all night or even all weekend sometimes and they’d leave so few leftovers that Billy had to learn how to cook to feed the both of them. (I also like to think about little Billy cooking dinner with his mom or grandma ♥ anyway)

So the boy has been cooking for years and when he sees that Hop feeds himself and El frozen dinners or freezer waffles or take out, he realizes he needs to be the one to cook. His biggest fear about it is Hop having the same mentality as his father, AKA “this is a woman’s job and you shouldn’t even know how to do it”.

But he doesn’t! Hop is honestly amazed at Billy’s knowledge of a kitchen, esp because he 100% does not share that same knowledge. And yeah, Billy tends to make very simple, very easy dinners, but they still taste a whole lot better and do a whole lot more than the frozen dinners that they’re eating every night. So Hop lets him cook and supports it very much. There’s no underhanded comment there. He tries to tell Billy how much he appreciates it, but he’s not sure if the boy hears him.

And Billy does more than just cook. Bc some chores he takes on bc they just seem necessary, and others he takes on bc he’s always had them. Bc he feels obligated. Bc he feels fear bubbling in his chest over it. Bc the more he did around his old house, the less anger would be directed at him. Doing chores kept him busy, kept Neil from getting angry, and kept everything calm. For the most part. It was like a saving grace.

He carries that feeling with him.

So he does the laundry. Everyone’s laundry. He’s always taking out the trash as soon as it gets full, and he’ll check it religiously, even if he doesn’t need to throw anything away. He picks up everyone’s dishes and washes and dries them. It takes him a few days to remember where they all go, but he gets it down quickly and Hop finds himself never washing dishes again. And it takes a few weeks to realize but suddenly, on his designated Chore Day (which is the second of every month, bc I’m sorry but Hop really can’t be fucked to do any kind of chore unless he’s designated a day, not even with El here now. He tried for about a month and it didn’t work.) Hop finds himself with nothing to do. Like absolutely nothing. The shelves are dusted, the floor is swept, the trash is empty, the cabinets are full bc the dishes were washed this morning and when Hop goes to question Billy with a:

“Seriously kid? Is there anything you didn’t do?”

Billy’s eyes flash with fear. It’s a bit longer than a flash, actually. He’s scared. Hop doesn’t like how often he sees that look when he addresses the boy.

Billy starts to pull at a curl on the nape of his head, elbow against his chest, closing himself off even if it’s a little bit. Hop has been working hard to pick up on all of the little nervous habits Billy has. This is one of them.

“I dunno… is there?” Billy asks like he’s serious. Like either of them are serious about Billy needing to do more.

But Billy is serious.

Bc Billy is fucking terrified. Every day he feels it in his chest: Today is the day Hop realizes what a mess he’s gotten himself into. Today is the day Hop recognizes the tornado that is Billy Hargrove and he’s gonna realize how fucking far from worth it he is to keep here.

So he worries. And he does absolutely everything he can think of to prove to Hop that he isn’t going to be a nuisance in the “living under the same roof now” department. That he isn’t going to be the “typical messy teenager”. It’s before he lashes out at the niceness because right now, nice isn’t what scares him most. Everything just feels… tenuous. Uncertain and downright frightening. Even a speck of dirt or food or whatever on the floor strikes something in Billy and Hop sees how tense the boy is about it but doesn’t comment.

Until now, bc now Hop is catching on. Now Hop’s getting a peek at what’s happening. And it’s kind of completely breaking his heart.

“No. I was just joking around.”

Billy blinks hard, looking away and moving his tongue around in his mouth in deep thought.

“Yeah… course.”

Hop eyes him carefully as Billy heads out of the house with the lame excuse of “seeing a friend.”

And Hop realizes pretty quickly that Billy isn’t in the house too often in those first few months. If he’s not at school, he’s at practice, if he’s not at practice, he’s with “friends”, if he’s not with “friends”, he’s driving the kids to the ends of the Earth or something bc he’s literally just never home.

It’s not until he’s on call somewhere that he sees Billy, across the street, lugging boxes around the local warehouse and sweating like a pig.

And he watches him work and struggle and sweat and groan. He watches this boy, very visibly tired, and it really starts clicking. Bc Billy is always stressed out, tired, dragging himself around. He’s always falling asleep on the couch or just sitting at the dinner table. (he also always freaks out when he gets woken up)

It’s just that… yeah of fucking course this kid has a part time job. Of fucking course this kid is working himself to the bone. Now that Hop thinks about it, he reminds him of Jonathan, who always looks like he got hit by a freight train right out of bed. It’s as he’s really thinking about that when a red flag pops up, because Jonathan has about 3 jobs and is stressed far too often for a young teen to be stressed and Hop never really understood the amount of concern Joyce had for him until now bc fuck watching this boy work like a dog is not fun.

So he brings it up when they’re both home. When they’re eating dinner and El is at Max’s and there’s a lull in the conversation bc Hop just can’t stop thinking about how tired Billy always is. How stressed he always seems. It worries him so much it gives him headaches.

“So… you’re working down at the warehouse?”

Billy nods absentmindedly. “Yup.”

“And going to school?”

Billy takes a big bite. “Yup. Pretty sure that’s why I still go every day.”

“Right. And you do everything around the house?”

“Do you have a point?” Billy asks over a mouthful of chicken.

“I- Look kid, you afraid of getting kicked out or something?” Hop asks, putting his fork down and staring at Billy with the question hanging between them.

Billy tenses. Sets his own fork down. Sets his eyebrows low too, showing off that hard disdain he’s always sporting.

“Why? What are you thinking about?” Billy asks, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed tight. Hop has seen the boy do this countless times before: he’s trying to look tough. But the thing is, it never works. It didn’t even work the first time he did this. He’s trying to look big but in reality he looks like a little kid who got told he can’t have dessert tonight. He glares but it’s always paired with a pout like a toddler.

Hop shakes his head. He feels like he can never win with the boy. He also feels like he says all of the wrong things in the wrong ways at the wrong times. He relies on Joyce for a lot of stuff. Probably too much stuff, but he’s been trying, alright?

“Cool it, I just… you do too much.”

“I what?” Billy asks like it’s some kind of insult. Hop can’t help the sigh he releases.

“You do too much. You don’t need to bleed yourself dry every day, alright? You’re doing too much.”

Billy’s mouth moves but no words come out. He looks semi-desperate to say anything, but he doesn’t. Can’t? Just furrows his brows and squints his eyes and shakes his head minutely and pouts. And Hop doesn’t know how to continue this, he just feels bad. Feels it heavy in his heart bc this boy has the deepest circles under his eyes and he feels kind of responsible for it. Really, seriously feels responsible bc he watches this boy work himself down every day and doesn’t say anything about it. It’s just that he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to do about any of it. He let it happen bc there wasn’t a lot of alternative when he was always at a loss for words as to why a boy would even want to work so fucking hard all the time.

But he can’t let it slide anymore.

“You can keep your job, I’m not saying you have to quit or anything, I just… stop cleaning everything. And doing all the laundry. It’s…. Nice, sure, but it’s too much.”

“I just… what are you talking about?” Billy asks, irritation laced with confusion in the blue of his eyes.

“I’m saying I need you to stop doing all the chores around here.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re tired! I can see you’re tired.” Hop pauses for a second. “And it weirds me out! I mean, you’re a kid, don’t you ever just act like a kid?”

“I’m not a kid.”

“You’re still 17, you’re a kid.”

“Why are you mad at me for doing what I’m supposed to do?”

“I’m not mad!” Hop nearly yells, hands going to his hair to pull at it. It’s a lie. He is mad. He’s mad at himself for not being able to find the words this boy needs to convince him to just calm down with the “responsibility” shit. “I just don’t want you running around-”

“I’m being responsible-”

“It’s not your responsibility!” Hop’s eyes are hooded by thick eyebrows bc he’s far too confused by these words to have any other kind of expression. At first glance, this kid looks like a brat. A boy who complains about having to do more than he needs to. About having to move off the couch to take the trash out.

But that’s what knocks Hop into it. Into the realization that he’s completely wrong. Bc Billy’s hands have always been calloused, he works on his car himself, he knows how to do all of this stuff in a timely manner. He doesn’t walk around like he’s confused, he walks around like a machine as he dusts the shelves and wipes down the tables.

It’s never a sarcastic, smarmy little  show of “I’m being a good house guest, can’t you see?”

No. it’s an act of: “i’m doing what I’m supposed to, don’t look at me.”

He always moves fast; always quick about it. His shoulders are always hunched over. Like he’s trying to stay hidden and now Hop knows. It starts clicking more and more and he’s livid at so many things right now he can’t even pinpoint them all and-

“No. It’s not your responsibility to take up every chore in the house. We can do it together and I know I kind of drop the ball on a lot of it but I’m gonna get better about cleaning but I can’t do that when you do everything and-”

Hop’s not even looking at Billy anymore. He’s looking at his mostly empty plate, rubbing at his forehead and his hair and trying to see through his squinted eyes bc this isn’t the conversation he ever thought he’d have to have but here he is and he looks up at Billy who-

Who is so confused. Whose eyebrows are closed in and whose lips are parted trying to form a question that isn’t coming out and Hopper sighs.

“Your place in this house is safe. I mean it.” Hop says seriously. Looks Billy in the eyes and doesn’t leave even a sliver of doubt. Doesn’t let Billy think for a second this is a joke or that it’s an empty promise. That he isn’t anything but absolutely serious.

Billy’s face falls from his confusion. His eyes are shifting everywhere, on the table, the floor, the wall next to them.

“Billy.” Hop starts, leaning forward a bit on his elbows on the table. “I’m serious. If you’re afraid of getting… I dunno, kicked out or something, you won’t.”

Billy blinks.

“Just…” Hop continues on a sigh. “Please stop doing everything. It makes me nervous.”

Billy nods slowly, eyes still confused. But he smiles a bit at the small smile Hop offers and it’s fine. Everything feels fine. Far better than fine.

And so Billy lets them help. El sweeps the floors and dusts the shelves. Hop wipes off the counters and learns to cook some more, as well as load the dishwasher correctly. Billy teaches him the “secrets” of doing laundry. (“They’re not secrets, old man, you’re just a caveman who doesn’t know how to keep towels soft.”)

And it’s a little alien for both of them (and everything is a new and exciting experience for El) but it’s far better than fine.

[5ivebyfive]

pride month challenge - day thirteen - first kiss trimberly - roommate problems

Kimberly Hart was on a mission. Kimberly Hart was never one to be deterred from something that she wanted. Kimberly Hart wanted Trini Gomez to smile at her again.

Kim and the other Rangers had a week before their Angel Grove Community College courses began, and they had been living in their new (old) rented house for two weeks. They were still settling in and unpacking. Well, Kim was anyway. The others had been unpacking since day one. Kim was more...living out of her boxes and digging things out as she needed them. She was spending half her week at training and the other half at the beach, and that didn’t leave a lot of time for serious unpacking. She didn’t mind, but she knew Trini was getting irritated. Their house had three bedrooms. Trini and Kim shared the master bedroom with a private bathroom, Jason and Zack shared another bedroom, and Billy had his own room. They all knew he needed his space and they didn’t mind it. So it was Trini’s and Kim’s shared room that was a mess of Kim’s things while Trini’s side looked neat and orderly. Kim tried to keep her half of the room neat, really she did, but she was easily distracted by life and the excitement of living on her own for the first time. 

However, the night before Trini had finally gone off. She yelled about how Kim needed to be responsible for the fact that they shared a living space and respectful of the space and of Trini. Kim took it as a personal attack that she didn’t respect Trini herself and she yelled back. Each word shared not only pissed her off, but sent a fire off in Kim that reminded her how much she liked Trini and how attracted to the smaller girl she was. She had been since they became Rangers and it had only gotten worse. Trini chose to spend the previous night on the couch to get distance from Kim, and it made Kim sad. It had only been two weeks, but she was used to the comfort of having Trini in the room every night. Kim barely slept all night. She tried, but she felt guilty for her part in the fight. It felt weird sleeping without Trini beneath her. In shopping for a smaller bed that would fit their shared room, Kim had talked Trini into getting bunk beds so that they’d have more space in the bedroom. And because she wanted the top bed. She had been sleeping so well knowing that Trini was in the bed below hers every night, but that night...not so much. 

Sometime before dawn broke she got out of bed and put on her earbuds with music blaring and opened a box. Slowly and painstakingly, she emptied the box and moved on to another. She put everything away in its place neatly and began stacking empty boxes by the door. She had some things that had to remain in boxes until she had a better place to put them, and those things she left in a neat stack of boxes next to the bathroom. She got lost in her work and was surprised when she tossed the last box aside. She looked around the room. It looked better, but not perfect. She went around the room and picked up anything out of place and found a place for it. Then it finally looked good.

Kim crept out of the bedroom to get a knife and break down the empty boxes and she piled them by the back door for recycling. She found an empty closet in the back of the house and put her unpacked boxes in it. She went into the kitchen and took down the fancy coffee her parents had given her that she hadn’t let the others use, and she brewed a pot of it. When it was ready she poured a cup, black, and carried it out into the living room. Trini was asleep on the couch with her face free of it’s usual scowl lines. She looked beautiful. Kim just watched her for a while. She had been trying for some time to find a way to ask Trini out. She wasn’t positive Trini felt the same way, but she was sure she felt something between them at times. She would doubt herself and tell herself she was seeing what she wanted to see, but there were just times that it couldn’t be denied. It felt like they were both waiting for something, and Kim wasn’t sure what that was. For herself, probably to avoid heartache. It wasn’t just a crush for her anymore. She had real feelings for Trini. She watched Trini’s nose wrinkle and she smiled at how cute it was. She moved over and sat on the edge of the couch by Trini’s waist. She brushed the bedhead back behind Trini’s ear.

“Hey you,” she murmured. Trini mumbled incoherently and tried to burrow under her blanket. “Nuh uh,” Kim said, tugging it down. “I have something for you.”

“Slept like shit,” Trini grumbled. “This couch sucks.”

“Well, it is second hand,” Kim commented. “And you have a perfectly comfortable bed in our room.”

“You mean when I can find my bed?”

“You know that coffee my parents buy that you love so much?” Kim asked. She waved it under Trini’s nose. “They got some for us.” 

Trini inhaled and started to sit up. “That’s good coffee.”

“The sooner you start drinking it the more you get to have before the guys wake up,” Kim suggested. Trini took the mug with narrowed eyes and sipped at it. Kim chuckled and watched Trini sigh with content. “I’m sorry about last night. I’m sorry for what I said.”

“So you don’t think I’m an uptight clean freak?”

“No,” Kim shook her head. “I think you’re neat and organized, and I respect it. I was just mad. You know I can be...irrational,” she rolled her eyes at the word, ”when I’m mad.” Trini continued to drink her coffee quietly so Kim decided to go on. “I’m sorry I let my stuff get so bad, but that’s not how it’s going to be.” She considered her own words and shrugged. “Not all the time.” She watched Trini glance up to meet her eyes and they stared at each other for a long time. Something that had been happening a lot recently. The eye contact Kim shared with Trini was unlike anything else. It was thick and nearly suffocating, but in a good way. 

“We gotta set some ground rules,” Trini said finally. “Otherwise we’re gonna fight all the time, and I don’t wanna fight with you.”

“I don’t want to fight with you either,” Kim said. She pulled the blanket down further to take Trini’s hand. “Come with me.”

“Where?”

“Just...trust me?” Kim asked, batting her large brown eyes.

“Of course, Princess,” Trini replied, getting up. The nickname sent a fluttering through Kim like it always did. She loved it. It made her feel special in a way she never had before. She got up and led Trini back to their bedroom, the only one on the ground floor, and she pulled Trini inside. She watched Trini take in the clean, unpacked room slowly. Trini’s eyes eventually landed on Kim. “You...did all of this already?”

“I need my best friend in our room at night,” Kim shrugged.

“Scared of the shadows?” Trini teased.

“No. Scared of not having you near me,” Kim said softly.

“I didn’t think Kimberly Hart was scared of anything,” Trini said. Kim stared down at Trini who was standing kind of close to her and gazing up at her, and some kind of strength came over her.

“She’s scared of a couple things,” Kim said softly.

“Do I need to hold your hand?” Trini teased, taking Kim’s hand.

“That helps.” The moment had gotten so much thicker and intense, and Kim had a feeling that Trini felt it, too.

“What else are you scared of?” Trini asked softly.

“You,” Kim murmured.

“Me? Why me?”

Kim tried to think of the right words to explain what she meant, but nothing seemed right. Nothing that didn’t sound cliche. In that moment she knew she had two choices. She could make a joke and shrug it off or she could throw it all on the line. She always had been one to be reckless, though. She circled an arm around Trini’s waist, dipped down, and kissed her. There was a moment where she thought she had made a colossal mistake, but then Trini started to kiss her back. Kim understood finally what it meant to feel her toes curl. She broke the kiss, the smile on her lips too big to hold back, and she looked at Trini.

“That,” Kim whispered. “That was terrifying.”

“Felt kinda good to me.”

“Felt really good,” Kim clarified.

“Yeah...it did.” Trini’s gaze fell down to her coffee cup. “Why now?”

“I don’t know,” Kim said honestly. “Last night was the biggest fight we’ve ever had and we’ve only been living together for two weeks. I don’t want it to be...an indication of how living together is going to be.”

“It was one fight,” Trini said. 

“I don’t like fighting with you,” Kim replied. “I don’t like when you’re mad at me. It’s probably my least favorite thing in the world.”

“Mine, too. But...why now?” Trini gazed up at Kim and trailed a finger along the collar of her tee shirt.

“I guess...because I need you to know how sorry I am and how much I care about you.”

“So you kissed me…”

“Well, I’ve been wanting to since I first chased you up a cliff,” Kim said with a smirk.

“I see.”

“Was it a bad idea?”

“Nah, you shoulda done it a long time ago,” Trini said. She took Kim’s hand and tugged her towards the bottom bunk where the both sat back. “You should make it up to me now. With more.”

Kim took Trini’s coffee cup and put it on the bedside table before leaning back into her. “I can do that.” And she got lost in the soft smile Trini gave her for a while, but finally closed the distance and kissed her again. 

Mission accomplished.

[yes-i-would-like-to-be-stabbed]

Ghost Mansion Chapter 10: Doctor’s Visit

Sinclair had only been to the clinic a few times, for medical reasons anyway. It was a rather large room with white walls and light blue curtains covering the large window on the back of the room. On the right and left side of the rooms were doors leading to Dr. Roth and Lola’s rooms respectively. On the left side of the room were a chaotic and disordered desk and three hospital beds, each with its own privacy curtain between them. The right side of the room contained a rather neat and orderly desk. There were also several chairs,  although they were filled with various stacks of paperwork and books. There was also a counter space that was equally messy with a sink and a few cabinets overhead, each labeled. Sinclair knew that was Lola’s work, Dr. Roth was a bit of a scatterbrain.

Speaking of Dr. Roth, she seemed unaware of Sinclair’s presence in the room as she typed away on her typewriter. Everyone in the mansion had offered her a computer but she argued that she preferred the typewriter. She had said that her grandfather had been a ‘famous’ author and she loved to watch him type.

Sinclair cleared their throat and it seemed to surprise the doctor.

“Oh!” She jumped in her seat and swiveled her head in their direction. Her eyes were widened and her body was slightly rigid, but she relaxed once she saw who it was.

“Ah, Sinclair! You scared me!” The doctor exclaimed as she placed her hand over where her heart would have been.

Sinclair laughed slightly, “Didn’t mean to spook ya, doc. You seemed a little preoccupied though, you didn’t even hear me come in.”

“Yes, I do seem to zone into things when I do them don’t I?” She smiled and her skin stretched slightly. Half of her face was warped and the skin was leathery. Her eyelid had been spared but the skin under her eyes had been pulled taught and stretched her face. Her right nostril was been distorted and was pushed in. Her right ear had fused to her head, resulting in some hearing loss. She had only small patches of hair remaining on the right side of her head. She did have some hair on her left side that was singed and short that hung just below her ear.

       Dr.Roth didn’t shy away from details of her past or her death. In fact, she was one of the most open people at the mansion. It was something Sinclair had admired about and was jealous of. She had openly told others of how she died if they had asked. She had been a surgeon at a hospital that was in a less than desirable neighborhood. She had been trying to help a patient from the local prison. Unfortunately, he ended up getting out of his handcuffs while police officers tried to break out a fight in the other room. Dr. Roth struggled with him but ultimately was knocked unconscious. When she came to, she had been handcuffed to the bed and couldn’t move. The man was later found out to be a convicted arsonist and ended up setting the hospital on fire. Unable to escape, Dr.Roth was burned to death.

She always had a faraway look in her eyes when she talked about the hospital like she was picturing every detail of it in her head. But despite everything, she was a very happy go, lucky person, most of the time, unless she was in one of her moods. Thankfully she wasn’t.

“Anywho!” Dr. Roth exclaimed, “How are you today?”

Before Sinclair could answer the doctor quickly cut them off, “Well I guess since you're here, you’re probably not doing very well!” She laughed.

Sinclair laughed a bit, “You’re not wrong doc.”

She escorted Sinclair to the row of chairs on the other side of the room before she cleaned up some of the piles of papers from a chair and mentioned from Sinclair to sit, “Well Come Come! Let’s see what we have here!”

Sinclair sat down and the doctor settled into her own seat as well. Sinclair rolled up their sleeve, and only winced a bit as they revealed their wound. Ectoplasm slightly oozed from the wound but was less intense than it was earlier. Dr.Roth got closer to inspect it but tsked, “Ah that's a nasty one!”

She examined the wound as best she could, “Well Sinclair you’re probably going to be needing stitches.”

“Yeah, I figured as much. They got me pretty good.”

Dr.Roth hummed in acknowledgment as she got up to grab some supplies, “Quite odd for you to be here. I don’t see you in here often. What happened?”

Sinclair scoffed, “We were trying to secure a new soul for residency, and...let’s just say they’re a bit aggressive.”

“Ah, yes. I was informed of the situation. Their file gave some interesting details.”

“Really? We must have got some very different files then. Ours had jack shit in it,“  Sinclair shook their head at the clear lack of communication.

“Ah, well my file did have quite a few descriptions of hostility and aggression. Guess they forgot to inform you about that it seems,” Dr.Roth had gathered their supplies and began to clean the infected area.

Sinclair barely flinched as she cleaned their wound, “Yeah, it would have been really helpful,” they replied grumpily.

Dr.Roth laughed and steadied Sinclair’s arm as she prepared to stitch, “Alright you may feel a slight pinch-”

Suddenly someone opened the door to the infirmary. Both Dr.Roth’s and Sinclair’s heads snapped towards the door as Atlas stumbled in trying to hold up the still chained and unconscious figure. He notices the pair looking at him and sheepishly asks, “Uh, a little help?”

Sinclair went to stand up to help but Dr.Roth stopped them, “No you’re wounded and you are not going to injure yourself further!”

Sinclair huffed but sat down, “Fine.”

Dr.Roth sat her tools down before helping Atlas get the figure into a bed.

After maneuvering them around they finally got them on the bed. Dr.Roth grunted, “So this is the one that did that to Sinclair?”

Atlas snickered as Sinclair shot him a ‘look’, “Yeah it is. Never seen Sinclair get their ass kicked like that before.”

Sinclair groaned and leaned their head on their unwounded arm, “Pffft, whatever.”

“Alright,” Dr.Roth began, “I assume Madam Pierce instructed you to bring her here?”

“Her?” Sinclair and Atlas said at the same time.

“Well yes, she is a female. It says so in her file,” Dr.Roth explained.

“Not in our file it didn’t!” Atlas exclaimed.

“Yeah, apparently she got a much more detailed file than we did, including how aggressive and reactive they…. I mean she is.”

“Really?!”

“I suppose I did,” Dr.Roth laughed, “Anyway, I suppose I should prepare to examine her,” She turned to Sinclair, “I’ll have Lola come in and finish your stitches in the meantime.”

Sinclair’s head perked up at Lola’s name and Atlas gave a low wolf whistle to which Sinclair ‘glared’ at him whilst Dr.Roth laughed. It was quite evident that Sinclair was rather fond of Lola.

Going over to her intercom on her desk, she pressed a small button and said into the speaker, “Lola, dear, would you please here?”

No response was heard but a door on the right opened and revealed Lola. She was a very sweet girl despite being mute. She was a rather shy and neat girl, but she loved helping others. She never revealed much about herself except that she had been a nurse, not unlike the hospital Dr. Roth worked at. She did have a disdain for the much more boisterous residence, however. It was a wonder how she put up with Dr.Roth and her scatterbrained nature.

Lola wore a surgical mask over most of her face. While her face was covered you could see the corner of her eyes crinkle as she smiled and gave a small wave to Atlas.

She stood silently before pointing to the woman in bed as if asking a question.

Dr.Roth shook her head, “I’m actually going to have you finish Sinclair’s stitches while I examine Miss…” She trailed off before grabbing her folder, “Ah, yes Miss Owens.”

Atlas and Sinclair made eye contact but said nothing, they had seen the photographs but...after all this time?

Dr.Roth cleared her throat, “Well Atlas if you’d like to stay you could always hold Sinclair,”

Sinclair crossed their arms and huffed, “No.”

Atlas laughed, “I think I'm good.”

Lola had gathered the supplies and sat down next to Sinclair. She pulled a small pad of paper and pen from her scrub pocket and wrote something down.

At her presence, Sinclair unfolded their arms and sat up straight before replying to her quietly under their breath.

Lola seemed to give a silent laugh at their statement.

Atlas made eye contact with Dr. Roth and they both smiled and shook their heads at the pair.

“I’m gonna go, Madam Pierce wanted to talk to me after I dropped her off, “ Atlas said as he approached the door.

Dr.Roth had walked over and stood over her newest patient while looking at her notes. She looked at Atlas, “Alright, see you around, Atlas.”

Atlas nodded, “You too, doc,”

Before Atlas left she called out to him with a wicked smile on her face as she held a needle in her hands, “Oh Atlas!”

He turned and visibly paled at the sight of the needle, it made his skin crawl. He gave a weak reply, “Y-yeah?”

Dr. Roth gave a devious smile as she held the needle up high, “Do be careful, we wouldn’t want you to end up here.”

Atlas gulped and laughed nervously, “Hehe yeah…” He then opened the door and practically bolted out of the room.

[jimlingss]

How about a story with Jimin or Namjoon where there's an enchanted mirror that connects to an alternate universe? The mc is able to see through the mirror and vise versa.

I took creative liberties with this one. I hope you don’t mind.

↳ The Mirrored Passageway

3.9k words || 50% Fluff, 50% Smut || Park Jimin

Warnings: Some religious themes and depiction of an all-girl christian school. Please do not read if you will be offended. Viewer discretion is advised

It’s a single file line. 

You stay quiet, listening to the way everyone’s shoes tap in a single beat, each person making sure to walk down the hall in an orderly fashion. But your eyes stray away from the back of Lisa’s head to out the glass windows. It’s bright out today, the sunshine gleaming with clouds swirling the sky. You wish you could go outside to play — but then you’d get dirty and Sister Tam would be mad, and if mama hears, she’d never let you go home again. 

“Suzy, close your legs!” 

The nun leading the entire group barks at the older girl seated on the bench. 

The student closes her legs, but she glares. Your eyes flicker to Sister Tam. She probably doesn’t like it. The last time Tiffany looked at her like that, she got hit. “Sit up and properly like a lady!” 

“Sorry, Sister Tam.” 

The nun leaves with a “hmph”. Lucky. Looks like Suzy’s not gonna get hit today. 

Everyone continues walking down the hall towards the church. It’s afternoon mass for your grade and you find Sister Mae waiting at the doors. She opens them and welcomes each girl in. She’s much nicer than Sister Tam. “Come along children. Nice and quietly. Irene, go up to where Sister Kim is. Yes.” 

She walks in, but the girl in front of you is stopped by Sister Tam. “Lisa, where are your knee high socks? Why are these black? Where are your white ones?” 

“I…” The girl in front of you trembles. You feel bad, but there’s nothing you can do. “I got them dirty, Sister Tam, so I used these ones my mama got me.” 

“Our dress code requires white knee high socks.” Her spit goes flying, and you flinch back. “And look at that — your skirt doesn’t go past your knees! Fix it.” 

“S-sorry, Sister Tam.” 

“If I catch you one more time not following the dress code, then you will be having detention with me and writing out the entire dress code by hand, young lady. Go along now.” 

She nods and walks off. It’s your turn — you hope she’ll just let you in quietly, and with that wish, you shut your eyes. But you’re stopped with a firm hand on your shoulder. “Y/N, did you not brush your hair this morning, dear? It’s terribly sloppy.” 

“S-sorry, Sister Tam.” Both your palms try to brush it down, but to no avail. 

“Tie it if you must.” The nun dismisses you with a wave of her hand, and you shuffle to the front, sitting on the wooden bench and preparing to pray. At least she wasn’t so mean this time. 

// 

The moon is high in the sky in the middle of the night. It pierces the glass windows right onto your face, casted right on your eyes so that your entire form is bathing in the moonlight. You sigh, lashes fluttering, eyes still open even when it’s past midnight. All the kids around you are snoring away, rolling in their beds. 

But you can’t sleep. You miss home.  

You sit up in your bed, looking around. You really shouldn’t…..but you can’t go to bed. Maybe, just maybe, you can go outside for a little while. You’re sure the wind would be nice, and it’s been a long time since you’ve got to go and play. 

It’s the thrill of an adventure that quells away the fear of being caught by a sister.  

You hop down, toes tapping against the cold floor, white dress fluttering as you slip into the shadows, shuffling past your sleeping classmates. The corridors are dark at this time, kind of scary, but there’s no monster scarier than Sister Tam. 

You’re alone in the hallways, walking through the twisted path when you suddenly hear footsteps behind you. They come closer and closer. Booming in the darkness. A single candle light seen from afar. 

You spin around with a gasp. 

“Did you hear that, Father Sam?” 

The priest looks around. He shakes his head to the nun. “It must be the wind.” 

“Right. I was saying, we need to be stricter on the children and enforce the rules before they run wild in our academy. Just today, I saw….” her voice fades off until you can’t hear it anymore. 

You peek out from the adjacent hallway, right behind the stone pillar, and you take a sigh of relief, breathing again as they pass. But as you lean backwards, the wall doesn’t catch your fall. 

You nearly shriek. The wall pushes back as if it were a curtain. You fall on your butt. And from the momentum, the door automatically swings shut again. The wall becoming whole once again. Sealed. As if it could never separate. 

It’s silent and you turn around, eyes wide. You didn’t know there was a secret closet here. The square space is small enough to fit perhaps two people only, but there’s another door on the other side. You grab the knob and push it open, too enchanted by these hidden spaces. 

“Woah.” 

Your breath is stolen away from you. The dungeon is quiet enough to hear your accelerating heartbeat thundering in your ears. It’s empty, stone floors and walls, but there’s a mirror taking the entire space of the wall opposite to the door. You approach it. 

It’s peculiar — you can’t see your reflection. 

Instead, you see a brunette boy the same height as you, staring. 

“Who are you?” 

“Who are you?” 

You’re mesmerized, spellbound, approaching closer. 

He has a round face, puffy cheeks and lips, brown eyes, short hair…. 

You haven’t seen a boy in years. 

Your arm extends and you step up right to the mirror on the tips of your toes. Your finger is pointed and the stranger is as fascinated as you are. He brings out his own finger, tapping the pad of his index with yours. The touch startles you, and you fall forward. Instead of the silver surface catching you, you go right through it. 

“Oof!” 

You tumble, and when you come to, you’re sitting right on top of him, on his stomach, legs on either side. Automatically, your eyes look around, finding yourself in a small bedroom. There’s a single bed with bear bedsheets, a desk, bookshelves, toy trains, the window open with the white curtains flying in the wind. 

“This isn’t the academy!” you shriek. 

The boy’s eyes widen and he slaps his hand over your mouth. “Shh! My parents might come in. I’m supposed to be asleep.” 

“Sorry,” you mumble against his palm. He sits up and you move off of him, turning around to find a full length mirror on his wall with a brown frame. “Where am I?” 

“My room,” he says, still staring at you like he can’t believe it. He blinks. The moonlight illuminates the tiny space, casted on the profiles of your face. “Who are you?” 

“I’m Y/N. I’m eight.” You show him on your fingers. 

“I’m Jimin. I’m eight too,” he introduces himself, relaxing when he realizes you’re no monster. In fact, you’re just like him. “How’d you get here, Y/N?”  

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “I just found a room with a mirror and then I fell through and now I’m here. Gosh, I hope I can get back. I’m so gonna get in trouble with Sister Tam now.” You groan, imagining it already. You’re going to get the detention for the rest of your life for breaking the rules and especially for talking to a boy.  

Jimin blinks. “Who’s Sister Tam?” 

“The meanest nun in the world.” You pout, both of you still on Jimin’s floor in a disoriented mess. “She yells at us a lot and sometimes she hits us.” 

Jimin comes closer and you realize he’s dressed in blue pajamas with koalas all over them. “Mom and dad says no one’s allowed to hit me. Why won’t you tell on her?” 

“I can’t. I don’t get to talk to mom and dad a lot.” You shrug and your eyes catch something else. With a gasp, you hobble over. “This is such a cute teddy bear!” 

You grab it from his desk and cuddle it to your chest. Jimin walks over and smiles. “You can have it if you want.” 

“I can’t. We’re not allowed toys.” Your eyes stray and you find a bin of other toys. Opening up the lid, it’s as if you discovered a treasure chest. “You have so many!” You pull something out from the bin, struggling, and a plane accidentally comes crashing down onto the floor. 

Jimin’s eyes are wide. “Oh my god. My mom and dad are gonna wake up!” he whispers harshly, but you point at him in shock. “What?” 

“You just said the lord’s vain in name!” 

“Is that bad?” 

“Yes,” you emphasize. “You could get in trouble.” 

“But mom says it all the time. She doesn’t get in trouble.” 

It goes silent as you think. “Maybe cause she’s an adult.” 

All of a sudden, the lights in the hallway flicker on. It leaks into Jimin’s room. Footsteps are heard coming down and the boy whirls his head around at you, eyes big. The door swings open. “Park Jimin! Are you playing—?” 

The bed is a lump. 

The woman’s voice tapers off into a sigh. You hold your breath, listening to the noise of the stranger cleaning up the toys that fell on the ground and placing the bear back on the desk. There are some footsteps and the door shuts quietly again. 

Jimin and you are underneath the covers, faces right next to each other, legs tangled. “Do you think it’s safe?” you whisper. 

“Yeah.” he murmurs back and throws the blanket off of you two. 

“Sorry about that.” 

“It’s ‘kay. Just try to be quieter. I don’t wanna get in trouble,” he says and you nod. The two of you roll to face each other. “Where’d you come from, Y/N?” 

“Oh, I go to an academy with a bunch of nuns who are my teachers. It’s called something like preparatory, all-girls, boarding, whatchamacallit. I don’t really remember. It’s a long name.” 

“Is that why you don’t talk to your parents much?” 

“Yeah. They live far away. I only see them sometimes on holiday.” 

“Why’d they send you away?” 

“They didn’t send me away.” You pout. “Dad died in the war and mama got married to someone else. I got a baby brother, and mama told me they needed my room for him. So now I’m going to school far away.” 

“Oh.” Jimin frowns, lips lopsided. “Why didn’t they get you a new room?” 

“I don’t know.” You never considered it. “My new dad’s house is big, but it’s scary at night. Maybe that’s why they brought me here. It’s not as scary.” 

“Hmm…” He starts toying with the lace collar of your nightgown. He retracts his hand after he feels the soft material. 

“Where do you go to school, Jimin?” 

“I go to the one down the street. Yeonmi Elementary School. It’s fun. I get to play soccer during recess and draw after lunch.” 

“That sounds fun,” you tell him. “I have to do maths.” 

“Oh, we have to do maths too. I don’t like it much but dad tells me I gotta do it or I get no ice cream after dinner.” 

You gasp, sitting up and hovering over him. “You get ice cream?!” 

He cups your mouth when you realize how loud you’re being and you look at Jimin’s door. Luckily, his mom doesn’t come back. He grins. “You want some? I can get a stool and go get some for us.” 

“No…” You pout. As much as you want to, you’ve been here kinda long. “I should go.” 

The eight year old boy watches you climb off his bed. He sits up, messy hair flopping to one side and he pats the spot beside him. “You could sleep here if you want. My bed’s comfy.” 

You really want to, but you’re not allowed. “I don’t wanna get you in trouble.” 

“Will you come back then?” he asks frantically before you can leave, eyes rounded and imploring. 

“Course.” You give a cheesy grin to him. “You’re my friend, Jimin. Right?” 

“Yeah.” He returns your grin, giggling happily.  

And for every other night following, you sneak out to see Jimin. You travel across the land in an instant to meet your new friend, and he lets you play with his toys. He steals ice-cream for you to eat, and you two even go outside where you get to feel the grass in between your toes. 

You tell him about school, the nuns and priests, all the other girls and what they’re like. He tells you about his own school and classmates, playing soccer, how he fishes with his dad and helps his mom with baking and hangs out with his grandma. And you always listen in envy. 

Sometimes, he even comes to the other side and walks around for the academy for a bit. But it’s your little secret — you don’t dare tell anyone else, not your friends, not the sisters, in case you get in trouble and never see him again. 

The routine goes on for years. It’s fun to leave school, to talk to someone different, to hang out with your best friend. But a little down the line, things begin to change and alter. 

He’s the only boy that you know and talk to — and you don’t understand why all the sisters in school tell you not to touch boys until marriage. Jimin doesn’t seem that dirty or bad. In fact, you like him a whole lot.  

It’s this confusion that leads to curiosity. The denial and repression that makes you want to prove them wrong. You want to know what’s so different about him that makes everyone so scared of him. So you ask at age thirteen, and he lets you. 

Over time, it escalates. Innocent peeks to touches to Jimin touching you, reciprocating actions and exchanging knowledge, underneath his covers in the middle of the night.  

And at age seventeen…..you’re rubbing your thighs underneath your desk, tapping your fingers incessantly and waiting for the damn nun to shut the hell up. 

After class, you race down the hall. 

“Y/N!” Irene calls out, stopping you and making you spin around. “Are you not gonna join us for lunch?” 

“I got some homework I gotta finish.” You hitch your thumb over your shoulder, unable to stop the excited smile on your face. 

Your friend thinks it’s a friendly gesture and grins. “Oh, sucks. I’ll see you later then.” 

You walk down the corridor, through the twisting hallways and slipping into the empty one. Once the coast is clear, you move behind the pillar and push a small part of the wall. The door is shoved open, shut, and you sprint through the mirror like it’s just air. 

Arms catch you on the other side, bubbling giggles greeting you. 

“Are you trying to run me over?” 

“I’m sorry I’m late.” Your palms press against his cheek and you kiss him, mouths smacking on one another. He tilts his head to deepen it, pressing his body onto yours and pushing his tongue past the seam of your lips to swallow your whimper. When the pair of you part from one another, the string of saliva breaks. “God, Sister Tam would not shut up about the gospel. I thought I was going to die of boredom.” 

He laughs, watching as you frantically peel off your uniform blazer and abandon it on his floor. “Eager, aren’t you?” 

“Are you kidding me? I didn’t get to see you last night and ended up having to touch myself in the shower. I thought one of the sisters could hear me. God, it was so embarrassing.” 

“What a dirty girl.” His eyes darken. “What were you thinking about?” 

“That time I almost choked to death sucking your dick. C’mon, hurry up.” You tug on his wrist with a whine, falling back onto his small bed and letting your legs drape off the edge. You quickly shove your skirt up. 

Jimin laughs and you pout at him, pulling him in by the collar of his shirt for yet another sloppy kiss. You taste his tongue, wrap your legs around him, getting your body hot before you pull away. “Are your parents home?” 

“No. They’re at work.” Jimin pulls his sweatpants down in one swoop and drags your cotton panties down your legs. “I’m skipping class for this, you know.” 

“Oh, poor you.” You bat your lashes. “How will I ever make it up to you?” 

“Spread your legs wider,” he tells and grins at your automatic obedience. “You listen so well, hmm?” But Jimin still tests your patience in spite of your rush. His hand presses into the meat of your thigh and his other two fingers sink into you without warning.  

Your back arches and he watches in interest, blatantly staring and making you more embarrassed. “How does it feel?” 

“F-Fuck, so good.” 

Jimin curls his knuckles into you, listening to your groan. It’s one of the few times you can be this loud and he doesn’t have to cup your mouth with his palm or watch you smother yourself with his pillow. So Jimin takes the time to relish in the way he calls your name so desperately. 

“Tell me about your day.” 

You open your eyes again. “Seriously?” 

His fingers stop and his smile falls. “Do it.” 

“Fine.” You sigh. “I had bible study first thing—” Jimin grabs his cock in his other hand and lines it up at your dripping entrance. “—and that bitch Lisa would not shut up. God, she’s probably fucking Father Sam, I swear—ah!” Jimin jerks his hips forward. Your cunt is warm and wet, and he loves it when your voice breaks the like that. “J-Jimin! Oh…my god.” 

“Shouldn’t say the lord’s name in vain,” he teases. 

“S-shut up.”  

God, you’re so hot and cute. Jimin grabs a hold of your hips eagerly and begins to fuck you into his mattress, stretching out your tight hole. You’re right in your little school uniform, and he’s enjoying the fact that he’s ruining your innocent exterior. 

Your eyes are watery, arms reaching out to him, whining his name as he defiles you. Before Jimin can finish in you, he leans in and keeps himself still deep inside you for a moment. He kisses you again, tilting his head and breathing in your scent. He missed you as much as you missed him. He wishes he could keep you here forever. 

His plush lips trails off onto your neck and you automatically tilt to give him more room. He sucks at the sensitive spots and your cunt tightens around his cock. “Wait. Don’t leave marks, Jimin. Jimin!” 

He makes a disgruntled noise at the back of his throat and moves to tug on the buttons of your white blouse. He sucks spots into your skin, leaving blotches of red right on top of your breasts. “No one’ll see if I leave them here.” 

Jimin tugs your bra down, playing with your nipples as your arms wrap around the back of his neck. He remembers when he was thirteen and it was the first time his hand went up your nightgown and he felt you up — back when he didn’t know what he knows now. 

“Jimin…” 

He’s mesmerized, spellbound, and leans in close, bending your leg to your chest to get at a deeper angle. You throw your head back, shutting your eyes and he muses how pretty you are. Jimin thrusts his cock into you, watching how the sheets are wrinkled, how you’re making them smell like you and he’ll be able to get himself off tonight when he remembers this. 

Jimin sweats at his hairline. “I-I’m gonna work hard. And get enough money to rescue you from that d-damn school.” 

“Or you could just get me pregnant.” You open your eyes and he pins your down harder, swallowing. “They kicked Tiffany out when she came back from s-summer break pregnant.” 

“Hmm, doesn’t sound like a bad idea.” He pounds into you and all conversations cease. 

The bed creaks under your weight and Jimin’s greedy force. On any usual night, you’d both cringe at the noise and the way the headboard knocks against the wall for potentially bringing his parents into the room, but for now the sound is welcome with your laboured breathing and moans. 

The two of you chase after the feeling, chest falling and rising, sobs of his name leaving your mouth. You jerk your own hips up to meet his pelvis, singing curses that would lead you both to damnation. And it’s a high pitched moan with a rub of your clit from the pad of his thumb that leads your toes to curl and pushes you off the edge.  

You tighten around him and he presses his nose to your neck. 

You have half a mind as you come down from your high. “Jimin, j-just cum inside.” 

“A-are you sure?” 

“If you stain my skirt, I’ll—” 

He shoves himself deep into your pussy and cums. Jimin thrusts shallowly, ropes of white leaving his cock and he finishes inside of you. He collapses after he’s spent and used your pussy to his heart’s content and only rolls off of you after your soft whines of how heavy he is. 

With the sunlight pouring into his childhood bedroom, he stares at you, your lashes, lips…and god, he’s so fucking in love with you, it hurts. 

Without asking, he leans in and kisses you. You reciprocate lazily, feeling his soft lips that you daydream about often. The pair of you embrace each other for a second as cum runs down your thigh, but after a peek at his clock, you gasp and sit straight. “Oh my god! I’m going to be late for class!” 

You wobble to your feet, pulling your skirt down, trying to pat down your hair, grabbing your blazer off his floor. Jimin eyes you and has a shit-eating grin. “Wait, shouldn’t you clean yourself off?” 

You snag a tissue from off his desk, doing a haphazard job of rubbing your thigh. But you’re too frantic to notice that there’s still some of his cum dripping out of your sopping cunt. He won’t remind you that he still has your stained underwear. “I gotta go. If they give me detention again and me write out the entire Exodus chapter, I’m seriously going to kill someone.” 

“Okay.” Jimin laughs, but he can’t resist you. His arm extends without him realizing and his hand encircles your wrist before you can run away. The boy pulls you back and gives a chaste peck on your lips. 

You smile against it. 

“You’ll come back soon?” 

“I’ll come back soon,” you promise. 

And just like that, you jump through his mirror.  

Jimin watches your reflection running on the other side and another stupid smile plasters onto his face, irresistible. Seeing you is always better than looking at his own reflection.

[ren-val]

@fuukonomiko said: How about something about a roomba accidentally summoning a demon while vacuuming a Ouija themed carpet

Senpai has noticed me. Ok this is the product of me thinking too much about the kind of stupid things that could happen if the Primarchs lived in this not so grimdark world. Also magic. And also I am kinda a fan of yours. And wanted to write something fun and very, very silly. Hope I didn’t butcher any characterization.

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

Magnus looked at his study, and saw that it was good. He felt the pride that could only come with the knowledge of well done work and an organized space. Books, crystals, scrying tools, stationery, all kinds of objects laid down with a meticulous, almost zealous sense of place. It was, in many ways, absolutely gorgeous. 

But the best thing on it was the carpet; woven in black and ivory thread in the form of an ouija board. In the beginning he thought it was a joke, and that Jagathai had only sent a picture of it for the sake of laughter, before realizing that his brother was not one for mellifluous mockeries. 

And the amalgam of the beauty of the room and his pride made do something particular and unusual: he took a picture of it and sent it to the group chat he shared with his brothers. 

The first answers were tame and polite: Dorn talking about the architectural characteristics of the room, Lorgar complimenting his literary taste, Vulkan congratulating his efforts, everything was good until he realized he had made a big mistake.

It was the group chat. With his brothers.

All of them.

WHY THE FUCK TO YOU HAVE A OUIJA BOARD ON THE FLOOR?1?! DO YOU WANNA SUMMON SOME WEIRD SHIT?!1 IF SOMETHING HAPPENS I'M GONNA BURN DOWN YOUR PLACE

Magnus groaned for almost a whole minute, scolding himself mentally for even thinking that something good could come from making any part of his existence known to Leman. But even with that painfully gained awareness, he could not let that crass display go unanswered.

Oh here I was, wondering if Leman would ever like something that has actual letters and numbers instead of runic chickenscratch. Pity.

Instead of waiting for a reply, he put his cellphone in a nook of his desk, and tried to forget about the matter. After all, the other rooms needed to be as clean and orderly as his study. However, there was one last matter regarding the state of the finish room, and it was the dust laying in the carpet. A small detail, yet one that annoyed him a lot.

Not because of the words of his brother. No. Not at all. After all, he was wrong, and Magnus needed no proof of how wrong he was. But to prove a bad idea wrong was never a bad action, and besides, the carpet really needed vacuuming.

So, he brought the small robot that served for such a purpose (Perturabo said it was called roomba, but Magnus felt it was a silly name for something not only useful, but also given by his stern brother), and turned it on in the carpet. He saw it was good, and left for the living room to continue the moving.

Things were calm for half an hour, just soft music and the rustle of things being moved to their rightful places. But then the scent of otherworldly smoke started to fill the apartment. And after that a myriad of whispering voices that came out from the study, some even mimicking the mechanical buzz of the little machine. Magnus did not think much of it, until he heard the sizzle of fire, and thought of his books and his treasures being consumed by flame.

He ran to the study, thinking of where had he put the fire extinguisher, the one he thought he would never use. Even if he had thought of many disaster scenarios, no single plan or idea could have prepared him for the sight he encountered in the center of the room. 

Just above the somehow intact ouija carpet floated an inexplicable creature, half man and half bird, covered in everchanging and glittering jewels, its two heads glaring at him, teeth shining within their beaks as if trying to snarl and smile at the same time. It was way too big for the small apartment, and it talked in lies and contradictions in a thousand languages and more. Its mere presence causing Magnus a headache.

Focus. He had to focus. He knew the rituals and the words and the ways to dispel such things quickly to their immaterial plane. He had practiced and honed his abilities to do so. But he may be in the need of some help to subdue the thing that was looking at him. He could call someone, anyone.

But the mere thought of someone thinking that Leman was even a tiny bit right (he was not, by any measure, but he could not count on anyone to see that simple truth) made him doubt for a moment. 

Then he realized he was completely alone. The thing had banished.

“Well, shit”

[we-love-the-murder-bois]

Meeting Michael at Smiths Grove

(A small first meeting scenario with a crazy s/o. Tw: murder of people and animals, and mentions of pervyness and possible assault.)

You knew there were things wrong with your head, all jumbled up and loose and wrong. You knew you needed help, but you didn’t like this place. The walls were too white, the people too quiet and dead, and the staff too lingering in their touches and looks. It felt like standing in the lions den, all the while being groomed to think you were Daniel when you knew you were a simple their waiting to be ripped apart.

You hadn’t meant to lose it, but people rarely did. You were young at the time, just a teenager, and your ex backed you into a corner, so you reacted. You bashed their head in with a frying pan until it was basically red mush. When you finally came back to yourself, you had killed every living thing in the house, even your pet. You missed them more than your ex, if you were being honest.

You never said it, but you wondered if that weird doctor- Loomis?- saw what you didn’t say. You remembered killing your ex, and it had felt amazing. Nothing was more pleasing, thrilling, arousing than killing them and hearing them scream, until they weren’t.

You had never been a social creature, but your only company whispering about demons or being catatonic was annoying.

You and taken to wandering, learning every square inch of the place you would call home for some time. You looked in every room, learning which paranoid schizophrenic would attack you for poking around and which ones just cried in the corner when you poked them. The one room that really interested you though, belonged to one of the more infamous inmates.

Michael Myers, a catatonic mountain of a man who killed his sister, her boyfriend, and his father when he was a runt. He was interesting, but his eyes were dark and stormy. You probably weren’t leaving any time soon, so why not learn more?

Slowly you spent more time in and around Michael’s cell, eventually claiming a corner of his cot as yours to sit on and talk to Mike.

You had pretty quickly figured out that the majority of inmates were basically corpses following the basics of surviving, with prompt, and Mike wasn’t too different. He didn’t talk, barely moved aside from making a mask, and you never saw him leave his room without being forced to. Still, you liked to think a part of him heard you.

Maybe it was coping, finding solace in someone else who had killed, someone stronger, or whatever psychology. You just liked the company, it didn’t feel like they wanted you to say something, you could just say what you wanted.

“I killed my ex and his roommates. Also his cat. I feel bad about ganking Freddy, poor kitty was an asshole, but he didn’t need to die like that. I did him dirty.” You sighed, leaning forward on your elbows. You had told this story before, but it still felt good to talk to someone who wasn’t taking notes.

“Anyways, I’m gonna warn ya, I’m planning to attack one of the wardens tomorrow, so I won’t be by until I’m out of solitary. Just rough him up a little, I won’t risk killing him, not yet. He’s a pervert always forcing those pretty young things to do whatever he wants. Imma dig my thumbs into his eyes until he can’t see pretty no more.” You saw a bit of a tick in Mike’s shoulder, and while it could have been him fiddling with his mask, you liked to think it was a sign he was listening.

And you had done just that, eventually tackled and tased to the ground as you cackled, that pervs blood on your hands. You knew he probably didn’t, but you hoped Michael saw. Maybe he’d be proud, who knew.

After you served your stint you fell back into schedule, making up for lost time. You wondered if Michael missed you, but you got no confirmation or denial.

“Halloween is coming up. I’m excited, but kinda sad? If I ever get out, I’ll be too old to enjoy it anymore. I miss runnin around, bein a kid, gettin candy and goin wild. I understand why you love masks, they make you braver, don’t they? I always feel safe when I’m wearing a mask.” You confessed one October night, looking around at the steadily growing collection of masks on Michael’s walls. You knew not the touch them, but you quietly admired.

A few days later you had found a mask outside your door.

It was beautiful, yet terrifying. You ran your fingers along it gently, admiring it. You loved it more than you had ever loved anything else. With hands stiller than they had been for years, you carefully slipped the mask onto your face, securing it behind your head. It fit like it belonged there, so you decided it did.

You never took it off, and it became your new face. Sure, they tried to force you to take it off, saying it was a safety blanket or some crap, but they soon learned that you played nice up until they touched your mask.

Your time with Mike got longer and he knew more about you than your family or doctors did. He had heard all your stories and musings, from the sober, calm words to the near drunk medicated rambling. Even though you were probably a stranger to him, he felt so important to you.

After you started wearing the mask and spending every moment you could in Michael’s cell, Dr. Loomis had taken a liking to you. You didn’t like him, he was too obsessive and crazy. You thought he belonged in there with them, not prancing around like a child at the zoo.

“You’re smart, being silent. These people wait until you start to talk and then they use that to break you down. These therapists and their medications, all because we talk.” You were pretty strung out after they changed your medication dose, laying sprawled out on Michael’s cot. Had you been in your right mind you wouldn’t have pushed that, but you were hazy and hurting.

You had fallen asleep until an orderly was hauling you out. You thought you saw Mikey twitch when you grunted in pain, but it was probably the drugs. Thankfully it was a nicer orderly, not one of the creepy ones, so you didn’t have a reason to fight him.

Through the years, Michael became your everything. He was fixed, unchanging and uncompromised in a world that constantly screwed you over. Through the drugs and the fights, the bad moments and the good ones, there was always Mike to go to. He had given you a face, a safe space, he was your everything. You had stopped talking to anyone else, became a ghost around everyone but Mike.

You were sitting in your cell, tapping rhythms on the too clean tiles when you heard the screaming start, along with gunfire. You couldn’t help a small giggle at the smell of copper but forced yourself to stand and go to your door. It was locked but you knew your cell was older, you simply threw yourself into it until it opened. Pain didn’t matter much with the drug cocktail you were on.

You followed the noises, turning a corner and walking past some dead bodies. Maybe you would’ve felt something once upon a time, but this place had broke your remorse. You felt jealous, if anything. Whoever had done this was braver, they did what you were too coward and weak to do.

You found Michael standing over a body, hands covered in blood. He had smashed the persons head in with a tv, so points for creativity. He looked up and you stood in the doorway, staring at each other behind your masks. You wondered if he planned to kill you, and if you minded. Life would be meaningless once he was gone, so you didn’t mind dying if he was the one to do it.

You smiled behind your mask, tilting your head up as he slowly approached. Your eyes fluttered closed and you felt clearer than you had in years.

You hadn’t expected to feel his iron grip on your arm, feel him start to drag you with him, but you’d didn’t question him. He had a plan, and you were all too willing to follow him to the ends of the earth, do whatever he wanted.

You would live as long as he wanted you to, and if or when he decided you would die, you wouldn’t fight it.

Michael Myers was your everything.

[bittysvalentines]

From: @catericchant

To: @doggernaut

Content warnings: car accident, injury, anxiety

Jack comes awake to a voice. At first, that’s all it is, an indistinct series of noises that don’t make any sense. He’s reminded of the teacher from the old Charlie Brown cartoons: wah wah wah-wah wah wah-wah-wah. Then consciousness floods all the way back in and they’re words, English, carried on a warm, sweet accent.

“...you hear me? Hey, are you wakin’ up? You’re okay, I got you. Don’t move your head. An ambulance is comin’, honey, just you wait a few minutes.”

Jack pries his eyes open. The rearview mirror dangles precariously, reflecting the passenger seat. Through the cracked windshield, he can see snow, a tree lit by headlights, crumpled metal. A memory filters in, slow and reluctant, like it’s swimming to him through cold syrup. Hitting black ice, trying to accelerate out of the skid, the dark line of elms along the side of the road.

He crashed his car. Jack’s eyes widen and he tries to straighten up, but someone has their hands on his jaw, holding his neck in a straight line. “Don’t move!” the voice says, desperate. No one is there in the car with him, not that he can see. The hands belong to some disembodied spirit. An angel, maybe, here to stop him from ending his career by paralysis.

Jack begins to discover pain where there wasn’t before. His left elbow feels like a throbbing sun under his skin. His right ankle is almost as bad, thudding with his heartbeat. He tries to shift it and a pained grunt is yanked out of him involuntarily.

“I mean it,” the voice says again, more stern. Jack keeps forgetting it’s there. His head aches something awful, but the voice is steady. “Don’t move, you’re just gonna hurt yourself. What’s your name, honey? Can you tell me that?”

“Jack,” he says. He sounds like he’s been gargling gravel. “Who are you?”

“My name’s Eric,” the voice says. “I saw your car on the side of the road, there’s no one else around for miles.”

“Where are you? Are you an angel?”

“An ang-” The voice cuts off with a muffled laugh. “Oh, honey, no. I’m in your back seat, I’m supportin’ your neck, just in case you hurt your spine. I’m just a guy who called 911. I’m no angel, I promise.”

But Jack isn’t sure of that. When the ambulance comes, they put a neck brace on him, strap him to a backboard, and load him onto a stretcher. He can’t look around much, but he can see just how remote the road is. He could have been alone for hours, waiting for help, if Eric hadn’t come by when he did. As he’s lifted into the ambulance, he spots his saviour waiting by the doors. Eric is tinier than Jack imagined, blonde, with the biggest brown eyes Jack has ever seen. He matches his voice, warm and gentle. He looks like an angel.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he says.

The ambulance doors close, and Jack realizes he didn’t ask Eric’s last name.

---

There’s little good news at the hospital. Besides his concussion, Jack’s left elbow is broken, and while it isn’t a career-ending injury (they keep throwing that phrase around, they don’t know the panic it shoots through his chest every time), it’s going to keep him from playing the rest of this season. His right ankle is broken, too, just a hairline fracture. If he stays off of it, it should heal correctly in a matter of weeks.

“My son-in-law broke his ankle once and it wasn’t ever the same,” a nurse says, when she comes in to prop up Jack’s pillows and bring his lunch.

“Oh?” Jack tries to be polite, but anxiety spikes up inside of him, his ribs squeezing into a vice around his heart. If he can never play hockey again, then what? What else is there? Hello, I’d like to introduce you to the great Bad Bob Zimmermann, and his son Jack the photographer? He closes his eyes and breathes.

“I’m only scaring you a little so you’ll keep up with your PT once you heal,” the nurse says, patting his knee through the blanket. “My son-in-law is a lazy couch potato. You’ll be fine.”

“Wonderful, thank you,” Jack says, without opening his eyes.

“Here,” the nurse says, and lays a paperback book in his lap. “This got left for you. You ring if you need anything, okay?”

She goes and Jack decides he will not need anything at all until he gets out of here.  He forces himself to focus on the book in his lap instead of his pounding heart.

It’s a hand-bound cookbook. Slow-cooker recipes. Jack lays it in his lap and thumbs through with his good hand and a small envelope falls out of the page that reads “Slow Cooker Cherry Cobbler”.

The card inside the envelope is simple, plain white with red apples and blue flowers. It says “Get Well Soon”.

Jack,

I didn’t know your last name, so I hope this gets to you. I’ve hurt my wrist before, and I know how hard cooking for yourself can be with only one good hand. So here’s a book of recipes my family put together and passed out to all the kids. I contributed this one - I love cobbler. I wish we could have met under better circumstances. Feel better!

-Eric Bittle

Under the name, squished into the space like an afterthought or a greatly-debated addition, is a phone number, and the phrase: if you need anything at all.

---

Visitors come and go. A couple teammates, one with his family in tow. They’re nice, but Jack barely knows them. His manager calls, but she sounds grim, and Jack can’t help but wonder if she blames him for the accident. He doesn’t ask.

His parents call. Jack can barely talk to them. He reassures them he’s fine, he’ll be fine, it’s just one season. Come October, he’ll be right as rain. And then he tells them the doctor has come to talk to him, and he needs to go. When he hangs up, he’s alone in the room, but for the cookbook on his bedside table.

The nurse comes back, and when she grins at him, Jack hears “it wasn’t ever the same” on repeat.

“I hear they’re letting you go,” she says, as she wraps the blood pressure cuff around his arm. “Do you have somebody to drive you home?”

“No,” Jack says. “I’ll think of something. Uber, or a taxi.”

“Don’t get a taxi,” the nurse warns. “Filthy things. You’ll be back here in no time with a staph infection. Find someone with a clean car who can drive you. Someone reliable.”

Jack is twenty-seven hundred miles away from every reliable person he knows.

The nurse goes again, and Jack can’t get a deep enough breath to be relieved that she’s gone.

On the bedside table is the cookbook. He gropes for it, and manages not to knock it to the floor. That phone number stares up at him from the card.

if you need anything at all.

Maybe it’s time to ask for help.

---

Is this Eric Bittle’s phone?

yes it is! who’s this?

This is Jack. You helped me out after I was in a car accident.

oh jack!! i’m so glad you texted! how are you doing?

Not terrible. Been better. Ha ha

i bet :(

I hate to impose but I was wondering if I could ask a favor. You’ve already done so much.

anything

gosh that sounded hasty!! i mean, i’ll help you however i can

I don’t have a way to get back to my apartment from the hospital, and none of my family lives nearby. You wouldn’t happen to be able to give me a lift, would you? I’ll pay for gas.

oh my goodness, of course i wouldn’t mind! i can be there in a jiffy, i don’t live far. two shakes

I appreciate it. I owe you.

My life haha

That was meant to be a joke.

you must be feeling better ;)

---

Jack meets Eric for the second time when he gets into his car. An orderly wheels him out to the curb in a chair, and she helps Eric get Jack into the front seat. They load his crutches into the back, and off they go.  

The silence as they drive is awkward. Jack only speaks to direct Eric to his apartment downtown, nerves buzzing under his skin. All he can think about is how empty it is there, and how many takeout containers will pile up until he can ask a neighbor to help him take out his trash, and how likely it is he’ll fall in the shower and never be found. He’s so preoccupied with his catastrophizing that he almost forgets to point out the turn for the parking lot. Looking out the window, Eric peers up at the highrise.

“You live on the ground floor, right?” he says. There’s the tiniest bit of hope in his voice.

“The fourteenth,” Jack says, dryly.

Eric helps him up to his apartment. They brave the elevator together, and the hall down to Jack’s two-bedroom. By the look on his face, it’s nicer than Eric expected. Inside, Jack collapses into a chair and chuckles, his voice full of exhaustion. “This isn’t how I planned to spend this season. Could you grab those scissors from the counter so I can cut this bracelet off?”

Eric brings them to him, but leans down to do it himself.  “This season of what?” he asks.

He reads the name Jack Zimmermann just as Jack says, “I play hockey.”

Eric straightens up and stares at him, and underneath the pallor and dark growth of stubble, there is a familiar set to his mouth and eyes that he somehow hadn’t seen up until this point.

“You’re Jack Zimmermann,” he says.

“Yes.”

“You play for the Las V-”

“I play for the Providence Falconers,” Jack says, too quickly.

For just a moment, silence stretches between them, worse than when they were in the car.

“I’m sorry,” Jack adds. “I interrupted you. It’s a sore subject. I was happy with the Aces, and then I got traded.”

“No, don’t be sorry,” Eric says, and his smile is so genuine that Jack is immediately reassured. “I saw you on television. I should’ve remembered.”

That smile. Jack has never seen one quite like it, so soft and real. It tells him that Eric is legitimately pleased to be talking to Jack, to help him out. He knows who Jack is, has seen him on TV, and is asking nothing of him.

Jack asks, “Would you like to sit down?”

Eric sits down. They talk for a few minutes, about hockey (Eric played in high school, then college, but wasn’t professional material). Then a few minutes more, about baking (Eric owns a small shop about a mile from Jack’s apartment). Then a few minutes more, about family (Eric’s parents live in Georgia, he’s an only child, they’re proud of him). They talk for a few minutes, and then a few hours, and by the time Eric finally looks at his watch, the windows are dark.

“Oh lord, I didn’t realize the time,” Eric says, concern creasing his forehead between his eyebrows. “You’ve been in the hospital and here I am, keepin’ you up. I can go.”

“You’ve been keeping me company,” Jack says. Talking came so natural, he hadn’t wanted to speak up when he noticed the late hour. “And I appreciate it. It’s sort of lonely around here.”

“Well,” Eric says, considering, “in that case, why don’t I come back tomorrow?”

The connection is simple. Eric is easy to talk to, and Jack likes him. He likes the way Eric looks at him. He likes his smile.

“Yeah,” he says, “come back tomorrow.”

---

Eric comes back tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after. And all the next week.

Eleven days in, he asks Jack, “Am I botherin’ you? I hope I’m not intruding, I’m suddenly here all the time, and we hardly know each other.”

Jack, who is watching Eric use his oven to bake a maple sugar crusted apple pie, is thrown. He’s been eating three solid meals a day, is never in want of company, and hasn't been bored since his last day in the hospital. He feels like he’s heard Eric’s whole life story, and knows him better than he knows most of the Falconers. Jack is feeling better since he's been injured than he has since coming to Providence. He reassures Eric that he is not bothering him.

The pie is delicious. The maple sugar adds a depth of flavor Jack has never had in an apple pie before, though he admittedly hasn’t had many. The crust is flaky and the apples are tender and the lattice on the top is so perfect Jack would think it was machine-cut if he hadn’t watched Eric do it himself. With the fork in his mouth, it occurs to him that Eric (Bittle is what Jack calls him in his head, it's such an unusual name) is a professional baker.

“Don't you have a job?” he asks, and when that sounds like an accusation, he forces himself to finish chewing, swallow, and make another attempt in the time it takes for Eric's surprise to wear off. “I mean, you're here most of the day. You said you had a bakery-”

“I did,” Eric admits, sheepishly. “I mean, I do. I own the space, but I can't afford to keep the shop open. The day you had your accident, I was actually looking into selling the shop and movin’ back to Georgia. I just don't have the money to stay here if I'm not working.”

A hole opens up inside of Jack. It's so sudden and yawning that he nearly falls into it. It's been eleven days and this tiny baker who came to his aid is his only thing keeping him going. How did he not realize?

“So you need a job,” he says. His own voice sounds very far away.

Eric twirls his fork on the end of one tine, frowning. “Well, I mean, yes. Ideally, something in a kitchen. But the cost of living in Rhode Island is so high, my apartment doesn't even have heat and I-”

“So stay here.”

The words are out of his mouth before he thinks about the implications of what he's offering.

Eric's laugh is incredulous. “What?”

“I have two bedrooms.” Jack is speaking on autopilot. “Central heating and air. We get along perfectly. You spoke to my mother on the phone and I think she loves you. You like my kitchen - you've named my oven.”

Eric's sidelong glance towards the gleaming Franklin in the kitchen says everything.

“I know it's sudden,” Jack continues, “and I may not be thinking straight. But if you move in and help me out a little while I recover, that will free up your expenses. It solves your problem. Doesn't it?”

“Yes, it does,” Eric concedes. He sounds flabbergasted, one hand delicately resting on his collarbone in shock. “But why? Why would you offer me all that?”

Jack wants to say, Because I like you. Because you brighten every room you're in. Because this place suddenly feels like home. Because you’re an angel.

Jack says, “Because you saved me.”

---

In February, Bob and Alicia Zimmermann fly down to Providence, Rhode Island to see their only son.

They've been married for thirty-one years, and it shows. When they pick up their rental car at the airport, they squabble over the keys, a quiet but furious struggle. In the car, Bob rests his hand on Alicia's knee, expressing his love and silently willing her not to drive so fast.

“Do you think we're intruding?” he asks. “It's Valentine's Day. We could have waited until tomorrow, he might have plans with someone.”

“He asked us to come today,” Alicia says, with a shrug. She passes a weaving SUV loaded with bicycles and pretends not to notice Bob's hand tighten on her knee until they've left the other vehicle behind. “I think he has something planned. You can't intrude on an invitation.”

The door of Jack’s apartment has a paper heart taped to it, “Come In” printed in Jack’s careful hand. Alicia says it looks like the valentines Jack used to bring home for her from school, only those usually had mama written on them. Bob kisses her, and then he opens the door.

The apartment is decorated, not just with paper hearts but with curtains on the windows and throw blankets on the sofa, with new pictures on the walls and a whole shelf full of framed photos on the entertainment center. It was nice, before, the first time they came to visit, but impersonal. Now there are little glimpses of life everywhere.

The biggest of these is Jack himself, sitting up in his armchair with his foot up. He welcomes them jovially, and when Bob hugs his son, he’s solid and warm and up close his smile is real.

“It’s good to see you,” Alicia says, when Bob gives her enough room to kiss Jack and comb her fingers through his hair. “You look good, even with the casts. What’s all this about?”

“Well,” Jack says, and looks past them. Bob and Alicia turn, and there’s a wide-eyed blonde man standing in the entry to the kitchen. His apron says “Kiss the Cook”.

“Hi,” he says, “we talked on the phone a coupla times. I’m Eric.”

Jack smiles, broad and genuine, and Eric smiles back.

Jack says, “I wanted to tell you in person. My boyfriend made us dinner.”

---

That night, Jack lays in bed and listens to the low sound of his parents talking in the second bedroom. Eric is curled up against his back, his soft cheek pressed against Jack’s shoulder blade. His breathing is even and deep, and Jack hates to disturb him, but his ankle is protesting. He shifts away so he can roll onto his back, and Eric mumbles, before snuggling up close again.

“You okay, honey?” Eric whispers, sleepily.  Jack tucks a kiss into his sleep-fluffed hair.

“Yeah, bud,” Jack whispers back.

“I’m here if you need anythin,” Eric yawns.

“I know.” In the dark, Jack can barely see Eric’s face.  “My guardian angel.”